manjirei - Tumblr blog

manjirei · 8 days ago

Text

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤-𝐔𝐩! | h. kakashi

pairing: kakashi hatake x fem!reader (doctor!reader) genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, super tension-filled.. wc: ~6.8k setting: pre-war konoha; team 7 are still genins. medical wing. warnings: slight use of medical jargons a/n: sorry, it's pretty long! i figured i'd get lazy to write a part two, three, etc. after some time (especially since this has been rotting in my drafts as part one), so i decided to just write the whole thing in one go. i haven't written in years, so i apologize if some parts are kinda ass huhu

thanks for reading!

୨୧ — 𝐈

The first time you meet Kakashi, he's not exactly conscious.

Bloodied, broken ribs, chakra system’s a mess. He's wheeled into your medical wing after a botched infiltration mission and dropped onto your table like a puzzle with too many missing pieces.

"He's stable now," a senior medic declares, handing off the chart to you. "Keep him monitored. He'll be under for a while. If he wakes up early... sedate him."

You nod professionally, but your fingers twitch slightly as you review the name on the clipboard.

Kakashi Hatake.

As in, the Copy Ninja Kakashi. The man who led Konoha's Anbu Ops at an age where you were still learning how to suture without shaking.

But all you see right now is a man with deep scarring, blood under his nails.

Is this really the reality of shinobi? Even the strongest ends up this rough.

“I’ll take care of him.”

And you do. I mean it is your job.

୨୧

He wakes up on day three.

Groggy. Grumpy. Mask already back on somehow.

His one visible eye blinks slowly, adjusting to the sterile white light of the recovery ward. "You're not the usual nurse," he rasps.

You glance over your chart, your pen pausing mid-note. "I'm not a nurse." you reply calmly. "I'm your attending. The name's Y/N."

He studies you with a single eye, unreadable. "You're young."

You raise a brow, unmoved. "Well, you're nosy."

He hums, almost like a lazy laugh, fluttering his eyes shut again.

"Touché."

Kakashi shifts slightly against his pillow. Winces. His breath catches. "You know, you shouldn't move too much," you say softly. "Your lung's still healing."

"Doesn't feel like it," he mutters, wincing again.

"It wouldn't. You were barely alive when they brought you in." You pause, then meet his gaze evenly.

"But you will be. Don't worry, you're not going anywhere. I don't lose patients."

That stops him—like something in your words hits deeper than you'd meant it to.

He doesn't deflect with a quip. Doesn't reach for one of his usual dry remarks to ease the weight of the moment.

Instead, his eye just stays on you.

You don't know it yet, but that's the moment it starts.

୨୧

Though, you still think Kakashi is the worst patient.

He's quiet, which would be fine, if he weren't also absurdly stubborn. The kind of stubborn that turns silent defiance into an art form.

On day five, you step into his room after rounds and check up on him.

There he is—lying in bed, one arm lazily draped over his chest. Breathing even. Quiet.

You narrow your eyes.

Too quiet.

"This is a shadow clone, isn't it?" you thought to yourself.

You step closer and reach for his wrist. And as expected, your hand goes through it. The illusion flickers like smoke dispersing, and vanishes.

You blink once. Then twice.

Your eyes track the thin IV tubing, dragging across the floor, still attached to the pole—and still attached to him, limping slowly toward the window like escaping a hospital room is a normal post-op activity.

You drop your clipboard with a loud clack, pushing the curtain aside.

"Kakashi."

He pauses, glancing back like a schoolboy caught sneaking chewing gum, except this one has cracked ribs and an oxygen monitor.

"Doc," he greets, voice too casual.

"Are you serious right now? You know you can't fool me with your shadow clone," you say, shooting a glare at him.

"I heal fast," he offers, like that explains anything.

You glance at the IV line still dangling from his arm. "Is that why you're still dragging your IV bag like a sad little suitcase?"

You sigh, stepping closer. "You have a punctured lung, you're not even fit to climb out of that window yet."

"I've had worse," he mumbles.

"You are literally dripping saline and blood thinner while trying to crawl out of a third-floor window," you add.

He looks at the IV pole. "I was hoping it would detach on its own."

You sigh. Hard.

Then you plant yourself between him and the window, arms crossed, voice steel-edged. "If you don't sit back down right now, I'll inject you with enough sedative to knock out a tailed beast."

He blinks. Once. Then again.

And—he smiles.

"Come on." you say, hand gently gripping his arm. "You'll tear your stitches. Again."

He looks down at your hand, then slowly steps back into the room, one foot at a time. Defeated.

"...You're not like the other doctors," he blurts.

"No," you deadpan, grabbing the IV pole and dragging it back toward the bed. "I'm meaner."

He laughs. An actual chuckle—quiet and short, but it slips out before he can stop it.

You freeze for a second.

Huh.

You didn't know he could laugh like that. And definitely didn't expect you to be the reason.

Kakashi notices the way your expression falters for just a split second.

"I meant that as a compliment," he says as you help him sit back on the bed, reattaching the IV and tugging the sheet over his legs.

"I know," you reply. keeping your voice even. "I'm just debating whether or not to sedate you anyway. You're a flight risk."

"I prefer 'high-risk investment'," he quips.

You smirk despite yourself. "Sounds like something an emotionally unavailable man says when he knows he's charming."

He huffs a quiet breath as he settles back into the pillows. "And you sound like someone who's been burned by one."

You pause, lifting a brow. "Occupational hazard. I meet a lot of shinobi."

There's a beat of silence. Then his eyes crinkle again. "Touché."

You check the IV line with practiced ease, masking the strange flutter under your ribs.

You don't know it yet, but this is the first time he starts looking forward to your visits.

And the first time you start wondering if this recovering shinobi is going to be more trouble than your toughest surgeries.

Maybe he isn't the worst patient after all.

୨୧ — 𝐈𝐈

He starts lingering after he's discharged.

First it's, "Just a follow-up."

Then it's, "I've been having some tightness in my shoulder."

Then, more shamelessly, "You're the only one who doesn't poke me around like I'm a science experiment."

You don't call him out. Yet.

But you notice.

You notice how he always shows up around the same time—just before your shift ends. You'll be wrapping up patient logs or locking cabinets when you hear that familiar shuffle of footsteps in the hall, never rushed. Always like he belongs there.

You notice how he brings a book, but never really reads it. Just holds it open, glancing up every few minutes—tracking where you are in the room, who you're talking to, whether or not you've looked over yet.

You notice how he always seems to time his visits perfectly with your exit.

"Kakashi? Why're you here again?" "Ah, well you see, I think I forgot my.. book around here the other day. Heading out?" "Yeah." "Mind if I walk with you? It's getting pretty dark." "...Sure."

The walks are quiet at first. He's not chatty. Just... present. And not in a suffocating way, either. He listens when you ramble. Responds when it matters. Fills the silence without ever making you feel like you have to.

You pretend not to notice the way your heart beats faster when his hand accidentally brushes against your fingers as you walk together.

...

One evening, as the light begins to dip below the trees and the hospital's rooftop turns gold with dusk, Kakashi speaks without turning to you.

“So…” A pause. Then, casually.. too casually,

“Why aren’t you a shinobi?”

The question slides into the quiet like a kunai. No edge. But it lands.

You blink, caught off guard. He’s seated beside you on the ledge, legs stretched out in front of him like this is just another idle visit. He’s staring straight ahead—like he’s asking about the weather.

But you know better.

You swallow and look down at your bag, at the little jar of salve you made from scratch earlier.

"I... wanted to be one," you admit, crushing a leaf between your fingers absentmindedly. "Didn't make the cut. Politics. Bloodline—You know how it goes."

He hums, low in his throat. Something between acknowledgment and understanding.

You think that’s it. Think maybe it’ll drift into silence again.

But then he adds, in that maddeningly offhand tone—

“But you still train.”

You stop, just for a moment. A flicker of surprise catches your breath.

Your head turns. “How did you—?”

He doesn’t even blink.

“Your grip. Your posture.” His eye ticks over to you, lightheartedly. “The way you sidestep interns trying to surprise-hug you.”

The last part makes you scoff, reluctantly amused.

“That obvious, huh?”

He shrugs. “To me.”

You scoff quietly and shake your head, trying to brush it off. But then his voice softens. Low, intimate in a way that feels almost too much under the setting sun.

“And the way you treated my chakra scars,” he adds, “like someone who’s felt it.”

Your breath stutters.

He's not pressing, just... observing. Studying you the same way you study old wounds, figuring out where they started and whether they still hurt.

You glance over again.

He’s just looking. That quiet, unreadable gaze of his focused not on your face, but on something deeper. Like he’s reading old damage. Worn threads, invisible bruises.

You pull your eyes away first. “Old habit,” you murmur, voice thinner than you mean it to be.

He nods once. Nothing more.

No follow-up. No prodding. Just lets the moment hang between you and him.

...

The next day, he shows up again. Like always. But this time, no fake excuses. Just him—leaning against your office doorway, hands in his pockets, posture deceptively casual.

You barely look up, already suspicious. “Let me guess, your back hurts and it may have something to do with your chakra points.”

He says nothing at first.

Then, without a word, he steps in and sets something gently on your desk.

Two skewers of dango. Still warm. Wrapped neatly in wax paper. It's like he made sure they wouldn't get cold on the way over.

You blink, mid-signature. “...What’s this?”

You look up at him.

"For your old habit," he says, not quite meeting your eyes. "Figured you could use the energy."

It’s so… simple. But it lands like something heavier.

You stare at the dango, then back at him. Your throat tightens unexpectedly.

“Thank you,” you say, quieter this time.

Kakashi shrugs like it's nothing. But the tiniest crinkle at the corner of his eye betrays him.

You know it. You feel it.

It’s not just the gesture. It’s the silence around it. The way he’s still standing there, not saying anything, not moving to leave. Like part of him is waiting for something. Or maybe… hoping.

You return to your paperwork, but your hand lingers near the food.

“You really didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he says simply.

And there’s something about the way he says it. Like of course he didn’t have to. That’s not the point.

He pushes off the doorway and turns to go. Almost like he’s trying to leave before you can ask anything else. Before you can look too closely.

But just before he slips out of sight, you catch it—that familiar, steady rhythm of his steps in your hallway.

It’s the sound you’ve started noticing more and more lately.

Even when he’s not there.

Even when you wish he was.

You don’t know it yet, but you’re already the reason his feet take the long way home.

And he doesn’t know it yet, but your heart now leans slightly toward the door—every time it opens.

୨୧

By the nth time he shows up in your office, you finally say it,

"You do realize I have other patients, right?"

Kakashi blinks at you from where he's perched on the exam table—same corner, same lean, same unreadable expression behind the mask.

"I'm aware," he says. "But none of them have chakra scarring this symmetrical."

You lower your clipboard, unimpressed. "You said that two days ago."

"I did," he nods. "Consistency is important in the healing process."

You stare at him.

He stares back.

In defeat, you sigh and gesture for him to take off his shirt.

He does so without hesitation—and you hate how very little hesitation you have about it either. His movements are smooth despite the lingering bruising, and your fingers betray you by brushing just a second too long over the edge of a scar.

"You know," you mutter, checking his pulse, "you don't have to pretend you're here for medical reasons."

A beat.

He arches a brow. "You think I'm pretending?"

You glance up at him. "You showed up yesterday because your ear itched."

"It did itch," he says mildly. "Could've been a very rare parasite that actually messes with my chakra system. Dangerous stuff. I was being proactive.

You roll your eyes, but you're biting your lip to keep from smiling. You hate that it's working. That he's gotten comfortable. That you have.

He's watching you again—and not the casual observation he's always done. This is softer. Curious.

"You don't mind, do you?" he asks, after a pause. His voice is quieter now. Almost hesitant.

You look at him, carefully, heart beating somewhere a little too loud in your chest. The way his hands fidget slightly with the hem of his shirt. The way his eye doesn't meet yours at first.

"...No," you admit. "But I'd mind if you keep pretending you're just here for check-ups."

That gets him.

His eye crinkles a bit. The closest thing to a grin you'll get through that damn mask.

"Alright," he says, voice lower now. "Then let's not pretend."

You gulp.

He leans forward just slightly—not enough to break the boundary, but enough that you feel the heat of him, close and steady and very, very real.

"Y'know," he murmurs, in a slight teasing manner "If I keep showing up, I might end up your most frequent visitor."

"Well congratulations, you already are," you mutter, unamused.

"Ah," he muses, "then I guess I should start bringing snacks. Or flowers. What do people usually bring their favorite doctor?”

You blink.

He says it so casually—but there’s something underneath.. Like he’s waiting to see how far he’s allowed to go.

You try to play it cool, but your ears are warm. “That depends. Are they still pretending they’re here for medical advice?”

His gaze holds yours. No grin. Just something soft. Steady.

"You're not just a doctor," he says, almost like a secret.

You tilt your head. "No?"

"You're something else."

The way he says it, quiet, reverent—it makes your chest clench. Like you've been waiting for someone to say it. To see it.

You don't respond. But you don't move away either.

And that's enough for now.

୨୧ — 𝐈𝐈𝐈

You don't expect to see him on the roof.

It's well past midnight. The hospital is quiet, lights dim. Even the overworked med-nin staff have gone home. You'd stayed behind, again, to clear your head the only way you know how.

Shadowboxing under the moonlight. Sweat on your brow. Wrists wrapped. Your stethoscope long forgotten somewhere inside your locker.

You don't even notice the quiet flicker of chakra until a familiar voice breaks the silence.

"Your stance is a little stiff."

You freeze mid-strike, spinning.

Kakashi is leaning lazily against the rooftop doorframe, arms crossed. Civilian clothes. No mask. Just that sleep-mussed version of him that only seems to appear when the rest of the world is asleep—when it’s just the two of you, suspended in some strange in-between.

You exhale, heart jumping in a way that has nothing to do with cardio.

“How long have you been watching?”

He tilts his head, feigning thought. "Long enough to diagnose a repetitive elbow drop. Possibly chronic."

You squint at him. “You’re insufferable.”

“Technically, I’m being supportive.” He shrugs, wandering closer. “Some people bring protein bars. I bring unsolicited critiques.”

“Some people also knock.”

“I’m more of a ‘mysteriously materialize on rooftops’ kind of guy.”

"Stalker."

He shrugs again as you shoot a glare at him.

He steps into the moonlight—and gods, it should be illegal how good he looks in it. Silver hair tousled, sleeves rolled up, that look in his eye like he's trying not to say something too loud.

"You didn't tell me you were this good," he says, quieter now, watching the way as you reset your stance.

"I'm not," you mutter, adjusting your footwork. "I'm just... persistent."

He makes a quiet sound in his throat, somewhere between approval and amusement.

You throw another combo, more focused now—until a warm hand suddenly catches your wrist mid-strike.

You freeze.

He’s close.

"Loosen your grip," he murmurs, thumb brushing along the inside of your palm. His voice is low, his touch light. "You’re strong. You don’t need to punch like the world’s ending."

You usually say something to bite back, but... you didn't.

You can't.

Because he's looking at you like you're already something precious.

His fingers are still curled lightly over yours. His touch is warm.

You're not sure how long you stand like that—close, breath caught, words balancing between unspoken and the undeniable.

And maybe it’s stupid, maybe it’s reckless—but right now, under moonlight and bruised silences, you let yourself wonder,

If he came up here for more than just a critique.

And if you’re the only one who doesn’t want to pretend anymore.

But then—

a while ago…

"Okay but WHY is Kakashi-sensei always at the hospital?" Naruto mutters for the third time this week, slurping his ramen suspiciously.

Sakura looks up from her bowl. "You think he's sick again?"

Sasuke scoffs from across the table. "He's not sick. I passed him yesterday—he was carrying dango. Looked perfectly fine."

Naruto leans forward. "So what, he just likes hospitals now? That's suspicious."

Sakura frowns. "Actually... I overheard some nurses saying he only ever waits for one doctor."

Sasuke raises a brow.

Naruto gasps. "YOU DON'T THINK HE'S—"

"—Don't be ridiculous," Sakura cuts in, but even she sounds unsure.

Still, the next time they see him slipping out of the hospital late at night—hair messy, sleeves rolled, looking far too smug for someone supposedly recovering from shoulder pain. All three of them stare.

Kakashi just lifts a hand lazily. "Evening."

Naruto squints. "You're not even limping anymore!"

Kakashi smiles behind the mask. "I heal fast."

...

"You didn't have to come all the way up here just to watch me," you murmur after a long moment. Your voice is softer now. Raw.

He doesn't look away.

“I didn’t come to critique your footwork either,” he says eventually. “Even if it could use work.”

You scowl. “Charming.”

He lifts a shoulder, eyes half-lidded, lazy—except you know him now. You know when his voice goes softer, when he avoids your eyes, when his hands are in his pockets not out of boredom but restraint.

“I came because I wanted to see you,” he admits, voice low.

Your heart trips over itself.

"...You could've just said that."

His gaze dips to your lips, then back to your eyes. "Would you have believed me?"

You hesitate. "Maybe."

The silence between you hums.

"If you keep looking at me like that," you whisper teasingly, "I might think you're about to kiss me."

He's so close now.

"If I did," he murmurs, "would you stop me?"

You don't answer, taken aback with his reply.

But your fingers curl gently around his.

And your lips part, just slightly.

And the world narrows to the space between you and him.

Just heartbeats away.

୨୧

You feel it before it happens.

Kakashi's hand, still cradling yours, shifts just slightly—fingers ghosting along your wrist, your palm until it feels less like a correcting and more like a touch that's meant to linger.

His breath brushes your cheek. He doesn't move away. And the silence thickens with the weight of something that's been building for a long time.

You look up at him, eyes searching.

"...You're close," you whisper.

His eye curves just faintly. “I tend to wander.”

His voice is low, dry — but something in it falters at the edge, almost self-conscious. Almost shy.

You swallow, pulse humming. “…Do you want to?”

A beat.

“I think the more important question is… do you?”

You don’t answer right away. You’re too busy noticing the little things: the way he’s not blinking. How his thumb grazes your pulse like he doesn’t know he’s doing it. How he’s always careful, but somehow always stays just long enough to make your heart forget how to protect itself.

“…Yes,” you whisper, finally. “Don’t go.”

That’s all it takes.

His forehead tips gently to yours—cautious, careful, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

You breathe in. His scent taking over you. Faint smoke, cool earth, something grounding.

"'Kashi," you whisper.

It slips out before you even think about it.

He stiffens just slightly, surprised. Then blinks down at you.

“You’ve never called me that before,” he murmurs. His voice is soft, but it catches. Like it struck something he wasn’t ready for.

You feel your face warm. “Should I not have?”

“…Didn’t say that.” He exhales, almost a laugh—the barest curl at the edge of his mouth. “Just… wasn’t expecting it.”

There’s something vulnerable in the way he says it. Like you’d pulled something loose without meaning to. A thread he was doing a very good job of pretending didn’t exist.

And still—he doesn’t pull away.

But something shifts.

His hand slips from yours, trailing down your arm as if second-guessing the right to hold you.

“I’m not…” He pauses. And there it is again—that small crack in the usual calm. “I’m not really good at this.”

The words are quiet. Measured. Not self-pitying, but honest. And it's the first time you hear it: uncertainty. The guarded edge in his voice.

You look at him closely now—at the way his jaw tenses just slightly, how his gaze drops to somewhere near your shoulder instead of your eyes.

How he’s retreating in inches, like he’s used to being shut out before he can be let in.

"I've lost everyone I've ever cared about," he says, quiet. Measured. "Team, friends, family, people I should've protected. People I never got to say anything to. And every time something good shows up, I wonder how long before I ruin it. Or before it's taken from me."

It hits you—not just the weight of his words, but the quiet ache beneath them. The belief that love is something he wasn't meant to keep. A belief stitched into his ribs like a scar.

"That's what I think when I look at you." he finishes, voice rough.

"'Kashi..." You step forward again, gently taking his hand back.

He doesn't resist. Doesn't speak.

You hold his palm between both of yours, grounding him.

"You haven't ruined anything," you say. "And if you're scared of losing me, that just means there’s something real enough to try for."

He's quiet for a long moment.

And then—

"HEY, KAKASHI-SENSEI!"

You both jolt apart like lightning just struck between you.

Kakashi sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why do they always show up when I'm about to make a breakthrough?"

You peek past his shoulder and groan.

Sakura shoots a glare at Naruto. "Idiot! You were supposed to be quiet."

Naruto. Sakura. And surprisingly Sasuke?

Peeking from behind a low rooftop wall, not even pretending to be subtle.

Kakashi turns to you, expression sheepish. "We should probably relocate."

You bury your face in your hands. "I hate everything."

He laughs—a quiet one that reaches his eyes—and gently guides you behind the rooftop door, hiding you both from the peanut gallery of nosy genin.

As you both lean against the wall, catching your breath, you sneak a glance at him.

"Do you... still want to try?" you ask. "Even with all of that fear?"

You're not even touching anymore, but it still feels like you are.

Kakashi's hand is braced against the wall beside your head, just slightly caging you in. Not on purpose, maybe, but he doesn't move away, either.

"You really didn't move," you whisper, staring at the space between your shoes and his.

He hums, voice low. "You didn't ask me to."

When you dare to look up, the air shifts—slow, quiet, electric.

Your gazes lock.

"I think about it all the time," he murmurs.

You blink. "Think about what?"

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he reaches up—slowly, like he's afraid you'll flinch—and brushes a stray of hair away from your cheek. His fingers linger.

"You. Me. What this could be if I weren't—"

"Weren't what?" you breathe.

His hand drops.

"Haunted," he says simply. "Tired. Not built for this."

Your chest tightens. "You're not broken, 'Kashi."

He exhales shakily. "You say it like it's obvious."

"It is obvious," you say, stepping closer—close enough for your hand to find his again. "To me."

A beat of silence.

He looks at you like you're something rare. He doesn't understand how you exist in the same world he does—soft but fierce, steady but unpredictable, someone who sees him and doesn't flinch.

"I don't want to lose this... to lose you." he says vulnerably, and it slips out like a confession he didn't mean to speak aloud.

You squeeze his hand. "Then don't."

He stares at you, really stares. As if he's memorizing this exact version of you, like what he did the first time you told him that you don't lose patients—his first impression of you. The way your eyes shine when you speak. The way you always smell faintly like herbs and clean linen.

The way you say his name like it means something.

"...Say it again," he murmurs.

You blink. "Say what?"

"My name. Like that."

A soft smile tugs at your lips.

"'Kashi."

And oh—he's undone.

You don't notice you've leaned in until your noses almost touch. Your breath catches. His does, too. His hand comes up to your cheek again, a trembling thumb brushing the edge of your jaw.

You're going to kiss him.

You know you're going to.

It's happening.

It's—

"KAKASHI-SENSEI, YOU DROPPED YOUR HEADBAND!"

I swear to all the gods.

You jolt apart again, absolutely burning with embarrassment as Naruto's voice rings out like a kunai in a dream.

Kakashi groans and drops his forehead to your shoulder.

"Unbelievable," he mumbles.

"I'm going to inject him with a sedative," you mutter.

"Well, he'll have to get in line." Kakashi sternly adds.

"I swear, that Naruto."

Still hiding behind the wall, he glances up at you with a rare softness. Something so fond, it steals you breath even more than the almost kiss did.

"...Rain check?" he asks.

You meet his gaze.

And maybe it's reckless, fast, but you smile and say, "Only if you promise you'll actually cash it in."

He steps back, brushing his fingers over yours one last time straightening his hitai-ate like nothing happened.

"Deal," he says, giving you one last look over his shoulder. "You're worth waiting for."

And just like that, he disappears over the rooftop ledge—mask up, cool façade back in place, but his steps just a little too light for someone who's totally not in love.

You lean back against the wall, breathless, heart sprinting.

You're in trouble.

Big, stupid, wonderful, trouble.

୨୧ — 𝐈𝐕

The next day, you're barely holding it together.

Running late for your rounds, you’re juggling a clipboard, two folders, and a thermos of questionably reheated tea that’s one pothole away from disaster. You round the corner near the nurses’ station, muttering under your breath—

And slam straight into something solid.

Well. Someone solid.

The folders go flying. Your tea wobbles midair, chaos pending—

But nothing hits the ground.

A gloved hand steadies your elbow. Another has already caught the folders. And Kakashi Hatake, full gear and unbothered, blinks down at you like he didn’t just materialize out of nowhere to intercept a minor tragedy.

“...Morning,” he says. “You seem busy.”

You blink. Stare. Blink again. “You—what–”

He glances at the folder in his hand. “Radiology results. Hmm. Interesting reading.”

You snatch the folder back with a noise that’s half-gasp, half-groan. “You were discharged.”

“I was,” he agrees, perfectly calm. “Then I left. And now I’m here again. Life’s full of circles, isn’t it?”

"I'm just here for a check-up," he adds innocently.

You narrow your eyes. “Why are you actually here?”

He shrugs. “Might’ve pulled something.”

You frown. “Doing what?”

“Reading,” he says, with zero irony. “Very taxing. Spine’s not what it used to be. You should consider offering shinobi posture seminars. Or maybe back braces.”

You fold your arms, trying not to grin. "Uh huh."

He takes a small step closer, lowering his voice. "Besides... I thought I owed someone a rain check."

Your brain stutters.

Right. The rooftop.

You glance around quickly, suddenly hyperaware of the hallway—the nurses moving in and out of stations, the open patient room doors, the sound of someone wheeling a supply cart past. And him, still standing entirely too close, like his presence isn't already short-circuiting your entire system.

“You remembered that?” you ask, voice a little hoarse.

His visible eye crinkles just slightly, the barest hint of a smile pulling at the edges of his mask. “Of course.”

Your heart stumbles. You forget to breathe for a second.

He still hasn’t let go of your elbow.

“Right,” you mumble. “That.”

“That,” he repeats softly, gaze steady on yours.

Your heart stumbles again.

You don’t realize how long you’ve been looking at him until someone very pointedly clears their throat from down the corridor.

Twice.

You both flinch.

A nurse is walking past with a tray of bandages and a poorly concealed smirk on her face. She doesn’t even try to pretend she didn’t see anything.

Kakashi exhales, glancing after her. “Should I go before we become the subject of your staff’s next coffee break conversation?”

You lift your tea thermos, which somehow survived the chaos. “I think we already are.”

He makes a noise of faint amusement. “How tragic. I was hoping for at least a three-episode buildup before we got caught.”

You shoot him a look. “You’re not helping.”

He shrugs, clearly unrepentant, and gently passes you back the remaining folder like this has all been very civilized. “You didn’t stab me. That feels encouraging.”

“I could stab you,” you mutter, grabbing the folder.

He falls into step beside you as you turn to walk toward the stairwell.

“Please do,” he says lightly. “It’ll give me an excuse to come back.”

You nearly trip on your own feet.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye.

He’s looking straight ahead, hands in his pockets now, posture just a touch too casual to be natural. His mask hides most of his expression, but there’s a quiet ease in him. Something softer than usual. Lighter.

You swallow. “...You don’t have to force yourself to show up just because you feel like you owe me something.”

Kakashi’s voice is quiet, but sure.

“I’m not here because I owe you. I’m here because I want to be.”

Your grip tightens on the folder.

He doesn’t press nor look at you again. But his presence hums quietly at your side like something steady. Familiar. Something trying.

You keep walking, heart in your throat, brain shorting out.

“...Fine.”

His head turns. You don’t have to look to know he’s smiling behind the mask.

His fingers brush yours—just the barest graze, enough to make your hand twitch in surprise.

He doesn’t hold on.

But he doesn’t pull away either.

And somehow, that says everything.

୨୧

It starts innocently.

At least, that's what you tell yourself.

It’s a few days after the folder-flying hallway incident, and most of the clinic has quieted. Dusk has softened the world into gold and shadow. The lights in the hallway are dimmed to a low hum, casting long silhouettes along the clean floors. Most of the staff have clocked out.

You, however, are still perched at your desk, signing off the last few charts with a half-empty mug of cold tea by your elbow and a stubborn crick in your neck.

And then you feel it.

That familiar presence—unspoken but impossible to miss. A quiet awareness that slides in through the seams of your focus.

You glance up—and there he is.

Kakashi stands leaning casually against your office doorframe, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed in that practiced way only shinobi ever manage.

His hitai-ate is pushed up. His mask is on, of course. And his gaze, when it finds yours, carries that ever-present flicker of amusement and something quieter beneath it—something warm.

“You’re making a habit of this,” you say without missing a beat, quirking a brow at him.

He tilts his head. “Is that a complaint?”

“That depends. Are you here with another fake injury? Or should I start charging you rent?”

He shrugs. “Neither, actually.”

He steps forward. And that’s when you see it—a small, slim box in his hands. Plain packaging. Tied with red twine. Your heart immediately performs a minor somersault.

“I brought you something,” he says simply.

You sit up straighter, wariness mixing with curiosity. “...What is it?”

He holds it out, almost sheepishly. “Open it.”

You undo the twine with careful fingers. The box opens with a faint creak.

Your heart makes a strange little thud.

Reinforced knuckles. Lightweight weave. Tailored exactly to your size. And not just functional—they’re in your favorite color. Muted, but elegant. The kind of gear you’ve wanted but never had the time to get.

You blink, throat suddenly tight. “How did you—?”

“You favor your left hand for close defense,” he says. “But the padding was starting to fray. And last week you rubbed your thumb raw without realizing.”

You stare at the gloves, then back at him. “You noticed all that?”

Kakashi scratches the back of his head, almost like he regrets being caught caring. “You’re my attending. It’s... hard not to notice things.”

Your heart twists. The words are simple. But the way he says them—soft, honest, like it cost him something to admit.

It makes you forget how to breathe.

He shifts on his feet. “I know it’s not much. But you’re always patching people up. I figured someone should return the favor.”

You can’t look away from him.

There’s a silence, but it’s not awkward. It’s full—of gratitude, of something you can’t quite name. He meets your eyes, and the world narrows to the space between you, heavy with the ache of things unsaid.

You step closer.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “No one’s ever... I mean, that was thoughtful.”

He shrugs, but there’s a quiet smile in his eye.

“You’re easy to think about, well at least to me."

That lands harder than you expect.

You feel something shift—like gravity tilting slightly between you.

Your voice is a little too soft when you ask, “Is that why you keep showing up?”

Kakashi doesn’t answer right away. He takes another step closer, closing the space until there’s barely room for air between you.

“Do you remember what you said to me?” he asks, voice low. “First week I was here. Third day in.”

You blink. “…I said a lot of things.”

He huffs a laugh. “Yeah. But one stuck.”

You search his gaze.

“You told me I wasn’t going anywhere,” he says. “That you don’t lose patients.”

Your breath catches.

“I didn’t believe you,” he adds. “Not then. Not with the track record I had. But you said it like it was a fact. Like even if I gave up, you wouldn’t.”

He looks at you then, really looks. Not like you’re a mystery, but like you’re the answer he didn’t think he was allowed to have.

“You made me want to stay,” he says quietly. “Even after I didn’t need to.”

The silence deepens.

You don’t know what to say. Only that something in your chest is unraveling at the seams.

He lifts a hand. Hesitates. Then gently brushes your knuckles with his fingers—like he’s memorizing the feel of you.

“You made me want things again,” he says.

“Kakashi...” you whisper.

“I don’t know what this is,” he continues, voice rough around the edges. “I don’t know how to do it right. But I know what it feels like when I leave the clinic and I wish I hadn’t. Or when I think about you in the middle of a mission, and it makes everything quieter for a second.”

You stare at him, eyes glassy.

“Being around you doesn’t make me forget,” he says. “But it makes remembering hurt less.”

Then, softly,

“I want this. I want you.”

He never meant to stay this long.

The hospital was supposed to be a pit stop. A consequence of a botched infiltration. Just a bed.

Just another awfully long healing process in a boring hospital, again.

Just another scar.

But then there was you.

Sharp-tongued. Steady-handed. Unafraid. You didn't look at him like a broken thing. You didn't see his mask and flinch. You saw someone worth keeping alive—someone worth caring for.

He remembers one of the first things you've said: "You're not going anywhere. I don't lose patients."

He remembers thinking, Good luck with that.

He hadn't believed you. Not then. Not with the weight he carried. But you stayed, even beyond the hospital. Every day, every sarcastic remark, every heartbeat.

And somewhere in the silence between your scoldings and salves, something changed.

He started making excuses.

A sore shoulder. A "follow-up." A muscle twitch that needed checking. When really, all he wanted was five minutes more with you. Ten, if he was lucky. Long enough to hear your laugh, banters, to see your smile.

Long enough to feel like maybe... he wasn't just another name on a chart to you.

You made him feel like he could be whole.

You made him want more.

And now, just inches from your warmth, he realizes—

You're the first person who didn't give up on him before he even began.

And this... this soft, staggering thing he feels in his chest—it's terrifying.

But it's real.

You met him where he was ruined—and stayed long enough to see him whole.

He doesn't want to leave.

You step in without thinking. Press your palm to his chest—right where his heartbeat drums steady against your hand.

“Take it off,” you say, so quiet it’s barely audible.

He freezes. “...What?”

“The mask,” you murmur. “Let me see you.”

Kakashi stills for a heartbeat. Two.

Then, slowly—very slowly—he raises a hand to his face. The fabric folds down with practiced ease.

And there he is.

His face. His scars. The ghost of old wounds etched along his jaw. He doesn't flinch. Not when you see him.

He's... beautiful.

Quiet vulnerability hangs between you, completely unguarded—all laid bare, just for you.

No facade. No barrier. Just him.

Kakashi.

You lift your hand to his cheek, thumb brushing the edge of a healed wound by his jaw. His eyes flutter shut—just briefly—like the touch startles him in a good way.

And then you lean in.

It's soft. Warm.

It's... real.

His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss—not with hunger, but with so much longing. Like he didn't think he deserved this, but now that it's happening, he's terrified to lose it.

When you finally part, your foreheads rest together, breaths slow and warm between you. The world feels like it’s holding its breath.

"I think,” you begin, barely above a whisper,

“I’m falling in love with you.”

Kakashi stills.

He exhales like he’s been holding that breath for years.

"...You are?" he asks, voice ragged.

You nod.

"I didn't plan to. But you keep showing up, and suddenly you were just... everywhere."

“Kept telling myself it was just clinic visits,” he murmurs, almost like he’s confessing to a crime. “A few check-ups. A few muscle twinges. Some bruises I let hang around longer than they needed to.”

His thumb rubs over the back of your hand once, slow. “And... okay, a few dango runs. Maybe a few too many excuses to pass by your hallway. Maybe I started faking injuries just a little.”

You bite back a smile, but your chest aches.

He looks away for a second, as if the weight of saying it is harder than he'd like to admit.

“I told myself it was safer this way,” he continues, voice dropping to something more fragile. “To just… orbit. Not land. Not want.”

His jaw works. There’s something old in his eyes. Worn.

“You made it impossible for me. Somewhere between the salves and the stubborn lectures and you yelling at me for almost ripping my stitches—I stopped being scared. I just didn't know how to say it."

His hand finds yours and wraps around it gently, firmly, like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the moment.

“I didn’t know how to say any of this,” he admits. “I’ve never been good with... saying things.”

You don’t speak. You don’t need to.

You just look at him—his brow slightly furrowed, like he's bracing for the moment to crack and vanish beneath his feet. Like he’s waiting for you to pull away. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But it doesn’t.

It won’t. You won't.

Instead, your fingers curl tighter into his. You let the silence answer for you—full, grounding, real.

Then, gently—soft as breath—you say,

“I love you, too.”

The way Kakashi stills is so subtle you might miss it. A sharp inhale, a flicker in his eye like something ancient inside him just shifted.

And then he laughs—barely. A sound like wonder, like disbelief cracked in half. It’s not loud. It’s not showy. It’s just... Kakashi. Quiet. Guarded. But a little undone.

His voice comes slow. Measured. Like every word matters.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get to hear that.”

He says it like it costs him something. Like it matters more than he expected.

Your eyes sting.

His hand stays in yours, but his other reaches up and brushes the line of your jaw with the backs of his fingers. He’s still not sure you’re real. As if he’s trying to memorize you before you vanish.

You cup his cheek, and he leans into it like someone who’s forgotten how to ask for comfort but finally found it anyway.

And in that moment, something shifts.

He lets himself believe.

That he might be allowed to have this. That he might actually deserve it. That maybe, for once, he won’t lose the thing he’s grown to need.

His thumb brushes your cheek, slow, tender. Like he’s drawing a promise into your skin.

And when he leans in again—slowly, deliberately—the kiss he gives you is softer than the first. More certain. Less like a moment stolen, and more like one that belongs to you both.

Full of warmth.

Full of something that feels like future.

And this time, he doesn’t run.

You don't know it yet, but this is the moment he lets himself stay... in a love never thought he'd be allowed to feel or have.

One that began not with a plan, but with broken ribs, a wrong turn, and the quiet, stubborn hands of a doctor who didn't believe in losing.

A meeting that should've been nothing,

But somehow, became everything.

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated! thanks for stopping by ~ ^3^ <3

(p.s. i hope you guys saw the mirroring of events!! (kakashi to 'kashi), “to me”, and also the use of "you don't know it yet, but..")

requests are open! 🌸

#naruto #naruto shippuden #kakashi hatake #kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi x you #kakashi hatake x you #kakashi fluff #kakashi hatake fluff #naruto shippuden x reader #naruto x reader #naruto fluff #fluff #comfort

312 notes · View notes

manjirei · 10 days ago

Note

CUTE 🥹

Hi I was wondering if you could write something for Naruto? I read your rules and you said, that it's one of your favourite shows, so I was wondering if you could write something for Kakashi maybe? With a femreader who's Guy's sister? I think that dynamic would be really fun. But if you don't write for Kakashi, or Naruto in general, than just ignore this request. I hope you have a great day!

How Not to Flirt, by Hatake Kakashi

synopsis: When a mysterious new visitor to Konoha quietly captures Kakashi's attention, the famously aloof ninja finds himself stumbling through awkward flirtation, well-meaning interference from Guy, and unexpected moments of connection—until he finally gathers the courage to ask for something real: a proper date.

content/warnings: Kakashi Hatake x fem!reader, fluff, 5.900 words

Part 2

The late afternoon sun cast a soft, golden glow across the rooftops of Konohagakure. The breeze was light, just enough to rustle the pages of a worn-out book, and the village was quiet—relaxed, even. It was the kind of peaceful lull that came once in a while between missions, and Kakashi Hatake intended to savor every second of it.

He sat atop the roof of his favorite teahouse, legs dangling lazily over the edge, one hand turning the page of Icha Icha Paradise, the other absently twirling a dango stick he'd long since cleaned of sweets. His single visible eye was calm, focused, almost dreamy as he soaked in the words of Jiraiya's ridiculous, overly dramatic story.

A sigh escaped him. Bliss. Utter, uninterrupted bliss.

That is… until something shifted in the periphery of his vision.

Kakashi glanced down casually—habit more than interest—but the moment he did, he blinked, his eye lingering.

Someone was walking through the village square. A woman. Unfamiliar.

That wasn't particularly odd in and of itself; visitors passed through Konoha from time to time. But there was something about you that made him pause.

You weren't in a hurry, just strolling along the merchant street with an easy, graceful pace, pausing here and there to glance at shopfronts or exchange a word with a vendor. Nothing flashy. No wild colors or flashy chakra. But you had a presence. There was an effortless charm in the way you moved, the tilt of your head when you smiled, the way the light hit your hair.

He had no idea who you were.

And that… was strange.

Kakashi prided himself on being aware of everyone in the village—particularly interesting people. Yet here you were, unknown and completely unbothered, existing in his world like you'd always been there. Like he was the one out of place.

He closed his book slowly, tucking it under his arm.

"Well now…" he murmured, an eyebrow raising just slightly. "That's new."

For a moment, he just sat there, watching you wander between stalls. You laughed at something the old lady from the bakery said. It was a lovely sound.

Kakashi blinked. What are you doing, staring like a genin with a crush? He shook his head and stood up. Time to be cool. Casual. Collected.

He hopped down from the roof in one smooth motion, landing silently behind the teahouse and adjusting his hitai-ate over his eye. A deep breath.

"You're an elite jōnin," he muttered under his breath. "You've faced rogue ninja, strong enemy agents, fought countless battles… How hard can one conversation be?"

Another breath.

And then he turned the corner to the market street, heading toward you with a calm, practiced gait that definitely did not betray the quiet panic rising in his chest.

Kakashi spotted you near the dango stall, admiring a basket of sakura-shaped treats like they were tiny works of art. He adjusted his mask nervously, then straightened his back, mentally flipping through lines from Icha Icha like cue cards.

Something smooth. Something witty. Something romantic, but subtle.

You turned just as he approached, your eyes meeting his with a casual smile.

"Hi," he said.

...That was it. Just hi. And somehow, even that sounded off.

"Hi," you echoed, friendly but a little cautious—like someone trying to place a familiar face.

Kakashi cleared his throat. "The, uh... dango here is… famously round."

You blinked.

He blinked back.

Famously round? What kind of line was that?

"Oh," you said after a pause, tilting your head in amusement. "I guess that's… a good thing?"

Kakashi nodded stiffly. "Roundness is… important."

You gave a small chuckle and looked back at the basket, and Kakashi felt his face heat beneath the mask. What was he doing? He fought ANBU-level threats with a straight face, and here he was talking about the shape of dumplings.

"Well, enjoy," he said quickly, then turned on his heel and walked away before he could make it worse.

Fast. Silent. Retreat.

The next day, you were seated at Ichiraku Ramen, happily digging into a steaming bowl of miso with extra pork. Kakashi happened to be walking by. (Okay, fine, loitering nearby on purpose, but that was beside the point.)

He lingered outside the curtain, took a breath, and stepped inside casually—as casually as a man panicking internally could.

You looked up as he entered, gave him that same friendly smile. "Hey."

"Hey," Kakashi said. Better than hi, right?

He sat two stools over, trying not to stare. Ayame greeted him, and he ordered whatever the day's special was without really hearing it. His mind was scrambling for an opening line that didn't involve the shape of food.

"I see you like ramen," he said after a moment.

You paused mid-slurp, glanced sideways. "...Is there anyone who doesn't?"

Kakashi considered that. "I… guess that's true."

Silence. Except for the sound of ramen being eaten.

You gave him a curious look. "You're Kakashi Hatake, right? I think my brother mentioned you."

He blinked. "Oh?"

You nodded. "Said you were kind of mysterious. And always late."

Kakashi scratched the back of his neck, the smallest smile forming behind his mask. "Sounds like a fair assessment."

You laughed softly, then returned to your bowl. Kakashi opened his mouth to say more—something clever, maybe something mildly flirtatious—but the words caught somewhere in his throat. Instead, he stared into his untouched bowl like it held the secrets of the universe.

After a few more minutes of awkward silence, he mumbled something about "needing to check on a mission report" and slipped out, mortified.

The next afternoon, you sat alone on a grassy slope just outside the village, watching a group of young ninja spar in the distance. The sunlight streamed through the trees, casting patterns across the clearing, and you looked entirely at peace.

Kakashi spotted you on his way back from the training grounds, stopping short when he saw you there—serene, soft-eyed, your focus completely absorbed by the scene before you.

He stood there for a solid minute, trying to decide what to do.

This time, he approached a little slower, careful not to startle you. You turned your head as he neared, giving him that calm, patient smile.

"Watching the genin train?" he asked.

"Mmhmm. It's kind of relaxing," you said. "Like watching waves crash or leaves fall. There's chaos, but also something rhythmic about it."

Kakashi sat down a few feet away, nodding quietly. "I never thought of it that way."

You gave him a side glance, studying his profile. "You don't talk much, do you?"

"I talk," Kakashi replied. "Just not always well."

You laughed again—warmer this time. "I appreciate the honesty."

It was probably the longest and smoothest interaction yet. And Kakashi was starting to feel okay—maybe even comfortable—until one of the genin in the field tripped spectacularly and face-planted into a tree.

You gasped. Kakashi snorted.

You both looked at each other, then burst into quiet laughter.

He felt his chest ease a bit. Like maybe he could talk to you after all.

But then, just as he opened his mouth to say something else—something more honest this time—your attention turned back to the field. And once again, the words never came.

So he sat there with you in silence, the good kind, trying to work up the nerve for next time.

The air was soft and golden again, just like the day you first arrived. Kakashi had decided—finally—that he was going to talk to you properly this time.

You were back at the clearing by the training grounds, your legs tucked beneath you on a worn-out blanket, watching a small group of academy students practice throwing kunai. The breeze carried the scent of early summer—grass, warm earth, a hint of blooming plum.

Kakashi approached quietly. He'd rehearsed it all this time. Nothing too flashy. Just a compliment, maybe a question about your home village. Keep it natural. Be yourself.

Not the weird, mumbling version of himself you'd gotten the past few times.

You turned to him with a soft smile as he drew near. "Hey."

"Hey," he said back, and… hey, that actually came out normal.

He sat beside you—closer than usual, not quite touching, but enough that the warmth between you was noticeable.

"I never did ask," he started, voice low, "what brings you to Konoha."

You tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Oh, just visiting family. My brother lives here."

"Oh?" Kakashi tilted his head, interest sparking. "I didn't know that."

"Yeah, he's—"

"MY YOUTHFUL SISTER!!"

The forest exploded in noise as a blur of green and energy launched from the trees behind you. Before Kakashi could react, a very familiar arm slung itself dramatically around your shoulders.

Might Guy beamed between the two of you, grinning like the sun itself had given him caffeine.

"I've been looking for you everywhere!" he cried, ruffling your hair with all the finesse of a charging bull. "Ah! It fills my heart with flames of joy to find my two favorite people sitting together like this!"

Kakashi sat frozen, like someone had hit pause on his entire life.

Favorite… people?

Guy clapped him on the shoulder so hard it nearly knocked him into the grass. "Kakashi! My eternal rival! I've been meaning to introduce you to my sister for YEARS! Can you believe this timing?! It's destiny!!"

Kakashi made a strangled noise somewhere between a chuckle and a plea for help. "You… never mentioned you were Guy's sister."

Guy gasped. "What?! But I talk about you both ALL THE TIME!"

"Suspiciously often," you added with a teasing glance. "But I always assumed Kakashi was just some long-suffering coworker you made up for dramatic effect."

Guy wiped away a single imaginary tear. "Ah, no, my dear sister! He is very real—and very cool! And now that you moved here and you two finally met, you can both be part of my next sibling-rival-training-triangle-dynamic!"

Kakashi blinked. "Your what?"

"Imagine it!" Guy shouted, already half-posing. "The three of us! Sibling bonds! Rival bonds! Emotional growth! Group stretching!"

You leaned over to Kakashi, voice just loud enough to be heard over your brother's monologue. "Is he always like this with you?"

Kakashi sighed through his nose, eye crinkling in tired fondness. "Unfortunately. Yes."

Guy was now doing air kicks in the background. Birds scattered. The genin in the field had stopped training entirely to watch.

Kakashi took a long breath. So much for that peaceful, romantic moment.

So much for anything, really.

But…

You looked at Kakashi again, and this time, your smile had a bit more understanding in it. A little amusement. And maybe, just maybe… a flicker of interest.

And Kakashi—awkward, flustered, hopelessly out of his depth—felt the smallest spark of hope.

Maybe this wasn't over yet.

Even if he had to fight through a thousand loud declarations of youth… He was Kakashi Hatake, after all.

Guy was still mid-monologue. He had, by now, shifted from "emotional triangle training" to suggesting the three of you form a synchronized taijutsu squad that wore matching jumpsuits. His arms flailed like flags in a windstorm, and his eyes gleamed with pure, unfiltered enthusiasm.

"—and then, with our chakra flowing in perfect harmony, we could leap into battle as a single, unstoppable force of youth! I'll start sketching costume designs immediately—"

"Guy-sensei," came a calm, deliberate voice from across the training field.

Neji stood at the edge of the clearing, arms folded, expression a perfect mixture of stoic and vaguely put-out. "You said you'd be leading our sparring evaluations this afternoon."

Guy's eyes widened in horror. "Oh no! I did! I was so caught up in the beauty of sibling reunion and the spirit of connection that I forgot my duty as an instructor! What shame!"

"You're only five minutes late," Neji said dryly. "But we've already begun rotations."

"I SHALL MAKE AMENDS!" Guy bellowed, turning back to you and Kakashi. "Forgive me! I will return later with snacks, scrolls, and synchronized workout ideas!"

He shot you finger-guns. "And you, little sister, be nice to Kakashi! He's very emotionally repressed and doesn't know how to talk to a lady!"

Kakashi visibly flinched. You covered your mouth to hide your snort of laughter.

And with a dramatic puff of dust and a war cry, Guy sprinted off into the trees after Neji, shouting apologies and battle metaphors as he vanished from sight.

Silence, for the first time in what felt like an hour.

You and Kakashi sat still for a second, blinking into the empty space where he'd been.

"…He's a lot," you said finally, lips twitching.

"He's… Guy," Kakashi offered with a shrug, though there was the barest fondness in his voice.

You turned to face him a bit more directly, brushing your fingers through the grass. "So you really didn't know I was his sister?"

"No clue," Kakashi admitted. "I've been out on missions so much, I've probably missed every visit you've ever made."

"Lucky me, then," you said, half-teasing, half-genuine. "Caught you during your elusive downtime."

Kakashi glanced over at you. The sunlight was catching in your hair again, and for the first time, the atmosphere between you wasn't charged with awkward tension or loud declarations of youth. It was… calm.

He hesitated for only a moment before replying, "Well… I'm glad I didn't miss this one."

You tilted your head slightly, curiosity blooming in your expression. "Do you always flirt this awkwardly, or is it just a me thing?"

Kakashi's visible eye widened slightly in panic, then narrowed with a faint touch of dry amusement. "I don't know what you're talking about. That wasn't flirting. That was… breathing in your general direction."

You laughed, warm and surprised, and Kakashi smiled under the mask. It wasn't smooth, but somehow it worked better than any line he'd ever borrowed from Icha Icha.

He leaned back on his hands, looking out at the training field. "So what village did you say you were from?"

"Didn't," you replied, a mischievous twinkle in your eye. "You'll have to ask nicer."

Kakashi hummed, pretending to ponder. "If I ask in full sentences and don't bring up the shape of food, does that count?"

"Depends." You nudged his shoulder gently. "You planning on breathing in my direction again?"

He chuckled—quiet, but real.

And for a little while, the two of you just sat there. No pressure. No declarations. No Guy.

Just the kind of slow, quiet moment that felt like something beginning.

The next time you ran into Kakashi, it wasn't by chance.

It was the day after your quiet moment in the training field, and you were wandering toward the edge of the village with a book tucked under your arm, hoping for a quiet place to read. The late afternoon light slanted through the trees, and as you rounded a bend in the path, you spotted him.

Kakashi stood in a clearing, arms crossed, eye focused on the dummy in front of him. He didn't move—just stood there for a few long moments, like he was waiting for something. Then, without a sound, he vanished.

Your eyes widened slightly. Fast.

A second later, three well-placed kunai struck the dummy's pressure points dead-on. Then a fourth thunked into the forehead of a nearby tree with a little paper tag attached—harmless, but clearly a subtle, controlled explosive. The kind that knocked out without wounding.

He appeared again, standing calmly just a few feet from where you'd paused.

"Oh," you said, raising an eyebrow. "Is this… your idea of a casual hello?"

He blinked, then gave the smallest shrug. "I thought I'd practice. Didn't expect an audience."

"Mmm." You stepped forward, arms folded loosely over your chest. "Practicing being cool and mysterious?"

His eye crinkled. "It comes naturally."

You snorted softly. "Does it also come naturally to dramatically explode trees to impress women?"

There was a tiny beat. "…That was a demonstration. Not a seduction tactic."

"Really?" you teased. "Because I'm feeling very seduced."

Kakashi coughed. "That's not… I mean, I wasn't—"

You stepped a little closer, eyes playful. "You know, if you keep doing things like that, I might start to think you're trying to show off."

He looked at you, unreadable for a moment behind that ever-present mask. Then he lifted a hand, rubbing the back of his neck with exaggerated casualness. "And if I were?"

"Well," you said, pretending to think, "then I'd probably tell you that exploding trees are less impressive than someone who can actually hold a conversation without panicking halfway through."

His shoulders sagged slightly. "Ouch."

"I'm teasing," you said gently, your smile softening. "You're doing much better than the dango comment."

Kakashi sighed dramatically. "You'll never let that go, will you?"

"Absolutely not."

You both laughed, and this time, the tension wasn't awkward—it was easy. Familiar. Kakashi's posture relaxed slightly, and his hand dropped to his side as he turned to walk beside you along the edge of the trees.

"So," he said, voice low, "what book are you reading?"

You held it up. Tales of the Silver Hawk, the kind of cheesy, over-the-top drama with swordfights and longing gazes that made for the best guilty pleasure reading.

Kakashi stared at the cover for a long second. "...Is that the one where the prince pretends to be a bandit, but also secretly writes poetry under a fake name?"

"Exactly," you said, delighted.

"…I've read that."

Your head tilted toward him. "Really? Didn't peg you for a romance-and-bad-disguises kind of guy."

"I read a lot," he muttered. "Research."

"Oh sure," you said. "Like how Icha Icha Paradise is secretly about chakra theory and interpersonal conflict."

He hesitated. "It… kind of is."

You gave him a sidelong glance. "You're lucky you're cute."

Kakashi stumbled slightly.

You kept walking, unfazed.

"Sorry," you added, half-smirking. "Didn't mean to ruin your cool guy image."

"You didn't," he said quickly—too quickly.

You stopped, turning to face him fully. "Hey, for the record… I like this version of you more. The not-so-smooth one. The guy who stumbles over words and reads trashy romance novels but still manages to save a training dummy from imaginary attackers."

Kakashi met your gaze quietly. "That's good. Because I'm… not really the smooth type."

"I can tell," you said, smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

A breeze passed between you. The forest rustled.

And for a second, Kakashi looked like he wanted to say something else. Something honest. But instead, he just nodded, eyes soft.

The sun stood high by the time the two of you wandered toward the edge of the forest. The trees had thinned into tall shadows stretching long across the grass, and the village's sounds were distant now—muted, softened.

You spotted a spot beneath an old tree with roots like gnarled fingers curled into the earth. The bark was silver-gray, worn smooth by wind and weather. You dropped onto the mossy ground without a word, setting your book beside you.

Kakashi hovered for a second, then sat a few feet away, back resting lightly against the trunk, his own book slipping easily into his hand as if summoned.

But instead of opening it, he looked at you. You were brushing a bit of grass from your palm, casually, like the silence didn't bother you in the slightest. It didn't, really.

Still, Kakashi cleared his throat softly. "So," he said, his voice quiet but warm, "you grew up in the hills, right? Outside Hoshigakure?"

You glanced at him, mildly impressed. "Yeah. That's not a detail people usually remember."

He shrugged one shoulder, eye curving faintly. "I remember things that matter."

You paused, letting that settle between you. Then: "I used to hate it there, when I was younger. Too quiet. I thought it meant nothing interesting ever happened. I didn't realize until I left how rare it is to be somewhere peaceful."

Kakashi's head tilted, curious. "So why didn't you stay? What brought you to Konoha, besides family?"

"I wanted more," you said honestly. "Something different. Something that didn't look like the same path everyone else was walking. I guess I hoped… the leaf might surprise me."

He nodded slowly. "It does that. Not always kindly."

You turned a bit more toward him, the slant of your body inviting. "And you? Everyone knows the legend of Kakashi Hatake, of course. But the version in my head used to be taller, with more facial expressions."

That earned a soft laugh from him—brief but genuine.

"Disappointed?" he asked.

You looked at him for a long second. "Not even a little."

Kakashi was quiet for a beat. "I think I stayed here for the people," he said eventually. "Even when things were… hard. They made it worth it. They still do."

There was weight in those words. Not sadness, exactly—but history. A gravity to the things he didn't say.

You didn't press. Instead, you asked, "Did you always want to be a shinobi?"

He took his time answering. "No. I just always was."

That answer made your chest ache in a quiet, understanding way. You nodded.

"I think I'm still figuring out what I want to be," you admitted.

"That's allowed," Kakashi said. "Even here."

You smiled at that, then nudged your book toward him with your elbow. "Do you want to read this next? You'd love it. The prince gets stabbed in the third act by someone who thinks he's still just a bandit."

Kakashi glanced at the worn cover and raised a brow. "Spoilers."

"Oh please," you scoffed. "You're probably five chapters ahead of me in the plot already."

He smirked, a little. "You're not wrong."

Then, without another word, he opened his own book and leaned back. You followed suit, both of you settling in like a pair of old friends who didn't need noise to feel seen.

The forest hummed gently around you—the rustle of wind in branches, the distant chirp of early evening crickets. The sky above turned watercolor blue, tinged with fading gold.

Time passed. You turned a page. So did he.

Now and then, you'd glance at each other over the edges of your books. Never for long. Never enough to break the spell. Just long enough to smile softly and return to the silence.

You didn't speak again for a long time.

And yet, in that shared silence beneath the tree, you learned more about Kakashi than you had all week.

He didn't need to impress you with explosive tags or wild techniques.

This—this quiet, honest companionship—was where he was strongest.

And maybe, you liked him best like this.

By the time the last hints of golden light slipped beyond the horizon, it was too dark to keep reading. The page in your lap blurred into shadow, and the letters refused to stay visible no matter how you turned the book.

You sighed, closing it with a soft thump and stretching your arms above your head.

"Guess we're out of light," you murmured.

Beside you, Kakashi was already tucking his book into the inner pocket of his vest. "Mm. Tragic."

You gave him a playful look. "You can't be that upset. You were pretending not to peek at mine every five minutes."

"I was checking your chapter pacing," he said with mock seriousness. "You skip romantic tension too quickly."

You stood with a small laugh, brushing off your pants. "Well, you're welcome to borrow it and find out how it ends."

Kakashi rose to his feet, the motion fluid. "You offering to lend me your favorite book?"

"Is that sentimental for you?"

"It's practically a proposal."

You huffed a laugh at that, turning to head down the path. "Come on, loverboy. Let's get back before Guy starts another flashmob warm-up on his own."

The forest had gone quiet now—settled into the peaceful hush of twilight. Only your footsteps crunched softly along the path. The air had cooled, and you could see the first stars beginning to dust the dark sky between the trees.

Kakashi walked beside you, his usual slouch a little softer than usual, hands tucked in his pockets. His presence was steady. Comfortable.

"Can I ask you something?" you said, not looking directly at him.

"Always."

"You seem like someone who's always in motion. Missions. Training. Thinking three steps ahead. What do you do when everything's quiet?"

He was silent for a beat too long.

"Read," he said eventually. "Drink tea. Take long walks nowhere in particular."

"That's it?"

"Sometimes," he added, glancing sideways at you, "I sit in a forest with someone interesting and pretend I know how to hold a normal conversation."

You smiled, eyes still on the winding trail ahead. "You're doing better than you think."

They weren't grand admissions—no dramatic confessions or revelations. But somehow, these slow pieces of honesty carried more weight.

And the silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was full. Shared.

By the time you reached the village gates, the lanterns were lit, casting soft pools of gold against the night-dark wood. You walked the last stretch side by side, winding past quiet houses and sleeping gardens.

Then, finally, you stopped outside the modest apartment building Guy was currently sharing with you. You looked up at the second window, light still on.

"Home sweet home," you muttered.

Kakashi followed your gaze. "You really live with him?"

"For now. It's… an experience."

Kakashi's visible eye crinkled. "I can't decide if I'm worried for you or jealous."

Before you could answer, the front door burst open.

"THERE YOU ARE!!" Guy appeared on the step, barefoot, in full green jumpsuit and an apron that said "Hot Noodles, Hotter Youth!" He was holding a ladle.

"I was about to send out a search party! Or start training without you! Or both!" He beamed. "Kakashi! Did you walk her home like a gentleman? So proud of you!"

"…Yeah," Kakashi muttered, posture stiffening instantly. "Something like that."

Guy turned to you, throwing one beefy arm around your shoulder. "Sister! I saved some tofu stew for you! Come! Nourish your youthful soul!"

You blinked. "Wait, you cooked?"

"Of course! You can't build romantic tension on an empty stomach!"

Kakashi made a strange choked sound that was probably meant to be a cough.

You smirked slightly at him over your shoulder. "Thanks for walking me back, Kakashi."

He gave a short nod. "Of course."

You started toward the door, but paused just before Guy could usher you inside.

Turning back, you leaned close—just enough for Kakashi to catch the words.

"Don't be a stranger."

Then you stepped inside, the door closing behind you with a soft click.

Kakashi stood there for a moment, unmoving, in the glow of the porch light. Then, slowly, a small smile tugged at the edge of his mask.

Not a victory. Not a flirt.

Just… the quiet thrill of something beginning.

The next morning began with the scent of something mildly burnt and very suspicious wafting through the small apartment.

You emerged from your room, hair a bit of a mess, squinting toward the kitchen like the hallway itself might be dangerous.

"...Are you cooking again?" you called out, a little wary.

"No!" came Guy's cheerful voice. "I'm crafting sustenance for a legendary breakfast of bonding!"

You froze. "For what?"

Before you could get more answers, Guy appeared from the kitchen with two mismatched mugs and the proud expression of someone who thought "measuring spices" was an attack on creativity.

"I've invited Kakashi!" he declared.

You blinked. "...Here?"

"He's arriving soon," Guy said, handing you a mug filled with what might've once been coffee. "He said yes!"

"Didn't you tell me he never says yes when you ask him to come around," you said, openly shocked. "You've been trying to get him over here for years."

Guy leaned in conspiratorially. "It's because you're here now, dear sister. He's trying to pretend he's casual, but I know Kakashi! I know that man better than I know the burn mark on my own elbow from the Great Curry Incident of '86!"

You opened your mouth, closed it, then sighed. "You're scheming, aren't you?"

"I," Guy said, dramatically placing a hand on his heart, "am facilitating fate."

You didn't have time to respond before there was a knock at the door.

It wasn't loud—just a polite, two-tap knock. But it still made Guy practically vibrate with excitement.

"Rival!!" Guy bellowed, tearing the door open like a game show host. "You came!"

Kakashi stood there, posture relaxed, eye a bit half-lidded with that signature calm detachment—but his presence was a giveaway. He was dressed neatly, hair freshly brushed, and in his hand was a small paper bag from the bakery down the street.

"…I brought croissants," he said simply.

You arched a brow. "Did Guy tell you I hate burnt toast?"

Kakashi gave the smallest tilt of his head. "He said something about 'unifying our breakfast passions through fiery vigor,' so I thought it best to bring backup."

"I knew it!" you said, taking the bag from him gratefully. "You're officially my favorite."

Guy gasped in betrayal.

The three of you settled around the tiny breakfast table—an uneven thing that wobbled every time someone leaned their elbow wrong. There were plates of strange, overly spiced tofu, half-charred eggs, and the glorious safe haven of fresh croissants.

It was chaos.

But oddly charming chaos.

Guy was in rare form, narrating every story with full-body enthusiasm, mimicking battle poses with utensils, and occasionally winking at you so obviously that you had to bite back laughter.

"Remember that time we fought the Mist ninja with nothing but spoons?" he cried.

"There were also three kunai and a scroll," Kakashi corrected dryly.

"Details!" Guy boomed. "But the teamwork! Oh, Sister! You should've seen Kakashi! Leaping across rooftops! Hair in the wind! Eyes blazing!"

You looked at Kakashi, who didn't even look up from spreading jam on his croissant.

"I landed in a dumpster," he muttered.

"Victory dumpster," Guy added.

You leaned your cheek against your palm, smiling. "I can see why you two are rivals. You're like a storm and a rock. Pure chaos meets cool stillness."

Kakashi paused, giving you a sidelong glance. "Which is which?"

"Obviously he's the storm," you said.

"Obviously!" Guy agreed, dramatically swirling his mug. "And you, dear Sister, are the bridge between us! Our youthful harmony!"

Kakashi let out a small sigh, but didn't look all that annoyed. In fact, the corners of his eye crinkled again. Not quite a smile—but close.

After breakfast, the three of you lingered. The morning stretched on. Guy eventually got called away—Lee this time, training request—and he left with the energy of a man who had just placed the final piece of a grand plan into motion.

"I'm leaving you two alone for now!" he called as he grabbed his gear. "Talk about life! Dreams! Romance novels!"

And then he was gone.

The apartment was quiet for the first time all morning.

You and Kakashi sat on the couch, the silence suddenly comfortable again, like slipping into something familiar.

You turned toward him, holding up the bag of croissants.

"You want the last one?"

He gave a slight nod. "Only if we split it."

You broke it in half and handed him his piece.

"So," you said, nudging his knee gently with yours, "what were you expecting when you agreed to this breakfast ambush?"

Kakashi looked at you for a moment, and this time, his eye was unreadable in a different way—not distant, just quiet. Curious.

"Honestly?" he said softly. "I thought it might be… nice."

And it was.

You bit into your half of the croissant, smiling at nothing in particular, the feeling of nice settling warmly in your chest.

Kakashi leaned back against the couch, his arm resting lazily along the top of it. He looked relaxed—but his fingers tapped faintly against the cushion, betraying the low thrum of tension beneath the surface.

You finished your bite, dusting crumbs from your fingertips. "So," you said casually, "was it really the croissants that brought you here?"

He glanced sideways at you. "...Mostly."

You raised a brow, smiling. "Mostly?"

Kakashi didn't answer right away. Instead, he studied you for a moment. Not in that typical, unreadable way—but with something gentler. Focused. Like he was weighing his words instead of hiding behind them.

"I don't usually do this," he said finally.

You tilted your head, curious. "Do what?"

"Get close to people," he admitted. "Not unless I have to. And not like this."

You felt your breath catch just slightly. But you didn't look away.

"I guess I'm... used to people coming and going," he continued, his voice low. "Teams. Missions. Students. Sometimes they stay. Sometimes they don't. It makes it easier not to get too attached."

There was a pause. Then he glanced down at his hands. "But I like seeing you. I like the quiet you bring. The way you don't push. Or expect too much. You're just... here."

You smiled softly. "So, you're saying you like me."

His visible eye squinted slightly. "That wasn't subtle enough?"

"Not even close."

He chuckled under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "I really thought I was being smooth."

"You're lucky I like awkward dorks."

"That's a relief," he murmured.

Then suddenly, his head snapped toward the small clock hanging on the wall. His eye widened.

"…I'm late."

You blinked. "For what?"

"My students," he groaned, already standing. "They were supposed to meet me for training an hour ago."

You stood with him. "They're probably all training themselves by now. Or plotting your downfall."

"That's fair." He moved to the door but paused, turning back.

The way he looked at you then—it was different. Like the mask had slipped just a bit more. Not just the one on his face, but the one he wore every day.

"I'd like to see you again," he said quietly. "Properly this time. Not just... bumping into each other in forests or over Guy's cooking experiments."

You tilted your head, teasing. "Are you asking me out?"

He nodded once. "Dinner. No training, no interruptions. Just us."

Your smile grew warmer. "That sounds perfect."

"I'll pick you up tomorrow?" he offered, already half out the door.

"Looking forward to it."

He lingered one second longer, like he wanted to say something else—but instead, he gave you a final little wave, then disappeared with that signature quiet step of his.

You stood in the doorway for a moment, smiling to yourself.

Behind you, Guy's voice rang from the hallway after he had slipped in through the balcony door.

"WAS THAT A DATE REQUEST I HEARD?"

You sighed, already walking away. "Don't make it weird, Guy."

"Too late!!" he cheered.

But none of that mattered—not really. Because even as the apartment erupted with Guy's celebration of "burning love and youthful victory," your mind stayed with the quiet weight of Kakashi's voice, the softness of his gaze, and the promise of something new.

Maybe a little awkward. Maybe a little late.

But honest.

And finally, just the two of you.

Masterlist

156 notes · View notes

manjirei · 19 days ago

Text

Itachi's love for Sasuke- A collage

Check out my Naruto fics and other stories!

2K notes · View notes

manjirei · 22 days ago

Text

PAIRING : Obito Uchiha x Reader

WORD COUNT : 4.6k

GENRE : Angst / Comfort

SUMMARY : After surviving the Fourth War and being pardoned, Obito meets someone who accepts him despite his scars and past. Jealous of another suitor, Obito believes he has no chance, leading to a heartfelt confession.

CONTENT/WARNING : emotional trauma , self-esteem issues , jealousy and insecurity , fear of rejection

REQUEST : yes!!

The whispers of his survival spread like wildfire through the village. Obito Uchiha had returned—scarred, humbled, and deeply regretful. Pardoned by the Hokage after his role in ending the war, he now roamed the village quietly, helping rebuild the destruction he once caused. Despite the acceptance of some, others couldn’t look past his crimes. He didn’t blame them.

And yet, among the faces that stared or turned away, there was you.

You were a fellow Leaf ninja, a few years younger than him but seasoned in your own right, carrying your share of battle scars both seen and unseen. War had left its mark on everyone, but there was a quiet resilience about you, a determination to rebuild in ways that didn’t just apply to structures but to people as well. That was what led you to cross paths with Obito.

The day had been hot, the kind of sweltering summer afternoon that made sweat bead along your brow within minutes. You had been assigned to help at a construction site near the village outskirts, assisting with repairs to buildings damaged during the war. It was grueling work, but you didn’t mind; there was something cathartic about seeing broken things pieced back together.

You hadn’t known Obito would be there. To be honest, his presence had surprised you, even unsettled you at first. There were still hushed conversations about him—people wary of his return, unsure if someone with such a dark past could ever truly change. But when you saw him that day, hammer in hand, hauling heavy beams like it was nothing, he didn’t look like the man the rumors painted.

He looked tired.

It wasn’t the kind of tired that came from physical exhaustion, though the sweat dripping from his brow suggested he was working harder than anyone else. No, it was deeper than that—a bone-deep weariness that settled in his shoulders, weighed down his every movement. His face, marred by scars that told stories you could only imagine, held an expression so neutral it felt unnatural, as though he was trying not to be noticed. But it was his eyes that tugged at your heart: one dark and brooding, the other hidden beneath the curve of his forehead protector. They carried a profound sadness, an aching guilt he seemed to wear as a second skin.

Despite his quiet demeanor, there was something about him that intrigued you. It wasn’t pity that drove you to approach him—far from it. You saw a man who had been to hell and back but was still here, trying. That resilience, that flicker of humanity buried beneath the weight of his past, pulled at something deep inside you.

At first, your interactions were brief. You’d pass him tools or work alongside him in silence, not wanting to intrude. But you noticed how he always went above and beyond, taking on the hardest tasks without complaint, as though punishing himself through sheer effort. So, you started small.

“Hey,” you said one afternoon, holding out a rice ball wrapped in cloth. He had been working for hours without a break, his shoulders taut with tension. “You’ve been at this all day. Take a break.”

Obito hesitated, his gaze flickering between you and the rice ball. “I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice low and rough.

“Maybe,” you replied, refusing to back down, “but even heroes need to eat.”

A flicker of something crossed his face—confusion, perhaps even amusement—but he took the rice ball. That small gesture broke the ice.

From then on, you made it a point to share lunch with him when you could. Sometimes you’d talk about nothing in particular—mundane things like the weather or the progress on the repairs. Other times, you’d catch glimpses of his dry humor, quick-witted remarks that left you blinking in surprise before laughing. You learned to recognize the subtle quirks of his personality: the way his lips twitched when he was holding back a smile, the rare moments when his eye softened, the low chuckle he gave when something genuinely amused him.

Slowly but surely, he began to open up.

Your lunches turned into longer conversations, and those conversations eventually extended beyond the construction site. You found yourselves meeting up after work, whether it was for a walk through the village or quiet moments shared at the training grounds. There was something easy about being around him, even though you could tell he was still guarded. He didn’t speak much about himself, but the way he listened—truly listened—when you talked made you feel seen in a way that few others could.

What stood out the most was how he never treated you as fragile, even when you mentioned your own scars, both physical and emotional. He didn’t offer hollow reassurances or tell you to move on. Instead, he met your words with quiet understanding, as though he knew all too well what it meant to carry that weight.

And yet, you never pressed him about his past or his scars. It wasn’t because you didn’t care—you cared more than you’d ever admit aloud. But you understood that those were wounds he wasn’t ready to revisit, and you didn’t want to risk pushing him away. Instead, you treated him as he was: a man who had faced his demons and was trying, every day, to move forward.

That was what you admired most about him—his determination to rebuild, not just the village but himself. To you, Obito wasn’t a man defined by his mistakes or his scars. He was someone who had been to the brink and chosen to return, and that choice, that strength, was what mattered.

Unbeknownst to you, your unwavering kindness and acceptance were slowly chipping away at the walls Obito had built around his heart. He began to look forward to your time together, though he didn’t fully understand why. All he knew was that when you were near, the crushing weight of his guilt felt a little lighter, and for the first time in a long time, he began to wonder if he might deserve a second chance—not just at life, but at happiness.

But those thoughts terrified him, too.

And then there was Genma.

The kind of man everyone seemed to like, Genma Shiranui was charming, confident, and effortlessly sociable. His laid-back demeanor and sly grin made him a favorite among your peers, and his quick wit ensured he was the center of attention in any conversation. He carried himself with a relaxed ease, a senbon always dangling casually between his teeth, as if nothing in the world could phase him.

It started innocently enough. Genma would join you during breaks or during missions, offering easy banter and teasing remarks that made the others chuckle. He had a way of turning the most mundane topics into something worth laughing about, and it wasn’t long before people began to notice the way he lingered near you.

“I think he likes you,” one of your friends teased after Genma had walked away, flashing you a crooked smile over his shoulder.

You laughed it off at first, brushing the comment aside. But as days turned into weeks, it became clear that your friend had been right. Genma wasn’t just hanging around—he was seeking you out. His teasing turned playful, his compliments grew more personal, and his invitations to spend time together became more frequent.

It wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, Genma’s attention was flattering, and his company was enjoyable in its own way. But your heart was already leaning toward someone else, someone quieter, someone whose laughter was rarer but infinitely more precious.

Obito.

He was the one you looked for at the end of a long day, the one whose presence steadied you even when words weren’t exchanged. Genma might have been the easier choice, but your feelings for Obito had grown roots, deep and steady, and no amount of charm could sway them.

Obito Noticed

How could he not?

Every time Genma leaned toward you with his easy smile, cracking a joke that made you laugh, Obito felt a pang in his chest—a sharp, familiar ache he couldn’t ignore. The way Genma’s hand would linger on your shoulder during conversations or how your laughter came so freely around him made Obito feel small, like a shadow at the edge of a warm, glowing light. He clenched his fists tightly at his sides whenever he witnessed those moments, the tension in his body coiling until his muscles ached.

He noticed everything, no matter how much he told himself not to look. The way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled, the way Genma’s casual charm seemed to draw you in. And though he never saw anything in your gaze that suggested you were interested in Genma, the doubt gnawed at him. After all, why wouldn’t you choose someone like that?

Obito clutched at the edges of his cloak, his knuckles turning white. He hated the way his mind twisted simple interactions into something more. Every laugh you shared with Genma felt like a dagger, and he cursed himself for caring so much.

What could he possibly offer you?

The thought was like poison, spreading through his veins until it consumed him. He couldn’t stop himself from drawing comparisons. Genma was confident, charismatic, and easygoing, while he—Obito—was a man haunted by his past, his sins carved into his very skin. He wasn’t whole—not physically, not emotionally. When he looked at himself in the mirror, all he could see was the broken, scarred reflection of someone who didn’t deserve happiness. How could someone as radiant as you want to be with him?

Genma, simply was everything Obito wasn’t. Unburdened by guilt or regret. People gravitated toward him naturally, drawn to his humor and ease. It didn’t matter that you didn’t seem to reciprocate Genma’s flirtation. In Obito’s mind, it was only a matter of time before you did. Doubt whispered cruelly in his mind, twisting every interaction you had with Genma into evidence that Obito could never measure up.

And then there were the whispers.

“They’d look good together, don’t you think?”

“Genma’s always had good taste.”

“Finally, someone caught their attention!”

The words echoed in his head long after he overheard them, like stones added to the heavy wall he was building around his heart. Each comment reminded him of what he believed was inevitable: that you and Genma would end up together, and Obito would be left standing on the outside, as he always was

It wasn’t just Genma, though. It was also Rin—or rather, the memory of her.

For years, Rin had been a symbol of everything Obito had wanted but could never have. She had been his light in a world that often felt unbearably dark, and her loss had shaped him in ways he still didn’t fully understand.

For so long, he’d clung to her memory, convinced that his feelings for her were eternal, unchanging. But now, looking back, he realized that what he’d felt for Rin had been rooted in who he was as a boy, not the man he had become. She had been kind, gentle, and nurturing, but those were memories of her, not the reality of who she might have grown to be.

It wasn’t that he loved Rin any less—he always would. But somewhere along the way, he’d stopped feeling the sharp, gut-wrenching ache when he thought of her. Her smile no longer haunted him; it comforted him. She had been a part of his journey, but she wasn’t his destination.

That realization had been both freeing and terrifying. It left him vulnerable, his heart open to new emotions he hadn’t dared to explore in years. And it was you who made him feel that way again.

You weren’t like Rin. You were bold and unyielding, a grounding presence in a world that still felt uncertain to him. Where Rin had been a dream of his past, you were real. You saw him—not as a hero, a villain, or a victim, but simply as Obito. And that terrified him even more than the idea of losing Rin had.

Because this time, it felt real.

It started with small excuses. When you invited him to lunch after working together, he’d mutter, “Sorry, I’ve got something to take care of,” brushing past you without meeting your eyes.

Then, his absences became more noticeable. Where once he’d linger near the training grounds or meet you for tea in the evenings, he was nowhere to be found. And when you did manage to catch him, his responses were clipped, his usual dry humor replaced with a cold, distant politeness that felt like a slap in the face.

At night, lying awake in his small, sparsely furnished apartment, Obito stared at the ceiling, the storm of emotions inside him threatening to tear him apart. His fists clenched and unclenched as he replayed every moment he’d spent with you, every laugh and every glance that felt too precious to hold onto now.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he told himself one night, his voice harsh in the quiet. “She doesn’t see you that way. She shouldn’t.”

But no matter how much he tried to bury his feelings, they refused to die. He’d never realized just how deeply he cared for you until he saw Genma step into the picture. The jealousy that burned in his chest was unlike anything he’d felt before, raw and unrelenting. It wasn’t fair to you—or to Rin, for that matter.

Rin.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he thought about her. If she were here, she’d probably scold him for wallowing. She’d tell him to stop running from his feelings, to stop hiding behind his scars. But was he ready for that? Could he truly allow himself to admit how he felt about you when he couldn’t even look in the mirror without feeling ashamed?

His hands trembled as he pressed them to his face, his scars rough against his fingertips. He wanted to believe that he deserved a chance at happiness, but the doubt was suffocating.

He knew he liked you. That much was undeniable now. But confessing? Letting himself hope? That felt like stepping off a cliff with no guarantee of a safety net. It was easier to pull away, to retreat into himself, than to risk rejection—or worse, acceptance.

Because what if you did feel the same way? What if you chose him, only to realize later that he wasn’t enough?

And so, he stayed silent, letting the wall between you grow higher, even as it tore him apart inside.

It had been weeks since you’d last spent more than a few fleeting minutes with Obito, and the growing distance between you was driving you mad. You had replayed every interaction in your head, searching for some mistake, some moment where you might have done something wrong. But nothing stood out. If he needed space, you could respect that—but not without understanding why he suddenly felt the need to shut you out.

At first, it was little things. You’d ask him to join you for lunch, only to be met with muttered excuses.

“Sorry,” he’d say, not quite meeting your eyes. “I’ve got something to take care of.”

He’d leave without elaborating, and you were left staring after him, unsure of what had just happened.

Then his absences became more pronounced. The moments that used to be yours—quiet talks near the training grounds, evening tea, or even casual conversations after missions—were gone. Instead, you were met with clipped responses and fleeting glances. His usual dry humor, something you’d come to treasure, was nowhere to be found.

“Obito,” you’d call out, hoping to catch his attention, only for him to give you a distracted nod and walk away.

And yet, despite his efforts to pull back, there were moments he couldn’t quite hide. You’d catch him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking, his eye clouded with an emotion you couldn’t place. But the second you turned to meet his gaze, his expression would harden, and he’d look away, his jaw tightening as if the sight of you physically hurt him.

It was maddening.

You couldn’t understand what had changed, but you knew you couldn’t let this go on. Whatever was troubling him, you needed to know. You needed to help.

One evening, after yet another day of avoidance, you finally reached your breaking point.

You found him near the edge of the village, sitting on a stone wall overlooking the forest. The setting sun painted the scene in soft, golden hues, but the tension in the air was anything but serene. His shoulders were hunched, and his head was bowed, his hair casting shadows over his face.

“Obito,” you called, your voice firmer than usual.

He flinched at the sound of your voice but didn’t turn to face you. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly.

“Why not?” you countered, taking a step closer. “Because you don’t want to explain why you’ve been avoiding me?”

He sighed, his hands clenching into fists on his lap. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

“Don’t lie to me, Obito,” you said, crossing your arms. “You’ve barely looked at me for weeks. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were angry with me.”

“I’m not angry,” he said quickly, his voice sharp enough to cut.

“Then what is it?” you demanded, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “What changed? Did I do something wrong?”

He turned his head slightly, just enough for you to see the tension in his jaw. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he muttered, his voice so low you almost missed it.

“Then tell me what’s going on,” you pressed. “Because I can’t keep doing this, Obito. I can’t keep wondering what I did to make you push me away.”

For a moment, he was silent, his fists tightening until his knuckles turned white. Then, finally, he looked up at you, and the pain in his single visible eye took your breath away.

“It’s not about you,” he said, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and something softer, something more vulnerable. “It’s about me.”

“Then explain it to me,” you said, your tone softening. “Because right now, all I know is that you’re shutting me out, and I don’t understand why.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said, his voice laced with self-loathing. “How could you?”

“Try me,” you challenged, stepping closer.

He looked away again, his jaw tightening as he struggled to find the words. “Do you know what it’s like to want something you can’t have?” he asked finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, your brows furrowing in confusion.

“You,” he said, the word escaping him like a confession. He looked up at you, his eye filled with equal parts longing and despair. “I’m talking about you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak.

“Obito…” you began, but he cut you off, shaking his head.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice rough. “Don’t say anything. Just let me finish.”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I’m not…” He hesitated, swallowing hard. “I’m not the kind of person you deserve. I’m broken, scarred—both inside and out. My past is a mess, and it’s always going to be a part of me. Someone like Genma… he’s better for you. He can give you everything I can’t.”

“Genma?” you repeated, your voice filled with disbelief. “You think this is about Genma?”

“Isn’t it?” he asked, his voice rising with frustration. “I see the way he looks at you, the way he makes you laugh. Everyone else sees it too. They think you two are perfect for each other. And why wouldn’t they? He’s everything I’m not.”

“That’s not true,” you said, stepping closer. “Obito, that’s not true.”

He laughed bitterly, his hands clenching into fists again. “Don’t lie to me,” he said. “I’m not blind. I see the way people look at me. Like I’m a reminder of everything they want to forget. Like I don’t belong.”

“That’s not how I see you,” you said, your voice trembling. “I’ve never seen you that way.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, his eye searching yours for any hint of deceit. What he found instead was something he hadn’t allowed himself to hope for: sincerity.

“I don’t care about your past,” you said, your voice steady despite the emotion in your chest. “I care about you. The person you are now. The person who’s trying to move forward, even when it’s hard. That’s the person I want to be with.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said finally, his voice shaking.

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” you replied, stepping closer until you were right in front of him. “And I mean every word.”

He looked down at your joined hands, his own trembling slightly. “I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared of losing you. Of ruining this.”

“You won’t,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “We’ll figure it out together. But you have to let me in.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, his hands unclenched, and he let out a shaky breath.

“I’ll try,” he said, his voice raw with emotion.

“That’s all I ask,” you said, smiling softly.

And as the tension between you began to ease, And in that moment, Obito realized that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to carry the weight of his past alone anymore. He felt a flicker of hope—a hope he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years.

After that evening by the stone wall, you could feel the tension slowly melting between you and Obito. It wasn’t immediate—trust, especially when it’s been broken, doesn’t come easily—but the small steps you both took toward each other started to matter.

One afternoon, you found Obito sitting at the edge of the village again, this time not as a place to isolate himself, but to think. You approached him slowly, the familiar weight of silence hanging in the air.

“Mind if I join you?” you asked, your voice gentle.

Obito looked up, surprised, but smiled faintly. “It’s… fine.”

You settled next to him, your shoulders brushing for just a second. It wasn’t much, but it felt like something—something warm.

“You’ve been looking out at the sunset a lot lately,” you commented softly, “Is it peaceful?”

He nodded. “It makes me think.”

“About what?”

“Everything,” he said simply, his gaze on the horizon. “About mistakes. Things I’ve done. Things I could have done differently.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say. “I think… no matter how hard we try, we can’t change the past. We can only learn from it.”

He glanced at you, then, his expression softening. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “But sometimes it’s hard to move on when the past doesn’t want to let go.”

You reached out, your hand resting on his. He stiffened for a moment, but then relaxed, his fingers curling around yours. There was a silent understanding between you, a shared comfort.

As the days passed, you and Obito started to spend more time together—simple moments that became significant. One evening, after a quiet dinner in the village, you suggested a walk. You knew he’d been keeping to himself a lot, and you wanted to give him space to talk, if he wanted to.

The path through the village was lit by lanterns, their soft glow making the night feel peaceful, almost magical.

“You know,” you started, “I never really got a chance to ask you about your past. You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

Obito’s steps faltered, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But instead, he stopped walking and turned to face you.

“It’s not a story I like to tell,” he admitted, his voice low. “It’s messy… painful. But I think it’s time you knew.”

You stopped, looking up at him. “I’m not going anywhere, Obito. You can tell me as much or as little as you want. I’m here.”

He let out a shaky breath, his hand gently resting on the back of his neck. “I was once someone different. Before all of this… Before the war. I had dreams, I had friends. But it all fell apart. I became someone I didn’t even recognize.”

You took a step closer, your heart aching for him. “But you’re not that person anymore, Obito. I see you. The real you.”

He met your gaze, and for a moment, his eye softened. “Thank you,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “I’ve never had someone look at me like that before.”

Weeks went by, and your bond with Obito continued to deepen, but there were still moments of hesitation. One night, you noticed that he seemed particularly distant during dinner. You weren’t going to let it go this time, not after everything you’d been through.

Afterward, as the two of you sat outside under the stars, you finally spoke.

“Obito, what’s going on?” you asked softly, your voice sincere. “You’ve been pulling away again.”

He sighed deeply, his gaze fixed on the sky. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this… ready for something like this with you.”

“Something like what?”

“A relationship. You deserve someone who can give you everything… I’m not sure I can be that person.”

You reached over, gently brushing your fingers against his. “I don’t need perfection, Obito. I need you. Just you.”

He looked at you, and for the first time, his eyes were completely open. No walls. No hesitations. “I’m scared of hurting you,” he confessed.

“Then don’t,” you whispered. “I’m not asking for you to be perfect. I’m just asking for you to be here with me.”

He nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders slowly melting. “I’m still learning how to be… better. For you. But I’m trying.”

“I can wait,” you said, your voice unwavering. “As long as you’re trying, that’s all that matters.”

4. Building Trust, One Step at a Time

In the following weeks, your relationship with Obito grew more comfortable. You spent more time in the village together—doing mundane things like walking through the market, sharing small meals, and simply talking. But those moments, those quiet, normal moments, became your favorites.

One afternoon, you found him fixing his cloak by the training grounds. He looked up when he heard you approaching.

“Do you need something?” he asked, his usual guarded expression still there, but with a hint of warmth in his eyes.

“I wanted to thank you,” you said, stepping closer. “For letting me in. For trusting me.”

He blinked in surprise. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” you replied. “But I think it’s important. I’m grateful for you, Obito. And for everything we’re building together.”

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. It was a small smile, but one that spoke volumes.

It was a quiet evening again, the two of you sitting side by side beneath the trees in the village. It felt different now, like the bond between you had solidified into something deeper, more meaningful.

Obito turned to you, his expression softer than usual. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

You looked at him, curious. “What is it?”

His voice faltered slightly, the nervousness evident. “Would… would you be willing to let me be your boyfriend?” He didn’t look away, his gaze unwavering despite the vulnerability in his words. “I’m not perfect, and I know I’m not always easy to be around, but I want to try. I want to be with you.”

Your heart swelled in your chest, and for a moment, you could hardly believe it. This was the same Obito who had once pushed you away, the same one who had been so afraid of letting anyone in.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice full of certainty. “I want that too.”

And just like that, everything shifted. Obito leaned in, closing the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a soft, lingering kiss—a promise of more to come.

✎ . . . If you liked this please leave a like, comment and reblog to support me and my works! <3

368 notes · View notes

manjirei · 22 days ago

Text

🥹

my scenarios at night be like

breaking tradition with Kakashi Hatake

genre: soft romance | wedding fluff | gentle humour

You tugged at the stubborn sash, frustration bubbling as the delicate fabric twisted the wrong way for the third time.

“Why is this so complicated?” you muttered, yanking at the knot with little success.

A quiet tap echoed from the door.

“Can I come in?” Kakashi’s familiar voice slipped through the thin paper door.

“You’re not supposed to see me before the ceremony,” you shot back, still wrestling the attire.

A pause. Then—slide.

Kakashi stepped inside, his calm gaze immediately finding the tangle of fabric in your hands.

“I’m pretty sure that’s just a superstition,” he said, leaning casually against the frame.

You huffed, tugging at the knot harder. “It’s about tradition, Kakashi.”

He crossed the room in a few steps, brushing your hands aside with gentle confidence. “Here. Let me.”

Words formed on your tongue, but you swallowed them, letting his fingers work through the mess. His touch was deliberate, unhurried, until the sash finally fell into place.

“You’re overthinking it,” he murmured, smoothing the sleeves over your shoulders.

“I just… want everything to be perfect,” you admitted, your teeth grazed the inside of your cheek.

Kakashi’s eye softened, his head tilting slightly. “It already is. You’re marrying me, after all.”

You laughed, swatting at his arm. “A little full of yourself, aren’t you?”

He leaned in just a touch closer, his voice warm and low. “Confident.”

Heat prickled at your ears as his hand lingered at your waist.

“I should kick you out now,” you mumbled.

“Mm. Or…” His lips brushed against your temple through the mask, his breath soft against your skin. “You could let me stay a little longer.”

You shook your head but didn’t step away.

Maybe tradition could wait.

Kakashi’s heart thudded beneath his composed exterior.

For someone who lived most of his life in shadows, standing here felt unreal.

He something think he didn’t deserve this—not after everything. Yet here you were, flustered and radiant, fighting with wedding attire like it was an unruly enemy. You make sure this wasn’t the case.

His fingers stayed at your waist, adjusting the fabric with more care than necessary. If he was honest, he didn’t want to let go.

You shifted, brushing at the sleeve nervously. “You’re staring.”

Kakashi blinked, his hand still resting against you.

“I was just thinking…” His voice lowered as his hand trailed lightly down your arm. “You look beautiful. I’m not sure how I convinced you to marry me, but I’m not about to question it.”

Air snagged in your throat, eyes lifting to meet his. “Kakashi—”

He smirked beneath his mask. “What? I can’t compliment my bride?”

Your cheeks warmed as you tried to step away, but his grip tightened just enough to keep you there.

“I mean it,” he said softly. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me.”

You glanced away, the sincerity in his voice making it hard to hold his gaze.

“Stop that,” you mumbled. “I’m going to mess up my makeup.”

Kakashi chuckled, pressing his masked lips lightly to your temple. “I’ll fix it for you if you do.”

Flustered, you shoved him gently toward the door. “Go, or I really will kick you out.”

His touch stayed, leaving behind the faintest trace of his warmth.

Lucky doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Kakashi had faced S-ranked missions and rogue ninjas, but standing at the altar made his palms sweat beneath his gloves.

Calm down.

Across the courtyard, you stood calm and radiant, while he felt like the air had been knocked from his lungs.

How did I even get here?

The ceremony was simple—quaint, Kakashi had called it. Close friends, familiar faces, and a soft breeze that carried your vows through the quiet air.

The reception? A different story.

Naruto stood front and center, already halfway through an impromptu speech, cup raised high.

“Honestly, Kakashi-sensei, I didn’t think this day would ever come!” Naruto grinned, scratching his head. “I figured you’d just keep reading those weird books forever.”

The crowd chuckled, and you shot Kakashi a glance. His shoulders stiffened slightly, but his hand slipped over yours beneath the table—a silent plea for patience.

Naruto wasn’t done. “But, you know… I guess if anyone deserves someone like (Y/N), it’s you. You’ve been through a lot. And—uh—yeah.” He laughed awkwardly. “I’m not great at this, but I’m happy for you, Kakashi-sensei. Really.”

Kakashi exhaled, the corner of his eye crinkling in quiet gratitude.

Then Guy stood.

“AH, KAKASHI!” he bellowed, tears already streaming down his face as Lee patted him on the back. “My eternal rival has found love at last! We’ve waited for this day for so long!”

Kakashi pinched the bridge of his nose. “Guy, please—”

“But to see you embrace the flames of love! Our rivalry will transcend into new heights—marriage challenges! Couples’ retreats!”

“Guy,” Kakashi groaned, though the hand beneath the table remained steady in yours.

The laughter didn’t end there.

Tsunade swirled the sake in her cup, her cheeks tinged pink.

“I always thought you’d marry your job,” she mused, smirking. “Turns out (Y/N)’s the only one stubborn enough to put up with you.”

The room erupted again, and Kakashi chuckled softly beside you.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he murmured just for you.

His eye met yours, the world around him fading into a blur.

This wasn’t just love—it was peace.

As the ceremony began, Kakashi’s hand found yours, his thumb brushing gently over yours. You squeezed back, grounding him.

When the moment arrived, Kakashi stood before you, his hands at your waist, his mask just inches away.

You smiled up at him, fingertips brushing over the fabric.

“They’re waiting,” you whispered.

With an exaggerated sigh, Kakashi tugged the mask down, letting it pool around his chin.

The courtyard fell silent.

Naruto’s cup slipped from his hand.

Kakashi kissed you, staying just long enough to bask in the quiet shock.

When he pulled back—mask firmly in place—he glanced at the stunned crowd.

“Got you.” he replied as you smile at him.

464 notes · View notes

manjirei · 22 days ago

Text

Fandom: Naruto Reader-insert: Gender neutral Featuring: Itachi, Kakashi, Iruka, Yamato, Neji, Sai, Gaara, Shikamaru & Kimimaro Warnings: None Headcanon: Their reaction to their s/o giving them flowers 🌸🌹

(a/n): Taking a break from studying for my finals to write this lil HC~ 💜 Honestly, coming back to this fandom after 15 years feels great! Also… feels old man. I was 13 when I first started watching this, then I dropped it and now I’m back and… well, I’ve found quite a bouquet of husbandos 🙈

Keep reading

1K notes · View notes

manjirei · 22 days ago

Text

Of forgotten Anniversaries and unexpected Gifts - Gaara x Reader

You wake up to an empty bed, the place next to you cold.

For a minute, you stay where you are, one hand resting under the other pillow.

But you have to get up, even if you don’t want to.

The blue sky is taunting you, promising a stifling heat. You dress for it, anticipating the worst.

The kitchen is empty, only the dirty dishes in the sink indicate that you’re not living alone.

With a grimace, you scrub the plates down. It’s always the job of the last one to get up and Kankuro has made it a habit to get up extra early to get out of the chore.

At least he made sure to leave enough Porridge for you to also have breakfast.

You meet him where you expected him to be, hunched over yet another puppet in his workshop.

Two knocks on the doorframe to alert him.

“What?” He asks without looking up.

“Have you seen your brother?”

“Why are you asking me? He’s your husband.”

“He didn’t leave a note, I just thought-”

Kankuro looks up now. You’re pretty sure he’s measuring you, reading you in a way you don’t want to be read.

“He’s the Kazekage. I’d look for him in the tower.”

“Thanks,” you mumble awkwardly before turning away to leave.

“Be nice to him,” your brother-in-law yells after you. As if you’d ever been anything else.

“Lord Kazekage is in a meeting,” a young Chunin declares with an air of arrogance.

“For how long?”

“I don’t have the permission to tell you that.”

Someone calls your name just as your grip on your bags tighten. You can’t sock a Chunin in the face but that doesn’t mean you don’t want to.

Matsuri walks down the long hallways, smiling.

“What brings you here?”

“I wanted to see my husband,” you point out.

“Oh, Gaara-sama? He’s in a meeting until nine but then he should have a fifteen-minute break before the next meeting.”

The Chunin pales at your conversation.

“You’re…?”

“Yes,” you tell him pointedly.

“You are not dressed in-”

“I am dressed in standard uniform because I have work to get to. Do you think I just sit at home and stare out the window?”

Matsuri’s hand on your shoulder tells you that you’ve been a bit too harsh on the poor guy.

“You’re excused,” you tell him and he slinks away as quickly as he can.

“Everything okay?” Matsuri asks as soon as the guy is out of sight.

“Just peachy,” you breathe out through your nose.

“I… I’d better get going then. When’s Gaara’s Lunch break?”

“He usually doesn’t take one. Rice cakes are served during meetings so if he gets hungry, he eats those but he usually just eats in the mornings and evenings.”

You purse your lips, thinking.

“When does he get out?”

“He should be done at six, but sometimes meetings run later. Do you want me to notify you?”

“I don’t know.” You fight with the uniform that suddenly feels too tight.

“I’ll... I’ll get going.”

“What are your plans for today?”

“I was going to visit the outposts. I was planning on doing that since I got here but everything else kept me busy.”

“I’ll accompany you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I will,” she smiles. “Come on, let’s get going. It’s going to get even hotter and we want to use the shadows as long as we have them.”

“Today is your anniversary,” Matsuri comments on your first break.

“Yes.”

“Is it weird?”

You know exactly what she means and her direct approach is exactly what you need. It’s not without reason that Matsuri has quickly become the person closest to you in this village.

“Yes, it’s weird.” You purse your lips. “We’ve been married for a year but living together… it’s been barely three months now. Everyone has a set routine, too. Don’t disturb Kankuro while he’s cooking, or working on his puppets, or painting his face. Don’t eat anything without asking first, because it could be poisonous. Don’t touch Gaara without warning him first.”

“I know it’s hard to believe sometimes, but Gaara really does care for you.”

“I know,” you nod with a heavy heart. “I know. It’s just… I don’t think he knows what being married means sometimes.”

“I think he doesn’t know he’s allowed to exist as a human being too. He never complains when he gets scheduled for meetings back to back. I’m pretty sure he’d love to have a Lunch break.” Matsuri huffs. “But his secretary is a bitch.”

You gasp. She laughs.

“She really is. She’s some old hag that worked for his dad. Oh, please, can you tell her off? If you tell her to give him a lunch break and an early evening, she will have to listen. You’re the Lady Kazekage now.”

You purse your lips. It does sound appealing.

“How about…” You hesitate for a second. “How about we plan a celebration? For my anniversary? I could surprise Gaara with it. A weekend just for the two of us.”

“Oh, I’m sure that would be lovely. You could take him to the bathhouse. It’s a rare treat for anyone and I’m not sure he’s ever been there.”

“A bathhouse?” The idea does sound appealing, you have to admit.

You return to Suna in the late afternoon, the sun still baking the village, even though the shadows are now growing longer and longer.

The guards greet you with welcoming smiles.

Not everyone in Suna likes you, but you can feel them slowly warming up to you.

Your family’s roots are just as strongly tied to Suna as those of the Kazekage Family. But when it became clear that they’d never rule the village, your grandfather relocated the whole Clan to a smaller village at the border of the Land of the Wind, easily taking over the reigns there.

Marrying Gaara has been just as much a political decision as it has been a romantic one.

After all, it’s hard not to fall in love with Gaara, with the calm confidence he exudes and the gentleness he treats you with - well, when he’s not drowning in work

You stop at the market on your way home, buying groceries, snacks and, following an instinct, a Cacti you haven’t seen yet in your husband’s collection.

But Gaara’s not home yet.

Ashikaga-san furrows her brows at you when you enter.

You changed into more formal clothing for this visit, the gold and diamonds glittering on your hands and neck. The jewelry isn’t technically necessary for your outfit, but you’ve noticed how often it humbles the people trying to pick a fight with you.

“I want to see my husband,” you tell her.

“He’s in a meeting.”

“And when was that meeting supposed to end?”

“It’s going to end when it’s going to end.” She sneers.

You smile but it’s more like baring your teeth at her.

“When was the last time he had a break?”

“He used the restroom an hour ago.”

“Do I have to repeat my question?”

She huffs. “It’s a normal workday for a Kazekage, I don’t see why you should have a problem with that.”

“How old did the last Kazekage get?” You ask, your tone sweet.

She immediately bristles. “That has nothing to do-”

“I disagree. Overworking the person you should be assisting isn’t going to give you brownie points.”

“Well I can’t end the meeting now, can I?” She hisses back.

“No,” you agree. “You can’t do that. But you do have influence. Let’s start with clearing his weekend first, shall we? I’m going to pick him up around noon, so make sure there are no appointments after that.”

“But-”

You glare at her until her mouth closes again and she nods.

“I know he’s busy, so how about we plan fifteen-minute breaks every two hours and half an hour for Lunch?”

Her mouth is pulled into a straight line as she goes through his calendar under your watchful eyes.

You know very well that Gaara’s an early riser. Not to mention that the early hours of the morning are the ones most enjoyable in the desert. It wouldn’t make sense to force him to push those early appointments further back only to be able to curl into him in the morning. But now you might have the weekends to do that, at least.

“And now,” you pull a little note out of your bag, “you’ll go into that meeting and hand him this note.”

Ashikaga-san doesn’t look the least bit happy to be ordered around this much, but she does as she is told.

Only fifteen minutes later different officials file out of the Kazekage’s office, leaving only Gaara behind, his hair mussed and his face pale with exhaustion.

“Hey,” you knock lightly against the doorframe. “Can I come in?”

“Yes,” he nods, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Come in. Close the door.”

You round his table and take a seat on the armrest of his chair, leaning into him.

“Hey,” you whisper, only now feeling just how much you’ve been yearning to be close to him.

“Hey.”

“Can I touch you?”

“Yes,” he nods, catching you as you slide onto his lap, your arms circling his shoulders.

You sit like that for a while, basking in each other's presence.

“I missed you,” you tell him quietly, face hidden against his neck. “The bed is cold without you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are,” you hum. “But…”

“But?”

“I am like a plant too,” you pull back to look into his eyes, pale green and beautiful. “I’ll starve if you don’t give me your attention.”

“I’m sorry.” Gaara presses a kiss against your temple, the tip of your nose, your lips. “I’m trying to be better.”

“Do you know what today is?”

“Wednesday?”

You smile ruefully. “It’s our anniversary.”

“Oh.” His brows crinkle. “Has it really been a year already?”

“It has. Though I think we could celebrate our marriage twice. On the day we married and on the day I moved in.”

“Celebrate it.” He repeats these words as if he’s tasting them for the first time. “How?”

“Well,” you get comfortable with a smile. “For one, the husband has to stay home and spend time with his spouse.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Like staying in bed longer or taking a bath together. Breakfast in bed is also highly encouraged.”

Gaara’s lips stretch into a shy smile.

“You do like staying in bed longer,” he points out and you nudge his shoulder with your head. “It’s great,” you tell him with a smile. “You should try it sometime.”

“What else?” He asks.

“Well, kisses. Lots of them. I think at least a hundred.”

“A hundred?” You can hear the laughter trying to spill but he’s keeping it at bay. “Only a hundred?”

“Mhm, it can be more though. As if there could ever be enough kisses, you know?”

“I know.” His right hand has found your hip, his thumb drawing circles into the fabric and the skin underneath. “Go on.”

“Gifts, too. Not that I need much, but flowers are usually nice. Or jewelry.” You look down at the diamonds adorning your hands, set into intricate golden chains that are wound around your wrists and fingers, up your arms and around your neck.

“That reminds me,” you pull a little sachet out of your bag. “I got you a gift. Well, I got you a few gifts, but this is your first.”

His shy smile is back, quivering at the edges.

Gaara opens the sachet slowly, pulling out a single golden ring.

“And here I thought I’d get some chains,” he teases.

“Maybe later,” you hum, taking his hand and slipping the ring on. “When I’ve properly measured your shoulders. But this ring will remind you that you’re married.”

He lifts his hand, looking at the evening sun reflecting off the gold.

“Thank you.”

“Now,” you lean back to press a single kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Are you ready for tonights celebration? I set up a table in your garden. Just the two of us, your Cacti and a nice bottle of wine. I won’t keep you too long, I know you need to get up early tomorrow.”

Gaara hesitates.

“What is it?”

“I want to give you more,” he admits, the grip he has on you tightening. “I don’t want you to starve.”

“How about… How about we leave now and talk about the details over Dinner? I do have something planned for this weekend.”

He agrees quietly, his hand never letting go of yours.

Monday

You wake up to an empty bed, the place next to you cold.

For a minute, you stay where you are, one hand resting under the other pillow.

When you pull it toward you, you find a single sand rose sitting in it.

Carefully you place it in the vase on your nightstand. So far you’ve collected five of them, one for each day since your anniversary.

The blue sky promises a hot day, but you don’t mind it much. You’ve been able to cool down over the weekend at the bathhouse, already planning your next visit.

The kitchen is empty and you hum a tune as you do the dishes, prepare Lunch for you and Gaara, and because you feel generous today, one for Kankuro as well.

Two knocks at the doorframe of his workshop.

“I made Lunch for you.”

“Oh,” his head snaps up. “Thank you. Is it poisoned?”

“Not this time,” you tell him with a smile. “But I hope you like pickled Onions.”

Kankuro grimaces. “Not particularly.”

“Too bad. The one making Lunch picks the dish.”

“Like I’m going to start making Lunch for you.”

“Too bad, you better get used to pickled Onions then.”

You visit the hospital today, promising to come back in the afternoon to help out after Lunch.

Ashikaga-san doesn’t look happy to see you, eyeing the Bento Boxes in your hold with thinly veiled disdain. But you don’t care about her.

Gaara’s smile at your sight is more important to you.

“How was your morning?” You ask, settling on his lap instead of one of the chairs. You raise the chopsticks to feed him pickled Onion.

“Too early,” he reminisces. “I would have liked to stay in bed.”

“I wouldn’t have complained,” you take a bit for yourselves. “Yeez, these are strong.”

“Yes,” he smiles. “I like them like that.”

“I was thinking about working part-time at the hospital.” You tell him more about your visit, opening your mouth in between sentences when he feeds you as well.

“I agree with your decision,” he nods his head to emphasize. “Though I might have a few other missions in between for you. We got some interesting news today, but I haven’t had the chance to check it out yet.”

“Tell me about it when you did,” you lean for a last kiss, knowing full well that Ashikaga-san is waiting on the other side of the door, anxiously checking the clock.

Matsuri reaches you shortly before you’re meant to leave for the night.

“Hey,” everything about her, from the way she holds herself to the way her brows are furrowed, is telling you something is up.

“Yes?”

“Gaara-sama asks to meet you at home? Right now, if possible.”

“What has he gotten up to now?” You ask, but she doesn’t answer, just hands you a note.

Gaara’s handwriting is a familiar sight.

“I’ve gotten you a belated gift. I hope you’ll like him.”

You sigh. “He better not have gotten a dog.”

You spot Gaara first, and the streak of red on his cheek.

“You got hurt?!” You reach for it and he lets you, no sand coming in between.

The gash heals quickly under your hands.

“What is going on?” You ask, breathless and confused.

“The interesting news I mentioned… it’s a boy, a sand user as well. He’s… He’s not used to kindness.”

You can read more hiding in the depths of his eyes.

“You’ve taken him in?”

Gaara lifts your hand, the one you gave him in marriage. Even without the gold chains covering it, you know what it means when he kisses the knuckles on your hand.

“Please?” He asks and you nod.

It’s Gaara after all. He never asks for anything.

He leads you down the hallway to the guestroom, your hand in his.

“This,” he explains as he opens the door slowly, “is Shinki. Shinki, this is my wife. She will be your mother.”

Now with companion piece

322 notes · View notes

manjirei · 22 days ago

Text

you, me, and the sheep | hatake kakashi.

wc: 1.1k | pure fluff | warnings: none! my first fic on this account! i was overwhelmed with love for kakashi today so i wanted to get this out to help me get back into writing <3

Today’s mission did not go as planned. That much is clear, especially as you approach the front door of your boyfriend’s home worn out and bruised. As one of the more experienced shinobi in the mission’s assigned squad, you were appointed to guide your team to the proper location of the target. However, the mission report neglected to inform you that the target had bought protection from a small, nearby village.

Luckily, there were no fatalities, but your fellow shinobi, Asuma, received a hefty injury to his leg. You’d just come back from the medical ward and were looking forward to seeing your lover.

You twist the doorknob and quickly take notice of the dim lights and calming atmosphere. Surely he’s not already asleep, you think. But just in case, you quietly slink through the doorway and shrug off your olive green vest.

“Everything alright?”

His voice startles you at first, but you calm yourself once you see Kakashi, clad in a simple black top and grey sweatpants, drying his damp hair with a white towel. Despite how long you’ve been together, and even longer friends, you think you’ll never quite get over how beautiful he is without his mask.

You fold your vest over a kitchen chair and approach his figure. Immediately, he welcomes you into his embrace, warm from his previous shower.

“Long day then?” He asks, giving you a soft peck atop your hair.

You wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face into his neck. “The longest.”

“I can tell,” he begins, “by the way you’re clinging onto me.”

You push yourself away, not enough to leave his arms but enough to see his face. “What? You can’t say you don’t enjoy it at least a little bit.”

Kakashi hums, tapping a finger to his chin as if he were having to consider it. “Hm, perhaps I do.” He wraps his arms around you a smidge together. “Are you going to tell me what happened or do I have to guess?”

The playful grin on your face is swiftly replaced by one of embarrassment and disappointment. “It was my fault. Lady Tsunade appointed me as the captain of the squad. Asuma got hurt because of me. I should have been more prepared.” You turn away from him, hoping and praying that he doesn’t see the tears filling your waterline.

Kakashi’s expression softens and he gently guides your chin to him, coaxing you to return his gaze. “It was an honest mistake. It happens.” He cards a hand through your hair, trying to give you comfort the best way he knows how. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, dear. You didn’t let this happen on purpose. We know that, and I’m sure Asuma knows too.”

You bury yourself further into his arms and clutch the fabric of his tee. “Let’s run away together. Just you and me.”

He chuckles, allowing his fingers to dance along the length of your arm. “Run away, huh? And where would we go?” His head tips back and his eyes close, allowing himself to be completely immersed in this new fictional world. One so safe and warm, a domestic life the two of you could never truly have.

“The countryside maybe?” You reply, playing with the silver hair at the base of his neck. “You like sheep, hm?”

Kakashi’s heart trembles. “Yeah, I do like sheep.” His eyes crinkle with the wide grin resting on his lips. “The countryside does sound nice. Just you and me, and some sheep.” The smell of the eucalyptus body wash he gradually stole from you washes over you.

“Just imagine it… you at the top of a hill, surrounded by sheep. The warm sun on your skin gives you a nice, summer glow.” His voice waivers from one tied to this reality to a more soothing one, a Kakashi that is far away from the gruesome reality he knows. “The sky would be a light blue, the clouds big, fluffy, and white. You’d look stunning.” His hands now trace delicate patterns down the small of your back.

“Me? Get a load of yourself, handsome,” You say, resting your palms against his cheeks. They warm under your words. “The most handsome shinobi in all the land.” You finish the sentiment with a soft kiss on the top of his nose.

He hums, covering your hand with his own larger one. “You’re not so bad yourself.” He grips your hand, placing peck after peck down the inside of your wrist. It’s your turn to blush. His other hand grips the plush of your hip, a bit rougher than before.

“Let’s get married.”

His actions falter, but just for a moment. He stands a bit straighter, eyebrows quirking at your words like he’s not sure what to exactly make of it. “Are you serious?” It’s not that he hasn’t thought about it before, but he’s surprised that you would bring up such a topic so suddenly. It’s different than your usual banter. He knows you're being serious, but he needs to hear you say it. That you want to get married to him. That you want him.

“Of course.” You gently remove his hands from their places on your body and guide him to your shared bedroom. “Do you think Lady Tsunade would be the officiant?”

He snickers at the thought. “I have no doubt she’d take it seriously,” he muses. “But I do think she’d take the opportunity to embarrass the hell out of us, as payback for all the headaches we’ve caused her.”

Grinning, you push him down onto the fleece duvet below. He releases a soft grunt and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you to straddle his waist and lower torso. “And then there’d be the wedding night. Just you and me,” he murmurs, his voice low and sultry as he looks up to you. His hands wander up and down your hips, pinching every so often.

“And the sheep?” you ask as you press one, two, three kisses across his face.

Kakashi nods his head, breathing hitching at the sudden onslaught of affection from you. “Of course. I’m sure they’d love to be a part of our special night.” He teases.

You lay your head against his chest, feeling every beat and thrum of his heart. His hand drifts up the cradle the back of your head, guiding you to a more comfortable position. He lets out a content sigh and threads his fingers through your hair once more. Soft and tender, just the way you like. “You know, I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else but you.”

He expects a response but is met with your breathing reaching a soft, comfortable pattern. Kakashi smiles, resting his lips against your forehead. The simple idea of him being able to live the rest of his life with you is enough to let any worry wash away, and he drifts to sleep with you by his side.

182 notes · View notes

manjirei · 22 days ago

Text

❛ DON'T CARE !! ❜

Genin! Sasuke Uchiha X Fem!Genin!Reader

WC; 1k+ | !MDNI! | TW/CW; no triggers apart from sasuke himself, x fem reader, reader is apart of team 7, reader is a genin, reader is a ninja

⋆·˚ ༘ *𝑅𝐸𝒬𝒰𝐸𝒮𝒯 :: (filled request) Reader and Sasuke who are on team 7 together, with Sakura getting jealous that Sasuke prefers reader over her. Sakura always tries to butt in on their convos but Sasuke just ignores her or tells her off. 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼 love your work so much 🤍🤍🤍 - ANON

m.list | naruto/boruto m.list | uchiha m.list

You and Sasuke just finished a training session in combat so you were sweaty and gross. Although, Sasuke didn't really want you to leave him, you could feel it, that he wanted you to stay. So now, your legs swing gently from a small stone wall near the training ground. Next to you, sat Sasuke who was leant forward with his elbows propped on his knees.

You shoot a glance over at Sasuke, who is staring out into the training field, his eyes distant. A stifled smile quivers at the corners of your mouth, his one-track mind amuses him, he's just so serious. You can't say that, though, before the sound of footsteps reaches your ears and the comfortable silence is broken by a familiar voice. "Sasuke-kun!" Sakura's overly happy voice broke the peaceful silence.

You bite back a sigh as she sprints up, stopping right in front of the two of you. "Do you want to train with me later?" Sakura asks, eyes wide and hopeful staring only at Sasuke. You can't help but feel a slight awkwardness as she comes to the two of you, Sasuke doesn't want her here. She doesn't even glance your way, and though you're used to that, it's hard not to feel you are some sort of third wheel when she's present.

However, Sasuke is normal, where he does not even look remotely fazed by her presence.

Not even bothering to look up from where he sits. "No," Sasuke answers shortly, his tone uninterested. You send a sideways glance to Sakura in time to catch her face falling, though she covers well, forcing a tight smile. "B-but... we're teammates, right? It'd be good to practice together," she presses her voice sounding as if she was pleasing now. This time, Sasuke simply lifts his head to give her a sideways glance. "If I wanted to train, I'd ask her," he replies annoyed, his head motioning towards you without missing a beat. Sakura's false smile falters, and her gaze-really catches yours for the first time, in that second, the flicker of jealousy is there in the eyes before it is hidden fast.

"Oh, right," she mutters, thrown off clearly by Sasuke's dismissiveness which shouldn't be odd because he always does it... It isn't the first time Sakura tried to force her way into your conversations with Sasuke. She's always been relentless in ways concerning him, and that determination to be near him more often than not leaves you in this position. "Well, maybe the three of us can train together?" she attempts again. But Sasuke's having none of it. "No," he says sharply, finally twisting his head fully to look at her. "I don't want to train with you.: The bluntness hangs in the air, and you watch in discomfort as Sakura's face twists with hurt, her eyes darting briefly between you and Sasuke. "Sasuke-kun, I—" she starts, but he cuts her off.

"I want to talk to her alone," he adds.

She looks down to the ground, her cheeks red in embarrassment.

"Oh... okay," she stammers out in barely a whisper.

She lingers for a moment as if waiting for Sasuke to take back his words, but when nothing is said, she turns on her heel and starts to walk away, her shoulders slumped in defeat. You feel a little guilty just watching her go. "You didn't have to be that harsh," you tell him, turning back to Sasuke, an eyebrow raised at him. He shrugs. "She was being annoying," he says simply. You laugh and shake your head. "You know, there's such a thing as being nice, Sasuke." "Hn," he grunts, falling back onto his hands and tilting his head up to the sky. "It's not my problem if she can't take a hint. You roll your eyes, but can't help the small smile that plays on your lips. That's just direct, sometimes a bit too much, but honest. It's one of the reasons you're able to sit with him like this and feel utterly at ease. Unlike others, you don't have to guess what he's thinking.

But sometimes, you don't know what he's thinking, you wonder if he is going to change. "Still, you really didn't have to shut her down like that in front of me. I feel like I'm caught in the middle of your weird rivalry," you tease, crossing your arms over your chest. Sasuke utters a soft "tch," one that is barely worthy of a response in itself. He turns to you sideways. "I'd rather be here with you." The words catch in your throat, and for a moment, you're not sure if you've heard him right; he said it so nonchalantly. Still, with Sasuke, you know there's a weight attached to those words. So used to him being cold and distant from anyone else, but he's always been different from you. You let a soft smile spread across your face, and you lean into him lightly with your shoulder. "Wow, the great Uchiha Sasuke actually enjoys someone's company. What's next? You're going to start giving me compliments?" He gives you that look. "Don't push it." You giggle, falling back onto your hands once more. Sasuke shifts beside you, his arm brushing yours. It was a tiny, almost imperceptible gesture, but it set your heart racing. Neither of you does anything to pull away. You look across the training grounds to find Sakura staring at you, her face red with jealousy. "You know," you say after some time, breaking the silence, "you should try being nicer to her sometimes. She's not all bad." Sasuke says nothing at first, and for one moment you think he's just going to ignore that comment of yours. But then he speaks, quieter than a moment before. "I don't care about her." You turn your head towards him slightly, your brow furrowing a bit. "Then what do you care about? There is a long pause, Sasuke meets your gaze, his dark eyes unreadable just like they have always been. You almost think he is going to avoid the question, but then his lips open ever so slightly. "You," he says, barely above a whisper. Your heart stutters, and for once, you are at a loss for what to say. Sasuke doesn't look away, he stares into your eyes with a serious intensity that somersaults your stomach. You finally smile after ages have passed, your voice soft. "You're such a softie, Sasuke. He glares at you, his eyes flashing-but the faint blush dusting his cheeks is a dead giveaway. You laugh softly, light and easy, and he lets out a low "tch," turning his head away, not before you catch the barest hint of a smile on his lips.

Do not copy, steal, modify, use for AI, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

m.list | naruto/boruto m.list | uchiha m.list

taglist :: @enouche @lovelyandproblematic

@sugu-love @why-are-you-still-awake

1K notes · View notes

manjirei · 27 days ago

Text

im crying this is so good

PAIRING : Sasuke Uchiha x GN!Reader

GENRE : hurt / comfort

WORD COUNT : 4.7k

SUMMARY : Since childhood, you were Sasuke’s quiet confidant—the one who never chased him, yet never left. When he chose revenge over the village, you were left with only memories and a lingering hope. Now, years later, fate has reunited you. As old wounds heal and emotions resurface, Sasuke is torn between the life he once wanted and the connection he can’t ignore. Will he finally let someone in, or is his heart too hardened by the past?

CONTENT / WARNINGS : emotional themes, grief trauma, abandonment issues, mild angst, slow-burn, heartfelt apologies, character growth, confession, no "y/n” mentioned

SONG : Sweater Weather - The Neighbourhood

Your friendship with Sasuke began in a way that was unspoken, almost inevitable. You both belonged to prominent families, but there was no pressure to “be close” or to constantly seek each other’s company. The bond felt natural—two kids who understood each other’s silence, especially after Sasuke’s life changed forever.

After the Uchiha massacre, Sasuke withdrew from almost everyone, but you kept your distance in a way that felt respectful. You didn’t try to force conversations with him the way others did, and he seemed to appreciate that. You’d sit beside him sometimes in the academy, both of you content to let the quiet settle around you. When you did speak, it was about small things, or questions that didn’t pressure him. Occasionally, you’d ask, “Are you doing okay?” or, “Anything on your mind?” He rarely answered with more than a nod or shrug, but there was a weight in his eyes, as if he wanted to say something he didn’t know how to.

Once in a while, after classes ended or during breaks, you’d train together. Sasuke’s determination was fierce, as if each session was a step toward avenging his clan. He hardly talked about his family, but you noticed the way his expression changed, focused and almost haunted. And when he sat beside you to catch his breath, you’d make an effort to bring some lightness, whether through a quiet observation or a small joke. Sometimes he’d respond with the faintest of smirks, a rare sight that only a handful of people had seen. You might not have broken down his walls, but he trusted you enough to let you be there. That, in itself, was something you cherished.

—

As time went on, and as other classmates like Sakura and Ino developed crushes on Sasuke, your bond with him stayed steady, untainted by infatuation. While others would compete for his attention, you shared a camaraderie that didn’t need grand gestures. It was in the small moments: the shared glances across the classroom, or the way he’d wait an extra second after a sparring match, silently making sure you were okay before nodding and walking away.

Sasuke, in his own way, came to cherish this friendship too, though he’d never say it. He appreciated that you didn’t press for answers, nor did you treat him like a prize. Instead, you were just there, steady and patient, giving him the respect he couldn’t find in others.

When he was placed in Team Seven, and you were assigned to another team, things changed. Yet, there was still that comfort in knowing you’d both be around the village, even if on separate missions. Occasionally, your teams would cross paths on joint assignments, and while he remained his usual reserved self, you noticed a small change in him when he spoke to you. Sasuke would look at you a bit longer, and his tone softened just slightly in a way that wasn’t there with Naruto or Sakura. He wouldn’t admit it, but your presence grounded him, giving him a fleeting sense of normalcy that no one else could provide.

On one particularly difficult mission, your teams had been caught in an ambush. You saw a rare flash of worry in his eyes when you were hit, even though he quickly masked it with his usual stoic demeanor. Later, as the teams rested and regrouped, he’d walked over to where you sat, silently offering a water canteen before looking out into the distance, as if pretending the exchange had never happened. But in that gesture, in that rare flicker of concern, you saw that he cared—even if he didn’t fully understand why.

The day he decided to leave, he sought you out—not under the cloak of night as he would with the others, but in broad daylight. Something about your friendship made him want to give you a proper farewell, even if he wasn’t sure what that farewell should look like. The two of you walked to a quiet part of the village, a place where you’d once trained together as kids.

There was a heaviness in the air, a feeling that you couldn’t quite place. Sasuke’s gaze was distant, but something in his expression seemed conflicted, almost vulnerable.

“Next time we see each other…if that ever happens…” he started, his voice trailing off. The words hung in the air, filling you with a sense of unease.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your heart sinking as you searched his face for answers.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he looked down, an almost guilty expression crossing his face before he straightened, hiding it with a mask of determination. “You’ve always been…someone I trust,” he said, his voice almost inaudible, as if admitting it to himself for the first time.

Before you could ask him what he meant, he reached out, his hand lingering near yours for a moment. His fingers brushed against your wrist, a gesture so small yet filled with a weight you couldn’t understand. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

You opened your mouth to speak, to ask him to stay, but something stopped you. You knew that he had made up his mind. And so, instead, you simply nodded, swallowing the words you wanted to say. “Take care, Sasuke,” you replied, your voice barely holding steady.

He gave you one last look, something like regret flickering in his eyes, before he turned and walked away. You watched him go, realizing only after he’d disappeared from sight that this was his way of saying goodbye.

Later that night, as you replayed his words and his expression over and over, the truth sank in. Sasuke was leaving the village, leaving you—and it hurt. Yet, a small part of you felt honored to be the only one he’d said goodbye to. It was as if he’d left a piece of himself with you, a promise that, no matter how far he went, you’d always hold a place in his life.

You didn’t know how long it would take, or if he’d ever return, but you decided then and there that you’d wait. You’d wait for him, believing that, someday, he’d come back. And until that day, you’d carry his trust like a quiet vow, a reminder of the bond you shared that transcended words.

—

Three years had passed since that quiet farewell, and you’d held onto the memory of it. You didn’t know if you’d ever see him again, but a part of you had always kept hope alive, silently believing he’d return. Then, as fate would have it, during a mission with several of the Konoha 11 to locate Sasuke after his fight with Itachi, you saw him again.

It was a mere glimpse—Sasuke standing there, exhausted but resolute, his form silhouetted against the fading light. Your eyes locked, and time seemed to stop. There was no exchange of words, only a quiet, intense gaze that held unspoken emotions neither of you fully understood. The years of silence fell away, leaving only the remnants of an old, unbroken bond. Sasuke didn’t smile, didn’t offer any sign, but in that moment, something deep inside him stirred—a flicker of familiarity and comfort he hadn’t felt in years.

And as you met his gaze, you felt the same. You didn’t know why, but seeing him there, alive, felt like a missing piece of yourself had returned, even if only for a moment.

—

During the war, Sasuke had seen you again. And this time, he saw a different side of you. Where once you’d been quiet and patient, a steady presence in his life, you now carried a fierceness that impressed him deeply. He watched you fight with skill and determination, handling challenges with calm resilience that rivaled his own. There was something about your confidence, your unyielding spirit in the face of danger, that drew his attention more than he’d admit.

He’d thought of you as the person who’d always been there, waiting in silence, yet now he saw you as so much more. A subtle respect had grown within him, and while he’d never voice it aloud, a part of him admired your strength, your growth, and the way you’d found your own place in the world, even without him.

In his mind, he couldn’t help but acknowledge it: You’ve become incredible…in ways I never expected.

—

It was after the war, after everything had finally ended, that you saw him again. He’d just come from the hospital, signs of fatigue in his features, but his gaze was clearer than you’d ever seen it. The two of you met by chance outside, and there was a moment of silent recognition as he nodded toward the path beside you, a quiet invitation.

You walked together in the growing twilight, the orange hues of the sunset casting long shadows around you as the last light dipped below the horizon. It was a familiar quietness, like so many moments from years ago, but this time, the air was charged with something heavier, something unresolved.

Finally, Sasuke stopped, looking away as he took a slow, measured breath. “I…,” he began, his voice rough, uncertain. “I owe you an apology.” He looked down at his hands, almost as if searching for the right words, his expression unreadable but tense.

You stayed silent, letting him gather his thoughts. He was never one to speak easily, especially about matters so close to the heart, and you knew he needed the space to work through this on his own.

“I was…cold,” he continued after a moment. His voice softened slightly, as if the admission took him by surprise. “Back then, I never… I never tried to explain myself. To anyone. Especially not to you.”

There was a brief pause, and he looked away, frustration crossing his face. “I don’t know how to say this,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. Then, after a moment, he turned his gaze toward you, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. “But I knew you were different. I knew I could…count on you. And I still left.”

Your chest tightened, emotions flooding in at the sound of his words. “Sasuke,” you whispered, unsure if you wanted him to continue or stop altogether.

He held up a hand, his gaze intense as he looked at you fully. “Let me finish,” he said, his tone gentler but still firm. “I’ve been thinking…about all of it. About how much you put up with. All the times you tried to help me, tried to understand me, and I never gave you a real answer.”

You could see the faintest hint of guilt in his eyes, a weight he’d carried, even if he didn’t fully understand why. “When I left,” he continued slowly, “I told myself it was for revenge, that nothing else mattered. But that last day, when I saw you…” He trailed off, searching your face as if looking for understanding. “It felt…wrong. Leaving you behind. I couldn’t explain it, not then. But it bothered me.”

You swallowed, feeling the lump in your throat. “Then why did you leave without a real goodbye?” you asked softly, your voice wavering.

Sasuke’s gaze dropped, his expression unreadable. “I thought…if I said more, if I tried to explain myself, I’d be too weak to actually go,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “And I thought I had to be strong, to cut all ties. But it wasn’t that simple. You were the only one I said goodbye to. And even then, it…haunted me.”

For a moment, the silence stretched between you, filled with years of unspoken words. You could see the conflict in his expression, the way he struggled to put his emotions into words. “I didn’t realize how much I’d hurt you by leaving,” he continued, his voice almost a whisper. “And now, I know…I can’t change what I did. But I needed to say I’m sorry.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his words, at the raw honesty you’d never seen from him before. “I was hurt, yes,” you admitted, fighting back tears. “I didn’t understand why you had to go, or why you couldn’t trust me enough to tell me. But I knew you had reasons. And despite everything, I forgave you long ago.”

He looked at you, surprise flickering in his eyes. “You forgave me?”

You nodded, a small, bittersweet smile crossing your face. “I figured, if I kept holding onto the hurt, it would only make things worse. And…I believed in you, Sasuke. Even if you didn’t say it, I felt like you cared. That was enough.”

He seemed to struggle with your words, almost uncomfortable with the weight of your forgiveness. “You always were too understanding,” he murmured, a hint of self-deprecation in his tone.

“And you were always too stubborn,” you countered gently, a soft laugh breaking the tension. “But that’s who you are.”

A faint, almost reluctant smile tugged at his lips. He looked away, as if the emotions were too much to bear. “I never…expected you to wait. For me to come back,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stepped closer, looking up at him, catching the brief flicker of uncertainty in his gaze. “It’s alright. You’re here now.”

Sasuke let out a quiet breath, his gaze softening. “Thank you,” he said, the words simple yet filled with meaning. It was as if, in that small phrase, he was saying everything he couldn’t put into words—the regret, the gratitude, the unspoken connection that had kept you tied to each other all these years.

As Sasuke turned to leave, the weight of his promise lingered in the air. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the village. You felt a renewed sense of hope, knowing that the bond you shared was stronger than ever, despite the trials you had both faced. And with that, a new beginning opened between you—a chance to rebuild not just your friendship but the trust and bond that had endured through years of silence and separation.

—

As the sun rose over Konoha, you found yourself at the training grounds, practicing your techniques. The rhythmic sound of your feet hitting the ground echoed through the quiet morning. You focused, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Sasuke. The lingering memory of his apology had stirred something within you, a warmth that urged you to hope for more.

“Focus,” a familiar voice called out, snapping you from your reverie. You turned to see Sasuke approaching, his brow furrowed in concentration as he watched you. “Your stance is off.”

You grinned, feeling a rush of happiness at the sight of him. “Thanks for the tip, Sensei,” you teased lightly, adjusting your stance. He rolled his eyes, but a hint of a smile ghosted across his lips, reminding you of the boy you had known long ago.

As you trained together, the air buzzed with unspoken comfort. Occasionally, he would offer you pointers, his tone serious yet softening with every exchange. Each shared glance held unspoken understanding, a reminder of the bond you were slowly rebuilding.

—

One evening, you found a quiet spot near the river, the gentle sound of flowing water providing a calming backdrop. You both sat on the grass, enjoying the peace that surrounded you. The sunset cast a golden hue across the landscape, and you couldn’t help but feel content.

“Do you remember the first time we came here?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence. Sasuke glanced at you, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a faint smile.

“Yeah,” he replied, his voice thoughtful. “You fell in the water trying to catch a frog.”

You laughed, the memory bringing warmth to your chest. “I was determined! But you helped me out,” you reminded him.

“Because you wouldn’t stop whining,” he shot back, but there was a hint of fondness in his tone. The two of you reminisced about old memories, the laughter bridging the gaps between the past and the present.

—

After a long day of training, you decided to share a meal. You prepared a simple dinner, and when Sasuke arrived, you laid out the food on a small table outside. The night air was cool, and fireflies danced around you as you both dug in.

“This isn’t bad,” he remarked after taking a bite, surprising you with his praise. You raised an eyebrow, unable to suppress a smile.

“Just ‘not bad’? I thought I could impress you,” you teased, leaning back in your chair. Sasuke glanced at you, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“Impressing me isn’t easy,” he replied, but there was a lightness to his words now, a softness that made your heart race.

As you both enjoyed the meal, the atmosphere was filled with easy conversation, laughter, and the comfort of companionship. It felt natural, as if the years apart had only strengthened the connection between you.

—

One night, after a particularly exhausting day, you both lay on the grass outside the village, gazing up at the stars. The sky was clear, and you pointed out constellations, your excitement palpable.

“Look, that’s the Big Dipper!” you exclaimed, tracing its outline with your finger. Sasuke turned his head slightly, a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes.

“Do you really believe in that stuff?” he asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

“Why not? It’s nice to think there’s something bigger out there,” you replied, glancing at him. He was silent for a moment, contemplating your words.

“Maybe,” he finally said, his tone thoughtful. “But I think…what’s important is right here.” He motioned between the two of you, and the weight of his words settled warmly in your chest. It was a small moment, yet it held the promise of something deeper.

—

As the day approached for Sasuke to leave on his next mission, the mood between you grew heavier. You both knew it was part of his duty, part of who he was, but the thought of him being away again made your heart ache.

“Be careful,” you urged, your voice softer than usual as you stood at the village gate. He met your gaze, the intensity of his dark eyes making you feel like he was searching for something.

“I will,” he promised, and for a moment, you felt a sense of peace.

“Just…don’t take too long this time,” you added, trying to keep your tone light despite the lump in your throat. Sasuke paused, and in that moment, you saw the flicker of a smile.

“Next time we meet,” he said slowly, his voice steady, “I’ll make sure to have a better goodbye.” And with that, he left, and you knew that this time, you would be waiting.

With each encounter, the distance that once defined your relationship faded, replaced by a deepening connection that felt both familiar and new. As time passed, you both embraced the changes, finding solace in each other’s presence, which slowly turned from friendship into something more.

The journey had been long, marked by pain and loss, but now, as you walked alongside Sasuke once again, the path ahead felt promising. The bond you shared was evolving, hinting at the possibility of love, quietly waiting to be acknowledged.

—

As the weeks turned into months and the months quickly into a year, the bond between you and Sasuke continued to deepen. The unspoken tension between you lingered like an electric current, and every shared laugh, every moment spent in each other’s company seemed to ignite something new in your hearts. Yet, while the connection felt undeniable, neither of you had taken the leap to acknowledge the shift. Sasuke, in particular, struggled with the burgeoning feelings that swirled within him.

Sitting outside on a warm summer evening, you both watched the sun dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. The air was still, and for a moment, it felt as though time had stopped. You turned to look at Sasuke, who was staring intently at the sky, his face illuminated by the fading light.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked, breaking the silence. He shifted slightly, glancing at you with an expression that was both contemplative and guarded.

“Just… how everything has changed,” he replied, his voice low. “It feels different now.”

You nodded, your heart fluttering at the possibility of him meaning more than just the sunset. “Yeah, it really does. We’ve come a long way.”

He didn’t respond immediately, and you could sense that he was grappling with something deeper, something he wasn’t quite ready to voice. Sasuke had always been more comfortable with action than words, and you respected that, even as you wished he could share more of what was on his mind.

As the stars began to twinkle overhead, you lay back on the grass, watching the constellations appear one by one. “Do you remember the stories we used to tell each other about the stars?” you asked, your voice soft and reminiscent.

He chuckled softly, the sound warming your heart. “I remember you always had some elaborate story about them.”

“Of course! They were all very important,” you teased, sitting up to face him. “And you always pretended not to care, but I know you did.”

Sasuke looked at you, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe I did,” he admitted, his gaze softening. “You just… have a way of making things seem more interesting.”

That comment made your heart skip. You smiled back, feeling a rush of warmth at the sincerity in his eyes. “Well, I’m glad I could entertain you.”

As the moments passed, you both fell into a comfortable silence. But the quiet between you was filled with an unspoken understanding, and that was when it struck Sasuke.

Days later, Sasuke found himself deep in thought as he trained alone in the woods outside Konoha. Each punch and kick felt more powerful, fueled by a growing sense of determination. But as the sweat dripped down his brow and he paused to catch his breath, it hit him like a jolt of electricity.

He loved you.

The realization was startling, yet it made perfect sense. You had always been there for him, through his darkness and his pain. You never pushed him to be someone he wasn’t; instead, you patiently allowed him to be himself, to feel the way he felt, and to heal at his own pace. While he had spent years isolating himself, you were the one person who saw through his walls and accepted him as he was.

And it wasn’t just about your patience; it was the way you challenged him. You made him think, you brought laughter into his life, and you shared your dreams and fears with him, fostering a connection that felt both intimate and genuine. You had never demanded anything from him, yet your presence was a light in the shadows that surrounded him.

As he stood there, a countless of emotions flooded him—fear, joy, and a fierce longing to express what he felt. But there was also anxiety; what if you didn’t feel the same way? The thought of losing the friendship that meant so much to him was almost unbearable.

A week passed since Sasuke’s revelation, and he knew he could no longer keep his feelings to himself. The next evening, he invited you to meet him by the river—the same spot where you had shared so many laughs and memories. He arrived early, his heart racing with anticipation and dread.

When you approached, the sun was beginning to set, casting a golden glow on the water’s surface. You smiled brightly at him, and for a moment, he forgot his nerves.

“Hey! You’re early!” you exclaimed, settling beside him on the bank.

“Yeah, I wanted to make sure I had some time to think,” he replied, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside.

“Thinking about what?” you asked, tilting your head curiously.

He took a deep breath, preparing himself for what was to come. “About us,” he said, his tone serious.

Your eyes widened slightly, and he could see the intrigue mixed with concern in your expression. “Us?”

“Yes.” He hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. About everything—about what we’ve been through and how much you mean to me.”

You shifted slightly closer, your heart racing at the intensity of his gaze. “Sasuke, what are you trying to say?”

He paused, gathering his thoughts, the weight of his feelings pressing down on him. “You’ve always been there for me. Even when I pushed everyone away, you never gave up on me. You let me be who I am, without judgment or expectation. And… I don’t think I ever truly expressed how much that means to me.”

His words hung in the air, and you watched him, your breath caught in your throat. The sincerity in his eyes was palpable, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest. “I… I appreciate that, Sasuke. I really do.”

He swallowed hard, his resolve strengthening as he continued. “But it’s more than that. Being with you, talking with you, training together—it’s brought me a sense of peace I didn’t know I needed. And I’ve realized… I love you.”

Silence fell between you, the weight of his confession settling like a blanket over the two of you. Your heart raced, and you felt a mixture of shock and elation.

“You love me?” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sasuke nodded, his expression earnest. “I do. I’ve tried to ignore it, but it’s become impossible. I don’t want to hide how I feel anymore.”

Tears pricked your eyes, not out of sadness, but joy. “Sasuke, I love you too!” you exclaimed, unable to contain the happiness that bubbled inside you. “I’ve felt this way for so long, but I never knew if you felt the same.”

A rare smile broke across his face, and the tension that had been coiled in his shoulders eased. “You really do?”

“Of course!” You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “You’re my best friend. I’ve always cared for you, but it’s grown into something deeper, something beautiful.”

The moment felt surreal as you both sat there, fingers laced together, hearts racing in synchrony. Sasuke’s grip tightened around your hand, a warmth radiating from his touch that sent shivers down your spine.

“Then let’s not waste any more time,” he said, his voice soft yet resolute. “I want to be with you—fully, completely.”

You nodded, a wide smile spreading across your face. “I want that too.”

He leaned closer, and you could see the uncertainty in his eyes, a vulnerability that was rare for him. “Can I… kiss you?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

“Yes,” you breathed, your heart racing as he leaned in. His lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, before deepening the kiss. It was sweet, filled with all the unspoken words and emotions that had built up between you over the years. Time seemed to stand still as you both melted into each other, the world around you fading away.

When you finally pulled apart, you felt breathless, a sense of joy flooding your heart. Sasuke smiled softly, and for the first time, you saw a glimpse of the warmth that lay beneath his typically stoic exterior.

“Wow,” he murmured, his cheeks slightly flushed. “That was… nice.”

You laughed, the sound light and full of happiness. “Nice? That’s all you’ve got?”

“I mean, it was more than nice,” he corrected himself, his gaze intense. “It was everything.”

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the horizon in shades of purple and gold, you sat together, hands intertwined, feeling an overwhelming sense of contentment. The future felt bright, filled with possibilities and adventures yet to come.

Sasuke glanced at you, his expression softening. “I know I’m not great with words, but I want you to know I’m here for you. I’ll always protect you.”

You squeezed his hand, a smile dancing on your lips. “And I’ll be here for you too, no matter what. Together.”

The two of you shared another kiss, the warmth of your connection solidifying the bond that had been formed through trials and time. With every moment spent together, you knew you would navigate whatever came next, hand in hand.

note : If you liked it, I’d appreciate it if you could please leave a like and reblog. ᥫ᭡

812 notes · View notes

manjirei · 27 days ago

Text

PAIRING : Naruto Uzumaki x GN!Reader,

GENRE : fluff

WC : 1.3k

SUMMARY : Naruto starts noticing a shift in his feelings, a warmth that goes beyond friendship. As memories resurface and new emotions grow, he realizes there’s one person who’s always seen him for who he truly is—and means more to him than he ever expected.

CONTENT/WARNINGS : mild violence, heartfelt moments, a soft transition from friendship to romance, no use of y/n, just lmk if I missed anything…!

The first time he’d seen you again after three years, he was stunned.

It wasn’t just that you’d grown taller, or that your smile was brighter, or even that you seemed to carry yourself with a confidence he hadn’t seen before. It was something deeper, something he couldn’t quite put into words. As he stood in front of you, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, he felt this pang in his chest—a feeling he’d never experienced before.

You greeted him with that same warmth you’d had since you were kids, the same smile that had always welcomed him on his toughest days. Naruto realized, with a mix of awe and confusion, that he hadn’t been able to forget that smile during his training with Jiraiya, no matter how hard he tried to focus on his new jutsus or pushing past his limits. Somewhere, deep down, he’d been waiting to come home to that familiar face.

In the days following his return, Naruto noticed that things felt both the same and completely different between you. You laughed together, like you always had. You joked, shared memories, and talked for hours. But every now and then, Naruto would catch himself watching you just a bit too long, feeling his heart pound in a way that made him fumble over his words.

“What’s going on with me?” he’d mutter to himself, lying on his bed at night, staring up at the ceiling. You’d always been his best friend, his first friend—the one person who’d never seen him as just the Nine-Tails kid. You had seen him, truly seen him, when no one else had.

For weeks, he wrestled with this strange, growing feeling. He didn’t know how to handle it, didn’t even know if it was something he could handle. But each time he saw you smile, each time you reached out to support him, Naruto felt that tug in his chest, and he realized that he didn’t want to ignore it. He wanted to understand it. He wanted to understand you.

Months passed, and Naruto grew stronger, as did his bond with you. Then came the attack on the village. When Pain tore through Konoha, Naruto fought harder than he ever had before, not just for the village, but for everyone he cared about—and you were at the top of that list. Through each punch, each jutsu, he held onto the thought of protecting the people he loved.

The village hailed him as a hero after that battle. People who had once looked down on him now cheered for him. They clapped him on the shoulder, they smiled, they praised him. It felt… good, but also strange. Naruto had always dreamed of being acknowledged by the village, but now that he had it, he realized something important.

All this time, when people hadn’t cared, when they’d treated him like an outcast, you had been the one standing by his side. You had seen him for who he was, and your support had never wavered. Naruto had always thought he’d wanted the approval of the entire village, but now he realized that your belief in him meant more than anything else.

And that’s when it hit him. You’d been there for him, always. Through every failure, every triumph, every moment of doubt and every rare victory, you’d been his rock. And in the middle of that realization, Naruto finally understood the feeling he’d been carrying since he came back from training.

He was in love with you.

A few months after the battle, Naruto invited you over to his apartment one evening. He didn’t know why, exactly. Maybe he was tired of keeping this feeling to himself, or maybe he just needed to be near you, to remind himself of everything you’d been through together. But tonight, he felt different. He felt ready.

You were sprawled on his couch, laughing about some memory from your childhood. Naruto watched you, a fond smile playing at his lips. It amazed him how easily you could talk to him, how you seemed to know exactly what he needed, even when he didn’t. For a moment, he got lost in the way you looked—comfortable, at home. The way you always looked around him.

“So, Naruto,” you said, breaking his train of thought, “what are you going to do now that the whole village loves you?” You raised an eyebrow, teasing him. “Guess I’ll have to get used to sharing you.”

He felt his heart skip at that. “I don’t… want to be shared,” he replied quietly, surprising even himself with how serious he sounded.

You tilted your head, curiosity sparking in your eyes. “What do you mean?”

Naruto took a deep breath. He’d been practicing how he would say this for weeks, running through scenarios in his mind. But now that he was sitting here, looking at you, he realized that words wouldn’t come easily. Still, he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“I mean… I don’t want anyone else,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to share what I have with you. I want it to just… be us.”

Your expression softened, but you didn’t speak, waiting for him to continue. Naruto’s hands were trembling as he reached out and took your hand in his, a gesture he’d never dared to make before. The warmth of your skin against his sent a wave of courage through him.

“When I was training with Jiraiya-sensei, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted, his cheeks flushed. “No matter how hard I tried, you were always there. In my mind, I mean. And when I came back, I didn’t understand what I was feeling. I thought maybe it would go away. But it didn’t. And then… after the fight with Pain, when everyone started caring, I realized something. I realized that no one’s ever cared about me the way you have. No one’s ever seen me like you do.”

Naruto took a deep breath, his blue eyes searching yours. “You’ve been there for me, through everything. You didn’t care about the Nine-Tails, or how everyone else looked at me. You just… cared about me. And now… now I think I know why that matters so much to me.”

He paused, his heart pounding, every nerve in his body on edge. “I think… no, I know… that I’m in love with you.”

The words hung in the air, and Naruto felt his face go warm as he finally, finally said it. For the first time in his life, he was vulnerable, baring his heart to the one person he knew would never hurt it.

You looked at him, and for a terrifying moment, he couldn’t read your expression. Then, slowly, a smile spread across your face—a smile that melted every ounce of anxiety inside him.

“Oh, Naruto…” You squeezed his hand, your voice soft. “I’ve always been here because I love you, too. I don’t think there’s been a day where I haven’t wanted to be by your side.”

The relief and joy that washed over him was overwhelming. He felt like his chest would burst, like he’d found something he didn’t even know he’d been searching for.

Without thinking, he leaned in, closing the distance between you. Your lips met, soft and warm, and for that brief moment, nothing else existed. The village, the battles, the world—they all faded away, leaving just the two of you in a moment that was perfect, that was everything he’d ever wanted.

When he pulled back, Naruto looked at you, his heart still racing, his hand still holding yours tightly. “I don’t know what the future holds,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “But I know that whatever happens… I want you with me. Always.”

You smiled, resting your forehead against his. “Always,” you echoed, your voice filled with the same promise.

And for the first time in his life, Naruto felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be. Right there, with you, the person who’d always been there, the one who had seen him at his worst and stayed. The person he loved.

418 notes · View notes

manjirei · 1 month ago

Text

Too Much Like Me

Potter!Reader tells her dad she's been asked on a date.

Summary: James finds out Lily's type in men is apparently genetic.

Wc: ~1.7k

CW: Just chaotic fluffy hijinks - a jab about Americans

“Dad.” You trailed James into the kitchen, fighting to keep your voice calm despite the storm brewing ahead.

But James Potter, in all his dramatic glory, had gone entirely deaf. Arms flailing like a prophet warning of doom, he roared, “Family meeting!”

“No! No family meeting!” you yelped, lunging for his arm. You barely stifled a laugh as he flailed harder, like a fish trying to escape the net.

James spun around, courtroom-drama style, and gasped at you with the intensity of someone catching their child red-handed with a cursed artifact. “Fred Weasley? Our Fred Weasley? That Fred Weasley?”

“Yes, that Fred Weasley,” you groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “Merlin’s saggy balls, I regret telling you already.”

James slammed his hand on the counter for emphasis, pivoting toward the sitting room like a man possessed. “Lily!” he thundered, shaking the walls. “Lily, get in here! Your daughter’s lost her mind!”

“Dad, for Merlin’s sake!” You tried to grab him again, but James had started pacing now, looking like a wizard unjustly accused of crimes against decorum.

“Not in my house! Not under my roof!” He spun around, hazel eyes bulging with a level of betrayal that deserved an award. “Fred Weasley doesn’t know the meaning of curfew! Or- Merlin help us- a respectable bedtime! Do you think I’m letting that chaos into my family? After all I’ve sacrificed? For you?”

“James,” came Lily’s voice, calm but laced with amusement. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, her lips twitching. “What are you yelling about this time?”

James turned to her, a man on the brink. “Fred Weasley! He asked her out! Our daughter! On a date! Alone! With no chaperone!”

Lily blinked, then turned to you with a grin brighter than a Patronus. “Oh!” she gasped, her eyes lighting up. “He finally asked?”

James froze mid-tirade, pointing an accusatory finger at his wife. “Finally? What do you mean, finally? Have you been... supporting this? Encouraging it?”

Lily shrugged, her grin widening as she pushed off the doorframe and sauntered into the kitchen. “He’s a lovely boy, James. Polite, clever, charming. He reminds me of someone I used to know.”

“Don’t you dare—” James began, his tone low and dangerous.

“You,” Lily finished brightly, jabbing him in the chest. “Fred’s just like you were. All mischief and charm. No wonder she likes him.”

James gawked at her like she’d suggested selling their house to a pack of trolls. “That’s exactly why she can’t date him! I was Fred Weasley, Lily! Do you know what I would’ve done if someone let me date their daughter?”

“You married her,” Lily said sweetly, leaning over to plant a kiss on his cheek, winking at you as it effectively stunned the red mess that was your father.

James froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air, completely derailed by Lily’s well-placed jab and affectionate kiss. He finally managed to sputter, “That’s- That’s completely different!”

“How, exactly?” Lily teased, raising an eyebrow as she crossed her arms again. “Because if I recall correctly, you were a menace, Potter. A charming menace, but a menace nonetheless. Fred’s cut from the same cloth, and you turned out all right.”

James spluttered, gesturing wildly at you. “Because this is my daughter! She’s not supposed to fall for charmers like Fred Weasley! I can’t just let this happen! Where’s the fatherly dignity in that?”

“Oh, James,” Lily sighed, patting his shoulder with exaggerated pity. “I hate to break it to you, but you lost your ‘fatherly dignity’ the day you wore those matching Christmas jumpers with Sirius.”

“That was solidarity!” James barked, his ears reddening as he straightened his posture in a futile attempt at reclaiming authority. “And anyway, this is different. I’m supposed to protect her! Shield her from the heartbreakers and mischief-makers of the world.”

“Fred’s not a heartbreaker, Dad,” you said, exasperated but amused. “He’s actually- dare I say- nice? And maybe even mature? A little bit?”

James looked like he might faint. “Mature?! You’re telling me Fred Weasley- the bloke who turned all the Quidditch goalposts into giant marshmallows- is mature?! What next? He’s taken up knitting?”

“Knitting would be a good look for him,” Lily quipped, clearly enjoying herself. “Very soothing hobby. He could knit you a jumper, James, to match that dignity you’ve misplaced.”

You couldn’t help but snort at the visual, and James threw his hands up, pacing the kitchen again. “I can’t believe this. I’m being outnumbered in my own home.”

“It’s called democracy- like the Americans,” Lily said, smirking as she leaned against the counter. “And right now, you’re the losing party.”

James stopped pacing to glare at her. “Fred acts like a damned American..” He mumbled before he raised his voice. “This is treason. Pure, unadulterated treason.”

“James,” Lily replied patiently, though her lips twitched with amusement. “You’ll survive.”

At that moment, Harry wandered into the kitchen, his face set in curious confusion as he surveyed the scene. He held a plate of leftover treacle tart, chewing leisurely. “What’s with all the shouting, then?” He asked, his tone disinterested but his eyes sparkling with intrigue.

James immediately pounced, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “Your sister has decided to go on a date with Fred Weasley, Harry! Fred Weasley! What do you have to say about that?”

Harry blinked at him, clearly trying to piece together the situation. Then his gaze slid to you, and his smirk grew as he swallowed a bite of tart. “Fred, huh?” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “Nice. Bold choice. Never a dull moment with a Weasley.”

“Bold-? Harry!” James looked genuinely wounded. “This is a betrayal! Your own sister-"

“Is an adult,” Harry interrupted, shrugging. “And you’re acting like she’s run off to marry Voldemort’s ghost.”

“Don’t give him ideas,” you muttered under your breath, earning a snort from Harry.

“Not helping, Harry!” James barked, looking thoroughly frazzled now. He pointed at you again. “Fine! Go on your date! But I’m watching him. One toe out of line, and-”

“And what?” you challenged, grinning now as Lily watched on, clearly entertained. “You’ll duel him? Turn him into a marshmallow like his Quidditch goalposts?”

James opened his mouth, floundering for a retort, but Lily stepped in, tugging him gently away from the center of the chaos. “Come on, love,” she cooed soothingly. “Why don’t we sit down, have a cuppa, and let the kids handle their own lives for once?”

James sighed, finally deflating. “Fine,” he grumbled, shooting you one last suspicious look. “But mark my words- an eye for an eye! Harry, date his younger sister!”

Harry froze, the bite of treacle tart halfway to his mouth as the words sunk in. His eyes darted between you, Lily, and James, clearly trying to figure out if this was his moment to fess up or quietly Disapparate.

“What?” James demanded, noticing Harry’s hesitation. “What’s with that face? Don’t tell me you’ve already thought about it!”

Lily covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. You, on the other hand, burst out laughing immediately, doubling over as the image of James putting two and two together hit you.

“Why are you laughing?” James barked, looking between the two of you like he was missing the punchline to a joke everyone else got. “What’s so funny? Harry, explain yourself!”

Harry, clearly seeing no way out, sighed and placed his plate of treacle tart on the counter. “Dad,” he started, bracing himself, “I’m already dating Ginny.”

James froze. Completely, utterly froze. His jaw hung slack, his hands hovering mid-air like a malfunctioning automaton.

“You’re what?” He whispered, his voice teetering on the edge of shock and betrayal.

You howled with laughter, tears forming in your eyes. “Oh, Merlin, this is priceless!” You gasped. “Dad, your face- your face!"

“James, breathe,” Lily advised through her own laughter, leaning against the counter for support. “You’re going to give yourself a stroke.”

James finally snapped out of his trance, his eyes narrowing into sharp points of indignation. “Ginny?! Ginny Weasley?! First her with Fred, and now you- how long has this been going on?”

Harry scratched the back of his neck, clearly trying to make himself look smaller. “A while.”

“A while?" James repeated, his voice cracking. “Define ‘a while.’ A few days? Weeks?”

Harry hesitated. “Since... fifth year?”

“Fifth year?!" James bellowed, looking like he might explode. “That’s years! Years, Harry! And you didn’t think to tell me?!”

“What was I supposed to say?” Harry shot back, clearly frustrated now. “‘Hey, Dad, by the way, I’m snogging Ron’s little sister’? That would’ve gone over well.”

“Well, it’s certainly better than me finding out like this!” James cried, gesturing wildly at nothing in particular. “My own son! Betraying me! I raised you better than this, Harry!”

Lily wiped her eyes, still chuckling. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, James. They’re clearly happy, and Ginny’s a wonderful girl. You love her.”

“That’s not the point, Lily!” James snapped, his hands flying to his hair. “It’s- this is-!Fred! Ginny! My children and their Weasleys! What’s next? Ron’s going to marry into the family, too?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Well... technically, Hermione-"

“No! They got her too!?" James cut him off, throwing his hands in the air. “Don’t even tell me! I won’t survive it! This is it- this is how I go. Betrayed by my own family and buried in a sea of Weasleys.”

You leaned against the counter, wheezing with laughter. “Dad, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” James turned to you, his face a picture of righteous indignation. “You don’t understand. I fought a war for this family- for this! And now my legacy is going to be a house full of Weasleys!”

“Sounds cozy,” Lily teased, patting his arm. “You’ll come around, James. You always do.”

James groaned, sinking into a chair as if all the fight had been drained out of him. “Fine,” he muttered, waving a hand dismissively. “Fine. Date your Weasleys. Marry them. Name your kids Fred and Ginny Jr. for all I care.”

You patted his shoulder, grinning. “Love you, Dad.”

He shot you a glare but muttered, “Love you, too. But don’t think for one second I’m not watching Fred like a hawk.”

“And Ginny?” Harry asked, daring to push his luck.

James pointed a warning finger at him. “You, young man, are on thin bloody ice."

Lily hushed James as she patted his back, leading him out of the kitchen. He continued to blabber on, muttering something along the lines of;

“Is this my fault?”

“Merlin, does Molly know?”

“Bloody redheads- OW!”

4K notes · View notes

manjirei · 1 month ago

Text

Sewing kit - Ron Weasley

summary: "The instant Ron came to you asking for help sewing a rip in his t-shirt, Molly knew you were the woman he was going to marry." wc: 0.6k+

The instant Ron came to you asking for help sewing a rip in his t-shirt, Molly knew you were the woman he was going to marry. You’d been sitting in front of the fireplace with many of Ron’s siblings, along with Harry and Hermione, listening as Fred and George recalled the story of one of their wicked pranks to Charlie and Bill. You laughed along with everyone else as the twins reached the climax of their story, cuddling into Ron’s jumper that you wore.

This was your first summer at the Burrow as Ron’s girlfriend, and you’d admittedly been a hundred times more nervous to be here, to gain his family’s approval. Your head snapped towards the staircase at the call of your name, watching as Ron padded down the stairs, gripping the side of the shirt he was wearing. “Y/n” he repeated, “Could you fix this for me?” You straightened up in your seat, unaware of the eyes on you as you took the soft fabric of Ron’s favourite t-shirt in your hands, examining the rip in the seam. Your fingers grazed his soft skin underneath the fabric. You hummed, asking “Could you get my-” But your words were interrupted when Ron thrusted your small sewing kit forward, causing you to giggle “Perfect.”

You worked silently, looking for a thread the same colour as Ron’s t-shirt, and began sewing the seam back together. Ron stood in front of you silently, aimlessly playing with a strand of your hair as he listened in on the story. He didn’t notice the look Bill and Charlie shared, or the way Molly stood still with a tray carrying hot chocolate as she admired the intimate moment between you. Molly had to turn away to hide the tears forming in her eyes at the realisation that she would never get to sew her son’s clothes ever again, that he had found someone to do it for him.

“Oh that tickles.” Gasped Ron when your hands ran up his side in an attempt to tie the thread together before snipping it with a small pair of scissors. “Sorry sweetheart.” You muttered, looking up at him while you tried straightening out the now crinkled fabric of his shirt. Ron didn’t bother to check if the job had been well done, so Bill assumed that this had occurred many times before, noticing that Hermione and Harry didn’t flinch at their ginger friend’s request from you. Ron cupped your cheeks, leaning down to press a kiss on your forehead as he thanked you, taking your sewing kit back from you. You put a hand over his, shaking your head. “Leave it, I’ll take it up later.” You patted the empty spot next to you reserved for him, and Ron immediately sat down, putting your kit on the side table next to him.

His family watched as you shared a smile, Ron’s hand snaking around your waist while you comfortably cuddled yourself into his side. You leaned your head on his shoulder, arm slung in front of his torso in a loose hug and Ron instinctively pressed another kiss to your temple, eyes trained on his younger sister who started another story to fill the silence. You both thanked Molly sincerely when she handed you your hot chocolates, and she held eye contact with you, a hand coming down to your cheek to caress your skin with a motherly smile as she held back happy tears.

That night, when Ron took you by the hand to lead you outside for a long walk, Molly held her tongue, deciding to give you both some freedom. And when Ginny approached her, asking shyly if her mother could sew up a rip in her jeans, she burst into tears, hugging her daughter close to her.

3K notes · View notes

manjirei · 1 month ago

Text

through the seasons || f.w.

summary: he would love you till the end of time. everyone can see it, and they can only hope that you’ll come to your senses and realize that too.

words: ~6.4k (i went overboard LMFAO)

warnings: light angst, some mentions of death / violence (but dw it's a happy ending)

a/n: first ever hp fic in like, ever LOL so apologies if this seems off in any way. the timeline for this is a lil weird?? but basically the fic starts during the spring of GOF: you’re a year below fred & a year above the golden trio : ) ALSO i highly recommend listening to 'moonlight serenade' by frank sinatra ESP during the parts it's mentioned in. you'll see why :)))) add yourself to my hp taglist here!

spring

Given that springtime was nearly over, it was rather cold outside.

The sky gleamed a bright, cornflower blue, with the May morning breeze hitting your skin. You, Hermione, and Ginny found yourselves huddling together in the stands and tightly clutching each other to keep warm.

Anticipation nipped at your insides like tiny needles. You had spent the past half-hour at breakfast listening to a nervous Ron ramble on about how he hardly knew what he was doing, and seeing an unusually quiet Fred pick at his food. You knew it wasn’t like him to spend almost an entire meal without saying more than a few words.

“You ok?” you mouthed, glancing over at the redhead in concern. “As long as you’re looking at me,” Fred replied, attempting a small smile. He pressed something warm and fuzzy into your hands under the table. “You’re my good luck charm today. Keep this for me during the match.” You nodded, and felt your heart warm as you looked down to see that it was the fuzzy scarf he always wore during Hogsmeade trips or around the castle when it got particularly chilly. His initials had been hand-stitched into one end—undoubtedly Mrs. Weasley’s handiwork. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” “That’s my girl.”

“Look!” Ginny whisper-shouted, ending your momentary flashback. “I think that’s them!”

The Gryffindor team filed out into the stadium to be instantly met with a cacophony of loud cheers and applause. Your throat was already starting to hurt from screaming alongside the seas of blazing red and gold, though the match had yet to begin.

Without even realizing it, you found your eyes scanning the area for a particular ginger-haired Beater, and the tension you didn’t even know you had in your shoulders loosened as soon as you saw him.

“You’re not even playing, yet I’d say you’re as big of a mess as poor Ronald,” Hermione chuckled lightly. “Concerned for someone?”

“Oh shut up,” you muttered, tightening Fred’s scarf around your neck just a bit more. “It’s the last match of the year—I’m just as nervous as everyone else. I need to see someone beat Malfoy’s egotistical arse to a pulp.”

Both her and Ginny snorted at this.

“You’re right…but that’s not who I was referring to,” your best friend reminded you.

You rolled your eyes. “Uh huh.”

“Don’t you think you care a little too much? More than a friend should?”

“No,” you stated flatly. But Hermione knew this was a lie—after all, she had known you for five years now and could tell when you were lying. She watched as you fiddled with the ends of the colorful scarf around your neck—a flash of something caught her eye, and she squinted to see F.W. embroidered in delicate gold.

Of course you were being serious, she chuckled to herself. She decided to not say anything about why you had Fred’s scarf on, and instead joked, “Do you think he or Ron’ll make it without getting a concussion?”

“Now that’s hard to say…” you began, knowing how the two boys were sometimes often quite clumsy. “Fingers are crossed that my Fred will be just fine.”

“Your Fred? What about Ron?” she raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you care about both of them?”

“—Both of them will be just fine,” you quickly corrected yourself. “They’ll be alright.”

“Okay…” she said, unconvinced that your reply wasn’t just a slip of the tongue.

Turning your attention back to the game, you heard Lee Jordan’s classic, enthusiastic voice echo across the grounds. “Welcome to the last Quidditch match of the YEAR! We have quite the game in store today, Gryffindor versus Slytherin…”

Eventually, after the captains shook hands and everyone mounted their brooms, Madam Hooch blew her whistle and released the balls into the air. Loud cheers filled the stadium once again, and all fourteen players shot up into the sky. You were only really focusing on one thing—or person, really. It seemed that you couldn’t take your eyes off him.

“—aaand that’s a Bludger to the head from Fred Weasley, ouch, that’s gotta hurt…There goes Katie Bell, making a swift pass over to Johnson…there’s Johnson with the Quaffle! And then, ,there he goes…Fred Weasley does it AGAIN! Malfoy gets a hard Bludger to the back—”

Right then, Fred caught your eye and winked. You sent back a shy wave in response.

Everyone tries their best to ignore the Slytherin section’s jeering taunts and chants of Weasley Is Our King. You didn’t need to look over to know Ron was hardly taking it.

From there on out it was a blur of motion, noise, and loud sounds, and before you knew it, the match was over and done.

“—GRYFFINDOR WINS! WITH WEASLEY’S GAME-WINNING BLOCK AND POTTER’S SHEER SPEED, THEY WIN!” The excitement is clear in Lee’s voice. “GRYFFINDOR WINS THE QUIDDITCH CUP!”

The crowd went wild again as Fred made his downward descent. As soon as the tips of his shoes touched the grass he jumped off and immediately rushed over to you as fast as his feet would take him.

Your head was spinning and you could barely tell what was going on amidst the ground-shaking noise and overall chaos. But there he was in front of you now, sweaty and tired but grinning wildly nonetheless as he brought you into a tight embrace. He started spinning you around and you couldn’t help but join in on his contagious laughter.

“There’s my good luck charm,” he whispered into your ear as he set you down, breath fanning against the skin behind your ear.

Having no words left except pure joy, you shook your head and smiled as you leaned into him, squeezing him back even tighter. “I’m so proud of you.”

Both of you were too busy to notice that your friends around you had stopped congratulating the other players and chattering with one another, their eyes now on you two. Ginny, Harry, and Hermione exchanged a look, and Ron, amidst his nerves and exhaustion, cracked a grin as he watched his older brother and best friend savoring a moment with each other.

Hopefully, they’ll realize it for themselves…he thought. Amidst the chaos of the past year, he knew that all of them—especially the two of you—deserved a bit of peace more than anything.

summer

“Last one there is a rotten egg and has to take the soddy backup broom!” Ginny shouted. You all immediately broke into a sprint at this, scrambling to go outside for yet another round of backyard Quidditch. Harry damn near tripped over his own feet as he and Ron tried pushing over each other to squeeze out the back door. Fred and George were doing the same thing, and you and Hermione used this chance to sneak past them. You silently high-fived each other at this.

“Boys will be boys…” she laughed quietly, linking your arm through hers as you continued walking across the meadow, the grass brushing against the fabric of your trousers. “There’s no catching a break around here.”

Lo and behold, poor Ron was forced to take the backup broom, grumbling the entire time as everyone put their gear on. “I hate you guys. Haven’t I been through enough already?”

Everyone took turns being the score-keeper, and this time it was Hermione (she had also been score-keeper the last two rounds as she was a bit tired, and didn’t really mind). She sat down under the giant apple tree as she chose the teams.

“Harry, George, and Fred!” she called out. “Versus the rest of you.”

“That’s so not fair!” Ron complained. “You have two Beaters and the—”

“—youngest Seeker in a century on one team,” Harry finished his sentence with a cheeky grin.

Ron rolled his eyes. “At least I’m with you, Y/N…I guess…”

“Thanks for the compliment, Ronald,” you said with a slight hint of sarcasm.

It was only a few minutes in the match when Fred found himself distracted. He was supposed to be on guard, but his eyes kept wandering over to you, zipping around on your broom with ease, gliding through the air like a bird. He wondered when he stopped seeing you as just his ‘best friend’ and started seeing you as someone who made his heart beat faster; someone who he desperately wanted to see smile because that’s all he needed to make his entire day.

“Awe, come on, Freddie, get your head back in the game!” you called out to him in a teasing voice as he just barely blocked a flying Bludger hurtling towards his face. “Don’t wanna be slammed into, now do you?”

He shook his head and quickly snapped out of it. “Of course not.”

“Blimey, Fred! You nearly gave yourself another concussion there from ogling at her!” George exclaimed.

“I can’t help but be charming,” you joked, sending Fred a wink. “Enjoy the view while you can!”

It was only mid-morning/barely afternoon by the time you finished the last match, but if anything, your sore muscles told you that it felt like days had passed. Adrenaline was still thrumming in your veins as everyone headed in, laughing at the thrill of flying through the skies without a care in the world.

“Remember that losers have to make lunch!” Harry reminded.

Ginny groaned. “Come on. Way to ruin the vibe.”

You, her, and Ron all let out long sighs before heading straight to the kitchen to whip something up for the six of you. Food bets needed to stop…

After a quick meal of sandwiches, everyone headed back outside to play more rounds of backyard Quidditch. You opted to stay in this time around; the dull ache in your shoulders and lower back telling you you’d had enough for the day. One cold shower and some quiet work helping Mr. Weasley organize his home office later, you slumped onto the sofa.

The remainder of the afternoon and evening went by slowly but peacefully. Eventually, you found yourselves sitting around on the living room floor, playing board games well into the night while the crickets chirped outside. The days were long, and cracking jokes and long talks came much easier than they normally did. Of course, Fred sat next to you the entire time, finding a way to be touching you in one way or another no matter what. Shoulders pressed together closely, fingers tracing patterns into your palms, a hand rubbing your back.

Harry gulps down his mug of butterbeer before launching into a dramatic retelling of when Professor Moody turned Malfoy into a ferret, earning roars of laughter and “That git deserved it” from all around. Fred follows up with the first time him and George tested prototypes of their Puking Pastilles, which ended with a delirious Lee Jordan and Ron’s face turning greener than mandrake leaves (much to Mrs. Weasley’s horror—she sent both twins death glares at this).

You were too busy losing it to notice an arm—Fred’s—snaking around your waist, pulling you into his side. But when you did realize it was him, you didn’t say anything, and just simply relaxed against him. It was second nature to you both; you’ve learned to anticipate him sliding up next to you. And, it was comforting to know that he would always be nearby.

Despite being the last one to go to bed, Fred was the first one awake before dawn had even broken over the horizon. The skies were clear but grey, and the roosters had yet to make a sound.

“Wake up,” you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Whaddayawant,” you groaned, voice groggy. “Listen Ron, it’s too early to play Quidditch, tell Wood that you want to go for a round instead…”

“Hey, it’s only me,” Fred replied. “Come on, I’ve got something to show you.”

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you got up, being careful not to step on Hermione or Ginny’s hands or arms on the way out the door. He kept a hand pressed against the small of your back the entire way down the creaky staircase.

“Ta-da…” he whispered, the classic Weasley grin spreading across his face. “Take a look at this beauty.”

“A…record player?” your brows furrowed in confusion. “This is what you woke me up at 4 a.m. for?”

“Dad got it at this old Muggle store in central London years ago, he said it was a ‘thrift shop,’” Fred explained as your eyes glanced over the cracked, but beautiful record player on the kitchen table. “D’you reckon it still works, though?”

“We’ll have to see for ourselves,” you shrugged.

He placed the vinyl CD into the player and adjusted the needle, and within seconds a slow Muggle tune began to play.

“Oh, I know this one…Hermione has told me about it before. Frank Sinatra is quite famous in the Muggle musical world.”

“Well, then…may I have this dance?” Fred extended a hand out to you. You shake your head and roll your eyes, but take his hand and allow him to pull you close. His arms wrap around your torso as your hands rest on his shoulders, and you allow yourselves to get carried away by the slow, melodic ballad.

My love, do you know That your eyes are like stars brightly beaming? I bring you, and I sing you A moonlight serenade

Fred gently twirls you around the kitchen before bringing you back in and smoothly catching you by the waist, and you’re surprised at how easy it is for him. You often forgot that he had a knack for dancing—it wasn’t often that you got to see him do so.

“And you were about to be upset at me for waking you up,” he leans in to say.

“You’re forgiven,” you exhale, resting your head against his chest. “But you know I could never be upset with you.”

Long after the song had ended, you still found yourself wrapped in his embrace.

Mrs. Weasley was heading downstairs to start preparing breakfast, but suddenly stopped midway. Her heart warmed as she took in the sight of you and Fred standing in the middle of the kitchen, eyes closed as he hummed a foreign tune, slow dancing without a care in the world.

Deciding not to interrupt, she stands there for a moment, smiling as she watched her boy fall in love with the young woman that she hoped to call her daughter one day.

fall

“—Godric’s sake, I’m so tired of losing,” Ron groaned as you quickly smacked the top of the deck with your wand, dust flying into his face. “I’m never playing this with you again.”

You rolled your eyes as he coughed and dusted himself off. “Okay, no Exploding Snap, then no more sweets from Honeydukes ever again.”

“Fine, I’m playing, I’m playing,” he sighed, rubbing the side of his forehead as the colorful deck of cards reshuffled themselves. “You’re almost as horrible as my brother.”

“Almost as horrible as who—hey, Y/N, is that my jumper?” Fred paused as he approached you and Ron sitting at the coffee table, as Luna, Neville, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny watched on.

“Dunno, is it?” you shrugged innocently, tapping your chin. “Hey, Nev, you want a go? I have to finish reading my book for McGonagall’s class.”

Neville nodded, and Ron raised a fist in triumph. “FINALLY! Bring it on, Longbottom.”

You shifted onto the couch so Neville could take your spot, and without another word, Fred sat down right next to you. The deep burgundy color of his Gryffindor sweater only further brought out the color of your eyes, he noticed, which sparkled brightly under the dim lighting.

Fred then shifted to lay his head down in your lap, and you didn’t even do so much as flinch. With your book in one hand, you used the other to start brushing your fingers through his hair. You hadn’t even realized what you were doing until you heard him let out a quiet sigh of contentment.

“Did I ever tell you that you’re absolutely brilliant?” he glanced up at you from where he lay, watching carefully and intently. “Sometimes I’m surprised that you weren’t sorted into Ravenclaw.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Weasley,” you laughed softly as you turned the page.

Right as you were about to turn the page again, he stopped you by lightly tugging your wrist. “Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

“What are you talking about?”

He carefully turned your hand to look at the scratches etched into the back of it. They were beginning to fade, but the occasional shifts in movement would cause them to sting and sometimes crack open.

“When did Umbridge do this to you?” Something unfamiliar flashed in Fred’s eyes, and he seemed angry for the briefest of moments. But the darkened look was quickly replaced with one of concern. “Does it still hurt?”

“No, not at all,” you lied as you set down your book, but he didn’t miss the way you winced slightly as he adjusted your hand to look at it again.

The rest of your friends had scattered elsewhere at this point, the typical noise now having faded into a soft chatter of sorts. Hermione came back with a bowl of yellow liquid, eyeing you worriedly. “Strained and pickled Murtlap tentacles…these should help…”

“Oh…thank you…” You placed your hand into the bowl and immediately exhaled with relief.

“I think I’m going to sleep a little early tonight…I’ll see you two at breakfast? Take it easy, Y/N,” Hermione gave your shoulder a squeeze. You nodded as she gave you one last smile and walked away.

Once the pain had faded into a dull ache, you set the bowl of murtlap on the table and leaned back against the sofa. Fred was now laser-focused on something he was holding, fiddling with it using what looked like a small pair of tweezers. Assuming that it had to do with the joke shop he and George were working on, you paid it no mind, and picked up your copy of Guide to Advanced Transfiguration again.

You were far too absorbed into your book to notice when Fred had slipped whatever that thing was onto your finger. It was cold to the touch but fit snugly.

“D’you like it?”

“What is…” You put your book away and glanced down, about to say something half-sarcastic, but immediately stopped.

It had to have been the most beautiful ring you had seen. Although it was slightly on the thinner side, it glittered brighter than any star you had ever seen. You twisted your hand this way and that as you watched the material catch the light.

“...You know my ring size,” your voice trailed off as you took notice of the hopeful look in Fred’s eyes. “But what is this for? You know we’re—”

“For when the time comes,” he explained simply, raising your scarred right hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss there. His gaze on you remained steady and comforting in the same way that his presence made you feel. “You’ll wait for me, won’t you?”

Tears prickled at the edges of your eyes, and you nodded, feeling a sudden lump form in your throat. You were filled with a warmth that you knew had nothing to do with the blazing fire in front of you. “You know there’s no one else.”

How your best friend could make your chest ache in this way, you had no clue…For some odd reason, you thought, it wasn’t all that difficult to picture a future with him in it.

Not when he was your future. You loved him, no doubt, but when it came to describing your exact relationship all words fell short. You were close friends, but was it in the same way that you and Hermione were friends? Or you and Ginny?

But he’s my best friend, you told yourself. He’s been my best friend for over six years.

But ‘best friends’ don’t make you feel the way that Fred does.

Best friends went beyond just saving you a seat at the Great Hall if you woke up late for breakfast or slept through lunch because of a long nap. They didn’t pull you away on Hogsmeade trips and insist on hanging out with you one-on-one when you could very well just hang out together as one big group with all your friends.

They definitely didn’t fashion you a ring by hand in the middle of one quiet fall night, but he did.

“Earth to Y/N?”

“Hm…what?”

“You okay? You seemed a little spaced out there, love,” Fred raised a brow at you as he sat up, taking your hand in his.

“Just…thinking,” you hummed, letting your head lean against his shoulder. He pulled you into his side at this, tenderly brushing his lips against your forehead.

“About how I’m your favorite person on the planet and that I’m loads funnier than Georgie?”

“As if you’d ever be the only thing on my mind.”

Fred pouted, his bottom lip sticking out. “Ouch. That hurt.”

“I’m kidding,” you glanced up at him, pouting slightly. “You’ll never leave my mind. I’m holding you hostage.”

“And that’s a sentence I’d want to extend for as long as I could,” he responded.

Voldemort's return and the premise of another war loomed overhead. But he found that when your warm hand slipped into his, body leaning in close, and your laughter ringing through the air like shooting stars, it was easy for him to forget. To fall into you and feel as if you're the only thing that mattered in this world because frankly, you were.

winter

There was one big thing to look forward to today: another Hogsmeade outing. The final weekend trip before Christmas was always a little bittersweet, but filled with the most pure joy.

The Great Hall was decked out from ceiling to floor as it always was during the holiday season. Bits of snow delicately floated down from the crystalline ceiling as the classic giant Christmas tree stood tall behind the staff table. You stopped every few seconds to admire the decorations despite having been here for nearly seven years now and seeing (and even having helped one time) the grandiose setup.

Excited chatter filled every table as you went over to the Gryffindor table to sit with your friends. Ron was already piling his plate with food, grinning excitedly as he did so.

“Where’s Fred?” you asked as you sat down next to George.

“Already missing your lover boy?” the younger twin teased. “He’ll be down in a sec. The lazy arse overslept so Lee went to drag him down here.”

“Oh, okay…” You paused for a moment. “Wait, he’s not my—”

You felt someone squeeze your shoulder behind you before pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head, stopping you from finishing your sentence.

“Morning, my love,” Fred greeted casually as he slid into the spot next to you, seemingly oblivious to the stares he got from his gesture. “You sleep okay?”

“Merlin’s beard, Fred, when are ‘ou going ‘o admid it?” Ron groaned, in the middle of chewing his third drumstick.

“Yeah, when?” Ginny echoed. “I’m going to hex you if you don’t.”

“Tell me what?” you tilted your head to the side as you glanced between them.

“Oh, uh, nothing!” she said quickly.

“Nothing!” Fred grinned sheepishly. Ginny sharply jabbed an elbow into his side. “OW!”

You rolled your eyes, deciding not to question the odd exchange.

Fred placed a soft hand on your thigh, using his other to swipe a croissant from your plate.

“Hey!”

“You know you love me,” he teased.

“Shut up,” you muttered, feeling your face burn, a smile crept up on your face nonetheless. You continued eating, his hand remaining in place, and pretended like you didn’t mind what he was doing.

You exited Hogwarts to flurries of snow blowing around, adjusting your hat and (Fred’s) scarf accordingly to protect your face from the biting winds. Hogsmeade was relatively quiet today, so you took every second you had to relish in the peace.

“Godric, you’re freezing,” Fred’s bright smile turned into a slight frown when he noticed you were shivering, rubbing your gloved hands together. “Here.”

He shook off his coat and handed it to you, helping you put it on by holding the sleeves out. You let out an involuntary sigh of relief once the warmth enveloped your body.

“T-thanks, but aren’t you gonna get c—”

“Trust me, I’ll be alright,” he assured you, squeezing your hands. “Don’t want to get sick before Christmas, right?”

You managed a nod, and he casually slung an arm across your shoulders. “You’re the best.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” he grinned. “Now come on, I think we have some drinks waiting for us.”

As always, he had pulled you away from your friend group to “spend extra special time with the coolest and funniest girl in the world” and though you rolled your eyes at this, you allowed him to take the lead. (You weren’t complaining.)

Maybe it was the snow, maybe it was the added heat from Fred’s jacket, or maybe it was something else, but you were in an unusually good mood today. Fred noticed how you smiled more than usual, eagerly tugging his hand as you pulled him from shop to shop.

“Y/N…you’ll drain my pockets,” he groaned as you stopped in front of Honeyduke’s, positively beaming. “And you’ll rot my teeth.”

“Please…?” you begged. “I’ll die if I don’t get a bag.”

“Y/N, love, come on…” But seeing the blissful and innocent twinkle in your eyes made it damn near impossible for him to say no. “Alright, fine. Pick out what you want, it’s on me.”

“You’re the best!” you squeezed his arm before heading into the shop together, hand in hand. “This is why I love you.”

“Ow? Placing my worth based on how many sweet treats I am willing to bestow upon you?” Fred feigned offense at your statement. “But it’s okay. I love you too.”

Half an hour later, you were walking out of the sweet shop with a bag filled to the brim, and Fred was magically several Galleons lighter.

The two of you were only a three-minute walk from the castle grounds when the wind started to pick up. What was once a light snowy drizzle had suddenly turn into a full-blown blizzard, obscuring your vision for meters.

“I can’t even—I can’t see a thing!” you yelled over the whipping winds, trying to shield your face. “Fred, where are you?”

“Right behind you,” he murmured, circling an arm around your middle. “Don’t worry.”

But then, you felt something cold and icy slip down your jumper.

“Fred Weasley!” you yelled as he ran away, laughing with another clump of snow in hand. “You get back here right this instant before I kick your arse—”

You lunged forward and went sprinting after him, well, as fast as you could through the thick blankets of snow. Fred’s laugh echoed through the frigid air as you rolled up a giant snowball and chucked it at him. It hit him square in the back and he nearly fell from the impact.

The blizzard added an extra layer of difficulty, but you were determined to win by sheer talent and not take the easy way out with magic.

Your arms began to ache from forming and throwing snowball after snowball, and you were sure that you’d be getting bruises all over your body (especially from one particularly hard hit between your shoulder blades when you’d been distracted). But seeing Fred so blissfully happy made it worth it—for a split second, you could pretend you were both thirteen again, no worries in the world except for beating each other in Quidditch.

“Okay, this is so over!” you shouted as you chased him over a small hill and finally jumped on his back to tackle him, causing him to fall face first into the snow.

“You absolute—” he began, voice muffled. “Ow.”

He fell silent for a few seconds and stopped moving, causing you to worry. “Freddie, you alright? Fred!”

After you panicked for a few more seconds, Fred finally flipped over, clutching his stomach as he laughed at you. “You actually thought I was hurt?”

“It’s not funny!” you exclaimed in a high-pitched tone. Your face flushed as you realized you practically sitting on him and awkwardly shifted off, opting to kneel by his side as he sat up. “What if you actually were? I’d like to be the one that heals you, not hurts you, thank you very much!”

He smirked. “Aw, so you were worried about me. You care, don’t you?”

“Shut it, I do not,” you scoffed.

His eyes trailed down your ring, which still shone so brightly, as you absentmindedly fiddled with it.

“...I think you’re missing a little something, don’t you think? Or maybe it’s me that is,” he said so quietly that you almost missed what he’d said. “A diamond, perhaps….”

“A diamond?” your voice came out in the tiniest of whispers as well. “I think you’d look alright in a little silver…”

Fred then cupped your face in his hands, which forced you to look back up at him. He gently grazed his thumbs over your cheekbones and there was now what seemed like a look of longing in his bright hazel eyes. He’d always gazed at you admiringly but that was because he was your best friend, you told yourself (a lie that, time and time again, you’d try and fail over the years to convince yourself of). Best friends loved and cared for each other, that’s what they’re supposed to do.

But here he was, making you feel things that a friend normally didn’t. And you didn’t even try to push him away because you didn’t want him to leave; you never wanted him to.

He finally closed the ever-decreasing gap between you two and kissed you, capturing your lips in his. You buried a hand in his messy hair and pulled him closer; as close as you possibly could, desperate for the way he made you feel so alive because he was the one thing keeping you anchored to the ground.

IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou, he says over and over. You swore you’d explode, feeling him smile against your lips, tugging you even closer.

the in-between

The chasm of grief, so cold and uninviting, seemed to open up and swallow you whole.

You hated war. You hated watching the blood of innocent people being shed by the ruthless works of evil. You hated that you had survived while so many you had grown to know and love didn’t. They’re just kids. They’re too young. They didn’t deserve to die the way they did. They’re just kids. They’re just kids.

You weren’t sure how you even survived.

As soon as you locked eyes with each other, you, Harry, Ron, Luna, Ginny, Hermione, Neville, Dean, Seamus, and Parvati collapsed into one giant hug on the floor, tightly clutching one another. You had all been incredibly lucky to have made it through together.

Fred’s eyes carefully scanned the room, searching for a familiar face. When he saw you there in the corner, eyes squeezed shut and clinging to your best friends, he wanted nothing more than to approach and comfort you. But he knew you all needed this time together—you had lost many loved ones, and they were some of the only family you had left. So he let you be, leaning against the wall and watching from afar.

Over the next hour or so, people slowly started trickling out of the Great Hall—parents coming to pick up their kids, families reuniting—until it was just you, Harry, Hermione, Lupin, Tonks, Sirius, Fleur, and the Weasleys. There was an unspoken feeling of gratitude lingering in the air and you could sense the relief all-around.

Your heart clenched as you watched Harry embrace his godfather. Your mother had died when you were young and your father had suffered a similar fate as the Longbottoms, so watching families reunite always sent a spear through your chest.

“Hey,” you heard, feeling someone intertwine their fingers with yours. You didn’t need to look over to know it was Fred. “Sickle for your thoughts? Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

Leaning into him, you closed your eyes, attempting to will the tears away. “I don’t…I don’t know. I just hate war. While I’m glad this is over, I can’t help but think how unfair it all is. People losing each other, being torn apart…Voldemort’s gone, I know, but it just feels like he took a part of me to the grave with him.”

“I hope it’s not the part that made you fall in love with me,” Fred joked, and the corners of your lips quirked up in a grin.

“Of course not…” you murmured, “you’d have to pry your heart out of my cold, dead hands to try and take it from me. I’m here now, whether you like it or not.”

“For good?”

“For good,” you stated, reaching up to kiss him softly. “I love you.”

“And you know I love you more.”

epilogue (it’s a new spring with you)

With the Dark Lord gone, there were many loose ends to tie up and much-deserved resting to do. You had stayed behind to help start with cleaning up the castle grounds, before deciding to take the Hogwarts Express back home all togehter—for old time’s sake.

“What about the shop?” you asked George as you sat down between him and Fred. “Don’t you two need to be there?”

“We reckon it’ll be just fine—it’s not just us there anymore, remember?” he said, “but, Freddie thought you were more important. That’s why we’re here.”

Resting your head against his chest, you gazed up at Fred and smiled. “You left for me?”

“You know all that I do is for you,” he explained as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Ew my teeth, they’re going to rot from the cheesy sweetness,” Ron groaned. “You’d think that the war would wipe all that out.”

“Oh shut it, Ronald,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Let them live.”

You drifted off and slept through the entire ride home, feeling a tad bit more refreshed when pulling in to King’s Cross station. It was a blur from there: taking the Floo network, carrying bags, washing up, and whatnot. You felt as if you were on autopilot with a barely functioning Muggle battery. All you wanted was to collapse on the floor and sleep forever, but you wanted to sit around the living room floor with your friends and catch up like you always did during the summer.

Lupin and Tonks had gone home to take care of Teddy while the rest of you were settling in. Chatter filled the Burrow as you spent time unpacking, and you found that you’d missed all the noise more than you initially thought. Dinner was an equally chaotic but also peaceful affair, filled with plenty of toasts, extra servings, and laughter, of course.

While Sirius was busy telling the table about the Mauraders’ antics, Fred squeezed your hand, jerking his head behind him to indicate that he wanted to go out back.

Now? What is it? you mouthed.

Fred nodded. Yes, now, so come on.

He took your hand and led you out the back door to the orchards, crescent moon shining overhead. A faint smile graced your face as you thought back to the days you spent together under the giant apple tree, reading stories from Hermione’s books to one another, skipping stones by the lake, and tending to the chickens.

A familiar tune started drifting through the air, and Fred extended a hand towards you.

“May I have this dance?”

You were immediately hit with a wave of déjà vu at his question, and allowed him to sweep you up into his arms. He placed his hands on your waist and you felt sparks shoot up your spine at his touch. Your arms wound their way around his neck as you swayed to the melody, losing yourselves in a dreamy lullaby. Though you had done this with him before on several occasions, it still felt like you were falling in love all over again.

You swallowed hard as you thought about how you had both been forced to grow up so fast. Moments like these—of pure bliss and childlike innocence—were far and few between, so they were to be greatly cherished. It was easy when he was twirling you around like this; effortlessly guiding your motions, to forget that anything and anyone else existed.

Closing your eyes, you focused on the feeling of his warm hands through your sweater and the soothing sound of his soft hums, allowing them to carry you away.

At one point, he briefly stops before spinning you outwards—but this time, he doesn’t pull you back in to catch you. You’re about to be confused but then, you turn around to see him down on one knee, a glittering diamond ring in hand. You froze in place, completely shocked.

“A diamond, perhaps…” you echoed, recalling that one winter night when you had kissed him for the first time, feeling like your heart was going to explode out of your chest.

“It’s always been you,” said Fred in a simple, soft tone of voice. “Always has been and always will be.”

Your eyes began to water. “You’re bloody kidding me…”

“Y/N, I know I joke around a lot—hell, I opened a whole shop with Georgie…but one thing I’ve never joked about is the way I feel about you.”

“Fred…”

“...Will you marry me?”

You opened and closed your mouth but no words seemed to come out. All you could manage was a small nod before tears fully blurred your vision and you stepped forward, hand shaking as he slid the diamond ring on.

When his lips brushed against yours, time seemed to splutter to a stop, and you felt your weary heart slowly but steadily stitch itself back together.

Except, he was the one holding the needle and telling you that there was no need to be anxious or scared because he’d be by your side for the rest of your life.

So don't let me wait Come to me tenderly in the June night I stand at your gate And I sing you a song in the moonlight A love song, my darling A moonlight serenade

tags: @htchnr @arkofblake @xhanthexzoria @antriimx @pinkdaiisies @lovely-whale-is-lovely

2K notes · View notes