Kakashi Is Bad At Love (Yandere Kakashi)

Kakashi's Love Is Threatened

We finished eating and I began to clean the dishes from the small table we had been sitting at while Kakashi began to run the water in the sink. I walked over and set the dishes down, grabbing onto his arm as he washed. His mask was still off of his face and he looked down at me as his arm moved, washing one of the plates I had set down. It was so calming. Here we were, doing normal household chores together like normal people. His smile was so beautiful and I was so happy that it was I who brought it too his face.

I rested my head against his arm as he finished up the last dish and turned off the water. I reached up towards his face as he turned to me and wrapped my hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down to my face and initiating a kiss. We pulled away from each other, catching our breath, and I felt the words drip from my mouth without hesitation.

"I love you, Kakashi." Those three words, ones that he had said to me in letters and in person, the ones that I had never said back. I had finally told him that I loved him.

A small voice in my head begged for me to stop. That this was too fast. That it wasn't right. That voice that I had been keeping locked down for the last day resurfaced ever so slighlty, making me doubt for only a moment. Was this too fast? Was I being pressured into this, in fear that he wouldn't let me leave? That he would snap?

"I love you too, My Dove." He gave his signature closed eye smile and leaned down again, nuzzling his face into my neck and pulling his fingers through my hair. "God, I love you so much."

I let out a satisfied sigh as he pulled me closer against him, not letting the voice try and talk me out of my choices. Not when I had come this far.

I gave a small yelp when his large hands reached my thighs, pulling me up. I instinctively wrapped my legs around him and he began to walk towards the living room. It was the first time I had seen it. There was one long couch and a tv, one wall was lined with more bookshelves, and the other had a small table that had two pictures on it. I looked at them as we passed. One was Kakashi and three younger people. I realized they were probably the ones that he was training, based on their descriptions he had given. The other was a picture that had an older, yellow haired man standing over three others, one obviously a young Kakashi.

"You were a cute kid, Kashi." I said with a slight giggle.

I scanned the bookshelves that were along the opposite wall, this one had been filled with movies, knicknacks, and more books. A small tablet caught my eye, a memorial stone. It was along the top shelf and even from our spot on the couch I could read the name inscribed on the front. Sakumo Hatake. I remembered Kakashi telling me of the things that he had gone through and felt slightly bad, as I couldn't remember if his father had come up. I sat staring at it, trying to remember the conversation, or more like the monologue on Kakashi's part. At that point I still had been trying to block him out, hadn't wanted anything to do with him, or so I thought, and hadn't tried to pay too much attention. Now I only felt bad that I hadn't and sat wondering how to bring up the subject again.

I wanted to know about him, to understand him, to know his secrets like he knew me. But that would come in time, I didn't want to push him too far too fast.

Why? Because I was afraid?

I shook my head and  waited for him to stop shuffling in his seat before I threw my legs over his lap and leaned to the side against the back of the couch, staring at his face. I took in the features of his face, now even more beautiful in the light that shone through the open window. The dim light of the sunset only lit up his features and shone off of his hair, making it seem almost like starlight. He opened his mouth as if he were about to speak but was cut off by his phone ringing in the other room, where he had left it sitting on his nightstand. I pulled my legs off of him as he threw his head back and gave a deep chuckle, hating the interuption.