Chapter Text
Unsurprisingly, it started because of Anko; most things do, but very few of the things she starts are what Konoha-at-large would expect of her. Treason? Never. Murder? Only on the clock. Intense sexual debauchery – well, not never, but very seldom. She’s pranked more than a few of the shinobi who seek her in hopes of acting out their peculiar fantasies and kinks, and she delights in being unpredictable.
That is to say Mitarashi Anko is never to be underestimated, especially when it comes to nonsense and the making of it.
It begins so: in a soba stand, with three kunoichi clustered at one end of the stall, discussing this and that. “It was a nice way to celebrate your one-year, yeah,” Kurenai says, eyes tilting up at the corners as she sips her broth. “Got anything planned for his birthday?”
“No,” Sakura says with a sigh, poking lazily at her noodles. “I… well, I don’t quite know what to do. He’s on thin ice with the clan right now since –” she gestures to her hair, twisted up into a bun and secured with Uchiha kanzashi. “I don’t want to make it worse by doing something they’ll throw a fit about.”
Anko leans forward, a devilish smirk curling her lips. “Want me to stop in Tanzaku Gai and grab you something to go under? Nothing like a… personal birthday gift, y’know.” She slurps down a single noodle and adds, like an afterthought, “Is he into butt stuff?”
Kurenai chokes on her noodles. Sakura narrowly avoids spitting out her tea, barely holding in the laughter until she’s swallowed, and then she cackles. “Somehow, I don’t think he’d like me to answer that in public,” she says around a giggle.
“It’s not public!” Anko protests, gesturing at the nigh-empty stall. “What, is Kumo lurking around the corner listening? Are they going to conquer Konoha and steal our bloodlines if they find out one of the Uchiha likes to take it up –”
“Anko!” Kurenai snaps, cheeks nearly bright enough to match her eyes.
“Kur-eh-nai!” Anko replies, drawing the syllables out to mock the other woman. “I don’t see what the big deal is! I’ve heard you talk about –”
“But not in public!” Kurenai interrupts, flushing even darker. “It’s – this is why everyone thinks… well, what they think!”
Sakura drawls, barely holding down a smile, “It's why they think she’s an incurable, insatiable, kinky nymphomaniac that does things like corrupt cute, innocent med-nins?” Kurenai nods hard and opens her mouth, but Anko doesn’t let her say anything.
“Cute, innocent med-nin my ass, ” she grumbles. “At least 90% of the kinky shit I learned, I learned from you.” On the last word, she points her chopsticks straight at Sakura and scowls.
She flicks away the damp chopsticks and scowls right back. “Well, you’re certainly rude without my help,” she says with a haughty sniff. “I’ve never pointed my chopsticks at someone in my life.” Anko answers by flipping her off. “Already did, thanks, not going back.” She uses both hands the second time and Sakura turns her nose up higher. “ Anyway, if you have any good suggestions for Shisui’s birthday, I’m all ears. My usual go-to is a birthday party at the Shitty Kunai, but…” she shrugs. “Decorum, right?”
“Why not just… throw a normal birthday party?” Kurenai suggests, setting aside her empty bowl and leaning forward. “Your apartment’s not that small, and you wouldn’t be inviting that many people, right?”
Sakura bites her lip and tilts her head, looking hesitant. “I… how do you throw a birthday party at home? I’ve never done that.”
Anko scoots back a little, eyes wide, when Sakura glances around. “Don’t look at me, bitch. You think Orochimaru gave half a shit about birthdays?”
“... ‘nai?” Sakura asks plaintively.
Kurenai sighs, shoulders drooping a little. “I know a bit, yeah,” she mumbles. “I can help, but I’m not going to be in town, so it’ll have to be a group project.”
“Great! Anko and I can –”
“ Anko doesn’t have to do anything,” the kunoichi interrupts. “Anko isn’t dating a damn Uchiha, and Anko doesn’t know shit about parties.”
“I’ll invite that med-nin you keep eyeing,” Sakura says flatly. “If you help, I’ll even put in a good word for you.”
“Oh?” She nods. “Anko will learn about throwing parties, because Anko needs to get laid.”
“Please stop talking like that.”
“Anko does not bow to the wishes of kinky med-nins without payment.”
“Anko, I swear on the sage’s grave – get back here, you little shit!”
Now, it may seem to the unknowing that it was not Anko who started this series of events, but Kurenai. This, though, is not where things truly started; it is merely an explanation, rather a prelude, to the first bit of nonsense in the chain.
- - -
Three days later, Sakura comes home from the hospital to find her once-lover, longtime friend on the couch, bleeding rather badly. “You know, there’s a whole building where they fix this stuff,” she snaps, kneeling beside Anko to examine the gash in her leg.
“Yes, but they ask questions, like ‘why is there cobra venom in this wound’ and ‘what do you mean you were trying to tame a king cobra’ or ‘what do you mean it’s good for your immunities’,” Anko replies, wincing as Sakura begins passing chakra through her skin, clear liquid beading up in the center of the wound.
“So you come to me because I already know the answer to all those questions is ‘because you’re a dumbass’,” Sakura mumbles tersely, pulling the poison away and floating it into the empty ramen cup on the kotatsu. “You get a pass for not throwing that away this time because cobra venom is neurotoxic and it was trying to disable your nervous system, but I swear I’ll feed your snakes to Bull the next time you leave trash around my apartment.”
“Bitch.”
“Mhmm.” They sit in silence, Anko’s skin slowly knitting together underneath Sakura’s fingers, until Anko says, “You never answered me about whether or not your Uchiha boo likes – y’know, that.”
“Honestly, I’m not sure,” Sakura answers, a tinge of amusement in her voice. It never fails to amuse her how Anko will blurt anything out in public, but tends towards private shyness at the strangest times. “He does, however, have an oral fixation he likes to… exercise… in very beneficial ways.”
She doesn’t realize she’s smirking until Anko pokes her cheek. “Lucky bitch.”
“Mhmm.”
“...is he better than –”
“I’m not answering that.”
- - -
The two most crucial steps in planning a birthday party are these: where to have it at, and who to have at it.
Though Shisui officially still lives in the Uchiha complex, he’s at Sakura’s apartment more often than not, and more of his things are there than are in his house. She moved a week or two after her birthday, spurred on by the way she constantly tripped over his things because they didn’t have a place to go, and she doesn’t regret it a bit. The new apartment is larger and nicer, though not newer, and it has the distinct advantage of not being a bachelor pad trapped with more jutsus than sense, like many of her friend’s apartments.
Anko and Kakashi are the worst offenders by far, but the others have their foibles, too. She knows Gai cooks like a professional, but his apartment is little more than a closet with a hot plate, since he spends so much time out of town or training, and his is the only one that stays clean. While Iruka and Kakashi’s apartment is fairly large, Iruka’s surprisingly messy, and Kakashi is chronically incapable of not trapping every inch of the place. (Sakura gets past them all with ease, but she’s well aware most people can’t.) Anko’s messiness means she often has deadly poisons laying around her apartment like normal people might have socks… and so on, and so on forth. Clearly, Sakura’s apartment is the most logical choice.
That, then, leaves the who. Sakura gnaws on her bottom lip as she stares at the paper before her. Right now, there’s only one name on the list: Shisui’s. She doesn’t know exactly who to invite, and it’s worrying her more than it should. “Aa, careful, Sakura-chan. I can smell the smoke from here.”
“Fuck off,” she says with a sigh, not turning to look at the person invading her apartment. “Don’t you have a mission to complete, or a boyfriend to harass?”
“Already completed the mission,” he chirps, and the cheeriness in his voice means only one thing. “And I can go harass Iruka as soon as –”
She spins in her chair, pencil splintering as her hand clenches. “ Kakashi. ” The only time Kakashi ever sounds cheery is when something’s gone horribly wrong, or if he’s wounded (which is usually a result of something going horribly wrong) and this time proves no different. Her best friend’s standing by the couch, gingerly holding his left arm to his chest. “What the hell is it this time?”
“Turns out chidori isn’t quite strong enough to go through steel walls after going through four ribcages,” he admits, looking a little sheepish. “I thought I could pin the last guy to the wall and just punch through, but…”
“Oh, so Iruka took all the intelligence to school with him today.” He shrugs, and Sakura just sighs again before beckoning him over, hand already glimmering green. “...you also gave yourself lightning burns, in addition to the broken arm. Shithead.”
He doesn’t answer immediately, so she glances up at him. His eyes are fixed behind her, on the table, on the – “Sakura-chan?” She hums in response. “You know you need more than one person for a party, right?”
“Yes,” she grumbles. “I just… don’t know who to invite, exactly. He’s not terribly popular with the clan, except for Itachi, and I can hardly invite a twelve year old to this kind of party.”
She regrets her words as soon as they leave her mouth. Kakashi chuckles, the sound low and wicked, and she groans. “‘This kind of party’? My, my, Sa-chan, I didn’t think you were the type to organize a –”
“I’m not, ” she snaps, letting her chakra spike as she heals the nerves in his arm. His body twitches – from Kakashi, that amounts to a shriek. “It’s going to be a party with adults, not an adult party, you pervert.”
“Disappointing,” he says, voice full of laughter despite the mournful tone. “You could always invite his ANBU partners, like Kenta-kun.”
She lets her chakra spike again, and this time he squirms. “While I’m not going to use Anko’s name for him, I do think it’s an accurate name, so no,” she tells him. “Try again.”
“Sakura-chan is so cruel to me,” he mopes for a second. She pinches him and he snorts, but doesn’t move. “Really, invite some of his ANBU partners. Not Kenta, but some of the others. He gets along pretty well with Genma, Inori, Hayate…”
She sits back, pulling her hands away from his arm. “Done. And how, exactly, do you expect me to know who his ANBU partners are? Unlike some people, Shisui avoids the hospital by not getting hurt instead of getting hurt and ignoring it, so I’ve never seen most of his partners.”
“You could just ask him who he usually works with,” Kakashi points out, lifting one eyebrow.
“I want it to be a surprise, though,” she says with a sigh, spinning back around to confront her blank paper. Only then does she realize there are still shards of the shattered pencil embedded in her fingers. It takes her only a few seconds to extract them and heal the wounds. By the time they’ve sealed over, there’s a new pencil in front of her, and Kakashi’s lounging in the chair across from her, inspecting an apple from her fruit bowl like it’s poisoned.
She eyes him for a few seconds, until he decides the apple’s not going to kill him, and tugs his mask down to take a bite. Then she shakes her head and picks the pencil up. For a minute, the only noise is the crunch of his teeth cutting through the apple’s skin and the occasional scratch of her pencil as she jots down names. Anko. Kurenai. Iruka? Kakashi. Tenzo?
Her thoughts are interrupted by a smug hum. She glances up and finds her best friend rubbing his chin, like he’s a wise old sage. “If only you knew someone else in ANBU… someone who knows who everyone is…”
Sakura stares at him for a second, eyes narrow. “Right. Because you’re just so altruistic you’d do that.” He offers her a smile, wide enough to make his eyes crinkle absurdly, and she wrinkles her nose back at him. “Bullshit. What do you want?”
“Well, Iru-kun has had quite a bit of stress lately…” She nods, not sure what that has to do with this. “And I’ve had quite a few long missions…” Another nod. “I was thinking maybe you could come over and –”
“I am not a fucking housekeeper, you shit,” she growls as she points the pencil at him. “I am a legendary medical ninja, who has pioneered life-saving jutsu, and I –”
“Need someone to invite your fiance’s friends to the party,” Kakashi interrupts, eyes going up into that damn crinkle again as he takes another bite. “Deal?”
“Deal.”
“Wasn’t that easy?”
“...I hate you so much.”
“I hate you too, Sa-chan.”
- - -
Now, while there are a great many things to be said of Hatake Kakashi, and especially of his faults, none of them are about his inability to keep promises. He’s very good at keeping promises, especially when they’re not just promises, but deals. In very short order, he brings a list of Shisui’s favorite partners to Sakura. With the where and the who of the thing settled, the next thing is the when.
For that, Sakura employs an ages-old, well-known ninja technique that rarely fails (when properly executed): sucking up.
Though Sakura doesn’t particularly enjoy sucking up to people, she’s quite good at it when she sets her mind to it – but this time, her target is a notorious… well, a notorious hard-ass. That means she’ll have to take extraordinary measures in order to ensure success.
On her next day off, Sakura’s up before dawn. Shisui’s away for the night on a short surveillance mission, so there’s nobody to disturb as she begins her preparations. She bathes with great care, using her most expensive soap, and dresses even more carefully. Rather than the utilitarian underwear shinobi wear most of the time, she wraps herself in layer after layer of traditional undergarments. She leaves the top layers for last and pins her hair up in the most traditional bun she can manage before sliding the two Uchiha kanzashi into it. She slips on socks and geta, and then pulls out the traditional makeup she rarely uses, gently powdering her face, darkening her eyelashes – but she’s careful not to overdo it. When she’s satisfied, she reaches for the last few layers: an ornate, hand-sewn kimono Shisui gave her for her last birthday. It’s deep navy, with little sakura blossoms embroidered near the cuffs and around the neck, and traditional enough to please even the most hide-bound. The obi, rather than being the same color, is soot-black with deep red edging.
“You look like you’re about to squirt out a dozen baby sharingans,” Anko observes from her place in the corner as Sakura turns, inspecting herself in the long mirror and making sure everything’s just right. The obi’s slightly rolled in the back, so she tugs at it and presses it down with her hand, Anko crunching away on her chocolate puffed rice in the background.
“I truly appreciate your input,” Sakura finally replies, turning towards her friend. “Well? What do you think?”
“Aside from the baby sharingans?” Sakura nods, and Anko crunches through another handful before she answers. “Looks picture perfect to me.” She digs through the box for another handful as she says, “Fuck, I’m glad I don’t have to actually do that stuff. That damn snake always told me I’d need to know, but so far I’ve gotten along just fine without using it.”
Sakura shrugs and clatters across the room. By the time she’s gotten to the door, her steps are just as smooth and silent as they would be if she were barefoot. “Thank you, Anko.”
“G’luck!” the other kunoichi calls after her, through a mouth full of food. Sakura shakes her head, amused, and closes the door behind her.
Even without using the rooftops, it doesn’t take long for her to arrive at the Uchiha compound. Shisui helped her pick her new apartment, and though it’s closer to the hospital than it is the compound, it’s still not far. “Haruno Sakura, here to see Mikoto-sama,” she says to the guards at the gates with a short bow.
“Mm,” one replies, stepping aside and opening the door. “Ryu will escort you to the main house.”
“My thanks, Uchiha-san.” Another bow, and she follows the short boy into the compound. She’s been here one other time, when Shisui was gravely injured, too fragile for the hospital – though she was in the compound for nearly a week, she didn’t venture outside his house the entire time. This time, she pays a little more attention to the layout, well aware that one day soon this will be her home for the rest of her life. It shocks her to see how… silent everything seems. Even the children she sees, all of them under five, are quiet and still. Compared to Naruto, they might well be dolls.
After a few minutes wending through the compound (two laps around it, down the same street four times, and a single disorientation jutsu at the beginning of the Uchiha-only marketplace; she’s not fool enough to fall for such paltry tricks) they come to a stop in front of a large, well-appointed house. Her guide taps at the door, and another Uchiha she doesn’t recognize opens it. “Haruno-sensei for Mikoto-sama.”
The woman nods and steps aside, silently beckoning Sakura into the house. When the door closes, the woman leads her deeper inside, stopping in front of a paper door and rapping quietly on the frame. “Yes?”
“Your guest, Mikoto-sama,” the woman says, her voice deeper than Sakura expected.
“Enter.” She opens the door. Sakura moves past her and stops just inside. Uchiha Mikoto sits at a kotatsu in the center of the room, papers spread across the table. Some are printed, but some of them are clearly letters, filled with intricate calligraphy – and the other woman’s fingers have no ink spots anywhere to be seen. “Tea, and then you may go until I ring for you.” The woman bows, deep, formal, and disappears, the door closing behind her. Sakura stands there, nervous, wishing she could wring her hands, but that wouldn’t be decorous. “Sit, Haruno-sensei. I am honored to finally meet you,” Mikoto says, waving at the pillow across from her as she tidies her papers and sets them to one side.
“I am the one who is honored by your acquaintance, Mikoto-sama,” Sakura answers, stepping forward and bowing low.
Mikoto… snorts. “Take a seat, Sakura-san,” she says, voice suddenly more gentle. “I will be your aunt soon enough. You need not be so formal with me.”
Sakura straightens her body slowly, hesitant, and says, “But – Fugaku-sama –”
She waves her hand dismissively. “He is formal, yes, and formality has its place. But family is different.” When she says that, she smiles, and Sakura nearly staggers. Mikoto’s smile makes the years leave her face, makes her young again, and though the age makes her regal, her smile makes her so lovely Sakura cannot quite find words for it. “Come, sit, tell me what it is that finally brings you to meet me.”
She obeys, sitting and carefully tucking her kimono around her before she speaks. “I… I had not thought you wished to meet me, Mikoto-sama,” she says, eyes low. “Shisui-kun said…” She winces, not sure how to word it.
“Ah. Yes, that is…” Mikoto trails off and Sakura looks up to find something troubled on the other woman’s face. “For all I have heard of you, Sakura-san, I have heard no person say you are a fool. Foolish, perhaps, but not a fool, so I say this in the strictest confidence.” Sakura’s eyes go wide. “My husband trusts only the Uchiha to have the Uchiha’s best interests, but I… sharing blood does not make people less likely to betray you. Fugaku and the other olders are displeased with Shisui for proposing to you, but in truth, I find myself rather excited by it. One cannot expect new things from a stale pond, can they?”
“Of course not,” Sakura mumbles, head spinning. Just then, there’s another tap at the door before it slides open and the other Uchiha woman comes in with a tea service, steam rising from the pot. They sit in silence as she sets it on the kotatsu. Sakura half-expects her to serve them, but she simply bows again and leaves.
“I speak so to you for many reasons, Sakura-san,” Mikoto continues, her voice low and calm as she serves. “I could not have chosen a better person to marry into the Uchiha had I tried. You are skilled beyond measure, you have outdone your mentor, and you bring the Senju assets with you.” Her eyes go distant as she hands Sakura her cup. “Perhaps, had the Uchiha and Senju joined hands long ago, Konoha would be much different – but that is past.” Mikoto takes a sip and sets her cup down, every moment slow and graceful. “The Uchiha are not what they once were, Sakura-san. Many distrust us, think us treacherous and wicked, for – reasons I cannot yet tell you. I have seen the records, and Uchiha marrying Uchiha has not strengthened us like the elders believed it would. There are less and less Uchiha born every year.” Another sip, slow, careful. “No man can level a forest alone, but a few trees are as child’s play.”
“I understand, Mikoto-sama,” Sakura whispers, hands tight on her cup. “I will do my best not to disappoint you.” Her throat’s dry. This is not what she came here to talk about. Not at all.
“Obaa-san.”
“What?” Sakura says, jerking her head up from the depths of her cup, nearly cracking the fragile china.
Mikoto’s smile is soft. “Mikoto-obaasan. You will be my niece soon enough. Though Shisui himself calls me Mikoto-sama, I hope you and I shall be closer than I am to him. Other than that, I have no expectations save that you are the woman you have proven yourself to be.” Mikoto tilts her head slightly. “But I am certain you did not seek this appointment to hear me ramble about the state of the Uchiha. Is it the wedding, perhaps?”
“I – er, no – not yet, at least,” Sakura mumbles, carefully setting her cup down and folding her hands in her lap again. “I… I was hoping to host a small celebration for Shisui on or near his birthday, and I thought perhaps you could…” She bites her lips, but Mikoto just waits patiently. “I thought maybe you could make sure he would be here and not on a mission?” she says after a minute, voice squeakier than she’d like. Saying it out loud, it seems stupid, and she begins to regret not going straight to Fugaku-sama, surely he would be better–
“Ah,” Mikoto says, a little smile curling her lips. “Of course, Sakura-san – but I do have a condition.” Sakura’s eyebrows go up. “I shall make certain Shisui is in Konoha on a day near his birthday… if you will teach Itachi a few medical jutsu.”
“What kind of jutsu?” Sakura asks, narrowing her eyes at the older woman. “Some of them –”
“Just enough so he can patch himself up, should the need arise,” Mikoto says softly. “More and more of his missions are solo missions every day, and…” Her lips press tight for a second. “I want him to keep coming home.”
Sakura inclines her head. “I would be honored to teach him, Mikoto-sa– Mikoto- obaasan. ” The other woman smiles again, just as stunning as the first time, and pours herself more tea.
“Now, have you thought on the wedding at all?”
- - -
Where, who, and when handled, Sakura finds herself at a loss for what’s next. That, in the end, is what becomes her downfall. She calls upon her impromptu planning team and, belatedly, invites Kakashi as well. Of course, he’s late, but she doesn’t have time to wait.
“Food, yeah, but what else?” she asks Kurenai, nervously pacing the floor of her friend’s small apartment. “And what kind? I know Hayate has several food allergies, and then Yuugao dislikes tempura unless it’s made with a different batter, and –”
“We’ll figure the food out last,” Kurenai says firmly. “Right now, you need to worry about decorations.”
Sakura’s face falls. “I – the bar usually decorated,” she mumbles, reaching up and tugging on a lock of hair. “What do I – how do I decorate?”
“You hang ‘em up, dumbass,” Anko contributes, her eyes pinned to Kurenai’s little television. “Even I know that.”
She glowers at Anko and crosses her arms. “No, I mean – Mikoto-obaasan was talking about what the wedding would have, and stuff, so I know about that. I mean what sort of decorations?”
Kurenai shrugs, leaning over to steal some of Anko’s dango and squint at the screen. “That’s gotta be fake,” she mumbles before turning back towards Sakura. “I don’t know. Most of the time it’s something people enjoy – like, for Kakashi, the theme would have to be –”
All at once, in strange harmony, they chorus, “Icha Icha.” They all giggle a little, but then Kurenai continues, “Is there something you know Shisui really, really likes, or –”
“Eating out,” Anko interrupts, eyes still on the screen.
“What?” Kurenai says after a second, blinking in confusion. “I mean, I know most people like restaurants, but –”
Anko groans and sinks back into the couch. “Not eating out, I mean eating out.” She receives only more confused looks from not one, but both, of the other women. “Oh, come on! You know what I mean – dinner at the Y – munching the–”
“I believe what Anko-chan is referring is to oral sex,” interrupts a lazy drawl. Sakura glances over and finds Kakashi closing the balcony door, mischief written in every line of his body. Then she processes what he said.
“Anko! You weren’t supposed to talk about that!” she snaps, flushing bright red. “I told you in confidence!”
Anko cackles maniacally, like she’s just been possessed by her former teacher. “Shit, if I had a guy who liked to go downtown that much, you’d never stop hearing about it!”
“It is good to hear Sa-chan’s being taken care of,” Kakashi says, leaning on the back of the couch and squinting at the TV. “...is this staged?”
“Probably,” Anko says, lifting up her tray. “You’re allowed one dango, lint-lips.”
“...I appreciate your generosity, but no thank you.” He eyes the tray with mild disgust, and then looks over at Sakura. “Payment.”
She sighs and disappears into the kitchen, returning a minute later with a tray of takoyaki. “Fuckin’ extortion,” she mumbles, setting it down on Kurenai’s coffee table.
“You could have said no,” Kakashi tells her, flickering out of sight and then back in, on the couch with his feet up, takoyaki in hand.
“How the hell am I supposed to know what a guy wants at a party?” she demands, tapping her foot impatiently. “You’re supposed to be my inside source! The only other boy I know well enough to ask is Naruto, and, well –” she cringes a little. “Not only is he eight, he’s Naruto .”
Kakashi looks up from inspecting the takoyaki and raises an eyebrow at her. “What do you mean, what he wants at a party?” He looks back down and finally decides on his first victim, tugging his mask down and popping it into his mouth, and then he talks with his mouth full. “S’long as you have food an’ cleavage, he’ll be happy.”
“...cleavage?” Kurenai asks, eyebrows high. “Sakura, forgive me for what I’m about to say–” the kunoichi scowls, but doesn’t reply. “– but there’s no way you mean her cleavage because she doesn’t have any.”
“Gonna fuckin’ poison every one of you in your sleep, I swear to the sage,” Sakura mumbles, flinging herself down on the floor and folding her legs into a shape that always makes Kakashi wince.
Kakashi swallows, thankfully, and says, “I hear civilians make these magical devices that make breasts look larger.”A wicked smile flickers across his face, and then he adds, “I have both been the victim of such a thing, and the person using it. They work very nicely.”
At that, Kurenai whips around and goggles at Kakashi – and promptly falls off the couch. After she lays there for a moment, simply wheezing, Sakura starts to worry. “...you okay?”
“Face,” the kunoichi whispers. “ Face – what the fuck –”
“Oh, right,” Anko snickers. “You haven’t seen lint-lips without the lint, have you?”
Another belabored wheeze. Sakura rolls her eyes and leans over, yanking her friend closer by one arm and dragging her into a sitting position. “Yes, he’s pretty, no, it’s not fair, yes, he’s prettier than most of us. Were you going to say something?”
“I… I was going to ask why he was wearing a bra…” Kurenai mumbles, eyes still pinned to Kakashi’s face.
“I was entrusted with a very delicate mission, one only I could complete, but there was –”
Sakura interrupts him, voice flat. “He dressed up as a maiko for a mission, and he was a very pretty little maiko. Left all sorts of red kisses on men.”
Anko’s snickering only grows in volume. “Drag Queen Hatake: the hottest thing in Tanzaku,” she cackles, eyes dancing merrily. “Was it geta or heels?”
“Geta, of course,” Kakashi says with a haughty sniff. “I am always accurate.”
From there, the discussion goes rather off the rails – but the seed is planted.
- - -
And here, o, here is where the wickedness truly begins: with a single bored kunoichi and the partner assigned to her for a surveillance mission. Of course, as one might expect, the mission involves Anko’s darling mentor and a rumor about his presence. Though she specializes in loud, she’s perfectly well suited to being sneaky, and since this mission takes place just over the border Konoha shares with Amegakure, sneaky is required.
That means she has an ANBU partner, one very well known for both stealth and destruction, one very skilled in returning no matter what – and possibly the only person the entire shinobi world could identify on sight despite their ANBU mask. She’s been given a blank mask for the mission, along with basic ANBU gear, so she’ll seem relatively unimportant if they’re caught.
Despite knowing how important it is that they not be caught, it’s going on twenty-eight hours watching the same building. They’re stowed away in the same hidey-hole, relatively dry despite the eternal drizzle, and sleeping in shifts so someone’s always watching. Right around hour thirty-one, when Kakashi wakes up and starts eating his breakfast, Anko finally cracks a little. “Hey, Hatake,” she mumbles, flicking a pebble at him.
“No names,” he murmurs, red eye twitching in her direction.
“Please. You’re the worst kept secret ANBU’s ever had,” she says, crossing her arms. “I’m pretty sure there are literal children in Suna who could figure out who you are.”
“Shhh.”
“No, no shhh,” she snaps back, though her voice remains little more than a whisper. “I am bored. Did you at least bring along that damn smut book?”
And, for the first time in her life, she sees Hatake Kakashi blush for something other than a mission. “Of course not.”
“You did.”
“I just said I didn’t!” Anko knows a lie when she hears it, and this one’s so transparent she can practically smell it – so she pounces. Literally. In half a second, she’s got Kakashi on his back, one hand on his throat as the other frantically rummages through pockets.
“Ah- ha!” she finally crows (quietly), springing back once the book’s in her hand. “Now, let’s see if this shit’s any good.” Icha Icha springs open at her touch, the pages fluttering and falling open to a spot that matches a well-worn patch in the binding – and she can see why. It’s an illustration of a naked red-headed woman on her knees, one hand between her thighs, the other cupping one of her very nice tits. Her mouth’s wrapped around a (similarly nice) cock, the faceless man’s hands wrapped in her hair, her delight evident on her face. “ Damn ,” she breathes, glancing at the page of text across from it. As she expected, it narrates the illustrated scene in graphic, breath-taking detail. “This one’s a favorite, huh?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kakashi mumbles, grumpy, arms crossed, eyes still on the building.
“Suuuure,” she drawls, turning the book over to look at the spine. There are a few other worn spots in the binding, but she picks the next biggest one and flips over to it. It’s another illustration, and this one makes her bite a lip, a little flustered by the quality of the illustration. The woman’s splayed out on a bed, legs spread, ecstasy on her face and in every line of her inky body – because the man’s between her legs. She stares longer than she should, given she’s on a mission, because the detail is staggering. When she squints, she can see the pink of the man’s tongue against the darkness of the woman’s lower lips, the two fingers he has inside her. Instead of touching himself, as the woman had in the earlier illustration, his free hand’s wrapped around her breast, nipple barely visible through his fingers.
She takes a deep breath, and then another, and looks away from the book. “How the fuck are you not constantly walking around with a boner?”
“Practice,” he snaps, holding his hand out. “Give it back.”
She edges a little farther away, glancing back down at the picture. “I don’t know, this is a pretty nice picture. Didn’t know you liked –” she stops dead, The Idea flickering to life in her brain. “Say, Kakashi…”
This time he turns his head to look at her, eyes questioning, because her voice is full of mischief. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
“I don’t suppose you could get a version of this –” she turns the book around and shows him the picture – “–enlarged and framed?”
He pushes his mask back on his head a little farther, enough for her to see his confused frown. “Uh, no need to. They sell poster-sized versions of every illustration in the Icha Icha books. Why?”
She leans forward, glee building in her heart. “Think, lint-lips. Who do we know who has a birthday soon… who absolutely adores eating girls out…”
“...you want to give that to Shisui?”
“It’s perfect!”
“Where would he even hang it?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. Can you imagine the look on Sakura’s face when he opens it up in front of everyone?”
“This is a bad idea.”
“Oh, I know.”
“...I’ll show you the mail order catalogue.”