Send me ‘⁈’ for my character’s reaction to your muse running their hand up mine’s thigh.
How did it ever turn out like this?
"Look at me—" Obito’s grip was like iron; painful and unwavering, his fingers dug into the yielding material of Kakashi’s mask with bruising force as he guided his former teammate’s gaze from the sky above, to match heterochomatic gazes.
Obito’s words were everywhere, his voice was rough and torn with the budding onset of rage, and as vast as the endless chasm of the Kamui dimension that surrounded both wounded men.
"You must understand, Kakashi. You must—You’ve seen, haven’t you? The endless killing fields and the children that must walk through them. This is living, Kakashi? This world? You prefer this putrid shade?"
A chill broke over Hatake Kakashi with his former compatriot’s growing proximity, his breath catching as Obito’s breath billowed in an anger fueled huff against his cheek. Obito’s hands were firm, holding the bloodied Jounin beneath him in place. Fingers hard and gloved, trembling as his hand settled along the silver haired shinobi’s thigh.
"I could save them, Kakashi. I could save you." His grip tightened, "I could give you anything you ever wanted—we could be together, the three of us. We could have another chance—please, just listen to me."
Kakashi could feel himself slipping into the greying folds of his subconscious, the loss of blood and chakra finally tugging at his heels and pulling him into the familiar tides of darkness. Kakashi could see Obito’s face, a warm spark touching his warped features even in the height of his madness.
"I promise, Kakashi," the demented promise was met with a genuine smile that accompanied a gentle touch to the axis of Kakashi’s cheek.
"Things will be better when you wake."
