#alpha!kakashi

That said, it wasn’t exactly an easy job for a guy that just got promoted to Hokage, somewhat against his will. He was kept just busy enough with paperwork to be unable to physically search for her, and just bored enough to worry and imagine the worst possible scenarios for his wife every second of every day.

Of course, Kakashi wasn't sure what he’d actually do if indeed he ever found his wife. He supposed that, by civilian law, she was his to do with as he pleased— even if she was a criminal in the eyes of Konoha, she was his to punish, correct, and keep— but to punish her was not what he wanted, and neither did he want that task handed out of his control. What he did want was his old life back, the love he'd learned, the comfort he'd grown used to, the warmth that had suffused him and then abandoned him seemingly all at once. 

But that life was a lie. That love was just a chemical compound, a malleable cocktail of hormones and conditioning that had made him vulnerable, lax, and soft. 

It was all a great and terrible paradox that he just couldn't undo. But he’d tried being enemies with her, and that hadn’t really worked. Perhaps, if he ever had the opportunity to see her again, he should try making amends.

Even so, not much could be done towards that end at the present moment. So instead of feeling sorry for himself all the time, Kakashi spent a lot of time with Maito Gai, who really did have something to feel sorry for himself about. Like a stray alley cat that just wouldn't be shooed away, Kakashi hovered around Gai’s apartment in between his cumbersome Hokage duties, lounging and napping and watching after his best friend and his new implement: a wheelchair. 

Despite his wounded condition, though, Gai never lost his cheer; the loss of functionality in his legs was nowhere near the price he was willing to pay for Konoha’s continued safety. It simultaneously heartened and pulverized Kakashi to see his friend suffer so joyfully. 

Although… Kakashi could admit that he wished his friend would suffer a little less joyfully sometimes.

“A piggyback ride? Really?”

Gai huffed and began explaining the training exercise that he wanted to try. Kakashi had, of course, been intentionally obtuse— he had no desire to carry Gai up Konoha’s largest hill and then contort himself to counter-balance Gai’s own weight so he could hand-walk the both of them down the hill again. Still, though, as savior of the shinobi world, Gai was a hard person to deny. 

Just when Gai finished his second explanation of the training exercise and looked expectantly at Kakashi, a knock sounded at the door. Relieved, Kakashi answered it. 

An ANBU in full tactical gear was waiting. 

“Can I help you?”

The porcelain mask stared impassively back at him.

It always irked Kakashi to receive messages from ANBU. Even now that he was Hokage, he still hated it. Having once been ANBU himself, it sort of took away some of the gravitas, the near-mysticism of the messenger, especially since he was now their boss; the dramatic pauses especially irked him, as he knew they were meant to establish a power balance tipped in the ANBU’s favor. The message was subtle, but certain: you receive information when I choose to give it, and not before. Irritating— and the pauses were longer and longer the less important the missive.

Hmph. Perhaps he would change this impertinent habit of the ANBU before Naruto came into the seat. Kakashi supposed that was now in his power. Might as well. 

“Speak, shinobi,” he snapped, and the ANBU went rigid with displeasure. “It’s my day off, and I don’t like being kept waiting.”

“Pardon me, Lord Sixth— it’s only that I’m not sure what message to give you.”

Kakashi cocked his head. Normally he’d send such an idiot away for wasting his time… but the ANBU sounded genuine, and a bit nervous. Concerning— ANBU were not easily rattled.

“What is it?” 

“I think you had better come see for yourself.”

Kakashi looked back at Gai. His old friend smiled with a warmth that radiated like the sun on a fresh spring day.

“Go,” he said. “I will be here when you return.” 

For all his warmth, though, Gai was subdued— none of his usual emphasis-colored his speech. Kakashi sensed that this sad timbre was not for Gai’s sake, but rather for his own; he wore the Hokage mantle well, but there was no hiding how acutely he felt the burden of it from Gai. They had known each other all their lives. 

“I’ll be back. Rest up— you’ll need your strength for the downhill stretch.”

At that, Gai beamed, and Kakashi left. 

The ANBU took him beyond the gate of the village and into the forest. They walked a good while until Kakashi’s sensitive ears heard the sound of sniffling and Iruka-sensei’s teacher voice nearby. 

“It’s for your own good,” he was saying sternly. “You can’t keep living like this. Nuts and berries and squirrel soup aren’t enough to sustain…”

Kakashi stopped listening. 

He stopped listening because the vision before him blocked out all sound, all sense. 

His wife had returned to the village.

Well, the outskirts of it, anyway. And it appeared that she had not returned so much as she had been trapped— chakra burst forth from hidden seals on the ground and pulsed menacingly, tightening each time she so much as twitched. The muscles in her neck flexed and strained as she tried to escape, and Kakashi noticed that a dirty bandage was wound around her neck. Her eyes were wild, hunted, darting around until they lighted on him.

For a single, terrible moment, she stared at him with the eyes of a wounded animal.

Then she looked away.

“Iruka please.” Oh, her voice was raw and desperate. “Let me go. I have tasks yet undone. Let me see to them. Please.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she threw another glance at him, then looked meekly away. No doubt she would appeal to his pity next. Kakashi was not fooled. Had she been free, had her bonds loosened even an inch, she would have burst through them and fought fiercely until she was free. It would be exactly as it had been when she’d nearly put out his eye in their living room, as it had been when he’d chased her through these very woods. 

The thought of those days stirred something wild in Kakashi. Something that he thought was dead. Something that he thought he’d killed.

Iruka glanced back at Kakashi as if noticing him for the first time. Kakashi flushed, realizing he had been distracted enough to loosen his control over his scent.

“Hokage-sama.” Iruka bowed slightly at the waist. “I believe there is news you must hear.”

“Iruka,” (Y/N) breathed, voice weak and body trembling. “Don’t.”

Iruka turned to her with an expression of commingled pity and resolve.

“He has a right to know.”

Her lower lip trembled, and though her words still addressed Iruka, her eyes moved to Kakashi once more.

“Would you like me to kneel? To take and kiss your hand like a beggar? I have not so much royal pride left— I am a princess no more, if indeed I ever was. I will do it. Just please, Iruka, I—”

“Enough.”

The word surprised even Kakashi. It was as though someone and something else had spoken through him, a grieved and haggard beast beaten to the point of wretchedness. Even his ever-contrary wife, his petulant princess and intransigent mate, fell silent at once  in accordance with his will. The moment should have felt like a victory. Instead, it filled him with darkness and shame.

“Tell me,” he began again, trying to gentle his voice. “What is all this about?”

Iruka turned to (Y/N).

“He should hear it from you,” said the sensei firmly, “but he is my superior officer. I will tell him if you do not.”

There it was. That spark of defiance, that iron will that had endearingly, maddeningly persisted for the full year of their tumultuous, passionate marriage— it flared to life in his mate’s eyes as she raised her head and snarled,

“Never. Pain your Hokage if you must, wound him if you dare. Never again shall I harm him.” 

Her nose scrunched, and Kakashi knew she was fighting a fresh wave of tears. So pitiful, so small— and yet deadlier than a pit viper

Iruka, wearing a face he usually reserved for telling parents that a child had badly misbehaved, turned to Kakashi and said,

“She’s pregnant.”

The sensei continued, but Kakashi stopped listening again. He stared wide-eyed at his crying wife and inhaled deeply through his nose. Yes— it was true. Her scent had changed. The earth-rain-tea scent had sweetened with the scent of milk and honey.

The scent of a pup. 

She wore only loose, ragged clothing— even if she had been showing, Kakashi would not have been able to tell. A shame. He would so like to have seen her round and plump and pretty.

“Damn you,” she cried softly, hatefully at Iruka. Her despair echoed in Kakashi’s chest. “Damn you all.”

Kakashi turned to Iruka.

“Release her.”

Iruka looked at him sideways, but did as he was told. As soon as the seal was broken, relief washed over (Y/N)’s face and she sank to her knees. Her arms came up around her own body, cradling herself in a self-soothing hug. She looked so fragile this way, as though all her strength had gone out from her.

Even so, Kakashi approached her warily. She was always and ever her deadliest when he did not expect her to be. 

“Is this true?”

She looked up at him, nodded.

“Is it mine?” 

Another nod.

“Are you lying?”

She looked up at him warily, and he added, “I realize that I have somewhat of a personal stake in this, so let me be clear— I won’t be angry if it isn’t mine. I swear to you that you will face no repercussions for whatever answer you give.”

“I’m not lying. It is true that I am…” her hand lifted to her belly, as if she could not make herself say the word, “and it is yours.”

Then, the hardest question. The question that would break him no matter her response.

“One last thing. Did you…”

Say it, he thought viciously to himself. Ask, or you will wonder for the rest of your life.

“Was it on purpose? Did you… arrange for this as a bargaining chip to use against me?”

Slowly, his wife stood. She drew herself up to her full height, her ragged features composing themselves as her posture straightened. Then, with the imperious air of a pissed-off princess, she said,

“Go fuck yourself, Hatake Kakashi, Hokage of the Hidden Leaf. How dare you? I don’t want your help or your pity.”

He sighed.

“I understand that you’re angry, but for the sake of the village—“

“You and your whole village can die screaming for all I care,” she seethed. “If you want your nuts and berries and squirrels back, you can dig them out of my shit in these God-forsaken woods. Otherwise I don’t owe you a single fucking thing.”

She spat at him. Her mouth was so dry, though, that the pitiful wad of saliva landed in the dirt between his feet rather than on his face, as she had doubtless intended.

So foul, so vulgar and disrespectful— and yet Kakashi ached for her. Iruka, scandalized, stood gaping like a fish. To save the man from swallowing a fly, Kakashi said,

“Iruka-sensei, return to the village. Here, take this— for bread and broth. Bring it to the Hatake compound along with some fresh fruit.”

Wordlessly, Iruka took the money Kakashi proffered and made a hasty exit. In ANBU hand-signals, Kakashi dismissed the ANBU guards who lingered always around him. A few shadows rippled with their inhabitants’ displeasure— shinobi love gossip— but followed his commands. 

That done, he walked over to his wife and gathered her in his arms. She fought him at first, but she was weak from hunger and exposure. Her blows were little more than the batting of a fly’s wings against his chest. He caught her raging fists and held her tightly to himself, cradling her head.

“I wasn’t trying to accuse you of anything,” he murmured next to her ear, nose burning with unshed tears. “I just wanted the truth.”

“I know.” Her voice was soft and wet with tears. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For coming back.”

When he was sure he was composed enough to look his wife in the eye, he drew back to study her. Her face looked gaunt and thin even through the puffiness of her tears. It was clear that she had been living roughly. There was none of her usual pampered glow about her; the woman before him was like tough leather.

“I looked for you,” he confessed, “after we were together. I had thought…”

He stopped himself.

“But you were gone.”

She shrugged uncomfortably.

“You had done me a great kindness, Kakashi. You protected me, took care of me in my hour of need. I didn’t mean to come off as ungrateful, but… you had made it quite clear before that it was your wish to never lay eyes on me again. I felt that it was only right that I should grant that wish.”

She paused a moment, then added,

“Besides— I had business to attend to.”

Kakashi arched a brow at her.

“Business?”

She lifted her face slowly. Her eyes were hard, glinting with the dangerous sharpness of a predator behind her bitter tears.

“Rat hunting.”

Kakashi stared at her, disbelieving.

“Are you shocked, husband? That I am a traitor to my own kind? Surely it can’t be that much of a surprise.”

Her words were laced with contempt for her own duplicity— but he understood. Whatever loyalty she might have owed them was mitigated by the harm they had done her. She had given them her life, and they had used her like a tool, an object at their disposal to either support or abandon at their whim. It was an unforgivable profanation of life.

“They hurt you. It’s only natural that you should want to hurt them back.”

His wife shook her head.

“No, Kakashi. When my parents were murdered, they took me in, raised me, gave me a new father and a new purpose in that father’s court. No— they were good to me, and I betrayed them.”

Kakashi cocked his head.

“Then why?”

“No choice. I was captured. As soon as I knelt before my former commander, they tried to take my head.” She rubbed at the back of her neck subconsciously. “I escaped, obviously, but a katana got me good across the back of the neck. The cut should have healed by now, but it kept reopening as I fought in the war.”

Had she been so wounded when he’d found her heat-stricken in the middle of the battlefield? He couldn’t rightly remember. He did, however, remember her saying something about pups.

Their pups.

Together.

Speaking of which…

“This is a lot to process. We should talk.” He scratched the back of his head. “Not just about this but— about a lot of things.”

An understatement, to be sure— but Kakashi had never been a man of very many words. Or even very good words. Unfortunately, the words came off worse than they had sounded in his head, because when his wife replied, it was with a cool indifference that set his teeth on edge.

“I don’t see why. I don’t need anything from you, and I can’t imagine that there is anything your cast-off omega spy can offer you.”

It was a testament to her skill as a liar how smoothly she brushed aside the matter of the Hatake heir— his child. That would indeed be something she could offer Kakashi. A son or daughter of a skilled spy and a ninja prodigy would be valuable indeed to someone who cared about that sort of thing. As it stood, though, Kakashi was much more concerned with what he could offer her.

“I’ve done some reflection since the war ended,” he began slowly, testing the waters between them. “I believe I may have been overhasty in my reaction to your revelation those months ago.”

(Y/N) flashed her teeth at him— an interesting response to the olive branch that he had offered her. Once she spoke, though, dread filled Kakashi as he realized how similar an olive branch could seem to a snake.

“This child is mine, Hatake Kakashi,” she snarled. “You will not take it from me. Over my dead body, perhaps, but not while I live and breathe.”

“That’s the farthest thing from my intentions. No, don’t make that face— look at me, princess. I want to talk, that’s all. Do you really think I want to take our child from you?”

Kakashi waited for her to scrutinize him, and then her guard lowered, her shoulders drooping with exhaustion. 

“No. But a girl has to be careful, you know.”

“I know.”

He extended a hand to her. She looked at it for a moment, then let her eyes meet his as she clasped his hand in her own.

It was so rapturously good to touch his mate, to hold her roughened hand in his own, that Kakashi forgot himself for a moment and shuddered with the pleasure of having her trust. (Y/N), as able as ever to read his mood, squeezed his hand and pressed closer to his side.

“Come, husband. Let’s go before it gets any hotter out here. I’m tired of sweating in these sweltering woods.”

It took days to get the full story. All of it, from the beginning, about how his wife was recruited to RAAT, how she was trained, how she infiltrated her adopted father’s home and reported his movements to her superiors, her activity during the war, up until the day she wandered back into Konoha’s forests, weary and travel-worn. There was a lot of ground to cover, but she answered Kakashi’s questions patiently and with great attention to detail. By the end of it, Kakashi felt somewhat better about having been deceived so easily by her charm; truth had been interwoven so tightly with lie that it seemed as if she had never really lied at all except by omission.

In return, (Y/N) only had one question of her own to ask. It was late afternoon, in that hazy golden hour just before sunset, that she posed the query to him, their dinner spread out on the table between them.

“During the war, did you… were you…” she stopped, then began again. “Did you dream inside the Infinite Tsukuyomi?”

He shook his head.

“I was in another dimension getting my ass handed to me.”

It didn’t seem fair that everyone else got to experience their perfect life while he was fighting for his stupid fucked-up one, but he tactfully did not mention that to (Y/N), who looked rather glum at his answer.

“I see.”

“Did you? Dream, I mean?”

She looked down, unwilling to meet his eyes.

“Yes. I did dream.”

No one in the village ever spoke of their dreams if they could help it. In most of them, they had lived unspeakable, unattainable lives. Marriages had broken under the weight of those dreams; friendships collapsed as jealousy and resentment festered between friends over events that had never even happened. Therefore, it was only natural that no one ever asked another person the question that Kakashi had on the tip of his tongue without bracing themselves for utter disaster.

“What did you dream?”

She was silent for a while, pushing food around on her plate. Then, through her silent tears, she replied,

“I dreamed that it was real. That I never left Konoha. That I never left you.”

Then it was Kakashi’s turn to be silent. He needed a moment to gather his courage.

“And upon waking, did you…”

She looked at him through watery eyes, and he faltered. It wasn’t good enough to leave it there, though. He must try again.

“Would you want that dream to be reality?”

After all, he thought selfishly, would such a dream be so far-fetched? They had been happy together, once. Why could they not be so again? Besides, he was Hokage now— he could pardon anyone he wished. Hell, if Sasuke was walking free, could his poor, inwardly wounded wife not also find mercy in Konoha? She had not caused half so much trouble as that uptight Uchiha asshole.

Across from him, his wife began to cry freely. Her hand trembled in his, and Kakashi could feel the quivering of her soul as though it were his own.

“Don’t tease me with what I can’t have, Kakashi.” Her voice was thin and hoarse with misery. “I never thought you to be cruel.”

“I’m not teasing. I’m also not suggesting that it would be easy. But possible?” He squeezed her hand. “Certainly. We could try, at least. I’ve faced worse odds.”

(Y/N) looked at him doubtfully. 

“You’re sure you want to trust me? After all I’ve done?”

Kakashi gave thought to that question. What had she done other than have mind-blowing sex with him in-between improving the village and investing time, energy, and even risking her life to preserve the village? The logs she’d kept of village secrets had never been sent. And then, when her loyalty had been tested with an order to arrange Naruto’s death, she had come clean to Kakashi, had been willing to risk his wrath and even to die rather than carry out that task. In hindsight, it was obvious what his answer would be.

“Yes. I think perhaps I should have trusted you more from the beginning. It might have avoided some heartache for the both of us.”

Still not convinced, his wife withdrew her hand and placed it on the swelling of her belly that was visible beneath the shinobi shirt that she had pilfered from his closet.

“And a child? I don’t remember you being keen on having pups before. Are you sure you want to take on the responsibility?”

“It’s not a matter of what I want. You’re pregnant with my child— I have a responsibility to you both.” Seeing his wife’s displeasure, he rushed to add, “Besides, my biggest reservation about children has always been my father’s track record of fatherhood and the fear that I would fail them the way that I always felt he failed me. In other words, my objection was to myself, not the idea of a pup in general.”

“And do you still feel that way? That you object to yourself as a father?”

Kakashi shrugged.

“Honestly, I’m not sure. But I know one thing for certain: you will make an excellent mother. If you think that you can forgive me when I fail, I will do my best to keep up and be the parent our child needs. At the very least, you will want for nothing, and we have a village of people who will love our little one. They will succeed where we fail, surely.”

They did with me.

She thought for a moment, and suddenly Kakashi felt nervous. It occurred to him for the first time that it was possible that she might not want him involved in raising her child. 

“Kakashi, tell me the truth here. Have you ever really, truly failed at anything?”

The answers to her question rose like bile in his throat. For a moment, he hesitated— but she had bared all for him. It was time Kakashi returned the favor.

“I failed to save Obito. I failed to protect Rin. And Minato-sensei…” he swallowed past the lump in his throat. “They’re all dead. My most recent and glaring failure is that I couldn’t prevent Sasuke from pursuing his revenge.”

He thought for a moment more, then added,

“And of course, I haven’t been a very good husband either.”

Across from him, his wife’s smile was small, but fond.

“None of those were your failures, Kakashi. They were the failures of the shinobi way of life. Even if you deny that, you were still only able to name five failures. Five failures in decades of living, and all of them were out of your direct control.” Her smile turned bitter, and she shook her head. “I fail much more than you, darling. Minute by minute, hour by hour, I could count my failings and never get a good tally. I was a failure of a daughter when I couldn’t save my parents, a failure of a daughter to the daimyo, a piss-poor spy, and an even worse wife. What makes you think I wouldn’t fail at being a mother, too? My track record is worse than yours by miles and miles of red ledgers.”

“None of those were your failures,” he parroted back at her, voice gentle. “They were the failures of our world. And I’ve got red in my ledger too.”

They sat together in silence for a moment after that.

“There is one other matter.”

“And that is?”

“You are the Hokage now. That comes with the burden of publicity. You have to admit that it would hurt your image for you to have a spy for a wife, or a child by a traitoress.”

“And it would be so much better for me to abandon you?”

“No one would blame you if you put us away, Kakashi. Most would see it as prudent. With you, near you, I’m just a liability.”

Kakashi was growing tired of this. He waited a moment to ensure that his words had the intended effect, then looked his wife in the eyes and delivered his innermost thoughts.

“I understand your concern, but if you persist in inventing reasons for me not to love and keep you, I’m going to start thinking you want me to cast you off.”

“It might be better for you in the long run.” She shrugged uncomfortably. “I don’t want you to be bitter and feel that I’ve trapped you.”

He smirked.

“Oh, you’ve trapped me, alright— but I’m a willing victim of your charms.”

The possessive, playful alpha in him wanted to bare his teeth and spread his pheromones, inviting play, even mating— but he tempered that desire and settled for a brush of his thumb across the scent gland at his wife’s wrist.

She shuddered. 

Just as Kakashi was debating the merits of sucking one of her fingers into his mouth, a knock sounded at the door. He tried not to feel disappointed when he let go of his wife’s hand to answer it. 

His hand turned the handle. The door opened, letting in the hazy golden sunlight. Kakashi released the handle.

It was Sasuke.

“Yo, sensei.” The boy— now nearly a man— cut his eyes to the side. It was the only indication of his hesitancy. “Can we talk?”

Of course the one time Kakashi would rather not talk, Sasuke wanted to have a heart-to-heart.

“Sure.” Kakashi opened the door and let his wayward student into his home. “Come on in. We’ve got food if you’d like some.”

Sasuke bowed curtly to (Y/N) as Kakashi introduced her by her royal title— because no matter who she had been before or since, his wife was and would remain a daughter of the daimyo, a royal omega and noble princess. The energy between them was strange, but he chalked that up to the high-running emotions of the evening.

“I’d like it if we spoke in private,” said Sasuke. His eyes cut to (Y/N), distrustful. Kakashi understood.

“Come with me, then. I have an office on this floor.”

Okay, Kakashi wasn’t imagining it— the energy in the room was strange. As soon as Sasuke turned his back, he murmured a quick kai and made the hand sign. 

The world fell away, and reality crashed into him with the weight of an anvil.

He couldn’t have been in the genjutsu for longer than a couple seconds. If he had been, there would be a dead body in his kitchen. As it was, the table was toppled over and Sasuke’s face was only inches from his snarling wife’s. Her snarl was not one of rage, though.

It was one of terror.

Sasuke’s remaining arm was halfway through her pregnant belly. (Y/N)’s left hand was embedded in his chest midway through her forearm. Her ninjutsu was as uncanny as ever, and Kakashi didn’t have to wait for long before he realized exactly what was happening.

“What’s all this?” he asked through a mask of calm. 

Sasuke jerked his head towards him. 

“I am doing my duty to the village. Ridding it of vermin.”

(Y/N) let out a guttural growl and Sasuke made a twist of his arm that made her go sickly with pain and fear.

“That’s not who she is anymore.”

“No?” his student’s old maniacal grin spread hatefully across his face. “Then she’s told you how she came to me when I was bent on Konoha’s destruction, offering all I had ever wanted in terms of total annihilation of this village.”

For a moment, Kakashi doubted. Then his wife spoke through gritted teeth.

“With the intention to rip you apart the moment you trusted me,” she hissed. “I can still do it, Uchiha dog. Test me, and I’ll spill your blood here and now.”

It was true. All she had to do was rip his heart from his chest, just as she had done to the last person to barge into her kitchen with killing intent. 

Sasuke’s eyes narrowed.

“Try it, and you die.”

“True— but you’ll be dead too. It would bring me immense satisfaction to see your string of bad decisions come to an end.”

Yes, Kakashi supposed she would be dead, if Sasuke ripped her pup— that tiny, defenseless babe whose body was not selectively permeable like the body which housed it— from her womb. She would bleed to death internally. It was a dice roll as to whether she would last long enough for Tsunade to save her, but the odds were not in her favor. The thought of it made Kakashi’s heart pound with rage, but he swallowed it, tamped it down so that he could do his best to deescalate the situation. He must make Sasuke see reason.

“Sasuke, she is my wife. My mate. She was raised a spy, yes— but she has proved herself.”

Sasuke scoffed.

“She’s proved nothing to me but that she is a liar. No oath of loyalty is enough to prove otherwise.”

Uh-oh. Kakashi knew that look on his wife’s face. Before he could stop her, she opened her mouth and unleashed that white-hot whip of a tongue.

“And what would you know of loyalty, of pack, traitor-orphan? I had no choice in what happened to me— and when I did, I chose him.” She jabs a finger in Kakashi’s direction. “What did you choose, boy-pup, when the chips were down? Those who loved you, or your own petty vengeance? If you think it right to kill me for a traitor, then go ahead and kill yourself right after. By your estimation, a blade to your belly is the least you deserve.”

So much for deescalation.

Kakashi expected Sasuke to refute it, to make some excuse of why he’s different— but that never came.

“So be it,” he said with deadly calm. “But before I go, my mates will be protected from the threat you pose.”

It was then that Kakashi noticed fresh wounds on Sasuke’s neck— one on each side. Naruto and Sakura, then? Before Kakashi could process it, Sasuke turned to look at him.

“Sensei, if it’s your child’s life that you aim to spare, there are other ways to incubate it than in the belly of a traitor. Say the word, and I will make the incisions that will spare it. Otherwise, whore and whelp die.”

His wife looked at him with fright. Sharingan or no, he would never forget that fraught expression.

“You’re not killing anyone today, Sasuke.”

His student bared his teeth in defiance. Kakashi continued, ignoring the young alpha’s aggression.

“If my wife had wanted to destroy this village, she would have done so long ago. Instead, she has saved it again and again. If you do this, you will die— if not by her hand, which is almost guaranteed, then by mine. Let her go.”

Sasuke hesitated for a second— but not because of Kakashi. A split second after Kakashi finished speaking, his front door flew inward under a chakra-enhanced blow. Sakura stepped in over the wreckage, panicked. 

“Sasuke! Stop! What the hell is wrong with you?”

A flash of pain appeared in Sasuke’s two-toned eyes, and for a single second, he faltered. It was enough. (Y/N), armed with a fork from the table, stuck her hand through her own stomach and stabbed the fork through Sasuke’s hand. The younger alpha yanked his hand away with a yelp— pure instinct, no shinobi finesse— and then (Y/N) solidified her body once more, her other arm still in his chest. Her eyes were dark with hate, and killing intent radiated off of her in waves.

“Shall I kill him, husband?” she asked, the muscles in her arm flexing. Sasuke made an inhuman sound, and Kakashi realized that she was squeezing his heart in her hands, freezing him in place with pain and lack of oxygen. “I want to.”

She squeezed harder, and Sakura cried out. Still, Kakashi hesitated. He had watched Sasuke kill a goddess earlier in the month, albeit with help; that kind of thing gives a man a realistic set of expectations about his chances against a potential enemy.

“Sensei, please,” Sakura cried. “He’s in pain. (Y/N) is safe, no harm done— let’s end this!”

In that moment, Kakashi didn’t care. This foolish boy— this idiot alpha pup, barely off Orochimaru’s teat— had nearly stolen everything he loved from him. Did he deserve to live?

“Let me,” pressed his wife, her bared teeth curling into a canine grin. “I’ll end it here. He tried to kill my pup. He tried, Kakashi. Let me kill him.”

It took every ounce of Kakashi’s will to place his hand on his wife’s shoulder and tell her to let Sasuke breathe. She looked up at him with a scowl, but withdrew her hand. Sasuke gasped, then retched as breath returned to him, and Sakura scolded him, telling him how stupid he was and how good (Y/N) had been for the village. Sasuke didn’t seem to be processing much, as he was still in shock from losing for once— happens to the best of us— but he let himself be led away by Sakura, who apologized over and over. The only reply she received was (Y/N)’s stony expression and Kakashi’s cold silence. The moment the two of them were gone, Kakashi threw himself at his mate, unable to stay away from her for one second longer.

He ran his hands over her face, her arms, her body— every inch of her that he could see, checking for injuries with his eyes, his hands, and his chakra. He scented her, rubbing his cheek against her cheeks, her neck, her wrists. It was primal need that drove him, and when he was finally satisfied that she was unhurt, he just held her against him, trembling with unspent fear and rage. 

“Kakashi.” Her breath brushed his ear, and he shuddered. “Let me go.”

He shook his head, and she doubled down.

“I must go, Kakashi. Let go of me.”

He tightened his grip on her, and then there was nothing in his arms but air. She had used her ninjutsu and was now standing a foot back from him.

He sighed. There was really only one question he could ask.

“Why?”

(Y/N) shook her head.

“You can thank Sasuke— and you should, really. He has reminded us of what I am— what I will always be— to this village. I won’t live with pointed fingers in my face, Kakashi.”

Kakashi sighed again. 

“He’s misguided, my love.”

“He’s vindictive. There’s a difference. And there are others like him that will remember me for what I am.”

“Perhaps there are,” he conceded, “but they’d be wrong. And they won’t act on it, not like Sasuke. You have to admit that the kid has problems— but he didn’t have a very good start to make things easy for him, either.”

(Y/N) scoffed.

“Neither did you. Neither did Naruto. I don’t feel sorry for him.” Her eyes softened. “Not even for your sake, my love.”

Kakashi shook his head.

“It was good we didn’t meet earlier in life.”

That took (Y/N) aback. At his wife’s raised brow, Kakashi replied,

“I was embarrassingly like him back in the day, you know. Angsty, egotistical… vindictive. The only thing I was missing was Uchiha narcissism, but I more than made up for it in petty Hatake pride— vanity, really. I don’t think you would have liked me much.”

“I don’t know.” A smile creeped over her lips. “A handsome face makes up for a lot.”

He grinned.

“Oh, I made sure to keep it covered.”

“A dark, piercing set of eyes, then.” She stepped closer. “A lean, strong body…” 

She loudly sniffed his scent and winked.

“And alpha wherewithal. I think we’d have gotten on fine.”

A pause, then she added,

“Well, maybe not. My wherewithal was wherewithout when I was younger. Without my training, I was never eye-catching, I’m afraid. You’d have never given me so much as a second glance.”

Kakashi couldn’t imagine such a thing. 

“You forget, princess— I am a shinobi. Trained to see underneath the underneath. I see more than you think.” He let a hand drift to his mating bite on her neck, then let it slide down over her left breast, where he could feel her heart beating. “I saw you for what you were the first time I laid eyes on you.”

She chuckled quizzically.

“On our wedding day? I thought you were three sheets to the wind, the way your eyes were red and you seemed… out of it for a while.”

It occurred to Kakashi then that he had never told her about that fateful day in that tiny meeting room with the daimyo— how it was him whom she had wanted so badly to please. 

“No,” he said with a laugh. “You’re not the only keeper of secrets. We met ten years ago— I was still in ANBU then. Do you remember it?”

Her brows furrowed in concentration. She thought long and hard for several seconds, and then disbelief washed over her face. 

“You’re the ANBU that caught me in my father’s meeting chambers?”

Kakashi grinned and mock-bowed.

“Hound-san, at your service.”

She shook her head, incredulous.

“No. No way.”

He laughed.

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“Be serious. That was you? The guy who snatched me from my little hiding place? And roughhoused me, then went into rut?”

Kakashi nodded, still laughing, and she shoved him.

“You got me in so much trouble!”

“As I recall, you got you in so much trouble. What were you even doing in there?”

“Spying, duh! Well, practicing anyway— until you yanked me down!”

“It was your own fault,” he reminded her with a chuckle. “I could hear you. And smell you.”

“Oh, I bet you could, you pervert! I bet you could tell my scent apart from all the others because you spent all your time sniffing around pretty omega princesses.”

“I was in rut! And I most certainly didn’t— you were the only omega princess I’d ever met at the time.”

“I see,” she giggled. “Well, did I make an impression?”

He pulled her to him by the waist. “I’d certainly say so.”

They laughed together for a minute, then he asked, 

“So— you said you got into trouble on my account?”

“Oh yes,” she grinned. “Big trouble. My father was furious that I had offered myself to you. That’s preposterous behavior, he told me. Said I was no common whore— although he let his other daughters and quite a few of his wives say as much to my face and behind my pack. Whatever, he was furious, and it was months before his wrath faded and my punishment ended.”

Kakashi cocked his head.

“Months? What did they do to you?”

She shrugged.

“They doubled my suppressant for a few months, of course. To curb my appetites.” Her smile faded a bit. “I hardly remember those days— I was half a zombie. My handler could have stepped in, but I think she agreed with them. A hot-blooded spy is rarely a successful one, after all. And make no mistake, my blood runs hotter than most.”

Aaaaand his rage was back. She gave him a meaningful look, but Kakashi was no longer in a mood for laughing.

“I’m sorry. They should never have done that to you.”

His wife shrugged awkwardly.

“I agree— but they had to do something. I really wasn’t doing well at the time. Erratic behavior, a rebellious mouth… I was a handful.”

Kakashi shook his head.

“Naruto was a handful too. If someone had suggested the same treatment for him, even the most hateful person in the village would have balked.” He paused, then added, “I was hot-blooded too, you know. I would have taken you there in front of your father and my Hokage if I could have.”

“So I have discovered,” she smiled, voice devious. “Fortunate, too— because your hot blood runs the same temperature as mine.”

She tilted her head— an invitation. Kakashi accepted. He pulled down his mask and kissed her. She kissed him back. It was a slow, languid thing, as full of their pain as it was of their pleasure, and just as Kakashi moved to pull her closer, she pulled back.

“I don’t want to leave,” she breathed against his lips. 

“Then don’t.” He rested his forehead against hers. “Stay here with me.”

“I can’t. They’ll hate me.”

“Never. The village loves you.”

“Not all of them.”

“Enough do. And besides— you made me love you. What’s the difference if you can make them love you too?”

“I will always be a stranger here, Kakashi.”

“You were never a stranger to Konoha, not from the moment you took my name. Even if you had been, you earned your place here. I was foolish not to have seen it before.”

“I’m frightened.”

Ah, there was the truth.

“Then you have to choose. Faith— in me, in the village— or fear. Which will it be?”

Kakashi knew in his heart that he would have to let her choose. Even if the alpha in him screamed to keep her, to chain her to the hearth if she wouldn’t stay there willingly, he knew he had to let her have the final say. Without that, it would all fall apart. Love without commitment was unmolded clay— full of potential, but useless. 

As she considered the decision, he looked long and hard at her. There was such strength in her— such measured gravity. It was a pity she had not been born to a village. She would have been a force to be reckoned with. Perhaps a kage in her own right. She certainly had the mettle. 

“If I choose the village,” choose you, she did not say, but Kakashi heard it anyway, “will you be suspicious of me again? Always looking over your shoulder?”

Kakashi shrugged.

“I can’t promise to change who I am. Suspicion has kept me alive.” A callous hand lifted to cradle her beautiful face. “But I trust you with my home, with my child, and with my life. Is that enough?”

She nodded, but still looked undecided.

“And if one day you resent our arranged marriage? If you realize that we were perhaps hasty in mating, or someone better comes along— what will you do then?”

Kakashi frowned.

“Is that really what you think of me, my wife?”

He tried to imagine it. Leaving her— leaving their pup— to chase after something else, something less. It was impossible. It made him nauseous to try.

“No, Kakashi.” Her voice was heavy, her eyes sad. “But I can’t see beneath your underneath. I have to know what I’m getting myself into.”

“Then know this.” He kissed her brow tenderly, murmuring the words against her flesh. “That day won’t come. If it does, I’m dead or captured, and someone is using my body against you— in which case I give you full license to attack me and get out while you can.”

She moved to put her arms around him. Kakashi held her, wishing he had the sharingan one last time to capture this moment— her warmth, the press of her swollen belly against his torso— forever.

“I’ll stay, Kakashi.”

A single, solitary tear slid down his cheek. It was as though a mountain had been lifted from his shoulders.

“I love you.” 

It was all he could manage to say, but it was enough. 

They held each other for a while there. When her feet got tired, they moved to the living room, where she crawled into his lap and pressed bodily against him. They talked like that, thinking through their plans for the future— what they needed to do to protect their home and village from the remaining RAATs, which room to put the nursery in, and what wood to use for the cradle— until at last they fell silent, enjoying the warmth and safety of each other’s bodies.

“Did we ever finish that book?” she asked, readjusting so that she could see Kakashi’s face. “Love’s Shadow?”

“I don’t think so. We didn’t even start it, I don’t think.” Kakashi tried to look unbothered, as if that book’s presence on his nightstand hadn’t tortured him for months on end. “It’s in our room waiting, if you’d like to start tonight.”

She yawned.

“Tomorrow.” She nestled back into his arms. “I’m tired, Kakashi.”

Minato-sensei. Kushina-san. Obito. Rin. 

To anyone who passed by, Kakashi would have appeared to be so still as to almost seem asleep. Upon closer inspection, a passerby still might miss the tremble of his hands, the tear-stains on his mask from his borrowed eye. In the event that someone happened by, the only thing that would give Kakashi away was his scent— wrecked and wild and woefully aggrieved. This was the only time he allowed himself to truly feel the weight of the past, let it crush him, for a moment, beneath its impossible weight. Compartmentalization, they called it. Leaving each thing where it belonged. 

Obito— messy, ridiculous, breathlessly, recklessly alive Obito— would have hated it. He always wore his feelings on his sleeve, always carried his kindness in both hands, and hated it when Kakashi didn't. But Kakashi could not bring this grief to his wedding. Surely, Obito would understand, if only Kakashi explained. Obito, after all, knew much of sacrifice. 

“I’m getting married today, Obito,” he spoke to the smooth, polished stone. “She’s practically a stranger. An omega princess, the daimyo’s daughter. Well. Adopted daughter.”

The stone was silent. He spoke her name, ignoring the odd feeling it left in his mouth, and described her as she had been all those years ago. 

“She’ll need me to be strong for her,” he continued. “She’ll be a stranger in a strange land, and I must be her bearings. I cannot give her this part of me today. I won’t offer her a widow’s veil on her wedding day. You understand, don’t you?”

Obito did not speak back— but then, he never did. Perhaps it was Kakashi’s delusion, but Rin and even Minato-sensei occasionally spoke. Obito, never.

“She’s an omega, like you and Minato-sensei” Kakashi continued, brushing the kanji on the stone with his fingers. “I don’t know what to expect. What if she’s spoiled and horrible?”

Kakashi could imagine her now— a squealing, horrible, selfish dragon-woman with hands on hips, breathing fire at some poor food vendor who had given her one grain of rice too many. God, Kakashi would just die if she were like that. 

Promptly, a worse image presented itself— an image of a star-struck, doe-eyed little thing that was half in love with him already, dying to sink her horrible little teeth into his neck and claim him for her own. Her previous desire could have fermented into something more sinister, an obsession not easily crushed by indifference. He wasn't sure which was worse, or which was more likely. In either case, he’d probably go the way of his father if he was stuck with her for long.

Kakashi-kun, Rin chided gently. Her sweet beta voice had not aged past her childhood self. You don’t mean that. And you never know, she may be just what you need. Don’t you believe in romance?

“Maa, what do I need romance for?” he grumbled. “I don’t want romance.”

I want you, he did not say, but knew that both Rin and Obito heard anyway. 

It might be, suggested Minato-sensei softly, that you are as frightened and lost as you think she is going to be.

That… might be true. But Kakashi was no stranger to fear. He had mastered his own long ago.

“What was your wedding like, sensei?”

Kakashi listened, and tried to imagine it. There would have been tears, certainly— if not Minato’s then certainly Kushina’s. Probably, it was a spring wedding, and the flowers would have been in full bloom. Konoha would have blessed their union with warm breezes and lovely, arching branches shuffling along to the wedding march.

As he listened, thunder murmured in the distance. 

As a fat raindrop plip-plopped onto Kakashi’s cheek, a familiar voice boomed like the thunder over the meadow of funeral lilies. 

“Kakashi! My Dear Rival! What are you Doing Here?! Your Blushing Bride Awaits you!”

If there had been dust to kick up, Gai’s feet would have roused enough in their speed to cover his body. As it was, his long legs were a blur beneath him, and Kakashi knew he only had moments more before he would be dragged away from the past and into the present. 

“I have to go now, Obito, Rin, sensei. I'm…” he looked up at the sky, but realized too late that the clouds hid the sun. “A quarter hour late, probably. Just for today, I really am leaving you here.”

The stone did not reply, but Kakashi thought he felt the warmth of Rin’s smile. 

“Kakashi!” Gai called, closer now, and lightning cracked down from the sky in greedy, reaching fingers. The thunder that followed was small in comparison to Gai’s shout. “You Must Come Quickly! Your Wife Awaits!”

Kakashi stood. Always, the inch or two of height that Gai had on him tweaked his temper— it really was unfair that betas got to be so big— but he soothed himself with knowing where those two inches had distributed themselves to. Of all the worries to have on his wedding day, that particular worry would present minimal issues. After all, did height really matter so much when one was on one's back? 

“Easy, Gai,” Kakashi sighed, brushing the debris from his formal garments, “Hold in the waterworks if you can— I didn't bring a hankee.”

Too late, it seemed. Water was welling in Gai’s eyes, and his bottom lip trembled. 

“So Handsome,” he sniffled tremulously. The effect was like unto a hesitant, weeping storm. “You And Your Bride will make Such a Lovely Pair! It's Like a Fairy Tale!”

Kakashi couldn't help himself. He grinned. Odd as Gai was, it was hard not to love him. Kakashi pushed himself up onto his feet and allowed his old friend to lead him towards the wedding venue. 

“It really is shameful, the way you carry on,” he teased Gai, elbowing him as he sniffled. “Toughen up, shinobi.”

“I Am in Touch with my Emotions,” Gai sniffled piteously, wiping his rapidly running nose on a green sleeve. “That's the Toughest Thing a Shinobi Can Be!”

“Maa, you're right, old friend. You're very brave.”

They walked the rest of the way in relative silence, Gai sniffing and Kakashi rolling his eyes with admitted fondness. Soon, a quaint forest temple came into view. It was a small place with a curving roof and bright red paint, but even for that it had a certain rustic charm that reminded Kakashi of Tenzou’s handiwork at times. Standing before the temple was a figure dressed in white— at this distance, a mere blur beside the building. A blur, Kakashi knew, that was to be his wife. 

Up close, it was even worse than Kakashi could have imagined. 

At what must now be thirty, the princess was somehow even more lovely than she had been as a teenager. The features that had once made her soft and girlish had aged into graceful, well-formed elegance that wrote itself into the crease of her brows, the slope of her nose, and the small but distinct lines that drew a semicircle beneath her eyes. Dressed in red-trimmed white, his wife-to-be looked like the red-tipped white blossoms Kurenai kept in her garden— or, Kakashi thought ruefully, bloodstained Konoha lilies, crushed in battle strife. Against the backdrop of the small, secluded temple among the trees, she appeared almost like some wraith come at noon to take her vengeance from a marriage long failed, and fatally so. 

“Hello, Kakashi-san,” she said, evidently forgoing formality in favor of friendliness in using his first name. “It is good to finally meet you.”

She bowed slightly, bending a bit at the waist, and Kakashi suddenly realized that though he knew her, she would not necessarily know him. The alpha shinobi she had met had been masked and named Hound-san— of course she wouldn't recognize him. But then, had no one told her? 

What to do, he mused, but he already knew the answer to that quandary. Why reveal what everyone else had omitted from the record? It might do some good to keep that little secret, just in case. 

Kakashi mirrored her bow, but deepened it a bit. She was still a princess, after all. 

“I hope I didn't keep you waiting long. I…”

His usual excuse felt wrong. He had not been lost on the path of life, and she would know it. This was her wedding day. She was owed a bit more than a flimsy blow-off. 

“I apologize.”

There, that would do. Sincere, apologetic, but not overly forthcoming. 

She dipped her head, still smiling sweetly. Frustratingly, she did not say more, only looked at him. A mask, he realized. She was not showing him her true face. Though, he supposed it was only fair. He wasn't showing her his actual face either, or any face at all, for that matter. 

Kakashi took notice of the fact that she had not accepted his apology, only acknowledged it. He wasn't used to being cowed by anyone, much less civilian women, but… thing was, he did regret being so late. He really had lost track of time this time. There had just been so much to say to everyone at the memorial. This was a day that he would have wanted to share with them. 

As he often did, Kakashi wondered if he would have loved them as much alive as he loved them dead.

Will it ever stop, sensei? Rin? Obito? Will I ever have paid enough?

A hand squeezed his own. Kakashi blinked, then looked down to find (Y/N) staring at him, her smile muted but sweet over their joined hands, more real than it had been a moment ago. Her hands, he noticed, were warm, and she smelled like a steaming cup of tea. Beneath that, there was a smell of earth and trees and falling rain. A beautiful, natural scent that could only be her. 

“Shall we?” she suggested softly. Her words were hardly more audible than the omnipresent shuffle of leaves, but Kakashi heard them almost as clearly as what she did not say:

I see you.

The part of him that disbelieved the possibility of falling in love with her died then and there. Not many could see beneath his underneath. That she read his discomfort so easily did something funny to his brain. Feelight slightly fuzzy, he took her hand and linked their arms together, turning toward the temple. 

Thank you, he tapped in ANBU code on her arm, though he knew she would not recognize the tapping for what it was. 

With hands conjoined for the ceremony, Kakashi supposed that this woman could still be a horrible, shrill, screeching, shrewish, spoiled little omega brat— but looking at her as she stood there in that quaint little temple, quiet and still with oak-like dignity, he could not make himself believe it. As he spoke his vows, she gazed deep into his eyes with that haunting smile, terrifying in her mask of tranquility; when she returned the vows, her voice was sweet and full-bodied. Desperately, Kakashi wished to open the sharingan and study her, dissect her down into something he could understand— but then he realized he would have her face, that haunting smile, memorized for all eternity, and the thought alone was too much. 

She might be poised, pretty, and graceful, but Kakashi did not trust her. He had never met anyone or anything so saccharine that did not end up being a deathtrap. He forced himself to recall the fire in her eyes all those years ago and swallowed his already-budding desire to know her more. 

After their vows were spoken, the reception for the wedding took place in one of the old, abandoned buildings on Hatake land on the outskirts of Konoha. Kakashi had put some energy into cleaning up his father’s old house to make the place liveable again, and in doing so had rediscovered the overgrown path to the rest of the compound. Once Kakashi had cut down the overgrowth of vines and fallen tree limbs, he’d found a cluster of buildings and little stalls as if for a market. In the center of it all was a massive mound of compounded moss— or, at least that had been what he thought it was before he cleaned it to reveal a large, stately building made of smooth white stone. With some help from Tenzou, Kakashi had secured the building with support beams where it was crumbling and repaired the place enough to be safe for the reception. Even now, with the building partially obscured by the rain and mist, Kakashi found the intricate carvings on the building’s face and columns to be sublime. 

“What a lovely place,” his newly-wedded wife said to him as they approached the door. An errant raindrop acquired during their walk glistened on her cheek as she spoke. “I have not seen more beautiful masonry in my life.”

Kakashi did not reply. He was not given the chance to. As soon as he opened the door to the place, half the damn village shouted “Congratulations!” and threw flower petals at both of them. The next thing Kakashi knew, he was being jostled past the square perimeter of decorated tables towards the dance floor. 

Oh, right, he thought, looking down at his wife, who had not left his arm. He had almost forgotten that he was meant to dance the first dance with her before the others would be allowed to dance. The idea of it soured him somewhat. All that attention, and for what? The important part was already over with— and, what was worse, it was always a bad idea to stand between a gaggle of shinobi and a good time. Ugh, just thought of the agitated shifting and anxious scent of thinning shinobi patience was enough to put Kakashi off of his soon-to-be-had dinner. 

As soon as the newly-wedded couple reached the center of the dance floor, the music began. It was a sweet, coy piece, written in a minor key that dripped of courtly taste— nothing like the thrilling, fast-paced country dances that were common in the village. Kakashi supposed that was par for the course. After all, rich, gluttonous courtesans would need something even the most bloated of them all could keep up with. 

Sour though he was, Kakashi found that the first dance was not so unpleasant as he had anticipated. A few measures into the song, he began to relax, and found that his wife’s fluid, graceful motions were soothing, in a way. 

“You dance well, Kakashi-san,” (Y/N) said, grinning as he readied to spin her. “Where did you learn?”

So relaxed had Kakashi become that the truth was out of him before he knew what was happening. 

“Kushina-san taught me— she was my jounin sensei’s wife.”

Her eyes sparkled with merriment. 

“You'll have to introduce me to her— I owe her thanks for such a wonderful dancing partner.”

Kakashi dipped her. He waited until he righted them both before answering. 

“That would be difficult.”

Her brows rose. She stepped forward, he stepped back. Her earth-rain-tea scent wafted once again to his nose, and Kakashi did not stop himself from inhaling deeply. 

“Oh?”

Kakashi nodded. 

“She's dead.”

“Oh.” Her hand on his shoulder tightened, perhaps in reassurance. “I'm sorry. I would have liked to meet her.”

Abruptly, Kakashi realized that dead people were probably not a very good topic for a first conversation. 

“Where did you learn to dance? Your form is better than mine.” 

It was. She seemed to float rather than step through the motions— which Kakashi had opted to brush up on via sharingan instead of by partner, since it was an unfamiliar style to the Leaf Village. The might of the sharingan, it seemed, was no match for real artistry. 

Just as well— art was not required to kill other shinobi.

“My father’s tutors were very thorough.” Kakashi caught a glimpse of a wry smile as (Y/N) gracefully turned her shoulder. “I have permanent marks on my ankles where my dancing teacher would whack them with a stick for stepping incorrectly.”

Kakashi was overwhelmed with the strange desire to check her ankles for himself to see if she was telling the truth. 

“Sounds a bit like taijutsu training when they break out the wooden dummies. I think there's still a dent in my head from smacking it in frustration.”

Suddenly, her hand was in his hair. Instinct gripped him, and Kakashi grabbed her wrist, prepared to snap delicate bones and rip sinewy tendons. Only years of practiced self-restraint saved him from following through with such regrettable intentions; (Y/N), however, did not even seem to notice, and was brushing the strands of his hair that she could reach in a ticklish, toying fashion. 

“You should let me check for you,” she said lightly, her smile never dimming. “I know something of soothing old injuries.”

Kakashi released her wrist as though it had burned him. He did not reply to her, and she did not touch his head again. Her scent— previously sweet and buoyant— faded, flattened a bit, but did not sour as it might have after such boneheaded alpha manhandling. Even so, when the dance ended, Kakashi all but fled to his seat at the raised dais, grateful to make his escape. (Y/N), he knew, would be obligated to participate in the omegas-only wedding dance that was traditional in the Leaf Village while he caught a break. Thankfully, most people were too distracted by the flood of omegas moving to the dancefloor to watch him tuck tail and run. 

Finally in his seat, Kakashi watched the dance of the omegas begin. The music picked up to a lively reel, and the dance floor abruptly became a wash of watercolor formal wear. In the glowing, golden light of the chandeliers, the dancing omegas looked like twirling flower petals dancing on the wind. (Y/N) was easily visible as the single bright dot of white in a sea of color, and he watched her as she flowed from partner to partner, smiling and laughing as the dance spun her round and round. 

Below, (Y/N) had joined hands with Iruka-sensei for a dance. The omega man was flushed high on his cheeks as he spoke animatedly with her, twisting and turning through the moves of the intricate dance as though it were nothing. Kakashi noticed that they did not switch partners at the appropriate time, which was not part of the traditional dance. They still moved through the steps, but their hands never left each other in that strange, sweet omega way that sent chills down Kakashi's back. There was something about omegas and touch— often, if they became ninja, they specialized in taijutsu, preferring to grapple physically with an opponent despite their generally smaller size. Rock Lee was one such omega— though he was admittedly on the taller side for his sex, and certainly heartier. Still, despite the fact that Kakashi had wanted nothing more than to escape his wife only minutes before, watching her get touchy-feely with another man had his hackles raised.

Kakashi took a sip of his wine as he watched (Y/N) dip into a deep curtsy as the dance ended. She joined hands with Iruka-sensei once more, and he led her across the room— not, Kakashi noticed, towards him, but towards a table of (mostly) alpha jounin. 

Interesting. 

He watched as (Y/N) sat on a table— a table— chit-chatting with Iruka and now Genma. Genma laughed at something she said, then blushed when she poked his cheek and said something that Kakashi couldn't make out.

As Genma called Gai over, Kakashi reached for his wine again. Suddenly, it tasted like vinegar. Gai was supposed to be his friend. Why was he over there with her? He should be over here, congratulating Kakashi on the pretty, giggly ball-and-chain that was putting her hands all over other alpha men—?

Kakashi stood before he realized what he was doing. Instinct fought with reason for a split second, and then he was marching over to where (Y/N) sat squeezing Gai’s bicep while fluttering her lashes. This would not do. She could not go on as she was. She'd make a fool of him and her father and the village, and then where would they all be? 

Halfway into working himself into a true fit, Gai spotted his approach, and suddenly Kakashi was considering a certain earth jutsu that could literally split open the ground to swallow him.

“My Rival!” Gai boomed, turning as (Y/N) tapped his ear with a finger. “Your Blushing Bride is Teaching Us the Language of Iruka-sensei’s Parents!”

Iruka, if possible, blushed even deeper than his current flush. It was not widely known that the Academy teacher was of foreign origin, his parents having immigrated many years ago before their death in the kyuubi attack. He seemed a bit embarrassed, but mostly happy as he chattered away to (Y/N) in a language Kakashi did not know and could not place. Surprisingly, she chattered right back, and it suddenly made sense as to why they'd made such fast friends. 

“She's a peach,” Genma added, grinning. “She was just going over parts of the body.” 

Proudly, he began pointing to his cheek, his nose, and Gai’s ear, rattling off the words that had been taught to him. Kakashi couldn't believe that he'd gotten jealous over something so stupidly innocent— but then, he noticed, (Y/N) still hadn't acknowledged him. She was looking at him as she talked to Irkua-sensei, who glanced at him and laughed as well. Kakashi got the distinct feeling he was the butt of some joke. 

“Pardon us, Kakashi-sensei,” Iruka said at last, his smile still wide and bright. “Your wife has given me the gift of being able to speak my first language again. I had never thought to hear it in Konoha after my parents died.”

“Oh nonsense,” said (Y/N), placing a hand on his shoulder. “Why not petition the Hokage to teach beginner language classes? Surely it would help to have shinobi who can speak other languages. Any shinobi with a good personality and a grasp on the grammar could serve as an ambassador and increase the bonds between your allies. That way you could have your own little community of language. Oh, Iruka-sensei, say you will! My father would provide the books if funding is an issue.”

Kakashi wanted to scold her— it was not her business what was taught in the Academy, nor should she show her influence so freely— but she wasn't wrong, and Iruka-sensei looked so pleased that Kakashi didn't have the heart to discourage him. 

“Well, the worst she can say is no,” Iruka grinned. 

“Exactly!”

Gai turned to Kakashi. When he did, his eyes were full of tears about to overflow. 

“Kakashi, Your Wife is So Incredible. I Am So Happy For You Both!”

(Y/N) blushed. 

“Gai-san! But you've only just met me!”

“That Makes It Even Better!”

“Hey Kakashi,” Genma drawled, grinning through his senbon. “Maybe you'd be willing to model for the words she wasn't willing to teach us.”

This was getting worse by the second. 

“Genma-kun, you silly man.” (Y/N) snatched his senbon away as deftly as any shinobi and twirled it between her fingers. “My husband is not one to be touched willy-nilly— but maybe that’s only with strangers.”  

Her eyes flicked up to him for a split second, then down at Genma once more. Every other eye at the table drifted over to him questioningly, and it occurred to Kakashi that he was being made into the bad guy— that this was vengeance for his reaction when she had tried to touch his head!

Well, that wouldn't do. Time to turn the tables. Kakashi extended his hand to her and forced his voice to soften. 

“Come,” he said. “You haven't eaten. The night is young, and you may spend it as you wish— but I ask that you take care of yourself first.”

Her smile softened as she turned to him, not at all as displeased as he'd hoped she'd be. 

“Of course, husband.” She placed a small, warm hand in his, and the men gathered around her suddenly looked mischievously at one another as though they were all privy to some joke that Kakashi did not get.

“See you later, (Y/N)-chan,” said Iruka, slipping a grinning side-eye to Genma. “Later, Kakashi-sensei.”

“Goodbye,” said (Y/N), waggling her fingers in farewell. Kakashi frowned. She was good at her game— if nothing else, he had to admit that. Kakashi did not bother to reply to the others’ farewells, and instead dragged her along beside him all the way back to their assigned seats. He could have slowed, allowing her to walk comfortably, but he saw no reason to do so. She cared not a whit for his comfort, getting handsy with alpha jounin and letting them be all cheeky; why should he care for hers? 

And besides, she smelled strongly of alpha now. Not like him, but like other alphas. He would have to fix that post-haste. Other times, Kakashi might not have minded— but they were newly married. There was something to be said for propriety. 

Once they were settled, (Y/N) ate sparingly despite the luxurious spread of meats, vegetables, and rice spread before them. No wonder— Kakashi watched the way she moved, her posture as she sat, and realized that she must be wearing something beneath her formal wear that cinched her waist. He had seen the corsets and girdles and other torture devices worn by court ladies; it was a wonder, he thought, that anyone could eat anything with something so restrictive on.

“Do you have a favorite food, Kakashi-san?” (Y/N) asked him, glancing over as she lifted a piece of meat with her chopsticks. 

If he did, it was none of her business. 

“Anything besides ration bars.”

“What do ration bars taste like?”

Kakashi took a moment to think. He'd never actually considered it before. 

“Like dirty, wet leaves.”

Her nose wrinkled.

“Sounds ghastly. Do they not provide real food for shorter missions?”

Kakashi gave one vague answer after another to her questions. No, they don't provide real food. Yes the problem is with storing it. No, he doesn't bring dried, salted meat. No, not because it's hard to chew, but because it's easy to smell. No, he didn't want to dance. Yes, because he was tired. 

“Then maybe we should retire.” She did not look at him— a sign of insecurity, Kakashi thought. She had been consistently making eye contact with him as they spoke; without it, she seemed… shy. 

“I'm ready if you are.”

She nodded, but glanced around, distracted. 

“I’ll say my goodbyes to some of the guests, and then we can leave.”

Kakashi said nothing, but watched her as she left. It was strange; her questions had been persistent, which had made it difficult for him to ignore her presence, but they seemed to come from a place of genuine interest. What did she care about ration bars or mission food in general? Reason dictated that a palace girl like herself would have little interest in shinobi matters, but twice already she had made well-meaning suggestions for improvement of village life— first with the language classes, then with ideas for improving the taste of ration bars with flavors that might ease the wet leaf taste. Perhaps it should not have come as a surprise to Kakashi that she was an intellectual, but it was a bit shocking. 

The daimyo's favorite daughter, indeed, he thought, watching her as she weaved deftly through dancing bodies to her destination. She has beauty and brains— what next? An Icha Icha collection? 

That thought stuck with him. He wondered what their sex would really be like. Of course, it wouldn't be as good as Icha Icha— nothing was as good as Icha Icha— but she was more worldly and interesting than he had thought she would be. It was possible that she could exceed his expectations in other areas as well. 

She could be a total nympho, he mused, watching her kiss Iruka-sensei on the cheek. Her hand rested on his bicep, squeezing there briefly. It'd be interesting, but ultimately inconvenient with my mission schedule. 

He could not countenance the idea of her having her needs met in other places. He'd toyed with the idea of an open marriage before they'd officially met, but now that he'd seen her in action, he realized that she was too dangerous not to be kept on a short leash. For a woman like that, a man might do terrible things. Kakashi would hate to have to kill a fellow shinobi over it. 

Remembering that tiny room from years and years ago, and the way her eyes had burned brighter than the torch fires, he had to concede that very possibly he might not be the only one capable of doing some dastardly deeds over such an affair. Dangerous woman indeed, and an omega to boot— yes, he would need to keep her close, keep her sated, satisfied with him and with proper village life. He would need to put a firm handle on that flirtatious nature of hers. Better to avoid any complications from the get-go. 

When (Y/N) returned, Kakashi offered her his arm. When she took it, a warm rumbling sounded in his chest— an alpha purr. Of all the alphas in the room, she was with him. 

How embarrassing, to get worked up over something so silly. 

If (Y/N) noticed, she did not respond. She seemed preoccupied. The heat of her attention had warmed him all evening; now that it was gone, Kakashi felt as though he might shiver. Curious, he followed her gaze to the wooden rafters Tenzou had put in for support. Above them, there was a blur of movement, but before Kakashi could process it, (Y/N) whipped her head towards him, her eyes glinting like steel.

“Kakashi— above us!”

She shoved him to the side with a strength he did not anticipate. A moment later, a blade was lodged in the wooden flooring between where they had been standing. The Mist ninja holding the hilt of the sword was a tall, imposing beta woman with an impressive scar over her left eye. She spared Kakashi a glance as she ripped her sword from the floor in an impressive display of strength, but instead of attacking him, she launched herself at (Y/N) with top-speed shinobi movement. 

Kakashi was faster. Alphas, after all, were built for speed and ferocity— qualities that made short work of threats to the pack.

His kunai connected with the Mist nin’s sword in a bright spark of metal on metal. The strength of the blow sent a familiar jolt of resistance down his arm, and with his sharingan open and uncovered, Kakashi could see the chakra infused in the enemy nin’s muscles. She had put nearly everything into that blow. It was not meant to maim, capture, or subdue— no, this Mist nin meant to kill (Y/N). 

Seconds that felt like hours passed, and the Mist nin realized that she had failed. Kakashi had expected her expression to go dark with hate, followed by a second attack, but instead, a look of pained desperation crossed her face. Kakashi recoiled from it. He knew that face. He had made it when his father died, then again each time his teammates were slaughtered. To see it on another was to feel the grief afresh. 

The Mist nin opened her mouth in a horrible, heart-wrenching howl. Her mouth stretched freakishly wide as tears spilled from her eyes, and the building began to shake and groan as though moved by an earthquake. That voice…Kakashi focused in on the woman with the sharingan, then realized with a start that chakra was being channeled to her throat— that her voice was causing the building to shake. She meant to bring the whole place down on their heads! 

“Tenzou!” he shouted, unaware of his friend's location, but certain that he could hear. “Support the building!”

“Hai, senpai!” 

The call had come from across the room, but the jutsu was already in action before the sound of it reached Kakashi's ears. Strong planks of wood burst from the floor and rose to support the shaking columns and beams. The Mist nin redoubled her efforts, screeching louder and louder; Kakashi pushed her backwards with all his strength, hoping to destabilize her, but the bitch didn't budge. Her sturdy beta body was built for strength and endurance, to cage and contain alpha malice and to resist omega temptations.

“Oh for heaven’s sake!” Kakashi heard (Y/N) say behind him, her lyrical voice tainted with a growl. “Won't someone shut that howling cur up?”

Kakashi wanted to say something back— who was she to bark orders in a battle anyway?— but the Mist nin shoved him hard, and he stumbled backwards far enough to let her gain ground. The movement twisted their positions so that she was closer to (Y/N) than he was. At first, Kakashi thought the Mist nin realized this, because her sword was abruptly gone from his kunai, but when he blinked, he realized that she had dropped the sword to clutch at her neck. A strip of cloth— a piece of silk from the decor— had been twisted around the enemy nin’s neck and was biting deeply into her skin. (Y/N) held the ends of it, and, having evidently double-wrapped it, was using her foot against the Mist nin’s back to press the beta forward as she pulled the silk backwards in a makeshift garrote. 

All told, it was brilliant work— had the garrote been just a fraction of a second faster in silencing the shinobi, it would have been perfect. 

As it was, the Mist nin was allowed one last blast of her voice towards the ceiling, which broke a solid wooden beam in half and caved in a section of the roof. Kakashi wasn't fast enough to stop it— why wasn't he ever fast enough?— and he watched it play out in what felt like slow motion, helpless to stop it. The broken beam, sharp and heavy, fell at an angle. The beam was perfectly positioned to kill his wife, as if primed precisely to pierce her through the middle of her back, through her stomach and lungs. It would be a slow death, he knew, ugly even in the golden glow of chandeliers, surrounded by rose petals scattered like blood stains. 

At the thought of it, Kakashi wanted to laugh. Not even married to him for the whole of three hours, and the poor girl was already about to die. He really was cursed. 

At the last moment, he closed his eyes— both his own and the sharingan. This death, he didn't want to remember forever and ever and ever. Just this once, he would rather save himself the haunting. 

The beam and roof hit the floor. He felt the crash in his joints, a sudden ache, then numbness. It felt like damnation. 

There was a scraping noise, then another, smaller crash.

Kakashi opened his eyes. 

(Y/N) was standing beside the Mist nin, covered in debris, but very alive. The same could not be said for the Mist nin— a piece of stone from the roof was sticking out from her head at a sickening angle. The stone fell out from its lodging as (Y/N) belatedly released her hold on the silk around the Mist nin’s neck, and the thick bone of the Mist nin’s skull fell away. The broken beam, which should have pierced (Y/N) through the middle, was sticking out of the ground between (Y/N) and her would-be assassin, exactly where it would have fallen had (Y/N) not been there. 

Kakashi ran the calculations again and again, but he could not figure a way that (Y/N) would have been able to survive. Outside of ninjutsu, it was physically impossible— and he didn't sense anything at all from her extremely limited chakra system. And why should he? (Y/N) was not a ninja. 

Figures— the one time Kakashi could have used the sharingan, he had closed it in an attempt to spare himself some pain. 

In slow, steady movements, (Y/N) extracted herself from the rubble. Straight-backed, with her chin in the air, she stepped over the debris covering her feet; more regal now than Kakashi had ever seen her, she turned her face over her shoulder and spat in the direction of the dead Mist nin. She only wobbled a little as she took another step— probably due to a head injury from the falling roof— and Kakashi found himself at her side, brushing bits and pieces of wood out of her hair. 

“That was foolish,” he found himself telling her. Her scent was wavering like a lost child’s, tender and fearful. “I had it handled.”

“So did I.” She turned her face upwards, and Kakashi found that their noses were almost touching. “She wasn't after you.”

“No, she wasn't.”

All of a sudden, shinobi from all over the room crowded around them at once. Without thinking, Kakashi placed himself in front of (Y/N), snarling and growling like a boneheaded alpha fool. Someone either very brave or very foolish stepped forward, and he bared his teeth behind his mask, raising a kunai in defense of his omega. It wasn't until Gai approached and touched his arm that Kakashi began to see people instead of threats, and it was then that he realized that he'd bared his teeth at the Hokage of all people. 

 “If you're done,” said Tsunade slowly, irritated, “I'd like to treat your wife’s injuries, now.”

The word bonehead wasn't spoken, though it was very much implied— but for some reason, Kakashi just couldn't make himself step aside. 

“Kakashi-san.” The voice came from behind him. It was soothing and sweet to his ear; the mere utterance of his name was enough to ease his raised hackles. “You're safe now. Allow Tsunade-sama to see to our wounds.”

Gentle hands touched him, and he allowed himself to be moved. Tsunade’s green healing chakra flowed in his peripheral, but Kakashi's eyes were fixed on his wife. Her hands were not shaking or trembling with the high of adrenaline; instead, they were steady at her side. She was no longer smiling as she had been, but her brow was smooth, uncreased by fear or worry. There was no sign of the previous encounter in her body, no shock, no nothing. Her composure rivaled even the best shinobi in the village. 

Kakashi wondered if all the daughters of the daimyo were trained to control and conceal their body’s adrenal responses or if it was just the daimyo's favorite. 

“You're all good,” Tsunade said, stepping away from (Y/N). Her brows creased beneath the byakugan. “You got lucky, kid. I would have expected a concussion, but it seems like your shoulders took the brunt of the damage. Did you feel anything hit your head?”

(Y/N) shot the Hokage a look that seemed almost embarrassed and shook her head. 

“My father always said I was hard-headed.” She touched the base of her scalp subconsciously. “If something hit my head, I wouldn't know it. Is anything else amiss, Hokage-sama?”

“Not that I can tell.” Tsunade's eyes flicked back to Kakashi in question. Whatever the question was, Kakashi had no answer to it, and she looked away, troubled. “I'm glad you seem to be unharmed.”

(Y/N) bowed deeply. With her clothes and hair ruined, the formal gesture looked almost silly. 

“Thank you, Hokage-sama. I'm sorry to have brought such trouble to your village.”

Tsunade snorted. 

“Nonsense, kid. Assassins aren't exactly uncommon here— and I'd be surprised if vengeance on your groom wasn't the motive behind it all. Bad luck follows that one closer than a shadow. But don't worry. You'll have an ANBU guard to escort you to your new home, and they'll stay there in shifts until we get all this sorted out. We’ll do a full investigation, the works.”

(Y/N) nodded, bowing once more. 

“You have my gratitude, Hokage-sama.” She turned to Kakashi, eyes sober. “Now— if you will excuse me, I'd like a moment in private with my husband.”

Kakashi still couldn't move. 

Bad luck follows that one like a shadow. 

It was a fair assessment. More than fair. Why, then, did Kakashi’s chest feel so tight?

A warm hand pressed against his chest, over his heart. He looked down, and (Y/N) was staring up at him once more. Her head was tilted subtly to the side— a comforting gesture of submission.

“Come,” she said, slowly moving her hand up to pull his silk eye patch (the one he saved for formal occasions) back into place over the sharingan. “Some air and some privacy will do us good.”

Kakashi did as he was bid. She took him by the hand and led him outside, rubbing a thumb over the scent glands at his wrist. Distantly, he wondered if he should tell her that no talk between them would be private now— he could feel their ANBU detail shifting to follow them, silent and invisible except to him. Surely she had to know that, didn't she? Tsunade had said so earlier, hadn't she?— but then, adrenaline could make even the sharpest people a bit slow on the uptake. Maybe she didn’t know after all.

Kakashi's lungs burned as he inhaled the fresh, cool night air. The stars overhead were many and bright, freckling the sky with little dots of twinkling silver as (Y/N) pulled him along to a more private corner of the abandoned square. The moon was a wicked crescent above a nearby tree where one of the ANBU perched, and Kakashi suddenly realized that he was very thirsty. (Y/N) stopped moving, and when he looked down at her to check in, he found that her focus had shifted to the sky. Her eyes searched the stars as if looking for an old friend among them, her pretty lips stretched to reveal a soft, sweet smile. Kakashi could not tear his eyes away from her rapture, wondering if he had ever looked at Konoha's sky this way before— with awe and reverence. 

“This place is beautiful,” she said after a long moment. “There are no stars like this in the capitol.”

(Y/N) was looking at him. Her eyes shone like wide pools of stolen Konoha starlight. Breathless, Kakashi leaned forward until he could smell her better; the action brought him close enough to notice the dilation of her pupils, and he swallowed thickly, knowing his own eye would give him away just as easily if she were paying attention. Moving slowly so as not to frighten her, he dipped his head into the junction of her neck and shoulder and scented her. As he did so, she let out a soft, sweet exhalation that sent shivers down his spine. The scenting wouldn't work as well with his mask in the way, but it was enough. He was tired of smelling other alphas. 

“Kakashi-san.” Her voice was little more than a puff of air against his ear. “Please.”

Her hands found his shoulders. He leaned bodily into her, and her hands slid until her arms were wrapped around his neck. Slowly, Kakashi moved against her, and he was shocked to find himself hard. 

Maybe they were both a little slow on the uptake. 

Kakashi pulled away— or tried to. He could have removed himself from (Y/N)’s grasp if he had really tried, but he did not want to offend her by breaking free of her grasp. At least, that's what he told himself as one of her legs snaked around his own, holding him to her, pressing his hardness against her soft belly. 

“There are ANBU watching,” he warned her. 

“Let them watch.” Her body arched against his, and he ached with the friction of it. “A daimyo's daughter is never afforded much privacy, and I do not see why we should hide that which pleases the body and touches the soul.”

Kakashi had not imagined that it would be this way. He had imagined an awkward trek through the rustling woods, tentative steps past the threshold of his father's home; he had imagined silence and odd staring and missionary position with their clothes on in his father's old bedroom. There had been no room in his imagination for this— no room at all for adrenaline hardness, steamy breath, and animal magnetism, and certainly none for Icha Icha-esque lines and propositions for public… activities. 

“Then let's at least move from the footpath. Hold on to me.”

She did so, wrapping her arms around him more tightly, and Kakashi transported them several yards past the tree line— well-hidden from the average passer-by, but perfect for the ANBU assigned to them to accompany unobtrusively. Once the world came to a halt, Kakashi nudged his nose against hers, desirous of a kiss he was not yet willing to give. For reasons unknown to him, (Y/N) did not press him for it, and instead loosened her arms around him, pulling backwards so that she could look at his face.

“Thank you for earlier,” she said, her voice little more than a soft exhalation. “You are very quick— even for an alpha. If you had not stopped that blade…”

Kakashi nodded, then nuzzled her temple in silent appreciation. It was nice, he realized, having someone he could simply touch.

The loosening of her arms around him was followed quickly by the loosening of his clothing. Soon Kakashi was stripped down to just his boxers, undershirt, and mask without quite knowing how it had happened— his silk eye patch was hanging loosely around his neck, but his sharingan remained closed. He did not need it to memorize her face as her lips parted, flashing tiny omega incisors. It was not a sight he was likely to forget. 

“Let me,” Kakashi said as (Y/N) began to struggle with the large fabric of her clothing. He found himself eager to touch her, to help her as she had helped him. “Be still.”

She did so, and the layers that she wore fell away to reveal what Kakashi had assumed to be a figure-shaping underlayer. It was not. Instead, what he found was a set of tasteful lingerie that, while apparently not having left any room for breathing for (Y/N), took his breath away as well. It was made of red satin, and its criss-crossing lines were smooth to the touch; Kakashi felt around the back of it for the clasp to release it, but instead found a bow that he quickly untied. 

“Touch me,” (Y/N) sighed as her breasts were bared. Kakashi watched intently as chillbumps broke out on her skin, her nipples hardening in the cool night air. “Please— alpha-san, touch me.”

That last bit had been formal, a command. Kakashi doubted any alpha in the wide world would have been able to resist it— not when omega pheromones were this thick and cloying in the air, her earth-rain-tea scent filling the copse of trees that sheltered them, and not with such a beautiful specimen before them. Kakashi brushed his knuckles over her cheek, felt the heat of her flush. He continued the motion without pause, sliding his hand down to her jaw, then her neck, resting on the scent gland there. He lingered there for a moment, then trailed his hand lower until his fingertips were brushing her nipple. As he did so, (Y/N) inhaled sharply, arching into him for more. 

Oh, how he ached for her. 

Unable to stop himself, Kakashi buried his face in her neck. As he ground his cock against her, his hungry hands toyed with her breasts. His teeth itched with the desire to nip and bite and taste and devour— but he could not. There was cloth in the way of his conquest. 

The sudden temptation to remove his mask was an unparalleled horror. Wife or not, how could Kakashi want to bare himself so freely to a perfect stranger?— and yet, if she had asked… if she had asked for him to remove it with wide eyes and desperate sighs, he wasn't sure what his response would be. 

Kakashi flinched at the thought as if struck. Lighting-fast rage pumped through his veins, and the lead in his limbs that had kept him slow, docile for her turned molten. It had been long since he had fallen for an omega’s wiles, a decade at least, since he'd last been made a fool of this way. Mere seconds ago, he had been willing to take his mask off for her. For her! Not for Naruto, not for Sakura or Sasuke, or hell, not even for Tenzou— but for this woman he'd known less than a day!

Kakashi's hand circled her throat. Her eyes— still so lovely and bright with Konoha starlight— fluttered closed at the touch, and he pondered how easy it would be to crush her windpipe and wring the very life from her. It was what he would have done if he'd encountered an omega with such allure in the field, he thought. Terminate with extreme prejudice. Anything that could make him this vulnerable should not be allowed to live. 

A hand slipped past the waistband of his boxers, cupped his sex. Smaller and softer than his own, that hand caressed him, stroking in motions that squeezed his cockhead with delicious pressure. 

“Would you like to choke me, alpha-san?” her voice was distant, melodious, like a siren song or faerie call. “Don't be frightened to, if that's what you like— I'm not made of glass.”

Kakashi was shaking. Whether with rage or desire, he did not know. He was more lost than a genin who’d wandered into the Forest of Death. All this she had done to him in a single evening, this sweet, poisonous omega. What would she do to him given a week, a month, a year with him? 

The hand that was not currently occupied with stroking his cock pressed against his cheek. (Y/N)’s thumb was cold as it traced the scar bisecting his eye. 

“You have lovely eyes.” She pressed a kiss to each of his brows. “Forgive me if I stare. I can't help myself.”

Without thinking, Kakashi opened the sharingan. 

He closed it as soon as he realized his mistake, but it was too late. The image of (Y/N) like this— naked under pale moonlight, skin shadowed by rustling leaves overhead, pretty lips parted and incisors out— was recorded forever with just one glance. 

“So lovely,” she repeated, sounding wistful. Her thumb brushed the closed sharingan again. “Does it hurt?”

He took her hand in his, moving it away from his face. 

“Only when I overuse it.” 

Kakashi touched his clothed nose to (Y/N)’s bare one. When she tilted her head to brush against him, her nose was cold like her thumb had been. Eyes closed, Kakashi made the only concession he could and kissed her through his mask. It was not the kiss he wanted— not sloppy, open-mouthed, half-wild— but it was what he could give. (Y/N) surprised him by responding enthusiastically; she kissed him with fervor, and her efforts to pleasure him redoubled, as if she meant to get him off then and there.

But that was not how Kakashi intended to meet his ends. He would never show such disregard for her honor, her status, her rights as his wife. Whatever the two of them would come to, there would be no doubt as to whether their marriage was consummated. If not for the sake of pleasing such a pretty omega partner, then he would do it for Konoha— but he would do it. It was not in him to dishonor anyone that way. 

“I want you.” He spoke the words against her lips, hoping he sounded more dignified than he felt. 

“You have me, alpha-san. You have me.”

Her voice was soft, once more a barely audible breath above the rustling of the leaves. Kakashi kissed her once more, then cupped her shoulders with his hands and turned her to face away from him. He did not trust himself to look at her. This way, with him pressing into her from behind, he might last at least a few minutes. 

His fingers were pale against the red of her underwear as he tugged it aside. His cock, now free from his boxers, strained achingly towards the wet warmth of her, but he ignored it in favor of delving into her wet heat with a single finger, probing to ascertain her readiness. The digit came back coated in her slick, and he used it to brush through her folds up to her clit, eliciting a low, surprised moan from his partner. 

“I'm going to take you now.” There was no question in his voice. They were past the point of return. “I'll go slow.”

(Y/N)’s head turned back to him. Her profile was soft and beautiful, dappled by the shadows of tree leaves. 

“No need. I'm ready.”

She spread her legs, bending slightly. The action further opened her to him, and the scent of her arousal flooded the air. Abruptly, Kakashi remembered the ANBU in the trees, and he wondered if they felt as mad as he did watching the obscene display before them. If it had been him looking down from above, watching, he would have been palming himself through his pants.

Better give them a show to remember, he thought, lining himself up with her entrance. It's the least we can do for keeping them out in the weather. 

(Y/N) looked back at him, expectant, and Kakashi stopped dawdling. As he pushed into her, his head fell back of its own accord, his muscles lax at the sudden pleasure.

She felt good. Her pussy, tight and hot and wet, wrapped around him like it was made to be fucked like this. The soft flesh of her ass squished against his thighs as he bottomed out, and Kakashi pulled out slowly just to watch that pretty pussy stretch around him. When he thrust forward again, it was harder and deeper than before, and (Y/N) let out a tiny moan of pleasure. Curious, Kakashi repeated the motion. (Y/N) made the same noise— the smallest vocalization, given in reward for his success. Kakashi chased that sound, drew it from her until it was one drawn-out cry; one hand on her nipple, the other on her clit, he thrust into her with controlled force. His face was pressed into her neck, his cloth-covered incisors scraping the skin of her neck as he fought the desire to bite and bind her. 

“Please,” she gasped as he began to pick up his pace. “Please, alpha—”

She groaned, then shuddered, tightening around him. 

“Tell me what you need.” Kakashi pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. “I'll do it, whatever it is.”

“Just— just don't stop.”

Kakashi shocked himself with a chuckle— she'd asked him to do the only thing he didn't think he could stop doing, even if he tried— but then there was a sudden tightening in his abdomen, and the world narrowed to the places where their bodies were connected. Pleasure was a hook in his belly, tugging as he released; in front of him, (Y/N) was still keening, and the muscles of her sex pulsed, gripping him as he came. He held onto her, pressing her back against him as his knot swelled, and she relaxed against him, boneless and soft. Exhausted, Kakashi lowered them both down until he was seated on the forest floor with (Y/N) in his lap. 

The night was getting colder. Kakashi's skin, tacky with sweat, raised in small bumps of gooseflesh as (Y/N) adjusted against him. With her back against his chest, he could feel her heart hammering. Almost subconsciously, he wrapped his arms around her more tightly, thinking to warm her, but she wriggled as he did so— not exactly pushing him away, but near enough to it to make him loosen his grip. Changing tactics, he kissed her neck through his mask, trying to soothe her, but that just seemed to make her more restless as she twitched away from him with a giggle. 

“Kakashi-san,” she chided playfully, rolling her head back on his shoulder to glance at him, “I'm ticklish there.”

“My apologies.” He kissed her beneath her ear. “Although, I have to say— since I am currently inside you, I think we can dispense with the formalities. Just Kakashi will do.”

She laughed— a musical sound— and kissed the side of his head that she could reach. 

“I was going to give it a week, but I suppose we can compromise.”

Her voice was full of a fondness that Kakashi hadn't expected— but what surprised him more was that he found himself reciprocating that fondness. It was probably the giddy sex hormones doing funny things to his head, but (Y/N)’s smile warmed him, and he enjoyed the little tune she was humming as he held her. Even with his ass in the wet leaves and knowing that he probably hadn't made his partner come, he was oddly content. There was just something right about this. 

Something right about her. 

“Hey,” he said into the crook of her neck, feeling braver than he thought he would. “Once we're— I mean, when we're able… how would you like a second round?”

(Y/N)’s giggle vibrated against his chest. 

“Already, alpha-san?”

“Well— I mean—”

A hand squeezing his knee stopped his blubbering. 

“I didn't mean to fluster you,” she said, her voice soft and warm. “I would be happy to do more, husband, as soon as you'd like.”

He made it as far as the doorway before a voice called out to him. 

“Oi, Kaka-sensei! You're not even gonna stop and say hi?!”

Kakashi blinked. There was no way— was there? He padded back to the living room, following the smell of coffee, and found his loudest student seated at the dining room table, looking taller and broader and tanner than when Kakashi had last seen him. Across from Naruto, clothed in what Kakashi could only assume was the most expensive silk housecoat in the world, was (Y/N). The fabric of her robe was a deep, rich indigo, and he would be willing to bet that the suns and crescent moons embroidered in glittering patterns across it were made with real gold in the thread. Her eyes shone brightly as she gazed at him, and even with all her makeup gone and her hair visibly wet, she somehow managed to look for all the world like the royalty she was. 

“Maa, Naruto, I thought you were out training with Jiraiya-sensei,” Kakashi said by way of greeting. He affected his usual lazy slouch, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, knowing it would disguise his undercurrent of worry. Why was the kid back so soon?

“And I thought you were still a bachelor!” Naruto turned to (Y/N) with one of his blinding smiles. “Then I come home and hear you got hitched! And then I meet her, and turns out, she's a princess! A princess! I don't know how you managed it, but she's a princess!”

(Y/N) was hiding her face behind her cup, but her eyes betrayed her smile. Naruto was staring at her like she was a singular, glowing star. 

Kakashi withheld his sigh. 

“It was arranged for us,” he replied carefully, sliding his eyes over to his wife. “So I didn't manage it myself, not really.”

(Y/N) lowered her cup. Her smile was soft, her eyes tired— or, perhaps fond. Kakashi couldn't tell.

“Your sensei is humble. He is a war hero of Konoha, a seasoned veteran and wealthy heir.” As she spoke, her eyes never left him. Kakashi got the feeling that she calculated all in that gaze, saw right through to the core of him with little more than a look. “In terms of power, status, and reputation, he is more than an equal match for me.”

Her voice was strong with pride and approval. Naruto’s jaw dropped, evidently in awe that his “Kaka-sensei” could be so admired by a royal omega. Kakashi couldn't blame the kid. After all, “Kaka-sensei” was having a hard time wrapping his own head around it. 

“Coffee?” She offered him, gesturing to the pot of it that she had evidently made. “Naruto-kun was just telling me how you prefer it to tea.”

Against his will, the sharingan brought forth the memories of him watching her face as she choked the Mist nin. That snarling scowl overlayed her present calm and beauty, creating a strange creature with too many eyes and noses and mouths. Kakashi shook his head, willing the image away. 

“No thanks.” It would be a while yet before he would eat anything that he didn't watch her make himself. “I'm going to go shower.”

“Of course.” (Y/N) lowered her head to him, almost a dismissal, then paused. “Before you go, though— I thought you should know that some men came by earlier to see you. They wanted to update you on the ongoing investigation, so I told them that you would report to the Hokage’s office as soon as you were awake and ready.”

Kakashi's eyes did not bulge out of his head. He did not grit his teeth or clench his fist or give any outward indication of the cold fury that iced his veins. For all that, though, the fury remained, serving as a sharp reminder of why he hadn't wanted a wife in the first place. 

“That was not your place.” The words were not growled, simply spoken. “You should have woken me.”

(Y/N) blinked at him. Her brows knit slightly, creasing her smooth forehead. 

“If they had needed you, they would have woken you themselves, whether I wanted you woken or not— and as your bedfellow, I can assure you that you did not sleep well during the night. The floor, it seems, was not kind to either of us.” She paused as if daring him to argue. “I thought it best if you had time to regain your strength if their need was not urgent, and they agreed.”

Naruto was watching their exchange like a tennis match, whipping his head from one of them to the other. Kakashi very carefully did not lock his jaw, but did not soften his tone this time as he spoke. 

“It was not your place to decide that. I am a shinobi and my duty is to the village.” 

“True,” she countered, “but the village also has a duty to you and to your health. I was not the only one to make this decision, Kakashi-san. I thought you should rest; Yamato-san and Gai-san agreed.”

Naruto looked back at him expectantly, making no effort to hide his grin. No doubt the boy thought he was losing this… discussion, but there was nothing to lose. 

“Wake me next time.” That statement was not a request. “I need less rest than you might think.”

(Y/N) was silent. She looked at him with an unreadable expression— another mask, it seemed— then took a sip of her coffee. When she still did not reply, Kakashi considered the matter settled. Perhaps pride had stitched her mouth shut, preventing her from acknowledging orders. That was just as well. Kakashi didn't need speech from her. He needed obedience. 

Bonehead, a voice whispered in the back of his head. Boneheaded alpha, asking for submission. What's next, chaining her to the stove?

(Y/N) just kept on staring at him, unimpressed. Kakashi turned around, unable to bear looking at that beautiful, placid face for one more second. Scowling behind his mask, he stalked to his shower, grumbling internally the whole way. 

Several hours later, with leaves in his hair and moonlight in his eyes, Kakashi meandered home. 

Time on the training grounds had mellowed his earlier disgruntlement. As so often, a little physical exertion did wonders for his mental state. In the world there were vexations aplenty, but in battle, there was only jutsu. Even in a mock battle, the rest of the world fell away, and after— well, after, the world was usually kept at bay for just a little while longer on the trek home. 

Maybe it was his mood, but the village seemed to glow with unusual warmth as he made his way back to the compound. Strings of lights that had swayed above his head as a child twinkled merrily above him now; friends and neighbors huddled in and around one another, and the cool evening breeze carried the warmth of their bodies and commingling of their scents. Every day of his life, Kakashi woke knowing that there was nothing he would not do in defense of his village, but on nights like tonight, Konoha did him a similar kindness in turn. Konoha was home, a shelter, a solace. Kakashi loved Konoha, and Konoha, he felt, loved him back. The ever-present rustle of the leaves said so as he passed, murmuring their sweet hellos, dropping the occasional leaf overhead in fondness.

It was good, he thought, to notice the bounty of the village and give thanks, even when he'd rather be reading the new Icha Icha installment that was burning a hole in the pocket of his flack jacket. 

In his defense, he had thought to finish it earlier, during the battle for the bells. He'd wrongly assumed that Naruto and Sakura would have given him a few moments’ peace to do so. He should have known better. Those brats had never given him a moment’s peace. Still, though, it had  been good to spar with the kids again— another of Konoha’s gifts. It had been a while since Kakashi had stretched his legs, flexed his abilities. It had also been a while since he had lost. A little losing was good for the soul, he supposed, but it wouldn't do to make a habit of it. He'd need to redeem himself in their eyes soon. With a new jutsu, perhaps? He'd have to think on it. 

Kakashi was so reluctant to leave the night behind him that he was almost sad when he reached the front door of his father's home. Almost— except that the feeling was aborted with the realization that the door was left slightly ajar. Senses sharpening, Kakashi sniffed the air for foreign scents; he detected nothing, but that did not mean that something had not been there. With light steps and practiced movements, he slipped shadow-like into the house, cleared the room he entered. He repeated the process with the kitchen, then a bedroom, until he came to the end of the hall, where the door to the cellar has hanging slightly open on its hinges. As he neared, Kakashi stiffened— blood-scent tainted the air. With a careful, silent hand, he pressed the door until it opened, and his heart gave a painful lurch at what he saw. 

Lying on the floor was his wife, her face angled away from him. Blood— God, her blood— made a perfect, rust-red halo around her head. It was dry. A dim blue glow emanated from her, and it took Kakashi a moment to realize that it was chakra wire, not her ghostly manifestation, that caused it. With that realization, he understood perfectly what had happened. 

His next actions were swift, methodical. 

Check for pulse— find it, withhold relief until further examination. Sever chakra wire. Assess wounds— big scrape on the head, and ligature marks, bruises on extremities. Head wound moderate. Might need stitches—

At the gentle touch of his fingers to her forehead, (Y/N)’s eyes fluttered open. 

“Kakashi-san…”

Her voice was weak and rough. Kakashi summoned a flame with his fingers and checked her pupils. Yep, concussed alright. 

“Lay still,” he told her. “I'm going to summon Pakkun to get some medi-nin—”

“No.” 

Slow and, Kakashi imagined, aching, (Y/N) moved to sit up. Her eyes closed as she righted herself, but that was the only outward indication of her pain. When she turned her head to look at him, her eyes were intense, her expression unreadable. 

“I'm alright. I've had a concussion before.”

That was all she said. No questions, no panic. Only reassurance— for him! And she'd been concussed before? How? And what on earth had she been doing down here with the dirty great clan secret that was etched in seals across the far wall? 

Suspicious. 

“What happened?” 

“I was hungry,” she said. “You didn't have anything in the pantry, so I decided to look around. I came down here, then saw the wall, and I—”

She looked away, towards the warding seal on the wall across from them. The very same wall which would have shot a shock-filled chakra wire out to bind anyone who tried to break it that was not of Hatake blood. 

“I touched it. It was so beautiful, and I just—I didn't think it to be anything but art…”

At once, Kakashi felt hot with shame. What had he been thinking? This woman was no shinobi. He’d seen her chakra levels with the sharingan— she wouldn't have been able to activate the seal on purpose. In order for her to have mustered enough chakra to even trigger the seal’s effects, she would have had to have been having a strong emotional reaction. It was perfectly possible that if she had been excited by the art— or even irritated by her hunger— that it could have caused a surge in her chakra levels. More than that, if she had truly been poking around with the intent to gather intelligence on him, what would she have been doing in the cellar anyway? His personal effects in the other room would have been a better start. 

And besides… there really hadn't been any food. 

“I'm sorry. It was thoughtless to leave you here without stocking the kitchen first. If you're still hungry, there's a takeout place not too far from here…”

(Y/N) blinked. The look she gave him somehow made him feel even more ashamed. It was at once a look of reproach, reticence, and stubborn neutrality. Sulking, he might have called it, if he thought the description apt. 

“Thank you for your offer, husband— but I'm in no mood to walk.” 

Her voice was deceptively soft, but Kakashi heard the daggers in it anyway. 

“I meant that I would fetch it for you.”

“How thoughtful.” Kakashi was certain she thought nothing of the sort. “You’ll forgive me if I don't have much of an appetite at the moment.”

Kakashi frowned. The woman had to be starving. She'd had nothing to eat all day! Why was she being so stubborn?

“I insist. If you don't eat it now, you can always have it later. What kind of food do you like?”

“Kakashi-san, I don't want to eat anything right now.”

“I understand that.” Kakashi tried very hard not to grind his teeth. “Allow me to bring something home for you.”

“No.”

(Y/N)’s hands balled into fists at her side. She was making no effort not to grind her teeth— Kakashi could practically hear them crunch as her jaw tightened. Incredulous, he asked,

“Why not?”

“Because I don't want to be alone in a house that has already tried to kill me!”

A hand flew to her head as though the force of her exclamation had rattled her brain, and Kakashi was immediately contrite. Of course she was frightened. She hadn't understood what had happened to her. For all she knew, the whole house was booby trapped. 

“It appears I've been thoughtless again.” Kakashi smoothed a hand against her temple. “Forgive me. I'm too used to giving orders and having them obeyed. I won't leave you here alone if you're uncomfortable with that, but you do need to eat.”

(Y/N) leaned into his touch. Her eyes closed, and her expression went slack. 

“M’not hungry,” she protested. “Really, I'm not.”

At that precise moment, her stomach let out a long, low growl. Her eyes opened, but she looked away, studiously avoiding Kakashi's gaze. 

“I'm not,” she insisted still, and Kakashi sighed. 

“I can send a clone for takeout. You wouldn't be alone then.”

She shook her head. 

“I wouldn't want to put you through the trouble of it.”

Kakashi smiled ruefully. 

“I'm going to have to make a clone anyway. Someone needs to stay up and watch after you, and I have a mission tomorrow.”

(Y/N) cocked her head to the side. 

“So soon?”

“Yes.”

She frowned. 

“Then I certainly don't want to trouble you more than I have to.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe— well, you say ration bars are awful, but they'll do the trick if you're hungry, won't they?”

Kakashi only just kept himself from laughing at the idea of a princess choking down a standard-issue ration bar. 

“You won't like it,” he warned her. 

“I've eaten a great many things that I've disliked.”

Not like this, Kakashi wanted to say, but he figured he'd let her find out on her own. 

“Here.” 

He reached into one of the pockets in his flak jacket and retrieved a ration bar. It was a little crushed from his tussle with Naruto and Sakura, but largely unharmed. (Y/N) took it from him and began gently unwrapping it, folding the sides down with care. Kakashi watched her, curious, as she raised the bar to her lips and carefully bit down. 

She didn't so much as flinch. 

“Not so bad.” Her eyebrows were raised as she took another bite. “Not great, but certainly not terrible.”

Kakashi said nothing. Clearly the head injury had rewired the part of her brain that told her when something was disgusting— nothing to be done for it, certainly. 

“The offer to grab you something from town is still on the table, if you'd like.”

She shook her head. 

“Thank you, but no. This is just fine, Kakashi-san.”

Bafflingly, she took another bite of the ration bar, unfazed. Between bites, she continued to talk, as sweet and casual as if nothing had happened at all.

“So— am I allowed to know what it is that your wall objected to regarding me?” 

Kakashi hesitated. Technically, what lay behind that wall was a clan secret… but also, (Y/N) was now technically also a member of the Hatake clan. In wartime, which might very well be soon, it could be useful to have someone who knew and could use it. 

“What you triggered was a seal painted on the wall.” Kakashi pulled a kunai from one of his pockets and sliced his right forefinger. With his other hand, he pulled (Y/N)’s unused hand to his own and began to trace the pattern of the seal. “You probably shouldn't have been able to trigger it because of your chakra levels, but if you were feeling… intensely, it's possible that your chakra surged and caused the seal to activate. Because you are not of my blood, it rejected your unwitting request to open and treated you as an enemy.”

“The wall can open?”

“Yes.” Kakashi inspected his handiwork, and in the process, smudged a line of the seal. He drew it again, allowing his throbbing finger to kiss the coolness of her palm. “It leads to an escape tunnel. Provisions are stocked along the way. There are several exits, but to follow it to its end is to go past the Fire Country’s borders. Come, press your hand to the wall now, and I'll show you how it works.”

She looked up at him reluctantly, but stood and allowed him to guide her to the wall. Once they were properly positioned, he pressed her bloodied hand against the seal and murmured, keying her handprint into the chakra. The wall shuddered, then peeled back, and (Y/N) flinched backwards, stumbling into Kakashi's chest. Darkness yawned before them, and the cold, dank scent of the tunnel bled out into the cellar. 

“It should recognize you now, should you ever need to use it. Chakra or not, it should know your touch. If anything were to happen to the village, you could gather as many civilians as you could find and direct them here. You could survive.”

(Y/N) looked at him, her expression unreadable once more. 

“Why are you telling me this?”

Her scent mingled with the tunnel’s, earth and damp mixing with green tea and foliage and fresh-falling rain. It wavered, as if trembling. 

“You may need to know it. The world is not as safe as it once was.” He reached out a hand, touched her shoulder. “And you are my wife. It is your right.”

Her scent quieted, and her expression calmed. Though her face was suddenly smooth, she wore no mask; hers was the face of duty understood, and she bowed low at the waist. 

“Thank you. You have given me a lot of trust. I won't fail you should that trust be tested, Kakashi-san.”

That was yet to be determined— but there was something in her manner, her upright, queenly air, that reassured him of it. 

Despite himself, Kakashi liked her more and more. 

“I hope the day never comes when you have to use it.” Kakashi placed his own hand over the bloodstain her hand had left, pulsing chakra to close the wall. The structure shuddered, then slid closed once more. “Come. I want to see you comfortable before I have to rest for my mission.”

Kakashi offered her his arm. She took it, and he guided her upstairs, back to the living room. Without thinking, he arranged the pillows on the loveseat, fluffed the cushions, pulled up something for her feet to rest on. That done, he summoned a clone, ignoring the faint pull of strain against his weakened chakra reserves. 

“You aren't supposed to sleep too solidly with a concussion,” he said, turning to (Y/N) once more. “He'll do his best to wake you when necessary, keep you company. If you need anything, don't hesitate to wake me.”

He bowed shortly. She did the same. 

“Goodnight, husband.”

Her eyes on him were soft, like the faint touch of a feather against heated flesh. For a moment, a gentle pulse of want wracked him, and the sharingan summoned the image of her moonlit nakedness— but Kakashi resisted. His wife was was tired, injured. She hadn't even finished her ration bar. They were all but strangers, really. Tonight was not a night for those things. He was not sure if there would ever be a night for them.

That didn't stop him thinking about it, though. 

“Goodnight, wife.”

Kakashi turned and made his way to his bedroom. His feet were heavy against the hardwood floors, but each step got easier and easier to take until he was safely behind closed doors, able to collapse onto his mattress, flak jacket and all. 

One chapter, he thought, feeling his brand new Icha Icha dig into his ribs through his jacket. One chapter, to ease my mind. 

His father was as Kakashi remembered him. The White Fang of Konoha was as daunting as ever; and, as ever, Kakashi’s time with him was too short. Hours, weeks, days— it did not matter how much time had passed in that void. It was simply not enough. It would never be enough to make up for the years that they had both lost. 

But, in true Hatake fashion, the two of them did try, at least, to rectify their wrongs. In that timeless place, they were free to talk. And talk they did.

“And I see you’ve married,” his father observed slyly, once they had dispensed with the formalities. The older man’s eyes, so like Kakashi’s own, flickered from his son’s wedding band back up to his face.

“It was by accident, really.” 

Sakumo’s brows rose. “Accident?”

“Well, sort of. It wasn’t my intention to find a bride. It was an arrangement.”

His father’s face fell. “Ah. I had wanted more for you, my son. Loving your mother— marrying her— was the best thing I ever did. I had wanted a love like that for you.”

Kakashi thought back to the day that he was married. How upset he’d been. How he’d wanted nothing and yet everything to do with that beautiful and terrible omega who was at once fearful and fearsome. He admitted that it was not the ideal experience he would have wanted for a wedding. If he had ever really wanted one. 

And then he thought of the moments since then— the good and the bad. Tender moments spent reading. Evenings by the pond, watching lily pads float on the surface of the water as they drank sweet wine. He thought of (Y/N) and her easy smile and sweet manner and her inexplicable ability to both lighten his load and check his ego. He thought of her quiet strength with Kurenai, her fondness for Gai, and her motherly air to Naruto and Sakura. 

Now that was ideal.

“Don’t worry,” Kakashi told his father. “It’s not so far removed from a real marriage. We’re just sort of doing everything badly, and a bit in the wrong order— but we’ve got the spirit, I think.”

At that, his father smiled.

But of course, this time— this place— was not built to last. Kakashi had never been allowed to have a good thing for very long. Still, though, saying goodbye was hard, even with his father to smooth the way.

“I'm grateful we had time to talk,” his father said, his eyes soft and sad. As the old shinobi spoke, the void began to fall away like ash being swept from a fireplace. “And for your forgiveness.”

Those were his father's final words to him. And then the world, as cruel as it ever was, returned in a white-hot flash of brightness, terror, and confusion. 

When Kakashi got his bearings, it quickly became apparent that the village had devolved to the level of a kicked ant hill in the mad scramble to discover what had transpired— and, as usual, what had happened was Naruto. Trying to find Naruto to offer backup was another mad scramble, but by the time Kakashi got to the kid, the hard part was over. Naruto had bested Pain. The knuckle-headed ninja, so like his father, had saved the entire village from certain destruction.

When Kakashi laid eyes on the boy, he was struck by the young man’s resemblance to Minato. And then, immediately after, he was struck even harder by the anguish on his still-boyish face. Naruto was still so young; and since Kakashi had not been able to help him bear the burden of Pain’s destruction, he felt it was the least he could do to carry the boy in turn when the burden of the village finally became too much for him to bear. 

Kakashi had to admit that returning to the village in triumph— watching Naruto receive due honor and praise— was rewarding, but there was work yet to be done. People needed to be dug out from beneath the rubble that had crushed them when they died; others still needed to be calmed, restrained, and occasionally medicated to deal with the shock of returning to the realm of the living. Through all of this, Kakashi worked diligently, first facilitating some semblance of order, then becoming a simple pair of working hands. Throughout his dogged efforts to set the village to rights, he searched for his wife. 

And searched.

And searched.

He asked fellow villagers if they had seen her. He pushed his chakra-burning luck to the limit by creating a clone to be an additional pair of eyes to search for her. He walked the streets until the sun dipped well below the horizon, and still his search yielded nothing. Even his nose could not divine where she had gone. 

He did not sleep that night. His bed was cold, empty, but he saw no need to light a fire. After all, what fire would his wife have, lost and alone? What shelter from the cold and the dark? 

Through the night, he held Love’s Shadow in his hands like a lifeline, reading over and over its spine, feeling its pages in his hand. 

If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend she was there with him, sleeping soundly, softly snoring. 

The morning sun was blisteringly, unseasonably hot for autumn. The dry ground was dusty and crunched uncomfortably beneath the thin soles of Kakashi's sandals. Sweat rolled in beads down his back, making his shirt cling to his flesh and scrub the sensitive skin where his flak jacket pressed against him. As he paced the front gate’s perimeter, he knew what he looked like; calm, nonchalant, slouching. Internally, he was coiled tighter than a spring and thirsty for blood, a caged tiger gnawing at his cage. 

His wife had been missing for days. 

His mind ran through possible scenarios on loop. His least favorite possibility was that (Y/N) had died as he had, but had somehow not been brought back to life. His second least favorite was the possibility that she had defected from the village and felt that the until death do us part vow of their marriage had been fulfilled. Kakashi tried very hard to imagine what he might do if he were in her shoes, but he could not fathom it. He had never been what she was— a civilian, a princess, a woman, an omega— and found his imagination incredibly lacking. The shoes just didn't fit, no matter how hard he tried to cram his metaphorical feet into them. 

He should have mated her when he had the chance, his raw, wretched instincts screamed at him. He should have Bonded her the night they married and chained her to the fucking stove like a bigoted, mean-spirited civilian lord would have done so that she could never leave him.  

“She will come back,” said Gai, who matched him pace-for-pace, his voice on the softer side of a shout for once. For Gai, it was as good as a whisper. “Remember that there are children missing also. I would bet anything that she is with them, guiding them away from the carnage.”

Kakashi held no such hope. The children that were missing numbered in the hundreds. There was no way his wife had been able to mobilize them so quickly. And besides, where would she have taken them? No, it was far more likely that the children had scattered, running from the terror that had visited their village. 

Still, that was odd too— Kakashi had lived through many attacks on the village, and shinobi children were more likely to stand foolishly and fight than to flee. There were too many unknown variables. He would just have to wait and see. 

In the distance, a bright and flaring chakra burst into existence. Kakashi had never felt anything like it. It was not like a shinobi who had unleashed a jutsu, or one who had started to loosen their chakra control a bit. No, it was as though the chakra had burst out from nowhere, ripping through the fabric of reality and into being. Kakashi uncovered the sharingan, and Gai grew serious. 

“My Rival, What Have You Sensed?”

“Chakra mass inbound,” he said, “Moving faster than on foot, but not leaping from tree-to-tree either. From what I can tell, it's a single target. Probably a person, but I can't really tell. Either way, I say we close and seal the gate before it gets here.”

Gai nodded, and the two of them set about their task. Fortunately, the village had been prompt about repairing Pain’s damage to the gate, and the fuinjutsu team assigned to increase the wards had added a few nasty surprises to unwelcome visitors. Kakashi felt reassured as the heavy wooden bar dropped into its place at the door, and he decided that the Hatake compound could use its own gate as well. In fact, if he had anything to do with it, he'd have Tenzou build a gate twice as thick and three times as high as Konoha's gate, and he’d hire the best fuinjutsu specialists in the village to ward it so that when he found his wife, he could lock her behind those gates and never let her out of the compound (or his sight!) ever again— even if she killed him in the process. 

The chakra mass grew closer. As it drew near, Kakashi could feel the chakra flaming, pulsating wildly as if with great anger. Whoever or whatever that chakra belonged to was full of a hard, unyielding fury that made his eyes narrow. That was killing intent if he had ever known it. The spring-like tension inside Kakashi coiled tighter. He would meet that intent fury for fury, glut himself on the blood-metal smell-taste of ozone mixed with charred flesh. As he figured it, a little violence would go a long way in distracting him from his worries. 

Finally, the chakra mass was close enough to become visible. From what he could tell, it was a lone rider on a gray dappled horse; the rider seemed to be the source of chakra, but that didn't make much sense. Shinobi were notorious for preferring the surety of their own feet rather than beasts of burden. A ninja did not tire as quickly as a horse, and often, chakra could increase a shinobi’s pace to outrun a horse. Yet, the chakra could hardly be coming from the horse, so Kakashi stood and observed, intrigued. 

When the rider approached the gate, they reined in the horse so tightly that the animal reared on its hind legs, screaming its displeasure at having been stopped so suddenly. Its rider kept their seat easily and called out above the horse’s frustrated whinny. 

“Oi! Tackle box! Corpse-maker! Attend me, Pain!”

Kakashi started. He knew that voice! But— there was no way. From this distance, he couldn't tell for sure. He knew his wife to be strong-willed as stone, but would she ever be foolish enough to challenge Pain when she had seen what he could do?

“Heed me, shinobi!” that great and terrible voice called in a raspy, raging scream. “You spoke of vengeance! Of pain!”

The rider dug her heels into her horse, and it began to trot as she spoke. 

“Come and meet my pain, then! Bear it wound-for-wound! You killed my husband and my friends— I challenge you, Pain, to test your mettle with me!”

Kakashi shook his head as if to clear it. Others had heard the commotion, and ninja began to gather at the gate, asking Gai and Kakashi what was happening. Before either of them could answer, the horse reared and screamed again as its rider raged her challenge. Fervently, hardly daring to hope, Kakashi made a hand sign and whispered a brief kai. 

The rider was still there when he was done.

“It's her,” said Gai in his whisper-voice. “It really is her.”

Heart racing, Kakashi flickered down from the gate. He landed lightly beside the horse, stirring up a little dust as he went. The stallion reared and aimed a heavy hoof at him, and, not expecting the sudden movement, (Y/N) nearly lost her seat as she battled for control of the thousand-pound beast. Her task was made harder, Kakashi noticed, by the blade she wielded in her other hand— his father’s tanto. 

Even as his heart swelled with pride, his stomach hurt with sickly relief. It was an effort to keep his knees steady as he grabbed the horse’s bridle, calming him. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” he said, fighting for all his life to be casual. He felt lightheaded. 

(Y/N) just stared at him, eyes wide. 

“Come here often?” he tried lamely, desperate for some kind of response. His wife seemed frozen in time. She might as well have been a statue. 

Suddenly, her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and Kakashi had to move fast to keep her from hitting the ground as she slid out of her saddle. Her body was as soft and warm as he remembered it, and there was not an ounce of the abnormal chakra that had only moments before been pulsing through her like a roaring fire. 

“Medic!” He called from the ground. “I need a medic!”

The horse smiled in a terrible display of horse-tooth, and Kakashi frowned. He knew that smile for the threat it was. 

“Don't get any ideas,” he told the beast, cradling his wife’s head gently in the crook of his arm. “I'm helping.”

The horse danced, prancing back uneasily, but seemed to understand when the medics put (Y/N) on a stretcher and began their triage. After a quick whiff of smelling salts, (Y/N) sat bolt upright, spilling the salts and cursing like a sailor at the terrible smell.

“Kakashi,” she demanded, grabbing the nearest medic by the collar. “I saw my husband, where is he?”

The poor medic— the beta who had shared a moment with Kakashi in the hospital when he returned from Suna— babbled something incoherent, and (Y/N) shook him, teeth bared. 

“I said where is he, shinobi? Pull yourself together!”

Heart aching, Kakashi stepped forward.

“I'm here, wife. Let the poor man go.”

She looked up at him then, suddenly, impossibly soft. She scanned him up and down with fast-moving eyes, her chest heaving, and then her gaze came to rest on his eyes.

Her face scrunched with the beginnings of tears. 

Kakashi knelt. 

“I'm here,” he said, because it was all he could say, and his wife threw herself into his arms. 

“Kakashi.” She breathed his name like it was a prayer. Her tea-rain-earth scent blanketed him, and Kakashi buried his nose in her shoulder. “Kakashi.”

“I'm here,” he repeated for a third time, and he felt her tears hot and wet against his neck. 

“I thought you were dead.”

He held her tighter.  

“I was.”

(Y/N) pulled away, her expression quizzical. 

Kakashi shrugged. 

“Naruto,” he said helplessly. “He talk-no-jutsu’d Pain into… undoing it all. 

(Y/N) huffed in disbelief. Huffed, then chuckled, then laughed. Hysterical, she laughed until she clutched her sides, wheezing. 

“I suppose,” she said, wiping away a mirthful tear as she sobered up, “that I should rouse my men from the woods and have them disassemble their traps, then.”

Kakashi's interest was piqued. 

“What's this now?”

She shrugged. 

“I thought the village had been destroyed. My father was too afraid to send soldiers, so I gathered volunteers from the ranks. I…”

She looked askance, her scent rippling with quiet embarrassment. 

“Well, I certainly wasn’t planning on challenging Pain all on my lonesome. But surely we can have this conversation once I've retrieved my men? They must be terribly anxious to hear from me.” 

Kakashi nodded. His wife remounted, and Dancer— that was the horse's name, she informed him— whinnied anxiously as she directed him into the waiting forest. A few minutes later, men emerged from the forest in groups of five or six, until a host of nearly five-hundred stood gathered outside of Konoha’s gates. Most of the men were old and grizzled, their hair streaked with gray, but they were fighters to a man. One of them, Kakashi recognized— Jin, he thought the man's name was. 

Five hundred men, recruited, armed, mobilized, and positioned here from two day’s ride to the south, all in a little less than a week. Kakashi was impressed. 

The crowd parted with a quiet reverence as (Y/N) rode through the ranks. As she went, the men watched her with pleased grins, and Kakashi felt jealousy rear its ugly head. It was absurd, of course, to resent her men for loving her. Likely, many of them had known her since she was a child. Unhelpfully, Kakashi was reminded that that might enhance their supposed inappropriate thoughts rather than deter them, but he forced himself to put it all out of mind as his wife approached him, every inch a queen in riding breeches and cloak atop her steed. Her eyes darted to him for a moment, shining, then redirected to the top of the gate. 

“Hokage-sama,” she shouted, and Kakashi turned to see Tsunade standing on the battlements. “This force has come to your aid! I brought them with sword and shield to oppose Pain; I offer them now with hammer and working hands to repair the village.”

“Hail, soldiers!” Tsunade called in response. “You are welcome in this village!”

The gate opened, and the soldiers were allowed inside. Her task finished, (Y/N) heeled Dancer over to where Kakashi stood, looking as if she had aged ten years in the last five minutes. 

“There are children in the tunnels below the compound,” she said without preamble. “I sent them down the path that would lead them towards my father’s castle along the far border. They're alone, frightened, but they have enough food for the journey. Someone must retrieve them. If I can rest a few moments and gather some supplies, I can probably catch up to them and—”

Kakashi placed a hand on her leg. She jumped as though startled. 

“Come, rest, my wife,” he said, squeezing her knee. “Come home with me. The rest we can leave to others for now.”

She shuddered, and Kakashi moved his hand up further along her leg, reaching to the sensitive inside of her thigh. Even so, she shook her head. 

“I must see to my men. They must have food, lodgings—”

“Tsunade will care for them as though they were her own. You are my own, and you're travel weary. Let me care for you.”

He squeezed her again, making plain what he meant. 

“I have saddle sores,” she protested, “and I hurt all over.”

“Then let me draw you a hot salt bath and rub you down with liniment. There's no cure like it after being dragged from pillar to post and harried all the way.”

Slowly, she nodded, and he helped her gingerly dismount. 

“I really must see to Dancer, though,” she told him as they walked on together. “He needs to be brushed and fed and—”

“Naruto can do it. I'll send Pakkun with instructions.”

(Y/N) smiled suddenly at him, as though realizing something. As well she might— Kakashi wasn't trying to be subtle. He wanted, needed, to be alone with her, to feel her real and solid beneath his hands. He had thought— well, he had thought—

“I love you, Kakashi.” 

The words short-circuited his brain, and while his systems were still down, his wife took his hand in hers. 

“I don't know why it took me so long to say it. When I watched you die, my worst regret was not having told you sooner.”

Kakashi did not say anything— could not say anything— so he just tapped later in ANBU code on her wrist as he fought the riptide of overwhelming feeling. 

I love you. The words rang over again in his head as he led his wife home. 

In the glowing-dark of twilight, Kakashi held his wife. The skin of his thigh, so pale it was nearly translucent, pressed against her hip, and his nose rested in her hair. She smelled of salt and sweat and sex and him. It was the greatest and best thing in the world. Not even the hardness of the living room floor against his buttocks could take away from that moment. 

“What were you thinking, challenging Pain like that?” he asked her softly. It was so good to hold her that his arms ached with it. “He would have killed you and your army.”

(Y/N) pressed into him, craning her neck to look up at his still-covered face. He looked down to meet her gaze, brushed his cloth-covered nose over hers. Then, in a soft voice, she began to tell him of her plan. 

“I'd thought to draw the Pains out.” Her breath was warm against his mask. “I knew that they were all working together, and so I wanted to separate them. I thought maybe if I could lure them out to chase me, they'd fall into the pitfall chakra traps that I worked with Iruka-sensei to produce.”

She looked askance. 

“Fuinjutsu,” she explained, “specifically for anti-shinobi warfare. The more chakra that is used within the trap, the harder it holds, and I thought if I could trap even one of the Pains, it might buy us a small victory by drawing another, and another, until all of them were held in place. Foolish, I know— but I had to try.”

She would have drawn in on herself then, turned her beautiful face away from him in shame— but Kakashi could not countenance that. He took her gently by the shoulders and pushed until she moved with him. Together, they shifted until they were kneeling each before the other, naked. He took her hands in his, then kissed each through the cloth of his mask. 

“It was not foolish,” he said at last. “It was brave. It was queenly.”

The image of her seated on Dancer, screaming defiance in the face of pain and death was at odds with the woman before him. Her head was hung low, her eyes downcast. 

“They would have killed me and my men— and all for nothing.”

“Perhaps,” he admitted. He had not been able to stop Pain. Neither had Naruto, when put to it directly. But there was no way to say for sure what would have come of a confrontation like the one his wife had planned. Fate is too fond of dice rolls for that.

“It was foolish,” she insisted. “I see that, now. Before, I was grieving and— and lost and I was willing to do anything to— to—”

She shook her head. Tears threatened to fall from her eyes. 

“I wanted you back, Kakashi. And if no force on earth could give you back to me, then I was going to chase after you until I reached you.”

Her hands tightened in his. 

Kakashi pried his hands away, and her eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught of her tears. 

“When was it that you worked with Iruka-sensei on these chakra traps?”

“Whenever you were away.” She shrugged, not looking at him. “I didn't tell you. I knew you wouldn't approve, and I didn't want you to grow suspicious of me again.”

Kakashi’s heart beat fast. He looked at his pale hands resting in his pale lap, then back up at his wife. She was crying freely now, her eyes red and glistening; she stared right at him with a face of such anguish that it broke his heart. 

“And what about that seal on your neck? Does he help with that as well?”

Her eyes widened in a look of shock, then narrowed in hurt. He had wounded her.

That was not what Kakashi had intended. He was going about this all wrong— but what else was new? There was nothing for it. He must begin again. 

“You are a very good secret-keeper,” he began, feeling frayed at the edges. “You say you love me, have risked your very life for me, and even now you keep your secrets even from me.”

Her shoulders trembled with feeling. So did his hands. 

“And so,” he continued, lifting his shaking right hand inch by inch, “the logical conclusion is that once a secret is given to you, you will guard it preciously.”

He touched the sides of his mask, feeling along the seams at his neck. 

“I know that you keep things from me. I no longer care, because—” he swallowed thickly, nose burning with the beginnings of his own tears. “—because perhaps that is starting to mean more to me than if you had told them. My wife… I intend to trust you with a secret of my own to keep. I trust you will guard it jealously.”

He moved his hand to the top of his mask. (Y/N)’s hand darted out to stop him, and he let her. 

“No!” she said, still crying. Her eyes were so beautiful like that— they almost looked like a doll’s, made of shining glass. “Not like this, not out of some— some misplaced feeling of duty or— or whatever it is that you're feeling. I won't have it, Kakashi.”

He took her hand in both of his, and found himself strengthened by her. How strange it was that just to touch her could steel him so! 

“So thoughtful,” he murmured. He breathed deep, but his heart still fluttered like a hummingbird in his chest. “But not necessary. I died once without having done this. I don't intend to let the sun set fully on this day without having rectified that mistake.”

She shook her head, but did not protest as he moved his hand from hers once more. He dragged his forefinger along the high point of his cheek, feeling the seam of his mask. Slowly, he hooked a finger in it, and inch-by-inch, he pulled it down. 

His wife searched his face slowly. She cried as touched him, tracing the bridge of his nose to the ridges of his cheeks. Kakashi realized that he was crying too as she kissed away the wet salt trails on his cheek; she kept on kissing him until she came to his lips, pressing against him with gentle insistence and a flare of desperation in her fingertips as she touched him like the licking tongues of a flame. That touch warmed something within him, something soft and aching and primal.

He wanted her. 

“It isn't fair,” she breathed against him, her hand cupping his cheek. “Not fair at all.”

Whatever it was, Kakashi was inclined to agree— there were very few things in life that were fair— but then she was pushing him onto his back and he went with the motion easily, eagerly. As he saw it, that was a thing that was fair, and very good. 

“I have the most handsome husband in the Land of Fire with or without his mask,” she said, settling her warm weight over his pelvis, “and absolutely no one will ever know it but me.”

He groaned as she moved her hips, dragging her sex along his erection. As she moved, her fingers traced the seam of his lips, the line of his jaw. She kissed him. Once, twice, chastely, then a third time more deeply, and then she was propping up on one leg to sink down on his hot, hard length. 

Oh, but she was perfect. That little sigh as he breached her— a barely-there oh as sweet as anything— was worth living and dying for. She looked down at him as she set about her pleasure, and Kakashi was helpless to do anything but stare lovingly up at her. She was everything. 

“I love you,” she told him breathlessly. Her hands roamed his body from navel to nose, mapping him as if to commit to memory the feeling of his body. “I love you so much it breaks my h-heart…” 

She had not stopped crying. Sweet tears tracked her cheeks, traveling in rivulets down her neck. Kakashi understood. It was a moment of profound emotion for him as well. 

“Please,” he said, not really understanding what he was asking for, but pleading nonetheless. “Please, princess—”

She kissed him, stilling on his cock. Hands in his hair, she pulled him to her with a mighty force, and Kakashi nearly came undone when she started sucking on his tongue. His hips moved of their own accord, and she cried out against him. He did so again, this time on purpose. And again. And again. His chest ached as pleasure built low in his belly. (Y/N)’s tears slipped from her cheeks onto his chest like sea-salted summer raindrops, warm and then cold as they cooled against his feverish skin. He wondered what they looked like, naked there on the floor, crying and moaning and living. For a brief moment, he wished he could have it painted. The next moment, all thought flew from his head. She had him by the hair again, and was holding on for dear life. 

He reached up to cup a perfect breast in his hand. He squeezed, and she cried out. She was close, now, he could tell. Close enough that it might take nothing more than words to tip her over the edge. 

“Mate me.” 

(Y/N) froze above him, as he had known she would, but Kakashi was nothing if not a brilliant tactician. He timed the words with an upward thrust of his own, and he pistoned his hips in a slow, deep rhythm as he repeated himself. 

“Mate me. I want to be yours for the rest of my life.”

She came. The force of it took them both by surprise, and it was all Kakashi could do to keep her upright as she shuddered through it.

“Mate me,” he told her a third time, still hard inside her as she regained her composure. “I'm serious, princess.”

On impulse, he tilted his head to the side. It was a wild, foolish, and anti-instinctual motion— any alpha worth his salt never bares his neck in offering, even to a mate— but when his wife surged forward, canines sharp and gleaming, he knew he had done the right thing. Her teeth sunk into the flesh of his neck, Marking him. The strength of her bite was tremendous, truly wounding him, but Kakashi bore it gladly. It was a strong bite, a true one. It was fierce and possessive and impossibly perfect; Kakashi felt as though he were stretched thin, a string on a mandolin that had been viciously plucked, thrumming and vibrant and alive with music. 

Exactly when he came, he couldn't have said. It must have been somewhere between the time when his wife had bitten him and when his vision had managed to return. Whatever the case, he had knotted, and his body was live-wire sensitive with a new awareness that shook him to his very core. He could feel his wife's— his mate’s— fragile heart thrumming inside his own, knew how shaken she was by the force of their coupling. She could hardly hold herself upright. 

“Mate,” she whispered, staring dazedly at him. “My mate.”

A while later, once his knot had gone down, Kakashi returned her bite. His bite was not fierce, not viper-strike swift; rather, it was a slow, meaningful press of sharp incisors. It was a deep bite, taken with purpose and strength, and her little cry of oh! was enough to make him dizzy with— with—

With love. 

They spent a long time there, licking each other's new wounds. It felt like music, the Bond that had woven itself between them. Each time a tender kiss brushed his Mark, Kakashi felt on the verge of transcension. Each time he kissed hers, it felt much the same.

“Don't leave me again,” he murmured against her skin as they lay together, entangled. “I could not bear it if you did.”

She remained silent at that. Doubtless, it was the exhaustion of the day catching up with her rather than any true reticence, but her lack of response left Kakashi ill at ease as he waited for sleep to come. 

Sleeping, Kakashi reassured himself. She's just sleeping.

It had been three weeks since (Y/N)’s return from the hospital, and in that time, Kakashi had learned more of his wife— and himself— than he’d ever thought there was to know. Because her recovery was going slowly, they spent nearly all their time in one another’s company; a lot of their time was spent reading together, sometimes separately and sometimes with Kakashi reading one of their books aloud to her. He hadn’t expected to enjoy reading aloud to her so much when he’d suggested it, but now it was one of his favorite activities. Doing voices for the characters, he'd learned, was actually fun, and his wife’s commentary was always so sharp and clever that he found himself looking at the book they were reading with different eyes. Suddenly, it seemed as though they had uncovered a new language together and had begun to babble happily back and forth like children. They laughed together, sighed together, and, on occasion, debated together over what they thought the characters should or shouldn't do. Kakashi could not recall ever feeling so at ease or so deeply connected with anyone who was not a shinobi. 

But this new happiness did not begin and end with reading. Kakashi had come to look forward to lounging in various spots around his own home with his wife. At the weekends, they would sit together beside the pond, drinking sweet wine, fighting mosquitoes, and singing raunchy pub songs so the snakes would stay away from them while they enjoyed the sun. It was, Kakashi had to admit, much more enjoyable than being in an actual pub, where he would have to be mindful of prying eyes while he drank. At his own home, surrounded by wards, the only eyes he had to worry about were his wife’s; often, they sat back-to-back for his privacy, and that, too, had become something to enjoy. He loved the feeling of her back vibrating against his as she sang, and how comfortable it was to finally take off his mask at home as he would back when he was a child. 

These moments, of course, were moments of leisure. During the weekday, Kakashi discovered that (Y/N) kept busy. If she was well enough to go, she went to the markets in the mornings. It was her habit to shop leisurely and talk to each vendor at length, inquiring about their sources and if the crops were yielding as they ought and how their children or grandchildren were. That task in itself brought her to the afternoon, at which point she would retreat back to the compound and entertain guests there. Often, Tsunade dropped by for lunch; other times, it was Shikaku-san or Inoichi-san, who indulged her in shoji and mind jutsu research respectively. Sometimes it was civilians who came, and sometimes young people (Ino and Sakura loved to have lunch with a princess), and seldom it was that no one came at all. If Kakashi was fascinated by this, though, he had seen nothing until he had seen the swarm of children that flocked to their door come four o’clock every other day. 

Directly at four, a troop of pre-genin would bound up to the door to the compound, loud and raucous, and (Y/N) would welcome them in for snacks bought fresh at the market that morning. She would feed them snacks and help them with homework until four-fifteen rolled around, and then, having settled the kids as best she could, she'd pick up the lesson of the day with them. Usually, it was languages or dancing or singing, something culturally enriching but fun for a kid— and then, once the lesson was over, she would send them home to their grateful parents around seven. Parents who, when they thought no one was listening, would later claim that the daimyo's daughter was single-handedly saving their marriages by making time and space for an afternoon away from the kids a couple nights a week. Kakashi found that it was nice to watch her work with the kids, and the way the horde of rambunctious rascals waited on her hand-and-foot through her recovery reminded him that there was, indeed, some pressure to produce an heir for the clan, even if he had already decided not to do so.

Well, it was nice to think about, anyway.

Once (Y/N) seemed fully recovered, Kakashi put in the paperwork to go back to active duty. As nice as the leave of absence had been, there was such a thing as having too much of a good thing. The weekend before he was scheduled to go on mission again, though, Kakashi had hoped to spend more time with his wife, basking in the little bubble of happiness they had made together, but alas, it was not to be. (Y/N) had already devoted one full day to give music lessons for certain interested young ones. Sulking only slightly as he lounged on their couch with a book— a reread, he'd never jump ahead on one of their shared novels— Kakashi listened while (Y/N) worked with a child on the harpsichord in their living room

“I can't do it,” the girl huffed, crossing her arms. 

Patiently, (Y/N) told her she could do it if only she practiced, then asked her to curl her fingers more and begin again. The girl sighed and tried again, running the scale up one side and down the other for a single octave. 

“And the arpeggio?” (Y/N) prompted.

The girl squinted, then pressed notes at the correct intervals, if not exactly in the rhythm (Y/N) had shown her previously. 

“Good. Again, now, and slowly— you’ll never play it as cleanly at the proper tempo if you cannot play it slowly first.”

Kakashi had not initially been thrilled with the idea of sitting in on music lessons, but to his surprise, he’d found himself fascinated by it. There were similarities, he noticed, between the discipline of his profession and music. The pacing, for example— perfecting movements slowly first always resulted in cleaner strikes in combat. The repetition, too, was familiar. Many a day, his father had run drills with him, teaching him proper form over and over and over ad nauseam, always gently and patiently correcting even the smallest slip, just as (Y/N) quietly instructed the girl whenever a note would land sharp or flat of where it should have for the scale. 

“You're doing very well, Amaryllis,” said (Y/N) as the girl groaned in frustration. “Better than I did at your age.”

The girl— Amaryllis— folded her arms. 

“You're just saying that.”

(Y/N) shook her head and laughed. 

“Oh no. I was a terrible student. I was so horrible that Mariko-san— my governess— would tie my legs to the bench and rap my fingers with a ruler when I'd get a note wrong, which only made me more determined never to practice.”

Amaryllis gaped. Kakashi tried to picture an obstinate young (Y/N), tied and howling in a palace full of sycophants who could hear her, but simply could not imagine it at all. As a grown woman, one lifting of her imperious brow could get her anything she wanted from most people; he could not picture her being told no by anyone. 

“But you're so good!”

“I am.”

“How?”

“Well,” said (Y/N), grinning down at her pupil, “I met a young man— a peasant boy, and an alpha at that— who outplayed me in his very first lesson with Mariko-san. By that time, I had been playing for years and could barely cobble chords together to make a song. This young man made the keys sing beneath his fingers, and I was very jealous.”

Now that Kakashi could see— a spoiled princess angry because someone made her look bad. And jealousy… oh yes, that he could see.

“Did he teach you?” Amaryllis asked eagerly. “Did you, you know… like him?”

“Like him? I hated him!” (Y/N) laughed. “He was always better than me— he was a prodigy, sent to the capitol for formal training so that he could make a living at my father’s court. As far as I'm aware, he's still better than me— but listening to him made me just mad enough to practice. Anything some lousy alpha boy could do, I thought, I could clearly do better. Like I said, that wasn't the case, but I began taking my lessons seriously then.”

This aspect of the story seemed not to have pleased Amaryllis so much. Doubtless, she would have liked it better if there had been a romance between her teacher and the peasant boy— young girls always like a romance— but that door had closed. (Y/N) directed her attention back to the music, and Kakashi listened on as the lesson continued for another few minutes.

“Well done, Amaryllis,” said (Y/N) at the end of the lesson. “You're really doing an excellent job. When you get home, tell your mother I said so.”

Amaryllis smiled. 

“Yes, sensei. Thanks for the lesson!”

“Of course.” (Y/N) ruffled the girl’s hair with a warm smile. “Be careful going home.”

“I will!”

(Y/N) saw the girl to the door, then turned to face Kakashi, smiling softly. 

“Hello, husband.” 

“Hello, wife,” he smiled back. 

Wordlessly, she stood and walked past him to the kitchen. As she went, she placed a light, sweet touch on his arm that made his heart leap and left him grateful that he could watch her go. Her skirts swished with the sway of her hips as she walked into the kitchen, and her lingering scent toyed with Kakashi’s senses, teasing him with its subtle sweetness. 

“Sorry if the back-to-back lessons have been tedious for you,” she called from the other room. “I know I say the same things over and over, and make them repeat the exercises just as much.”

“On the contrary, I enjoyed it,” he admitted, watching her grab an old bottle of his father's wine. “How long have you been giving her lessons?”

(Y/N) poured, filling the glass with white wine before replacing the cork and putting the bottle back where she'd gotten it from. She walked past again to take a seat by the harpsichord, and her earth-rain-tea scent mixed with the wine made Kakashi's chest feel funny. 

“Only a short while, though you wouldn't know it from listening. Amaryllis is really very good— her mother wanted her to learn before the talent show that Iruka is hosting.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” (Y/N) took a sip of her wine, watching him over the rim. Her gaze felt like a whisper against his neck, and Kakashi fought the urge to shudder. “It's open for the whole village, you know. You could do something too, if you'd like.”

“I'm not sure I have any talents I'd like to display.” I don't think I have any besides killing. “Are you going to do something?”

(Y/N) smiled.

“I’m going to play something, but I haven't decided what. Would you like to hear the pieces I'm deciding between?”

“Certainly.” 

As (Y/N) settled gracefully onto the harpsichord bench, Kakashi marveled at how strangely at home he had become with her. He knew now that the little roll of her shoulders meant that she was nervous; the slight raising of her chin meant that she had conquered those nerves. Even as he watched the expensive gold silk of her dress fold in delicate creases and spill onto the floor, her wealth and taste no longer seemed so garish as it once had. It was part of her, all this comfort and splendor— and he was beginning to like her, all of her, very much. 

“This first piece is a classic,” she told him, lifting the cover from the keys. “Admittedly, it's been used the world over by every insufferable show-off to… well, show off, but—”

She looked over her shoulder to shoot him a grin, her eyes sparkling. 

“This is a talent show. What's the use in going if you don't show off at least a little?”

Kakashi nodded, and (Y/N)’s focus moved to the instrument before her. The song began with quiet little trills, high notes plinking together something like a butterfly’s wings might beat, if such a sound were audible to human ears. Kakashi watched as (Y/N)’s skillful fingers moved to deepen and broaden the sound, expanding the song into a sweet, fast-paced melody. She really was very good; Kakashi had heard no better. More than that, though, she looked happy. She was not smiling— likely she could not spare the effort— but a fire blazed in her eyes, and her scent flared with triumphant joy at the completion of every difficult passage. Watching that felt… good. When the song came to an end, Kakashi wished it had not. 

“That was excellent.” Kakashi didn't trust himself to say anything else as he watched her take a sip of her wine. He was especially taken by the flexing of the muscles at her throat, how they moved as she swallowed. 

“Thank you,” she smiled. “There were places that could have been cleaner, but I haven't really practiced recently. It's good to know I've still got my chops.”

Kakashi watched as she took another sip of her wine, eyes glued to her throat. The thought occurred to him that he'd like to lick the hollow there between her collarbones, and he realized that he might be in some real trouble if he didn't get ahold of himself. 

“What's the next piece? I might be biased, but I'm not sure anything can top that.”

(Y/N) only smiled. 

“It's an old one, from back when—”

She stopped herself. 

“Ah, well. It doesn't matter. This one is a folk song about love. It's not as technically difficult, but I'm afraid it won't be as effective without the words.”

All of a sudden, (Y/N)’s face became sad, her expression downcast. Kakashi rose to his feet, grateful that he felt steady enough to do so, and placed a hand on her shoulder. Soft as a dream, she laid her head on his hand, letting it rest there for a moment. Kakashi could feel the warmth of her breath against his knuckles. It was a good feeling. A very good feeling.

“You can tell me, you know,” he said softly. “Whatever you were going to say, I wouldn't mind.”

She straightened, looking up at him. 

“My parents— my real parents— taught me this song.”

Kakashi’s heart skipped a beat. She was opening up to him! He hadn’t thought it would happen so soon. Hell, he’d been resigned to wait for months! And yet here the first gold nugget of information lay, nestled in the palm of his hand.

“You knew them?”

“Yeah. I was very young— seven, I think— when they… when they died.”

She was censoring herself again. She looked away, reluctant, but Kakashi pushed for more. 

“How did it happen?”

“They were murdered. I…don’t really like to talk about it.”

Kakashi was elated. Finally, finally, he had something of her that was real, tangible— her words rang with truth as clear as a bell— and yet what a terrible something to possess. He petted her hair soothingly, then let his hand slip to her cheek to cradle her face.

“I’m sorry.”

He meant it.

She shrugged.

“It’s alright. You didn’t know.”

Kakashi nodded, then bent to kiss her head through his mask.

“Play the song for me,” he asked gently. “I want to hear it.”

She nodded, and her fingers began to move.

This piece, too, started with high notes, he noticed— but these were more like raindrops, sweet and plinking in a springtime shower. Four measures passed, and then the magic happened. 

It was a deep, rich melody, if simple; (Y/N) did not sing, but she spoke the story above the music. Kakashi found himself enthralled by it. He could not imagine it could have been sung any sweeter than she spoke it. Through the song, she told the story of a young couple who had fled their clans, hoping to stay alive together, away from those who would object to their union. Sadly, it was not the harsh weather, the loneliness without family, or even the rough financial situation brought about by the couple’s nomadic lifestyle that tore them apart— it was their differences as people. But, (Y/N) related over sweet, sad melodies, even as they grew to hate one another, their love for one another would not release them. The song ended with cautioning the listener against such passionate, intemperate love, and yet somehow encouraging it still— but with the last few lines, (Y/N)’s voice faltered. She was looking at him strangely. 

“Sorry,” she said haltingly, staring up at him as her hand stilled over the ivory keys. “Sorry, I— I don’t want to sound rude, but— are you alright, Kakashi-san? You smell—”

Kakashi crouched. He took one of her hands in his own and kissed her knuckles through his mask. 

“I think you should go with this one,” he said simply. “If there is one thing that shinobi understand, it is reckless, overwhelming love.”

Her scent, usually so deep and balanced, became frightfully thin and wavering, then evened back out. It was impossible to parse what she was feeling just from that, but Kakashi wanted nothing more than to purr at what he did detect.

Desire. Thin and halting, but there. 

“Close your eyes,” Kakashi murmured. He did not look up to see if she had, choosing to trust her as he slid his mask down his face. Gently, he kissed her knuckles, tasted her skin. His thumb traced the scent gland at her wrist, and her hand began to shake even as he held it steady. 

“You're warm,” she said, and the words floated above him, around him, but did not penetrate. “Kakashi— are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

“Yes.” He'd never felt better. He sucked one of her fingers into his mouth, and the taste was divine. Yes— yes, he felt exceptionally well. 

“Kakashi! I— can I open my eyes, please?”

Kakashi pulled away from that sweet finger, frowning. He didn’t want to stop what he was doing, but if his wife wanted…

He pulled his mask up, then gently tapped look in the outdated version of ANBU code that he'd taught her a couple days ago by the pond. Her eyes opened, and she caught him by the chin, peering into his eyes searchingly.

“Oh dear,” she said, eyes widening. “That certainly explains…”

She wiggled her nose. 

“Is there— should I—” she frowned down at him. “Why didn’t you tell me your rut was coming up? We could have talked about this.”

Rut? That would make sense, he supposed, except… there was no aching, burning, desperate need. He wasn’t crying out for touch, shaking and trembling with need. He just sort of felt… fine. Besides, it wasn’t time. It was early. Like, way early.

Oh, but then his wife— his omega— leaned closer, and suddenly there was no doubt in his mind that he was touched by his season. He saw her neck, so soft and unMarked for him, and he salivated. It had snuck up on him, this rut. Instead of a roaring fire, it was a steady warmth.

That warmth was getting closer to combustion, though. He could feel it low and hot in his belly, its tail lashing like a cat’s.

“Uh…” he began articulately, then faltered as (Y/N) reached out to touch his mask-covered face.

“Do you want to spend this rut with me, or would you prefer someone else? I have no illusions about what kind of marriage this is, and if there was… if there was someone you wanted, I wouldn’t be offended if…”

Kakashi was only half-listening. Was she rejecting him? But… she smelled like she wanted him. Her scent was thick, cloying, responding to the metal-earth-lily scent of his own pheromones with roiling desire. She had wanted him in his rut before, years ago, would have had him if she could have. Why now would she deny herself?

“Kakashi,” she scolded, glaring at him. “Are you listening to me?”

He licked his lips. 

“Yes.”

He was not altogether sure that his mouth knew how to make another word. 

“Do you want me to help you through this first wave of rut, at least?”

“Yes.”

She frowned.

“You know we’re going to have a talk about this once you can think.”

It wasn’t a question. Her voice made it clear that it would not be a pleasant talk, but Kakashi could smell her acceptance sharp and poignant over it all. Barely containing his elation, he said,

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure you’re fine with this?” she asked, brushing her thumb over the bare patch of skin left by his mask. “Fine with me… getting you off, giving you some… relief?”

He shivered.

“Yes.”

For some reason that just seemed to frustrate her more.

“Kakashi, do you know any other word besides yes?”

“No,” he grinned, proud of himself for having managed it, and then his wife was sliding off of the harpsichord bench and sinking to her knees in front of him, his equal in want and deed at last.

“Cheeky,” she said, raising a brow in a way that made her sudden smile look sinister. “Take off your pants and let’s see what we’re working with.”

After the best blowjob of his life, Kakashi had thought that his rut would recede for a bit. Unfortunately, this rut seemed different from every other rut he'd ever had. Instead of being sated after orgasm, his body was even more aroused than before— painfully so— while his mind remained strangely unclouded. Usually, ruts were fairly pleasant for him, a time when he could let loose, chase pleasure, and not think too much about it either way, but this… this was torture! Not to mention embarrassing. 

“I don't see what the issue is,” his wife shrugged, her hand idly stroking the steel pole that was apparently his dick. She lay on her side, elbow resting on that damn rug in their living room that seemed to be becoming a regular place for their rare but ever-intense coupling. “You're coherent enough to consent, so surely that's a good thing.”

“Coherent,” he hissed as she licked his slit, “is not the word I'd use.”

Self-conscious, maybe, an evil little voice in his head murmured, and he growled at it in frustration. 

“So testy,” she sighed, releasing him. His cock ached as it bobbed back up towards his stomach. “Should we… I mean, would Tsunade-sama know what to do?

Probably, but Kakashi would go the way of his father before he ever admitted this… problem to his Hokage, medic-nin or no. 

“She'd probably just prescribe something to make me high as a kite until it's over.”

“You could try it. Might be fun.”

Kakashi shook his head. Is this how he was meant to go out? No glorious death in battle, no heroic sacrifice, just shame, embarrassment, and sheer horniness?

Suddenly, (Y/N)’s scent flared, and Kakashi looked down at her with interest. 

“So,” she began slowly, “the problem is that your body isn't settling down, right?”

Kakashi nodded. 

“Then… what if you weren't in your body?”

Huh?

“I'm not following.”

“Shinobi can alter the perception of reality, yeah? Through genjutsu, illusions and the like?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you have the sharingan, a kekkei genkai that specializes in genjutsu.”

“Yes.”

She sat up and looked him in the eye with a grin fit for a lioness. 

“Then why not put us both in a genjutsu? Busy the mind and separate the self from the body— boom, problem solved.”

Kakashi just stared. 

“Or,” she backpedaled, suddenly unsure of herself, “you could just— I mean, I don't have to tag along or anything. The main thing is making sure you're taken care of. In fact, I'd be more than happy to watch over your body while you—”

Kakashi grabbed his wife by the face and kissed her hard through his mask. 

“You swear you consent to that?” he demanded, heart pounding. “You're really okay with trusting me to put us in a genjutsu?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “Do it.”

It was one of the best things Kakashi had ever done. Through the sharingan, they played out a thousand fantasies a thousand ways. One moment, Kakashi was a barbarian lord, a looter from centuries earlier and (Y/N) was his conquest, taken by force from her tiny farming village; the next he was a helpless farm boy offered to (Y/N), the local goddess of grain for sacrifice, and she took his virginity there on the edge of the cliff where they left him. His favorite one— oh, who was he kidding, they were all his favorite— was the one where they were both gods, and the heavens ripped open as they sired the universe itself as Anu and Antu, sky and earth. At one point, (Y/N) had been a woman with a freaky resemblance to Tsunade (yikes, don't know where that one came from), and he had been a grizzled man with a coarse, dark beard speckled with gray (he had a hazy memory of the daimyo's guards and a sneaking suspicion that he knew exactly where that one came from). The whole thing was so unbelievably good that they only returned to their bodies to eat and sleep, spending time in the genjutsu for a combined total of good three days, and even then, the both of them decided that sometimes a meal could wait if it meant enacting their latest fantasy in the genjutsu. 

“Don't you ever get tired?” she laughed as he poked her in the ribs— her real ribs, that is— while she was trying to catch a nap. “There should be a limit to your stamina, especially with all the chakra that must take.”

“I'm incredibly efficient,” he grinned, and though he saw it a million miles away, he let himself be shoved onto his back as his wife lunged to straddle him.

“I bet you are,” she grinned right back. “Show me, shinobi. I command you—get me off.”

That was how Kakashi found himself reminded of the pleasures of the flesh— the actual flesh— by fucking his wife on a mattress for the first time. From below her, he thrust over and over into her hot-wet-tight sex, and she babbled nonsense at him as he played with her tits.

“Yesyesyes,” she breathed, chest heaving. “Fuck yes, look at you, you're so hot, you and that fucking mask.”

Oh yes, she liked the mask— something that baffled Kakashi to no end. Usually, his partners complained because it got in the way, but not her. She desired him for all of what he could give and all of what he could not. Maybe he could learn to do the same. Maybe, just maybe, feelings so strong and true could overcome the secrecy, fill the silence with music. Maybe, maybe. He wanted it, and badly. To let himself love her would be easy, if only he could let go.

“You're beautiful,” he said, because that's all he could say as his rut drove him wild. “Like a queen.”

(Y/N) fisted her hands in his hair and brought them nose-to-nose. Kakashi's heart threatened to tear through his chest at the pleasure of it all. 

“I am your queen,” she growled, her bared teeth lovely and leonine. “Konoha might be your first love and you might even like the way she fucks you, but you have a new mistress to contend with now. You might belong to your village, Hatake Kakashi— Tsunade might own your life— but you also belong to me!”

Her nails scraped painfully against his scalp, and Kakashi’s knees buckled from the sudden, sweeping intensity of his orgasm. His knot swelled as he tried to right himself, but (Y/N) settled her weight over his hips as she kissed him over his mask

“You are mine,” she said again, this time softly, panting. “Mine, Kakashi. Nothing else can have you while I yet breathe. Not even death. No, not even that.”

“Sure,” he mumbled, and then he was lost to the void of rut-haze, finally comfortable and tired enough to feel like himself in his own body once more. “Yours.”

He would have agreed to anything right that instant. If she had asked to bond him, he would have agreed without question. In that moment, he was hers, well and truly.

“Touch me,” she commanded, bringing his hand up to touch her breast. “Please, Kakashi, I need it.”

“So did I. She left an hour ago to get to the early morning market.”

Kakashi hummed. 

“Industrious thing, she is.”

“Very. She could hardly keep still once I woke her after the first four hours.”

Kakashi kept his thoughts to himself. His clone busied itself with paperwork once more, and the house was quiet. 

Quiet enough, that is, to hear the high-pitched screaming of a child nearby. Perturbed by the noise— the Hatake compound wasn't terribly far from the rest of Konoha, but the Academy was certainly out of earshot— Kakashi padded downstairs without his shoes and poked his head out the door. Once he did, though, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. 

“She's a spy!” Konohamaru screeched, dangling from a tree by his ankle. “A super secret spy! Kakashi-sensei! Help me!”

Kakashi rubbed his uncovered eye, then blinked. Konohamaru was still there. 

A few feet away from where Konohamaru was hanging, (Y/N) was kneeling in the yard, peacefully eating her breakfast on a picnic blanket. It was only a few hours past sunrise, and yet, Kakashi saw, she had evidently made it to the early morning market on time to buy fresh eggs and fruit before it all ran out. Dressed in a white summer sundress with matching sheer gloves, she calmly sipped green tea from a clear teacup and ignored the swinging child. 

“Kakashi-san,” she greeted him, looking up with a soft smile. “Glad to see you're up. Do you have time for breakfast before your mission? If not, I've packed a bento to-go for you. If so, you're welcome to bring it out here if you'd like. It's a lovely morning.”

Kakashi just stared at the screaming child hanging from the oak tree in his front yard and reran the memories of his recently-dismissed clone, trying to parse a reason why the Sandaime’s grandson would be tied up in his yard. 

“She's gonna rat on us! Betray the village! She's a SPY!”

(Y/N) just took another sip of her tea and speared a slice of honeydew melon with a toothpick. Konohamaru 's long blue scarf blew wildly in the wind, smacking him right in his open mouth as he continued to shriek.

Kakashi sighed and decided to step out of the safety of the house and into the chaos of the yard. He really hadn't gotten enough sleep for this. 

“Would you mind explaining this to me, wife?” he asked, gesturing to Konohamaru. “I'm afraid I'm a… bit behind on recent events. 

“Oh, that.” (Y/N) looked up once more from her breakfast. Her face was that eerie mask of perfect serenity, and it set Kakashi on edge. “I caught this alley cat stalking me in the marketplace, so I set a trap for him when he tried to follow me home. From the place where I caught him, I can only assume that he meant to be a peeping tom, hoping to catch me changing.”

She looked meaningfully at the oak tree, which admittedly did overhang the master bathroom’s wide windows. 

“Not true, Kakashi-sensei!” Konohamaru protested, flailing wildly. “She was talking to Iruka-sensei! Asking about the missions desk!”

Kakashi looked at his wife, whose posture straightened stiffly. 

“To volunteer my services,” she clarified primly. “If I’m to live here, I wish to make myself as useful as possible and contribute to the prosperity of the village.”

“She was digging for information, Kakashi-sensei, you have to believe me! She even spoke in a secret language! Iruka-sensei is in on it too!”

Kakashi was silent, processing. On one hand, it was ridiculous to think that his wife was a spy, especially a spy in kahoots with Iruka-sensei— not only was the idea of it so silly that he should have dismissed it out of hand, but Konohamaru was also known for telling tales and putting his nose where it didn't belong. On the other hand… Kakashi had been suspicious of her before. Of course, each time, he had written it off as standard shinobi paranoia, but asking about the missions desk was a strange thing for a princess to do. And for her to lay a trap that a genin could not detect… 

“Kakashi-san.” 

Kakashi’s eyes refocused on (Y/N). The hellfire in her eyes was blazing and directed right at him. 

“If you wish to entertain this ridiculous notion, please don't let me stop you. However, I would like to enjoy my breakfast in peace, so if you don't mind, please take this… interview elsewhere.”

She said the word interview like she meant witch hunt. Kakashi sighed. Talk about being in the doghouse. He really, really hadn't had enough sleep for this, and the dew on the grass was starting to wet his socks. What a nightmare.

With the flick of one hand, he threw a kunai that cut Konohamaru down. Newly freed, the little shit tried to launch himself at (Y/N), but Kakashi caught him by the collar of his shirt. 

“Konohamaru-kun, you’ve said what you've come to say, and you've paid the price for saying it. That said, as a shinobi, you must never attack a civilian.”

Konohamaru opened his mouth to issue a rebuttal, but Kakashi held up a hand, stopping him. 

“Even if she outsmarted you and left you dangling by your ankle for your impudence, she is still a civilian and the daughter of your daimyo.”

“Adopted daughter,” Konohamaru grumbled under his breath, and Kakashi's grip on his shirt tightened. 

“The law doesn't care about that technicality as much as you think.” He released the kid, giving him his best death glare. “And if you're going to tackle a political target, don't be dumb enough to get caught. Now get off my property and go tell Iruka-sensei you're sorry for calling him a spy.”

Chastened, Konohamaru mumbled an apology and slumped off. Kakashi turned to (Y/N), expecting her to be relieved and a bit grateful— but instead he found her cool and silent, sipping frigidly at her tea.

Proceed with caution, he thought, and tried his best to address the problem neutrally. 

“Are you dissatisfied, my wife?”

She looked up at him, hellfire replaced by blackening frost. 

“Why would you think that, my husband?”

Kakashi already disliked this game. Time to change tactics. 

“You're angry with me. Why?”

Her grip tightened on the teacup. Other than that, there was no outward indication of anger whatsoever. She could have been a forest nymph from a pastoral painting, lovely and serene in her white clothes and elegant gloves. A solid mask indeed, and beautiful— but she wasn't fooling Kakashi. 

“You actually think I'm a spy.”

It wasn't a question. 

“What have I done to give you that impression?”

“I am no fool.” (Y/N)’s voice was quiet, which made her rage all the more potent. “I've seen the way you look at me, how suspicious you are. You didn't defend me against that unruly child because you agree with him. You see what he sees and you think that because I am doing my best to understand your way of life that I am a threat to it. So let me be clear.”

She stood and walked up to him like a loping panther, her eyes never leaving his. Kakashi steeled himself, expecting a scathing remark or even a slap— what he did not expect was for her to kneel at his feet, dampening her crisp white dress with drops of dew, and doubtless a few grass stains for her trouble. The position she assumed was one of perfect submission, her head lowered in a graceful arch, and Kakashi felt ill looking at her. 

“If you do not want me, send me home.”

The request hung between them like a swinging corpse— fetid and rotten and full of shame. Beneath him, (Y/N) trembled, but uttered not a word, not a sound. Kakashi felt sick to his stomach. The salt-smell of her furious tears strengthened as they fell, sickening him more. 

“Please, Kakashi-san.” Her voice was raw, hoarse as if she had been screaming, and trembled with the force of her feeling. “If you hate me so much, dismiss me. My father will not be angry. I will accept the blame. Just don't trap me here. I cannot live my life on trial, frightened that you'll lock me away or send me to one of those shinobi torture cells. I can't bear it.”

She looked up at him then, and something within Kakashi broke. In her crying eyes, he saw Obito, Konoha’s crybaby ninja, the boy he might have loved if only he hadn't hated. He saw Rin, the girl he had loved but denied. In her eyes, he saw every wrong he'd ever done, and it was all he could do to stand upright and force himself to breathe.

“Please stand up.” His tongue was thick and heavy. “Please— please don't… kneel like that.”

His wife did not move. She only lowered her head, staying exactly as she was.

“I… realize that I've hurt you.” Kakashi cleared his throat, hoping to improve with momentum. “I can't take that back, because, as you said, I was suspicious. I can't promise that I won't be again, because I very likely will. It's in my nature. It's how I've survived. A paranoid shinobi, usually, is a long-lived one.”

Kakashi knelt. It was the only way he could be level with (Y/N) without forcing her to her feet, and he could not bear to look down on her any longer. The dew wet his knees, dampness seeping through his pants to touch his skin, but he found he didn't care. 

“It isn't personal. Please try to understand— we've had a rough couple days, what with the wedding and then your incident with the wall and now this. There will be time for us to learn one another, to build trust.” 

Unsure, he extended a hand to her. She saw it, met his eye, then quickly looked away again— but she took his offered hand. He held her soft fingers gently, let the warmth of them soothe his nerves. 

“Do you want to go home, princess?”

Kakashi did his best to stay formal, keeping any inflection out of his voice so that he would not accidentally sway her decision one way or another. If she wanted to go, there was no sense in trying to keep her. But if she wanted to stay…

“I want to do my duty for the nation.” Her reply was tired, but firm. “I just can't do that when I'm being treated like a criminal in my own home.”

… then he would do his best to treat her well and make it worthwhile.

“Then we can work through this.” He squeezed her hand. “Give us time, my wife. I know it isn't easy with me. It has… been a long time since I've had someone so fixedly in my life, and you don't know the ways of the village yet. We'll both learn in time.”

She looked at him, and a tear slipped beautifully down her smooth cheek. Even crying, she looked like a sweet, sad doll. 

“Okay.” Her voice cracked with the word. “Okay.”

Kakashi held her hand for a few moments longer, allowing her time to compose herself. All the while, though, his eye was on the sun, watching as it wrote his tardiness across the sky.

“I have to leave now,” he told her gently. “I'm late for my mission.”

“I'm sorry.” (Y/N) bowed low at the waist, her tears renewed. “How foolish of me— I've kept you waiting here when you should have been—”

Kakashi shook his head, standing. 

“No. If I had done my duty as your husband, trusted you enough to speak candidly in private rather than subversively in company, we wouldn't be having this conversation.” Kakashi patted her head, smoothing a hand over her hair. “I only wish I could stay longer.”

“You should go.” She looked up at him, her expression drained. “Don't waste any more time here— your bento is on the counter.”

“Thank you. I'll grab it and be on my way.”

She nodded. 

“Goodbye, Kakashi-san.”

He bowed. 

“Goodbye, my wife.”

When he went in to retrieve the bento— which he would not be eating, guilty feelings be damned— he found that the book his clone had read last night was also packed neatly next to it along with a handwritten note. 

For your book hangover. Naruto hinted at what he gifted you. Thought you might like it since your clone seemed to enjoy it. 

The note was signed with her elegant signature alongside a tiny drawing of a lotus. Kakashi tried not to feel like the supreme lord of all assholedom as he pocketed book and note before leaving, bento in tow. Despite his efforts, Kakashi still felt, at the very least, like a minor noble of assholedom as he dropped the bento in a trashcan just before he reached Konoha's eastern gate. 

Maybe I can read the book at least, he thought soothingly to himself. It's not so bad, and this should be an easy mission, after all. 

He read the whole thing in a day. When he got to Suna, he bought— and overpaid for— another book by the same author from the hospital gift shop. His clone had been right; his wife did have excellent taste in literature. 

The mission had not, in fact, been easy— but that was not Kakashi's first thought upon returning to the village. 

Indeed, he did not remember returning when he woke in Tsunade’s infirmary with a dry mouth and body aches. His first conscious realization was that two people were arguing somewhere nearby, voices raised and scents frisking agitatedly between anger and distress like the flicking of a cat’s tail. His second was that all that commotion was very loud and very bright and that he would like to go back to sleep. 

“I do not mean to insult your skill, Hokage-sama, you know I hold you in the highest esteem,” a familiar voice insisted, “but he has not woken, and Sekimoto-sensei has traveled a day and half the night to get here— will you not allow my most trusted physician to do what he is able to help?”

“I didn't ask you to send for him, brat. He woke once when you left, I told you. It's normal for shinobi to experience this kind of sleep from chakra exhaustion— it's how the body protects itself from fool alpha jounin who don't know when to quit.”

Kakashi winced. That part, he knew, was probably for him. 

“Hokage-sama, he's in a coma!”

“It's not a coma, its—”

“Ladies— Hatake-san, Hokage-sama—” an unfamiliar, if rather close, male voice interrupted, “I think—”

“Shut up!”

That, the two women apparently agreed on. 

Kakashi cracked an eye open. A nurse was standing over him, checking his vitals. The nurse’s beta scent was like linen and iodine, and he smiled down at Kakashi with sweating awkwardness. 

“Welcome back to the world of the living,” he teased, lifting his hand from where it was pressed against Kakashi's pulse. “They'll realize you're awake sooner or later.”

“I'm not sure what the difference between a coma and several days spent in a deep, unbreakable slumber is, Hokage-sama,” said that sweet voice, soft and yet entirely unyielding, “but I do know that it is not normal. If it is typical for shinobi to push themselves to that far— to the very brink of death!— then I must question the efficacy of a system that routinely works all of its participants to complete incapacity in order to function.”

Kakashi drew a deep breath, testing himself. The room did not spin, which was excellent, but his chest ached like he'd been kicked by a particularly displeased donkey. He swallowed, which then reminded him of how thirsty he was, then spoke up just as Tsunade was starting to lay into his wife. 

“Princess,” he wheezed, forcing himself to turn his head until his good eye could see her. “Don't argue with the Hokage. She's my superior officer. My life is hers.”

She turned to him— the princess, his wife— and he wished he'd said anything but that. She was dressed in modest elegance, with a long black skirt and a flowing red top that featured splashes of white flower petals down the long, bell-shaped sleeves. Earrings like sharp white crystals dangled from their precious metal settings down her neck, and in her eyes was the hottest of fire.  That gaze burned him, and he closed his eye, unwilling to allow his soul to be so scorched. 

Instead of a tongue-lashing, though, all Kakashi got was a feather-light touch on his hand. 

“I'm sorry, Kakashi-san,” (Y/N) said, her thumb brushing the scent gland at his wrist—a comforting gesture. “And I apologize to you as well, Hokage-sama. I’m new to the world of shinobi, and I let my worry exceed my wisdom.”

Tsunade made a noise of dismissal. 

“If I took offense at every shinobi who disagreed with me in this infirmary, I'd become a missing-nin every day by noon.”

(Y/N)’s tea-rain-earth scent wavered as if she were warring with herself, but then it smoothed solidly into gratitude.

“Thank you, Hokage-sama.”

Tsunade grunted. 

“Don't thank me yet. You might be a widow yet before this is all over. Oi, Kakashi— how are you feeling? And don't pretend to be asleep again, I know you aren't.”

If it wouldn't have hurt him, Kakashi would have sighed.

“Peachy, Hokage-sama.”

“How's the sharingan?”

Kakashi forced his good eye open once more. Tsunade stood to his left, his wife to his right. Both of them were looking at him expectantly. He shook his head. 

“I'm not rested enough to open it. Maybe tomorrow.”

Tsunade frowned. “Maybe in a week. You hear me, Kakashi? A week at the least. I have half a mind to keep you here until that week is up if I have to chain you to the bed to do it.”

“Hokage-sama, surely that won't be necessa—”

Tsunade turned sharply to (Y/N).

“No, it won't be, because you are going to handle him.”

“Me, Hokage sama?”

“Yes, you.” Tsunade folded her arms. “Bed rest for a full week. He's not to so much as sneeze without your help. I don't want you to be out of the room with him for more than three minutes at the time because the slippery bastard will try to escape, and if I see him out on the street I swear I'll kill him myself.”

“But— Hokage-sama,” she protested, eyes wide, “he’s—”

Tsunade raised a pale blonde brow.

“An alpha,” (Y/N) finished lamely.

“So much the better. A pretty omega usually has even stubborn brat alphas like him wrapped around their little fingers easily. If the hard time you were giving me was any indication, you’ll have him behaving in no time.”

Kakashi opened his mouth to protest— this really wasn’t necessary— but (Y/N) brushed that one spot on his wrist again. He looked at her questioningly, but instead of looking properly horrified, she merely looked thoughtful. 

“Alright, Hokage-sama.”

And just like that, his fate was sealed. 

Kakashi sulked the whole way back to the compound.

“Well, you told me not to argue with her,” his wife told him lightly as he grumbled. “Your life is hers, you said.”

Kakashi paused a moment, sliding his good eye over to his wife. Her face was a little too cool to be casual.

Was she… jealous?

A smile cracked Kakashi’s face. How cute. 

He let her stew over that for a while— after all, what he’d said was true, and something that she would have to reconcile with sooner or later— but when they came to an unrecognizable place that he knew must be his childhood home despite its much-changed exterior, he had to break his silence.

Where wild, overgrown shrubbery and crawling vines had previously been, an arched trellis draped with wisteria now stood. Beneath the arch were carefully placed stepping-stones that lined the path to the front door of the house, which was no longer flaking with paint, but had been sanded and polished to reveal the lovely dark wood pattern beneath. The brass doorknob and knocker had been polished until they damn near sparkled, and hanging plants lined the grand front porch. If Kakashi wasn’t mistaken, there were cattail plants growing out back, and he thought he saw the edge of a pond.

“I see you’ve been busy,” he remarked, aiming for casual. “I hardly recognize the place.”

(Y/N) looked up at him, blinked, then smiled.

“Oh, yes— I hope you don’t mind. I had to roust out some snakes that kept trying to expand their nest to include the back entrance. I figured that while I was at it, I might try my hand at landscaping.”

But landscaping and snake-rousting was not all she had been up to. When she opened the front door, Kakashi was floored by what he saw. 

The curtains— velvet drapes of deep green and gold— had been drawn back to reveal eastern-facing floor-to-ceiling windows. The natural light was blinding, but revealed the pond he had glimpsed earlier with its cattails and lily pads and large rocks placed all around. The walls had evidently been washed, and the picture frames polished; the whole place gleamed with wealth and splendor that Kakashi could not recall from his childhood. As he surveyed the room’s decor, he realized that his wife must have rifled through the attic storage to find riches that his clan, generations back, had plundered and taken as the spoils of war for additional decorations. Most surprising among her changes, however, were two additions and one absence. A harpsichord was placed by the fireplace, and behind it was a grand harp that had not been there before. Conspicuously absent, though, was the coffee table.

“You left the rug,” he noted. 

“Yes,” she admitted, cheeks burning. “I thought about moving it, but found that I had— ahem— grown attached.”

She had seen the bloodstain, then. The one his father had left years ago as he bled out on the floor, a victim of self-slaughter. Undoubtedly, she had realized that they had made love over that very spot on their first night together.

Yikes.

“It’s a nice rug. I’m glad you kept it.” 

Kakashi meant to leave it at that, but he just couldn’t help himself.

“Where’d the coffee table go?”

She shot him a look.

“The attic.”

She said the words as if she wished she’d been able to say the garbage. Kakashi frowned. 

“What was wrong with it?”

She looked at him strangely, as if he’d grown a second head. 

“Does it matter?”

Kakashi politely did not gawk.

“I certainly think it does. It’s my coffee table.”

(Y/N) did gawk. In her eyes, though, there was hurt beyond what Kakashi would have thought the situation called for.

“Are you suggesting that what I’ve done does not please you?

“I didn’t say that,” he frowned, “I just want my coffee table back.”

“But— why?”

He shrugged.

“I like to put my feet on it when I read.”

She paused, considering.

“Would another coffee table not do?”

“Why should we get another one when we have one I already like?”

“Because—”  she stopped short, her face flickering through a series of emotions before settling on an expression of outrage. Her change in expression was not unlike Iruka-sensei’s when he was really in a lather about something (usually Naruto). “Because— because it’s ghastly!”

“Hey, now,” Kakashi warned evenly, “That coffee table has been in my family for generations.”

“Well I don’t see why I should have to suffer looking at the hideous thing every day just because generations of your family all shared the same repellant taste in interior design!”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, (Y/N) clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. Fear and distress colored her scent, and she began to tremble as though she expected him to strike her.

Just what the hell was happening here?

“Hey, hey, don’t get all bent out of shape,” he said awkwardly, not knowing if reaching out to touch her would make the situation better or worse. “I’m not mad.”

She shook her head, still wordlessly horrified. Tears began to well in her eyes, and Kakashi had no idea at all what to do.

“Look…” he sighed, scratching the back of his head. “There’s no harm done, really. I’m— I’m actually happy that you’re so frank with me. I prefer it when people freely speak their mind so there’s no… guessing games. So I’ll return the favor.”

He reached for her hand, but did not move further than halfway. Still distressed, she reached out the rest of the way with her left hand, but still kept her right hand over her mouth.

“I like what you’ve done with the place. I’m not huge on decorations generally, but I think you’ve made my home— our home— look like a palace. I don’t know why I pressed the issue of the coffee table. I’ve read much worse places than a living room without a coffee table.” He distinctly remembered reading in a trench during the Third Shinobi War once. “But if it bothers you that much, we can work it out.”

His wife slowly let her hand drop from her mouth, but her face was twisted into an expression that almost looked pleading.

“You… like the changes?”

“Yes.”

The tears in her eyes began to spill, and Kakashi could not for the life of him understand what he’d done wrong.

Between her tears, (Y/N) managed to be apologetic, relieved, and scolding all at once. He caught snatches of “omega duty” and “hard work” and “wanted to please you” over and over, but the whole thing didn’t make sense until she managed to speak one fully coherent sentence:

“I thought you were going to s-send me away,” she sniffled, “because I didn’t”—sniffle— “make a good enough home like a p-proper omega would. M-Mariko-san always s-said I had no t-talent at it…”

Kakashi didn’t mean to laugh, but he was just so relieved to finally understand that it escaped him anyway. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he said as her expression turned murderous, “it’s just that… that isn’t really expected of omegas here in the village. I mean, sure, there are some more traditional family units, but my jounin-sensei, Lord Fourth, was an omega, and his alpha wife was a homemaker for him when he became Hokage. And, on a wider scale, we shinobi tend to make the most efficient use of each individual’s talents based on that individual, not broad categorizations.”

(Y/N) looked as if she might cry again, and Kakashi wanted to throw his hands up in frustration.

Suddenly, he swayed, and his stomach felt a little queasy. The walk from the hospital and then this conversation had taken the wind out of his sails.

“Not to spoil the moment, but I think I need to sit down now.”

As his wife guided him to a chair, apologizing for having kept him standing so long when he was so ill, Kakashi wondered distantly if this was what all of marriage would be like. He didn’t think he was built for it if so. The woman was as changeable as the weather.

The bright Konoha sun beamed in through Kakashi's bedroom window, casting rays of light through the dust motes floating in the air. His blankets, warm and soft against his still-aching skin, clung to him as he turned over in the bed, ignoring the mid-morning sunlight. He meant to enjoy his solitude while he had it. True to her word, (Y/N) had refused to leave his side for longer than a few minutes with the sole exception of her morning taijutsu training with Iruka-sensei. It was hellish, having that woman glued to him at all hours. She was always humming or smiling or being otherwise cheerful enough to make him wince— and worse, she looked good doing it. Kakashi’s mind turned positively lecherous as he watched her sashay around the house day in and day out. The way she dressed, all in silks and satins and tulles and jewels, was obscene; the more she covered up, the more he wanted to see. 

That was why, on the third day of his imprisonment, he had suggested to his darling wife that Gai, Konoha’s resident taijutsu expert, would be very glad to give her a few sparring lessons. Her eyes lit up, and like a fool, she had agreed to meet Gai this morning on the training grounds. Kakashi smiled, picturing what she would look like when she got home. Oh, she’d be in a fine temper once Gai got through with her. She’d be furious with him, but so sorry and sore that she would probably be bed-ridden for the next three days. Maybe in that time he'd actually get some peace. 

Then, unbidden, his mind conjured an image of (Y/N) sweaty and breathless, held tight in a taijutsu hold by a bigger, stronger beta, and suddenly he wished he’d never opened his fool mouth.

Perhaps an hour after that horrible thought, Kakashi heard his front door open. He heard the rumpling of paper shopping bags as well, and then the door was closed again. It must have been (Y/N)— anyone not keyed to the wards would have set them off upon crossing the threshold— and yet Kakashi could not make himself believe it. How was she still standing? There were days when Kakashi couldn't stand after training with Gai. Well, he supposed Gai could have taken it easy on her, but even Gai’s easy tended to send most people into a state of self-inflicted catatonia for fear of moving a single sore muscle. 

A few moments later, he heard the plonk of a knife against a cutting board. So she had trained with Gai, went to the market, and was cooking? 

Whatever drug she was on, Kakashi wondered if it was worth taking. 

An immeasurable amount of time passed, and Kakashi let himself snooze. He stayed face-down in bed, hugging his pillow, until a gentle knock sounded against his door. 

“Come in,” he yawned, and the door opened to reveal his wife. 

Evidently, she had washed and changed after sparring and cooking. Kakashi could not imagine her fighting in the dirt or chopping onions in such finery. She wore a two-tone dress that was a pale green down to her waist, then flared outward in lovely emerald green silk down to her ankles. The neckline was low enough to show only the barest hint of what lay beneath it in a sweet, gently curving fashion that ended in a perfect silk bow between her breasts. A golden necklace dangled a silver-wrought olive branch between her collar bones, and her hair was swept up and away from her face to reveal her best features— that lovely face and her gently curving neck. 

“Naruto-kun, Sakura-chan, Gai-san and Team Three, and Yamato-san are all coming for an early dinner in a few hours,” she told him softly. “I thought I'd let you know sooner rather than later in case there was anyone else you'd also like to invite.”

Kakashi peered up at her from the safety of his blankets. There was nothing in her face or frame to suggest that she was struggling at all. Indeed, with her soft eyes and patient smile, she seemed the picture of wellness. 

Kakashi hummed thoughtfully.

“Thank you, wife. I think that bunch will make for a full enough house as it is. Do you need help with anything?”

She shook her head. 

“No. I'll have some lunch ready soon, though, if you'd like. I've made spiced chicken and tomatoes with cheese— I hope that's alright.”

Kakashi could smell the dish from where he sat. If his nose was to be trusted, it was likely a superb meal. 

A superb meal which he would not be eating. 

“That sounds wonderful. Forgive me, though, I'm planning on being here and resting for a while yet.”

(Y/N) lowered her head submissively. It made Kakashi feel a twinge of guilt. 

“Of course. I'll just be downstairs.”

Kakashi forced himself to rot in bed until well into the afternoon. This was the longest he'd been left alone since he'd been home from Suna, but now being alone felt… wrong. As if something should be happening but simply…. wasn't. 

It was funny. He'd gotten exactly what he'd wanted, and now he hated it. Just his rotten luck. 

By the time Kakashi made it down the stairs, his wife was cooking dinner. It seemed to him that she had not sat down the whole time he'd all but convalesced in his room; there was not a single crease in her clothing to indicate that she had, and sweat glistened on her brow from the heat of the stove. The light from the windows was coming in at a low angle, giving a soft glow to her figure as she worked, and Kakashi took a moment to admire the way she looked before he broke the moment by greeting her. 

“Hi.”

She looked up at him and smiled. One of her hands stirred a wooden spoon in a pot, and the other lay resting on the marble countertop next to the stove. 

“Hello,” she replied. “It's good to see you up. How are you feeling?”

“Very well, thank you.”

Silence lulled between them for a while. Kakashi took a seat nearby to watch her work— and to make himself available in case she needed help— but then there was a knock at the door, and the guests began to arrive. 

It was a lovely dinner. As it happened, half the bloody village managed to cram itself into the Hatake dining room, and (Y/N) served several courses of food that kept everyone asking for recipes. There was such drinking and laughter and merrymaking that it put festival days to shame. Even Neji, who made stones look extroverted, seemed to be enjoying himself. After everyone was through eating, (Y/N) played the harp for living room entertainment, and it was well into the evening before anyone felt like saying goodbye. 

“Of course,” (Y/N) was saying to Sakura with a warm smile. “You can come over any time and borrow it. I was thinking of offering lessons.”

“Oh, I'd love to take music lessons from you! Is it terribly hard?”

Their conversation faded as (Y/N) walked to the kitchen. Kakashi busied himself with giving farewells to Tenzou and Team Three, as he wanted to get Gai out of the door before he could give any more proclamations of love to anyone, as he often did when wine-drunk. Soon, Sakura emerged from the kitchen, and she and Naruto were gone as well. 

It was with weariness of bone but fullness of heart that Kakashi locked the door after the last guest left. He was just about to call out and let his wife know that they were finally, blessedly alone when a clatter sounded from the kitchen— a broken dish, from the sound of it. 

When he rushed in to check on things, he found his wife on the ground. Well, mostly on the ground. The poor thing was gripping the counter, evidently for support that had failed her, and she had the distinct appearance of having melted down the counter and onto the floor. A plate lay shattered on the ground about a foot away from her, and as Kakashi drew nearer, he realized her hands were shaking, and the muscles in her arms were jumping involuntarily. 

So she had been exhausted by Gai’s training— she'd just been hiding it extremely well. 

And now Kakashi just felt like an ass. 

“I'm sorry,” she said, her voice tremulous and strained. “My legs gave out there for a moment. Don't worry, I'll clean it up and buy a new plate tomorrow.”

She made to stand. As she put her feet beneath her and tried to pull herself upright, though, her knee buckled. Kakashi rushed forward and caught her before she could hit the ground, but the soft gasp she gave told him it pained her anyway as she sank back onto the floor.

“I'm sorry,” she said again, this time close enough to his ear that it sent goosebumps down his neck. “Sorry, sorry— just let me try again and I'll be right as rain to finish cleaning up.”

He set her upright and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. 

“Let me help,” he said. “It won't take long for me, and you've worked very hard to put all this together.”

(Y/N) shook her head. 

“No, I've got it.”

Kakashi raised a brow.

“Clearly not.”

“Kakashi-san, I'm fine.”

“Let me finish up. I insist.”

A sudden fire came into her eyes then, and (Y/N) leaned forward, abruptly ferocious. 

“I said I don't need your help.”

Kakashi paused, assessing this new surge of aggression. His wife took that pause as an opportunity to stand on wobbly legs and return to her task, ignoring him and the fallen plate as though neither of them were there. 

She couldn't hide from Kakashi, though— not when her scent was so clearly distressed and her body was wracked with muscular tremors from her labors. She needed help, whether she wanted it or not. And whether or not she wanted it, Kakashi meant to give it to her. 

He stood, dusting himself off. As she reached for dish soap, he grabbed her hand by the wrist. 

“Go sit,” he told her. It was not a request. 

“I'm not in the mood to argue, Kakashi-san.”

That made two of them. 

“Then don't. Let me do this.”

Her jaw clenched.

“No.”

If that was how she wanted to play it, fine. Kakashi could play hardball too. He tightened his grip on her wrist. 

“Let me clarify something for you. I’m going to do these dishes and clean this kitchen. I can do so with you sitting in the other room, or I can do so with you tied to a chair with chakra wire to keep you out of my hair. Your call, princess.”

She snatched her wrist from him, and he let her go. Unfortunately, she banged her wrist— the sharp, bony, painful part— against the sink and she swore. 

Kakashi reclaimed her wrist. He couldn't do much in the way of healing, but he rotated it carefully, checking for breakage or dislocation. His search yielded nothing, thankfully, but he knew it would bruise. 

“I didn't mean to hurt you and I don't want to fight,” he reiterated, pressing her wrist gently against her chest. “Anybody could see that you're tired right now, and I'm willing to bet that you were tired long before you started to show it. I'm not trying to take anything from you or shame you in any way. I just want to help you.”

(Y/N)’s shoulders slumped in defeat. 

“I don't want help,” she protested weakly. “I know you sent me deliberately to Gai-san to train so I'd be— how did you put it? Out of your hair?— for a while, so that's what I'm doing. And don't bother denying it, either, Kakashi. I half-expected it already when Gai warned me about what you might be trying to do. I'm not stupid, you know.”

Shame burned in Kakashi. 

“I did want a little privacy, but that doesn't mean you should work yourself to the bone to accommodate that.”

Her chin lifted with imperious disdain. 

“I will not be where I am not wanted— but neither will I be cowed, shamed and disgraced in my own home.” 

With shaking limbs and a face full of righteous fury, she turned from him.

“I will finish these dishes and you will leave me to it, Kakashi-san.”

Kakashi took one step forward. She did not move, so he took another. Nose to nose, he looked deep into her eyes and said,

“Fine. But when you're done, you'll meet me in the bathroom. I'll run you a hot bath with salts and herbs, and then rub you down with liniment oil so you won't feel quite as shitty as you might have without it.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Kakashi stopped her.

“No. If you get to be intransigent, then so do I. Do the dishes if you must, then let me take care of you.”

A strange, sad look came over her face, but it was gone in the space of a blink.

“As you say, Kakashi-san.”