#ndw2021

You flush once you look up and finally catch his eye, embarrassed at the way he shamelessly studies you. You had made strides for the Uchiha in Konohagakure, tempering Madara's raised hackles and wary distrust of the budding village. It's a push and pull, a give and take; a battleground of finely picked words and charming dispositions. You'd argued over it with him many nights, trying to make him understand that if the Uchiha are to stand beside Senju and Uzumaki and all the rest as equals, compromises must be made, and he must at the very least attempt to be civil.

He's - trying. For the sake of the clan, and their continued safety and ensured future. You know intimately his temper and possessive streak are a mile wide, yet only you can ease his heart, can whisper encouragement and promises of trust and camaraderie amongst the village. Madara listens - mostly. He holds no ill will towards the other clans, not truly, not anymore; he simply worries, and distrusts far easier than he opens up. Most don't trust him in turn, even after declaring himself and the Uchiha friend and brother to Hashirama and the Senju. He had proved his dedication to building a home welcome to all, even if he had dug in his heels when it came to ensuring the Uchiha are equal. To others he seems nothing more than a contradiction, than a stubborn fool.

But Madara isn't a mystery, not to you. He had lost his family, each of his brothers. It's no surprise he's possessive to a fault, of both you and the rest of your clan; eager to keep you safe at his side. It was for love, after all, that made any of this possible in the first place. For his love of his family, his clan - for his love of Hashirama and of you, he had taken a Senju's offered hand. For peace, and for the future. Nobody loves like an Uchiha. And no Uchiha loves quite as deeply as Madara.

-----

Your musings are interrupted as Hashirama leans in close enough his hair brushes your cheek, catching your attention as you turn to him with a smile. He taps the tip of a finger on the back of your hand, wordlessly pointing out that you'd let the ink drip onto your notes, making your cheeks heat once more. You glance up and offer a sheepish smile, but Hashirama is already pulled into a conversation by the Nara councilwoman across from him; even still, his hand moves over yours, squeezing your fingers in silent encouragement. You expression eases into one of genuine warmth, leaning in the barest inch to nudge your shoulder against his. He's a good man, even if he's too kind for his own good sometimes.

Konoha is your home. Filled to the brim with precious people, and a bright spark of hope for the future of your clan.

Across the wide table, unbeknownst to you as you finally return to jotting down your notes, Madara watches the exchange with heavy-lidded eyes. The sight of freely-given tenderness and casual touch is enough to have his spine stiffening, catching the way Hashirama watches you from the corner of his eye when you're engrossed in your work.

Well. That just won't do.

You are his, in every way. Madara is clan head and you don his crest, bear his name. You are his, and no other's. An Uchiha is always an Uchiha, even when surrounded by the influence of other clans.

-----

The council room empties as the sun begins to set. You hardly notice, too busy muttering beneath your breath as you write a quick reminder into the margin of your expansive notes on building costs, barely making the effort to even lift your hand to wave at any who call goodbyes as the once-full room goes quiet. You're biting at the side of your thumbnail, tapping the pen rhythmically against the worn wood of the table, when the door slides shut. The sound catches your attention, finally glancing up from where you lean over the table. Madara watches you once more, unrepentant though there is something guarded in his dark eyes. He says your name, and all at once you realize you're alone.

You straighten to full height, pen forgotten as you smooth your palms down the front of your kimono. There's an unspoken tension as you meet his eye, and it makes your belly flutter with nerves even as something familiar and warm licks through your veins. You know without saying the words what it is he seeks, as he closes the distance between you with a steady gait. His affections are always kept behind closed doors. Madara is not ashamed, but he is private. Guarded. He will gladly have you on his arm, will glare away any pursuers who think you available. Your relationship is one of trust, as aide to clan leader and confidante. A relationship of your hair in his fist, of kisses that are more teeth than tender. You are a bright light, and belong only to him.

You remember that starkly when Madara tilts up your chin with the tip of a finger, gazing down on you as his chest brushes yours. The table digs into the small of your back, and with a thick swallow and a heated flush you realize you're quite trapped.

You open your mouth to speak, move to rest your palms on his chest, but Madara interrupts you with a tilt of his head.

"You don't have a very good memory, do you?" He asks in a murmur, catching your hands in his. He moves them until your palms are flat on the table behind you, bracketing your hips.

"I'm sorry?" You respond, eyes fluttering as your core tightens, just from the low timbre of his voice. Madara hums beneath his breath, and moves quicker than your eyes can follow. His hands move to tighten on your waist, lifting and pushing you until you sit on the table. He spreads your thighs, standing between them as he parts and lifts the fabric of your kimono, his eyes not once leaving yours.

"You're awfully close with Hashirama," he says after a moment, his broad palm warm on the naked skin of your thigh. Your breath stutters as you tilt your head back, arousal pooling in your core at his barest touch.

"We're friends," you tell him honestly, hips jerking forward as his hand climbs higher.

"Do all your friends want to fuck you? I must not be paying very close attention." Your eyes go wide the moment the words leave his mouth, jerking your head forward to catch his eye, incredulous and embarrassed both. But Madara only smirks, though something wicked hides behind the quirk of his mouth.

"He doesn't - I don't -" The words stutter in your mouth, tongue feeling suddenly heavy as Madara moves his palm up to press against where you need him most, eliciting a gasp from between your lips. He holds your cunt in the palm of his hand, fingers curling just under your ass. It makes you feel small, owned. It makes you feel good.

Madara's smirk widens as he feels the fabric of your panties dampen, heel of his palm pushed tight to your mound. "Do you want him to fuck you? Bend you over this table, take you for the council to see?" He punctuates his words by shoving your underwear to the side, tip of a finger swirling over your soaked entrance. You throw your head back with a moan, loud to your own ears; you don't feel embarrassed, not with him. He's made you make far louder noises, after all. The image of being fucked, being used, in front of a gathered group of esteemed clan leaders makes your core pulse in time with your racing heart; you want to be marked, to show the world just who makes you scream.

"No," you manage to breathe out, shaking your head.

"And why not?" Madara asks, tip of a finger dipping just inside your cunt. It's not nearly enough, not anywhere in the same vein as what you need. You grit your teeth, hips shifting forward in an attempt to get him further inside as you try and focus your hazy mind. You know exactly what words he wants to hear, needs to hear. You're in no position to tease, knowing exactly what happens when you push him, just a little too far.

You meet his eye, core clenching as sweat begins to bead on your temple. "Because if anyone were going to fuck me on this table, I'd want it to be you."

Madara's smirk shifts to a hungry grin, nodding once before he leans down to bury his face in your neck. An open-mouth kiss makes you shiver, his teeth grazing across your sensitive skin. When he bites down on your pulse point a new wave of arousal rushes through your veins, his name stuttering from your mouth.

"And why is that?" He whispers into your throat, dragging this out as much as possible as his hand shifts at your cunt, pad of his thumb brushing over your clit. Your thighs tense and back arches, pushing yourself towards him in wordless encouragement.

"Because I'm yours," you finally breathe out, the coil in your belly tightening.

Madara's answering chuckle is downright filthy. "Good girl."

He pulls away from you, but not for long. With practiced motions he parts the fabric of his yukata, pulling free his hardened cock. You watch with lidded eyes as he runs a palm up and down his thick length, closing what little distance remains between you. The tip of his cock brushes against your clit, making you hiss between your teeth at the taste of delicious friction, before he parts your folds and coats his shaft with your damp arousal. Your panties are shoved to the side, your only warning Madara's eyes spinning to red before he thrusts inside you, right to the hilt.

The stretch makes you gasp, feeling far too full as his thick cock spreads you open. It feels as though every nerve is alight, every small shift and twitch of him inside you making you clench around his cock. Madara sighs out a low breath as he pulls out, slow enough to make you writhe, his hand moving to your chest to push you down. You lay flat at his urging, fingers moving to wrap lightly around his wrist, a silent connection and encouragement.

He pauses with the tip just inside you, gaze focused solely on your face. The dim glow of his sharingan makes you shiver, bottom lip caught between your teeth and a low groan caught in your throat as you tilt your head to watch his cock slip back inside you, inch by aching inch.

Your cunt clenches around him, hard, before he's even halfway, your eyes falling shut and tilting your head back. Madara groans, tries to pace himself. Realizes he cant when its your cunt wrapped around his cock, impossibly warm and wet and inviting; your hand on his arm, nails digging into him. You belong to him, and no one else; only he will ever know what this feels like. He moans your name, softly, before slamming himself forward, hard enough to make your vision go white.

A gasp rips its way from your throat, eyes flying open in surprise as your back arches. You catch his eye, seeing plain longing and pleasure reflected back at you. You swallow around the lump in your throat, core tightening as Madara's thick cock drags against every secret spot inside you that makes your thighs tense and toes curl.

He goes slow for a time, adjusting to the feel of you wrapped around him like a silken sheath, watching your every shift of expression and feeling intensely how you clench and tighten and gush around him. But Madara knows his limits, and being balls-deep inside the most beautiful woman he's ever known breaches it. He rolls his hips back, pulling out to the tip, before thrusting right back in.

Your free hand moves to your clit immediately, thighs tensing as he fucks you. You're gasping out his name, spurring him on to go faster, harder. Madara bares his teeth, reaching to hitch your ankle over his shoulder, spreading you open and thrusting down into you, deep enough to kiss your cervix and pluck sweet sounds from your lips. He pushes his weight down on your lifted leg to get his cock as deep as he can, sweat beginning to run down his back. The hand on his wrist tightens, and you're grasping onto him with those nails that drive him mad, holding on for dear life. He'll have your claw marks on his skin for days to come, wearing them like a badge of pride.

Your fingers move faster over your clit, stomach knotted from being so close already. Your cunt keeps clenching over his cock, feeling so delightfully full that you never want this feeling to go away. His thrusting is becoming erratic, nose pressed to your calf and hips snapping against you as he chases his release. Your fingers nearly blur as they rub over your pearl, chest heaving as heat spreads through your body, nearing the edge right along with him.

"Who do you belong to?" Madara asks, voice a growl deep in his chest.

"You." The answer is immediate and breathless, your back arching clear off the table at his responding chuckle, deep and low and dripping in sin. He leans down, pushing impossibly deep inside you as his hand moves from your chest to your throat, fingers tightening on the sides of your neck.

"Look at me," he orders, "and remember who makes you scream. Be a good girl, princess, and come."

It's enough to make you fall. Your breath escapes you in a shout, legs shaking hard enough to jerk the table as your orgasm rips through you. Your stomach clenches, muscles in your thighs tense enough to cramp - you're certain stars appear behind your closed eyes, as you pant his name over and over like a prayer.

You're a shaking mess and he's not stopping, your oversensitive core soaked; the noises your body is making would be enough to be embarrassing on any other day.  it's just too much; you're lost in the haze of pleasure as Madara fucks you through your orgasm, whispering words of encouragement and possession, reminding you with his voice and his cock that you belong to him, the hand on your neck cutting off blood without cutting off air, heightening the sensation as you meet his thrusts.

"Only mine," he murmurs, voice thick with desire as he tilts his head back, groaning as your cunt clenches around him. With a moan he drops your leg, wraps it around his waist instead. His hands go to your hips, pulling you against him in time with his thrusts. The angle change is enough for his cock to brush that roughened patch of skin inside you, and you nearly scream in response, eyes squeezed tightly shut at the over-sensitivity. Your name slips from his mouth repeatedly, your legs around his waist tight enough to bruise. Madara chases his finish, pulling you flush against him -

He comes with a low roar, still thrusting as he rides his high. Your entire body is quivering but find the strength to shove yourself up to wrap your arms around his shoulders as his hips stutter against you. Groin to groin, chest to chest; your labored breath mingles as Madara paints your walls with his come, barely slowing his thrusts, as your panting mouth peppers kisses over his neck and chest.

Madara uses the hand at your throat to tilt your head back, finally capturing your mouth. His kiss is lazy and tender, hips eventually slowing to a stop. Your heart's still pounding, feels positively thunderous when he breaks the kiss and catches your eye. But you only smile, using your legs around his waist to pull him close again.

"Mine," he whispers, nipping at your bottom lip and make you laugh, breathless, as you go boneless against him.

You peak over at Kakashi where he kneels at your side, biting down gently on your lower lip. He still wears his mask, but the formal montsuki brings out the pale of his hair, painting a lovely picture of black and silver. He looks beautiful, as you knew he would, and you can only hope you don't look dull in comparison.

As though sensing your thoughts, Kakashi tilts his head to meet your gaze, eye-smiling. "Not too late to run away," he whispers to you, earning a glare from the priest who presides over the ceremony.

Your instinctive smile is bright, as you bring a hand to your mouth to cover your soft laughter. "And waste everyone's time? There's still a whole dinner waiting for us after this, too."

"Maa, when you put it like that ..." Kakashi nods at the priest, shrugging his shoulders as he takes the offered dish of sake. He moves to pull down his mask to drink, and you make the effort to turn your head away before the fabric is removed.

(He notices, because of course he does; though he tries to ignore the sudden warmth in his chest at the sign of respecting his privacy.)

Kakashi offers the shallow dish to you, your gaze drawn to his hand in your periphery. When you turn your body back towards him his mask is firmly in place, and you smile encouragingly as the sake passes from his hands to yours. Raising it in a toast to the gathered guests, eyes slipping shut, you ignore the thunder in your heart as you bring it to your mouth.

Your hands don't tremble as you return the dish to the altar, feeling only the slightest guilt that you barely even hear the prayers and blessings the priest offers. Sake is poured and offered in respect to those gathered twice more, and then after hushed and practiced and unoriginal vows murmured between the pair of you, Kakashi slips a ring on your finger and you slide its twin onto his.

And with that, you're married.

Your heart feels full, with nerves and anxiety, but with the pull of something new, the excitement of potential. Something that should be felt on a first date, maybe, and not on your wedding day. But, well, it isn't as if you'd had much of a dating period in the first place.

-----

(Four weeks earlier)

The Hokage Tower is busier than normal in the early morning, everyone seeming to be in a rush. It's a mystery to you, as you make your way to the Rokudaime's office, binder held tight to your chest as your shoes clack rhythmically on the stairs. A couple of jōnin pass by you, offering nods as they take the stairs two at a time. You don't mean to eavesdrop, but it's a small staircase, and they're making no effort to quiet their gossip, even as you slow your ascent, curiosity piqued.

"He has to," the tall brunette says around the senbon in his mouth, hands in his pockets as he steps past you. "The council has every right to remove him from office if he doesn't."

You nearly miss your next step at the words, catching yourself on the railing and pausing in your step as your brows furrow. Remove him from office? Kakashi has to do something to appease the council, or he'll be removed as Hokage?

"That's ridiculous," the woman behind him says with a scoff, shaking her head. The motion makes the small braid behind her right ear sway. "He's proven himself, again and again, as a worthy Kage."

"Doesn't matter. Clan business is clan business, shit like this goes back to the days of the shodai."

Clan business? The words stick in your mind as you reach the top of the stairs, the two jōnin's conversation too far for you to hear anything further. You aren't aware of anything particularly noteworthy when it comes to the Hatake clan, but perhaps there's some old tradition that Kakashi needs to adhere to? Why it's the business of the council is beyond you.

You hum softly beneath your breath as you travel down the wide hallway towards his office, chewing on your bottom lip. Kakashi is digging his heels in about something to do with his clan, and the council aren't happy with him. And now everyone who works in the tower is in a tizzy as rumors float that he'll be forced to step down as Hokage. You shake your head, mystified about what you're about to potentially walk into as you open the door to the Hokage's office, knocking as you go.

"Good morning, Hokage-sama," you greet with a smile, as you'd done every morning for the past year.

"Drop the sama," Kakashi responds as usual, though his tone is considerably more subdued than normal. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest and gazing down at a handful of forms and papers spread across the surface of his desk, with enough intensity you're surprised they don't burst into flame. The sight makes you worry, closing the door behind you and smoothing down your hair.

With practiced ease you close the distance, opening the binder you hold and tracing a finger down the first page. His schedule is filled to the brim, as per the norm, and you nod once to yourself as you stand in front of Kakashi's desk. Your lips part to run through his various meetings, but he interrupts you with a held-aloft hand, gesturing to the chair across from him.

Ah. Looks like the reason for the gossip will reach your ears sooner than you thought.

You place the binder on the edge of his desk as you take a seat, head tilted to the side as you watch Kakashi curiously. Something nervous rushes through your veins; whatever has been happening, it isn't anything good.

"The council," Kakashi begins, his tone low and serious, with a hint of underlying anger, "are breathing down my neck because of an edict that dates back to the founding of the village. An edict that states that the leader of a clan must be married by a certain age, in order to guarantee the clan will continue."

His words make you frown, finger tapping against your cheek as you put together the unsaid implications. "For the purpose of breeding."

"Correct."

"That's barbaric. Forcing people to marry, to have children, even if they don't want -"

Kakashi waves his hand. "It's practicality. There are several clans in Konoha with powerful kekkei genkai and bloodline jutsu. It's an asset to the village as a whole, to have plenty of those kinds of skilled nin around."

You run a hand through your hair, brows furrowing slightly. It makes sense, in a detached and insensitive sort of way. Even still, you glance at Kakashi with a tilt of your head. "But, the Hatake don't possess a kekkei genkai. Unless I'm mistaken, I don't think this really applies to you."

Kakashi nods at your words, shrugging his shoulders in an attempt to appear nonchalant about the whole discussion. But you know him, well enough to see the tense set of his jaw and the way his right hand is curled into a fist. "I'm apparently a special case. I'm Hokage, leader of the village - and as such, I need to set a certain example. And regardless of the fact that my bloodline is entirely ordinary, it's an undisputed fact that I'm the last of my line. There are no other Hatakes." He finishes with a certain air of disappointment, something beneath your breast clenching at his tone.

"Your bloodline isn't ordinary," is all you say with a shake of your head, offering a soft smile. "Your father was a hero of the village, and incredibly skilled if even half the stories are true. And you're - well, you." You can feel your cheeks heat in a flush even as you speak the words.

Kakashi chuckles, eye-smiling as he rests his chin in his palm. "Please, continue. I could use a good ego stroking today."

You somehow resist the urge to either chuck your shoe at him or offer to stroke something else. Instead you roll your eyes, clearing your throat as you sit back in your chair, pondering his predicament. You're his assistant, helping to fix this problem is literally your job.

"Could they actually remove you from the position? Or are they all bluster?" You ask him, glancing down at the gathered papers and scrolls on his desk.

Kakashi lifts a red-rimmed scroll, nudging it towards you. "Konoha was founded after the end of a decades-long war. Re-population was a concern for a budding community. But they weren't completely controlling over it - it only mentions the clan leader, and the heir apparent, need to be married by thirty."

You pick up the scroll, leaning forward in your seat as your eyes scan over the words. "And you're thirty-three," you point out needlessly, Kakashi shrugging once again.

"I'm leader of a clan of one. The council doesn't like that, and they have the power to remove me and elect a new Hokage. Even over something as ridiculous as my marital status."

"The leadership of this village is in shambles, if they want to depose a skilled and dedicated Hokage simply because he doesn't have children," you reply flatly, glancing at him over the top of the scroll with a roll of your eyes.

Kakashi snorts a laugh, though he doesn't disagree. "At least the edict only touches on marriage. The subsequent baby-making is only implied, never actually put down as a requirement. Heirs are something all clan leaders want, so they never bothered to put it into writing."

"Then there's your solution. If all you have to do is get married, half the village will be eagerly lining up. As - unfeeling as it is, marriages of convenience still exist," you suggest, blushing only a little. You hide your face behind the held scroll, glancing down at the looping signature of the Shodai Hokage.

Kakashi is silent for a time, unrepentant as he studies you. "Even if I can't marry for love, I'd at least like to marry someone I like. I don't want to force someone to be tied to me for the rest of our lives for the simple reason of it had to be done.

You glance up at him swiftly, lips parted as something warm begins to burn beneath your breast. A slow smile unfurls as you realize what he's implying, fondness and endearment overcoming your every sense. "You're a romantic," you realize with a breathless laugh. All this time you were under the impression that his beloved Icha Icha series was nothing but shameless erotica; perhaps they're far more tender and amorous than the covers imply.

"Don't tell anyone," Kakashi replies with a groan, waving his hand in your direction. Though he smiles, warmly, at your answering laugh.

"So, then, is my job for the foreseeable future nothing but a matchmaker for my esteemed Kage?" You ask with an encouraging smile; if his hands are tied in this then you will do your utmost to ensure everything go as smoothly for him as possible. To assist in fixing his problems and guaranteeing a positive outcome - that's why you're here, that's why you sit as his right hand.

"You certainly know how to serve your Kage well," Kakashi answers with a shameless wink, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. You don't miss the slight infliction in his tone, and were this any other situation you'd have read his words as flirtation. But this is Kakashi - this is Lord Sixth. There's a problem that needs to be solved, you can't afford to blush and titter over your hidden feelings for the man.

"Unfortunately," Kakashi adds after a moment, and you glance up to see his dark eyes utterly serious once more. "The council are just about out of patience. I'm a few years older than thirty, and half of them hate the fact I'm Hokage at all and are itching to get someone more easily controlled to wear the hat. I've cowed them for now, but ..." Kakashi shrugs, as though already resigned to his fate of losing his position.

it grates on you. Anger, unbidden, unfurls in your belly as you return the scroll to his desk and study him in silence. The improvements and changes he'd made to the village are undeniable. Focused more on protection and equality and advancement of scientific fields, instead of training child soldiers to die. Why would anyone want to be rid of his leadership, after he strides he'd made?

"How long?" You ask, hand curling into a fist as you fight the urge to call an emergency council meeting just to throttle the old bastards.

"A week, maybe two."

You don't know what possessed you to say it. Panic, maybe, at the thought of something so utterly unjust and ridiculous ruining his tenure as Rokudaime. Maybe you simply spoke before thinking. Maybe you wanted to shove a ridiculous old law into the faces of the council, seeing as you're a clanless civilian who would otherwise have no business propositioning a clan leader. Or maybe, a secret and guilty part of your mind whispers, you simply saw an opportunity.

"I'll do it."

Kakashi goes utterly still, his dark eyes wide as he turns slowly to you. You're not even certain he's breathing. "Pardon?"

You swallow around the sudden lump in your throat, nodding your head as a silent encouragement to yourself. "We work well as a team, we know each other comfortably. We're - friends, if that isn't presumptuous of me to say -"

"It's not. I think of you as much more than just a subordinate. I trust you, and enjoy your company. That's what a friend is," Kakashi interrupts you, his tone low and even and betraying nothing of what he thinks, behind his usual mask of careful disinterest.

You make an inelegant noise in the back of your throat, looking down to study the worn wood of his desk before you drown beneath the weight of his stare. "Good. That's - that's good. Friendship is a good place to start. For a married couple, I mean." How you managed to choke the words out you'll never know, embarrassment heating your face to such a degree you idly wonder when you'll start sweating.

Kakashi says your name, and when you glance back up you see he's leaning half across the desk, his eyes fixed on yours. "It should be the only place to start, when it comes to marriage. Not a half-assed arrangement for no reason other than an absurd old law that no one should give a shit about anymore -"

You interrupt him with a swift shake of your head, finding yourself smiling. "Hokage-sama -" it weighs heavy on your tongue, and you delicately clear your throat before trying again. "Kakashi. Exactly no one in the village wishes to see you step down. This is a - greater good situation, as strange as it is to say. For the greater good, you must remain Hokage. For that to happen, you must marry. And it's -" now, your words begin to fail you, unable to stop yourself from glancing down nervously as your voice lowers to a hush. "- and it's, well it's ... Really not a big ask. I - like and respect you, quite a lot. We're already a team in this office, so why wouldn't it work in a shared home?"

"You speak so casually about such a huge decision about your life," Kakashi says, glancing away as he runs a palm down the side of his face. But - he's considering it, you realize with a jump in your pulse.

"There doesn't have to be any - expectations, between us. We can appease the council, keep your position, and be - well. Together. As friends. I'm at your place often enough as it is, you really need someone to help keep you organized," you add with a wry smile.

"And you've been perfect at that. Keeping me organized, I mean," Kakashi says, almost offhandedly as his gaze turns very far away. You preen beneath the compliment regardless, warmth building beneath your breast. Kakashi glances back at you suddenly, leaning forward to hold your gaze. "Are you sure this is what you want to do? There are other options -"

"Yes," you interrupt him, voice sounding more breathless than you'd anticipated. "I want to do this." Not just for the village, or for you - but for me, as well, you think to yourself, only feeling the slightest bit of guilt.

Kakashi continues to watch you, something unspeakably warm hidden within his dark eyes for just a moment. "Alright. I'm sorry for putting you in this position, truly. And - thank you."

You're nodding before he can even finish speaking, an unexpected giddiness bubbling low in your belly. I think I just got engaged.

Kakashi stands from the desk, rounding the edge before he comes to a stop next to you, offering his hand. You blink up at him even as you slip your palm against his, his gloves warm and touch gentle. Eye-smiling, Kakashi pulls you to standing, and in a blink you're chest-to-chest, your breath catching in response.

"At least allow me to do this part right," he says with a low laugh, shaking his head at the novelty at the situation. He takes a steadying breath, gazing fondly down into your eyes in such a way that makes you bite your bottom lip in anticipation, your pulse thrumming. Kakashi says your name, and you're nodding eagerly immediately, plucking a laugh from his chest.

"Let me get there first," he admonishes gently, his hand moving from yours to trail a palm up your arm. The rasp of his glove feels like heaven on your bare skin, and you barely manage to suppress your responding shiver.

"Will you marry me?" Kakashi finally asks, thumb rubbing soothing circles on your shoulder.

"Yes," you answer with a smile, very nearly laughing. How utterly bizarre. "I'd love to."

Kakashi's expression eases into one of genuine warmth, a small slice of vulnerability before it shifts back into something wry. Before you can even blink, the hand at your shoulder moves, his fingers grazing beneath your chin. Breath catching, you go utterly still as you watch Kakashi close the distance, tilting your face up towards his, and then his masked mouth is brushing softly against your cheek.

"Thank you," he whispers, and though you wish to close the distance, capture his mouth, or simply wrap your arms around him, all you can muster is a nod, your breath leaving you in what sounds like a sigh.

-----

You twist your hand this way and that, gazing down at the unfamiliar weight of a ring on your finger and watching how the plain silver catches the light. Your smile is embarrassed, but it's genuine, something warm filling your chest. With only a twenty minute ceremony and some words exchanged, you're Kakashi's wife. How strange.

It was surprisingly easy to marry Kakashi, you think with a giddy flutter to your belly. Not only because you've been sporting a healthy crush on the man for quite some months, but because the pair of you seem to click. Maybe not the firmest foundation for a marriage, but a good place to start, as you'd told him before. There is mutual trust, and shared humor. He's kind to you, and respects the work that goes in to assisting him. You're friends, if one can be friends with their boss; you may not know his deepest secrets, may not be privy to whatever horror it is that dogs his heels -you can see it plain in the way he stares off into nothing, his gaze far away- but you like each other, work well together. Add to that the fact that his dogs are fond of you (and your freely offered belly rubs and treats) and - well. Maybe it isn't a fairy-tail wedding, but it is an unfortunate situation made better, easier, with the aid of friendship.

A cleared throat interrupts your musings, and you glance quickly upwards to see kakashi watching you with a cocked brow. He holds aloft his hands, palms skyward, and as you watch he nods encouragingly. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up with what he's implying, and you swiftly shake away any errant thoughts as you step forward, placing your palms over his. Kakashi's hands are rough from countless years wielding weapons and molding chakra, silver scars criss-crossing over his right hand in the shape of lightning. But his touch is tender, and he squeezes your fingers in wordless reassurance.

"We're married," you whisper to him, caught up in the moment of unreality that threatens to stagger you beneath its tide; you're a wife, a Hatake, a bride to Konoha's Hokage and the renowned Copy-Nin and - your friend. It's utterly bizarre, very nearly overwhelming. Something deep within you almost wants to laugh at the absurdity.

"Almost," Kakashi interrupts your thoughts, and as you blink up at him something tells you that beneath the dark fabric of his mask, he's smirking at you. "There's still one last thing to seal the deal."

You tilt your head to the side, confusing apparent across your face. But Kakashi only laughs, low and quiet. He squeezes your hands once more, before one of his hands drop to curve a palm over your hip, pulling you closer towards him.

You blink rapidly as a flush heats your face, your smile nervous as you tilt your head up. You're keenly aware of your audience, wondering suddenly why the universe decided your first kiss with Kakashi would be at the altar. "How could I have forgotten?" You whisper with a breathless chuckle, Kakashi's smiling eyes encouraging you, his hand squeezing your hip once. He leans down, closing the distance between you, but just a moment before he brushes his mouth to yours, your eyes suddenly go wide.

You pull back with a gasp, shaking your head with a quietly murmured apology. Guilt weighs you down for just a moment, at the shocked expression painting his features. Reaching back, you yank the sensu tucked into the top of your obi, smiling triumphantly up at Kakashi as you brandish the folded fan. He only arches a single silver brow, looking from the your eyes to the fan and back again.

"It's been a while since I've kissed anyone but I'm almost certain there aren't usually any accessories involved," Kakashi whispers flatly, glancing at the gathered guests who watch with a strange combination of confusion and impatience.

"You need a better imagination," you quip impatiently, opening the fan with a flick of your wrist. Taking a deep breath, you raise the fan until both of your faces are hidden behind it, free from the unrepentant staring of the gathered guests. You don't miss the groan of disappointment from who you suspect is Naruto, once the both of you are concealed.

"Indulge your wife," you whisper, your smile soft as you muster your bravery. "I want our first kiss to be a good one."

Kakashi looks momentarily stunned, very nearly afraid. You wonder briefly how long it's been since anyone outright asked him to remove the mask, feeling that now-familiar guilt eat its way through your veins. But then Kakashi arches a brow, and you know he's smirking at you once again.

"Anything my wife desires," he murmurs with a low laugh, the sound going straight to your core. "Close your eyes."

And you do, immediately, because you trust him, and he's choosing to trust you. The hand still held in his trembles finely, butterflies dancing inside you making you feel light as air. But the hand holding the sensu is utterly still; this moment of vulnerability is for you and him, and no one else.

The hand at your waist disappears, anticipation building beneath your breast as you fight to steady your breathing. His hand squeezes yours once more, in a silent encouragement that brings with it a certain calm. There is a moment, a held breath, wherein you feel utterly adrift; at the edge of a cliff, ready at the barest pressure to fall.

The moment passes as a warm hand rests over your cheek, pad of a thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. Your breath hitches, just a little, your eyes remaining tightly shut. Your spine stiffens as you feel Kakashi's breath fan across your face, nerves suddenly alight at the small pressure of his forehead pressed to yours. Your hand instinctively scrambles for a tether, before the nerves can eat away at you entirely, twining your fingers between his and stepping the barest inch forward to press your chest to his. You don't have the presence of mind to wonder if he can feel the rushing rhythm of your heart.

And then Kakashi's mouth is gently capturing yours, his lips soft and unmasked and you sigh, immediately, as you melt against him. You can feel the way he smiles against you, his lips gently parting to take your bottom lip between his, dragging his teeth against the soft swell. A shiver rushes down your spine in response, your mouth opening to swallow the soft sigh Kakashi lets slip.

He pulls away before either of you can get too carried away, and you feel almost dizzy at the loss of contact. You keep your eyes shut tight, breath coming out in a stutter as you realize, very nearly laughing aloud, that your first kiss was definitely a good one.

"Now we're married," Kakashi murmurs against your mouth, and you can hear the smirk behind his words.

"Lucky me," you answer, breathless and smiling wide at the way he simply laughs in response. Before you can think too hard on it, or put too much thought to the audience that waits impatient, you tilt your head up to kiss him once more.

It's only a bonus that it just so happens to be the home of Hatake Sakumo, who you have not been harboring a crush on for some months, thank you very much.

(Rin had given you a knowing look when it was agreed Kakashi would be hosting the "preparation party" as she liked to call it. You'd kicked her in the ankle beneath the table of the restaurant, shooting daggers as she blinked at you innocently.)

Obito rolls his eyes as he watches her, arms linking inside the wide sleeves of his red yukata. "Late for what? Festival always goes 'til like, dawn, and the sun only just started to set. It's impossible to be late."

"Yes! And you -" she pauses to point a finer at him, brow arched, "Told your cousins we'd meet them in front of the compound at dusk. It takes ten minutes to walk there from here, even if we left now we'll still be late, we might even miss them entirely and they could already be -"

Kakashi interrupts her. "Relax. They know Team Minato are never on time," a flat look leveled at Obito, who splutters, "and they wouldn't go on without us. Akari'll keep them ... entertained."

You snort a laugh as arguments immediately devolve, Rin not acting as her usual mediator as she begins pinning flowers into her hair. You still struggle to tie your obi, leaving the bathroom in a huff as you begin to pace up and down the hall. Arms twisted against your back, muttering beneath your breath - and then a broad palm comes down on your shoulder, making you startle.

"Let me," Sakumo says, and you turn your head to find him smiling, and oh, that just isn't fair. He looks completely at ease out of his jonin uniform, the light fabric of his nagagi complimenting the silver of his hair. The sleeves are loose and informal, the fabric crossing over his chest a bit lower than standard, exposing a few inches of his broad chest. His normally wild and unkempt hair falls loose around his face, his normal tail weaved into a braid down his back.

Your eyes trace the curve of his smile, the way his dark eyes linger on your own. Not fair.

When you'd first heard the rumors of him, you'd have expected nothing less than a big brute of a seasoned shinobi, with a harsh view of the world and incapable of being anything other than utterly serious with a stick up his ass, like most top-tier nin. Maybe he would even look down on you, as a civilian. Kakashi was a bit of a prick; he means well -mostly- but he had been fawned over his whole life as a genius and prodigy, especially as the son of the White Fang. You expected his father to be the exact same as Kakashi, except older.

But then Sakumo had turned out to be ruggedly handsome, and incredibly kind and good-natured and warm. Freely-given smiles, and a soft way of speaking that always bellied welcome. The perfect man. Who is also your friend's father. God is punishing you.

You shove away your thoughts as you nod at Sakumo's words, flush lighting your cheeks as you turn your back to him, holding out the dragging ends of your obi. Sakumo takes them from you, his hands grazing yours just for a moment; his touch sends a thrill up your spine. His hands are gentle and quick as he expertly folds and ties the wide fabric of your obi, and you wonder if he's done this before.

It's the sweetest sort of torture, having his hands on you without actually being on you, with his tall and broad frame warm against your back. If you close your eyes, you can almost see it; your expression schooled into a gentle smile as you hold yourself still, Sakumo close enough your hair brushes his nose as he leans down, hands at your waist. And then the obi drops, and he's parting the folds of your kimono over your chest, broad palm slipping beneath the sagging fabric to run his calloused hand over your breast -

His arm comes around you to press the front of the belt tight against your stomach, your eyes fluttering open as you bite down what you think might have been a soft moan. The rational part of your brain tells you he's simply ensuring everything sits flat and even; but the thrill that catches in your chest wonders if he simply wanted an excuse to touch you, just a bit more intimately. Your eyes glance down the hallway, but Rin had apparently finished with the mirror, and bickering voices can be heard from the front of the house. You're alone, but at any moment someone could turn down the hall -

You're not doing anything wrong. He's helping you tie your belt, Kakashi would have done the same. Well, you think with a frown, maybe not. He is a bit of a dick, after all.

Sakumo folds the excess fabric over the knot, securing it over the top of your obi. You turn your head and glance down your back, and from the bunching of fabric you're able to see he's done a simple taiko, mimicking the appearance of a box. You smile in gratitude, lifting your eyes to find Sakumo standing fan closer that you thought.

Your breath catches as you tilt up your chin, tip of your nose brushing against the line of his jaw. Sakumo's hands come up to your shoulders, keeping you in place; whether it's an encouragement of a warning, you don't know.

"How does it feel?" Sakumo asks, his voice low enough that it makes you bite your lip as you fight a shiver.

Like a current of awareness through your every nerve. Like the hint of something secret, forbidden. Like you're about to do something ridiculous, like kiss your friend's dad.

Your hands come up to the front of your obi, fingers tucking under the fabric and giving an experimental tug. The knot holds, the fabric not so much as dipping. You swallow thickly, and turn your body slowly. Facing Sakumo, you glance upwards and find him watching you, the smallest smile curving his mouth. His eyes are impossibly dark, though there is a warmth of affection clear in his eyes. Your lips part as you find yourself lost of words, instead bringing your arm up to place your palm over his hand, fingers tracing his scarred knuckles.

"It feels perfect. Thank you." Not nearly as perfect as it would feel if someone were to rip it off me entirely, however.

Sakumo smiles, nodding at your words. Neither of you move, even as you muster your courage, moving to twine your fingers through his. You gaze up at him from beneath your lashes, feeling something giddy behind the clench of your stomach. Sakumo had always treated you well, always had a smile to freely offer. He was just so easy to talk to, much more approachable than his son. It's no wonder you'd started to feel a familiar heat lick its way up your spine each time he so much as looked at you.

His hand moves, turning until his palm presses against yours. There is a flicker of doubt in his eyes, something very nearly uneasy, and you feel a surge of anxiety begin to pluck at your heart in response. You hadn't been seeing only what you wanted to see, all those times you thought he'd been looking at you far too close, for a moment too long. It makes you feel light as air, as butterflies beat against your stomach and chest. Sakumo opens his mouth, leaning down as though to murmur something soft for only you to hear. You tilt your head to meet him, his mouth brushing just over you cheek as he says your name, your eyes fluttering shut -

"Let's go!" Obito's voice rings out from down the hall, making you startle. And with that, the sudden spell is broken, as Sakumo stands to full height. He gives your hand a parting squeeze, his smile just the slightest bit strained, and then he's brushing past you.

You take a moment to compose yourself; fanning your face to help dispel your flush and fighting to even your breathing. But the smallest smirk curves your mouth as a feeling of conviction surges through your veins. You smooth a hand down your hair, straightening your obi as your smirk widens before you turn to walk to the front of the house. It's clear as glass, really, that he's just as affected by you as you are of him. The breathless laugh you swallow down tastes almost like victory, and you school your giddy smile as you turn the corner.

Rin holds tight to Obito's offered hand as she pulls on her sandals, small bag hanging from her wrist and tongue between her teeth as she fights not to stumble. Kakashi leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he watches his squad. His dark blue yukata is informal, the fabric loose enough over his chest that you can see the skintight black shirt he wears beneath, attached mask curved over the lower half of his face. He doesn't wear his hitae-ate, making his hair fall forward over his eyes.

He looks up as you approach, inclining his head in acknowledgment. You still feel the burn of Sakumo's hand on your skin, through the fabric of your kimono, and hope Kakashi isn't clever enough to determine the reason for your blush as he shoves off the wall and offers you his arm.

"Not forgetting anything?" Sakumo asks as he steps into his sandals, watching the way you move past him and go to Kakashi.

"It's not like that matters. We're all probably coming back here after the festival, oyaji," Kakashi points out, as you gently put your palm in the crook of his elbow. Obito and Rin are similarly linked, standing outside the door and bickering quietly, though the brunette is smiling warmly as Obito watches her with unrestrained warmth.

"Can't fault a man for wanting to keep things organized," Sakumo says to Kakashi with a roll of his eyes, ushering for the both of you to step through the open door.

"You're one to talk," Kakashi says with an arched brow, nodding at his father.

Sakumo looks confused, and when you peak past him you make a surprised noise in your throat. You decision is made before you even realize it, as you pull away from Kakashi to step back into the kitchen. Your hands reach for the haori that hangs on the back of a chair, and you shake out the fabric gently, smiling as you spot the lining inside decorated with flowers and hounds.

You bite your lip as you step up to Sakumo, holding up the fabric and jerking your chin for him to turn. Two pairs of black eyes watch you, before Sakumo smiles that same warm smile and holds out an arm. You help him into the haori, bottom lip caught between your teeth and palms smoothing over his shoulders and lingering, just a little. With a breath you insist to yourself isn't shaky, you step in front of him and reach for the pale cords of the haori. You can feel Sakumo silently watching as you tie a simple knot, holding the thin jacket together across his abdomen.

"There," you whisper, fingertips grazing up his chest in a moment of bravery. "Now we're even," you add with a smirk, glancing up to catch his eye.

There's something unreadable in his expression, in the way he watches you so openly. Sakumo moves to capture your fingers with his own, his touch calloused but tender.

"Thank you," he murmurs, low enough for only you to hear. You feel your face heat in response, only managing to nod. You glance over his shoulder to see Kakashi has left, though you feel no disappointment at the fact he hadnt waited for you. It's more like a sense of misplaced relief, perhaps.

Rin has one of Kakashi's hands in hers, Obito's in the other. They're still impatient to leave, halfway down to the road already. You find yourself smiling indulgently at the sight, and tilt your head up to catch Sakumo's eye.

"I've been ditched. Care to escort me to the festival?" You ask, no bitterness coloring your tone. Neither you nor Kakashi really wanted to be stuck with one another, even if it was only for the travel time and presumably, the first few minutes of all your gathered friends huddling in a circle and arguing about what to do first before inevitably dispersing into groups of twos and threes.

You're not really in the mood for a party, you think as your pulse heightens, Sakumo studying you in a stretching silence that brings embarrassment to your chest. You're more in the mood for a good conversation, and maybe for a tall and handsome man to proudly have you on his arm.

"It would be an honor," Sakumo finally responds, his hand still holding yours. Your smile is immediate and instinctive, stomach clenching nervously.

He moves your hand to the crook of his elbow, and as you step out of the house your friends only give you a cursory glance -you pointedly ignore the way Kakashi's brows furrow above his dark eyes- before you're all walking down the lane.

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( + extra author’s note)