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my-timing-is-digital · 1 year ago

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His daughter’s smile was, irrefutably, one of the most aesthetic phenomena he had ever perceived in his lifetime; her smile far surpassed the beauteous nebulae and exquisite worlds he had visited by, at least, several thousand lightyears — metaphorically speaking, of course. But he had never witnessed anyone smiling up to him in the manner she did; she was beaming, appreciative, grateful of the recognition he had distributed — an accolade solely directed to her address, clearly an unconventional occurrence. The curvature of her lips as she welcomed the felicitous compliment and the scintillation in her bright eyes instantaneously erased any incertitudes regarding whether or not he could abide by his self-established criteria of what constituted a good parent; he was thwacked by the notion, by the confidence that he would do surprisingly well — perhaps he should cease underestimating himself...

More synthetic lifeforms? Twins? His positronic brain almost seemed to reel in anarchy as its processing capabilities quadrupled at this brand new divulgence. Millions of queries formulated within less than a nanosecond, all fighting their way to the foreground of his consciousness; his synthetic tongue burnt red-hot with questions while his subroutines bid him to govern his insatiable inquisitiveness, his unassailable enthusiasm to attain additional information. More androids like him? like her?! His days of contemplating his existence and how to preserve the continuation of his kind had finally reached a cessation — he was no longer a solitary android, he had a family, was a singular unit in a society of multitudinous sentient artificial beings!

His chartreuse eyes phosphoresced with awe, with eagerness to introduce himself to others of his kind. However, the transition of her word choice, the modulation of her inflection, caused his suppressed ecstasy to totter to a loitering pace, almost stationary, as he listened, studiously.

The devastating news she disclosed arrived with more force than he had anticipated. Her twin sister, his other daughter, a facsimile of Soji, had been killed. But why? For what purpose? He failed to conserve the perpetuation of his facial expression of emulated effervescence. The announcement perforated the integrity of the questions he had sculpted in his positronic brain. Evocations of Lal and her deactivation instantaneously responded to the gravitational pull ushering the aforementioned recollections to fulgurate like a fever dream before his eyes. It felt like his tactile sensors were registering an inexplicable force swallowing him up, as if the ground had lost cohesion, spiraling down an abyss; a free fall, like what transpired to the saucer section of the Enterprise-D prior to its imminent obliteration; endless tumbling, no forces available to counteract the attraction the class M planet exercised on the saucer, no invisible wire pulling them back up into the cold embrace of space — and there was no emergency protocol he could have employed to circumvent it. They were powerless, compelled to watch their venerated starship plummet to its annihilation. And, in this exact moment, standing opposite Soji, his eyes locked with hers, digesting the news that threatened to clog his circuitry, he felt powerless once more... If only he had been there to guarantee Dahj’s physical integrity, to protect them both and keep them safe...

However, before he could insert words of sympathy, his condolences, she bashed him with another brick of reality pivoting around to the mortality, the fragility of mankind. The Captain... One of his dearest friends... His mind was inundated with information, and he required a moment to orchestrate and diminish the menagerie that presently undermined the efficiency of his primary systems.

‘I find myself incapable of producing perspicuous sentences,’ he eventually stated truthfully, a silent undercurrent of embarrassment cowered in the depths of his apologetic voice. ‘There are too many variables I do not yet comprehend...’ he trailed off, a ruminative frown rippled his forehead. ‘I am sorry I was not there to protect Dahj, and you. We could try to rebuild her, upload her consciousness into a new synthetic body, like you did me.’

His eyes darted to the stasis chamber he had emerged from several minutes ago.

‘The Captain,’ he said promptly with recalibrated determination, releasing his daughter from his secure embrace, and commenced the computation of his itinerary to what appeared to be the exit of the laboratory. ‘I must see him,’ he said, setting off into the direction of the door, but became stationary 3.6 metres into his impulsively initiated expedition. ‘Soji. Please, bring me to him.’

Soji nearly collapses back into tears as he expresses pride in her, as he smiles at her-- He doesn't have any idea, not yet, just how much she needed to hear that. It carries more weight than it should, for a whole host of purely emotional reasons, but it helps bridge a few gaps in her fractured psyche. She keeps it together, thankfully, and can't help but smile as he glances out the window.

"It is," Soji answers and she is about to agree--but-- She stills as considerations of the world outside this office come back to her. Not even the grand, impossible kind of considerations, just the local, the imminent--

"I would love to go for a walk," she starts, honestly, because there's really nothing she would like more. "But…I think I should tell you a bit more first." She should start with Picard. The reason she knew the transfer had been repaired, the reason she tried to wake him up, the reason she'd been cursing the bright weather only a short time ago--she can't quite manage it--but she can come around to it.

"There are…just so many synths here," Soji starts with a tone of bright wonder and delight, because she does delight in the lot of them. They're family, albeit removed from her, and she treasures them. But this--it's both the happiest and saddest subject she has to inform him about. "They're wonderful, and curious, and they can be a lot--they'll be so happy to see you," she assures him and has to take a deep breath. "They…we…are all constructed in pairs. It's part of the process to build our neural nets. I don't understand it, it's too complicated for lay people, but…almost everyone here has a twin."

Her smile falters a bit but she catches it before it collapses.

"So, rather than you finding out while we're walking, I--I had a sister too. Dahj. She was killed." Saying her name out loud sets off an ache in Soji's chest, but she carries on. She's been so overwhelmed with everything, it will be an age before she can begin to unpack her grief about Dahj. Right now, she's just numb to it, removed, like it happened to someone else.

"Jean Luc Picard tried to save her, but he couldn't," she continues. "He saved me…twice in the last few days, and--"

She has to take another deep breath and this one feels heavy as she lets it out.

"He died." Those words fall like a stone and Soji lets them clatter to the floor. "The protocol I used to wake you up, they're using it now to wake him up. Or to try to wake him up in a new, synthetic body. Agnes was pretty sure it would work but I just…I haven't been able to check. When we leave, we're going to go straight past them and the bodies--I don't want you to be surprised by a sight like that." For all she knows, Picard is awake and having tea with Agnes right now. It's entirely possible but Soji's fresh out of optimism.

#fractalcloning #verse // we are such stuff as dreams are made on and our little life is rounded with a sleep #ooc: data going into full protective dad mode when he meets narek -- just keeps glaring at him because he's too polite to whoop his ass #he will obliterate narek with words #I'm crying; these poor lil beans they've been through a lot they need a very long vacation

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hexfloog · 3 years ago

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Hakuba?

disclaimer: i haven't seen ep.479 yet, it's been a hot minute since i read magic kaito, and i wrote this after a few drinks

(in no particular order below the break)

they got done dirty by fans • despite being basically prototype shinichi (and, appropriately, looking a bit like the end product of using polymerization on him with shiho), he gets relatively little attention. obviously most of this is just due to the fact that he just doesn't appear in anything-- and hasn't for a not-insignificant amount of time-- but that and personality and flaws aside, i think it's kind of a shame because of most everything else on this list, such as...

wasted potential / didn't get enough screen time / they work better as part of a dynamic • his relationship with kaito is so funny. he heckles him """knowing""" that he's KID but has never actually 100% without-a-doubt, irrefutably confirmed it. he gets bamboozled every time but is just so dead set on it that he completely ignores kaito's repeated insistence that he isn't who he thinks he is and just continues to talk to him as if he's talking to KID and that's just hilarious to me. it's kind of like if conan never disclosed his identity as shinichi to heiji but heiji treats him like he does in current canon anyway. of these interactions by far the best one is the volunteering of valuable information to kaito in the middle of the chat noir heist as an under-the-table, backhanded sort of bidding of "good luck." it's a lesser mirroring of the relationship kaito has with conan - but arguably funnier since hakuba """knows""" the truth but conan does not (and likely does not care to, as it would not alter the dynamic). • the above, but now with the added hilarity of him being 1 of 3 members in a group of 4 (one of whom is JUST KAITO HIMSELF sksksk) who know that kaito moonlights as KID at the conclusion of MK1412. i'm a little mad this didn't continue like WHAT were they gonna do LMAO • adjacent to the above: his apparent (former? is he still into her?) infatuation with akako. obviously it's just/mostly a result of him being under her spell but it's so fucking funny that she still sort of notices him regardless. even if he is just a means to an end she calls upon him when kaito is in danger in sun halo, which is... wild?? akako is also member #2 of this KID group which makes this even funnier, deadASS what was the endgame of this group gonna be in practice LOLOL, everyone just uses everyone else as bait for something or other and the end goal of unmasking KID is just completely moot if 75% of them already know

wow! they are a horrible person

• you cAN'T JUST SAY THAT TO HEIJI AND GET AWAY WITH IT

• *wildly gesturing* YOU ALSO CAN'T JUST ACCUSE OTHER PEOPLE OF NEPOTISM (something something people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones etc. etc.)

• in the MK anime specials canon, hakuba has relatively little interest in capturing KID and instead uses him as bait iirc?? tbf they're all guilty of this in the MK1412 canon, but it rubs differently when spider is the prey they're trying to catch - different if only because he poses a legitimate threat to even kaito. even if he saves him before he's lost to the nightmare that's still something of a MASSIVE gamble, especially if both he and kaito combined are not much of a threat to spider T___T like this is like... how conan tends towards recklessness when the black organization is involved, including the disregard/failure to consider the full consequences of involving or using the people around him, villain or otherwise (pisco and itakura, at least, come to mind).

why do they look like that • he LITERALLY debuts in sherlock cosplay • his eyes are red?? hello???? (why is this so vivid in my memory but now when i try to look up screenies to corroborate they're brown in every single one of them)

whatever. they're red to me. makes things more interesting sksksks

i don't really have much to say about them / i forgot this character existed (am i the biggest lying liar or nah. look at all this text) • despite all of this, that's kind of all i have to say about him. i didn't do my homework and am drawing purely on memory and that's a little hard when he makes so few appearances even in the MK canon(s). MK in general has a lot of wasted potential tho imo and i think that extends to its primary cast too, including hakuba. personally i think he's far too wacky to mesh well into detco canon, in the same way that detco kaito is not quite the same as MK kaito.

all in all i think hakuba, unlike his successor, is really not at all tolerable on his own and works infinitely better with practically anyone else in the ekoda gang (but mostly kaito, bc they are both proprietors of a part of the MK-brand of Shenanigans).

anyway thank you for the character!! nice opportunity to think about the fellas i don't typically yammer about :D

#ask #ask game #marshmallowgoop #dcmk #hakuba saguru #internal screaming hours #text

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laurasimonsdaughter · 3 years ago

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The Counterfeit Marquise

A literary fairy tale published in 1697, presumably by Charles Perrault and François-Timoléon De Choisy (who spent a considerable amount of his life in drag, just like the protagonists of this story).

Translated by Ranjit Bolt, featured in Warner’s Wonder tales: six stories of enchantment (1996).

Cw: gender disphoria.

The Marquis de Banneville had been married barely six months to a beautiful and highly intelligent young heiress when he was killed in battle at Saint-Denis. His widow was profoundly affected. They had still been very much in love and no domestic quarrels had disturbed their happiness. She did not allow herself an excess of grief. With none of the usual lamentations, she withdrew to one of her country houses to weep at her leisure, without constraint or ostentation. But no sooner had she arrived than it was pointed out to her, on the basis of irrefutable evidence, that she was carrying a child. At first she rejoiced at the prospect of seeing a little replica of the man she had loved so much. She was careful to preserve her husband’s precious remains, and took every possible step to keep his memory alive. Her pregnancy was very easy, but as her time drew near she was tormented by a host of anxieties. She pictured a soldier’s gruesome death in its full horror. She imagined the same fate for the child she was expecting and, unable to reconcile herself to such a distressing idea, prayed a thousand times to heaven to send her a daughter who, by virtue of her sex, would be spared so cruel a fate. She did more: she made up her mind that, if nature did not answer her wishes, she would correct her. She took all the necessary precautions and made the midwife promise to announce to the world the birth of a girl, even if it was a boy.

Thanks to these measures the business was effected smoothly. Money settles everything. The marquise was absolute mistress in her château and word soon spread that she had given birth to a girl, though the child was actually a boy. It was taken to the curé who, in good faith, christened it Marianne. The wet nurse was also won over. She brought little Marianne up and subsequently became her governess. She was taught everything a girl of noble birth should know: dancing; music; the harpsichord. She grasped everything with such precocity her mother had no choice but to have her taught languages, history, even modern philosophy. There was no danger of so many subjects becoming confused in a mind where everything was arranged with such remarkable orderliness. And what was extraordinary, not to say delightful, was that so fine a mind should be found in the body of an angel. At twelve her figure was already formed. True, she had been a little constricted from infancy with an iron corset, to widen her hips and lift her bosom. But this had been a complete success and (though I shall not describe her until her first journey to Paris) she was already a very beautiful girl. She lived in blissful ignorance, quite unaware that she was not a girl. She was known in the province as la belle Marianne. All the minor gentry roundabout came to pay court to her, believing she was a rich heiress. She listened to them all and answered their gallantries with great wit and frankness. My heart, she said to her mother one day, isn’t made for provincials. If I receive them kindly it’s because I want to please people.

Be careful, my child, said the marquise: you’re talking like a coquette.

Ah, maman, she answered, let them come. Let them love me as much as they like. Why should you worry as long as I don’t love them?

The marquise was delighted to hear this, and gave her complete licence with these young men who, in any case, never strayed beyond the bounds of decorum. She knew the truth and so feared no consequences. La belle Marianne would study till noon and spend the rest of the day at her toilette.

After devoting the whole morning to my mind, she would say gaily, It’s only right to give the afternoon to my eyes, my mouth, all this little body of mine.

Indeed, she did not begin dressing till four. Her suitors would usually have gathered by then, and would take pleasure in watching her toilette. Her chambermaids would do her hair, but she would always add some new embellishment herself. Her blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders in great curls. The fire in her eyes and the freshness of her complexion were quite dazzling, and all this beauty was animated and enhanced by the thousand charming remarks that poured continually from the prettiest mouth in the world. All the young men around her adored her, nor did she miss any opportunity to increase that adoration. She would herself, with exquisite grace, put pendants in her ears – either of pearls, rubies or diamonds – all of which suited her to perfection. She wore beauty spots, preferably so tiny that one could barely see them with the naked eye and, if her complexion had not been so delicate and fine, could not have seen them at all. When putting them on she made a great show of consulting now one suitor, now another, as to which would suit her best. Her mother was overjoyed and kept congratulating herself on her ingenuity. He is twelve years old, she would say to herself under her breath. Soon I should have had to think about sending him to the Military Academy, and in two years he would have followed his poor father. Whereupon, transported with affection, she would go and kiss her darling daughter, and would let her indulge in all the coquetries that she would have condemned in anyone else’s child.

This is how matters stood when the Marquise de Banneville was obliged to go to Paris to deal with a lawsuit that one of her neighbours had taken out against her. Naturally she took her daughter with her, and soon realised that a pretty young girl can be useful when it comes to making petitions. The first person she went to see was her old friend the Comtesse d’Alettef,11 to ask for her advice and her protection for her daughter. The comtesse was struck by Marianne’s beauty and so enjoyed kissing her that she did so several times. She took on herself the task of chaperoning her, and looked after her when her mother was busy with her suit, promising to keep her amused. Marianne could not have fallen into better hands. The comtesse was born to enjoy life. She had managed to separate herself from an inconvenient husband. Not that he lacked qualities (he loved pleasure as much as she did) but since they could not agree in their choice of pleasures, they had the good sense not to get in one another’s way and each followed their own inclinations. The comtesse, though not young any more, was beautiful. But the desire for lovers had given way to the desire for money, and gambling was now her chief passion. She took Marianne everywhere, and everywhere she was received with delight.

Meanwhile, the Marquise de Banneville slept easily. She was well aware of the comtesse’s somewhat dubious reputation, and would never have trusted her with a real daughter. But quite apart from the fact that Marianne had been brought up with a strong sense of virtue, the marquise wanted a little amusement and so left her to her own devices, merely telling her that she was entering a scene very different from that of the provinces; that she would encounter passionate, devoted lovers at every turn; that she must not believe them too readily; that if she felt herself giving way she was to come and tell her everything; and that in future she would look on her as a friend rather than a daughter, and give her such advice as she herself might take.

Marianne, whom people were starting to call the little marquise, promised her mother that she would disclose all her feelings to her and, relying on past experience, believed herself a match for the gallantry of the French court. This was a bold undertaking thirty years ago. Magnificent dresses were made for her; all the newest fashions tried on her. The comtesse, who presided over all this, saw to it that her hair was dressed by Mlle de Canillac. She had only some child’s earrings and a few jewels; her mother gave her all hers, which were of poor workmanship, and managed at relatively little expense to have two pairs of diamond pendants made for her ears, and five or six crisping pins for her hair. These were all the ornaments she needed. The comtesse would send her carriage for her immediately after dinner and take her to the theatre, the opera, or the gaming houses. She was universally admired. Wives and daughters never tired of caressing her, and the loveliest of them heard her beauty praised without a hint of jealousy. A certain hidden charm, which they felt but did not understand, attracted them to her and forced them to pay homage where homage was due. Everyone succumbed to her spell and her wit, which was even more irresistible than her beauty, won her more certain and lasting conquests. The first thing that captivated them was the dazzling whiteness of her complexion. The bloom in her cheeks, forever appearing and reappearing, never ceased to amaze them. Her eyes were blue and as lively as one could wish; they flashed from beneath two heavy lids that made their glances more tender and languishing. Her face was oval-shaped and her scarlet lips, which protruded slightly, would break – even when she spoke with the utmost seriousness – into a dozen delightful creases, and into a dozen even more delightful when she laughed. This exterior – so charming in itself – was enhanced by all that a good education can add to an excellent nature. There was a radiance, a modesty in the little marquise’s countenance that inspired respect. She had a sense of occasion: she always wore a cap when she went to church, never a beauty spot – avoiding the ostentation cultivated by most women. At Mass, she would say, One prays to God; at balls one dances; and one must do both with total commitment.

She had been leading a most agreeable life for three months when Carnival came round. All the princes and officers had returned from camp, and everywhere entertainments were being held again. Everyone was giving parties and there was a great ball at the Palais Royal. The comtesse, who was too old to show her face on such occasions, decided to go masked and took the little marquise with her. She was dressed as a shepherdess in an extremely simple but becoming costume. Her hair, which hung down to her waist, was tied up in great curls with pink ribbons – no pearls, no diamonds, only a beautiful cap. She had dressed herself, but even so all eyes were fixed on her. That night her beauty was triumphant.

The handsome Prince Sionad was there, dressed as a woman – a rival to the fair sex who, in the opinion of connoisseurs, took first prize for beauty. On arriving at the ball the comtesse decided to go and sit behind the lovely Sionad. Chère princesse, she said as she drew near and introduced the little marquise, here is a young shepherdess you should find worth looking at. Marianne approached respectfully and wanted to kiss the hem of the prince’s dress (or should I say the princess’s) but he lifted her up, embraced her tenderly and cried delightedly: What a lovely girl! What fine features! What a smile! What delicacy! And if I’m not mistaken, she is as clever as she is beautiful.

The little marquise had responded only with a bashful smile when a young prince came up and claimed her for a dance. At first all eyes were fixed on him, owing to his rank. But when people saw her answering his questions without awkwardness or embarrassment; saw what a feel she had for the music; how gracefully she moved; her little jumps in time; her smiles, subtle without being malicious and the fresh glow that vigorous exercise brought to her face, total silence, as at a concert, descended on the hall. The violinists found to their delight that they could hear themselves play, and everyone seemed intent on watching and wondering at her. The dance ended with applause, little of it for the prince, popular though he was.

The acclaim that the little marquise had received at the Palais Royal ball greatly increased the comtesse’s affection and concern for her. She could no longer do without her and she offered her rooms in her house, so that she could enjoy her company at her leisure. But on no account would her mother agree to this. The little marquise was almost fourteen and, if the secret of her birth was to be kept, it was vital that no one should be on intimate terms with her except her governess, who got her up and saw her into bed. She was still quite ignorant of her situation and, though she had many admirers, felt nothing for them. She cared for nothing and no one but herself and her appearance. People spoke to her of nothing else. She drank down this delicious praise in long draughts and thought herself the most beautiful person in the world; the more so since her mirror swore to her every day that the praise was justified.

One day she was at the theatre, in the first tier, when she noticed a beautiful young man in the next box. He wore a scarlet doublet embroidered with gold and silver, but what fascinated her were his dazzling diamond earrings and three or four beauty spots. She watched him intently and found his countenance so sweet and amiable that she could not contain herself, and said to the comtesse: Madame, look at that young man! Isn’t he handsome! Indeed, said the comtesse, but he is too conscious of his looks, and that is not becoming in a man. He might as well dress as a girl.

The performance went on and they said nothing more, but the little marquise often turned her head, no longer able to concentrate on the play, which was The Feign’d Alcibiades. Some days later she was at the theatre again in the third tier. The same young man, who drew such attention to himself with his extraordinary adornments, was in the second tier. He watched the little marquise at his leisure, as fascinated by her as she had been by him on the previous occasion, but less restrained. He kept turning his back on the actors, unable to take his eyes off her and she, for her part, responded in a manner less than consistent with the dictates of modesty. She felt in this exchange of looks something she had never experienced before: a certain joy at once subtle and profound, which passes from the eyes to the heart and constitutes the only real happiness in life. At last the play ended and, while they waited for the afterpiece, the beautiful young man left his box and went to ask the little marquise’s name. The porters, who saw her often, were happy to oblige him; they even told him where she lived. He now saw that she was of noble birth and decided, if possible, to make her acquaintance, even if he went no further. He resolved (love being ingenious) to enter her box by accident.

Ah, madame, he cried, I beg your pardon: I thought this was my box. The Marquise de Banneville loved intrigue and made the most of this one. Monsieur, she said to him with great frankness, we are indeed fortunate in your mistake: a man as handsome as you is welcome anywhere.

She hoped in this way to detain him so that she could look at him at her leisure; examine him and his adornments; please her daughter (whose feelings she had already detected) and, in a word, have some harmless amusement. He hesitated before deciding to remain in the box without taking a seat at the front. They asked him a hundred questions, to which he replied very wittily. His manner and tone of voice had an undeniable charm. The little marquise asked him why he wore pendants in his ears. He replied that he always had: his ears had been pierced when he was a child. As for the rest, they must excuse these little embellishments, normally only suitable for the fair sex, on the grounds of youth.

Everything suits you, monsieur, said the little marquise with a blush. You can wear beauty spots and bracelets as far as we’re concerned. You wouldn’t be the first. These days young men are always doing themselves up like girls. The conversation never flagged. When the afterpiece was over he conducted the ladies to their coach and had his follow it as far as the marquise’s house where, not daring to enter, he sent a page to present his compliments.

During the days that followed they saw him everywhere: in church; in the park; at the opera and the theatre. He was always unassuming, always respectful. He would bow low to the little marquise, not daring to approach or speak to her. He seemed to have but one object, and wasted no time in attaining it. Finally, after three weeks, the Marquise de Banneville’s brother (who was a state councillor) called and suggested that she receive a visitor – his good friend and neighbour, the Marquis de Bercour. He assured her that he was an excellent man and brought him round immediately after lunch. The marquis was the handsomest man in the world; his hair was black and arranged in thick, natural-looking curls. It was cut in line with the ears so that his diamond earrings could be seen. On this particular day he had attached to each of these a pearl. He also wore two or three beauty spots (no more) to emphasise his fine complexion.

Ah, brother, said the marquise, is this the Marquis de Bercour? Yes, madame, replied the marquis, and he cannot live any longer without seeing the loveliest girl in the world.

As he said this he turned towards the little marquise, who was beside herself with joy. They sat and talked, exchanging news, discussing amusements and new books. The little marquise was a versatile conversationalist, and they were soon at ease with one another. The old councillor was the first to leave, the marquis the last, having remained as long as he felt he could.

After this he never missed an opportunity of paying court to the girl he loved, and always made sure that everything was perfect. When the good weather came and they went out walking to Vincennes or in the Bois, they would find a magnificent collation, which seemed to have been brought there by magic, at a place specially chosen in the shade of some trees. One day there would be violins; the next oboes. The marquis had apparently given no instructions, yet it was obvious that he had arranged everything. Nevertheless, it took several days to guess who had given the little marquise a magnificent present. One morning a carrier brought a chest to her house which he said was from the Comtesse Alettef. She opened it eagerly and was delighted to find in it gloves, scents, pomades, perfumed oils, gold boxes, little toilet cases, more than a dozen snuff boxes in different styles, and countless other treasures. The little marquise wanted to thank the comtesse, who had no idea what she was talking about. She found out in the end, but reproached herself more than once for not having guessed at once.

These little attentions advanced the marquis’s cause considerably. The little marquise greatly appreciated them. Madame, she said to her mother with admirable honesty, I no longer know where I am. Once I wanted to be beautiful in everyone’s eyes; now the only person I want to find me beautiful is the marquis. I used to love balls, plays, receptions, places where there was a lot of noise. Now I’m tired of all that. My only pleasure in life is to be alone and think about the man I love. He’s coming soon, I whisper to myself. Perhaps he’ll tell me he loves me. Yes, madame, he hasn’t said that yet; hasn’t spoken those wonderful words: I love you, though his eyes and his actions have told me so a hundred times. Then, my child, replied the marquise, I’m very sorry for you. You were happy before you saw the marquis. You enjoyed everyone’s company; everyone loved you and you loved only yourself, your own person, your beauty. You were wholly consumed with the desire to please, and please you did. Why change such a delightful life? Take my advice, my dear child: let your sole concern be to profit from the advantages nature has given you. Be beautiful: you have experienced that joy; is there any other to touch it? To draw everyone’s gaze; to win all hearts; to delight people wherever one goes; to hear oneself praised continually, and not by flatterers; to be loved by all and love only oneself: that, my child, is the height of happiness, and you can enjoy it for a long time. You are a queen, don’t make yourself a slave: you must resist at the outset a passion that is carrying you away in spite of yourself. Now you command, but soon you will obey. Men are fickle: the marquis loves you today – tomorrow he will love someone else.

Stop loving me! said the little marquise. Love someone else! And she burst into tears.

Her mother, who loved her dearly, tried to console her and succeeded by telling her that the marquis was coming. There was a lot at stake and this incipient passion caused her considerable alarm. Where will it lead? she asked herself. To what bizarre conclusion. If the marquis declares himself – if he plucks up courage and asks for certain favours – she will refuse him nothing. But then, she reflected, the little marquise has been well trained; she is sensible; at most she will grant such trifling favours as will leave them in ignorance – an ignorance essential to their happiness.

They were talking like this when someone came to tell them that the marquis had sent them a dozen partridges, and that he was at the door, not daring to enter as he had just returned from hunting.

Send him in! cried the little marquise. We want to see him in his hunting clothes. He entered a moment later, all apologies for powder marks, sun burn and a dishevelled wig. No, no, said the little marquise. I assure you, we like you better dressed informally like this than in all your finery. If that is so, madame, he replied, next time you will see me dressed as a stoker.

He remained standing, as though about to leave. They made him sit and the marquise, kind soul, told them to sit together while she went to her study to write. The chambermaids knew what was what and withdrew to the dressing-room, leaving the lovers alone together. They were silent for a while. The little marquise, still flustered after her talk with her mother, scarcely dared raise her eyes, and the marquis, even more embarrassed, looked at her and sighed. There was something tender in this silence. The looks they exchanged, the sighs they could not contain, were for them a form of language – a language lovers often use – and their mutual embarrassment seemed to them a sign of love. The little marquise was the first to awake from this reverie.

You’re dreaming, marquis, she said. What of? Hunting? Ah, beautiful marquise, said the marquis, how lucky hunters are! They are not in love. What do you mean? she rejoined. Is being in love really so terrible? Madame, he replied, it is the greatest happiness in life. But unrequited love is the greatest misfortune. I am in love and it is not requited. I am in love with the most beautiful girl in the world. Venus herself would not dare put herself before her. I love her and she does not love me. She has no feelings. She sees me, she listens to me, and she remains cruelly silent. She even turns her eyes away from mine. How heartless! How can I doubt my fate? As he spoke these last words, the marquis knelt down before the little marquise and kissed her hands – nor did she object. Her eyes were lowered and let fall great tears.

Beautiful marquise, he said, you’re crying. You’re crying and I know the reason for your tears. My love is irksome to you. Ah, marquis, she answered with a heavy sigh, one can cry for joy as well as pain. I’ve never been so happy. She said no more and, stretching out her arms to her beloved marquis, granted him the favours she would have denied all the kings of the earth. Caresses were all the protestations of love they needed. The marquis found in the little marquise’s lips a compliance that her eyes had hidden from him, and this conversation would have lasted longer if the marquise had not emerged from her study. She found them laughing and crying at the same time, and wondered whether such tears had ever needed drying.

The marquis immediately rose to leave, but the marquise said to him pleasantly: Monsieur, won’t you stay and dine on the partridges you brought? He needed little persuading. What he desired more than anything else in the world was to be on familiar terms in this house. He stayed, even though he was dressed in hunting clothes, and had the exquisite pleasure of seeing the girl he loved eat. It is one of life’s chief delights. To watch at close quarters a pink mouth that, as it opens, reveals gums of coral and teeth of alabaster; that opens and closes with the rapidity that accompanies all the actions of youth; to see a beautiful face animated by an often repeated pleasure, and to be experiencing the same pleasure at the same time – this is a privilege love grants to few.

After that happy day the marquis made sure he dined there every night. It was a regular affair and the little marquise’s suitors, who had had no cause to be jealous of one another, took it as settled. She had made her choice and they all admitted that beauty and vanity, however powerful, are no defence against love. The Comte d’****, one of her most ardent admirers, had a keen sense that his passion was being made light of. He was handsome, well built, brave, a soldier: he could not allow the little marquise to give herself to the Marquis de Bercour, whom he considered vastly inferior in every respect to himself. He decided to pick a quarrel with him and so disgrace him, thinking him too effeminate to dare cross swords with him. However, to his great surprise, at the first word he uttered when they met at the Porte des Tuileries, the marquis drew his sword and thrust at him with gusto. After a hard-fought duel they were parted by mutual friends.

This adventure pleased the little marquise. It gave her lover a war-like air, though she trembled for him nevertheless. She saw clearly that her beauty and her preference for him would constantly be exposing him to such encounters, and she said to him one day: Marquis, we must put an end to jealousy once and for all; we must silence gossip. We love one another and always will. We must bind ourselves to one another with ties that only death can break.

Ah, beautiful marquise, he said, what are you thinking of? Does our happiness bore you? Marriage, as a rule, puts an end to pleasure. Let us remain as we are. For my part, I am content with your favours and will never ask you for anything more. But I am not content, said the little marquise. I can see clearly that there is something missing in our happiness, and perhaps we will find it when you belong to me entirely, and I to you. It would not be right, replied the marquis, for you to throw in your lot with a younger son who has spent the bulk of his fortune and whom you still know only by appearances, which are often deceptive.

But that’s just what I love about it, she interrupted. I’m so happy that I have enough money for us both, and to have the chance of showing you that I love you and you alone.

They had reached this point when the Marquise de Banneville interrupted them. She had been closeted with her agents, and thought she would refresh herself with some lively young company, but she found them in a deeply serious mood. The marquis had been greatly put out by the little marquise’s proposal. Ostensibly it was very much to his advantage, but he had secret objections to it, which he considered insurmountable. The little marquise, for her part, was a little annoyed at having taken such a bold step in vain, but she soon recovered, deciding that the marquis had refused out of respect for her – or that he wished to prove the depth of his feelings for her. This thought made her decide to speak to her mother about it, and she did so the following day.

No one was ever more astonished than the Marquise de Banneville when her daughter spoke to her of marriage. She was sixteen and no longer a child. Her eyes had not been opened to her situation, and her mother hoped they never would be. She was careful not to agree to the match, but to reveal the truth would have been a painful solution both for her daughter and the marquis. She resolved to do so only as a last resort. Meanwhile she would prevent, or at least postpone, the marriage. The marquis was in agreement with her on this, but the little marquise – passionate creature that she was – begged, entreated, wept, used every means to persuade her mother. She never doubted her lover, since he did not dare oppose her with the same firmness. Finally she pushed her mother to the point where she said these words to her: My dear child, you leave me no choice: against my better judgement I must reveal to you something that I would have given my life to conceal from you. I loved your poor father and when I lost him so tragically, in dread of your meeting the same fate, I prayed with all my heart for a daughter. I was not so fortunate: I gave birth to a son and I have brought him up as a daughter. His sweetness, his inclinations, his beauty, all assisted my plan. I have a son and the whole world believes I have a daughter. Ah, madame! cried the little marquise, is it possible that I …? Yes, my child, said her mother embracing her, you are a boy. I can see how painful this news must be for you. Habit has given you a different nature. You are used to a life very different from the one you might have led. I wanted you to be happy and would never have revealed the sad truth to you if your obstinacy over the marquis had not forced me to. You see now what you were about to do? How, but for me, you would have exposed yourself to public ridicule?

The little marquise did not answer. Instead she merely wept and in vain her mother said to her: But my child, go on living as you were. Be the beautiful little marquise still – loved, adored by all who see her. Love your beautiful marquis if you like, but do not think of marrying him. Alas! cried the little marquise through her tears, he has asked for nothing more. He flies into a rage when I mention marriage. Ah! Could it be that he knows my secret? If I thought that, dear mother, I would go and hide myself in the furthest corner of the earth. Could he know it? In floods of tears now, she added: Alas, poor little marquise, what will you do? Will you dare show your face again and act the beauty? But what have you said? What have you done? What name can one give the favours you have granted the marquis? Blush! Blush, unhappy girl! Ah, nature you are blind: why did you not warn me of my duty? Alas! I acted in good faith, but now I see the truth and I must behave quite differently in future. I must not think about the man I love – I must do what is right.

She was uttering these words with determination when it was announced that the marquis was at the door of the antechamber. He entered with a happy air and was amazed to see both mother and daughter with lowered eyes and in tears. The mother did not wait for him to speak but rose and went to her room. He took courage and said: What’s the matter, beautiful marquise? If something is distressing you, won’t you share it with your friends? What? You won’t even look at me! Am I the cause of this weeping? Am I to blame without knowing it?

The little marquise dissolved in tears. No! No! she cried. No! That could never be, and if it were so I would not feel as I do. Nature is wise and there is a reason for everything she does.

The marquis had no idea what all this meant. He was asking for an explanation when the marquise, who had recovered a little, left her room and came to her daughter’s aid. Look at her, she said to the marquis. As you see, she is quite beside herself. I am to blame. I tried to stop her but she would have her fortune told, and they said she would never marry the man she loved. That has upset her, Monsieur le Marquis, and you know why.

For my part, madame, he replied, I am not at all upset. Let her remain always as she is. I ask only to see her. I shall be more than happy if she will consider me her best friend.

With this the conversation ended. Emotions had been stirred, and would take time to settle. But they settled so completely that after eight days there was no sign of any upheaval. The marquis’s presence, his charm, his caresses, obliterated from the little marquise’s mind everything her mother had told her. She no longer believed any of it, or rather did not wish to believe. Pleasure triumphed over reflection. She lived as she had done before with her lover and felt her passion increase with such violence that thoughts of a lasting union returned to torment her. Yes, she said to herself, he cannot go back on his word now. He will never desert me. She had resolved to speak of it again, when her mother fell ill. Her illness was so grave that after three days all hope of a cure was abandoned. She made her will and sent for her brother, the councillor, whom she appointed the little marquise’s guardian. He was her uncle and her heir, since all the property came from the mother. She confided to him the truth about her daughter’s birth, begging him to take it seriously and to let her lead a life of innocent pleasure that would harm no one and which, since it precluded her marrying, would guarantee his children a rich inheritance.

The good councillor was delighted at this news and saw his sister die without shedding a tear. The income of thirty thousand francs that she left the little marquise seemed certain to pass to his children, and he had only to encourage his niece’s infatuation for the marquis. He did so with great success, telling her that he would be like a father to her and had no wish to be her guardian except in name.

This sympathetic behaviour consoled the little marquise somewhat – and she was certainly distraught – but the sight of her beloved marquis consoled her even more. She saw that she was absolute mistress of her fate, and her sole aim was to share it with the man she loved. Six months of official mourning passed, after which pleasures of all kinds once again filled her life. She went often to balls, the theatre, the opera, and always in the same company. The marquis never left her side and all her other suitors, seeing that it was a settled affair, had withdrawn. They lived happily and would perhaps have thought of nothing else, if malicious tongues could have left them in peace. Everywhere, people were saying that, while the little marquise was beautiful, since her mother’s death she had lost all sense of decorum: she was seen everywhere with the marquis; he was practically living in her house; he dined there every day and never left before midnight. Her best friends found grounds for censure in this: they sent her anonymous letters and warned her uncle, who spoke to her about it. Finally, things went so far that the little marquise went back to her first idea and decided to marry the marquis. She put this to him forcefully; he resisted likewise, only agreeing on condition that the marriage would be a purely public affair, and that they would live together like brother and sister. This, he said, was how they must always love one another. The little marquise readily agreed. She often remembered what her mother had told her. She spoke of it to her uncle, who began by outlining all the pitfalls of marriage and ended by giving his consent. He saw that, by this means, the income of thirty thousand francs was sure to pass to his family. There was no danger of his niece having children by the Marquis de Bercour whereas, if she did not marry him, her notion that she was a girl might change with time and with her beauty, which was sure to fade. So a wedding day was fixed on, bridal clothes made and the ceremony held at the good uncle’s house. (As guardian he undertook to give the wedding feast.)

The little marquise had never looked as beautiful as she did that day. She wore a dress of black velours completely covered in gems, pink ribbons in her hair and diamond pendants in her ears. The Comtesse d’Alettef, who would always love her, went with her to the church, where the marquis was waiting. He wore a black velours cloak decked with gold braid, his hair was in curls, his face powdered, there were diamond pendants in his ears and beauty spots on his face. In short, he was adorned in such a way that his best friends could not excuse such vanity. The couple were united for ever and everyone showered them with blessings. The banquet was magnificent, the king’s music and the violons were there. At last the hour came and relatives and friends put the couple together in a nuptial bed and embraced them, the men laughing, a few good old aunts weeping.

It was then that the little marquise was astonished to find how cold and insensitive her lover was. He stayed at one end of the bed, sighing and weeping. She approached him tentatively. He did not seem to notice her. Finally, no longer able to endure so painful a state of affairs, she said: What have I done to you, marquis? Don’t you love me any more? Answer me or I shall die, and it will be your fault.

Alas, madame, said the marquis, didn’t I tell you? We were living together happily – you loved me – and now you will hate me. I have deceived you. Come here and see.

So saying he took her hand and placed it on the most beautiful bosom in the world. You see, he said, dissolving in tears, you see I am useless to you: I am a woman like you.

Who could describe here the little marquise’s surprise and delight? At this moment she had no doubt that she was a boy and, throwing herself into the arms of her beloved marquis, she gave him the same surprise, the same delight. They soon made their peace, wondered at their fate – a fate that had brought matters on to such a happy conclusion – and exchanged a thousand vows of undying love.

As for me, said the little marquise, I am too used to being a girl, and I want to remain one all my life. How could I bring myself to wear a man’s hat?

And I, said the marquis, have used a sword more than once without disgracing myself. I’ll tell you about my adventures some day. Let’s continue as we are, then. Beautiful marquise, enjoy all the pleasures of your sex, and I shall enjoy all the freedom of mine.

The day after the wedding they received the usual compliments and, eight days later, left for the provinces, where they still live in one of their châteaux. The uncle should visit them there: he would find, to his surprise, that a beautiful child has resulted from their marriage – one to put paid to his hopes of a rich inheritance.

#Charles Perrault #François-Timoléon De Choisy #genderqueer folktales #trans representation #laura retells #except not really it's more like laura copy pastes this time

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jamespotterthefirst · 4 years ago

Text

Five Birthdays (Ethan x f!MC)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 2.4K Warning: Implied adult situations Premise: Ethan’s birthdays with her in the next five years.

Author’s Note: A birthday fic that I wrote a while ago and wanted to post on my birthday. Dedicated to @perriewinklenerdie , @scorpiochick8 , and all the beautiful Scorpios out there. November babies, this is for you too! Thank you @aestheticartsx for reading through this mess! Hope you like it.

Year One

A soft knock pulled Ethan away from his latest patient chart. Interruptions were always a source of irritation but tonight he almost welcomed it. His body ached with exhaustion and his eyelids were heavy after the sixteen hour day.

The door opened to reveal Dr. Allende, looking uncharacteristically bashful as she entered, hands behind her back.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, his attention falling quickly to the chart. This he only did as an excuse to glance away because she was biting her bottom lip the way she did when nervous. It was a quirk that always drove him to distraction.

She said nothing as she approached, and Ethan could see in his peripheral that she did so cautiously. After a small pause, she set a tall to-go cup of coffee on the desk in front of him, successfully getting his attention.

“I brought you coffee,” she said by way of explanation. She opened her mouth to say more, but closed it immediately, looking uncharacteristically flustered and even a little anxious. She tried again, “The Vienna. From the coffee house you took me to a few weeks ago.”

Ethan removed his spectacles, staring at the cup. “I can see that. Though I commend you on the choice, I am still uncertain why you went through the trouble.”

The pretty intern flushed, looking prettier still, much to Ethan's frustration.

“I didn't know what else you liked. And I wanted to get you something.”

Ethan's confusion lasted only a second before realization sunk in. His stomach dropped and he all but groaned. For some reason, this seemed to ease some of her tension. She even looked a tad bit amused.

“Who told you?”

“Dr. Banerji,” she responded, not surprising Ethan in the least. “He let it slip while I was drawing blood for that full work up you ordered.”

Ethan huffed, sincerely doubting the old man had let the detail slip accidentally.

“Happy birthday,” she added and this time, the amusement was undeniable in her voice.

“You can't tell anyone,” he implored, feeling his face grow hotter by the second. He shuddered to think of the fuss people in the hospital would make if they knew, particularly the nursing staff. “I've worked too hard these past years to keep that a secret. Trust me, it's not an easy feat when Marlene is in charge of the birthday board.”

Lilac laughed, the sound so pleasant he almost forgot to be mortified. “Imagine the parties they'd throw in your honor, Dr. Ramsey. I don't think I can rob everyone of such a good time.”

“Lilac.”

More laughter. “I won't tell a soul,” she said solemnly. Ethan was still unconvinced and she rolled her eyes. “Just drink your coffee, Ron Swanson.”

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Year Two

Lilac glanced around with interest, pressing her clipboard tightly against her chest. Ethan almost snorted at her feigned attempt to seem invested. There was nothing particularly interesting about the supply closet they both occupied.

“Interesting choice, Doctor,” she commented anyway, sounding thoroughly amused.

“I didn't think you'd mind meeting here,” he returned, feeling emboldened enough to flirt with the pretty young resident before him. He had already pulled her into a supply closet with the enthusiasm of an intern. Ethan might as well enjoy the full thrill of breaking the rules. “If you have moral qualms, however, just say the word and we can both go back to work.”

Lilac proved she had no complaints by closing the already small space between them and kissing him fully. The clipboard clattered to the floor as her hands slid up his shoulders and clung around his neck. Ethan responded in kind, his hands settling on the dip of her waist, his lips eagerly moving against hers.

She hissed a little as their kiss went from passionate to desperate, hands, lips, and teeth tugging at one another. These days, it only took a matter of seconds to reach that level, both growing needier by the day.

“I didn't take you for the type to make out in a supply closet,” she said breathlessly when they finally pulled apart.

“Honestly? The idea seemed juvenile until I started making out with you.” He gave her a half smile that made her eyes linger on his lips. “I've been thinking of nothing else ever since we broke into Mass Kenmore.”

Ever since that event, he'd had several detailed fantasies that included Lilac in a supply closet with him, but he decided not to disclose them as the majority were irrefutably not safe for work. Then again, the way she pressed her body flush against his, her rosy lips trailing kisses along his jaw, was anything but appropriate for the workplace.

“Whatever the birthday boy wants, the birthday boy gets.”

Ethan involuntarily shuddered at the word birthday, which in turn made her pull away in laughter.

“No one is going to hear us here. You picked the supply closet in a construction zone that no one is allowed to be in.”

She was taunting him but Ethan didn't mind. If anything, he concluded that two could play at the game. With a devilish, lopsided smile that caught her attention again he said in a dangerous, low whisper, “I just thought you'd want to scream my name without the whole hospital hearing you.”

The surprised look that turned lustful in seconds sent a thrill of satisfaction through Ethan. He claimed her lips again without restraint, successfully opening the buttons of her blouse before him. There was no time to admire the black lace that left little to the imagination, when his pager demanded his attention.

He groaned but fixed his clothes and hair at once. When he was presentable once again, Ethan paused to give her one last, longing look. A familiar, mournful feeling settled in his stomach as another clandestine encounter came to an end.

Her responding smile was understanding, as though she knew exactly what he was thinking. At this point, he was certain that she did.

“Happy birthday,” she murmured, lifting herself to press a sweet, tender kiss to his cheek.

Not for the first time, he wished for nothing more than to be able to kiss her whenever, however he wanted, no matter who saw.

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Year Three

Ethan pressed her against the wall, escalating their usual goodbye kiss after a long day at the hospital. Though a little surprised at first, Lilac quickly recovered and kissed him back just as eagerly. When they broke the kiss for breath, she raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?”

Ethan shrugged, the pad of his thumb trailing the faint freckles on her cheeks. The truth was now that he could finally kiss her without needing a reason to and without caring who was around, he couldn't seem to stop.

In this particular instance, it was Naveen who entered the office, clearing his throat meaningfully. They didn't spring apart from one another as they used to, pretending (rather poorly) that they were only colleagues. Instead, they remained in each other's arms as they looked at the Chief. The older man did not seem to mind one bit for he watched them with a warm, proud smile.

“Ready for our meeting with the Board, Ethan?”

“No.”

Naveen chuckled good-naturedly. “It'll be a short one. I'll make sure of it lest Dr. Allende hates me for making her finance work late on his birthday.”

It did not go unnoticed by everyone that Ethan didn't exactly have a visceral reaction to the word, unlike the past years. Naveen shot him a fatherly smile and Lilac pressed a loving, chaste kiss on his cheek.

“I'll wait for you at home.” She waited until the Chief was out of the room to whisper in Ethan's ear, “I have a surprise for you.”

The heady promise stole his attention for the rest of the evening, which was a good thing because the meeting was as useless as he had expected. An hour and a half later, he discovered he was right in rushing home to Lilac.

She was waiting for him in the living, perched on the backrest of the love seat and clad in the shortest silk robe he had ever seen. Her shapely legs were exposed for his viewing pleasure, save for the sheer, black stockings ending with lace at her thighs. The echo of her previous promise adorned everything from her coy smile to the scandalous patch of lace peeking from the neckline of her robe.

“Took you long enough,” she teased in a breathy sort of voice that had an instant effect on him.

She hopped off the sofa, walking toward the dining room, hips swaying with each step. On any regular day, the sight would have been enough inspiration to tease her until she begged him to take her on any given surface of their apartment. In her current attire, he wished to pin her against the wall with primal urgency in ten seconds or less.

“I ordered us food from—”

In one quick stride, he spun her around, his mouth devouring hers in a scorching kiss. Lilac matched his passion, her silk-clad body melting deliciously against his, her arms locking around his neck.

“Happy birthday,” she moaned as he ran his tongue down her neck and into the exposed valley of her breasts.

Ethan had never been happier.

Not only because he was currently peeling the flimsy robe off with his teeth, revealing a lacy black number underneath, but also because of the three words that left her lips, as natural and wondrous as the beautiful sunset through the window.

“I love you.”

He could never tire of hearing them.

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Year Four

Ethan awoke to soft, lazy kisses and a curtain of dark hair enveloping them both. When she straightened with a tired smile, he missed the floral scent of her shampoo at once. He groaned in protest and pulled her body against his for another quick kiss, cutting the small shriek of surprise short.

“Good morning,” he greeted between slow, delicious sips of her mouth.

“Good morning indeed,” she sighed in return. At last, when they fully pulled apart, she picked up a tray from the nightstand and set it on his lap. “Happy birthday! I made you pancakes. ”

He took in the pretty array before him, complete with coffee and a small vase of red carnations. Ethan flashed her a grateful grin, not missing the dark circles under her eyes or the exhausted sigh that escaped her as her head sank into the pillows.

“Is that what was burning earlier?”

Lilac laughed dryly, eyes shut. “Laugh all you want, Ramsey, but at least I can actually make them.”

“Touché.”

He savored her offerings in silence, admiring how her cooking had improved dramatically in her years with him. Lilac continued to rest against the pillows, looking so blissful, he couldn't help but smile. Within minutes, her muscles relaxed and her breathing became more even as she drifted into sleep.

The crackle of the speaker on their bedside startled her awake. If that hadn't done it, then the wailing that soon followed would have done it. “He's awake,” she mumbled, already moving to sit up.

Ethan placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, easing her back into the pillows. “I'll go.”

His son's crying subsided as soon as Ethan scooped him up and swayed him gently. He grinned down at his three-month-old, unable to contain the warm pride expanding in his chest.

“Good morning. You're up early after keeping us up for most of the night,” he murmured, kissing his tiny forehead. Ethan would give up all his hours of sleep if it meant holding his perfect son in his arms.

By the time they returned to the bedroom, Lilac was sound asleep, face buried unceremoniously in the pillows. Ethan smiled fondly at his wife, making a mental note to lovingly tease her about the snoring later. Quietly, he settled in bed next to her, carefully setting Jonah facedown on his chest.

Lilac mumbled something incomprehensible, sleepily burrowing into his arm. Jonah, meanwhile, drifted off into an easy sleep against his father's chest. Ethan smiled broadly, the gesture coming much more naturally than in past years, as he enjoyed a quiet morning with his perfect little family.

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Year Five

“Happy birthday!” his wife exclaimed. Ethan wasn't sure what his toddler son had shrieked out. All he knew was that he matched his mother's enthusiasm as they presented the small, thickly frosted cake on the counter.

Ethan raised his brows at the creation before him. “You two made this just for me?”

Lilac beamed. “Yep, just Jonah and I.”

The slight pitch in her voice made Ethan chuckle. “I find that hard to believe. One of you barely has the fine motor skills needed to operate in a kitchen.”

“Cachen!” Jonah exclaimed, claiming his father's attention. Ethan bent down and kissed the top of his head.

“And the other is a one year old toddler,” Ethan finished, earning him an adorable glare from his wife.

“You think you're so funny, Ramsey.”

“I know I am, Allende.”

“That’s Allende-Ramsey to you.” Without warning, she scooped up a dollop of frosting and smeared it on Ethan's mouth.

Unfazed, Ethan licked off the excess before pulling her into a kiss. Lilac laughed against his sugar coated lips while Jonah shrieked with happiness, forcing them to pull apart.

“Either way, thank you for making this for me,” he said, gesturing toward the now marred cake.

“Antsina!”

Ethan glanced at his son curiously. “What is he saying?”

Lilac, meanwhile, shook her head comically at their son.

“Ant sina!” the baby repeated, his short arms outstretched towards the cake.

“Aunt Sienna?” Ethan guessed with a small laugh, looking at his wife. “Sienna helped you with this, didn’t she?”

Lilac seemed abashed, looking as though she had half a mind to deny it. Her shoulders dropped in defeat, however, and with a small laugh she said, “I didn’t think my baby would give me away, but yes.” At her husband’s smug smile, she added, “But Jonah and I helped! Jonah tasted the frosting and I helped with the batter.”

Her smile turned sheepish as she thought of something and added, “Actually, your daughter may have helped with that too. This makes for the perfect bowl stand.” Her hands lovingly caressed her very pregnant belly.

Ethan leaned in to kiss it and Jonah, always mimicking his father, leaned in to do the same. Both parents laughed, kissing their son in turn.

“Make a wish,” Lilac instructed as she lit the candles.

A knot formed in his throat as Ethan considered there was no need for that. In the past five years, he had been fortunate enough to find everything he could ever want.

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Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! I love you all <3

Also, I have hit a major writer’s block when concerning Part 2 of the Miami chapter in the Picta series. Slowly but surely, I am getting there. Thank you for being so patient!

Finally, if you asked me to add you to the tag list and I haven’t, please message me. I am so disorganized and forgetful. I’m so sorry!

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tags: @openheart12 , @takeharryandgo , @trappedinfanfiction, @aestheticartsx, @aworldoffandoms, @paulfwesley, @myusualnerdyself, @rookie-ramsey, @ohchoices, @colossalpainintheass, @enmchoices, @i-bloody-love-drake-walker, @choicesfanaf, @openheartthot, @octobereighth, @nazarihoe, @utterlyinevitable, @kites-in-our-skies, @maurine07, @schnitzelbutterfingers, @doilooklikeiknow, @snesdudes, @kingliam2019, @perriewinklenerdie, @cinnamonspongecake, @choicesstan1, @queencarb, @ethxnrxmsey, @missmiimiie, @jens-diamondchoices, @adamsdumortain, @apphia12, @kalogh, @lucy-268, @binny1985, @queenbirbs, @honeyandsunfl0wers, @newcolonies, @lilyvalentine, @rigatonireid, @interobanginyourmom, @parkerattano, @custaroonie, @nikki-2406, @lilypills, @chasingrobbie, @nooruleman, @lonely-mxxnlight, @ruinedbypixels, @shadynaturehilariouscookie, @tsrookie, @mvalentine, @professorkingslay, @drakewalkerfantasy, @casey-v, @helloblueeyedcat, @mysticaurathings, @blossomanarchy, @thegreentwin, @togetherwearerapture, @rookieoh, @ramseysno1rookie, @rookiemarsswiftie, @natashajaniphil, @mysticalgalaxysstuff, @hatescapsicum, @choices-lurker, @kiara-36, @junehiratas, @danijimenezv, @macy-ray85, @adrex04, @canigetanawwjunk, @sanchita012, @overwhelminglyaquarius , @scorpiochick8, @skylarklyon, @starrystarrytrouble, @mercury84choices, @drariellevalentine, @ethanrcmsey, @lion-ess24, @aarisa-frost, @kaavyaethanramsey , @udishaman, @a-crepusculo, @quacksonlover,

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #playchoices #my writing #ethan ramsey fanfiction #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfiction

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theangryjikooker · 3 years ago

Note

Hello!

I have a question and I swear it's not sarcastic in any way, I'm really interested in your perspective so I'm asking sincerely.

What makes you have absolute faith in OT7 friendship but not in jikook?

Personally I think there's no point in liking BTS if we don't believe what they tell us, so if they say they're the best of friends then I decided to trust them, but this OT7 thing is also so important to BTS as a group that I don't see them ever say the opposite.

Jikook on the other hand have told us nothing, obviously about any possible romantic entanglement (which I don't believe is actually true even though I would love it to be, because they're cute), but they never really talked about having a closer bond with each other than they have with the others (I didn't say more important, I said closer because, well they've shared enough of their habits with us for it to be obvious) so I get why you don't treat it as an absolute truth.

I think I partially just answered my own question. But I'm still curious, especially because you stress a lot the fact that we don't actually truly know them (I agree), so shouldn't you also not be 100% sure about OT7?

I hope I don't sound rude, english is not my first langage so I might be clumsy with my words.

Bye!

Hi, anon! Your English is wonderful, not to worry. I don't think your ask is rude at all either, and it's a good question.

OT7 has consistently talked about their connection and even what they anticipate for the future when they have kids or pursue separate endeavors, but the common narrative among them is that they’re all very close. They’re also open about having conflicts and resolving them together, which has been proven to strengthen bonds. We also get to witness their natural chemistry and how they treat one another in things like Run BTS or BV–anywhere where they’re in a more natural environment–where it’s very easy to see that what they claim to think about one another is true.

So it’s very much a combination of show and tell. Naysayers can argue that it’s probably all for show, but people who’ve grown up with or are used to cameras following them will inevitably let their guard down. And if not that, people talk–and BTS have consistently shown themselves and to others how genuine they are as individuals and what they’re like as a unit.

The reason why I don’t hold as firm a sentiment in Jikook is because, as you mentioned, it’s nothing they’ve clearly stated. While there are some actions and things said specific to Jikook, a lot of the other things that Jikook does can similarly be seen with Jungkook/Jimin interacting with other members. The difference there is totally reliant on individual interpretation.

Interpretation here is key.

OT7 are close. The boys have essentially screamed this from the rooftops and have proven over and over that nothing can come between them. Ships are in more of a grey area because none of the boys have irrefutably disclosed one pair to be more real. While many might not think so, I do think a verbal acknowledgement is necessary because they’re all so close (i.e., I view it as a necessity to have a clearly distinguished dynamic, which I personally require as a shipper, but this expectation varies from person to person).

So as a mere fan, who doesn’t know the boys personally, I err on the side of caution and prefer to have confirmation beyond reasonable doubt before I go, “Yes, they’re absolutely dating.” I think it’s fair for me to stick to the middle of the Jikook debate at this point because while I may not fully be on board with their supporters, I’m not disputing Jikook’s chemistry either. This is precisely what’s fun about shipping (for me)–because there’s potential.

#TAJ asks #curious anon #bts #ot7 #jikook #kookmin #bts shipping

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cheri-translates · 4 years ago

Text

Headcanon - when you’re feeling sensitive

This work, 敏感时刻, was originally written by 君兮耶君兮 on Weibo, and she has given me permission to translate it

The original work is split into two parts but angst isn’t good for digestion so I merged them (¯▿¯)

[ VICTOR ]

It isn’t the first time you’ve seen such things.

Ever since your relationship with Victor was disclosed to the public, negative comments on the Internet became a staple to your daily life.

They were all in unison, stating that you weren’t good enough for Victor.

Victor - the young and promising CEO of Loveland Financial Group, the ideal man for innumerable women.

But he chose to be with a girl like you.

You - a producer from a small, unknown company.

Because of you, the dreams of countless women were shattered.

Although Victor has already been doing what he can, such as dedicating a small team to control the harsh comments levelled against you, it’s natural that you’d feel stung by such comments.

Am I really not suitable for Victor?

Why is Victor even with a girl like you?

“I’m back.”

Victor’s voice disrupts your train of thought.

You shake the lingering thoughts out of your head, then plaster a smile on your face to greet him.

“Welcome home.”

However, the moment your eyes flit to Victor’s shirt, your smile freezes in place.

There’s an obvious lipstick mark on it.

It’d be a lie to say that you aren’t upset.

Victor notices the slight change in your expression, immediately taking a step closer to you.

“What’s wrong?”

You push Victor’s outstretched hand away, then brush past him.

“Nothing. I’m going over to Kiki’s house for a couple of days.”

Perhaps what they said wasn’t wrong, and you were not worthy to be with him.

Perhaps you never should have fallen for him.

It’s rare for you to look this dispirited. Immediately sensing that you’re out of sorts, he chases after you, embracing you in his arms.

“What’s wrong? Did things not go smoothly at work?”

He pauses before adding, “If it’s because of comments on the Internet, the legal team in LFG will handle them.

You shake your head, wriggling out of his grip weakly. “Those things are fine.”

Victor loosens his grip, but maintains his posture of hugging you, not letting you go completely.

“You didn’t get the limited-edition lipstick you wanted?”

The moment he brings up the word ‘lipstick’, the floodgates open.

“Let go of me! Since I’m not the only one who leaves lipstick marks on you, go look for other women!”

Victor knits his brows in response to the sudden accusation. “What are you talking about?”

You bite your lip, pointing at the mark on his shirt.

He lowers his head, eyes following your finger. When he releases a sigh, your heart grows several degrees colder. “So it’s because of this?”

Victor retrieves his phone from his pocket, then taps on a video in his photo gallery, showing it to you:

“Dummy, your lipstick got onto my shirt.”

“I did it on purpose! Victor, I want to tell the entire world that you’re my man, so you’re not allowed to wash it off!”

It’s a video of the last time you got drunk. The HD camera captured the scene clearly - the exact same shirt, the exact same location, the exact same lip mark.

He pokes your cheek.

“A certain someone forgot that she got her lipstick on me. And now she’s accusing me of being unfaithful?”

“I was wrong,” you mutter softly.

He sighs, taking you into his arms again. “Are you still leaving?”

You sniff, burying your head into his chest.

“I’m not leaving. Victor, I’m not leaving in this lifetime.”

[ GAVIN ]

It isn’t the first time you’ve seen the “belle of the police station”.

You always seem to bump into her whenever you’re on dates with Gavin.

Every single time she sees the two of you, she’d wear a surprised expression, as though it’s the first time such a “coincidence” has happened.

You never really suspected that there was anything going on between the both of them.

But Gavin has been gone for far too long on this mission. You haven’t seen him in a month, and haven’t received any calls from him.

Gripping your phone, you’re filled with worry, anxiety, and fear. You have a bad feeling about this whole situation, but decide to try calling him one more time.

Unexpectedly, Gavin picks up.

“Gavin! How are you doing?”

“I’m now...”

“Gav! I’m here!”

A woman’s shrill voice can be distinctly heard at the other end of the line, and you find yourself no longer registering what Gavin is saying.

It’s the belle of the police station.

And everything clicks.

You understand why Gavin hasn’t contacted you even after such a long time.

“Gav~ Come over and play!”

“It’s all right, Gavin. You’re busy.”

You hang up.

A wave of disappointment overwhelms you, and you huddle into a ball before letting the floodgates open.

It’s really upsetting. It’s really, really upsetting.

You never expected Gavin to do such a thing.

You never expected that he would ever leave you.

You thought loving a person meant loving them for an entire lifetime.

But you forgot that life consists of countless variables.

Perhaps you and Gavin were never meant to walk down the same path.

Perhaps the both of you were simply meant to meet for a moment, love for an instant, then continue down separate paths.

Gavin stands in the STF command room, his brows furrowed as he stares at the phone, the officer in front of him silent.

Eli looks at the belle of the police station sternly. “Xiao Liu, what’s the meaning of this? Didn’t you know the Commander was in a call with his wife?”

Xiao Lu shrugs. “Sis-in-law isn’t so petty, right? If it were me, I would definitely not keep Gavin on such a tight leash.”

"Shut up.”

It’s rare for Gavin to exude the dignified air of a Commander in front of his subordinates.

“Intern officer Xiao Liu. Given your ranking, it’s inappropriate to address me by name.” While speaking, he rifles through a stack of papers on the table, retrieving a particular report.

Without a moment of hesitation, he writes a “fail” on her assessment results. Gavin slams the completed report on the table, glowering at her.

“Disrespecting your superior, slow-moving, not heeding orders - I can come to a conclusion right now. You’re not suited to be a part of STF. Return to where you came from.”

With tears in her eyes, Xiao Lu strides out of STF.

When Gavin returns home, his girl behaves the same way as always whenever she feels hurt - cocooning herself in blankets, as though she doesn’t have a sense of security at all. Seeing you like this, Gavin feels a tightening in his chest.

He gently peels open your protective cover.

“Hey, I’m back.”

As expected, your eyes are red and swollen.

You shove him away violently, reminiscent of an injured animal - weak, yet stubborn.

Gavin draws you into his arms unyieldingly, not giving you a chance to escape. Distressed, he plants feather-like kisses on your swollen eyes.

“I did not.”

These three words are simple and plain, but sufficient to convince.

You understand what he means, but you can’t help being unreasonable. “She’s always around. This isn’t the first time.”

“I’ve never cared about her whereabouts. If she didn’t participate in this mission as an intern, I wouldn’t even remember what she looks like.”

Gavin is honest, and he states undebatable truths.

You let out a “hmph.”

“She even called you ‘Gav’!”

“I told her to return to where she came from.” Gavin holds you even more tightly, lowering his head to the crook of your neck so he can drink in his favourite scent.

"You’re being so fierce towards me even though we’ve been apart for so long. Should I do something to make up for it?”

[ LUCIEN ]

You wonder if you should just run away right now.

Standing at the door of Lucien’s office, you watch as a girl leans incredibly close to him.

From this angle, there’s virtually no difference from them kissing.

Words spill from the girl’s parted lips.

“Lulu, you like me too, don’t you?”

So the pet name wasn’t exclusively used by you.

When did Lucien start losing interest in you?

It makes sense though. You can’t match up to anyone in Lucien’s Research Centre. Everyone here is a scientist who has high intellect and stellar academic qualifications.

And you? You’re just a producer from a small company.

It’s an almost laughable notion that Lucien would like you.

“Lulu, be with me, okay?”

That girl’s voice carries with it the shyness of one who is confessing her love for the first time. You watch as Lucien stands up from his chair, preparing to respond.

“You’re a good woman.”

“Lulu, I just knew you’d agree!”

You can’t bear to listen for even a second longer.

And you start regretting picking up the phone call.

Maybe if you weren’t so curious, you wouldn’t have to witness this, and you could pretend that nothing happened today,

But you came, and you saw what happened.

You can’t tell yourself that nothing did.

Perhaps you aren’t the best partner for Lucien.

Perhaps you aren’t his only butterfly.

Eyes wet with tears, you can barely make out the figures of Lucien or the girl through your blurry vision.

You don’t dare to stay behind and listen to Lucien’s answer, afraid to hear an agreement from his lips. But your legs seem to be filled with lead, forcing you to fully appreciate the scene as it unfolds before you.

Lucien takes a step back to put some distance between himself and the girl. His voice is even more firm than usual.

“You’re a very good woman, but it doesn’t mean that I’ve agreed, nor does it mean that I like you.”

You stop breathing.

“First, I need to correct the way you address me. Given your position, you should be calling me ‘Professor Lucien’.” His clear voice carries with it irrefutable authority.

“Also, I already have a family, and I love my wife very much.” Lucien pauses, a look of longing surfacing on his face. “Just like how the painter only has eyes for the butterfly, she is the only colour in my eyes.

He vaguely notices that the girl before him is tearing up. “To me, you’re no different from the other students. Now, please leave my office.”

He walks to the door and pulls it open. Unable to hide in time, he spots you. Although he’s mildly stunned, he quickly recovers, voice gentle.

“Why are you here?”

“I received a call.”

Considering the tacit understanding between the both of you, Lucien guesses what happened. He directs a stern gaze towards the student in the room, and speaks mercilessly. “Maybe I should have a discussion with the Dean regarding whether a particular student should be allowed to stay.”

He takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. Leading you into the office, he lets you sit on his chair, then faces the student.

“Get out of my sight immediately.”

[ KIRO ]

How did things become like this?

You’re lost in thought, staring at the screen which displays a picture of Kiro at a celebrity dance party.

The funny thing is, the comments left are unanimously supportive.

“A talented man and a beautiful woman - they’re just so compatible!”

What about you? What can you do as Kiro’s girlfriend?

Returning to your own social media page, you’re met with unanimous scathing, humiliating remarks.

Some assert that you snagged Kiro simply because of luck.

Some commented that your subpar looks don’t make you a good match for Kiro.

A small group of fans support your relationship with him.

To be honest, these things didn’t bother you. What you cared about was Kiro.

As long as he loves you, nothing else matters.

But now, it seems like things are going the way you expected them to.

Kiro told you that he was out of the country to film for a movie. Yet, he has been photographed at a celebrity dance party, sparking rumours as a result.

Marketing immediately used this chance to pair the two celebrities together, completely disregarding the existence of you, Kiro’s girlfriend.

It makes sense though. As a normal citizen, what kind of hot news can you stir?

Why should you be a party to this mismatched love?

Perhaps he’s suited for someone better.

Perhaps being with him is simply an incredibly beautiful dream.

There will inevitably come a day when one has to wake up from a dream.

It’s time for you to wake up.

The television is off, and your electronic devices are placed as far away from you as possible. The door to the house is locked, and it’s even bolted with an anti-theft chain that you’ve never used before. All the photo frames featuring the two of you are placed face-down.

You don’t want to hear about anything related to Kiro. All you want is to live in a tiny, empty world belonging only to you.

After calling you for the eighth time only to be notified that your phone has been turned off, Kiro has a bad feeling in his gut.

Savin thrusts a laptop into Kiro’s lap. “Look at what’s trending on the Internet.”

Puzzled, Kiro stares at the screen. The more he scrolls through the pages, the more his eyes darken, and his golden hair faintly turns a shade paler.

“Savin, arrange for a press conference immediately!” Right now!” Kiro whips out his phone, calling you once more. “Miss Chips, please pick up.”

“I’m sorry, the person you are calling is currently unavailable...” The cold, mechanical female voice drones on.

Kiro takes out his notebook laptop, checking the surveillance feed of the house. He sees that you’re seated on the bed, staring out the windows in a trance. Fingers flying across the keyboard, he hacks into the control system, connecting his webcam to the television.

In an instant, his frantic face appears on the television screen.

The sudden lighting up of the television gives you a fright. Seeing Kiro’s face, you feel the burning sensation in your eyes returning.

Miss Chips, don’t believe the fake information on the Internet. I...”

“Kiro, the press conference is ready!”

Savin’s work efficiency is as stellar as always.

“I’ll have to trouble you to hold this laptop.” He turns towards the screen again. “Miss Chips, watch this. Don’t leave, and don’t be upset. I’ll be back soon”

“Aside from collaboration for work purposes, I have absolutely no personal relations with her. As for the false rumours on the Internet, my legal team will officially take action, and will also protect my fiancé’s reputation.”

Fiancé? He hasn’t even proposed.

“Also, in front of everyone on the Internet, I wish to propose to my Miss Chips.” Kiro walks in front of the press conference table, taking out a ring he has prepared since a long time ago.

He kneels down on one knee in front of the laptop Savin is holding.

“Miss Chips, will you marry me?”

[Cheri’s intrusive thought: I’m imagining how everyone at the press conference would be seeing this LOL]

[ SHAW ]

Unsurprisingly, Shaw’s in Live House.

He hasn’t contacted you for a whole week.

So you’ve been camping in Live House for a week.

It’s been an interesting few days, and you’ve noticed the same girl appearing at his side.

She’s very beautiful, and exudes a certain maturity. As compared to her, you’re clearly inferior.

So why did Shaw pick you instead of her?

Or rather - were you simply a second choice, and will soon be replaced since the true owner of his heart has returned?

The thoughts in your heart spiral into increasingly dangerous waters.

But the more you think about it, the more you find it plausible.

Shaw seems different when he’s interacting with her. He’s more careful with his tongue, and tends to have a serious expression on his face.

Perhaps he doesn’t show that side of him to just anyone - not even you.

Could this be a sign that he doesn’t love you as much as you think he does?

You’ve gone through a heartbreaking love before, but didn’t expect to experience it again.

Perhaps a sweet romance is unattainable for you.

Perhaps some people have never belonged to you.

With a heavy heart, you plan to leave Live House, not wanting to face a break up. Doing it over the phone would be better - he wouldn’t know whether or not you’re crying.

You definitely have to be the one to initiate the breakup. Even if it upsets you, you have to retain your final shred of dignity.

Head lowered as you walk through the entranceway, you bump into Adam, who is just about to enter. Losing your balance, you support yourself on the door frame.

“Eh? Sister? Are you looking for Shaw?” Shock is written all over Adam’s face. “Shaw’s been busy lately.”

You cast a glance inside, but you can no longer see the Shaw nor the woman.

“Mm, I know.”

They probably went into the room. The rehearsal room that you rarely visit...

Completely oblivious to how strange your behaviour is, Adam leads you over to the rehearsal room enthusiastically.

You pause in your steps, keeping your voice calm. “Is it really appropriate for me to enter? Won’t I be disturbing them?

Adam laughs. “No way. Sister, you can just sit at the side and watch without saying anything. They don’t get disturbed easily.”

“I’d better not. I should go.” You decide to retreat, not wanting to hear their sweet nothings, afraid to see how meticulous Shaw is with that woman.

Just as you turn, the door opens.

Shaw stands at the entranceway. “What are you doing here?”

That’s right - you shouldn’t have come.

“I’m off.”

You direct this at Adam, not even giving Shaw a glance.

The woman seems impatient, rushing him to return. “Shaw, why aren’t you back yet?”

“Forget it, you should continue with what you were doing.”

Despite what you just said, Shaw pulls you into the rehearsal room.

Initially expecting that you’d be catching them in a romantic rendezvous, you’re instead met by a table filled with messy clumps of clay.

You stare at the somewhat cylindrical shaped object on the table.

“...this is?”

Before Shaw speaks, the woman pipes up. “Are you Shaw’s girlfriend? I’m the teacher in charge of Ceramic Art Design in Loveland University, and also the wife of his teacher.”

The female teacher turns to Shaw. “He promised that if I were to teach him pottery, he’d not be late for school, or leave early.”

The truth is out.

Your cheeks redden, and you hastily greet her. Then, you sneak a peek at Shaw.

“Why did you bring her here!? I worked so hard to hide for a week, and now it’s all ruined!” He balls his hands into fists and looks like he’s about to beat Adam into a pulp.

“Calm down. Isn’t it good enough for Sister to know that you’re preparing a gift for her?” Adam chuckles.

Shaw’s eyes flit to yours, then he averts them. “Tch, it’s none of your business!?”

A laugh escapes you.

He really isn’t cute at all.

More translated and original works: here

–

[ Permission to translate ]

君兮耶君兮: You can - just note the source of the author

#mlqc #mlqc victor #mlqc gavin #mlqc lucien #mlqc kiro #mlqc shaw #cheri shortcake

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degrassi-fanatic · 4 years ago

Text

Four Times Kakashi and Naruto Spy on Sakura, and the One Time She Returns the Favour

The tree branch that Naruto is currently perched on bobs up and down precariously; struggling with the combined weight of him and Kakashi-sensei, who was situated behind him, closer to where the branch connected to the trunk of the tree. The two of them attempt to stay as still as they possibly can, praying that Sakura and Sasuke cannot hear the leaves rustling from where they’re training on the ground.

Now, Naruto isn’t one to spy on the private affairs of his close friends—

Wait, no, that’s exactly like him. It isn’t like Kakashi-sensei to be spying on the private affairs of his former students, and he wouldn’t be, if it weren’t for the fact that Naruto had pulled him out of the Hokage’s Residence, screaming that Sakura-chan had a not-so secret lover.

See, late yesterday evening, at Yakiniku Q, Sakura had announced to all of Konoha 11 that she was seeing someone but that she wouldn’t disclose who exactly it was.

Naturally, that meant Naruto had to get to the bottom of this and figure out the identity of Sakura’s mysterious, new lover.

He had his suspicions on who he thought her lover was but he wouldn’t know for sure until he had some irrefutable evidence.

Which is why, he is currently sitting on a tree branch that’s overlooking Senju Park, where Sakura and Sasuke were sparring, with Kakashi-sensei sitting behind him.

In his defense, after Shizune had ordered both him and Kakashi-sensei bed rest, the two of them had gotten a little stir crazy.

While he was escorting Kakashi to Suna, the two of them had been ambushed by a group of rogue-nin. Luckily for Konoha, they didn’t seem to be a part of any bigger conspiracy threatening the village, so the attack had been deemed insignificant. The two of them had gotten rid of the rogue-nin easily but not without sustaining some injuries; a broken leg for Naruto and a broken arm for Kakashi-sensei. When they came home a week earlier than planned, Shizune had forced the both of them to take the next month off, pulling Naruto off of active jonin duty and temporarily taking over Kakashi’s responsibilities as Hokage.

“You really think it’s Sasuke that she’s seeing?” Kakashi whispers as he tries to get a view of what’s happening on the ground.

“It has to be.” Naruto says as he watches Sakura easily block Sasuke’s fist, “She’s been in love with him since before the Academy.”

Naruto feels the weight of the branch dip as Kakashi-sensei shifts closer. Straining his neck, he tries to look over Naruto’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of his former students.

“What are they doing now?” he asks.

“I think it’s only taijutsu right now.” Naruto answers, “Oh, and she just choke-slammed him into the ground. How romantic.”

“I don’t think she’s dating Sasuke.” he argues, “I mean, you have to admit he was so rude to her when they were kids, surely her feelings for him would have worn—”

Sakura holds out a hand to Sasuke, who’s currently sprawled on the ground. As she pulls him up, Naruto can just barely see the way Sakura’s mouth is moving; clearly talking about something.

“Shh!” he says to Kakashi-sensei, “They’ve stopped training. I think they’re talking about something. I’m gonna try and get closer.”

Wrapping his hands around the wood in front of him, Naruto inches his butt off bit by bit before hauling himself further down the branch.

“Naruto, no, the branch is gonna—”

CRACK!

From beneath him, Naruto feels the flimsy end of the branch give away and snap.

“Ahh!”

He tries to get his hands on anything to keep him from dropping but to no avail. Scrunching his eyes shut, Naruto braces himself for impact, desperately praying that he’ll be too injured for Shizune and Sakura to lecture him about doing stupid stuff.

Then, he feels long fingers wrap around his good ankle.

Suspended in mid-air, Naruto swings his upper half up to find Kakashi-sensei sitting on the sturdy end of the branch, barely being able to hold on to Naruto’s leg when he can only use one of his arms.

“Kakashi-sensei? Naruto?”

Looking down towards the ground, he spots Sakura and Sasuke staring up at the two of them hanging off of a tree branch. They tilt their heads to the side in unison as they study the scene in front of them.

“What are you two doing in a tree?” Sakura asks, beyond confused.

“Um, y’know, we were, uh,” Naruto sputters, “Kakashi-sensei was teaching me how to— Tell them what you were teaching me.”

“Maa, you see, Naruto and I were just— shunshin no jutsu!”

All Sakura and Sasuke are left with is a puff of smoke where Kakashi and Naruto were.

“What was that all about?” Sakura asks.

The next time Naruto assumes he’s figured out the identity of Sakura’s secret boyfriend, him and Kakashi-sensei are eating at Ichiraku’s for lunch.

Sitting in the outdoor seating area of the newly expanded Ramen Ichiraku, Naruto breaks apart both his and Kakashi’s set of chopsticks. He sets his own aside before he uses Kakashi-sensei’s to collect some noodles from his respective bowl.

“I got it.” he declares as he brings the steaming noodles up to Kakashi’s still masked face.

At Naruto’s actions, Kakashi wrinkles his nose.

“I still have one good arm.” he reminds as he eyes the chopsticks warily, “And what do you get?”

“Stop with the dramatics, I already know what your face looks like,” Naruto says as he rolls his eyes, “And it’s Kiba.”

He huffs in annoyance but relents by looking around to see if anyone is paying attention to them. Once he’s made sure that no one is, he hooks his finger at the top of his mask and tugs it down to reveal his face.

Heat spreads across the bridge of Naruto’s nose as he averts his gaze to the noodles at the end of the chopsticks he’s still holding. Without warning, he shoves them into Kakashi’s mouth, pointedly ignoring the indignant spluttering coming from the older man.

Naruto would like to be able to say that he isn’t affected by the sight of his former sensei’s face but that would make him a liar, and he tries to keep his lying to a minimum.

The truth is that Kakashi-sensei makes Naruto’s heart pound, even when he’s got his mask on.

“What’s Kiba?” Kakashi asks, after swallowing down the food.

Dipping the chopsticks back into the bowl, Naruto retrieves some more noodles before bringing it up to Kakashi’s face. Before he can push it into his mouth, Kakashi-sensei wraps his free fingers around Naruto’s wrist to steady him and stop him from stabbing the roof of his mouth. He uses his grip to bring the noodles to his face far more gently than Naruto would have.

The unexpected touch makes him falter.

“Sakura’s new boyfriend.” he says, once he’s gotten over the shock.

“Why would it be Kiba?”

Speak of the devil.

From over Kakashi’s shoulder, Naruto spots the aforementioned man walking out of Yamanaka Flowers holding a bouquet of pure white lilies in one hand and what seems to be a picnic basket in the other, Akamaru trailing behind him like always.

Naruto watches as he waves at someone two shops down and follows his line of sight to find none other than Haruno Sakura at the end of it.

Nudging Kakashi-sensei with his elbow, he nods his head towards Kiba and Sakura.

“What is he doing?” he mumbles as he lets go of Naruto’s wrist.

Silently, they watch Sakura and Kiba exchange a couple of words before they begin to walk away together, rubbing shoulders as they make their way over to Senju Park.

“Let’s go follow them.” Kakashi-sensei says while tugging his mask back up.

“But, the ramen!”

Shaking his head, Kakashi quickly pulls out his wallet and lays down a couple of bills before shoving Naruto’s crutch into his hands.

“Later!” he exclaims as he stands up, motioning for Naruto to hurry and get up as well.

Naruto lets out a defeated sigh. He places the crutch pad beneath his armpit and hauls himself off of his seat, resigning himself to listen to Kakashi.

With only three functioning legs between the two of them, Kakashi and Naruto manage to hobble over to the park at a relatively quick pace. Once they arrive, they huddle behind a tree, only peaking their heads over the side of it.

Chancing a glance upwards, Naruto realizes it's the tree he was hanging off of just the other day.

“Look.” Kakashi-sensei whispers from above him, bringing Naruto’s attention back to the couple in front of them.

Scratching the back of his head nervously, Kiba hands Sakura the bouquet of white lilies. She takes a whiff of them and says something that makes the tension in Kiba’s body melt away.

“I told you!” Naruto whisper-screams, “He’s handing her flowers, that has to mean something.”

As Kiba hands over the picnic basket to Sakura, Akamaru nudges his snout into the back of his knee. The action must be indicative of something because soon Kiba is dashing away from Sakura, who only looks amused.

“Why is he leaving?” Kakashi questions.

“Maybe he forgot the drinks or something.” he suggests.

Setting aside the bouquet, Sakura pulls a blanket out of the picnic basket before placing it on top of the grass. Soon, she begins to pull out various items including dishes, cutlery, meals, and much to Naruto’s dismay, drinks.

“It’s a tad bit rude to leave your date to set up everything.” Kakashi comments.

As a final touch, Sakura yanks out a single flower from the bouquet and pulls off the petals to spread around the picnic. From beside her, Akamaru barks in approval, earning him a pat on the head.

“Well, Kiba is kinda dumb about these things.”

“Coming from you.” Kakashi snorts.

“Hey!”

“Shh!” he whispers, “I think he’s coming back.”

In the distance, Naruto can hear the faint, familiar voice of Kiba’s as the man makes his way back to the picnic.

Sakura seemingly comes to the same realization but for some reason, she begins to dart away from her date.

“Wait, why is she running away?” Naruto asks.

Then, he feels Kakashi’s gloved hand smack him upside the head.

“Ow!” he exclaims, only to be promptly shushed by Kakashi-sensei, “What’d you do that for?”

“Because Kiba isn’t going out with Sakura, he’s going out with Hinata.” Kakashi explains as he looks down at him, “He probably needed Sakura’s help, that’s it.”

Looking back out towards the picnic, Naruto realizes Kakashi-sensei’s right because instead of Sakura, Hinata is now the one holding the bouquet of lilies as she hugs Kiba tightly.

“Naruto, Kakashi-sama.” he hears someone whisper.

Jumping out of his skin, Naruto opens his mouth to scream only to be silenced by Kakashi’s hand. They slowly shuffle around to find all of Konoha 11, sans Kiba and Hinata and including Sakura, standing in front of them.

At the front of the group is Shino, looking as creepy as usual.

“Shino.” Kakashi-sensei greets politely as he releases Naruto’s mouth, “And please drop the honourifics.”

“Are you here to watch Kiba and Hinata’s youthful date as well?” Lee pipes up.

“Oh, yes, that is why we are here,” Naruto lies, very obviously, “No other reason, whatsoever.”

“But we have to go now, we’re very busy,” Kakashi-sensei adds, “Y’know how it is for the Rokudaime and the future Nanadaime. Busy, busy, busy.”

Before the two of them can push past the group to leave, Shikamaru stops them in their path with a question.

“But, Shizune-san ordered you bed rest and gave you the month off?”

Naruto and Kakashi freeze up for a moment.

“Oh, did she?” Naruto questions as he stares up at Kakashi with panic in his eyes.

Swiftly, Kakashi loops Naruto’s free arm over his shoulder to support his weaker side as he silently urges the man to move quicker.

“Well, we’ll just go and double check with her.” he says as the two of them make their exit, ignoring the suspicious looks they’re getting.

The third time Naruto thinks he’s finally discovered who is Sakura’s new lover, he isn’t even actively trying to.

Him and Kakashi-sensei are walking the ninken together through the forest. Well, actually, it’s more like the dogs are walking themselves. And also, Naruto isn’t really walking, he’s forcing Kakashi to give him a piggyback ride, using his uninjured arm to hold onto the back of Naruto’s knee, while Naruto tightens his other leg around Kakashi’s hip.

His excuse is that he’s tired but really, he just likes the closeness.

Settling his chin on top of Kakashi’s shoulder on his uninjured side, Naruto lets out a pleased sigh as he soaks up the sun shining down on them. He closes his eyes and ignores the undeniable sounds of Bull and Akino playing catch with his crutch.

“Why did you come out with me if you knew you were going to get tired?” Kakashi-sensei complains.

“So you can carry me.” he answers lazily, “Dattebayo.”

“Might I remind you that I also have a broken appendage.” Kakashi says, jostling his arm cast for emphasis before letting it hang limp by his side again, “It probably doesn’t do me well to carry you.”

“Don’t act like it hurts, old man.” he retorts as he lifts his head up to peer at Kakashi’s face, “I’m doing half the work here. And I’ve seen you toss an enemy with multiple kunai sticking out of you.”

“It was one kunai.”

Naruto lets out a hum in response, closing his eyes once more. His ears honing in on the sounds of the ninken yipping around them and Kakashi-sensei’s rhythmic steps.

Then, the dogs begin to quiet down and Kakashi comes to a halt. Without the noises of the ninken, Naruto can hear some voices not too far away.

He opens his eyes to find Lee and Sakura in a clearing together. Lee does a handstand as he reads questions aloud from a medical textbook. In front of him, Sakura paces around as she spits out answer after answer, in a rapid fire sequence.

“Oh my God.” Naruto whispers as he excitedly smacks Kakashi's shoulder, “Lee’s always had a thing for, he’s probably the guy she’s seeing. It makes so much sense now.”

“Is he… quizzing her on medicine?” Kakashi questions as he tilts his head to the side.

“Romance looks different now than it did in your time.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Kakashi mumbles as he stares ahead at the young couple, “I’ve never really dated anyone.”

At the admission, Naruto’s jaw drops open. He grabs a hold of Kakashi-sensei’s chin and forces the man to look him in the eyes.

“Seriously?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Kakashi answers, shrugging, “I just, never had the time, I guess.”

That should be a crime against humanity!

How is it possible that Kakashi-sensei has never dated anyone in his life? There’s a long line up of girls (+Naruto) that would kill to have a chance with him. He’s probably the most attractive person in all of the village, and that’s with his mask on. If he took it off, he would easily be the most attractive person on Earth.

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice Lee, still walking on his hands, and Sakura approaching them.

“Kakashi-sama! Naruto-kun!” Lee greets with the same amount of energy as always, “Has the springtime of your youth brought you here?”

Slipping his chin out of Naruto’s fingers, Kakashi turns to look at them, wincing at the -sama added to his name.

“Something like that,” he says, “Um, Lee, why are you helping Sakura study?”

Lee hops off of his hands and does a round off onto his feet before answering his question.

“Sakura-chan is in her prime and would like to open up a mental health clinic for children impacted by the war with Ino.” Lee explains, “In order to do so, she must educate herself to the fullest extent.”

“Kakashi-sensei, you approved my proposal,” Sakura reminds him, “You know about this.”

“Oh, right.”

Naruto lightly flicks him on the side of his forehead.

“Idiot.” he mutters.

“Sakura-chan has been ever so generous to help me with my chakra control, so I decided I would help her study.” Lee adds on.

“What are you two doing?” Sakura questions.

“Walking the pack.” Kakashi answers.

Right on cue, the ninken begin to race around their legs; yipping and yapping in excitement as Lee begins to pet as many of them as he possibly can.

“You two have been awfully close lately.” Sakura says to him and Kakashi, even though she’s looking at Lee.

Wiggling their eyebrows around, Lee and Sakura seem to have a silent conversation. Then, the two of them reach some sort of a conclusion and turn their heads to stare at Naruto and Kakashi-sensei.

“What?” Naruto questions.

Sakura just sighs.

It isn’t even Naruto who tries to figure out who could be Sakura’s boyfriend the fourth time around.

With his injured leg resting in Kakashi’s lap, he and the older man sit on the wooden benches near the gates of Konoha. Naruto passes the time by doodling on Kakashi-sensei’s cast, occasionally humming a little melody to himself and opening his mouth for Kakashi to pop a grape into.

“It’s Shikamaru.” Kakashi announces all of a sudden.

It takes Naruto’s brain a minute before he realizes what he’s referring to.

“It can’t be.” he shoots down, “He’s with Temari.”

“Think about it,” he says, “Sakura can’t tell us because Shikamaru still needs to tell people he broke up with Temari.”

The theory sounds outlandish, even to Naruto.

“He hasn’t broken up with Temari, though.” he points out as he continues to scribble away on plaster.

“To our knowledge.” Kakashi says as he brings a grape up to Naruto’s face, “Ahh.”

Even though his face burns in embarrassment, Naruto opens up his mouth to accept the grape. With all the Icha Icha books he’s read, he’s not sure how Kakashi doesn’t realize the romantic connotation behind feeding someone.

Then, again, Kakashi hasn’t ever experienced a real relationship.

The thought of that makes him sad; the idea of Kakashi spending his whole life alone, lonely.

Naruto thinks he’s done enough of that for a lifetime.

“You never had feelings for anyone?” Naruto asks as he stops drawing.

Kakashi looks startled at his question but quickly regains his composure.

“There was this one person,” he says before promptly shaking his head, “But, it would’ve never happened.”

He ignores the ache in his chest at the news of Kakashi loving someone else.

“Do I know them?” Naruto asks.

“Naruto…” he warns, fixing him with a look.

Kakashi opens up his mouth to say something else but something must steal away his attention because nothing audible comes out. Finding Kakashi’s line of sight, he follows it back to find him staring over his shoulder and towards the gates, where Temari is standing with a couple of Suna shinobi.

“I bet you Shikamaru asked her to come here so he can break up with her.” Kakashi mumbles.

“That’s so mean, making a woman come all the way out here just to tell her you don’t love her anymore.”

Soon, the informal delegation is greeted by the appearance of Shikamaru and Sakura. In the most inconspicuous way possible, Kakashi and Naruto stare as Temari laughs at something Sakura says before pulling her into a hug.

“You know Shikamaru,” Kakashi says, “He can’t be bothered.”

As Sakura pulls out of the hug, Temari quickly draws Shikamaru in for a kiss.

“I don’t think that’s how you greet your ex-girlfriend in front of your current girlfriend.” Naruto says, smirking.

Rolling his eyes, Kakashi shoves a handful of grapes into his mouth.

As Naruto attempts to not choke on the fruit, Temari, Sakura, and Shikamaru approach them with knowing looks on their face for God-knows-what reason.

“Naruto. Kakashi-sama.” Temari greets warmly.

“Temari, and please, drop the honourifics.”

Beside her, Shikamaru darts his eyes back and forth between him and Kakashi, before nodding at Sakura.

“What is, Shikamaru?” Naruto asks once he’s finished swallowing down the grapes.

“Nothing.” he says, “Just making an observation.”

+1.

The scent of alcohol is heavy in the air as Naruto sits on the floor in front of his coffee table. Beside him, Kakashi-sensei listens intently to his ramblings as Naruto draws around wildly on a piece of paper in order to visualize what he’s saying.

“See, both Lee and I liked Sakura, who liked Sasuke, who only ever had eyes for vengeance.” Naruto says as he draws long lines extending between the poorly drawn portraits of his friends, “Meanwhile, both Ino and Temari also had a thing for him before Temari started crushing on Shikamaru. I also had a thing for Sasuke but that’s neither here nor there.”

“Wait, what—”

“I think Hinata was the only girl that didn’t like Sasuke but that’s because she had eyes for me. I sorta liked her back at one point but then I realized how much she liked Kiba so I decided it was a no-go,” Naruto continues, ignoring the lost look on Kakashi-sensei’s face, “Then, there’s Tenten and Neji who used to have this weird tension but I never really knew if Neji actually liked her because he died. Right now, I think Tenten and Lee are slowly becoming something because she’s recently stopped insulting him.

“Also, fun fact, really embarrassing fact,” he tacks on, “I’ve had a thing for both Gaara and Kankuro. Oh, and also Ayame-san.”

Finally finished with his long-winded explanation on the romantic entanglements of his friends, Naruto lets out a loud exhale. He sets aside his pen and pushes the piece of paper forward before resting back on the heels of his palms.

“Okay…” Kakashi says as he places the second, half-full bottle of sake away from Naruto’s reach, “I think you’ve had enough to drink.”

Kakashi hooks Naruto’s arm over his shoulders and helps him walk over to the couch.

As Naruto gets himself into a comfortable position laying down, he watches as Kakashi plucks a pillow off of the floor before placing it behind Naruto’s head. Then, the older man grabs a blanket from somewhere to spread across Naruto’s body.

“Did that help clear everything up?”

“Sure.” Kakashi answers distractedly as he tucks in the edges of the blanket.

“Which means, the only possible people that could be Sakura’s boyfriend are Shino and Choji,” Naruto babbles on, his brain going a mile a minute, “But, that’s obviously not true; so that leads us back to square one.”

The couch dips as Kakashi seats himself beside Naruto’s legs.

The heat radiating off of his body burns through the blanket and Naruto desperately wishes he could throw the damn thing off to feel the warmth from the person itself.

“Maa, I think you should go to sleep now.”

“Will you be here in the morning?” he mumbles.

“Of course.”

“Good,” Naruto says, “Because I miss you when you’re not around.”

He can hear Kakashi’s breath hitch. Soon, a gloved hand pushes the fringe off of Naruto’s forehead. Closing his eyes, Naruto leans into the touch.

“Y’know, I really enjoyed these last couple of weeks. Between your responsibilities and my missions, we don’t get to see each other much.” Naruto continues, “I think I might just break my other leg to spend more time with you.”

Kakashi chuckles as he traces his finger against Naruto’s scarred cheeks.

“Or you can just ask.”

Naruto’s breath is slowly starting to even out and he’s mere moments away from sleep when he hears the loud and unexpected crash coming from outside of his window. Suddenly fully awake and less drunk, Naruto shoots up from the couch, flinging the blanket off of him.

Meanwhile, Kakashi-sensei has already whipped out a kunai from out of nowhere and is steadily approaching the window.

“Damn it, Lee!”

At the sound of Tenten’s irate voice, both him and Kakashi-sensei drop their guards. Kakashi stows away his kunai before throwing open the window.

Hobbling on his good foot, Naruto makes his way over. He peers down the window to find Tenten and Lee sprawled across the ground outside of his home. Right next to them, is Shino sitting atop of Choji’s shoulders and Temari atop of Shikamaru’s.

“What the hell are you doing?” he exclaims at the guilty party.

“It was Sakura-chan’s idea!” Lee shouts, pointing over Naruto’s shoulder.

Using Kakashi as his crutch, he walks over to the window on the opposite side of the room. He opens it up to find Sakura sitting on Sasuke’s shoulders, Ino on Sai’s, and Hinata on Kiba’s. All six of them wear apologetic looks on their faces. Or, well, five of them do, Sasuke couldn’t care less about boundaries.

“Hey…” Sakura greets in an attempt to be casual.

“Are you guys spying on us?” Kakashi questions.

“Okay, don’t act like you weren’t doing the same thing to me!”

Busted.

“Okay, well, we, just,” Naruto flounders around for an adequate defense, “We were just trying to figure out who your boyfriend was!”

For a reason beyond his understanding, the rest of his friends burst out into a fit of laughter, almost knocking one another over.

“Boyfriend? Oh my God,” Sakura says exasperatedly as she tries to steady herself on Sasuke’s shoulders, “You idiots!”

As Naruto opens his mouth to ask her what the hell she means, Sakura turns to her right and laces her hand into Ino’s hair before tugging her in for a kiss.

Both he and Kakashi-sensei sport shocked expressions as they turn to look at each other. Then, Naruto twists around to garner the reactions of his friends to find that none of them seem to share the same shock.

“Ino and Sakura!” Naruto shouts, “Why is no one else surprised?”

“It was kinda hard to miss, man.” Kiba chimes in.

From the other window, Shino adds, “Yeah, it was the only thing more obvious than Kiba’s crush on Hinata.”

“Hey!” Kiba exclaims as his face burns red like his markings, “At least it wasn’t as obvious as Naruto’s crush on Kakashi-sama!”

Suddenly, the room descends into a deafening silent.

The arm that's swung around his shoulder tenses up before pulling away completely.

“Sorry,” Kiba says quietly, hunching in on himself, “Was that supposed to be a secret?”

Naruto forces himself to stare ahead; he doesn’t want to remember what Kakashi’s face is going to look like when he inevitably rejects him.

“Oh, would look at the time,” Sakura pipes up, laughing nervously, “We all need to…”

“Babysit Mirai-chan for Kurenai-sensei!” Ino finishes, “Yep, all twelve of us! Let’s go!”

All of them hop off of each other in a frenzy before scrambling off into the streets of Konoha.

“Oh my God…” Naruto mutters to himself, as the humiliation settles in.

“Naruto,” he hears Kakashi say, “Can we—What are you doing!”

Not wanting to deal with the repercussions of what just happened, Naruto grips the window ledge before hauling himself onto the sill; wincing as he knocks his cast around.

“I’m trying to leave!”

“You have a broken leg!”

“Can’t break what’s already broken!”

A strong arm wraps around his torso before he can escape through the window. Far more easily than he should’ve been able to, Kakashi drags him back inside. Kicking and thrashing around, Naruto struggles in his grip.

“Naruto, just, can you listen to me!”

Ripping out of Kakashi-sensei’s grasp, Naruto shoves his fingers into his ears and shuts his eyes, as he begins waddling around the room.

“Lalalala! I can’t hear you!” Naruto screams at the top of his lungs, no doubt waking any sleeping neighbours of his, “Lalalala! You should leave now! Lalalala! I’m going to kill Kiba and then I’m going to—”

His threat goes unfinished as he feels a warm pressure against his mouth and a hand angling his face upwards. His eyes fly open to find the distorted sight of Kakashi in front of him before he settles on shutting them again and leaning into the feeling.

Sooner than he’d like, though, the kiss comes to an end.

“Hmm?” Naruto mumbles, still coming down from the high.

He’s slow to open his eyes but when he does, he’s greeted by Kakashi’s bare face smiling down at him.

“You idiot,” Kakashi says affectionately as he moves his hand to rest on Naruto’s shoulder, “I was trying to tell you I feel the same.”

“Oh,” he says dumbly, “That’s nice.”

Shaking his head fondly, Kakashi leads him back to the couch. Once he’s made sure Naruto is comfortable, he leans down to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Go to sleep, Naruto,” he whispers, “We can talk in the morning.”

Naruto falls asleep with a smile on his face that night.

#naruto #uzumaki naruto #hatake kakashi #haruno sakura #kakanaru #~fic~

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