#their teasing in it is SO charming it's just on the absolute cusp of too mean but never goes that far

[rad-roche]

the movie is 90 years old but i know deep in my heart that smash hit 1930s comedy the thin man would do absolute fucking numbers on tumblr dot com if it took off. it's got it all. a ludicrously wealthy woman and her kept handbag man of an older husband who solves crimes mostly for her amusement. they bicker relentlessly. it's pre-code so the sexual chemistry in it is near-derangement levels of horny. nora charles is in it.

[morgana-ren]

Astarion going all possessive over the first human he ever feeds from is just so good. I like to think you're almost friends at the point he asks, at least to your eyes. He's definitely attracted to you, enjoys your spirit, the banter, but maybe he's feigning the friendliness just a little in order to see what he can get out of you. Its entertainment. This new freedom away from his master is exciting, even with the parasite. He's having fun.

After convincing you to submit for that first drink he starts seeing you as a food source. And like any good predator starts to get possessive over that food source. Starts seeing you more as a pet. A pet that he can feed from, tease and play with, and shove his cock into when ever he wants.

Wants to mark you up so those other irritating companions know you're his, maybe some of his old master's ideas and behaviours were not too horrific after all, they make sense now.

You're everything he needs in one cute little package and he's never letting you go

Oh, absolutely.

Astarion’s mind has absolutely been twisted after some hundred years of suffering under the cruel and sadistic wrath of Cazador. Think of it like repeatedly putting a burning hot metal pan under ice cold water over and over and over until it warps into a new shape entirely. What this means (to me at least) is that even if he is genuinely affectionate towards you- even if he legitimately likes you- you are still viewed as something to be coveted, something to own. He views things through a corrupted lens now, and his affections reflect that.

It takes 7 years to brainwash a human into believing something completely new. To take a healthy human mind and fully convince it of a new and undisputed reality. To lay low your defenses, to coerce you into believing something is true wholeheartedly, no matter how absurd.

Now imagine what Cazador can do with over a century.

Astarion clearly retained his mind and some sense of rebellion, but I think that was intentional on Cazador’s part. He liked the suffering, the unwillingness to submit mentally to his own torture and degradation. But oh, what it must have done to everywhere else in Astarion’s head. Left it rather a dark little mess.

It’s pragmatic at first. You’re willing to let him, a filthy vampire, drink from you. Willing. Astarion is cutthroat in his survival instinct, and he’d be a goddamn fool to not utilize that. Everything else- your wit, your charm, that you’re enjoyable company- is just a bonus. He’s made it clear that he prefers delectable human blood to that of the beasts, and he’s a bit spoiled because of you. You let him drink from you that one night, and now any time he’s sucking down a bit of boar or bear, he can’t help but lament that it’s not rich human blood he’s indulging in.

As time goes on, it becomes simply unbearable. Sustaining himself on swill night after night when you’re right there, sleeping peacefully by the fire with your tender little neck looking so inviting. He’s thought about partaking in the others, of course, but they’ve all made it clear that they’d rend his flesh from his bones if he tried. Besides, why bother with them when you’re right there, all sweet and pretty and willing. 

He propositions you at the party, and damn you, you accept. It’s been hundreds of years since he’s had someone wrapped around his cock, and by the Gods, you’re happy to do it in every blissful sense of the word. He’s not sure if it’s just the sheer timespan and contrast of knowing nothing but cruel, torturous hands to your soft, little ones clawing across him or if it’s something about you in specific, but he decides on the cusp of orgasm that you belong to him. You offer him your neck with him buried deep in your hot, velvet insides, your thighs sticky sweet with arousal he’s coaxed from you and he vows that now that he’s sunk his teeth in, he’s not letting go. 

He’s not sure exactly how you view your little tryst. You were eager to let him mount you, but not reluctant to let him go in the morning. It could just be meaningless stress sex between companions, or maybe a bit more, but if it’s not, that’s something he’s going to have to breathe life into. You have to want him, to need him, and even to trust him with your life because ultimately, if he has his way, it’s going to belong to him.

Of course he can’t just tell you this. This takes finesse. You’re not a pet that he can simply purchase from the store and claim ownership of... unfortunately. So instead he lures you slowly. Spends more time with you, shares little bits of his life to endear himself to you. Starts getting a bit more flirtatious openly (much to everyone else’s disgust). Occasionally he’ll pull you into a dark corner and steal a kiss or three. You seems surprised at this, but it’s not unwelcome, and you let him get away with these little trespasses even as Shadowheart makes her disappointment known and Lae’zel scolds you both openly for it. 

At night by the fire, he’ll whine to you about how hard it is. About how once a vampire has had human blood, everything else tastes like rot. How taxing it is to hunt feral wildlife night after night, expending the measly strength it gives him only hours after. How bandit and goblin blood just doesn’t compare to the sweetness that sings to him from within your veins, enticing him and drawing him further into madness every time he’s near you.

He’s exaggerating, naturally, but it’s not far off. 

You, sweet thing, take pity on him. You can’t sustain him fully- not yet- but you’ll let him take little nibbles if he promises to show self control. Just tiny little indulgences that get him through the day. Just enough to leave you a bit woozy, dizzy from the gentle suck on your neck and his hands that roam freely over your body. 

He starts slinking his way into your bedroll more often- so often, in fact, that the others start demanding you take your little rolls in the hay somewhere else so they can get some bloody sleep. He, naturally, teases you about being such a noisy little thing, but obliges. Little do you know, getting you away from prying eyes as much as possible is the main focus here, as lovely as the fringe benefits are. 

It’s there in the darkness far beyond the shadows cast by the fire that he can draw you more into him. Lure you with his blasphemous whispers and plant ideas in your head that he can tend lovingly until they grow. About how fearsomely he fights at your side. How he’d do anything to keep you safe. About how you don’t need his protection (of course not) but he gives it freely to you because you are so fragile, so small compared to him. You are mortal, after all, and he plans on being the most powerful vampire in the realms. You’re capable, but ultimately, can you really compare? 

At first this makes you laugh, because clearly you are not fragile. You’ve taken threats that would make others flee in terror. You’ve faced down hags and goblin encampments and gnolls, even an ogre that one time he tempted you into interrupting its ‘private time.’ Surely, that’s proof enough that you’re not some damsel in distress that requires his saving.

He’s swift to remind you of his presence during all of these battles, and how many times did he place an arrow between the eyes of one threat or another to keep them from striking a blow on you? How often has he been there to cut the throat of some villain bearing down on you? How frequent has it been that he’s guarded you when Shadowheart had not the strength to heal you and supplies were running dreadfully low?

It’s a careful process, but he’s patient. Worth it, when you start to lean more into him. Start to look to him over others for council. Keep so, so close to him in dark places where monsters lurk in the dark that could spill your precious blood with a single swipe. You start to cling to him, both in and out of battle, 

And aren’t you just the prettiest little prize? Obnoxiously so. Your presence demands respect- attention. Even from other members in your party that resent how he’s managed to monopolize your time and affection. When a small group works together for long enough, it’s a given that some might develop feelings, but this one is his. Still, they rudely seek to interject, to drive a wedge between him and his pet, and he simply cannot have that. 

You’re hesitant to let him take the blade to your skin at first, as most would be. After all, you’ve seen him kill countless with it Seen how effectively he can wield it and shuddered at the violence in its wake. Doesn’t it hurt? Doesn’t it ache terribly? 

But that’s not fair, he tuts you. You’ve asked about his scars, have you not? Wanted to know all the sorry, sordid details? And he told you, even as it pained him terribly, because you wanted to understand. Don’t you want to understand him? Didn’t you want to know everything he went through? Did he make a mistake in trusting you? Don’t you trust him? 

He promises it will be quick and clean, but most of all, barely even scar at all. Much, much less than was forced upon him. A little memento of your time together, should you choose to part ways after all this nasty business is over. Hardly noticeable. A bonding activity, really. 

So you let him. Far from the nosy members of your party, you dig your nails into his thigh as you lie across his lap as he traces it. First once, then twice. A third time for good measure. It feels bigger than he promised you it would be, but he’s already on edge from rejection, so you keep your mouth shut. What’s one more scar, anyways? You risk them every day when you venture forth, so this- this is nothing, right? 

And oh, how he beams with pride when it’s finished. A lovely ‘A’ in practiced scripting stark red and weeping on your pretty skin. He leaves plenty of room for the letters to come, but he won’t push it tonight. You’re so tense, clearly in pain, but he licks at the wound until it’s clean and comforts you, asks you if you can imagine hours of that, like he endured. 

That stiffens your upper lip, and it’s a bit of a shame. You’re awfully cute when you’re all trembling and weak beneath him. Still, plenty of time. 

He rewards you with hours of pleasure for being such a good girl. For doing as he asked like an obedient darling should, even despite your initial reservations. He knows it’s about conditioning you to obey, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t finding reasons to crawl between your legs at this rate. Gods, you like him enough to let him do whatever he wants to you now. Hand on your throat, his teeth sinking into the swell of your breast, begging him so sweetly for more even if it pains you. 

He can have you any way he likes, and he fully intends to do just that. A pretty, pliant little thing mewling around his cock, milking him dry with every hole you have. You’re dangerous that way, so easy to lose himself in the tight, wet swaddle of your body that constricts him so snugly every single time, your sticky, clinging insides just begging to be defiled over and over and over. He’s a glutton for pleasure, and aren’t you just an endless font of it?

Things like this, they do tend to take time. Time to break down your will, your confidence, the very proverbial bones that keep you standing on your own two feet. Clipping your wings until you can no longer soar and can sit pretty and tame like the pet you are inside the gilded cage he’s constructing just for you. He’ll keep you close always. He imagines you’ll make a ravishing vampire. Not a vampire lord like he’ll become, of course. He can’t risk you getting any ideas like he had with his old master, but he can’t have you dying on him from insignificant things like age.

Oh yes, things like this, they do indeed take time; Patience honed over centuries and a precise yet firm hand. Breaking someone isn’t for the faint of heart, but he’s learned for the best. So lucky lucky for him, he has both of those things in spades. 

It’s all just a matter of time.

[anthropwashere]

All That Describes a Joyful Heart

At last I can finally share this! \o/

This Trisha/Hohenheim fic was written for @fmacookbookzine which you should absolutely go follow because they’ll be announcing leftover sales soon! It’s perhaps the best quality physical zine I’ve ever gotten my hands on AND it comes with oodles of lovely art, oodles of lovely recipes, and three other fics besides mine!

Me being me I have research hole notes to share but I’ll stick them all at the end of the fic. I hope you enjoy!

=

Night fell hours ago, and with it came a cruel December wind that rattles the windows mercilessly in their painted frames. The old tree out front complains loudly, creaking and groaning its protests as it rakes its naked branches across the roof. But Hohenheim isn't worried. That tree had already been a proud specimen the year he bought the land he eventually built this house on. Its roots grow deep. It'll take a far more furious storm to bring it down than the one that threatens them on this, the longest night of the year.

There's still a part of him that falters over how the years are measured here in the West. Many, many parts of him, to be more accurate; many thousands of his friends who grew accustomed to how a year is measured in far-off Xing, while so many more still cling to the lost ways of Xerxes. Before, long decades ago now, he had no home to call his own. He'd slunk away from the unwanted fame and fortune at the then-Emperor's heel in order to find some semblance of peace amidst the ever-shifting sand dunes, and when that had only brought him renewed grief he'd traveled farther west, and farther still, all the while chasing....

Chasing dreams, he supposes. Dreams of peace and quiet, where half a million souls don't natter at him endlessly. Dreams where he's still human, still susceptible to the ravages of time as any other man. Bittersweet what-ifs and if-onlys.

But those dreams fell to dust, and less than dust, and eventually he came to a soot-blackened city of industry where people limped in on crutches and, after a time, strode out again on gleaming, impossible prosthetics. He met Pinako there in Rush Valley, some thirty-odd years ago now. Her raucous laughter and bawdy humor burrowed past all the walls he'd built around himself, and in the blink of an eye she'd grown dangerously dear to him. It came to pass that whatever she asked of him, he would do without question. It was in this way that she coaxed him time and time again to Resembool. For a funeral, for a wedding, for a birth, and once more to stay.

Well. He'd had no interest in returning to Xing, where they insisted on building ever-grander statues of him whenever he demonstrated an ounce of common sense. So why not buy a bit of land in the hometown of his friend, this mad inventor who dragged him over for a good meal and better drinks whenever she thought he'd been left to mope on his own for too long? Why not build a house there? Why not fill it with books, and shelves to organize them on? And even a monster like him would be wise to take care of himself, so why not fill the cupboards and pantry too while he was at it?

He'd never told Pinako the truth of himself. What he is, where he's really from. Any of it. It's not that he's ever thought such truths to be too heavy a burden for her; rather that he's always considered her a safe harbor away from such burdens. The Homunculus is out there, somewhere, and he's certain it has terrible plans for Amestris, but here in Resembool he can laugh loudly at the dark and feel brave for a few moments of his long, long life.

"Cenz for your thoughts?"

Hohenheim blinks, and finds himself stood stupidly in the middle of his kitchen. His friends titter and tease, directing his attention to the dining table where there sits nothing short of a miracle; a young woman of incomparable kindness, cleverness, and beauty. Stubbornness too, for all that she hides it behind a soft voice and bright eyes. She's refused time and again all his efforts to turn her away, to convince her to love anyone else but him. She's too stubborn by half, twice as determined as that in her efforts to know and understand him for all his faults, and forgive him for them too.

There's no other woman in the world like Trisha Elric. Of that, he's certain.

He meets her wry smile head on, feeling his heart melt anew. "Trisha," he says, enchanted by her very name. "I'm sorry—"

"How may times do I have to tell you to stop that?" She pats the table, drawing him over. "What are they saying?"

He's drawn to her helplessly, like iron filings to a magnet. Many of his friends suggest how he could tell her again all the ways he loves her; chastely, reverently, lustfully, and everything in-between. Many others scoff at him for being so besotted over a country girl without learning, reputation, or skill. He ignores all of them in favor of the few that tell him to mind the stockpot simmering gently on the stove. He prefers practicality to insults. It hasn't been long since he last stirred the pot, however; he can join Trisha at the table, for a little while.

He returns to the chair he'd been sitting in before he'd gone to check the stove and ended up lost in his thoughts. He reaches out to take her hand in his, and is charmed momentarily speechless when she reaches for him just as readily. The tangle of their fingers is a miracle he would never have dreamed of praying for.

"They're happy I'm doing this," he says, then hastily corrects himself. "That we are doing this."

Her smile gains a soft delight to its edges, her green eyes crinkling. "Me too. You were telling me about how tonight was practiced in Xerxes. Shab-e Chelleh?"

He has to pause in the wake of so many of his friends cheering to hear his native tongue spoken aloud by another. "شب چله," he corrects.

She pulls her hand from his long enough to pluck another almond from the bowl of mixed nuts on the table, unwilling to move her other hand from the full swell of her belly. "Well? Go on."

Hohenheim is certain he would have died of shock—if he were still capable of dying—the day she told him they were going to have a baby. A part of him—one all his own, and one that his friends all laugh readily at—can't help but think this is all a wonderful dream he's sure to wake from at any moment.

His friends clamor at him eagerly, shouting to be heard over each other, over suggestions of what he ought to say. Traditions kept, stories told, favorite dishes, and on, and on. He hums and chooses his own words. "We feared the darkness of winter, but we wanted to be stronger than it. So we came together on the last day of every autumn, most often in the homes of our elders. We stayed awake through the night, chasing away the dark and all its evils with fire and music, stories and laughter. We would eat the last of the summer fruits, though we prized watermelon and pomegranate most for the benefits we ascribed them. We knew the winter would be a little easier for our efforts."

"Watermelon? Pomegranate?"

It's still strange for him, to have someone wanting to learn his native tongue. But Trisha is an eager student, demanding translations at every turn. "Ah—هندوانه و انار."

She mouths the words carefully, testing their weight on her tongue with a sweet furrow to her brow. "Hendevâne? Anâr?"

"Yes. Well done."

"That's beautiful," she says. Sarcasm is a slippery thing, even harder to catch hold of in Amestrian. The loveliest thing about her is that he can trust her to mean exactly what she says. "And you?"

"Me?"

"How did you celebrate?"

He blinks. "Oh. Well. The royal family always held a grand feat, with attendees from as far east as—"

"Not the royal family," she interrupts. "Or the courtiers, or the foreign visitors. Not any of them. What did you do, Van?"

Not for the first time, he marvels to hear her call him that. Van, and only Van. Not even his friends address him so. It's still part of the name the Homunculus gave him, yes, but when she says it—with mischief in her eyes and an infectious smile on her lips—he likes it again. She makes his name sound like the gift it had been, so long ago.

"Ah," he says, stalling.

Memories are... difficult, sometimes, for him. The sheer number of years between Xerxes and here are daunting enough, but add to that all the stories his friends have shared with him of their own lives and he grows... confused. Easily so. It takes him a few moments to drum up a dusty etching of his youth to share with her.

"When I was a slave," he begins slowly, swallowing the natural flinch twined to those words. "Those of us who weren't needed would gather in the kitchens for our own celebration. I remember offering to help the cooks prepare ingredients so I could steal samples from the dishes on their way out to the feast."

"Naughty," she teases.

"Only if I'd been caught," he counters. He's had just enough wine—"You're drinking for two, after all," Trisha had joked earlier—to be brave enough to catch her hand as she reaches for another almond. He presses a triumphant kiss to the soft skin of her pale wrist. "And I was very quick."

Her laughter is a bright thing, warming him straight through.

He continues after that, telling her stories of the cusp of winter in long-ago Xerxes. He tells her all the patently untrue deeds he'd boasted of, his plans for mischief, his ploys to avoid work, his hopes a fine dish would turn out too ruined for the King's table so he could feast like a king instead. He tells her of the bards who would deign to sup with slaves, roughly translating their songs with help from his friends. He tells her some of the old superstitions; in believing that the natural coolness of a watermelon would preserve him from heatstroke all through the following summer, in going out to the stables to whisper a secret into a donkey's ear.

There are pauses in the telling, of course, to attend to the stove. His friends insist he do this right, or as right as he can in so small a village as Resembool. Half the needed ingredients are beyond his reach, so he had to get creative. Trisha's begun asking he cook the meals he'd enjoyed before coming to Amestris, and to teach her how to cook them in turn. There's a small but growing collection of recipe cards written in her neat hand, transliterated from Xerxesian, Xingese, and a half-dozen other languages as best as they can guess.

The centerpiece of tonight's meal is a hearty stew made with ground walnuts and pomegranate paste, accompanied by scorched rice flavored with sour cherries. Traditionally it was most commonly made with duck, but he can recall times when chicken or lamb were substituted well. But tonight is about tradition. Tradition, and memory. Only the good memories, if he has any say in it. Trisha only deserves to hear the good, now that she knows the very worst of him.

“How do you pronounce it again?” She asks. “Fesenjān?”

“فسنجون,” he corrects, and more slowly, “Fesenjoon. And the rice, prepared this way, is called ته دیگ.”

“Tahdig,” she echoes. “You’ve made that before, haven’t you? To go with the kabab koobideh you made for the fall sheep festival?”

He hums, thinking back. “Ah, so I did.”

“Good. I’m excited to have it again.” She eats another almond, covering her mouth as she chews. “If there’s any left we’ll have to bring it over to the Rockbells tomorrow. I think Yuriy just about cried, he liked it so much.”

“I’m not sure those were happy tears.”

“Oh, hush. No self-deprecating jokes in the house, remember?”

One of her many rules, enforced through rolled eyes and pointedly aggressive hugs. A lifeline cast across the chasm between then and now. Sometimes he forgets himself, but she is always there to coax him home again.

“Go on, then. I want to hear more.”

He stays by the stove, leaning against the counter with one eye on the simmering pot, as he continues his history. The scant collection of years after the Homunculus gave him the means and the tools to earn his freedom, when he was no longer a slave of the palace but an alchemist of the court. How each dish he had once seen crafted firsthand tasted all the richer for having earned his place at the table. How he'd marveled, quietly astonished, over how the nobles he had once envied could act as much the fool as any slave when they'd had too much to drink. How so much changed, yet how so much more remained the same.

He tells her of his very first شب چله as a free man, rubbing elbows with a merchant from Xing and an alchemist from Samskara. They'd both spoken Xerxesian atrociously, and only considered him their equal because he didn't share his past with them. One had spat at the eunuch boys serving at the King's table, while the other had leered hungrily at the slave girls as they'd danced. He remembers biting his tongue, afraid to cause upset, afraid his former master would change his mind if he caused a scene.

He sums up nearly 20 years in the time it takes to finish cooking, doling out two generous helpings of فسنجون و ته دیگ just as the clock on the mantel strikes eleven. 20 years. The same age Trisha is now. A mere slip of a woman with her whole life ahead of her. 20 years had been almost half his human lifetime, but it feels hardly more than a footnote compared to the centuries he's lived since. They don't have a thing in common, not really, but she's chosen him anyway.

As he rejoins her at the table, bowls in hand, he finds himself struck speechless for a second time tonight by the mere sight of her. He loves her. He loves her so much. He has cared for so many people in his life, but she is the first he has loved completely.

He has stood over so many graves. He doesn't want to outlive her too.

Her eyes light up with the first bite. It's the greatest compliment, the greatest achievement, to do something that makes her happy.

“Oh!” She exclaims, free hand jumping to her belly with a laugh. “I think he likes it too.”

He eyes the swell of her as if he might see the baby kicking from here. A father, he thinks wildly. He's going to be a father. His friends will never stop laughing at his first-time parenting jitters. Traitors, the lot of them.

“You’re sure it’s going to be a boy?” He asks, trying not to show his nervousness.

“I’m not certain,” she admits. “But it feels right. Does that make sense?”

He smiles helplessly. “Not at all. But I believe you.”

She'd said the same thing after he'd told her the truth of him. It feels right to say it to her in turn now.

"Are you sure you don't want to help pick a name?" She asks.

He shakes his head, adamant. “You’re the one doing all the work. It’s only right you get to choose.”

She hums, thoughtful.

Moments pass in that particular quality of silence found only in the wake of a good meal. He tries not to preen. It helps that a number of his friends are critiquing his cooking even as he tries to enjoy it. He should have added onions. He should have tried harder to find saffron. The rice isn't as caramelized as it could be. The duck is too tough. He didn't grind the walnuts fine enough. And on, and on.

Trisha's hand touches his wrist. He blinks at her, enamored and baffled equally. She smiles at him, enamored and exasperated equally.

“I asked what you were thinking,” she says.

It's not even midnight yet. Dawn is a long way off. For all that he's learned so much since he was a nameless slave, for all the centuries he's endured, there's still a part of him that doubts the sun will rise tomorrow. There's still a part of him, however small and smothered by his friends, that is the angry, empty-headed fool who willingly held out his arm when his master demanded he give up his blood. There is still a part of him that wishes desperately he recoiled from the knife, and in doing so saved his people. But there's no sense in wishing for what he cannot change.

“I’m thinking that I’m glad I’m here,” is what he tells her. “And that I love you.”

Outside the wind rages, surely full of devils with cruel fangs and crueler deeds in mind, but here in his home Hohenheim knows he's safe. Better still, the most wonderful woman in the world has chosen to take refuge with him here. More than that. She's chosen to forge a life with him here, to make and raise a family with him here. Out there, somewhere, the Homunculus is surely scheming. Inside him, over half a million souls roil restless, ceaselessly, and perhaps—God help him—even eternally.

But tonight? On this, the longest night of the year? Hohenheim chases jewel-bright pomegranate seeds with his spoon, warmed by just a hair too much wine, hand-in-hand with the love of his long, long life. Tonight, at least, Hohenheim finds himself content.

=

 And that’s the fic! I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope you also enjoy me vomiting some THOUGHTS at you too.

I am in a constant state of being emotionally overwrought about my favorite square anime dad, so I was delighted to have a chance to write something truly syrupy sweet about him and Trisha and have the ready-made excuse to get lost down a research hole. Xerxes is secretly my FAVORITE research hole to get lost down because I actually studied Persian Farsi for a year once upon a forever ago. While I never got any kind of fluent in it, that time of fervent study certainly got me hooked on learning about Iran's rich and fascinating history. This fic is centered around a loose approximation of Yaldā Night, Iran's winter solstice festival, and Hohenheim sharing some of the traditions Xerxes once held with Trisha. I was intentionally vague and/or handwave-y in some parts, but if anything seems too egregiously inaccurate please let me know!

I called it Chelleh within the fic as, per my understanding at least, Yaldā was borrowed from Syriac-speaking Christians, and since Christianity doesn't exist in mangahood it seemed the "more accurate" thing to do.

A common tradition at Yaldā and Nowruz (the Persian New Year) is to read excerpts from the Divān of Hafez, perhaps the most famous of Iran's poets. The title of this fic comes from (per my copy of Elizabeth T. Gray Jr.'s collected translations, Wine & Prayer) ghazal 35. I'd share the full thing with y'all, but she only has the original Persian on her website and my copy of her book is in storage atm. :(

Fesenjoon/fesenjān, the dish they're making, is incredible and I highly recommend it. Tahdig, or scorched rice, is also fantastic.

Thank you again for reading! <3

[kopikokun]

Spilled Drinks & Study Sessions༄ mark l.

↳ When you’re forced into a study session with your next door neighbour Mark, who also happens to be your academic rival in school, things go south very quickly.

pairing; mark lee x reader

genre; fluff, slight angst, enemies to lovers (more like friends, but anyway)

wordcount; 2503 words

author’s note; how the hell do you guys write e2l and make the transition so smooth? bro i could never. also, the header pic is different than what i normally do :/ it’s kinda eh, but i liked the picture so i had to do something with all that empty space

Request 26: Mark + “Oh, are you ticklish?” (73) + “Why are you naked?” (109)

— 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧. | 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬.

The animosity between you and Mark is intense and painstakingly obvious to everyone around you. Well, everyone besides your parents, you suppose. 

   “Can you stop being so loud? You’re distracting me,” you grumble, angrily flipping through your homework. 

   “Well, I’m sorry for breathing.” Mark rolls his eyes at you. “Would you rather I stop entirely instead and drop dead right here, right now?”

   “At least it would be quieter if you did.” You press your pen down harder, taking your rage out on your poor, innocent worksheet. If you’re going to blame anyone for the excruciating torture your homework is enduring, you’d blame Mark. Even if it technically isn’t his fault, you’d still pin the blame on him. 

   “What’re you gonna do with my body? You wouldn’t be able to lift me, I mean, you couldn’t even open that can of Coke.”

   Your cheeks grow warm, mentally replaying the image of a grinning Mark as he effortlessly opened your can of Coke, the soft hiss of its fizz taunting you. Mark had puffed up his chest triumphantly like he was some kind of hero. For crying out loud, he had only opened a can of Coke, not saved his country. It still bruised your pride though, having to ask for help from Mark, your sworn rival since middle school. Childish, you know, but you’re certain that Mark thinks of you as such too. 

   “Whatever,” you fumble for a name to call him, “nerd.” Mark snickers at you. “My fingers were just slippery.” He arches a brow, challenging you, and you scowl. “I wouldn’t be able to lift you because you’re heavy, fatass. Not because I’m weak.” You twirl a lock of your hair around your finger. “And look who’s talking, Mr. I-Can’t-Open-Doors.”

      Mark flushes crimson as he silently fumes. “That was because I was pushing the pull door!”

   “That’s even worse, Mark,” you tease, unable to suppress a smile. “Dumbass,” you mumble below your breath, enjoying the way Mark seethes.

   “You’re calling me a dumbass? If I remember correctly, I was the one who placed above you last term.” Mark haughtily flips a page in his workbook. “Which I think is why your parents want me to tutor you.”

   You throw a measly eraser shaving at Mark in rebuttal. “You know that’s not why I’m here!” Another shaving is thrown at Mark’s head, yet he doesn’t even look up at you. “In fact, your parents probably wanted me here so I could babysit you!”

   Neither you or Mark are right. Your parents just chucked you together because they thought that after all those years of living beside one another and having weekly dinners together, you two would be absolutely wonderful buddies, and you can’t fault them for assuming such a thing.

   Logically speaking, you and Mark are supposed to be the bestest of friends. As much as you dislike the word, it seems as if fate has decided that you two are meant for each other. Gross. 

   In almost every situation possible, you and dear Markie boy over here have been unwillingly strung together—from group projects, to assigned seats, you two just can’t get a break from one another.

   Your parents had innocently thought that having a little study session while they went out for a double date with Mark’s parents would be beneficial for you two. Perhaps even fun. Fun, your ass. 

   All those years spent with Mark hasn’t made you friends, no, it’s made you rivals.

   Yeah, so not sworn enemies, but what’s life without a little exaggeration?

   You’ve always been a bright kid, some would even go as far to say that you’re ‘gifted’, but you think ‘persevering’ is a better word to describe it. You weren’t just born naturally intelligent or outstandingly athletic, no, you’ve had to work hard, insanely hard, for that. It hadn’t been handed to you all nicely wrapped with a little bow to match, just for you to tear it open and take. You’ve had to tolerate and undergo several sleepless nights, and many agonising hours of training. 

   Up until middle school you were top of your class in all aspects. You were idolised (well, as idolised as you could be for a middle schooler anyway), loved and acknowledged. It had been blissful. 

   That was until, little Mark with that stupidly cute gleam in his eyes came along, skipping over to you in those worn-out track pants and smiling toothily as he introduced himself as your brand new next door neighbour.

   You have to admit, initially, you and him were close friends. You’d walk home together, sneak out to go to the convenience store together, share snacks together, the list goes on. You’d even given Mark your very first kiss, right on the cusp on your twelfth birthday. He didn’t know that it was your first kiss though, and he’ll never know. You’d rather be shot at point blank range than give up such private intel. 

   But when one day, in seventh grade, when Mark had begun closing in on you in rankings, outrunning you at the park and gradually being everyone’s new favourite, you found yourself isolated. Even one of your friends, a girl with straight long hair that fell past her waist, started hanging out with Mark more than with you.

   And when you invited her to your thirteenth birthday, the first thing she’d asked was, “Is Mark going to be there?”

   And at that same party, you saw her, kissing the boy you had been crushing on for the past year. And it looked like Mark really enjoyed kissing her too. More than he did with you.

   From that point on, you began to distance yourself from Mark. It was gradual, slow, but you knew Mark could tell. When he finally surpassed you academically too, you started harbouring a resentment towards him, and the rivalry between you two started.

   You were somewhat hoping he’d confront you, at least wonder why your attitude towards him had seemed to change in the blink of an eye, but he hadn’t. And that stung.

   Obviously rumours had circulated in middle school about what was going on between you two. Kids, no, people love to talk. And talk they did. 

   It had been widely known that you and Mark used to be inseparable at one point in time, and it was jarring seeing how differently you two were acting around each other.

   Mark and that friend of yours had broken up some time after that, and evidently she was pissed. It seemed as if she had begun spreading gossip about you, claiming that you had been some sort of psycho ex-girlfriend and that you had threatened Mark to break up with her, essentially, she was villainising you.

   When high school finally rolled around, Mark’s ex had moved by then—you weren’t sure where and you didn’t care to know. The rumours eventually died down with her absence, and you thought that maybe, just maybe, you and Mark could finally make amends, bury the hatchet, as one would say. But that never happened.

   Looking back, you’re a bit amused at what an eventful and dramatic childhood you had. All those scandals at just thirteen? What a boss bitch. Present you would not be able to stomach that.

   You take a peek at Mark. He’s attractive. Of course he is. He had been a cute kid, no doubt, but as he’s aged, he’s matured into his good looking features. He’s not the rugged and manly kind of good looking, he’s got more of a sweet boyish look to him, and in your opinion, it adds to his charm. 

   “What are you staring at?” 

   Shit, you’ve been caught. No, caught? It’s not like you were doing something you shouldn’t have. “Nothing.” You reach forward to take a sip from the infamous Coke can. It’s lukewarm, but you gulp it down regardless, trying to appear unfazed.

   “Were you checking me out?”

   Disaster strikes just as those words leave Mark’s lips. The putrid sensation of warm coke leaves your mouth entirely, not because you’ve begrudgingly swallowed it all, but because you’ve spit it out from the sheer shock of Mark’s question. 

   “Hey! What the fuck?” Mark stands from his chair across from you and its legs scrape against the floor with a sound that makes your skin crawl. 

   You cough and sputter, gasping for air. Once you’ve gotten past that tight feeling in your throat, you wipe the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. A few droplets of the sugary drink dribble onto your shirt. But fortunately, well for you at least, you’re not as drenched in spit-laced Coke as Mark is. 

   “Shit!” You lift your gaze to look at Mark, who’s surprised, to say the least. 

   Mark takes a breath to say something, the words on the tip of his tongue, but he clamps his mouth shut, opting to groan in annoyance instead. “Jesus, why’d you even do that?”

   Your face burns in embarrassment. No way you’re going to admit to him that you were checking him out. Sort of. “I don’t know, it just went down the wrong channel, I guess.”

   Mark’s lips form a thin line of dissatisfaction. “Yeah, okay, whatever.” He cringes as his shirt sticks to him. “ I’m gonna go change.”

   He runs a hand through his hair, face upturned in frustration as he stomps up the stairs, his footsteps echoing throughout the living room. Your eyes follow his figure until he turns a left into his room. 

   You sigh. If you were home alone, you would have screamed in humiliation. The can of Coke on the table mocks you. You resist the urge to pick it up and hurl it into Mark’s neighbour’s backyard—well, your backyard. 

   A sliver of positivity presents itself in the form of you and Mark’s mostly unscathed worksheets. There are a few stray droplets here and there, but it’s barely noticeable. It would’ve been much worse for both Mark and you if you had drenched those as well. In fact, your homework wouldn’t be drenched in just saliva and Coke, but also in tears at that point. 

   You curse the can in your grasp, its aluminium smooth against your skin, before you dump it in the bin. Good riddance, bitch. 

   I should apologise. You can suck up your pride for that. No, this isn’t even about petty things like pride anymore. That shouldn’t matter. I should apologise, you think to yourself firmly.

   Alright. Apologising. Sorry. You inhale deeply, gathering your senses and calming your jittery nerves. Why are you even nervous? It’s not like you’re professing your undying love to him. Chill the fuck out.

   As you’re standing before Mark’s single, wooden door (which looks extremely daunting for some reason), it doesn’t dawn on you that perhaps you should knock first.

   If it had, then perhaps you wouldn’t be staring at a shirtless Mark, your hand still wrapped around his doorknob and your mouth hung agape.

   “Oh my God, Mark!” You cover your eyes, the door shutting behind you with a creak. You’re a bit ashamed at how fast your cheeks are overtaken by a hot, prickling feeling. “Why are you naked?”

   Mark, though just as startled as you are, has the common sense to reach blindly for the stained shirt he just took off, holding it in front of him. “What do you mean why am I naked? Why are you here?”

   You take a few steps back, your back pressed up against the door. “I- I came up here to say I’m sorry. You know, for uh, just now?”

   Your hands slowly fall to your sides as you burn holes into Mark’s carpeted floor with your eyes instead. 

   “Oh, uh, o-okay. Apology accepted, I guess.” Mark’s voice cracks and he clears his throat. “Let me just uhm—”

   You can hear his drawer sliding open and the faint rustle of fabric. All the while you keep your gaze glued to the floor, feeling your cheeks grow warmer by the second. Oh my God, you’re acting like a little girl who’s just held a boy’s hand for the first time.

   This isn’t the first time you’ve seen a guy naked—for fuck’s sake, Mark’s not even naked. He’s all covered up where he should be. Why is the sight of just his bare body from the waist up making your mind go blank and your palms grow sweaty? It’s not like you have feelings for him anymore. No, you don't.

   “You can uh, you can look up now.”

   You steel yourself, looking up to face Mark. Why did you have to steel yourself? It’s not like he’d have taken even more clothes off once you looked up again. You feel like slamming your head into the wall.

   You fiddle with your fingers, searching for something to say to try and ease the tension. “Uh, sorry. For spilling that Coke all over you, I mean.” You scratch the nape of your neck. “And for you know, walking in on you changing.”

   “Why didn’t you leave?”

   Your shoulders slump. “Huh?”

   Mark chuckles confidently, like he’s unabashed. His cheeks are ablaze with colour, though. “I mean, why didn’t you just back out of the room when you walked in on me changing? Why’d you just stand there?”

   You blink at him. Why didn’t you just leave? “I- I froze up, okay? Don’t bully me!” Your ears are burning.

   “Yeah, okay, okay.” Mark raises his hands by his sides, that entertained smile never leaving his lips. “Let’s go back down, okay? I still need to finish my work.”

   You chew on your inner cheek. “Yeah, whatever,” you try to find a creative name to call him.

   “Yeah, I know. Nerd.” Mark raises his brows at you, still with that amused grin. You wish you could smack it right off his stupidly handsome face.

   You huff, turning on your heel and practically booking it to the stairs. Mark catches up to you in no time with long, languid strides. Stupid long ass legs.

   “Hey, wait up, loser,” he says, a hint of delight in his voice. He pokes your side and you jump, shoving his hand away and mustering a weak glare at him. “Oh, are you ticklish?”

   You gnaw on your bottom lip. “No, I’m not, fatass!” Despite your harsh tone, your cheeks deceive you, blossoming with warmth yet again.

   Mark smiles genuinely this time, although there’s no sarcastic edge to it whatsoever. “You getting shy?”

   “No, I’m not.”

   “Hey, don’t be upset!” The next thing Mark says is nearly incomprehensible, but you hear it. Oh, you definitely do.

   “You look cute.”

   Your head swivels to look back at Mark, and you realise that he hadn’t meant for you to hear that.

   The faintest of smiles teases your lips, before you turn away, denying him the satisfaction of seeing you break out into a grin. “Yeah, whatever, Mark.”

   Now, it’s Mark’s turn to be enveloped in heat as a red tint spreads across his cheeks.

[himbowelsh]

Pls Hoosier on Valentine's list!

valentines day alphabet  ( accepting! ) 

A   :   AFFECTION.   how does your muse show affection?

He doesn’t, if he can help it. Unfortunately, Hoosier’s a bigger softie than he likes to admit. His affection shows itself through small gestures   ---   a blanket tucked around someone’s shoulders, food shared, limbs resting casually against each other during idle moments. If Hoosier’s willing to go out of his way for someone, even a little bit, then they matter to him. His smile could make flowers grow, so being on the receiving end of it tends to send the people he cares about a clear message.

B   :   BOUQUET.   does your muse like flowers? which ones are their favourite?

Absolutely not a bouquet man. Doesn’t trust flowers, doesn’t know how they work, and is not inclined to find out.

C   :   CHOCOLATE.   does your muse like chocolate? which one is their favourite?

Abso-fuckin-lutely. Hoosier would shank a man for some cherry cordials.

D   :   DATE.   what is your muse’s ideal date? where / who with / etc?

He prefers to split the bill on any dates, because he’s cheap economically responsible like that. Hoosier’s ideal date wouldn’t involve paying at all; he’d have a great time doing something on just the right side of illegal, like sneaking into a movie (makes the cinema experience 10x more fun) or loitering in a potentially dangerous place. Coffee dates are pretentious, but he really likes coffee, so sometimes you’ve gotta take the good with the bad. He’d love to go to an animal shelter and, like, play with the dogs...  Hoosier’s not a hard person to take out, and he’s satisfied doing pretty much anything, so long as it’s not too boring.

E   :   EMBRACE.   does your muse like hugs? what are their hugs like?

what the hell is a hug   He doesn’t love them  ---  mostly because he’s been on the receiving end of too many of Chuckler’s post-workout sweaty bear hugs, and that’s something you never recover from. Hoosier’s particular about physical affection, unless it’s from someone he really considers His People  ---  even with his closest friends, he can be weird about hugs, though he’ll make allowances for his little siblings. He’s not a hugger himself.

F   :   FLIRT.   is your muse good at flirting? how do they flirt?

He doesn’t, because it’s a lot of effort, and frankly he just can’t be assed. Hoosier doesn’t do charming small-talk; he’s not going to wine and dine someone he’s just interested in taking to bed. If he wants more than that, well...  he doesn’t even know how to go about it, so they better appreciate the drinks he’s willing to pay for. The other partner’s got to carry the conversation, because Hoosier can’t make small talk to save his life. His good looks and bluntness tend to carry him far enough  ---  as far as the bedroom.

G   :   GIFT.   is your muse good at gift - giving or do they struggle to get it right?

He really doesn’t try that hard. The sort of person to literally ask outright, “what do you want?” a week before a birthday...  then, to his credit, he goes out and tracks the thing down. (Leckie once gave him a really obscure book title, just to see what would happen. Hoosier turned up with it. The book had been out of print of years. This was a first-edition copy. No one knows where he got it, how, or if it was obtained legally.)

H   :   HEART.   is your muse quick or slow to give their heart away?

He’s...  slow because the idea scares him. Hoosier and intimacy...  do not mix. On a physical level, sure, but emotionally? He’s gonna glower that idea into submission and keep any pesky feelings that bubble up down for as long as possible. Hoosier does not love the idea of opening himself up to getting hurt, and doesn’t think he’s very suited for romance, so he’d just...  rather not.

I    :   I LOVE YOU.   does your muse find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

Like we just said! Emotional intimacy is a Big Yikes for him! Anyone would be lucky to get an “I love you” out of him once. He’s got to be either very drunk or very sleepy to say it out loud  ---   both times are when he’s at his softest.

J   :   JEALOUSY.   does your muse get jealous in a relationship?

Oh yeah. Hoosier can be...  territorial when it comes to the people he loves. He passionately dislikes anyone getting too close to his partner; there’s being friendly, and then there’s being more, and he’s got strong instincts for when something’s more than friendly. Hoosier makes up for it by being bitchier than usual, glowering at them and being a bit more physical with his partner. He’s rarely one for PDA, but Jealous Hoosier has some points to make.

K   :   KISS.   is your muse a good kisser? why / why not?

He’s a very physical kisser, almost taking ownership of his partner through his lips; Hoosier Smith doesn’t kiss to play around. Hands on the ass, the thighs, gripping the hips as he grinds slightly against them; each breath seems to ripple between the two of them, a shared convulsion, before Hoosier goes right back in for more. He’s a hungry kisser, and a little feral about it  ---  bruises will be left along his partner’s neck, and their lips may be sore for days afterwards, but they way Hoosier leaves them seeing stars makes it all worth it.

L   :   LOVE.   who does your muse love?

He’s very fond of his little siblings, and very affectionate with them  ---  way more than anyone’s used to seeing out of him. Hoosier’s got Big Brother Instincts, even they don’t rear their head that often. He loves his mom and (very old, possibly immortal) grandparents; he’s very devoted to his friends, no matter how he rolls his eyes at Chuckler and Runner’s chaos or bitches at Leckie’s pretentiousness. That’s the thing about Hoosier  ---   he doesn’t love a lot of people, but the people he does love, he wants to keep.

M   :   MOONLIGHT.   is morning or night a more romantic setting?

Night, because he’s never up in the damn morning. Why would someone want to do things before 10am? Not this man. Anything that needs to get done can be done at midnight, or not at all.

N   :   NAUGHTY.   what is your muse like in bed?

He alternates between fierce and teasing, but Hoosier is very, very determined. God, does he love his partner’s reactions...  and he savors them, leading them along for as long as possible, dragging every encounter out until the end. Hoosier’s in no rush to finish; honestly, he has a bit of trouble finishing without his partner, and it’s usually seeing them go over the edge first that gets him there. He’s rough, rougher than he means to be at times; sex is the most energy he’ll ever expend at a given moment, and he turns it into a full-on workout, both parties slick with sweat by the end of it. Sometimes, he’ll just put his mouth to task, trailing it slowly along his partner’s body  ---  sucking kisses into their chest, their stomach, their hips, all the way to their thighs and what lies beyond.

O   :   ODE.   does your muse have a way with words?

Yes. Very succinct. To the point. Knows what the hell he’s saying. Fine with words, thanks.

P   :   PARTNER.   what does your muse look for in a partner? looks / personality?

Someone who doesn’t get on his last damn nerve. Hoosier would do well with a partner who goes with the flow  ---  probably someone more extroverted than him, but who really doesn’t demand much or tax his energy when he needs to just destress. He’d do best with someone low-maintenance. (Too bad the high-maintenance people are so damn attractive.) They have to love animals; they have to be able to keep things neat, because he hates a messy house; he’s fine with almost any quirk they might have, so long as they put up with his in return. He loves people who can sing...  and people who laugh at their own jokes really shouldn’t be as attractive as they are.

Q   :   QUESTION.   would your muse ask the big question or expect their partner to?

He’d ask as soon as he comes to terms with the idea...  which’ll take a while, not gonna lie. His partner asking first would completely take Hoosier by surprise. He wouldn’t be expecting it, wouldn’t know what to do with it, and his off-the-cuff answer would be, “what the fuck”.  Promising omen of marital bliss right there.

R   :   ROMANCE.   is your muse a romantic or a cynic?

Definitely on the cynical side. He’s...  afraid of romance, a little bit, and definitely doesn’t imagine himself as anybody’s Prince Charming.

S   :   SWEETHEART.   did your muse have a childhood sweetheart?

He didn’t, really. Little Bill Smith had way more important things on his mind, like taking long naps, stealing cookies, and hiding in places where his mama couldn’t find him. Bigger priorities on his mind.

T   :   TRUE LOVE.   does your muse believe in true love?

...  nah, probably not. It’s not something he gives a lot of thought to, because thinking about love in general leaves him feeling half-starved and irritated. True love...  well, to be honest, he’s got no clue what it is.

U   :   UNREQUITED.   has your muse had their heart broken?

...  let’s say he hasn’t and call it even. He’s not gonna talk about it.  (He hasn’t, but he’s been on the cusp of loving people who didn’t love him back. Caution is learned; if you go to the edge of a cliff and almost fall off, you’re in no hurry to dance on that edge again. He learned to fear love without ever feeling the full sting of rejection, cause he’s just proactive like that.)

V   :   VALENTINE.   how does your muse feel about valentine’s day?

A complete waste of time, unless there’s chocolate involved. Chocolate for him. Get him chocolate, please.

W  :   WEDDING.   would your muse get married? why / why not?

Mmm. I mean. He’s not going to not get married, if the opportunity arises, but it’s also, like...  a lot of effort, everybody makes a big deal out of it, it costs a lot of money, and, like...  if all his siblings get hitched, does his Mama really need him to, too? (If Hoosier gets to the point where he’s head-over-heels in love with someone, enough to want to spend his life with ‘em, yeah, he’ll get married. But he’s prefer a quiet ceremony, no muss or fuss, to a big white wedding.)

X   :   XOXO.   does your muse use / like pet names?

Absolutely never... unless he’s in the mood. An arm tucked around his partner’s chest or waist, and a muttered “darlin’” against the side of their neck, is Hoosier-speak for ‘let’s get someplace private now, before I take my pants off right here.’

Y   :   YOURS.   does your muse get protective easily?

In, like, the laziest way possible. He’s perfectly willing to sit back and watch the fireworks, glowering as some fool gets bolder and bolder with the person he cares about...  but he’s not apathetic, he’s waiting. As soon as the bastard crosses a line, Hoosier’s on his feet and swinging. He doesn’t say anything; he just puts an end to the situation, with a few well-placed hits. Cross Hoosier Smith’s people at your own risk.

Z   :   ZZZ.   how many people has your muse slept with?

...  do you really want to know the answer to this question? It’s...  a lot. Many people. An amount that should maybe concern him. He couldn’t count if he tried, but the number is probably in the double digits. (How? He literally never goes out! Hoosier’s got ways, okay. When he feels like having sex, he will find someone willing and eager. It’s never a challenge to convince them. The job gets done.) Don’t ask, cause he’ll just smirk and say nothing.

[myaekingheart]

108. Starstruck

read the scarecrow and the bell on ao3 index | from the beginning | < previous | next >

               Konoha was abuzz with excitement as genin teams hung banners and balloons throughout the village. Truthfully, Rei found it rather ironic that they were assigned such a task. After all, the celebrity they were welcoming was not exactly child-friendly.

               Apparently Konoha’s financial situation had dipped during this time of routine and calm. As such, Lady Tsunade had invented the wonderful idea that perhaps the village should pour more of their efforts into promoting tourism. Rei was not brave enough to note how dangerous this might be with the Akatsuki a quietly approaching threat. Before she could say anything, Shizune cringed and swiped her finger across her neck, a warning. Tsunade had clearly been stressed. Protesting her plans would likely only anger the beast.

               The best way to attract visitors to Konoha, it seemed, was to piggyback on the village’s merit of being the birthplace of the great sannin, Jiraiya. There was nothing noble or respectable about this idea, however. He was not to be revered by tourists for his innate abilities but rather for his dirty books. Icha Icha was a hit the world over and so there was truly no better way to sell Konoha than to bring that fact to the fore.

               Clearly, they could not use Jiraiya himself as the poster boy. Tsunade had written him a letter mapping out her idea, to which he replied emphatically but apologized for not being able to partake himself. He mentioned that Naruto was progressing wonderfully with his training and they could not afford to stop for anything, but that they hoped Konoha would welcome them both back in a year with open arms. Regarding the tourism plan, however, Jiraiya instead suggested one of the actors from the film adaptation. After all, they were on the cusp of shooting Icha Icha Violence so a press tour was only natural. Promote the film while also promoting the village. There was no way Tsunade could say no.

               The first person she contacted, of course, was Koyuki Kazahana. Known by her stage name Yukie Fujikaze, she was the stunning lead actress and therefore was certain to garner lots of positive attention. However, Koyuki was not just an actress but also the princess of the Land of Snow. When she wasn’t acting, she was pouring her heart into her country. Her assistant, Sandayu, returned their correspondence with an “I regret to inform you…” and that was the end of that.  

               The only other option, and the one that eventually stuck, was the leading man. Keihaku Goman was charming and appealing with a lithe figure and a sparkling smile. Young adult magazines paid special attention to “eyes like pools of water” and “hair like sunshine.” He was, for all intents and purposes, a heartthrob. When it was announced that he was visiting Konoha, all the women went insane. Hair salons saw a significant increase in appointments and cute dresses flew off the racks of fashionable clothing stores. Anything to capture the attention of a sexy movie star.

               “I can’t believe how everyone is freaking out” Kakashi mentioned as he and Rei weaved through the mess. “I never expected everyone in the village to be so head over heels for some actor.”

               “Well, for what it’s worth” Rei replied, “he’s technically not just some actor. He’s an actor who just so happens to have a full-frontal nudity scene in a racy blockbuster. You’d be surprised what desperate women would do for dick.”

               Kakashi chuckled and shook his head. As big a fan as he was of the Icha Icha series, he just couldn’t wrap his brain around the absolute chaos erupting from this man’s visit. “At least you have a level head” he replied, wrapping an arm around his fiancée. Rei gave a definitive nod, rubbing the back of her neck and looking the other way. Her silence was enough to warrant suspicion. “You do have a level head, right…?” he asked slowly.

               “Hmm? Oh, yeah! Yeah! Of course!” Rei replied. She pasted a huge grin on her face and swatted at the air dismissively. Kakashi was not convinced. He stared her down for a long, silent moment before finally breaking.

               “Rei, please don’t tell me you’re googly-eyed for him, too” Kakashi complained.

               “I’m not!” Rei exclaimed. She rubbed her forearms and muttered, “I only like him a normal amount.”

               “God dammit, Rei” Kakashi whined, tossing his head back and groaning. And here he thought she wasn’t like other girls.

               “I’m sorry!” Rei replied. “It’s not like I’m going to lose my shit over this guy, I just think he’s kind of, I don’t know, aesthetically pleasing. You know, in that glittery film actor sort of way. That’s all it is! Come on, Kakashi. It’s really not that big of a deal.”

               Pouting, Kakashi muttered a halfhearted, “Alright” but it was clear he was bothered by this. And if he was bothered, then Rei was bothered. She stopped him dead in the middle of the street, taking his forearm to pull him closer to her. He watched as she cupped his face in her hands, stared him in the eyes.

               “Kakashi, believe me when I say this is not a big deal” she said. “I love you more than words can ever describe. There is no one else I would rather spend my future with.” She held up her left hand, her engagement ring glittering in the sunlight. “This should be proof enough of that.”

               Kakashi stared at her for a moment, searching her gaze for any hint of dishonesty. When he found none, his expression quickly shifted from anxiety to amusement. A satisfied smile spread across his masked face as he lyrically teased, “You have a crush on Keihaku.”

               Rei’s face immediately turned bright red. She removed her hands from his face and slapped him on the arm, turning away from him to hide her embarrassment. “Shut up! I already told you I do not!” she insisted.

               “Okay…” Kakashi chuckled, delightfully unconvinced. He plunged his hands into his pockets and began strolling back toward their apartment, humming to himself.

               “Kakashi, get back here!” Rei shouted, chasing after him. “I told you, it’s not like that! I don’t have a crush on this guy! Kakashi!”

               Keihaku Goman arrived in the Hidden Leaf a few days after, welcomed by a large crowd and sweeping processional. Women screamed and fainted at the sight of him—to think, a movie star here, in Konoha, in the flesh. They would give anything to earn so much as a glance or a wink from him. A team of ANBU escorted him to the hokage’s office where he was to meet with Tsunade about his itinerary. Among his bodyguards was Rei.

               In true movie star fashion, Keihaku hammed it up for the crowd as he ventured down the street, winking and waving at swooning women. Rei watched as she followed close behind and wondered how a human being could possibly be so charismatic. Every move seemed carefully choreographed and yet totally effortless. Was he playing a part, or was he truly this princely? She couldn’t tell. The longer she pondered it, however, the redder her face grew and she forced herself to remain focused. She could not let herself get distracted. She had a duty to fulfill.

               Once they had reached the hokage’s office, Tsunade welcomed him warmly. At least she seemed completely unaffected by his charm. Rather, she remained polite and diplomatic just as the hokage should be. Shizune, on the other hand, was forced to muster all of her strength in order to remain standing. From the other side of the room, a group of jonin—Kakashi included—tuned in for the briefing.

               Rei and Kakashi locked eyes with one another as Tsunade explained Keihaku’s tasks. He had a busy schedule ahead of him including photoshoots and even a commercial. Anything to amp up Konoha’s tourism. Meanwhile, Kakashi made discrete hand gestures to his fiancée—an overflow from his ANBU days—to communicate to her what he was thinking. And what he was thinking was that he was going to milk every ounce of her embarrassment. Her face turned bright red and she swatted at the air in a silent attempt to shut him up. Kakashi quickly dropped his eyes and stifled his laughter as Tsunade paused mid-sentence.

               “Is something the matter?” she asked harshly, glaring at Rei.

               Clearing her throat, Rei steadied herself and croaked, “N-no, Lady Tsunade. Just, uh…just a fly.”

               Tsunade narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, completely unconvinced. She slowly turned her attention back to Keihaku’s itinerary but Rei could feel a scolding waiting for her after Tsunade was done. Once her and Keihaku were yet again occupied with his obligations, Rei shot Kakashi a sharp warning glare. Even with her mask on, he could tell her expression was something fierce.

               Kakashi thumbed through Makeout Paradise as he waited outside the ANBU headquarters. It was that strange liminal period of dusk when the sky was growing too dark to read under and yet not dark enough to turn the streetlights on. And then there was a heavy shove of the door and Rei trudged out into the night air, fraught and fatigued. Kakashi tucked his book into his back pouch and waved with a grin, striding toward her. Rei knew just by the look on his face that she was in for a ration of shit. He was far too perky to not be suspicious. “So, how did your first day as Keihaku’s bodyguard go?” he asked, lacing his fingers with hers as they walked home.

               “It was fine” Rei replied bluntly. “Nothing to write home about.”  

               Kakashi was silent for a moment before teasing, “He tried to touch your butt, didn’t he?”

               “Kakashi! No! What the fuck?!” Rei exclaimed, swatting him on the arm. “Stop that! I already told you, it’s not like that!”

               “I’ll believe it when I see it” Kakashi sighed sleepily. He was so nonchalant, so unaffected, it made Rei’s blood boil. Grumbling, she quickened her pace with arms folded across her chest to further enforce her displeasure. They walked along in silence for a few moments more before Kakashi went in for the kill again. “So are you going to ask him on a date?”

               “What the fuck? No! Of course not!” Rei shouted. She shoved her left hand in his face. “Does this mean nothing to you, Kakashi?”

               “I don’t know” Kakashi joked. “Keihaku does have a lot more money than I do. Are you sure he wouldn’t be able to buy you something nicer?”

               Rei rolled her eyes and huffed her bangs out of her face. “Even if he did, I wouldn’t want it” she insisted. “It wouldn’t mean as much.”  

               He had to admit, hearing her get so heated about this was kind of affirming for him. He loved knowing that she was so defensively in love with him, that the thought of even considering another man made her furious. But at the same time, watching her get flustered about finding someone else attractive was far too fun. Besides, it was clear to him that he had nothing to worry about in terms of her faithfulness. He could tease her to his heart’s content and it wouldn’t mean a single thing.

               “So you’re saying that if Keihaku burst out of that window right there, with confetti and trumpets blaring, and got down on one knee and asked you to go on a date with him, that you would say no?” he asked, suppressing laughter. She glared up at him, tiny but lethal. Poking her puffed out cheek, he added, “Because that is a very tempting offer!”

               Rei swatted his hand away and shouted, “Maybe you should go on a date with him then, Kakashi!”

               Kakashi couldn’t help but laugh. “You know, if he ever did somehow ask you on a date, I think you should go for it.” It was that statement that firmly stopped Rei in her tracks. What was he insinuating here? First of all: if he somehow asked her on a date? Was he trying to say she would be undesirable to someone like Keihaku? Not that it mattered. She didn’t care either way. But was he trying to say she wasn’t fit to be seen with a celebrity? And more importantly, I think you should go for it?! Was her fiancé really suggesting she cheat on him? Her disgust and confusion were almost palpable. Kakashi, however, was completely unphased. Of all the women in Konoha, he doubted Keihaku would ever ask Rei out. It wasn’t that he considered her undesirable in the least sense—she was the most intelligent, beautiful, and talented woman he knew. And that was exactly the problem. Men like Keihaku had no interest in women of substance. All they cared about were breast implants and sex appeal. Women with lips soaked in gloss and hair permed to perfection and fake tans to rival the gods. Keihaku would never go for someone like Rei. Truthfully, Kakashi took comfort in that. If, for whatever reason, he did ask for a date with his fiancée, however, Kakashi was not going to protest. He wasn’t giving her up in the slightest. He knew even one dinner would never lead to anything serious. Celebrities were far too shallow for that sort of thing—Keihaku could never dream of having a relationship with as much depth and integrity as that of Kakashi and Rei. Rather, Kakashi’s reasoning was much more darkly funny: he would’ve killed to see Rei make a fool of herself in front of a famous movie star. He loved her more than life itself but he knew she was far too crass and clumsy for the likes of Keihaku. The two of them in a room together, candlelight and smooth jazz, was a recipe for disaster and Kakashi was far too curious for his own good. He only regretted not having popcorn.

               Rei’s glare hardened as she considered the situation. Finally, she blurted, “Then fine. Maybe I will go on a date with him then!”

               “Okay” Kakashi chuckled. He patted her head as they walked along, flattening the fluff of her ponytail in the process. Rei slapped his hand away and grumbled, pouting the entire way home.

               That night, she tossed and turned, restless. Thoughts of Keihaku swirled relentlessly through her head—a subject she did not want to think about. She was not interested in him. He was not going to ask her out. She was not imagining him asking her out. She was definitely not envisioning them sitting across a fancy table looking into each other’s eyes and having an incredibly in-depth and profound conversation with one another. No, Keihaku was useless. He was as profound as a cardboard cutout. She refused.

               The following day, Kakashi was lounging on the couch with a book when Rei returned home. Something was off about her, however. Somehow, her bangs seemed to hide more of her face than usual. What he could see of it was beet red. Sitting up abruptly, Kakashi asked, “How was work?”

               “It was…fine” Rei replied, voice restrained and cracking. Toshio picked his head up, ears perking at the squeak in her voice. Her tone was far too high-pitched to be normal. Something was wrong, Kakashi was sure of it.

               “Did anything happen today…?” he asked slowly. Rei kicked her shoes off at the front door, skirted around the kitchen table. She dropped to her knees on the living room floor so as to snuggle Toshio. Anything to keep herself preoccupied.

               “Um, well, I mean…” she stammered. “Kind of?”

               “Kind of?” Kakashi repeated. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Like what?”

               Rei wiped her nose with the back of her hand, covered her mouth so that her voice was muffled. “You’re never going to believe this, but…” she started. The suspense was killing him. Kakashi didn’t think he could handle it. What the hell was she hiding? And then, unable to restrain laughter any longer, she said it. “Keihaku literally asked me the fuck out.”

               By the time the words spilled from her lips, she had fallen back onto the floor covering her face and laughing hysterically. Kakashi couldn’t tell if she was delighted with the prospect or merely thought it was so ridiculously stupid, she was reduced to deliria. All he knew for certain was that it very quickly felt as if someone had ripped his spine right out of his body and now here he was, hollow and unstructured. Suddenly the whole idea wasn’t so funny anymore.

               “He…he asked you out?” Kakashi repeated slowly, voice quiet and numb. Then, voice rising slightly in horror, he asked, “W-Well what did you say?! You didn’t agree, did you?!”

               Rei rolled her eyes and repositioned herself on the floor, fixing a wedgie and smoothing her dress down over her stomach. “What do you take me for, Kakashi? A whore?” she asked. Folding her arms back behind her head then, she added, “Of course I said yes.”

               The entire room was spinning. Kakashi couldn’t take this. He felt like he was going to be sick. He never should’ve teased her about this. He never should’ve encouraged her. Now he just felt like an idiot. The sickening realization made him uneasy and shaky: oh god, he was going to lose her. “I-is he blind?” Kakashi erupted. “Did he not see the ring on your finger? Does commitment mean nothing to him? To you?”

               Finally understanding the gravity of his response, Rei sat up and frowned. “Calm down, Kakashi, fuck” she groaned. “Were you not the one who told me to go for it if he ever asked?”

               “Yes, but I never thought he’d actually do it!” Kakashi exclaimed. “I don’t want anyone else to think you’re available, or that you don’t respect our commitment to each other. We made a promise, Rei. Does it mean nothing to you?”

               Rei narrowed her eyes, brows knitting in offense. “Of course, Kakashi” she said, her voice stone cold. “More than you even know.” She pressed her hand to her stomach, filing through all the thoughts she had been having the past few weeks. Of taking his last name, of becoming his wife, of wanting to conceive a child with him. He had no idea the things she had been considering, of how deeply and passionately she had been imagining their future together. Rising to her feet, she approached Kakashi and situated herself between his legs, holding his face firm in her hands. “Nothing is going to happen, I promise” she insisted. “The only reason I agreed to this is because this is a once in a lifetime opportunity and I have terrible ideas. Is that clear?”

               Kakashi frowned, trying to make himself believe in her words. Then, looking up at her with eyes soft and pleading, he asked quietly, “What kinds of ideas?”

               A sinister grin touched Rei’s lips as she straddled his lap, running her fingers through his hair. “Oh, nothing too serious. I’m just going to milk this for all it’s worth and at the end of the night, probably pull his pants down in front of everyone in the middle of the restaurant.”

               Kakashi let out an airy chuckle, shaking his head. “Are you sure that’s not just because you want his dick, too?” he asked.

               Rei couldn’t restrain her incredulous laughter. “Absolutely not!” she exclaimed. “No, it’s because I think the whole world deserves to know the truth: that he actually has, and I quote, an ‘immaculately tiny penis’.”

               Kakashi’s face burned at the prospect and he struggled to suppress the laughter rising in his throat. “Immaculately tiny?” he repeated. “Where did you hear that?”

               Shrugging, Rei replied, “I found it in a pamphlet about the movie’s production.” Leaping to her feet, she then rushed into the kitchen and began rummaging around the junk drawer. “They said it was so unexpected and wrong for the role, that they had to hire a dick double just for the full-frontal nudity” she continued. She exclaimed with pride then as she found the very pamphlet in question crumpled up in the back of the drawer, presenting it to her fiancé with a dramatic flourish. She climbed onto the couch beside him, drawing her legs up to sit cross-legged, as she watched him flip through it, equal parts fascinated and frightened. “You know, for a movie based on a bestselling book, you’d think all of these psychotic women would do a little more reading.”

               “I guess this explains his confidence” Kakashi replied. “He must be compensating.”

               “I’ll say” Rei agreed.

               Kakashi had to admit, Rei’s tone and her casual attitude were reassuring but there was still something nagging in the back of his mind. Something that still bothered him about all of this. He folded the pamphlet back up and placed it on the coffee table, then thought for a moment before turning to her and asking, “Is that a dealbreaker?”

               Dumbfounded, Rei blinked despondently. Did Kakashi really think Keihaku’s charisma and wealth alone was enough to make her leave him? A sly smile touched her lips as she reached out and abruptly took hold of Kakashi’s crotch. His entire face turned bright red as he looked back at her, studying the determination and certainty of her gaze. “Nothing can compare to you, Kakashi” she insisted. “As far as dicks go, I’ve won the jackpot. There’s no way in hell I would ever give that up, or more importantly the amazing man it’s attached to.” She could feel him begin to harden from her touch and that gave her all the confidence to know that he understood her perfectly.

               Kakashi watched with focused intent as she gathered her hair into the signature ponytail, an elastic around her wrist and a bobby pin cinched between her lips. He only took slight comfort in her rather business-professional outfit: a simple button down, a knee-length skirt. But the way the buttons strained at her breasts, the tight-fitting nature of the skirt…he couldn’t help but shudder. Friday evening had come way too quickly for his taste.

               All week, he had debated being upfront and honest, telling her that this was a bad idea and refusing to let her go through with it. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Despite everything, he did not own her. If she wanted to do this, then that was her choice and no one else’s. Rei shoved a few bobby pins into the underside of her ponytail, ensuring that the shorter strands would stay put throughout the night, then flipped her head down and and misted the underside with hairspray. Kakashi coughed into the crook of his neck, the cloud of noxious fumes only further enforcing his nausea. Rei turned toward him once she was finished, studying the discomfort on his face. “Are you going to sit around sulking like this all night, Kakashi?” she asked. Kakashi pouted and dropped his gaze. Rei set the bottle of hairspray on the bathroom counter and approached him, tilting his chin up to look her in the eyes. “If you really didn’t want me to do this, all you had to do was speak up, Kakashi.”

               “I’m not going to tell you what to do” Kakashi replied, but Rei could tell there was more that he intended to say. After a beat of silence, he cupped her cheek in his hand and firmly added, “I don’t want you to do this.”

               Quite frankly, Rei was starting to grow frustrated with his conflicted attitude. Sometimes, he would seem fine. Completely unaffected. As if he knew without a shadow of a doubt that this would amount to nothing, that her faithfulness could not be wavered. Other times, however, he was fussy and distant. Time and time again, Rei had told him that if he was truly against her doing this, then to let her know. And time and time again, he said the same thing: I’m not going to tell you what to do. She understood that this was a sign that he wanted her to drop out without him having to ask, but the truth of the matter was that she could not bring herself to pass up an opportunity like this. She wanted to enjoy the finer things for one night and make a famous man look like an idiot in the process. To absolutely disparage a wealthy heartthrob while sipping fine champagne that tasted like power. If Kakashi didn’t want her to go through with this, she needed to hear it straightforward. And now here he was, fifteen minutes from her restaurant reservation, telling her what he had held back all week.

               “Kakashi…” Rei sighed. She pressed her forehead to his chest in defeat and a surge of relief washed over the copy ninja. She was finally giving in. She was going to back out at the last minute and save him from certain destruction. She rested a hand upon his chest, caressed him comfortingly. “You had all week to tell me this. Don’t you think it’s a little late to turn back now?”

               Kakashi froze, his heart leaping into his chest. “S-so are you still going to go?” he asked.

               Pulling back, Rei looked him in the eyes and sighed, “Yes. Yes, I am still going to go.”

               “B-but—” Kakashi stammered. Before he could say anything more, though, Rei had slipped past him to retrieve her purse from the kitchen table. She slipped her shoes on at the door—the strappy sandals she always wore for more formal occasions—before turning to leave. Kakashi could feel his insides twisting and decaying at the sight, panic surging through his veins. He never should’ve egged her on. He never should’ve teased her and encouraged her. Oh god, he was going to lose her. He had felt so secure about their relationship and now he was going to lose her. All he could manage to say to her was a croaked, “When will you be back?”

               Rei paused in the doorway, looking up at him, and fed him a sympathetic smile. “I’ll be back before nine. Promise” she said. Then, her sympathy slowly morphed into slyness as she added, “Don’t worry, I have something extra special planned for when I get back.” Her gaze was sultry and tempting as she closed the door behind her and disappeared. Kakashi should’ve felt relieved—after all, she was promising him something supreme upon her return—but if anything, he felt even more defeated. Not only was she off to mingle with a millionaire, but now she was sexually riled up on top of it. Digging the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, Kakashi groaned and fell back onto the couch. It was going to be a long three hours.

               He needed to do something, to preoccupy himself. Toshio picked his ears up as he stared back at Kakashi staring into the kitchen. He knew he should eat dinner, but his mood had swiped any hope of hunger from him. Instead, he swung open the refrigerator door and began cleaning out the spoiled food inside. He tossed the stinking plastic containers into the sink, tied up the trash bag and walked it down to the dumpster. Toshio followed, as if in hopes of finding scraps. Upon their return, Kakashi washed out the containers as well as any remaining dirty dishes. He took his time with each, paying no mind to the scalding water on his hands. He dried each one thoroughly and individually and put them away in their respective cabinets. The sun had nearly disappeared, the room growing dark. Kakashi flicked on a light and checked the clock. 6:45pm. This was pointless. Kakashi dropped his head back and sighed.

               “Toshio, if we’re lucky” he started, “Maybe she’ll come home early.” Toshio huffed and rested his head on the floor in retaliation. Kakashi nodded, kneeling down to scratch behind the dog’s ear. “Yeah. You and me both.”

               By 7 o’clock, it was clear to Kakashi that the only thing he could stand to do was read. If he could get himself right in the proper mood, nestled into the sweet spot of his literary allure, he could lose himself in the words and time would race by. He reached for Makeout Paradise, almost disgustingly satisfied with how clever this plan was meant to be, but quickly found the situation had left him changed. The book no longer brought him the same pleasure as it always had. He focused hard on the sentences in front of him, tried to envision himself and Rei in the title roles, but as luck would have it he landed on a chapter in which the third corner of the love triangle enters the plot. And in that role, all he could see was Keihaku Goman. The dashing Keihaku bursting into the room and professing his love for the heroine, Keihaku kissing her hand and begging her to choose him instead, Keihaku wrapping an arm around her waist as he whisked her into the bedroom and—

               Kakashi heard the key turn in the lock and he immediately sat bolt upright. His eyes glanced to the clock. It was 8:30pm. She was home early. A hint of delight hitched in his throat. The date must have gone terribly. Perhaps it was so terrible, in fact, that Rei will never want to look at another man ever again. He hoped that that wouldn’t backfire on him, that she would not denounce all men, himself included. But now he was overthinking things. All he knew was that he needed to see her. One look and he would know exactly how things had gone. One look and it would all be over, for better or for worse.

               She stepped inside and his heart surged. There she was. Deep down, a part of him was overjoyed that she had even returned at all. She locked the door behind her silently, kicked her shoes off. “Well?” Kakashi asked. She met his gaze blankly. “How was it?”

               “It was fine” she replied, unbuttoning her shirt plainly as she stepped over Toshio and skirted into the living room. “Things went smoothly.”

               She was far too calm. This was a bad sign. Either things went too smoothly or not smoothly at all. Kakashi wasn’t sure which he would have preferred. He watched her with laser focus as she knelt down on the floor by Toshio, slipping out of her blouse to reveal the simple white camisole underneath. He wanted to kiss the freckles on her shoulders and the scars on her forearms. The delicate lace trim was so enticing, perfectly accentuating her breasts. Kakashi frowned and wondered if Keihaku had the same thoughts. It was then that he knew there was no way things couldn’t have gone well. Dejected, Kakashi turned away to look out the window. He attempted to sound as nonchalant as possible when he asked, “So are you going to run off with Mr. Billionaire and move into his mansion with his fancy gold couch and tiny penis?” The depression in his voice, however, was far too obvious.

               Knitting her brows together, Rei stared at him sharply. “You know I only have eyes for you” she insisted. “I wouldn’t want to spend my future with anyone else.” She finished unfastening the last button on her shirt and slithered out of it then, tossing it toward Kakashi from across the room. “Besides” she sighed rather dramatically, “Keihaku Goman is a total asshole, anyway.”

               In retrospect, this was not the least bit surprising but the way she said it, the look on her face as she pouted and tilted her head toward the window, struck something within Kakashi. Something anxious but protective. “Why?” he asked, leaning forward. “What happened? What did he say to you?”

               “It’s really nothing” Rei swatted at the air. “He just threw out some pretty petty and underhanded lines about he’s always liked ‘homegrown girls’ and shit.”

               “Homegrown girls?” Kakashi repeated. He wasn’t quite sure what that meant.

               Rei nodded, drawing her knees up to her chest like a small child. As cavalier as she appeared on the outside, he could tell in her eyes that something had cracked. “Yeah, you know, like local rough-and-tumble girls who live in the middle of nowhere and wrestle alligators and bake pies and shit. Anne and Scout and Jane, all that crap.” Kakashi blinked, trying to remember who, exactly, Anne and Scout and Jane were. Rei continued to speak before he could make the final connection. “Apparently Keihaku thinks that the ugly features like my scar and my crooked teeth and messy hair were ‘alluring’ in, and I quote, ‘a gross, kinky sort of way’.” Here, Rei made a face bordering both disgust and confusion. A casual acceptance of a harsh insult that deep down, she was clearly hurt by. And deep in the pit of Kakashi’s stomach grew a sharp, burning anger.

               How could anyone ever say anything so cruel? And to his fiancée of all people? Kakashi sucked in a deep breath and clenched his fists at his sides. Nothing about the date itself or his prior uncertainty mattered anymore. All that was important now was that Keihaku Goman had hurt the love of his life and Kakashi could hardly contain himself. “The audacity…” he muttered through clenched teeth. “I can’t believe he would say something like that.” Rei turned to him and saw the darkness in his eyes, the absolute fury. Her gaze softened, sympathetic and sad. She hated seeing him get so pent up like this. And then Kakashi stood, reaching for his shoes by the front door.

               “W-wait, where are you going?” Rei asked, scrambling to her feet.

               Kakashi sighed and shook his head. “Someone ought to teach that asshole a lesson.”

               Rei rested a gentle hand on his forearm, shook her head. Anyone else likely would’ve been far too intimidated to approach the infamous Copy Ninja in this way, but not Rei. She didn’t care. She knew better than to believe he would ever hurt her. “It’s not worth it” Rei softly insisted. “We’re never going to see him again. It’s fine.”

               “But Rei—” Kakashi protested, but she simply shook her head and guided him back to the couch. She sat beside him and rested a hand on his knee. They remained silent for a long while until Kakashi calmed down. When he had, he turned to her and asked quietly, “Are you okay?”

               Nodding, Rei replied, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.” There was a sense of restraint in her voice, however, as if she was holding back tears. Kakashi tried to keep his cool. Forcing a laugh, Rei then added, "Honestly, I’ve heard worse from Sekkachi. Keihaku’s words mean nothing to me. He doesn’t know anything about me, so who is he to judge?”

               “Rei…” Kakashi murmured. His pain in seeing her not just upset but faking a smile was immeasurable. He reached out to caress her cheek, press his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes and inhaled, drinking in every ounce of her presence. “He doesn’t know a damn thing” he whispered. “Rei, you’re the strongest and most amazing and intelligent and beautiful woman I’ve ever known. I just...I can’t fathom how anyone can be so…just…” He groaned in frustration, struggling to find the proper words.

               “It’s okay” Rei assured him, studying his face and running her fingers through his hair. “I know.”

               Kakashi grazed the scar across the bridge of her nose with his thumb, combed her hair back and chuckled lightly when his fingers got caught in the tangles. “I just can’t stand anyone hurting you” he finally whispered.

               “I know” Rei whispered back, dripping with sympathy. “It’s fine, though. Really” she insisted. Kakashi opened his eyes and leaned back so as to better view her face. He searched her expression for the sadness he was sure he would find, but instead she now seemed at peace. She laughed softly as she added, “I think really, he’s just bitter because they recast his character in the next Makeout film.”

               Kakashi blinked in disbelief, trying to digest this new information. “They did…?”

               “Mmhmm” Rei replied, and now she was fighting a smile. Kakashi’s heart sang. She toyed with the hem of his shirt as she explained, “Apparently he was a total diva on set and was just an absolute nightmare to work with. I heard Yukie nearly quit on five separate occasions and insisted even she wasn’t this bad when she was a full-time actress. You can use that information however you will—I’m sure you’d know better than I would. But his attitude on top of the dick double debacle basically made for an absolute mess and they fired him two weeks ago right before filming began. I take it he’s milking whatever claim to fame he has left before the news breaks and everyone shifts their adoration to the new guy.”

               Kakashi scoffed and nodded. “Good riddance” he sighed. This new information brought with it a welcome sense of relief, something Kakashi had been desperate for all week. “Did you at least humiliate him?” he then asked.

               A sly, sickening smile then spread across Rei’s lips. “Maybe…” she said in sing-song. “Let’s just say that if all the swooning women didn’t know about his assets before, they do now.”

               “You’re terrible” Kakashi shook his head. He only regretted not being there to see it himself.

               “I bet that’s the last time he’ll ever try to mess with a ‘homegrown girl’” Rei replied. It was refreshing to see her use what was once an insult as a term of power and pride now. Keihaku Goman may not have seen the merit in a homegrown girl, but Kakashi certainly did. He wouldn’t have wanted her any other way.

               Sighing, Kakashi leaned back against the couch, taking delight in Rei automatically snuggling up against his chest. When she laid beside him like this, everything just felt right. Her head nestled into the dip where his collar met his shoulder, her hand firmly monitoring his heartbeat. Toshio followed suit, leaping onto the open cushion to snuggle up beside them. “So you really wouldn’t leave me for some fancy film actor?” Kakashi asked, toying with Rei’s hair as he held her close.

               Rei laughed and shook her head, looking up at him with a glimmer of ingenuity in her eyes. His heart swelled, he loved her so much. “And give up becoming Mrs. Hatake? Wife of the infamous Copy Ninja? I could never.” Toshio barked in stark agreement and Kakashi couldn’t contain himself any longer. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, burying his face in the crook of her neck so as to plant tiny little kisses all along her shoulder and collarbone. She squirmed with uproarious laughter, Toshio barking in amused spectatorship. It was moments like these, snapshots of the little life they had created together, that were all that truly mattered. The simple things. The things that money couldn’t buy. And that was enough. It was more than enough.

[bixgirl1]

New Fic - Glompfest!

Title: Life Lessons Author: Bixgirl1 Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy Rating: Heh. Explicit. Word Count: 68k Content/Warnings: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Wandless Magic, Banter and flirting and snark - oh myyy - UST!, accidental kissing, intentional kissing (just really a lot of kissing), Epistolary elements, Auror Harry, Humor, dancing, weird plotty stuff ‘cause I can’t help myself, mentions of childhood trauma and previously-made sexual threats, wanking, oral sex, anal fingering, anal sex, rimming (omfg I just realized I forgot that in my AO3 tags!), intergluteal sex, semi-public sex. Summary: On the cusp of a promotion, Harry needs a little help with his image. Enter Draco Malfoy — who doesn't really do that, Potter — to whip him into shape… and make him feel things he hasn't for a very long time. Featuring: odd jobs, surprising chemistry, lots of accidental kissing, the Prophet living up to type, owls exhausted by the carrying of dirty letters, a secret no one can talk about, a merry band of Slytherins (none of whom really approve), and an enchanted mirror (who really, really does).

Author’s Notes: For @m4g0rtz. I’ve wanted to write for you for the LONGEST time, sweets.  Your comments before we met always made me absolutely light up, and then I got to know you and I realized you’re just as fabulous as you seemed. Your friendship has meant so much to me from the beginning, and this fest gave me the perfect excuse to say so in fic; I hope you can forgive my sneakiness while I wrote this for you. lolol.

A huge thanks to my lovely betas, @lqtraintracks and @coriesocks. You guys were both so effing patient with me and both so encouraging and helpful - you made this like a zillion times better than it would have been otherwise. <333333

And a huge thanks to the mods, too, for running such a fun, wonderful fest!

Excerpt (under the cut):

It was one of the most fundamental truths of Harry’s life: as soon as things were going well, everything would turn to shit.

You’re a wizard, Harry — just be on guard for that murderer hunting you. You have a godfather, Harry — but be careful not to get too attached to him. From his relationship with Ginny (which never got back off the ground after the war) to his life after defeating Voldemort (which would never resemble anything approaching normal), there was always some sort of caveat. Privately, he called it “End of the School Year Syndrome.”

The fact that this time it had actually been scheduled for late June was simply ironic.

“That’s not even six weeks away,” Hermione said, frowning.

“Your confidence in me is inspirational,” Harry said. “And the maths isn't really what I’m having a problem with.” He took the invitation back from her and re-buried his face in one of the sofa pillows. It smelled a little like feet and Ron’s deodorant, as though Ron had Transfigured it into a footstool and then only had time to hastily return it to form and freshen it with a charm before Hermione saw and got on him again about just using one of their existing footstools. Harry tossed it to the floor, face smooshing against the sofa cushion as he blindly reached out in search of another pillow. He heard Hermione huff just as one hit him on the back of the head. Harry shoved it under his face. “Thanks,” he said, muffled.

There was a beat of silence, and then Hermione sighed and rested her hand against the back of his head. “How long do you need to sulk?” she asked, stroking her fingers through his hair.

Harry slumped a little deeper. “Five weeks.”

“I’ll give you until Ron gets back with dinner,” she said, more to herself than him. "And for goodness’ sake, Harry, at least take off your glasses.”

Harry managed to take them off without lifting his head or breaking them — proof, he supposed, that he wasn’t entirely incompetent. Hermione took them from his hand and rose with a final, fluttering pat on his shoulder blade. Harry exhaled and tried to consider his options, but was quickly lulled by the drum of the rain on the windowpanes and the pop of the fire. He listened to Hermione putter around her kitchen and relaxed; more than for the advice or commiseration, this was why he’d come, if he was honest. Ron and Hermione’s cottage was homey, calm, most of their furniture crafted from Ron’s magic, the air inside scented by the lavender Hermione had planted in the beds below their windows. Harry missed the company, and the lived-in quality of the tiny flat they’d shared before Ron and Hermione moved out, the distracted mess of three people training for unrelated careers, always someone either there or about to be.

He liked the flat he'd moved into on his own just fine, but working the hours he did left it with a silent, sterile quality he could never seem to get rid of, even when he left the wireless on or avoided laundry for a few days. He’d tried to spruce it up more than once, but Neville wouldn’t even let him buy plants anymore, not after the Solicitous Succulents he’d brought over on Boxing Day — When they bloom, they emit soothing pheromones! You can’t kill them, they barely need any attention! — had weaponised their thorns within an hour of Nev’s arrival; a defensive measure they took when they were in danger of drying out, Neville told him later, and one he’d thought was a myth.

The sound of Ron’s Apparition to their front door roused Harry from his reverie, but he didn’t get up. He heard the rustle of takeaway being opened and dished out, a low hum of murmurs, and his own name — and then Ron shouted, “What the bloody fuck?” and stomped, fuming, into the parlour. “They’re not going to give it to you?”

Harry pushed up from his prone position and shrugged as Ron glowered down at him. “They might,” he said. “Robards said they might still.”

“Give over,” Ron said, and Harry dutifully scooted to make space. Ron threw himself down onto the sofa. “It’s utter shit, Harry.”

“I know.”

“He’s been telling you that job’s yours for… for years!”

“I know.”

“You’ve worked longer hours and closed more cases than anyone in the entire department!” Ron said. His outrage was soothing, both to Harry’s temper and his self-esteem, and a grateful smile tugged at Harry’s lips.

“I know,” he said again.

"You should just run," Ron spat. "Hermione's been saying it, we'll organise a campaign--"

"We'd have no time to prepare for it now. Besides, even if I wanted to, it would look… wrong. Robards would step aside, but… He didn't even have to run in the last election five years ago, and and no one's ever won who wasn't backed by both the exiting Head Auror, the Minister, and at least half the Wizengamot," Harry said, shaking his head when Ron took another deep breath and opened his mouth. “And anyway, Robards said it's not as simple at that.”

“The age thing again?”

Harry scowled. “I wish.”

Twice before, Robards had put off retiring when certain members of the Wizengamot had made it plain that, no matter Harry’s accomplishments to date, they had no intention of promoting someone barely into their twenties to the position of Head Auror. Trying not to take issue with their reasoning — or the extra work Robards piled on him to make a point of his capabilities — Harry’d not made a single complaint as his twenty-third and twenty-fourth birthdays ticked by. But with every successfully closed case since, Robards had assured him that by his twenty-fifth he’d have his promotion.

And then he’d called Harry in for a meeting today, offering Harry a drink before he’d even sat down.

Ron made a disgruntled sound and folded his arms across his chest. “What’s the problem this time?”

“As I was trying to tell you, husband-mine,” Hermione said dryly, walking in and levitating three plates behind her, “It's supposedly Harry.”

“What's Harry?” Ron asked, shooting her a sheepish look. He lifted two of the plates from midair, passing one over to Harry. The salty grease of Ron’s selection — fish and chips — teased at Harry’s senses and he tried to recall when he ate last. Breakfast, probably.

“The problem,” Hermione said, taking her own plate and sitting between them. “It’s Harry.”

“And I’m supposed to be the tactless one,” Ron stage-whispered to him.

“I’m not a problem,” Harry said, pulling a wounded face at Hermione.

She made a little sound of protest. “I didn’t—”

“Arguing with her never ends well,” Ron said. “You might as well just get on board with being a problem, capital P.”

“I don’t want to be a Problem,” Harry said. He turned beseeching eyes at Hermione. “Couldn’t I be something like Trouble instead?”

Ron nodded sagely. “You’ve got enough experi—”

“Oh my god, fine!” Hermione said, dropping her utensils on her plate. Cheered by the clear exasperation on her face, Harry laughed and looked at Ron, who popped three chips in his mouth and quirked her an unrepentant grin. Hermione rolled her eyes and elbowed Ron, but the look she shot him was fond and warm. “Hush, or you’ll end up with your own problem — with a capital P,” she said warningly. She turned back to Harry. “There is a point to be considered about your image, that's not wrong.”

“Hermione!” Ron said, but Hermione looked at Harry steadily, waiting. Expectant.

Harry frowned, effectively distracted from distracting himself. He squeezed a lemon wedge over his fish and opened a packet of vinegar, sprinkling it over his chips to buy some time.

“Well, it's not right,” he said at length.

“No, I know,” Hermione said, gaze softening.

“All right, can someone actually explain then?” Ron asked, waving his fork at each of them in turn and then stabbing, a little viciously, into his fish.

“It’s me. My conduct outside of work isn’t ‘befitting a senior Ministry position,’” he quoted, sounding sullen to his own ears. “The way I talk to the press, or the way I avoid them. Maybe both. The Head Auror is responsible for releasing public statements, and you know me.”

“So?” Ron said, brows drawing together. “You’re a little short-tempered with them, so what? S’not like they’re ever asking you about cases, are they? It’s always about who you’re seeing, or was that really your bum in those pictures. It’s been almost three years since you hexed one of them. Just write up the statements and release them that way.”

“There’s other things, too,” Harry said. He flushed. “The way I am with the public—”

“You’re great with the public!” Ron said, starting to look angry again. “You talk to every kid you meet, you donate, you—”

“I lose my temper with people, though.” Harry took a breath. “I arrested that man last year who wouldn’t leave me alone—”

“He was trying to shove his hand down the back of your trousers!” Ron sputtered.

“—and that whole thing in the Prophet questioning how much of an asset I could be to the Ministry when my name got in the way of my job… Well, it got a lot of traction,” Harry said. He looked down at his plate, stomach suddenly churning. “And whenever I go to public events, I stay on the sidelines, or I’m accidentally rude to some diplomat—”

“That happened twice!”

“Four times.” Harry grimaced. “More, really. Apart from little things like spilling wine all over Ireland’s Minister for Magic or insulting that envoy from Brazil by having to leave early when I got sick off the Firerolls they served at their event, apparently my dress robes are all wrong, I’ve not once used the correct fork, I may as well eat my feet for how often they’re in my mouth, and I refuse to dance, no matter who’s asking.”

“Well you’re not good at it!” Ron fairly yelled, getting so red in the face his freckles were barely visible. “How the bloody hell can anyone blame you after what happened last time!”

Read the rest on AO3

[sourwolfstories]

Hey!! Can you rec some of the most famous sterek AUs in the fandom please? Btw, I love your recs. Thanks :)

The Comic-Con Incident by raimykeller

Stiles and Derek are actors on the same show, but secret boyfriends in real life. What happens when Stiles accidentally spills the beans at Comic-Con?

Starstruck (Or Not) by literaryoblivion

Derek takes his daughter Lia to a convention of her favorite TV show because he’s a good dad (and can’t seem to tell his daughter no) and ends up meeting a special someone.

#OTP: Assholes in Love by stilesanderek (minxxx)

After being outed as bisexual in a sex tape scandal by his ex-girlfriend Kate, Derek struggles to find an acting job until he finally lands a promising role in an HBO supernatural show called Shapeshifters, in which he plays the main character. Derek instantly falls in love with the cast, with whom he has immense fun with, especially Stiles, whose relationship with Derek consists of mainly sarcastic and teasing remarks.

Which is why when Jackson shows him a fanart of Stiles and him having intense sex he gets confused and doesn’t understand this whole “Sterek” thing Jackson is talking about.

Hiding in Plain Sight by inmydreams

Popular talk-show host Stiles Stilinski has to interview movie star Derek Hale live on tv. The only problem is they have been in a secret relationship for the past couple of years and they have to get through the interview without anyone finding out.

Here’s to the Static by matildajones

Stiles spends most of his college break in a coffee house where he stares after Derek Hale. For some reason, Stiles is unaware of the fact he’s quite the musician, and Derek amuses himself at Stiles’ obliviousness.

soulmates tbh by bleep0bleep

“It’s been five months,” Derek says darkly. “Why am I still getting these proposals? You know these are probably all fake marks.”

Five months since the paparazzi had snapped that photo of him with the overzealous fan tugging at his shirt, five months since millions of people on the Internet realized that the birthmark revealed was in fact, the mark, five months Derek was inundated by claims from people who desperately wanted him to believe that they were his soul-mate.

How The Light Gets In by dryersheetz

A Teen Wolf / Notting Hills AU

Stiles Stilinski’s life as a comic book store owner in Beacon Hills, California had been satisfying enough, but he’s been inevitably becoming increasingly bored and antsy with the cyclical nature of his life in a smaller town.

Enter Frame: The famous Hollywood bad boy and contender for Sexiest Man Alive, Derek Hale, who proceeds to turn his world upside down, but somehow brings him closer to the things he knew were most important he had lost sight of along the way.

(Title from the Leonard Cohen Poem)

Play Crack the Sky by WeAreTheCyclones

Excerpt from “Hale Pulls the Plug on the Future of Rock,” Rolling Stone, Issue 1203 – Oct. 2014“Fans and music industry vets alike are left reeling in the wake of bassist Derek Hale’s sudden departure from Smokes for Harris. At a time when the foursome from Beacon Hills, California seems to be on the cusp of rock superstardom after just one double platinum record, Smokes has everything to lose.”

Excerpt from “Smokes for Harris: Gladiator,” SPIN.com – Feb. 2015“Smokes for Harris gives in a little to the pop punk of yesteryear in their sophomore effort, but rather than pandering to fans of a lost era they elevate the genre in a way that hasn’t been seen in quite some time. Frontman Stiles Stilinski works double duty as singer and primary songwriter and proves that he can handle the task even without former bassist Derek Hale.“

Trust Fall [Into My Bed] by ofherlionheart

Stiles’s eyes light up. “Did you see him, though? No wonder the dude is an Oscar winner. He’s amazing. I mean, I’ve worked with, like, Liam Neeson and Natalie Dormer. But Derek is something else – I don’t know, I can’t describe it. There’s just this, this thing about him, when we’re in a scene together, it’s so easy to just click with him, and you know some people hate how much I improvise, but Derek just takes it and rolls with it and adds stuff of his own –” He breaks off when he finally notices Lydia smirking. “What?”

“You’re rambling,” Lydia observes.

“And?”

“I guess you aren’t too tired to talk about Derek.”

—

In which Oscar-winner Derek Hale and sidekick-to-the-top-guns Stiles Stilinski are thrown together to star in a new, powerful film. Mix in feelings, long days, late nights, terrifyingly omniscient agents, the Hale clan, Canada, and some UST, and come out with a long story with liberal amounts of UST and fluff.

Sourwolf Candy by relenafanel

When the Sourwolf Candy franchise offers a $10,000 annual scholarship to the school of the winner’s choice, Stiles jumps at the chance to enter. It doesn’t matter that the other prizes are a day with one of the Hales and a lifetime supply of Sourwolf Candy. The sacrifices are worth it, because if there’s one thing that Stiles hates more than Sourwolf Candy, it’s Derek Hale.

So of course he has to spend a day with the guy who made the catchphrase ‘Don’t be such a Sourwolf’ popular: Sourfaced Derek Hale himself. If he doesn’t, he doesn’t get his scholarship money.

Derek just wants a little sugar. Or a lot of sugar, as the case may be.

A whole case of sugar.

(He stress-eats sugar, ok?

If We Could Match by forestofbabel

As Stiles waits behind the camera during an interview, he thinks he should maybe quit. Because, in all honesty, despite the charming smile the actor is pulling out for EW, Derek Hale is kind of a jerk.

my heart’s been offline by thepsychicclam

31/M/New York. Rich, lays in bed all day, likes to read (aka Derek Hale, son of an Oscar winning actress, brother of one obnoxious reality star and one rebellious fashion designer, hates the paparazzi so much he’s a recluse)

26/M/California. Boring office job, likes to read (aka Stiles Stilinski, co-owner of a 100 acre organic farm with his dad and two best friends, writer of obits for a newspaper, has absolutely no life)

Or, where Derek and Stiles meet online, and Stiles has no clue Derek’s part of a famous family.

[tessdl]

@mcntydcluca @downstvged @cvssndra

tess, peyton, and monty were walking back from what most would call work but with the three of them together, there wasn't much work going on. fnally they were free and they made their way back to the house. as they walked they passed a playground. tess grinned mischievously. "mon i bet you the next round of laundry that i can beat you to the top of that jungle gym."

monty was covered in tomato paste, and if that gave any inclination of how much work they'd done, he didn't know what would. nevertheless, he walked home, his best friends by his side and the fading scent of spaghetti fading behind him. his eyes snapped up, mischief glowing. " you're on, t. " instantly, he was off, daunting to the jungle gym.

six uncooked spaghetti rods made their home behind peyton’s right ear, like a cigarette, but way cooler. bunched together and bound with a bit of cooking string, they promoted a kitchen bad boy aesthetic: something his two best friends bagged him about for a solid half-hour at the close of their kitchen shift. “ you two are children! “ peyton called as monty and tess careened toward the playground. but his legs screeched into motion, too, and soon he hoisted himself up on top of the monkey bars. he was sure to steady his pasta accessory upon landing. “ it’s the de luca showdown of the century, and monty’s in the lead — but oh heck! tess is coming up strong behind him! “  peyton cupped his hands on either side of his lips, emulating a big league announcer. he swung his feet as he watched. “ who’s it gonna be, folks? who’s gonna take the cake ?! “

“listen you cheating sack of shit!” tess yelled, speeding after him. he was a fair fight against her abilities. she debated tackling him but then she pulled ahead and stuck her tongue out as she went. “me! i want cake!” she called to peyton.

the one thing monty could say about his sister was that in everything but charm, she was his equal. same routines, same workouts. it was hard to believe they shared no genetics. “ hey!” he groaned, kicking his legs faster, but he was only barely behind her. “ that’s my cake!” he screeches, jumping and lifting himself over the side of the jungle gym.

peyton watched his favorite morons with pure admiration. only the de luca siblings could spin a day spent cooking vats of spaghetti into one so amusing, his sides now ached with each laugh. " they're beginning the climb –– who's it gonna be?! it's the final countdown !!" peyton raised his hands in a trumpet mockery, humming the melody to the sporting world's most overplayed-yet-equally-as-badass tune.

monty could’ve had her beat if this was just a race on two legs, but climbing? climbing was tess’ specialty. she used to rock climb, she still hiked, and she had a lot of experience climbing in and out of second story windows. getting up a jungle gym was nothing. she reached the top in seconds, throwing her hands up in victory. “sucks to suck, sucker!” she teased, offering her hand down to pull monty the rest of the way up.

he knew his chance at winning was gone once tess hiked up her leg and got to work. she was always a better climber, monty's noodle arms being no help in keeping himself safe. that, and his fear of heights kept him from ever getting into it. nevertheless, he stuck it out til the end. de lucas don't quit. " ah, shove it. " and yet, he still took her hand. " y’know if we were on flat land i would've smoked your ass. "

" if i were involved in this race i would've smoked both your asses, " peyton amended with a grin. he hopped down from his spot on the monkey bars and trotted over to the jungle gym. " facts. " it was almost like this wasn't new ham any more, and they weren't on the cusp of no longer being kids. peyton hoisted himself up onto the jungle gym with ease, swinging his legs over to dangle off the silly rooftop covering the entrance to the slide. " think we'd make it onto the next season of american ninja warrior? "

“sure you would,” tess snorted as peyton climbed to join them. american ninja warrior was intriguing, maybe she’d have them try something like that next, if only to keep their minds off the shit show that was now their lives. “monty would be automatically disqualified for being too ugly,” she teased, ruffling his hair. it was then that tess saw her. cassandra pressman looking cute. even if she had a stick up her ass, there was no denying she was beautiful. it took her all of 3 seconds to hatch a plan. she gave monty a discrete nod and made a few hand gestures to relay the plan. she’d yell, he’d shove. simple yet effective. “hey cassandra!” tess yelled from atop the jungle gym, moving around so monty could sneak past her and shove peyton down toward her. “peyton has a question for you about prom!”

monty swatted at his sister, elbowing her in the side. “ you’re just mean, you know that ? people think we’re twins and you’re calling me ugly. “ monty couldn’t say it out loud, but he knew his best friends were gorgeous, like super model type, but he knew he had his own charm himself. the puppy dog eyes were his trade mark. immediately, monty caught on to his sisters plan, a smirk growing on his lips as they set it in motion. once she called out, monty’s hands flew to send peyton flying down the slide, a chuckle falling from his lips as he moved to offer a high five to his partner in crime.

peyton laughed at tess's dig. " aw, c'mon, this guy's adorable: he'd be a fan fave for sure. " he nudged monty with the toe of his sneaker and turned back to look at tess, but her entire disposition had shifted. " what're you–– " his focus swiveled to hone in on what she'd been looking at, but he was already slipping down the slide, accelerating toward: cassandra. ohshitohshitohshitohshit. wide-eyed, peyton reached the bottom of the slide and stuck the landing. if the definition of stuck was officially changed to nearly tripping over his own feet. " oh, hey! hey, cassandra uh –– " he rubbed the back of his neck and cast her a sheepish smile. his heart was gonna friggin' implode. " what's good? "  smooth.

cassandra was confused to say the least but she couldn’t help but grin at the sight of peyton tumbling toward her. what’s good? that was some slang she hadn’t heard in awhile and realized his friends had caught him off guard so she figured she’d help him out. “i’m doing well, thanks for asking. i heard tess mention prom, did you want to sign up for something?” she happened to already know he was signed up for decorating committee, but kept that bit of information to herself.

did he want to sign up for something? peyton's breath caught in his throat. his expression blanked for a moment as his mind screeched to a halt. " uh..." you idiot. he offered a near-apologetic chuckle, eyes darting to his feet. her feet. the mulch. the swingset. " yeah, actually, i– " fuck, did she know he was already signed up? he couldn't do this. he could feel her eyes burning into him, and his hands felt buzzy, like they might start shaking. he pushed them into the back pockets of his jeans and did the only thing he could do: he smiled through it. " i... was wondering." breathe " if there was still a slot open. for prom.  " jesus christ. " for like... your date? " oh, god. ohgodhe'sdoingthis. ohgodhe'sdonethis. " could i... sign up... for that? " peyton dared to catch her eye again with a hopeful smile, and fought to keep his nerves from tacking on more words.

this was a side of peyton cassandra had never seen before. he was usually so chill, something she wasn't very good at. but now it felt like they switched roles or at the very least like they were sharing one. a slot open for prom. her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. your date. the scrunched eyebrows raised. she pressed her lips together to hide her smile and pulled out her phone. "hmm, let me see." she pretended to check the list. "no one's signed up for that yet so-" she looked up at him, " you can definitely have that spot if you want."

peyton forgot how to breathe. his lungs nearly collapsed in on themselves as his lips fell agape. she said yes. she said yes. " wh- are you- " a bright grin lit his entire face, practically ear to ear, and if it weren't for the fluttering in his chest, he might have found time to be embarrassed. " really? "  cassandra pressman. said yes. to going to prom. to being his date. " wow, that's, i. wow. thanks. " thanks? peyton brushed a hand through his hair and shifted his weight, attempting to reinstate his natural state of chill. maybe she'd ignore that stupid response. not likely. " so like. i could... i could pick you up.  before? before prom, yeah. if you want? maybe around... i don't know, what time works for you? " holy shit. this was happening. holy. fucking. shit.

cassandra could no longer contain her grin, especially as he rambled. it made her feel better because this was usually how their conversations went, but usually the rambling came from her. she nodded and pretended not to notice the thanks tacked on at the end. “i was hoping before prom, after might be a little... inconvenient?” she did her best not to look straight at him for too long in fear that she’d get distracted and say something stupid. “prom starts at eight, so any time around then is fine. we don’t need to be early or anything.”

peyton ducked his head and laughed. " after's inconvenient, noted. " when he looked up at cassandra again, his eyes sparkled. this was real. he was going to prom with cassandra pressman.  albeit, this prom was... not what west ham high typically put on. but it'd still be awesome. he'd have to recruit tess and monty to find something to wear. " okay, cool. 8ish. you're p– " peyton stopped himself and let out a light chuckle. get it together, man. " that's perfect. "

"perfect," she repeated. she'd managed to get this entire conversation without sounding like an absolute moron and she was trying to keep it that way lest he change his mind. "i'm um- wearing gold if, if that helps?" she semi shrugged. "we don't have to match or anything, i just thought i'd let you know in case you... needed to know that." 

“ gold, “ peyton echoed with a nod. “ that’s cool. “  cool? eugh, dude. really? his eyes darted across her features as she rambled on, smile only growing as the words accrued. yeah, he thought, gold’s a good fit. “ i like knowing that. knowledge is always appreciated. “ jeez. “ is it chill if i match my tie? or, like — is that too much? not enough? “  he’s never taken a real date to a prom before. let alone cassandra. and he’d be damned if he fucked this one up.

"you're welcome to match... that's what people usually do for prom, right? match their date?" date. was she his date or had he asked her as a friend? did he just need someone to go with? she thought about tess. if he needed someone to go with he could've asked tess? did that mean he wanted to go with her or was tess already snagged up by someone?

" oh, they do? "  peyton's hands dipped into his pockets before surfacing less than a second later. his fingers intermingled and broke apart before he finally, finally managed to get them to rest at his sides. " ha. yeah, right, they do. "  did she want this to be a date? he'd asked with that intent, but–– " i mean, that would make sense, right? for us to match? as dates? " he cursed his mouth for running miles ahead of his mind. " i-i... if you... if that's what you... "  he trailed off, hands opening and closing at his sides. god, he's bad at this. " ...envisioned. " a beat. peyton thought he was done speaking, but more words spilled out anyway. " because, that's–– that's what i envisioned. the date. the, uh... date thing. "

she grinned and nodded afraid of what would stumble out of her mouth if she opened it, especially since what he'd said was very much what she wanted. she tried to gather her thoughts and weave them into a coherent sentence but it ended up as more of a list. "prom, eight pm, gold, dates."

peyton beamed. " prom, eight pm, gold, " he echoed back with a definitive nod and a snap. " dates. "  his fingertips buzzed. he wondered if she could hear his pulse from just a few inches away. and then realized, hell, he didn't care –– he'd do a fricken happy dance right now, if he could.  " i'm looking forward to it. "

"great," she beamed. "i'll see you then. unless i see you before then, which is possible. i'm basically everywhere." stop talking cassandra. "okay i'm going to go make sure grizz hasn't already broken everything." she gave him one last smile before rushing off.

" okay. okay, yeah. "  peyton chuckled. did she even know how amazing she was? cassandra was the only person who could manage to run this whole entire town and still find time to be adorable. " i'll see you. "  peyton raised a hand in a tiny wave. as soon as cassandra turned her back, his hands rose to his head and he all but gaped, spinning on his heels. holy shit, he mouthed to himself. holy shit. 

his grin was sinfully bright as he turned toward the jungle gym, where his two best friends still sat, overlooking the whole scene. ten minutes ago, he'd wanted to kill them. now? he wanted to practically kiss their feet. ( except not literally; that'd be... gross. )  with a look of elated disbelief, he spun around once more, as if trying to get re-oriented to real friggin life. " holy shit, " he said aloud this time, smile growing even wider.

monty sat in wonder as he watched the whole thing go down. he couldn't help the grin stretching across his face as his best friend finally turned back towards the de lucas. monty shoved his sister's arm, rattling her in a wave of shock. " tess, he got it. he got it! " he sprung off the jungle gym, arms already wide open. " my man! "

"yes i can see that, i have eyes you lunatic," she huffed, shoving him. she jumped down after him, watching monty practically tackle peyton. "he probably can't breathe yet monty, try not to strangle him before his date."

peyton met monty in a colossal hug, smiling so hard his cheeks ached.  “ dude! dude!! “ he jumped in their embrace and patted monty’s back before breaking away. he felt like he could leap to the freaking moon.  tess teased monty about strangling him before his date and the word drew a breath from his lips. peyton let out a loud laugh in disbelief. “ she said yes — how — how the heck did she say yes ?! “ 

monty ignored his sisters comments, instead continuing to crush the life out of the boy— he just achieved his fucking dream. and he was so proud. “dude!!!” he yelled back, a smile wide on his lips as he relished in the excitement of his friend. “i told you, man. you just had to ask.”

[dani-ellie03]

Fic: Wednesday’s Child (15/?)

Title: Wednesday’s Child Summary: The next time Emma Swan wanted magical help, she was on her own. Because now they were stuck with a pint-sized savior who clearly had an attitude problem and a terrified but pretending not to be pre-pirate. Spoilers: If you’re current, we’re good. Rating/Warning: PG-13, mostly for safety. Family angst/fluff, as per usual. Disclaimer: Once Upon a Time and its characters were created by Eddy Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and are owned by ABC. I’m just borrowing them but I’ll put them back when I’m finished! Author's Note: This ended up a bit heavier than my normal fluff but it was clearly time for it because it came out on its own.

—–

{1} {2} {3} {4} {5} {6} {7} {8} {9} {10} {11} {12} {13} {14}

At ff.net and below.

Tagging @shealivedarnit (If anyone else wants to be tagged, let me know!)

-----

After a bit of soft conversation among the adults, little Robin began to fuss, which Regina took as her cue to usher her sister and her niece back to the vault. "We still have a lot of work to do," she explained, "and we were on the cusp of something before lunch. I don't want to lose that momentum."

"Of course," Charming agreed. The two magical experts losing their momentum was not high on the list of things he wanted, either.

"Thank you for letting us come over," Zelena said, her tone surprisingly sincere. "They're precious." After letting the sentiment settle for a beat, she resumed her typical teasing. "Plus, now I have the perfect blackmail pictures."

"Hard to blackmail people with pictures you've already sent everyone," Regina reminded her, rolling her eyes.

"Everyone in this house, maybe. Not everyone in Storybrooke."

Charming and Snow both swallowed snickers. Zelena wasn't going to do a single thing with those pictures except aww over them occasionally and they both knew it.

After walking the Mills ladies to the door and making sure they left safely, Charming and Snow headed back to the living room to check on their charges. Henry had engaged little Neal in a rudimentary game of catch that involved rolling a ball across the floor to each other. A surprised Snow raised her eyebrows, clearly wondering how Henry had gotten the baby to sit still that long. Now that Neal was walking, keeping him in one place for more than a few minutes at a time had become ridiculously difficult.

Evidently not wanting to interrupt the miracle happening between nephew and uncle, Snow instead ducked into the blanket fort to tend to the sleeping children. It seemed little Emma was every bit the bed hog as her adult self; she'd already vacated her own sleeping spot and had taken over half of Killian's.

His heart exploding with love, Charming watched as Snow gently guided Emma back onto her own pillow to give Killian a little more room and then spread one of the blankets padding the floor at the outer edge of the fort over them. "Sleep well, sweethearts," Snow murmured, ghosting each of their temples with a kiss.

Whether it was coincidence, Charming would never know, but both children snuggled deeper under the covers at Snow's gentle touch.

By the time Charming and Snow ducked out of the fort and stood up straight, Neal had decided he'd had enough catch. He toddled toward the blanket fort only to be scooped up by his father before he could enter. The poor baby frowned, babbled some gibberish that sounded awfully insistent, and thrust a chubby hand towards the fort.

It took Charming a beat to recognize that his son was annoyed with being thwarted. "I know you want to play with your big sister and Killian," he said, swallowing a snicker, "but they're napping now and you'd just wake them up."

Now that he didn't have a baby or two ten-year-olds to entertain, Henry begged off to read in his room upstairs. "And no, I'm not reading Bunnicula without them," he teasingly assured his grandparents.

Since Henry and the kids shoving the armchairs aside to make room for the fort meant said armchairs were free for sitting, Charming and Snow plopped down themselves to take a well-deserved breather. Snow set Neal up with some Mega Blocks on the floor at her feet where she could keep an eye on him.

For a long moment, Charming and Snow sat in comfortable silence. From his vantage point, Charming could look out onto the front yard through the window and was pleased to see the sun peeking through the remainder of the clouds. The occasional strong gust of wind and the puddles in the driveway were the only indications that a storm was raging less than an hour ago.

"Looks like Killian will be a bit calmer when he wakes up," Charming said, nodding towards the window.

Snow turned in her seat to look out the window as well. "Yes, looks like." Facing forward, she caught her husband's gaze. "Is it weird that I find it a little unsettling to see him so … hesitant? He's always so decisive and he has so much experience behind him that it's easy to forget that he was once a scared little kid, too."

"It's not weird at all," Charming assured her.

She gave him a small, grateful smile. "I just hope we're doing enough to make him feel comfortable with us."

"I hope so, too," Charming agreed honestly. "He seems to have settled in decently enough; they both have. It's just … he seems so lost. He and I talked a little bit when we were feeding the animals this morning and it's abundantly clear that he misses Liam terribly. All he wants is his brother back and Snow, that's the one thing we can't give him."

Charming had so far managed to dodge all of little Killian's questions about Liam but he wouldn't be able to dodge them forever.

"No, we can't," Snow agreed, swallowing hard as her gaze traveled to the fort where the boy in question lay sleeping. "All we can do is try to help him get through the next couple of days. When Regina and Zelena turn them back to adults, the question of Liam will be moot anyway."

Snow had a point, one that Charming strangely kept forgetting. That the children would eventually return to their adult incarnations was always there in the back of his mind but it was hard to keep that certainty in the forefront when looking at them and talking to them and worrying about them.

Almost as if she could read her husband's thoughts, Snow heaved a sigh. "I didn't expect it to be this hard."

Without even having to ask, Charming knew she was still feeling guilty about the misunderstanding that had sent Emma running. "Snow, this morning wasn't your fault."

A small but unconvincing smile tugged at her lips. "Maybe but I should have been more careful. Before yesterday we only knew the generalities of their childhoods but now we can plainly see how utterly lonely they were. It hurts to see how tentative they are, how hesitant they are to trust. The way Emma examines my face every time she asks me a question guts me, Charming."

Oh, gods, how he knew exactly what she meant. It gutted him, too.

"And it's not even just that! I miss them, the adult them. I want the Emma and Killian we know back but I also don't want to let go of the little kids in that fort." Snow finally tore her eyes from the fort, shaking her head and dropping a pained gaze to her hands. "I don't know, I'm not making any sense."

"Snow, you're making perfect sense," Charming assured her, and gods, she was. She'd just spoken of the conflict in his own heart, the conflict of adoring this opportunity to be with these children and not wanting it to end while also wishing he could have adult Emma and adult Killian back. Of wishing he had an eternity with the children while being aware of the ticking of the clock counting the seconds since he'd last seen his adult baby girl and son-in-law.

He longed to make everything sunshine and puppies and rainbows for the kids while also knowing that all the sunshine and puppies and rainbows in the world wouldn't take away the pain they'd already lived.

After a brief glance over at the fort to make sure the kids were still asleep, he murmured to Snow, "I don't want to let them go, either. These are the moments we should have had with her and I am clinging to every single one of them. I'm treasuring every second I spend with them, trying to commit every detail to memory because I don't want to lose any of it. But at the same time, I'm counting down the minutes until Regina calls us and says she's figured out how to turn them back because I miss our Emma and Killian so much it hurts."

He paused to swallow the lump that had risen in his throat and blink back the tears that had welled in his eyes. "This is hard, Snow. It's hard looking at our baby and seeing a hurt, reticent, frightened little girl looking back. It's hard looking into her eyes and seeing no recognition of who we really are to her. It's hard watching our baby learn how to trust all over again when all I want to do is just pull her into a crushing hug and never let her go. And Killian … he makes me profoundly sad. Seeing him as a little boy who just misses his brother has made me realize that he spent centuries like that. He turned to piracy after losing Liam and revenge after losing Milah and all the while, he was just a lost little boy who missed his family."

Snow tried to no avail to blink back her own tears. "I knew they both had it bad, Charming, but seeing them like this? Gods, I don't know how they survived it."

"They survived it in any way they could," Charming told her softly. "They survived it by putting up those walls of theirs. They didn't let anybody get too close because of how much it would hurt when that somebody went away."

"Such an unimaginably brutal way to grow up."

What else was there to say to that? Snow had spoken the absolute truth.

Charming again glanced over at the silent fort and smiled when he caught Emma once again infringing on poor Killian's personal space in her sleep. Once a bed hog, always a bed hog, apparently.

"Which is exactly why we're doing what we can now, Snow," Charming reminded her. "It was your idea to take this time and give them some of the happy experiences that, as is blatantly obvious, they very much need. No, it won't fix everything. It can't rewind time or change the past or keep them from feeling any of the pain they've experienced but it will help. These kids now know that someone somewhere loves them and when they turn back, if we've eased even an iota of that pain for them, it'll be worth it."

Snow took a shaky breath in and held it a moment before exhaling and drying her eyes with her index fingers. "Thank you."

"What, for telling you your idea was brilliant?" Charming teased. "You're welcome."

That thankfully got her to chuckle, which had been his intention. After taking a moment to settle her emotions, Snow cleared her throat, nodded towards the fort, and asked, "What should we do with them when they wake up?"

Charming considered their options. It was still too wet from the rain for outdoor play, though he did need to check the animals now that the storm had passed and let Wilby run around for a bit. As much as Wilby enjoyed taking care of his new lost lamb, he was typically an outside dog and was itching for the time and space to run free. Henry might be up for another round of video games but Charming wasn't sure he wanted the children to spend a second afternoon in front of the television.

The memory of making dinner with Emma the night before rose to the surface and suddenly Charming knew of the perfect activity. "Emma did ask yesterday if we could make pasta from scratch."

Since Snow enjoyed leading cooking lessons of any kind, it was not a surprise that she jumped readily aboard his train of thought. "I'm prepared for the impending mess if you are."

"The dustpan and broom will be at the ready," he chuckled. "I know Emma will pretty much be in food heaven having spaghetti twice in a row but we'll just have to make sure no one else minds."

Snow ticked family members off on her fingers as she made her way down the list. "Neal's a baby who eats what we give him, Henry's a fourteen-year-old boy who eats anything and everything as long as it's food, and Killian, even in his little state, is fine with whatever Emma is fine with. I have a funny feeling no one's going to complain."

"Well, when you put it like that," Charming said, chuckling, "I think another cooking lesson is just what the doctor ordered."

Snow let her gaze drift to the blanket fort, where her tiny daughter and son-in-law lay sleeping. Preparing dinner as a family was the perfect way to make the children feel even more at home. "Yes, I think it is, too."

-----

Chapter Sixteen

[kexax]

🌸 - First crush

    “Isn’t she cute?” Lucas sighed, the fifteen year old’s chin tucked into his calloused palm - dreamily glancing across the shop to a small gathering of girls, inward-focused and self-concerned. He took a deep breath and then exhaled, disappointment settling into his bones.

    “Listen, if you’re not going to finish your ice cream, I’ll take it,” came Tobias’ easy reply, the gaunt noble-boy speaking with a teasing grin. He had cropped, lemon-ice hair, pale skin, and sunken eyes, a permanent mischievousness etched into his crisp features. As he spoke his spoon clattered about inside of his glass, scooping the remnants of his dark ice cream off of its ornamental sides, bringing the scarce remains to his mouth. Lucas’ ice cream was untouched.

    It wasn’t very often that Lucas came into the city. He rarely had the money nor the time. The Monks at the monastery kept him busy, and while they kept a surprisingly open mind, they found little benefit to allowing their student travel into the city to indulge in material desires. Still, once in awhile, Tobias managed to find the money to bring Lucas in. He never explained how he earned it, Lucas had assumed it came from his father of course, but the specifics were never elaborated upon. That was alright with the boy; Time at home was so scarce, and it was a relief to spend a few days not worrying about his training and teachings.

    Tobias had taken him to an ice cream shop, a childhood favorite of theirs. Tobias never lost his taste - Lucas had. A rigorous diet of cabbage and potato-broth had dulled his tongue, and sweeter things caused a sickness to swell in his stomach. Ascetic lifestyles were oh-so-dull, but Lucas had grown complacent, and perhaps even a little proud, of his self-restraint and piety. He had spent years purging himself from worldly desires, living a life devoted to his People and to his Gods, and yet there were certain desires he couldn’t purge.

For example, the blonde girl sitting three tables away, with the heart-shaped face and stunning green eyes. Tobias looked between the Knight-to-be and the girl, squinting his eyes.

“You could try talking to her,” Tobias suggested.

    “We both know that isn’t going to happen,” Lucas retorted.

    “Oh, right, I forgot, you’re inept. Fear not, friend. I’ll get a handle on the situation.”

    Lucas looked to him with a newfound concern. Rarely did Tobias have good ideas. Before he could raise his voice in protest, the lanky teenager had slinked away from his bench at the long table, carrying himself over toward the crowd of girls. Lucas felt his heart stop and color drain from his Krytan skin, blinking as the realization dawned over him. Tobias was going to embarrass Lucas into a shame so massive that his grandchildren would feel it. As Tobias engaged the girls with a charming grin, Lucas buried himself into his ice cream, shoveling spoonfuls of the bland vanilla into his mouth, his eyes focused desperately onto the splinters in the table below him. He’d give himself a stomach ache, no doubt, but his nervousness and terror had gotten the best of him. This was agony.

    He felt his head begin to throb as the coldness seeped into the roof of his mouth, tickling his brain in the worst possible way. Oh Gods, it was too much ice cream. He exhaled a hot breath to warm his mouth, looking absolutely ridiculous - like a baby dragon trying to create fire, or a child who didn’t understand how breathing worked trying to blow out birthday candles.

    “Are you okay?” Came a sweet, feminine voice. Lucas, jaw-slacked and mouth opened, pulled his eyes away from the table. Standing above him was the girl, her long blonde hair curled over one shoulder, her soft green eyes gazing down at him humorously. He blinked, his jaw hanging open for another few moments before he realized what a fool he looked like.

    “Oh! Uhm - yeah! I’m fine, just, you know, ice cream’s cold, and-” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. May I help you?” He was quick to stand, his feet scuffing against the tiled floor. Lucas had begun growing the year before, already standing well above six-feet, with broadening shoulders and a face becoming less round each day. He was on the cusp of maturity, still carrying with him a childish innocence. He was attractive in form, if no where else.

    “Your friend Toby told us about your sister. I’m really sorry to hear - he said he wasn’t really good at, well, emotional stuff. I know it’s embarrassing, but if you want, I’m here to talk!” She smiled reassuringly, reaching forward to set a hand on his upper-arm, squeezing his flesh lightly in a show of compassion. Lucas only blinked in response, a light blush gracing his cheeks.

    “Yes. Right. My sister. That - hrm,” He cleared his throat again, his mouth over-producing saliva to a painful degree. What was Tobias on about? His sister was fine. He glanced over to Tobias who was chatting up the other girls, the boy laughing as he leaned forward engagingly at their table. “..That’s a highly personal matter. He really shouldn’t have said anything.”

    She frowned up at him, her hand slowly drawing away. He realized he may have just punched a gift horse in the mouth.

    “Buuuuut - uhm. I really do appreciate your words. I am Lucas.” That got a smile from her. She tucked her hands behind her back, rising to her tiptoes as she spoke.

    “I’m Bianca,” She informed him amiably, glancing toward the door, “Do you want to go somewhere and talk?”

    Lucas hesitated, and then nodded his head far too quickly. “Yes! I mean. Yes. Okay.”

    In his last moments before exiting the ice cream shop with the petite blonde, he saw Tobias glance over his shoulder, giving the Knight-to-be a thumbs up. How peculiar a boy, Lucas thought, that he can so easily engage anyone and everyone. There was some secret locked past his pale lips that he was unwilling to share, or perhaps he was born with an innate gift that gave him a vindicated optimism. Usually it bugged Lucas. Right now, he was thankful for it. The Krytan sunset spilled brilliant sherbet shades across the sky as Bianca took his arm, leading him down the cobbled streets of the Commons, off toward what was certainly a bright future.