#Madara has had enough of his mouth so he makes sure it stays full

[fashionredalert]

I'll see a picture of Tobirama’s adorably bitchy face and wonder if anyone is going to make that man sob with overstimulated pleasure while he bounces on dick after dick of Madara and his clones or am I going to have to do everything around here

[sariasprincy-writes]

Hollow Point 35

One // Two // Three // Four // Five // Six // Seven // Eight // Nine // Ten // Eleven // Twelve // Thirteen // Fourteen // Fifteen // Sixteen // Seventeen // Eighteen // Nineteen // Twenty // Twenty-One // Twenty-Two // Twenty-Three // Twenty-Four // Twenty-Five // Twenty-Six // Twenty-Seven // Twenty-Eight // Twenty-Nine // Thirty // Thirty-One // Thirty-Two // Thirty-Three // Thirty-Four // Thirty-Five (here) 

Chapter Thirty-Five Happiness is a bullet in the back

A cigarette hung between Kisame’s lips. It burned his lungs on every inhale, the acidic taste tainting his tongue and filling his nose. He pinched the end between his teeth as he meandered down the street, his hands in his pockets. On the corner, he paused at the red crosswalk sign and glanced both ways before hurrying through the intersection.

This time of morning, there were few cars out and even fewer people. Those that had stayed out partying all night had already slipped off to bed and rush hour was still an hour off, leaving the streets bare. A hush had fallen over the normally busy city. A ghost town. At least before the walking dead of the working class crawled out from their holes.

Slipping his cigarette from his mouth, Kisame exhaled just as his phone pinged in his pocket. With his other hand, he retrieved the device. The message that waited for him made him hiss out a curse.

The shipment was early. And Pein was calling for all members within the States to be dockside to help with distribution. This wasn’t how Kisame was hoping things would go.

Shoving his cell back into his pocket, Kisame continued towards his townhouse at a hurried pace. He paused on his bottom step and rapidly took a few more drags off his smoke before he stomped it out.

Inside his living space, Kisame flipped on his lights as he made his way down the hall and towards the combined kitchen and living room. On the far side was his den, and he made a beeline towards it when a voice suddenly spoke.

“You know, smoking is bad for you. Might kill you some day.”

Kisame nearly jumped out of his skin. He spun around to find none other than Sakura lounging in the loveseat near the front window. From the height off the city street he wouldn’t have seen her, but she certainly would have seen him come home.

He looked her up once, half-annoyed that she looked so comfortable there like she owned the place. In her dark jeans and leather jacket she looked more like an assassin than an international arms dealer.

He resisted his glare. “Why do I get the feeling it won’t be the cigarettes that do me in, little viper.”

Sakura’s didn’t reply, but he thought he saw her smirk briefly. His eyes briefly flickered over the room.

“Where’s Itachi?” he asked.

“Not here.”

It seemed his assumption wasn’t off the mark. “I see. You come to kill me then?”

Sakura ran her hand through her ponytail before she settled her arm against the armrest. “I’m undecided, but I’m pleased you’re not against the option should it come to that.”

Kisame’s eyes narrowed at the small, fleeting smirk upon Sakura’s face. Perhaps she was being sarcastic, but he wouldn’t put it past her to shoot him anyway.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

He could tell she was resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “Why do you think? The shipment is here earlier than you said, Kisame. I wonder why that is.”

His brow arched in surprise. “How do you know about it?”

“I have eyes on every single port in this state and the next. I know about it,” she said, her tone cool.

Kisame’s mouth pressed into a thin line. It suddenly made sense why she was so threatening tonight. “I know what you’re thinking, but I didn’t betray you,” he told her, slipping his hands out of his pockets in a show of good faith. His hands were empty. He wasn’t looking for a fight.

Sakura returned the gesture with a flat look.

“The information I provided you was the same info given to me,” Kisame continued. “I had no intention of giving you false information. I wasn’t trying to screw you over. The shipment arrived early. I only found out a few minutes ago myself.”

“Convenient,” Sakura said patronizingly. Then her voice hardened. “But I don’t believe you. You Mossad Operatives are all the same.”

“That’s a pretty close-minded opinion,” Kisame said, a hint of disdain in his tone. He crossed his arms then, making him appear twice as broad and certainly more threatening, but Sakura merely sat and watched him like she was watching a particularly uninteresting movie.

“Is it?” she replied. “I don’t know your full history with Itachi, but there is very little you or he can say to make me believe you weren’t using your working relationship with him to take me down.”

From across the room, Sakura saw the muscles in Kisame’s jaw tighten. Without a doubt, she knew she had him cornered, but it gave her no satisfaction.

“I know Mossad. And I know you want me,” she continued darkly.

A brief but strained silence passed before the muscles in Kisame’s arms released their tension. “Be that as it may, I told you before that Akatsuki is our primary target.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s your only one.”

Her expression was like moonlight reflecting off ice. Beautiful. But deadly. As if she could watch on without feeling if he were to shiver and slowly freeze to death on a cold tundra before she slipped away over the horizon.

Then her expression cleared and she shrugged faintly. “But I’m not here to discuss your grievances against me.”

Confusion flickered across Kisame’s expression, only to deepen as he understood her meaning. “You think I betrayed Itachi? Why would I do that?”

“That’s the very question I want answered.”

“I’ve been working with Itachi for over five years,” he said, his voice hard with offense.

“And I’ve seen assassins stalk their prey for decades before making a move,” Sakura countered. Then she reached into her jacket and withdrew her weapon before she aimed the barrel directly at him. “So, convince me.”

Kisame’s eyes lingered on her weapon as the weight of the situation settled around them. The air grew thick, making it hard to breathe as if each breath might be his last. Then, in a flash of movement, he made to withdraw his own gun, but Kakashi was faster. He slipped out of the dark den behind Kisame like Death himself, the blunt end of his weapon pressing into the back of Kisame’s skull, stilling his movements.

Kisame’s gaze flickered to Kakashi before finding Sakura again. An odd mix of anger and frustration crossed his face.

“You really are a heartless bitch,” he spat.

She was unfazed by his harsh words. “I just want the truth, Kisame.”

“I’ve told you the truth,” he retorted, his tone giving away his exasperation. “I have told you everything Pein has told me. I didn’t know Madara was involved and I certainly didn’t know Akatsuki was regrouping at the old port in Newark. Pein has always been like this. He gives us basic information and when he’s ready to move, he summons us. I know you’ve done enough transports by now to know that ships don’t always arrive the day they’re scheduled due to weather. If I was going to kill you, I would have done it long before now.”

His last statement sounded more malicious than defensive, but Sakura supposed she couldn’t really blame him. If he truly hadn’t wanted to kill her before now, he very likely wanted to now. She was balancing his life in her hands now. Just one trigger-pull from ending him. Permanently.

He was a Mossad Operative. And a close, personal informant of Itachi’s. If she was wrong and he was telling the truth, his murder could have dangerous consequences for her. She needed to consider this carefully.

That’s when Sakura’s phone rang.

It interrupted the tense silence sharply, the standard ringtone echoing throughout the room. She didn’t reach for it, instead letting it go to voicemail in her jacket pocket before she began to ponder where this situation would go next.

Then her phone immediately rang again.

A muscle in Kisame’s jaw twitched. “You going to answer that?” he asked dryly, only well aware of the gun still pressed to the back of his head.

Over his shoulder, Kakashi shot her a look of confusion that bordered on concern. Sakura kept her face a complete mask as she withdrew her phone, her weapon never wavering from Kisame. Shikamaru’s name was on the caller ID. He hardly ever called her. And never back-to-back unless it was an emergency, but she didn’t let her curiosity show.

Sakura swiped her finger across the screen. “Go,” she answered.

“Izuna is heading towards Newark. He didn’t take the bait,” Shikamaru told her in one breath.

She made sure to keep her expression neutral as she replied, “You’re sure?”

“I just pinged his phone location. He’s just left his penthouse. He’s headed south.”

Sakura’s brows furrowed minutely. Why would he do that? He knew she would be in Brooklyn, so why would he go to Newark?

A memory of the night Madara cornered her popped into her head then. The night he had approached her in that Five-Star restaurant with pictures of her with Itachi in Egypt.

“You appear rather close, do you not?” Madara had murmured. His voice so factual, so darkly promising.

It was all suddenly so clear. Sakura had consistently antagonized Izuna, pushed his anger and threatened everything he had worked for. And now Izuna wanted revenge. For what she had done to Madara. What she had done to him.

Izuna wanted Itachi. Dead.

“Intercept him,” Sakura suddenly demanded.

“I can’t. Both Tenten and Tobirama are tied up with the other Akatsuki members, and Izuna’s already ahead of me,” Shikamaru said.  

But Izuna wasn’t ahead of her. Kisame’s apartment was only a few miles from Newark. If Izuna was coming from his apartment in Midtown, she might have just enough time to get to Itachi first. But she would have to leave now.

Her gun was still drawn but her gaze was distant as Sakura hung up her phone and slipped it back into her jacket. Her mind was racing but she was forced out of her thoughts when Kisame suddenly spoke.

“So, are you going to kill me, or are you going to save him?”

She didn’t know how he had read her thoughts so easily, but she said nothing. Merely sent Kakashi a single look as she stood and re-holstered her weapon in one fluid movement. She didn’t see Kakashi’s strike, but she heard the heavy thump as Kisame’s body crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Only once they were in the car and on the highway did Sakura explain what was going on. Kakashi listened silently, only letting out a single, long exhale once she had finished.

“This isn’t what we had planned,” he told her.

With her gaze still forward, she nodded. “I know.”

“The CIA is already in position to raid the shipping yard. You’ll have to sneak past not only Akatsuki and Izuna, but the CIA as well. It’s going to be difficult.”

“I know,” she repeated. After a moment, she added more quietly. “But I have to. I made Itachi go.”

Kakashi glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, but she wasn’t looking at him. There was an odd expression on her face, one he had never seen before. One of worry and regret.

He said nothing else, casting them into silence as he took the exit. Only once they were a block away did Kakashi pull into a dark alley beside an abandoned house. He killed the engine and stepped out before making his way to the trunk.

“I thought something like this might happen,” Kakashi told her. “Which is why I got these.”

Confused, Sakura stepped forward as Kakashi popped the back open. Inside were Kevlar vests like the ones police and federal agents used. They were already packed with guns and extra rounds, and on the back in big capital letters was the abbreviation: C.I.A. It was a perfect disguise. They would blend right in.

“Where did you get these?” Sakura asked. She grabbed the smaller one and held it against herself, finding it was her size.

The other fit Kakashi. He stripped his jacket and guns off until he was down to his undershirt before he pulled the vest on and adjusted the straps until it was snug around his form.

“Don’t ask,” he told her.

Then he took her vest and helped her slip into it, adjusting it until it protected her center. He grabbed a hat out of the trunk and passed it to her to conceal her hair before he gave her a onceover to ensure she looked like every other agent that would be out there.

Satisfied, Kakashi nodded. “Now let’s go find your boy toy.”

Sakura glared in response. “He’s not my boy toy-.”

“Whatever.”

xx

Three streets down, the Akatsuki warehouse was full of activity. At the port, a large cargo ship was being offloaded by a towering crane. There was no sign of any special agents yet, but men with guns were running around, barking orders at one another as they unloaded wooden crates from the metal carriers. Definitely illegal arms and drugs.

From a dark corner on the other side of a chain link fence, Sakura and Kakashi watched in silence. They crouched there for a few minutes, taking everything in. Trying to identify where the CIA would infiltrate from.

“Do you see Itachi or anyone?” Sakura murmured.

Without removing his binoculars, Kakashi hummed a negative. “No, and I don’t see Izuna either.”

She didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing, but she remained silent as she continued to watch the activity in front of them. Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait long before Kakashi spoke again.

“Over there,” he said. “The CIA is getting ready to move in. We can slip in now while they’re distracted with getting into position.”

After securing his binoculars in his vest, Kakashi pulled up the bottom of the fence where age and corrosion had weakened it at the base, leaving enough room for Sakura to crawl under. She held it up to let Kakashi through behind her before they raced across the dark corners of the shipping yard to slip into rank with the quietly moving CIA agents.

The group they joined paused behind a large shipping container on the outskirts before they broke up into teams and continued to surround the working Akatsuki criminals. Sakura followed behind Kakashi, her eyes searching for Itachi and Izuna. The very moment she spotted Izuna she was going to kill him, consequences be damned.

However, that thought went out her head when Kakashi nudged her. “There,” he nodded.

Across the shipping yard, near the warehouse was Itachi. He was decked out in black tactical gear same as everyone else, but Kakashi was right. She would recognize the shape of his shoulders and curve of his jawline anywhere.  

“We need to get to him,” Sakura murmured back.

Kakashi gave a single nod. “Stay close and stay low,” he told her.

Like a single shadow, she and Kakashi separated from the other CIA agents. They slipped behind the teams moving into position, not drawing their attention or the criminals working only a few meters beyond.

Sakura did her best to keep track of Itachi. He was with a group of agents, but as she closed the distance, he got the rest of his team in position until he was the closest one taking cover behind the edge of the shipping container near the warehouse.

Kakashi and Sakura took cover behind the next container over and with Kakashi at her back, Sakura slipped as close as she could to the edge before she whispered sharply to get his attention. “Psst, Itachi.”

With his gaze trained down the sights of his rifle, it took another attempt or two before he finally lifted his attention in her direction. His response was immediate. His eyes widened and his mouth went slack before his expression sharpened.

‘What are you doing here?’ he mouthed, his anger visible.

Sakura shot him a silent look that said they needed to talk. Now.

His expression could only be described as annoyed incredulity.

When Sakura remained firm, Itachi let out an aggravated sigh before he turned to the agent beside him and murmured orders she couldn’t hear. Then he checked the coast was clear before he crossed the short aisle separating their containers to join her.

Shouldering his weapon, Itachi grasped her upper arm tightly. Almost to the point of pain. He searched her face briefly before he glanced over at Kakashi. When he turned back to her, she opened her mouth but he quickly silenced her.

“Not here,” he murmured.

Itachi seemed to search their surroundings a moment before his gaze landed on the warehouse behind them. Then he grabbed her hand and pulled her the few yards into the open loading dock.

As soon as they were around the corner, he knelt down, pulling her into a darkened corner with him.

“What are you doing here?” he snapped, his hands tightening around her upper arms. "If the CIA-"

"Izuna is looking for you," she interrupted.

Itachi's irritation gave way to confusion. "What? Why?"

"Because Madara isn't here,” she said quickly. “Izuna knows I chased him from the country. He's coming after you to get back at me. We have to leave before he finds you. He wants you dead.”

"Get back at you?" he repeated. "How does he know...wait, what do you mean you chased Madara out of the country?"

Sakura's lips parted but no words came out. Because how did she tell Itachi she had knowingly deceived him? Ever since their first official introduction, he had only ever been straight with her, and now she had just told him she had betrayed his trust. The thing she held most dear.

Sakura saw the moment realization dawned on his face, like she had just slapped him. Her chest tightened uncomfortably as his expression gave way to a mix of anger and dejection, but she never found the words to explain. For their strained silence was interrupted by footsteps up on the upper rafters above where they were crouched.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Sakura's head snapped up just as one of Akatsuki’s men drew a weapon from inside his jacket. In the same second, she shoved Itachi behind a wooden crate, taking cover after him as bullets peppered the concrete floor where they had been crouched only a moment earlier.

Sakura didn't know if the noise had caused a stir or if the CIA had finally given the order to move, but shouts erupted outside at the same moment before gunfire filled the air both in the shipping yard and the warehouse.

Together, she and Itachi returned fire. She wasn’t sure who delivered the killing blow, but it didn’t matter for three more men took his place. In the metal warehouse, the rain of gunshots was deafening. Adrenaline rushed through Sakura’s veins, but it was her training that kept her sharp. She fired round after round, fully aware how thin the wooden box they were taking cover behind was against a rifle. For the most part, it protected them against the handguns these attackers were using, but anything bigger, she and Itachi would be in serious trouble.

Forcing herself to inhale, Sakura tightened the grouping of her bullets, striking and killing one man before hitting another. Itachi took out the third, causing the barrage of noise to cut off abruptly inside the warehouse.

Still, Sakura didn’t relax her stance as her eyes quickly scanned the rest of the floor for more men. Only once she was sure they weren’t any more incoming for the time being did she minutely relax her grip and glance at Itachi.

“We need to leave,” she told him.

“And go where?” he countered. Even in the wake of their brief firefight, she could hear the anger in his voice. The bitterness. The heartbreak. “Even if Madara is not here, the CIA is already in the middle of a raid. I cannot just leave my team.”

“But Izuna-.”

“No, Sakura,” Itachi snapped.

The harshness of that single retort made her still. In that moment, she would have given anything to make him look at her like he had only a few hours ago back when they had been in his apartment. Back when his fingers had traced over the keys of the piano, his hands attempting to play her song. Anything was better than the grief and hurt and betrayal that filled his gaze now. She swallowed thickly, trying to push down the emotion that swelled painfully in her chest.

“Itachi…” she tried. But he merely turned away from her as he stood, ready to rejoin the agents outside. “Itachi, please-”

She never finished the rest of her sentence as gunfire filled the warehouse once more. She didn’t know which direction the bullet had come from. All she knew was in one instant, Itachi was standing before her and the next, he was on the ground, unmoving.

Fear like nothing Sakura had ever felt before flooded her. It seized her, stopping her heart in her chest and making the rest of the world fall far, far away until all that existed was Itachi in what appeared to be a slowly gathering pool of blood.

“No,” she murmured. Then louder, “No! Itachi.”

Sakura made to reach for him where he lay only a few feet away, but stopped abruptly when bullets struck the concrete inches in front of her. She dove back behind her cover, glancing across the room towards a second entrance where the shots had come from.

“I warned you the last time we spoke that it would not be our last meeting,” a voice said after the echoing gunfire had faded.

Immediately Sakura stilled, recognizing none other than Izuna. She sat frozen, not daring to move a muscle, with her back pressed against the wooden crate, her rifle held to her chest and her breath bated as she listened to his footsteps echo across the room.

“What, nothing to say? Where’s all that talk you used to have? Or was it just that? Just talk.” Then his footsteps stopped. “I told you you had a pretty mouth, but I guess that’s all you are. Maybe if your little play thing had known that, he wouldn’t be here now.”

Automatically, Sakura’s gaze returned to Itachi. He remained motionless, his blood creeping into the cracks of the concrete around his middle. The bullet must have struck just under his vest. Which meant he likely wasn’t dead. But he would be soon if he didn’t get immediate medical attention.

Anger like no other replaced the fear gripping her heart. “You fucker, I’m going to kill you!”

Izuna’s quiet chuckle reached her ears. “Only one of us will die tonight-”

Pinpointing his voice, Sakura peeked out from around her cover and unloaded her entire magazine in Izuna’s direction. She fired until her weapon was empty before she discarded it and dove for Itachi. She grabbed his vest by the shoulders and tried to drag him to another crate nearby.

She made it two feet before more shots filled the air. Something hard struck her in the shoulder, like a hard punch, knocking her off her feet and onto her back. It kicked the breath from her lungs, leaving her staring dazed at the ceiling and gasping for air like a fish out of water.

It took a moment for the pain to catch up. Then it was everywhere. Icy hot fire erupted in her shoulder and she pressed a hand to it only for her fingers to come away red. She had been shot. Her vision doubled but she forced herself to blink into focus as a shadow appeared above her.

Izuna looked down at her. Even against her darkening sight, she saw the sinister smirk curling in the corners of his mouth. “I am going to enjoy this.”

Then he raised his gun and pointed the barrel directly at her head before a single gunshot filled the air.

Sakura snapped her eyes closed.

A second passed. Then another and another before she realized she was still alive.

Confused, Sakura picked her head up only to find Izuna laying a few feet away, blood bubbling out of his throat. She didn’t understand what had happened until a new set of footsteps reached her ears. Clearing her swimming vision again, she turned her head just as Kakashi lowered his rifle and hurried into the warehouse. He marched straight up to Izuna and pulled his Glock from his hip before he unloaded two rounds directly into Izuna’s head.

Relieved, Sakura let her head fall back to the dusty floor. Then Kakashi was by her side. He pressed his hand into the wound in her shoulder, causing her to hiss out a pained noise between clenched teeth.

“Fuck,” he cursed. “You’re losing too much blood. You need a hospital.”

Without waiting for a response, Kakashi hoisted her to her feet. The movement gave her another glimpse of Itachi and automatically she reached for him.

“Itachi,” she gasped between pained breaths.

To her incredible dismay, Kakashi dragged her away. “We have to go,” he told her. “There’s nothing you can do for him now.”

Sakura fought against him. “No! Itachi! We can’t just leave him.”

Kakashi didn’t reply. Instead, he stopped just long enough to hoist her weakening body into his arms before he exited the warehouse the direction they had come, shouting to someone outside about an injured agent.

Her last sight was of Itachi’s bleeding body before her world faded and went black.

tbc…

[louiserandom]

entangled with the law

Rating: E

Summary: Totally responsible police officer Madara may or may not have broken into Tobirama's lab, which is, apparently, the best excuse for having sex at his workplace—and later Madara's police car, because they have exactly zero self-control.

A/N: i feel like this is just... terrible title, terrible smut, terrible writing because apparently the more effort i put into something, the worse it is :”(

that said, this is for the wonderful @chinchilasarereallysoft who's super supportive and kind and lovely, and dw, I'll get to your other prompts soon which will hopefully turn out better :3

i hope you enjoy >.> meow

Read on AO3 or under the cut :3

At times, Tobirama wonders if it really was a good idea to give Madara the power of law enforcement.

The man is competent, of course, despite his tendency to flail more often than not, his morals and will are unshakable, and his idealistic dedication to making the world a better place is one of the many reasons Tobirama loves him to bits, but…

But.

Tobirama tears his eyes away from the screen with the latest sets of genome calculations from his brand-new quantum computer (screen of death, more like) at the sound of someone entering his very much deserted private lab. The sight that greets him is Madara waltzing in, clad in full uniform, with a bouquet of blue roses in one hand, a bottle of champagne in the other and one of the flowers clutched between his lips.

Tobirama has to question how in hell this disaster of a man made detective, judging by the new insignia on his shoulder.

“Congratulations,” Tobirama says, a smile blooming on his face despite his long-suffering tone, “but, Madara—did you just break into my lab?”

Tobirama knows all too well how strict management is about not allowing anyone in without a premade pass which he definitely hadn’t requested for Madara today.

“Mm—fuck!”

Tobirama can’t help but laugh at the way Madara splutters when trying to answer with the rose still in his mouth, only managing to cut himself on one of its spikes and barely catch it as it slips out.

“Fuck! Shit, goddammit all to hell, ugh!” Madara curses, calming down only when Tobirama approaches him and wipes away the trickle of blood. Madara clears his throat. “I—uh—I have my ways?”

“Ways of… acquiring a pass into a highly classified facility without contacting me?” Tobirama raises an eyebrow, brushing a lock of hair away from Madara’s eye. Whatever he’s done, Tobirama knows he won’t be able to stay annoyed for long. “Did you pester Minato, then? He already has PTSD from your glares, you know.”

Madara scoffs. “Of course not. He can’t keep a secret to save his life.” He intercepts Tobirama’s hand that’s still hovering over his lips and slides the flowers into his hold. “Now, aren’t you going to kiss me better?”

Tobirama chuckles. “I’ll consider it. In exchange for information, Detective. How did you sneak in?”

“I didn’t,” Madara argues with a decidedly suspicious grin on his face, “I am but a servant of the law and I obey it to the letter.”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh, like you’ve never illegally brought home live samples of a deadly coronavirus before, Doctor “Rules Are Arbitrary” Senju,” Madara hisses, still far too bitter about something so trivial.

“Technically, that helped develop a vaccine that saved millions of people,” Tobirama points out, breathing in the scent of his favorite flowers and placing them on a nearby desk in favor of putting his hands onto Madara’s shoulders. “Allegedly.”

“Well, I only allegedly broke into your lab.” Madara places the bottle away and draws Tobirama closer. “And unlike your stunt, this isn’t going to cause you to have apocalyptic nightmares.” Tobirama snorts at Madara’s dramatics, nevertheless leaning into his embrace. “Come on. You know I’m innocent. I deserve a kiss.”

Tobirama dodges Madara’s attempt to steal one just to be contrary, earning a disappointed pout he’s long since become immune to.

“Just tell me none of the guards saw you,” Tobirama pleads, exasperation quickly giving over to amusement—and very inconvenient arousal that spikes up whenever he sees Madara in his uniform. And with a ponytail, too, which exposes his neck, and that’s just all kinds of unfair (and tempting).

“You insult me, Tobirama. I’ve broken into criminal hideouts twice as heavily protected as your lab when undercover,” Madara says. “Allegedly.”

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“And you love me. What does that say about you?”

Tobirama answers him with a press of his lips, wasting no time slipping his tongue into Madara’s mouth and relishing the way Madara draws him closer, enveloping Tobirama in his warmth. The kiss is languid, gentle, but no less thorough as they drink each other in after so many hours spent apart.

“As much as I appreciate the surprise,” Tobirama says as they pull away for breath, “you really shouldn’t have gone to the trouble. It must be late.”

Madara rolls his eyes. “Of course you’ve lost track of time again. Early, you mean? It’s past midnight.”

Tobirama follows his gaze to the clock on the wall.

“Fuck. You should have called me. Did you call me? I thought I unmuted my phone.”

“Relax, I didn’t,” Madara says through chuckles, massaging Tobirama’s neck. His touch feels heavenly. “Got off late myself. Besides, it’s a surprise and I wanted to see you in person. It’s a special date today after all.”

The mischievous glint in Madara’s eyes is telling.

“Not just because of the promotion?” Tobirama questions, frantically trying to remember what else could be special about today.

“Nope,” Madara says, “I got promoted yesterday, technically. Today, Tobirama, is the day we first kissed—”

“Our first date.” Tobirama has the urge to hit himself over the head. And, incidentally, it’s the day they officially got together. “I’m an idiot.”

“You work with quantum bio-what-the-fuck-ever. I can sympathize.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh?”

Tobirama seals his promise with another kiss, more forceful this time around, running his hands through Madara’s hair. This earns him a moan as Madara spins them around and crowds Tobirama against the wall, chest to chest, hips to hips, making the friction almost impossible to bear.

“Can’t promise a surprise though,” Tobirama pants as they part, “and we really shouldn’t be doing this in my lab.”

Madara smirks. “Oh?” He runs his hands along Tobirama’s arms, slipping his fingers under his belt. “We’ve christened all your previous labs, haven’t we? Besides, this one’s the safe one, isn’t it? Let’s have some fun.”

Tobirama slaps the wandering hand away. “How in hell do you know I don’t have surveillance in here?”

“I’m smart enough to figure that out.” Madara hasn’t moved an inch, and if anything, the closeness makes Tobirama’s blood run hotter, mind clouded and growing increasingly less averse to the idea of defiling yet another one of his workplaces.

And Madara is right—it’s not like there’s anything important in his private space other than endless files and the bunch of computers that generate data from the fun lab.  

“Let’s get home,” he asks, albeit weakly, because he’s not about to let rationality go just because he’s horny.

“Let’s get to that desk,” Madara says, hauling Tobirama to one of the empty tables, “and make this quick?”

And then Madara’s on his knees, gripping Tobirama’s hips and mouthing the outline of his cock through his pants. Madara’s gaze burns as their eyes lock and Tobirama lets out an embarrassing whine, swearing under his breath. It’s too much of a temptation, and Madara knows this, knows what he’s doing to Tobirama—but even so, there’s a slight hesitance to Madara’s movements, a silent question hanging in the air.

“Fuck! Fine, just actually make this quick and stop being a goddamn tease?” A shiver runs down Tobirama’s spine as Madara’s lips twist in a devastating smirk.

“I knew you’d come around.”

“I hate you.”

“You know that’s not true.”

Tobirama’s answer drowns in a groan as Madara finishes dragging his pants and boxers down and wraps his lips around the head of his half-hard cock, swirling his tongue around the tip, light and teasing.

It drives Tobirama insane.

His fingers tangle in Madara’s hair, messing it up further as Madara moans in approval. Tobirama squeezes his eyes shut, unable to deal with the sizzling heat as his cock grows rock hard and Madara takes him deeper.

“Madara,” Tobirama breathes, “please.”

Madara wastes no time taking him all the way down, nose pressing against Tobirama’s pubes, throat constricting around his cock as he swallows. Tobirama bucks his hips forward, unable to stop himself, making Madara choke momentarily around his shaft. Madara grips his hips harder as Tobirama makes to draw away to give him space to breathe. His muffled moan, his hands running along Tobirama’s thighs and ass, caressing his hole—it’s all the encouragement Tobirama needs to thrust in again, first slow and languid before he starts fucking Madara’s mouth in earnest, an incoherent litany of praise falling from his lips as he drinks in the sight.

It’s mesmerizing, watching his cock disappear in Madara’s mouth. Hearing the obscene sounds he makes. Feeling him suck and moan around his length, the sensations driving Tobirama ever faster to the edge. He wishes he had the ability to embed this memory in his mind, as vividly clear as it is now: Madara on his knees for him, looking debauched and so eager to please him, as lost in the pleasure as Tobirama feels, and—

Tobirama comes too soon, squeezing Madara’s shoulder in a warning the man doesn’t heed, only sucking harder as Tobirama’s orgasm tears through him and swallowing every last bit of his release. Tobirama is sure he screams at some point, never so thankful for his lab’s sound-resistance as he is now.

“Fuck,” he summarizes when he’s able to form actual words again, but still struggling to take a proper breath.

“Uh huh,” Madara agrees, letting go of Tobirama’s cock with a light kiss to his shaft, looking up at him with a dazed look on his face. “Fuck, I want you.”

Tobirama looks down, willing his eyes to focus, gaze drawn to his swollen lips, the flush that descends from Madara’s neck, disappearing below his clothes. He can’t resist pulling him up to capture Madara’s lips again, tasting himself, letting Madara ravish his mouth as he pleases, growing desperate. He pushes Tobirama to sit on the desk and positions himself between his legs, letting him feel the hardness of his cock. Madara groans into the kiss when Tobirama wraps his legs around his waist, then drags his lips downward to mouth at Madara’s neck, sucking bruising kisses onto exposed skin.

“I’m close,” Madara says, voice strangled as his whole body shudders under Tobirama’s touch, “but I need—inside you—”

“This is why we should’ve been doing this home,” Tobirama says, emphasizing his words with a sharp bite to Madara’s collarbone. Another delectable moan. “Where we have lube.”

“I have lube in my car.” Madara twines his fingers in Tobirama’s hair. “Wanna go? It’s a new one, too, see, we definitely need to christen it too because...” He waggles his eyebrows. “Tradition.”

Tobirama groans in exasperation. “You planned this. Fuck. Fuck you.”

“No,” Madara says, smirk dancing on his lips, “fuck you. Now, finish up here and let’s go.”

*

They take longer than is strictly necessary to get to the car, because Madara is a masochist apparently, which is nothing new. He knows he’s tormenting himself, his cock hard and straining painfully against his breeches, but can’t help but pin Tobirama against any convenient surface, kissing him senseless as they exit the Institute, stumbling towards the parking lot.

Tobirama pushes Madara away when they finally get close, mumbling something about surveillance actually being installed here, and it takes a short but still agonizing drive just a bit away from the building to a blind spot before Madara has the chance to have his way with his boyfriend.

His very hot, disheveled boyfriend who crawls into the driver’s seat the moment Madara stops, already hard again and writhing against him, ready to be fucked. Madara has to take a breath to pull himself together, the rush of arousal just a touch shy of too much. That won’t do.

It’s his turn to slow Tobirama down, whispering filthy promises in his ear as he moves them to the backseat and straddles Tobirama as much as he’s able in the tight space, rushing to get troublesome clothes out of the way.

“You’re being so good for me, Tobirama.” Madara covers every inch of skin revealed with his mouth, sucking hickeys onto Tobirama’s jaw and neck, moving to mouth at his nipples as fumbles in his bag. “Do you realize how beautiful you look, all spread out for me?” He makes quick work of tearing open the packet of lube and coating his fingers with it, reaching to play with Tobirama’s hole.

His reward is a drawn-out moan as Tobirama arches against him, almost completely naked while Madara is still mostly clothed, shirt hanging open and his pants pulled down. There’s something about his uniform Tobirama absolutely loves, and Madara is always willing to indulge him.

“I already made you beg once,” Madara says, voice heavy with want as he drags his length along Tobirama’s, bucking against him as the friction sends pulses of electrifying pleasure through his veins. “Can you do it again?”

“Only if you get on wi—ah,” Tobirama trails off as Madara pushes his finger into him as far as it can go, finding him still lose from yesterday morning. “Yes, please, just get on with it, Madara, please.”

Madara sinks down for a much-needed kiss to ground himself. The man is too perfect. So needy. So desperate. It’s a look Madara will never get tired of seeing on him.

“All in good time, Tobirama,” Madara drawls, “I need to be thorough in my investigation after all.”

“Stop making puns, and you can be thorough later and inside me right the fuck now.”

“My, my, someone’s impatient.” Madara grins at the adorable pout.

“Like you aren’t.”

Madara adds another finger in place of an answer and twists, finding and pressing against Tobirama’s prostate, knowing just the way to reduce him to a barely coherent mess. Tobirama thrashes, keening and muttering a mantra of please, please fuck me against Madara’s skin as he buries his head in the crook of Madara’s neck, teeth biting skin hard enough that tantalizing spikes of pain contrast with the mounting pleasure, and—well.

It doesn’t take long for Madara to crumble, too, what with such a delightful sight before him—Tobirama flushed and wanting, torn between thrusting back into his fingers and forward to rub his already leaking cock against Madara’s length. An irresistible temptation.

“Now put your legs up, over my shoulders,” Madara commands, more than a little breathless, “be a good boy. Just like that.”

“Finally…” Tobirama can’t manage more than a needy whisper at this point, and Madara wastes no time sliding into him, slow and careful, only for Tobirama to thrust back into the movement, drawing Madara in deeper. “Fuck.”

Madara savors the overwhelming heat as he bottoms out, for just the few moments before he allows himself a harder, faster thrust, fucking into Tobirama as they cling to each other. The world is nothing but Tobirama, hot, pliant, and desperate beneath him, face slack with pleasure. Nothing but the sound of their grunts, and moans, and the slap of skin against skin as Madara increases his pace, the need for release winning over the desire to draw out the exquisite tightness that is Tobirama’s hole clenching around his dick.

“Look at you, so tight and hot around me—” Madara gives a particularly hard thrust, Tobirama’s choked scream music to his ears, “—clinging to me, so needy, so perfect.” Tobirama is a drooling mess, jaw slack as delectable moans fall from his lips, and Madara doesn’t resist the urge to slide one finger, two into Tobirama’s mouth. Tobirama sucks at them with most filthy sounds as he claws at Madara’s back, tugging him closer, cock smearing precome against Madara’s stomach. “So beautiful, Tobirama, so precious, and mine, mine, mine—”

They both groan as Madara sets an even more punishing pace, so close, so desperate, almost—there. Tobirama squeezes around him impossibly tighter when he crests, ripping Madara’s orgasm from him in turn. Wave after wave of pleasure ripples through him, stoked by Tobirama’s moans, the way he stills suckles on Madara’s fingers, riding out his release.

Madara falls on top of him, completely spent, shuddering through the aftershocks long after his orgasm passes. He basks in the closeness, even as they’re barely comfortable in this position. He relishes the feel of Tobirama’s skin, hot and sweat-slick against his own, the sound of his ragged breathing, the pounding of his heart as he burrows his head in Tobirama’s chest.

“Madara?”

“Mm?” Madara whispers once he regains his capacity for speech. He sits up on his elbows, watching Tobirama stare at the ceiling with a somewhat dreamy expression on his face.

“You know,” Tobirama says, voice still a bit shaky, “I know it’s so late that it’s early, but I’m high on ten cups of coffee and…” There’s a wicked look in his eyes as he grins. “I could do this all night.”

Madara huffs out a laugh. “All weekend, you mean. At least I’m hoping for that.”

“It’s Friday?”

“It’s Saturday.” Madara laughs at Tobirama’s bemused expression. For a breakthrough genius, he can be one hell of an idiot. “For once, I’m not even going to complain about your caffeine abuse.”

“Because then you’d be a hypocrite,” Tobirama points out, which is, well, fair, not that Madara will ever admit it.

“Shut up.”

“I don’t think I will.”

“What if I make you?”

“With your cock?”

“Um, I—preferably?” Madara blanches. “Did I mention that I love you?”

“Not once today, technically,” Tobirama says with a mock pout.

“Fuck. Well, I do.”

Madara leans in to steal a kiss, and another, keeps going until Tobirama’s pout gives into a dazzling smile.

“I love you too, babe,” Tobirama whispers against his lips. “And get us home. I need a comfortable bed for how I’m planning to take you apart.”

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 5011 Chapter: 31/42 Summary: Not all wars are fought on the battlefield. Some are fought at the conference table, with whispers in the shadows, or even in the bedroom.

In a world where the Senju and Uchiha traditional lands were too far apart to have ever made them enemies, Butsuma and Tajima are the ones who come together and sign a treaty of peace. Madara isn’t happy to have his life signed away for him in a political marriage to strengthen the bond between their clans. He is even less happy to have Tobirama make assumptions of him from their very first night together. What follows from there is a journey of healing, of learning, and finding the places to belong in the places least expected.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

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Chapter 31

Tobirama had obviously just finished rinsing off the dishes from his lunch when Madara slammed in to the room, the walls of their house still echoing with how he had slammed the front door open as well. From the calm way his husband reached for a tea towel to dry his hands he must have felt Madara's chakra coming from halfway across the village. Surely anyone with even an iota of sensing capabilities had felt him as he made his way through the streets like an erupting volcano on the move, chakra boiling and spilling around him in a dark miasma of rage.

“I take it whatever meeting you were called to did not go well?” Tobirama asked. They were supposed to have eaten together for their lunch break, a lovely little date that Madara had been the one to set up for once, but plans were interrupted when a runner came to summon him back to the tower. It looked like the other had eaten without him.

“Fucking imbecile!”

“Mm. Not well at all.”

Tobirama’s eyes flickered away to the clock on the wall and Madara guessed he must be checking that there was enough time left of their lunch break to listen to the sort of rant they both knew was just waiting to burst forth. Just a little under twenty minutes was left until they should both be back at the office. Madara had checked. He had a temper, sure, but he wasn’t irresponsible with it. Mostly.

Before saying anything Madara first spent a couple of minutes stomping in circles around the table just to get some of his frustration out, snarling and blistering the air with language so strong it was a good thing Kagami had not chosen today for one of his spontaneous visits.  Over the years he’d learned this was a vital step so he didn’t turn such language on whoever he was venting to, not wanting to sound accusatory. When he finally stopped pacing he felt no calmer and desperately cast about for a way to feel so. He solved the problem by stomping over and shoving his face flat against Tobirama’s chest where he released a muffled scream against the warm, solid muscle of his husband’s pectorals.

“Feel better?” Tobirama asked dubiously when the scream was done.

“No.”

“Would you like to tell me what happened?”

“Your father is as terrible a man as mine is!”

Nodding slowly, Tobirama dared to point out, “That is not new information.”

“I knew he was an ass; I didn’t know he was this much of one! Can you honestly believe what he said to me!?” Madara huffed and ground his teeth with indignation until he was pulled up short by Tobirama’s answer.

“Until you tell me what he said I can’t believe anything really.”

Madara paused and took a deep breath. It didn’t help very much. He still felt as though he were on the verge of blasting steam out of both ears when he allowed himself to speak again. “Not only did he imply that pretty much anyone can do my job which means I’m not needed for them but he basically told me that I should be grateful to him for allowing me to focus on ‘less taxing responsibilities’. I’m going to kill him!”

Rather than defend his father – who they both knew did not warrant any defense – Tobirama mirrored his husband’s actions and took a deep breath in through his nose, letting it back out slowly through his mouth.

“Well, in answer to your question: no. I cannot believe he said that to you.”

“I’ve worked damn hard to improve the security teams! Their morale is up, their patrol patterns are tighter, I even worked out a schedule so no one ever has to stay on night duty for more than a couple of weeks at a time! Now he’s basically demoted me to a regular tower lackey and he says I should be grateful!?” Madara snorted and clenched his fists in a pantomime of strangling someone’s neck. “He even had the gall to tell me it would be better if I focused more on my duties as an heir! I know my own damn duties!”

He was gratified to see the clench of Tobirama’s jaw, a sign that he wasn’t overreacting to the situation. If Tobirama was angry enough for it to show visibly in any way at all then Madara knew the insult given him was serious enough to warrant his own rage.

“While I will freely admit that I was upset those projects were given to you in the first place I will also be the first to say that you have more than risen to whatever challenges such duties posed. You make an excellent lead for the security teams. I cannot fathom what he thinks to accomplish by removing you from them.” Tobirama’s brows knit together with a frustrated confusion Madara was not at all happy to clear up.

“Oh I can tell you why,” he spat. “He said, and I quote, that I should appreciate being relieved of such taxing work as I am clearly stretched too thin with all the projects I have taken on with you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Right? That’s what I said!”

Tobirama’s jaw clenched again. “Does he understand the irony that he is working towards the exact same goal as the man he’s trying to undermine with this asinine move?”

“Probably not! He doesn’t think! Neither of them think anymore! It’s like they signed their damn treaty and then threw any collective sense either of them had ever possessed out the window! Some days I can hardly believe my father is the same man pulling such idiotic stunts as he does – and now your father has decided to pitch in to the madness!?”

“No, you’re right. I don’t think either of them see a thing beyond the end of their own ambitions anymore. They built something that the world had never seen before and now they both want to rule over it uncontested.”

“They’re idiots!” Madara shouted.

He was startled to see a bit of humor flash across Tobirama’s face. “Utter fools.”

“Yes! And now their foolery has relegated me to little more than a lackey, a paper pusher. I barely pull any weight on the council now. Fuck, I’m no better than the Akimichi heir who falls asleep in almost every meeting!” The humor was gone immediately from Tobirama’s face and his husband reached out to pull him back in to a tight embrace.

“No. It won’t stand. Who else has little enough on their plate that they can take up all the work you do? Let him flex his authority if he must, this can’t last.”

Madara sighed tiredly as he felt all the energy and fight drain out of him. “But it can. All he has to do is split it up between a bunch of different people. He’ll probably promote that terrifying cousin of yours to my position if he thinks anything like Tajima does. My father accused him of trying to oust the Uchiha, if you’ll recall, and it seems Butsuma has finally decided to retaliate. By doing exactly what he was accused of, I might add!”

The chest he was buried in once more heaved with a sigh to match his own.

“I am so rarely optimistic, anata, will you not let me have just this once?”

“Fine. Oh yay. Gee I can’t wait to be reinstated when Butsuma magically stops being an asshole.”

“Much better. An excellent mood to go back to work with, I’m sure.” Tobirama didn’t exactly sound in high spirits himself but Madara appreciated having the tension broken even if he wasn’t actually ready to be positive.

“I’ll show you high spirits,” he grumbled.

There wasn’t much time left before they needed to leave, barely a few minutes, but no matter how much Madara wanted to spend it cuddling Tobirama insisted that he find something to eat while he had the chance. Seeing as they were meant to attend Hashirama's for dinner that evening Madara did have to agree that it was safest not to leave his stomach too empty. It was always a gamble eating with Hashirama and Mito, their tastes being so varied. One never knew if the meal would be a wonderfully prepared delicacy or some monstrosity they discovered at the market and just had to try. Madara lived in fear of the day they discovered that durian fruits existed.

He returned to the office when break time was over with a full belly and slightly lowered blood pressure, though not by much. Never had he been so thankful of his own habit to bring his paperwork up to Tajima’s office before noon. After the day he’d had he wasn’t sure he had the energy left to deal with his own father’s cold attitude and he definitely did not want to be the one who broke the news that Butsuma demoted the heir of the Uchiha clan without even discussing the matter between them. That was not going to be a pretty conversation, although he didn’t want to get his hopes up that anything good would come back to him after those two idiots went through their latest blow out.

Since most of the work waiting on his desk pertained to projects he was supposedly no longer involved with Madara found a petty sort of satisfaction in dropping the massive stack of folders and scrolls on the floor to be dealt with by someone else and turned his attention to more simple administrative matters, things he had been doing since the governing body was first set up and they had all accepted basic duties. Hashirama gave him a questioning look but he was easy enough to distract with questions about dinner tonight.

For the rest of the day whenever someone brought Madara some of the things he should have been working on he cheerfully directed them to the growing pile of work on the floor. In the farfetched event he was actually allowed to continue the duties that were rightfully his it was likely he would regret ignoring them all day but that was a problem for the future, not to be considered right now.

No matter how wide he pulled the smirk across his face, however, it did nothing to lessen the stinging anger of rejection, the hot ball of betrayal for having something he cared about taken away from him without any real reason. Pretending everything was fine wouldn’t fix anything but it was the only way he knew how to deal with such emotions so he forged onward with a grim smile baring his teeth. And he smothered the tiny voice in the back of his mind that told him maybe it would be better if he took the time to work through what he was feeling sooner rather than later. The voice sounded suspiciously like Hashirama anyway and when did that oaf ever have anything smart to say?

Rather than take out his repressed emotions on the most convenient victim, Madara somehow managed to keep all of the insults against Hashirama to himself until his friend returned from dropping off documents to Butsuma. They wandered downstairs together to drag Tobirama out of his office and found Mito waiting for them just outside the building. Madara had only just opened his mouth to let loose at last and make fun of how many times today Hashirama had knocked over his pencil cup when their attention was called back by an unwanted voice.

Butsuma rather noticeably did not look Madara in the eye as he approached, though there was something about the tightness around his mouth that said he was holding back some sort of expression trying to form. Whether that was a smirk or a frown Madara didn’t know. Surprisingly, the man headed directly for his second son.

“Word arrived from the Daimyo this afternoon,” he announced. “His eminence regrets that he was too distracted to thank you and your mission partner properly after the two of you managed to uncover a coup being planned right under his nose.”

“None of us do this for acknowledgement,” Tobirama responded dutifully. The way he spoke gave Madara the impression he was only saying what was expected of him.

“As any shinobi should say. However, his eminence wishes to give his thanks personally as well as an apology for so rudely sending you away while you were injured. He has extended an invitation for you and Izuna to stay with him and attend a proper celebration of your deeds.” If he puffed his chest out any farther Butsuma may have been in danger of sprouting actual feathers to preen, clearly pleased with himself as though he had anything to do with the matter.

Ignoring the way Hashirama tried to thump him on the back in congratulations, Tobirama simply nodded and asked, “When is he expecting us?”

“You are to leave in four days and arrive on the fifth.” Again Tobirama nodded and Madara mentally crossed his fingers that the man would go now so he could begin soaking up as much of Tobirama’s attention as he could to make up for the time they would be apart. Of course, because that was just his luck today, Butsuma had to open his mouth again. “Unfortunately it seems Izuna will be much too busy to attend at the capital. He does, after all, have some incredibly important duties on his hands nowadays. I had thought it would be good if you took your husband along with you to stand in Izuna’s stead.”

That, at least, explained what Madara now recognized as a repressed smirk. It was little more than a miracle that he recognized anything beyond the haze of anger that fell over his eyes and suddenly it became very difficult to smother the instinctual urge to activate his Sharingan.

His temper only worsened when finally Butsuma’s gaze slid over to lock with his own and he could see the light of satisfaction dancing in those beady little eyes. Never in his life had he wanted so badly to punch someone. And considering the swift and vicious nature of his temper Madara really thought that should say something, both for the amount of anger he was controlling and the strength he was demonstrating in not actually throwing any punches.

“Your generosity knows no bounds, father,” Tobirama’s dry tone broke through his reveries and Madara turned to give his husband an incredulous look until he continued. “We never did get a honeymoon. It’s very kind of you to allow for one now. Since Madara's duties have been lightened perhaps we’ll set off a day earlier and take our time on the journey.”

Butsuma’s left eyes twitched. It was the most beautiful thing Madara had seen all day. He’d thought watching his own father’s plans get turned back on him time and again was fun but those incidents had nothing on the petty satisfaction of seeing Butsuma experience the same thing and knowing he couldn’t contradict his son without Hashirama and Mito asking questions. Indeed, Hashirama was already cooing over the idea while Mito granted them both indulgent smiles. Neither of them seemed to notice the tension between the three men all staring each other down with poison in their eyes and their faces held in masks of civility.

“Please send word to the Daimyo that we will of course accept his invitation. If Izuna cannot pull himself away from his work for a day or so to attend to his eminence then we will be happy to do so together. Thank you for letting us know, father, I will use the rest of this week to prepare for my own absence.”

“Right,” Butsuma mumbled. “Be sure that nothing falls behind while you are gone.”

“That goes without saying. Now, if you will excuse us. Good evening.”

Not another word was spoken as Tobirama gently and skillfully guided all members of their group off down the street while somehow also distracting his brother from the fact that their father’s cheeks were turning purple.

Madara wasn’t sure how his husband managed it but within a couple of minutes he had Hashirama and Mito walking several feet ahead of them engaged in conversation about what they had both gotten up to that day, neither looking back to see why their intended guests were lagging behind. Honestly, however, he didn’t care very much about the how when it gave him a few moments to just breathe and cling to the hand that slipped down to capture his own in a bracing grip.

“I’ll kill him,” he whispered.

“Anata…”

“No I mean it, I’m really going to kill him. How dare he?”

“To be honest I don’t blame you. It’s bad enough to remove you from the things you’re good at but to send you away without warning just because–”

“No!” Madara almost felt bad for cutting his husband off but he was just so angry he couldn’t contain himself. “How dare he compare me to Izuna? How dare he imply that Izuna’s work is more important than my own? We perform wildly different functions! I don’t- UGH!”

He’d never so badly wanted to know how the hiraishin worked because right then he would have very much enjoyed the ability to just disappear without a trace. Sometimes the Body Flicker just couldn’t take him far enough. Thankfully he was blessed with the calm rock that was Tobirama, who said nothing about having his fingers squeezed so tight they could both feel their bones grinding together.

“I didn’t think of that but you’re right. It was unfair of him to do that. Crafty as well, though I can’t say for sure whether it was his intention to sow discourse between the two of you.”

“Well I don’t care what his intentions were! That was unfair! And terrible! I am not my brother and my brother is not me and we don’t do the same job so you really can’t compare how important either of us is – and maybe if he didn’t take my fucking job away from me then I wouldn’t be so ‘unimportant’! He can go straight to hell!” Madara snapped his jaw shut when he noticed his voice beginning to rise. They were still in public and no matter what people thought he did understand public decency.

After allowing him a moment to calm himself Tobirama looked around, the corners of his mouth tightening to see the street they were on was still quite busy. “If you would prefer not to be in company right now I can make our excuses to Anija.”

“It’s fine. We’ll make him listen to me bitching too. He deserves it.”

“Mm and what did he do to deserve such an honor?”

“He’s always so bloody happy!” Madara cried, indignant. “It’s not fair! Why can’t I be that happy all the time?”

It wasn’t until they had gone several more steps in silence that he realized there was anything amiss. When he turned to say something else he noticed Tobirama’s face was pulled in to a pensive expression, almost hesitant as he opened his own mouth, words slow and clearly very carefully worded.

“Are you unhappy most days?”

“What? Oh. No, no that’s not- I didn’t mean that. I meant- fuck’s sake every time I think ‘yeah this is good, I’m happy’ one of our fathers does something to kick us down again. I swear sometimes they can smell when we’re happy and they deliberately swoop in to ruin it. I hate them. I hate both of them. They’re old codgy bastards and they need to be retired. By force.” Madara scowled down at the ground in front of them, even angrier than before but now it was at himself for almost giving the impression that he was unhappy after both of them had been trying so hard to build what they had between them.

Tobirama seemed to understand at least, the pensive look slipping away and leaving sympathy in those pretty red eyes. Neither of them said much more for the rest of their walk to Hashirama's house. Madara distracted himself for a while thinking about how good he’d gotten at reading his husband’s expressions. The man wasn’t really much more expressive than he ever had been, still the same blank looking face on most occasions, but it had gotten easier to interpret the micro-changes and even the smallest quirk of his lips became a smile in Madara’ eyes, a certain shine became amusement. It was a testament to how close they’d become and thinking about their relationship did help keep his temper reigned in for now as he kept his concentration on happier things.

When they were only a couple of streets away from his house Hashirama finally turned and blinked behind himself as though only just remembering they were there too. As soon as he spotted them his face broke out in a sunshine smile that only served to reawaken Madara's annoyance.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you two! Mito was just telling me all about her day and it sounded so lovely!”

“Bully for you,” Madara called back. “Not all of us had lovely days!”

Hashirama all but ground his heels in to the dirt, screeching to a halt so he could wait for them to catch up with him and Mito. “Did you have a bad day Madara? Why didn’t you tell me! I would have cheered you up!” At his side, Mito shook her head.

“You were right there when Butsuma-sama told him in so many words that his brother was more vital to this village than he is. Would that make you feel good if he said it to you?”

“Well…I would be proud of my brother?” Hashirama tried. He winced when all three of them gave his sharp looks.

“Obviously I’m proud of my brother,” Madara snapped. “But it’s shitty to compare us against each other as if that means anything. It’s like comparing apples and oranges. Its- its- he’s not unimportant but I’m important too, damn it, and your stupid father can’t just take that away from me and laugh in my face about it!”

Eyes wide, Hashirama wilted. “Oh. Yeah. That wouldn’t feel good at all. Wait, what did he take away from you?”

Barely able to contain himself, Madara was almost grateful for the white hand that slapped itself over his mouth as Tobirama very carefully cleared his throat and suggested perhaps they should all go inside to discuss this. That was probably best. If any other words came out of him at that moment they would have been very loud and not at all tasteful. Biting his tongue until he was sure the indents would stay for weeks, Madara stomped off with the rest while they all quietly made the rest of the journey to Hashirama's home.

The moment the door was closed between them and the rest of the world it was like all restraints fell away and Madara stood in the genkan for fifteen minutes shouting to his heart’s content. Sometime during the flood of words Mito and Tobirama slipped away to prepare tea so by the time his words ran out and Hashirama led him in to the living room there was a steaming cup waiting for him next to where Tobirama sat on one half of a spectacularly ugly loveseat. Madara had enough kindness in him to wait until the man didn’t have a cup up near his face before flopping gracelessly down next to his husband and snatching up his own tea.

“I can’t believe he did that.” Hashirama shook his head.

“Can’t you?” Mito asked with sharp words. If he were feeling more himself Madara would have been surprised she had said anything that might even remotely be considered in support of him. They still hadn’t really warmed up to each other even after all this time.

“Well…okay yes, I suppose I can believe it of him.” Ignoring his tea, Hashirama rubbed tiredly at the bridge of his nose. “Some days it’s hard to reconcile the man he’s become with the man who raised us.”

Although Tobirama remained silent Madara was sure he felt the weight of both himself and Mito staring, waiting for his contradiction. It never came and yet they could still see it in his eyes. Butsuma had raised one son, buried two, and forgotten the one he deemed to not require his attention. As much as Hashirama wanted to love the man there had never truly been a father to love in him.

Madara scowled down in to his cup. He almost wished he could say the same of his own. Would it have been better to lose the affection he once so cherished or to never have it at all and feel no loss?

“I’m surprised you’re as calm as you are about all this,” Mito said but when he raised his head he saw that she was speaking to Tobirama, who only hummed and sipped his tea.

“Plotting a murder should never be done loudly.”

She granted him a gentle smile that should absolutely not look so deadly and then lifted one eyebrow. “I agree that silence is golden but I would have expected you to be a little more vocal now that we’re all alone. You did not go without insult yourself, my dear.”

“Your concern is appreciated but I’m fine,” Tobirama deflected while Madara blinked rapidly, trying to remember if Butsuma had said anything bad that he might have missed.

“Calling Izuna’s work too important to set down is an insult to both of you,” she pointed out. “You work more than the rest of us put together some days and he can send you away without a thought but not Izuna? One might begin to think he had changed his mind and decided to support the Uchiha above his own clan.”

“And I’m sure that when he realizes that he’ll be foaming at the mouth with disappointment for himself.” Tobirama shrugged it off as no big deal while Madara did his best to sink in to his own cushion and disappear.

In his anger he hadn’t even realized it but Mito was right. Of course Butsuma would think to send him off now that he apparently had nothing important to do but to pull Tobirama away from the hundred and one projects he always seemed to have a hand in? Any shinobi worth their salt was used to picking up and leaving on short notice if the mission was important enough but an invitation from the Daimyo wasn’t something that came on short notice. Invitations to the capitol were just as full of pomp and ridiculousness as its inhabitants. The Daimyo would have sent word more than a week in advance, which meant that Butsuma had deliberately been sitting on it all this time and just waiting to make his move. It was a miracle he hadn’t waited until the day before if that was his game.

What kind of man, he wondered, would throw his own son under the bus just to toss a petty insult in someone else’s face? Now Madara found himself faced with a new dilemma. He couldn’t decide if he was angrier on his own behalf or on Tobirama’s as the full scope of Butsuma’s idiocy sank in.

His husband must have noticed his stricken look, murmuring quietly from one side of his mouth.

“You were preoccupied and with good reason. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Madara told him just as quietly. “Would you like help planning his murder?”

Tobirama’s quicksilver smile was there and gone in an instant and that was all the answer he needed. He could be a tad blind in his anger but clearly Tobirama understood.

“Guys, please stop whispering. You’re making me really nervous.” When he looked up Madara saw that his best friend was wringing both hands anxiously, clearly not able to hear what they were saying but still under the impression that they were indeed plotting a murder. He knew them both so well.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Madara replied petulantly.

“I didn’t! I asked!”

“Semantics.” Delicately lifting the teacup he had almost forgotten about, Madara sipped at the drink before it could go cold and listened to Hashirama whining at him without any outward reaction.

Finally having the chance to yell everything out of system when he came in the home, Madara found that he really didn’t want to talk about this anymore. Chewing over the issue wouldn’t change anything and listening to Hashirama's sympathetic murmurs would only keep him concentrated on feeling down. Distracting the man was as easy now as it had been in the office. With only one sentence wondering about some gossip he’s overheard yesterday he had Hashirama off on a tangent chasing this new topic and although he could tell he hadn’t fooled either Tobirama or Mito he was grateful that both of them let the subject drop as well.

It was a relief to let the mood around him lighten. Madara was happy enough to join the conversation at times but for the most part he tried not to be obvious about leaning in to his husband for a bit of comfort. More and more as the months went by it was starting to feel like their lives were ever-changing in way they shouldn’t be and he realized he was coming to rely on Tobirama as one of the only constants he had left.

When he felt a pale hand slip in to his own for a brief squeeze and then slipping away before anyone could notice their PDA Madara bit his lip. It wasn’t all bad. If all he had left in the world was Tobirama then he was doing alright, he thought.

[emilx311]

Tobirama had been blind since birth, he dealt with it, even when his lack of sight led to shenanigans. Madara, on the other hand, was very confused by Tobirama's seemingly random habits. Or, four times Madara really should have figured out Tobirama was blind and the one time it actually came up. 

My first MadaTobi week story! I'm hoping to do 4 of these in total. This is for the blind Tobirama prompt

read on AO3 or under the cut, also if you enjoyed this please buy me a coffee

Senju Tobirama had a secret. It was not one he really cared about, but his father had and keeping it had become a habit over the years. You see, Tobirama was blind. He had been born that way, with his eyes closed and his senses open. Hashirama and Touka knew, as did a few of the older Senju, but even within his clan most did not. Tobirama had never understood why others seemed to make such a big deal about it. He had never had it so he could not miss it and he had found ways to compensate for anything his blindness may have prevented him from otherwise doing. He was a capable and deadly warrior so he really did not see why anyone would care. This was why he had never thought to tell the Uchiha of his condition even after pulling his blow on Izuna to create peace and helping their brothers to build the village of their dreams.

One of the first things Madara noticed about Tobirama after peace was established was how messy his handwriting was. This seemed odd since anyone who spent any time around the brothers could see that Tobirama was the organized, logical one. He was the one who came up with the systems, the one who kept his brother in check and on task. And yet, while Hashirama had the beautiful handwriting befitting of a clan head's son Tobirama's was chicken scratch. It was messy and slanted and almost impossible to read. The albino seemed aware of this, had even hired someone specifically to be his scribe, but never did anything to fix it. Madara wanted to say something about it, but none of the Senju reacted or seemed to think it strange and he didn't want to make it seem as if the Uchiha were criticizing their heir. Izuna also thought it odd, but when he asked his brother he was unable to offer a possible explanation even after all the years he had spent fighting and studying the other.

Madara was watching Tobirama again, Hashirama noticed. He’d been doing that quite a bit since Tobirama had pulled his blow to Izuna, but this time seemed different. Instead of being focused on his brother himself the Uchiha was squinting at the book held in his brother’s hands. It was a braille book because Tobirama had just gotten back from a mission the night before and his chakra was still low, but otherwise Hashirama saw nothing out of the ordinary about it.

“Something wrong? You seem distracted” Hashirama asked his friend off-handily. Madara hummed, still focussed on Tobirama.

“Not really just…what is your brother holding?” Madara asks in return. Hashirama gives him a confused look.

“What? It’s a book” he replies. Madara blinks before looking at him quizzically.

“But there’s no words on it and he’s not using it to write in” Madara points out.

“Of course not, it’s written in braille. He always reads that way when he’s tired or low on chakra, it’s more relaxing for him” Hashirama explains. He’s surprised that Madara has never seen his brother read braille before, he does it often enough. Tobirama really did find it more relaxing since he didn’t have to focus his chakra when he read this way. It was almost as good as swimming for de-stressing him.

“Oh” was all Madara could say to that and Hashirama wandered away happily with no idea he’d left his friend even more confused than before.

Madara blinked. He blinked again. The sight in front of him didn’t disappear or change. He activated his Sharingan just to be sure. Everything stayed the same.  So, he was not hallucinating or caught in a genjutsu, so what he was seeing had to be real. He took a moment to wrestle with that idea, but he just couldn’t accept it. There had to be an illusion of some sort, had to be! There was absolutely no way in the world Senju Tobirama would be dressed in that otherwise. No way!

He had tracked the Senju down to one of the more secluded training grounds with a few questions about paperwork only to find the sight in front of him. At first glance everything seemed normal enough. Tobirama was flowing through a series of katas, moving fluidly but slowly from one pose to the next with precision and control. He was covered in a light sheen of sweat that made his clothes cling in delicious ways. That was not the problem (or at least not the one Madara was focussed on, the one that is preventing him from appreciating this view). The clothes themselves were even, on a basic level, appropriate training wear. A pair of flexible capris and a teeshirt with a V-neck plus the mesh he wore underneath. No, the problem, the huge mind-bending, reality-warping problem was the colour of the clothes.

The pants weren’t too bad he supposed, being a darkish shade of green unfortunately reminiscent of vomit. They, at least, had the redeeming quality of providing some camouflage with the forest. The shirt did not. The shirt had nothing redeeming about it what so ever. It was a horrendous shade of neon pink (Madara wasn’t sure where the younger man had even been able to find it). The colour would have been bad enough on its own, but when contrasted with the pants was somehow even worse. ‘And’ he noticed distantly, ‘neither of them suits his colouring very well anyway’.

“What the fuck Senju?” He demanded once his brain had rebooted enough for his mouth to work. The Senju in question heaved a sigh and turned to give the Uchiha his full attention in the hope it would get him to leave sooner.

“What Uchiha? It’s called training. I would have thought you aware of the concept, or are you so above us mere mortals that you don’t need it?” He questioned, annoyed at being interrupted.

“What, no! Not the training, of course I know what that is! I meant the clothes! What the hell are you wearing?!?” Madara screeched, waving his hands towards the offending items. Tobirama blinked looking very confused.

“I’m wearing clothes as you yourself just pointed out. I fail to see the issue with it. They are hardly immodest and provide the lightness and flexibility I require to optimize my training” he responded blandly.

“You-immodest, no, what?” The Uchiha sputtered. Tobirama gave him a judgemental ‘get to the point’ look. “It’s not the type of clothes that’s the problem! It’s the colour! Are you trying to make all of Konoha go blind???” He questioned. Tobirama glanced down self-consciously.

“Is it really that bad?” He asked. “I mean, I know they’re not the best, which is why they were in my training clothes pile in the first place, but I didn’t think it was-”

“They are” Madara cut him off. “Please, for the sake of us all, burn them. Or, at least the shirt. No one deserves to see that, not even you.” Then, because he has always been far too curious for his own good, he asked, “where did you even buy that, and why?”

“No idea” Tobirama replied with a shrug. “Brother gave it to me, likely as a joke so he could laugh when I grabbed and worse it out by accident”. Madara paused for a moment at that, but it did sound like something Hashirama would do. He wasn’t sure how Tobirama could miss the colour (his eyes!) but then again, he wasn’t always the best in the mornings himself.

“Humph, just do the world a favor and burn it. The idiot’s likely already forgotten about giving it to you” he advised again, only to start sputtering, again, as Tobirama pulled the shirt off right in front of him. “What are you doing now???” He shrieked, a blush forming at the sight of the other’s pale, sculpted chest highlighted by the darkness of the mesh.

“I’m taking your advice. If it’s really that bad I may was well take the chance to get rid of it now. Uchiha are rather well known for their abilities with fire” Tobirama pointed out. Madara preened once he understood what Tobirama was suggesting. Burn the abomination? Yes, he could do that! He grabbed it out of the other’s hands, laid it on the ground and made a show of setting it ablaze. Once the offensive object was nothing but ash, Tobirama used a water jutsu to put the fire out.

“Thanks, Uchiha” Tobirama said. Madara nodded in acknowledgement and wandered off, please with his morning’s work. It was only after he was halfway back to the tower that he remembered why he’d been looking for Tobirama in the first place. He thought for a moment before shrugging. The paperwork could wait, what he’d ended up doing had been far more important. Plus, who wouldn’t have gotten distracted at such a sight? He didn’t know how the Senju had been able to stand having it on! (Meanwhile, Tobirama made a note to himself to go over all his clothes with Mito later-he’d had no idea any of them were that bad!)

Tobirama was beyond tired. He’d just gotten back from a mission (not that bad, but still tiring) and had been planning on making his report and then returning home and passing out. Instead, he had walked into the tower only to be greeted by terrified staff, screams, and flames. He pinched his nose, sighed, and set himself to sorting out the chaos.

He was unsurprised to find Madara and Hashirama at the epicenter of the mess. Stopping to shoot a glare at Izuna and Touka who were standing off to the side snickering, he called up a shave of water and dumped it on the two strongest shinobi of their age. Predictably, the screaming then turned into confused sputtering. Tobirama despaired for the village sometimes, and was also vaguely amazed that there even was one with these idiots in charge.

“Tobi! You’re back!” Hashirama cheered once he noticed his brother. He forgot about Madara as he eagerly launched himself forward to hug Tobirama, who neatly dodged him.

“Yes, I am, no, I am not hugging you while you are all wet” Tobirama told him. Hashirama laughed sheepishly. By that point Madara had managed to wrestle his wet hair back away from his face and had switched his glare from Hashirama to Tobirama.

“Oh, you survived, joy” he muttered.  The dunking had not improved his already bad mood (Izuna considered it Karma for the number of times Madara had dumped him in the koi pond). Tobirama snorted.

“Yes, I survived, only to come back to this. I thought I specifically told you that I expected the village to be standing, intact, and not on fire when I got back!” Tobirama gave all four of them a pointed look, and they did have the dignity to look a bit abashed, or well, most of them did.

“It is!” Madara protested.

“This building is part of the village and there was definitely fire just a moment ago” he pointed out drily. Madara pinked slightly and looked away from the albino. Now that he had successfully cowed them Tobirama set about finding out what had happened and actually fixing the problems (setting them on fire is not a solution Madara!).

By the time he’d finished with that and finally made his report it was well into the night, and he was, as previously mentioned, very tired and also a bit low on chakra. Because of this, he was not sensing at anywhere near his usual level. This, he maintained, was why he ran into the door. Taking a step backwards and rubbing his head he glared at the offending piece of wood (ignoring how his brother and Madara were snickering). Grumbling, he reached his hand out to grab the nob and pish the door open. It didn’t move. Puzzled, he tried a bit harder, but there were still no results. Madara had, by now, stopped laughing and was starting to look a bit worried. Fed up, Tobirama switched tactics and gave the door a hard yank. This time, it did open-flying backwards with enough force to knock into his head, again. Tobirama cursed, he’d never been fond of doors, while Madara rushed over.

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” The Uchiha asked, fluttering around him with actual concern. He glared at Hashirama who was still snickering.

“I’m fine” Tobirama waved him off, “just tired”. Madara made a noise of contempt and began feeling the other’s head for bumps himself.

“It’ll be fine, this is hardly the first time he’s done this” Hashirama reassured him, voice still infused with mirth. “He always has trouble with doors when he gets tired. It’s why he has an open layout and shoji doors in his house, and why he uses windows so often” Hashirama explains, which…kind of makes sense. (Madara had wondered about the window thing. When they were first building Konoha, Hashirama had insisted that all the central buildings needed to have large numbers of windows and then that those windows had to be able to open from the outside. The Senju, when they heard, had all nodded with tired and resigned looks. The Uchiha had been so confused until the buildings actually started seeing use and Senju Tobirama started sliding through them. More than one of his clansmen had had minor panic attacks upon turning around to find Tobirama suddenly there, standing calmly by the window, but they’d gotten used to it quickly enough. It had become a secret pleasure for Madara to watch the albino twist his lean body as he entered or exited by his chosen route.)

“He even swore off door entirely for a few months as a child, would only ever use the windows. Broke a few bursting in when they were locked before everyone finally just gave up and started keeping them open” Hashirama adds. Tobirama looks unrepentant and even seems to smirk at the memory. “Still, this is usually a sign that he really needs sleep, and I still have some things to finish up here so would you mind making sure he gets home safe for me?” Hashirama shot his best pleading face ad his friend who pretended to be annoyed as he agreed (neither Senju was fooled). Once they were out of Hashirama’s sight Madara took the opportunity to wrap an arm around Tobirama, who rolled his eyes.

“I know I’m tired, but I can still walk by myself” he mentioned sarcastically. Madara shrugged.

“Maybe I want an excuse to touch my boyfriend who’s been away” Madara said, smiling with pleasure at the light blush his words cause. Their relationship is still new, having only begun a few weeks ago, but it was good. They would probably get around to telling people soon (neither wanted to deal with their brothers’ inevitable dramatics), but for now they were still keeping it quiet.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier” Madara adds, cringing as he remembered his first words to the newly returned Tobirama. “I am very happy that you’re still alive and back safe”. The Senju leaned into him a little in reassurance.

“I know, it’s fine. You were obviously upset, and my welcome to you was not the warmest either” he told the other. Madara just smiled at him, amazed as he always was that this man was his. They stopped once they reached Tobirama’s home and Madara pressed a light kiss to his lips before letting go and stepping back.

“Think you can manage the door?” He couldn’t resist teasing. Tobirama huffed, but there was a small smile playing around his lips. He walked up to the door and opened it with a big flourish, just to prove he could. Madara laughed.

“Good night then dear heart, sleep well” he told Tobirama who waved a hand in acknowledgement and farewell as he stepped into the house and closed the door behind him. Someday, Madara hoped, they would share a house with plenty of open space and windows and shoji doors where they could retire for the evening together.

It was months after that when things finally came to a head. If he was being honest, Tobirama would have to admit that he’d actually forgotten that Madara didn’t know he was blind. His partner was so good about accommodating him and his quirks that the whole thing had rather slipped his mind. Because of this he was genuinely surprised when it actually came out.

Their relationship was going well and they’d finally decided it was time to tell their families (well, they were both pretty sire Mito already knew, but they would tell everyone else). Since both were aware of their brothers’ personalities and tendency to over react (especially Hashirama) they had decided to do this in private and get it over with all at once. So, they had arranged for a family dinner at Tobirama’s and had invited Hashirama, Mito, Touka, and Izuna. They both knew that once the shock passed their family would be happy for them, but Madara was finding that knowing this did nothing to lessen the nerves churning inside him which was making him twitchy and irritable. Tobirama, Izuna, and Hashirama were the most important people in his life and he had no idea what he’d do if he ever lost one of them, but it would not be pretty. Because of this, he was fluttering around trying to make everything as perfect as possible.

“Why do you only have one vase? And why is it so deeply buried?!” He demanded between muffled curses as he finally unearthed the aforementioned object from the back of a cupboard that looked like it hadn’t been opened since Tobirama moved in. He carefully rinsed the dust off it, filled it with water and the flowers bouquet he’d bought and found it a place near the center of the table.

“Flowers aren’t really my thing since I can’t appreciate them properly. Besides, Anija makes them bloom everywhere anyways, so what would the point be?” Tobirama replies from his perch on the counter across the kitchen. Madara doesn’t really understand the first part but that’s okay because he understands the second way too well.

"Does this look okay? I wasn't sure if the colours of the flowers were too clashing but the clerk assured me, they were offset by the others enough that it didn't matter..." Madara trailed off. He knew he was being a bit ridiculous but the level incredulity in Tobirama's look was hurtful and uncalled for.

“Why in the world are you asking me?” Tobirama asked.

“Because you’re here?” Madara’s reply came out more of a question. “I know you don’t really care much about colour, but you can at least tell me if you can stand looking at them” he huffed. Tobirama froze, his eyes going wide which made Madara freeze in turn because that? That was not a good look.

“Shit” Tobirama murmured to himself and Madara felt as if a cold hand was trailing down his back. Tobirama rarely swore and when he did it usually meant something really big and really bad was going on. He had a split second to wonder if the village was being invaded before Tobirama started talking again. “Fuck, you don’t know! How could I forget you didn’t know?!?” He raked an agitated hand through his white hair. Madara was getting the sense that there was something he didn’t know.

“Ah? Tobi, love?” He questioned when after a minute the other just continued muttering to himself about what an idiot he was. “What don’t I know?” He figured it was best to ask bluntly, he’d never been any good at tact anyway. He was startled when the question made his normally stoic boyfriend blush and fidget ever so slightly.

“I…I didn’t mean to keep it a secret from you” Tobirama started off with, trying to reassure Madara but only succeeding in making him more anxious. “I assumed you knew. That Hashirama had told you at some point or that Izuna had figured it out and it just didn’t bother you which is why you never brought it up…” Tobirama realizing he was rambling forced himself to stop and took a deep breath before, finally, getting to the heart of the matter. “I’m blind” he blurted out. Madara took a moment to digest that.

“Oh” the Uchiha eventually replied dumbly. Tobirama, his strong and skilled lover, the man who’d spared his little brother and made his childhood dreams possible was blind. He wanted to reel in shock but…but he kept remembering instances, and small habits of Tobirama’s he’d observed that suddenly made so much more sense. His handwriting, the scribe he had with him at all times at work, his braille books and the way he would always read them and only them when he was low on chakra. It explained Hashirama’s insistence on giving him the most horrible clothes, why he hated doors and kept everything so neat. Every odd habit and quirk of his lover’s he’d wondered about but accepted (because they were a part of Tobirama and therefore precious) suddenly made sense. He looked back at Tobirama (when had he looked away?) and found him playing with a loose thread looking worried and…ashamed? He realized then that Tobirama expected him to be mad. Expected him to be angry that he’d never mentioned this to him before.

“Oh, Tobi” he crossed the distance between them in quick steps and pulled his boyfriend into his arms. “I’m not mad” he reassured the other. “Yes, I’m surprised because I never would have guessed and I’m maybe a bit annoyed at myself for not noticing the clues, but I’m not upset with you. I’m honoured that you trust me enough to tell me now!” He pulled the other down for a kiss that he poured his soul into. He tried to show the other how much he loved him, how learning this only made his love and admiration for the other’s strength grow. He seemed to have succeeded since Tobirama was beaming at him when he pulled away.

“I love you” the albino told him tenderly as he tucked an escaped strand of black hair back behind Madara’s ear, caressing his face as he went. Madara nuzzled into the hand with a smile. “And I trust you with all that I am” he added. Madara felt his heart skip a beat at the admission and the adoration written plainly in red, sightless eyes. He’d known, of course, but to hear it…They would have details to work out later, questions Madara would need to ask and accommodations he’d learn to provide, but for the moment this was everything he needed and wanted.

“I love you too, there is no one I would rather have beside me” he confessed in turn. Delighting in the way Tobirama’s smile widened even more at the words. Entranced with the man in front of him Madara could do nothing but kiss him again. The world around him faded away until the only thing left was Tobirama. Evidently, his love was having a similar experience since neither of them noticed the arrival of their relatives. They were pulled apart, and back into reality, by Hashirama’s happy squeezing and Izuna’s confused exclamations. Blushing, Madara pulled away to let Tobirama hop off the counter. He kept one hand in Tobirama’s and felt the other give it a comforting squeeze. Tobirama had his back and they would face this together. Strength renewed, Madara set about helping the other deal with the ridiculous people they called family.

[robininthelabyrinth]

for @blackberreh-art, who wanted to read obsessive/possessive dark!Hashirama/Madara/Tobirama

“You’re doing so well, Madara,” Hashirama says, loving how Madara’s back shudders with pleasure every time he says it. “You’re doing so good; I knew you were the right one to help me with this.”

He means it, too, cheerful and forthright with his emotions and his love; the way he means everything he says. Madara calls him guileless, naïve, overly trusting, foolishly optimistic, and Hashirama supposes he is, but he doesn’t see those things as bad things the way Madara does.

Though it occurs to him that Madara might not say those things anymore, after this.

Hashirama dismisses the thought as quickly as it comes.

Sure, Madara had been – a little perturbed, yes, to find himself bound by the Mokuton, roots twining through his fingers and around his tongue to keep him from using jutsu to escape, roots around his arms and legs and hips to keep him still, and a thick one around his neck as a precaution. And maybe he’d been a little irritated at how Hashirama had had to cut away his clothing, even though he’d taken such efforts to make the cuts right along the seams so that it’d be easier to sew back together later. And, certainly, he’d thrashed under Hashirama’s hands when he’d cleaned him with a nice warm wet towel, especially when he’d reached the intimate places…

But honestly, what was Hashirama supposed to do?

The Uchiha are such prudes, after all; Madara would never have agreed from the start. He wouldn’t have even considered it.

What a shame that would have been: look at how he’s enjoying it now, his hips arching helplessly, his face flushed red with pleasure, his tongue pressed against the root in his mouth as if seeking to pass along a kiss, his eyes wide and desperately flickering Sharingan-red.

Hashirama can’t blame him for trying to memorize the scene: Tobirama does looks so very sweet on his knees.

Hashirama is distantly aware, in some part of his mind, that most brothers wouldn’t care to know such details, how there’s a flush painting Tobirama’s white cheeks as red as his eyes, how his legs have widened just a fraction from how he’s started in an effort to get some relief from the pressure between them – how serious he looks, even with his lips wrapped around Madara’s cock and his jaw no doubt getting tired, how determined to complete his task.

Perfect.

Honestly, all those other brothers were clearly just falling down in their brotherly duties.

Hashirama has and always will take the very best care of Tobirama.

Just like he is now.

“Try using your tongue a little more, Tobirama,” he advises. “Just because you’ve figured out how to take him deeper doesn’t mean you should forget about the basics.”

Tobirama doesn’t do anything as crass as nodding, but he applies himself well, if Madara’s muffled groan is anything to go by.

Tobirama was always such a good student.

“Wonderful,” Hashirama praises. His father, for all his attempts to mold Tobirama into a mindless sword in his image, never figured out that Tobirama responds better to praise than to sternness, and Hashirama has never had any problem exploiting his brother’s weakness. “Wonderfully done, both of you. Isn’t he good, Madara? And on his very first try, too.”

He reaches out and runs his fingers through his brother’s hair, petting him the way he would a cat.

Madara makes a strangled noise.

He probably wants to come, Hashriama concludes. Perhaps it was a little cruel of Hashirama to wrap a root around the base of his cock, keeping him trapped on the edge the way he has been, but this isn’t about Madara, not really.

Madara’s just helping Hashirama out.

That’s what best friends do, after all, and they’re best friends, best friends forever. They always were, even when the war lay between them – Hashirama is sure that Madara felt the same despair at the circumstances, even if he didn’t always show it on his face or in his voice – and now they were working on that village they’d always dreamed of, together, and it was perfectly reasonable that Hashirama ask Madara for a favor now and again.

And, of course, who else could he trust this all-important task to, if not his best friend?

Only Madara knows what Tobirama means to him. Hashirama’s little brother, his last little brother. Infinitely precious, deserving of only the best.

It’s not Tobirama’s fault that he’s not good with people, after all. He never has been, not from the start; always a quiet child, needs drowned out by Hashirama’s rambunctiousness, quiet and too serious, never quite able to understand jokes that were too abstract, and Hashirama would swear that he’d almost been relieved when their father had instructed him never to meet anyone’s eyes because the Senju couldn’t afford to get used to looking at red eyes.

And now that Tobirama was getting older, well, it just wasn’t healthy for him to stay locked away in his labs or his office, slaving away over new jutsu or figuring out yet another form that should probably be filled out if the village is going to be administratively manageable.

Poor, virginal Tobirama.

Left to his own devices, he’d never figure any of it out, and sex is far too enjoyable for Tobirama to just dismiss out of hand as a ‘people’ thing that was too difficult to attempt. He barely even made time to touch himself, as Hashirama, who’d insisted on sharing a bedroom with Tobirama since the day he’d lost Madara on the riverbank in a desperate attempt not to lose track of anyone else he loved, is all too aware.

No, clearly what Tobirama needed was a chance to learn properly – to try and fail, without being judged, and to enjoy the pleasures of succeeding.

Hashirama basks in the feeling of knowing, in his heart, that he’s a wonderful brother.

And a wonderful friend, too, however much Madara may had protested at the start. He’s seen the way Madara watches his brother sometimes, out of the corner of his eyes when he thinks no one’s paying attention.

Yes, Hashirama thinks to himself, this is perfect. The trees were right, when they told him it was time for Tobirama to learn to flower.

(They’re not always right. Crush your enemies, they told him, drink their water steal their nutrients block their sunlight strangle them as saplings so that they will never grow to challenge you. Their bodies are nothing but fertilizer to the growth of your own power. But humans are more complicated than that, Hashirama knows, even if their bodies do make surprisingly good fertilizer when they start too-seriously resisting what he’s trying to achieve in the village. Humans need more than the merciless iron fist of natural competition; they need hope, too, and love, and Hashirama has always been so very full of love to share.)

His hand is still in Tobirama’s hair, feeling him move up and down, growing ever more confident as he does.  They’re doing so well, both of them, Madara for giving his body to this purpose and Tobirama for learning it, and Hashirama doesn’t hesitate to tell them both that, to applaud them, to make them glow in happiness that only he can give them, happiness he longs to give them all the time.

Maybe, he thinks happily to himself, this will be the first step to peace between them, peace between his precious people the way he has brought peace to his village.

He ignores the fact that he had to kidnap Madara and lie to Tobirama, who would have surely objected if he knew that Madara hadn’t volunteered of his own free will the way Hashirama had told him he had, implying that the roots were just some sort of kinky game they liked to play, presenting the whole thing as if it was so obviously normal that no normal person would question it, and poor Tobirama who didn’t know people for anything other than fighting hadn’t known enough to find the gaps in the argument, even if he’d been suspicious and reluctant to participate for rather a long time.

(He gave in at the end, that’s what’s important. Tobirama always gives in to what Hashirama wants, in the end, and that’s how Hashirama always knows that he’s doing the right thing because surely, surely, if what he was doing was really wrong, Tobirama would hold stubbornly fast the way he does with new jutsu or, more annoyingly, brand new forms that always seem to require Hokage-level review.)

“How do you feel you’re doing, Tobirama?” Hashirama asks, solicitous as ever. “You think you’ve got the hang of it now? Should we let him come?”

Madara frantically nods his head.

Tobirama considers the issue – serious as always, Hashirama’s little brother is, serious and hard-working and always willing to push his training longer than anyone else – but eventually his fingers twist in an affirmative sign.

“Good choice,” Hashirama praises. “I’m so glad you’re being considerate, Tobirama, I know it’s not always your first instinct.”

Tobirama flushes a little extra in embarrassment, Hashirama thinks, but what? It’s true.

Besides, Hashirama likes humiliating his younger brother once in a while, and he thinks he can teach Tobirama to like it, too.

“All right,” Hashirama says. “I’m going to let him go now, and that means he’s going to come. Now, while I want you to learn to swallow – it’s cleaner that way, and I know you like to be clean – in this instance,  don’t worry if you end up pulling your head back; the feeling is something you get used to. But in case you do, I want you to keep your eyes closed. Okay?”

Tobirama gives it a decent try, all told: he swallows some, lips moving prettily, but then he gags and pulls back, come spilling onto his chin, and Madara finishes instead on his pretty red-flushed face.

“Well done,” Hashirama says. “Both of you! You did so well! I’m so proud of you both.”

Tobirama looks up at him, still on his knees, Hashirama’s hand still in his hair, and when he sees that Hashirama means it, he smiles, that tiny little twitch of the lips that means that he’s happy that he’s done a job well and pleased Hashirama.

“Now, we’re not done yet –” Hashirama ignores Madara’s strangled squawk, because that’s just Madara being a drama queen as always; seriously, why did he think that Hashirama had asked him to make sure he had the week free before coming to meet him? “– but I think we should give Madara some time to recover, don’t you?”

“Anija, we really shouldn’t be neglecting the village for so long like this,” Tobirama says. Such a good, dutiful little brother, though sometimes he really is something of a killjoy.

“Honestly, Tobirama, it’s like you don’t trust me,” Hashirama says mournfully, ignoring Tobirama’s pointed stare that suggests that in matters of paperwork, he really doesn’t. “I arranged coverage for all three of us and told everyone that we were on a super-secret-level mission.”

“S-rank,” Tobirama grumbles. He’d invented the new ranking system a month ago and he’s been on everybody’s case to start using it ever since. “They’re called S-rank. And something like this certainly doesn’t deserve to be –”

Hashirama rolls his eyes and moves his foot forward until its between Tobirama’s legs, pressing against his cock, and Tobirama makes a strangled sound, almost as if he’s surprised by the feelings his own body is generating, and grinds forward involuntarily against Hashirama’s leg.

“You don’t really want to go back to all that paperwork,” Hashirama tells him, because he’s a good brother that knows what’s best for Tobirama. “Come on, Tobirama; you’ve only barely just learned how to suck someone off – you don’t want to leave your lessons unfinished, do you?”

Tobirama, ever the orderly and sometimes compulsive completionist, scowls at the thought.

Hashirama isn’t above using his brother’s quirks against him.

“Now, we can’t move onto fucking until Madara’s feeling better,” Hashirama continues briskly, ignoring the way Madara’s eyes go wide in favor of noting how his cock gave something of what was probably a painful twitch of interest. “But that doesn’t mean there’s nothing we can do. Take off the rest of your clothing, Tobirama.”

Tobirama clutches as what’s left of his outfit, however disarrayed. He’s too obedient to actually ask ‘do I have to?’, but Hashirama can see the plaintive question in his gaze.

“At least get your cock free,” Hashirama compromises. They could work on getting Tobirama comfortable with full nudity around Madara later.

(It’s like Tobirama thinks Hashirama hasn’t noticed how he uses his sensor abilities to make sure he’s never in the onsen at the same time Madara is, and all because he’s worried about how Madara will react if he sees that one stretched-out scar on his chest, the Uchiha fan crudely drawn into much younger flesh with a kunai – the signature of Tajima’s child-killing squads, though that one had never managed to complete their work, what with Tobirama accidentally using his too-powerful suiton to explode their mostly-composed-of-water-eyes right out of their skulls in an act of unintentional eye-stealing he’d regarded as an abominable disgrace ever since. Tobirama thinks Madara will lose his temper, and Hashirama’s not entirely sure he’s wrong about that, though he’s always thought Madara was far more likely to be angry on toddler-aged Tobirama’s behalf instead of his blinded clansmen.)

The next step takes some maneuvering on Hashirama’s part, mostly to get them both into proper position, but between the roots around Madara’s body and Tobirama’s habitual obedience it’s only a few minutes before Tobirama is curled around Madara’s back, his cock sliding between Madara’s clenched thighs, and making wonderful little whimpering sounds as he does.

Hashirama settles himself down to watch, his hand finally sliding down to wrap around himself the way he’s been wanting to from the beginning. He’s been holding off, knowing that Tobirama needs guidance, but this is easy enough for Tobirama to manage on his own, and Hashirama needs to make sure he won’t lose control of himself (or Madara) when the two of them start fucking.

Lessons first, he reminds himself; audience participation later.

“Hashirama –”

He looks up, blinking in surprise; that was Madara’s voice. Oh, oops, he must have pulled the root away from Madara’s tongue to use it to stabilize his head against Tobirama’s thrusts; he hadn’t meant to do that. But Madara’s all breathy and from this angle Hashirama can see him getting hard again already, so surely he’s not about to protest now.

Still, he tightens the root around Madara’s throat, threatening his airflow, just in case Madara gets it into his head to say something distressing.

Not that Madara seems to object to that.

“You realize,” Madara grunts, his eyes boring straight into Hashirama’s even as Tobirama’s hands clench against his arms to steady himself, “that this isn’t normal, right?”

Hashirama feels his hand move faster on his cock without his say-so, which is bad of him – this is for them, for Tobirama and Madara, not for him – but, well, a totally virtuous life never seemed like that much fun.

“Tobirama’s a virgin, if you couldn’t tell already,” he tells Madara, ignoring the way that Tobirama mutters a muffled curse into Madara’s shoulder, his face burning with embarrassment. “I’m just being a good brother and helping him figure this out.”

“That,” Madara says through gritted teeth, “is that not normal part.”

His eyes suggest that the whole kidnapping business has also not been forgotten.

(Hashirama’s hand moves faster at that, too. He likes Madara like this, tied up in Hashirama’s Mokuton, because this way he can’t go, he can’t leave, he can’t pick his family over Hashirama again; this time all the choices have been taken away from him and given to Hashirama, who’s so much better at making these choices for him, for Tobirama, for everyone. Hashirama wants peace, yes, peace in his village and in his country, but for all of the infrastructure and democratic trappings Tobirama is working on building, the village is, at its heart, a dictatorship. And the village, just like Tobirama, just like Madara, is his.)

“Just let him get it out of his system,” Tobirama says in Madara’s ear, panting hard in a way that suggests he’s not going to last much longer. “You can’t stop in the middle - he just gets like this sometimes, it’s fine.”

“It’s fine?!”

“It’s a Mokuton thing, I think,” Tobirama says, because that’s the excuse Hashirama has always given him for, well, just about everything, and it usually works. There’s some advantage to being the only Mokuton user in the clan; he can blame it for anything and no one knows well enough to call him out on it. “He gets these stupid ideas into his head sometimes and won’t give up on them. And besides, this is somehow still less embarrassing than that time he decided to teach me to jerk off. He went on for hours.”

Madara makes a groaning sound, but Hashirama’s pretty sure it’s not because of the physical sensations this time. Apparently Madara likes the mental image of that, Hashirama teaching Tobirama how to pleasure himself – and honestly, Hashirama should have thought of that to begin with, the Uchiha being as visual-minded as they are.

Maybe he should bring in a mirror. Let them see what a beautiful sight they make.

A good thought.

“He’s probably going to want to tattoo you, too,” Tobirama adds.

Madara tries to twist around at that, but Hashirama holds him tight with the Mokuton and doesn’t let him. “He wants to what now?” he demands, the promise of Uchiha fire in his voice.

“He never grew out of the period in his life when he wanted to write his name on everything he thinks of as his,” Tobirama explains, managing to sound a little long-suffering even through the overwhelming lust and need that fills his voice. “I just barely managed to convince him to put mine on the bottom of my foot so not everyone can see it, even in the onsen.”

Hashirama had originally been planning something right over Tobirama’s heart, so that his little brother remembered who he belonged to first and foremost, but he’d been charmed by the idea of Tobirama having his name on his foot like he was one of Touka’s dolls, pliant and ready to be played with whenever Hashirama feels like.

Hashirama likes playing with Tobirama.

He likes playing with Madara, too.

“And you let him?” Madara demands.

“He’s my anija,” Tobirama says, confused, as if that’s the only answer he needs – and it is. Hashirama’s taught him well over the years, gave him everything he could, and it would take a lot more than Madara’s questioning to make Tobirama doubt the purity of Hashirama’s affections.

Well.

Purity might not be the right word, given the context.

“It’s just to remind Tobirama that he’s mine,” Hashirama explains to Madara. “It’ll be the same for you. And don’t look at me like that; it’s just a little tattoo! It won’t hurt that badly. You’ve had much worse.”

“It’s not the pain I’m objecting to!”

Uchihas. So unnecessarily stubborn.

Still, there are ways of making his point.

Hashirama lets his chakra fill the room, powerful and overwhelming and almost suffocating the way he knows it can be – more powerful than Madara’s ever seen before, because Hashirama’s never used his full power against him on the battlefield and Madara knows that, just as he’d never used everything he has against Hashirama, too.

“You’re mine,” Hashirama tells his precious people, a blazing beacon of sunlight to their finely tuned senses. Sensors, both of them, even though Tobirama is the stronger; both of them made vulnerable by their own abilities to the strength of Hashirama’s emotions when he aims it straight at them both, overpowering their ability to think or refuse with the affection he feels for them both, the joy he has at seeing them happy, the love that fills his heart. “Both of you. I love you both so much.”

Tobirama makes a choked little cry and comes between Madara’s thighs, and judging by the dumbstruck look on Madara’s face he’d be doing the same if he had the slightest bit more stimulation.

Hashirama meets Madara’s gaze, even though he knows it opens him up to a genjutsu – not that Madara is in any condition to be doing anything like that.

“I only want what’s best for you,” he says kindly, because Hashirama is kind, above all else. It’s who he is. Maybe he doesn’t show his kindness the way other people do, through the occasional well-meaning murder and kidnapping, but then, he is a shinobi; no one should have expected him to be any other way. “Just trust me, and I’ll take care of you. Trust me, and say you’ll be mine. Say it.”

He comes at the sound of Madara’s strangled yes.

Hashirama is the best of brothers and the best of friends.

He’ll even, out of the kindness and love in his heart, give them a few minutes to recover before introducing Tobirama to the delights of getting fucked. Maybe he’ll even let them skip ahead to having Tobirama learn to take both of them at once; Hashirama does so want for the people he loves the most to learn to share, going forward, and it’s good to start impressing the importance of that early on.

Hashirama smiles, and plans.

[silverfootstepswrites]

Equinox: Summer [6]

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 (here)

“This might constitute an HR violation, you know," Madara warned as he heard the door to his office open. Then close. He finished typing his email before he clicked send. Turning away from his computer, he swiveled his chair toward them.

He eyed the both of them. Gaze lingering the longest on Sakura, who had no makeup on. His lips pursed as he watched Tobirama rest his hand on her back as he guided her to a chair. She plopped down in it, head lolling to one side as she stared off into nowhere.

"Have you been drinking?" demanded Madara.

"No," Sakura snorted.

"Well, you should be." As he spoke, Madara turned to the bookcase to the left of his desk. He pulled an entire stack of books off the shelf to reveal that they were decorative covers. Underneath was a collection of bottles. 

Madara poured three glasses. He took one and clinked it against the other two before he pushed them across the desk. 

"Drink up, darling. You look like you just crawled out of the Pit," Madara urged.

Sakura took her time sipping her drink, both hands cupped around the crystal glass. Ankles crossed, elbows up on the armrests, she looked everywhere but at the other two people in the room. When she set the empty glass on the desk, she felt ready to talk. But Madara held a finger up.

"Should I make him leave?" he inquired.

Tobirama glared at him. It didn't affect Madara at all.

"If you're looking for someone to blame, blame yourself. I don't blame Sakura for being uncomfortable. Not with you gushing desire all around her. You do realize that you're not a lawn sprinkler, don't you?" Madara went on.

A smile pulled at the corners of Sakura's mouth. She pursed her lips to quell the expression.

Shaking her head, she said, "It's fine, Madara."

That made Madara still. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the both of them. His gaze honed in on the lapis lazuli dangling from her neck. The golden fissures in the crystal shone especially bright against her black t-shirt.

He settled back in his chair. Eyes gleaming a little brighter as he gestured for her to go ahead.

Sakura looked at Tobirama. He gave a little nod.

"Well, Madara, you're... knowledgeable about... a lot of things, right?" she began.

Madara nodded.

"What... what do you know about... sirens?"

Madara's smile faded. He blew out a sigh, tilting his head to one side, then the other. "You're going to have to be specific, Bunny." But then he frowned. Nudging the glass aside, he held his hand out to her, palm up. She placed her hand on top of it. Feeling his cold fingers squeeze around hers.

Madara's eyes drifted shut. And then he took a deep breath. When his eyes opened again, he was smiling. He released her hand, shaking his head a little.

"I take it back. Poor Tobirama. No wonder he's in such a frenzy," he amended.

"And no need to elaborate. I think I know what's going on," added Madara.

Sakura stole a glance at Tobirama, not sure whether she should be embarrassed or not. He raised his eyebrows at her a little. Apparently, he wasn't sure either.

"Well, you, my darling, are nesting," Madara declared. Sakura's gaze flew back to him.

"I'm what?"

"I bet this idiot told you you were going into heat," Madara added, jerking his chin toward Tobirama. Tobirama raised his glass to his lips, stubbornly avoiding the other man's gaze.

"Although, he's not to blame. This is actually rather rare to be able to witness," Tobirama assured him. And then he turned his attention back to Sakura.

"I've avoided saying this in all the time I've known you because I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable. But you're... extremely fragrant, Sakura. Even for a half," Madara explained.

"It's three-quarters, apparently," Sakura replied.

Madara paused. Blinking a few times. "Well, even with that. I've met some full-bloods who aren't anywhere near what you're at." And then he rubbed his chin as he thought.

"If most half's are like beer then most full's are like... hm... a glass of wine," he tried to explain.

"Then what's she like?" interjected Tobirama.

"A glass of fortified wine. A bit stronger. But still wine," Madara decided, scrutinizing Sakura. She scowled.

"But I'm still a quarter human. How does that math work out?" she asked.

Madara took a sip of his drink. "It's not all human. I've seen this before. You've probably got a drop or two of fairy blood mixed in there somewhere up the family tree. Fairy and siren magic are similar enough that they interact and amplify each other."

Sakura's forehead wrinkled. "That's a thing?" she wondered.

"Like Cleopatra. She had the entire Roman Empire tripping over themselves for her," he added as an example.

Sakura wrinkled her nose. "Not the most flattering example. Wasn't she a mess?"

Madara's eyes widened. "On the contrary. She was a lovely woman. Pretty enough, I suppose. But she was incredibly smart. A talented tactician. And she thrived in a world where women were considered  accessories on the arm of an angry little man with a sword."

But then he waved his hands. Like he was scattering all the thoughts. "Anyway, the matter of nesting." Madara pointed at Tobirama.

"It's not simply a matter of feeling comfortable. A siren has only nested when she's established a secure nest. That includes the occupants of that nest. Idiot."

Tobirama's eyes narrowed.

"But the number of members a nest can support is proportional to the charm of the siren that establishes it. For most, one or two is a solid number," Madara went on, looking at Sakura now.  "In your case... well..."

"Even Cleopatra only had one at a time, didn't she?" she asked.

"That you know of, darling," Madara corrected with a faint smile.

There was a long silence. For several minutes, none of them spoke. The only sound was Tobirama gulping down the rest of his drink. Silently grimacing at the taste of hard liquor.

"Obviously, all of this is a lot to take in. But what's troubling you the most at the moment about this?" Madara then questioned. Tobirama stared down at his empty glass. Madara pushed the decanter over to him so he could refill it before he returned his attention to Sakura. 

She let out a loud sigh. And then wondered, "Do I... have to?"

"Have to what?"

"Do I have to have... multiple... y'know...dudes.... guys..." she mumbled, feeling her face go hot.

When the meaning clicked, Madara hardly blinked. "Well, no. You don't have to do anything. It's entirely up to you."

“Am I always going to be so... eager.... to...” Sakura trailed off, sucking in a sharp breath. Tobirama’s mouth puckered like he’d just swallowed a particularly aggressive lemon. He pretended to be very interested in the ring on his thumb.

Madara thew his head back and laughed. "Oh! That's what's been worrying you?"

He reached out to take her hands. "Bunny, darling, be very honest with me. Have you ever wanted to sleep with me?" he inquired. She ripped out of his grasp.

"Ew! No! You're like... you're like my weird incubus-dad!" she retorted.

"What about Kakuzu? Or Hidan?" he pressed.

"Of course not!"

Madara's eyebrows rose. "See? You've just been very lucky... or maybe unlucky- to meet so many compatible people at once."

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“Well, darling, you’ll only be very attracted to the people whose pheromones indicate a good match to yours. And guessing from Mr. Yankee Candle, you’ve got a halfway decent candidate right here,” added Madara, pointing. Tobirama frowned.

“That’s definitely an HR violation,” Tobirama declared.

“This entire conversation has been textbook HR violations. The only way it could get worse is if I hired a stripper right now,” quipped Madara.

“Please don’t,” sighed Sakura, head in her hands. She didn’t look up as Tobirama refilled her glass and slid it back over toward her. It bumped against her elbow.

Shrugging, Madara leaned back in his seat. He eyed the both of them. Rolled his eyes when Tobirama abandoned his glass and took the decanter instead.

"So. What's the plan, you two?" 

"Drink myself into oblivion. Buy a yurt. Or maybe an igloo. Never talk to anyone again," Sakura grumbled, rubbing her hands over her face. She looked up when Tobirama nudged her elbow with her glass again. She saw him holding the bottle out to her. Laughing a little, she clinked her glass against it.

"I can't help you with the real estate," Tobirama said as she took a sip. "But I know a wine bar near here that makes lamb meatballs. And baked brie."

"That sounds awesome," replied Sakura, perking up a little. 

Madara rolled his eyes again. It had taken them less than 10 seconds to completely forget his existence. Which he supposed he should be used to by now. 

"And then I'm going to try really hard to make you fall in love with me. For real," Tobirama then announced.

Madara's eyebrows rose. 

Sakura pressed her mouth to her shoulder, trying to hide the smile creeping across her face. 

Tobirama took in her silence with anxious eyes. It was clear that the burst of courage that had let him make such a bold statement had already run out. 

"Do you hate it?" he wondered.

"No. I like it," replied Sakura as she stood. "Let's go." 

Tobirama hurried to his feet. He took her hand, half-dragging her out of the room.

"Bye, Madara. Thanks," Sakura tossed over her shoulder. Like a hasty afterthought. Tobirama didn't even bother to say anything to him.

Madara’s tail nudged the empty glasses away from the edge of his desk. He picked up the decorative books to set the back on the shelf. “I wonder if I can get in trouble for being so damn nice,” he sighed. Before he drained the last few drops of brandy left at the bottom of the bottle.

Dinner with Tobirama was the right blend of awkward and exciting. Feet nudging under the table. Wine flowing into glasses. Until the fancy names on the labels blurred into each other. And it wasn’t like she was listening anyway. Not when Tobirama was in front of her. Sneaking secret smiles when she teased him.

She stayed the night at his apartment. But it was spent just sitting on the sofa and talking. Which helped Sakura realize that she knew so little about him. 

Tobirama talked about his three brothers, who she never would have guessed existed in a million years. He showed her the photos of him playing the violin as a little boy with chubby cheeks. He even tolerated her peals of laughter when she found photos of his old Halloween costumes. Especially the year he’d been a pumpkin. 

In turn, she told him about how her siblings would try to leave birthday presents for her signed ‘Mom’. How she had learned to recognize the forgeries from the way Hamura’s l’s curved to the left. And then she recalled what it’d been like moving to Empire City with so little. What it had taken- who it had taken to get to where she was today.

There was a moment when both of them ran out of things to say. And they just sat there. Dumb, half-buzzed smiles on their faces. Her foot resting on his ankle as they slumped on his dark grey sectional.

“Hey,” he said.

“Yeah?” she replied, eyes closed. Fingers tapping an idle rhythm on the cushioned seat.

“I really wanna make a song with you.”

Her eyes opened. “Right now?”

“Yeah. I already have a hook I’m thinking of.”

Sakura couldn’t tear her gaze from Tobirama as he hummed the melody for her. With the lapis lazuli around her neck, she knew she wasn’t being controlled by charm. Or glamour. Or whatever she wanted to call it.

This was just Tobirama. Stupid in-love with music. More dorky than hot as he began asking her opinions about reverb. And it was like he was someone else. Leather jacket discarded on the kitchen island. Just a guy in a t-shirt with a chord diagram tattooed on the inside of his left wrist. Hair falling flat against his forehead because he had run his fingers through it so much that it didn’t stand up anymore.

Shaking her head, Sakura laughed at him. 

“What? No reverb?”

“Reverb is good. All the reverb you want, Tobirama,” she giggled, giving his thigh a light kick.

He offered to drive her home in the morning. Half-asleep, he roused from the end of the sofa when he heard her digging through the hall closet for an unopened toothbrush. Tobirama gave up when she reminded him that she had driven them. Sakura promised to drive his car down to him sometime next week. But he was already sleeping before she finished her sentence. She brewed plenty of coffee before she locked the door and slipped out of his apartment. 

Kakashi greeted her as soon as she crossed over the town’s limits. She let her car roll to a stop as she lowered the windows. The air conditioning was blasting despite the early hour. It was going to be a humid day. Even Kakashi’s fur seemed puffier than usual as he walked up to her. His tongue lolling out.

“Hey, Sheriff. Got a sec?” she greeted, leaning out the window. 

Even though she’d seen him complain to Tsunade and to Ino that phasing wasted too much energy, Kakashi didn’t hesitate. His black, smoky body stretched upwards. When the black wisps cleared, Kakashi was resting his elbow on the roof of her car. 

“I’ve got a couple, actually,” he quipped in return. 

 “Let’s go for a drive. I wanna talk to you about some stuff.”

Kakashi’s smile faded. “Uh-oh. Am I in trouble?” he asked. Only half-joking. 

“....No. If anything... I might be... ugh, just... please,” Sakura said, pointing at the passenger seat. 

Kakashi studied her face for a moment. And then he reached in through the window to ruffle her hair. 

“Tell you what... you look hungry. How about we go to my place, I make you waffles, and then you tell me what’s bothering you?” he suggested instead. Sakura’s lower lip stuck out a little.

“You might not want to feed me waffles after I tell you,” she warned. But Kakashi still walked around the hood of the car to hop into the passenger seat. He flashed a smile as he closed the door behind him. “That’s why I’m feeding you before,” he answered.

The smell of smoke often raised alarm bells in a heavily-wooded town like Old Pines. But in the case of a real emergency, the weres would’ve been the first to raise the alarm. Their panicked howls filling the air- day or night. 

On this particular day, the weres were loud. But for a different reason.

“Are you crazy? You can’t just throw the steaks on now, kiddo!” Kiba exclaimed.

“Why not? It’s hot, isn’t it?” his nephew retorted. 

“Sure, if you like undercooked steaks, go right ahead! Next you’ll pour ketchup directly on the fries,” grumbled Kiba. 

“Oh, come on, Uncle. I’m not an animal.”

Kiba chuckled at that. He reached over and ruffled his hair. “I’m gonna go see if there’s anything else. Don’t throw those on the grill until it’s nice and hot. Give it about five minutes,” Kiba instructed as he headed up the steps. He crossed through the mudroom and down the hall.

“Woah. What smells so good?” asked Kiba, walking into the kitchen. Bull immediately barreled into him, stumpy tail wagging. He fell on his ass, but he gave a good-natured laugh as he patted Bull.

“Bacon,” answered Kakashi from behind the stove. He wore a black apron that said ‘I just want to pet my dogs’ in big, white letters. 

“Nice,” Kiba said, sniffing at the air again. 

“I’m putting it in a salad and pretending it’s healthy,” Kakashi then added.

“Less nice,” Kiba amended, wrinkling his nose. He glanced around the otherwise empty kitchen. “Any word from the others?” 

“Ino and Tenten are on their way with dessert. Your sister should be here soon,” Kakashi told him. He turned the burner off. Tossed his spatula into the sink.

Kiba noticed the cardboard box sitting next to the kitchen island. He peeked inside and found shawls in a rainbow of colors and packages of wood chips. He lifted one to his nose and let out a noise of surprise. The fragrance of the bacon had masked the floral, smoky scent. “From?”

“Kisame. Says he’s sorry he couldn’t make it,” answered Kakashi. He jiggled the contents of the pan once before he turned off the heat. 

“Man. Jaws always sends the weirdest shit. Where’s he this time? Dubai?” remarked Kiba. The box also included photos of the treasure hunter, grinning as he held up battered vases and water-logged chests filled with coins. Kakashi nodded as he wiped his hands clean on a towel. 

Bull butted Kiba’s shoulder, whining. “Aw, sorry, big boy. C’mere,” Kiba cooed. He rubbed Bull’s ears a few times. But there was a kissing noise from further in the house, and the dog abandoned him without a second thought. 

“You’re a damn traitor, Bull!” Kiba called after him. And then he looked up when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Kakashi held his hand out to him. Kiba thanked him as Kakashi pulled him to his feet.

They glanced around the house. Kiba’s ears twitching a little as he listened for noise. There was something. A faint sound pulling from the back of the house.

Last summer, Kiba and his crew had spent a few months adding on to the modest cabin. It now extended further into the back, including a mudroom to store shoes, gardening equipment, and the hydroponic herb garden Kiba had given to Sakura for her birthday. 

As they walked through the mudroom, they saw Shiba and Pakkun napping next to a cool vent. Kakashi nudged Pakkun with his big toe as he passed. The pug snorted, but didn’t move. He chuckled.

“There are studies that show that Mozart is good for a baby’s development,” they heard Itachi say.

Kiba and Kakashi exchanged knowing looks. “There he goes again. Next he’s going to insist that we buy that stupid baby wipe-warmer thing,” sighed Kiba. Kakashi elbowed him, whispering, “Be nice.”

They opened the door to find Sakura sitting in the armchair by the window. Her cheek in her hand. A mildly-amused expression gracing her lips. Bull lolled near the door, while Biscuit had managed to worm his way under Sakura’s chair. 

Itachi sat on the white and grey rug, legs crossed. In his lap sat a bluetooth speaker. The box and instruction manual lay beside it. 

Tobirama sat next to Sakura, his elbow resting on her lap. Which seemed to be shrinking each day. On his right upper arm, covered in plastic wrap, was his most recent tattoo. It was of a compass, the black arrow pointing north. Sighing, he let his head fall back, against Sakura’s stomach. When he stared up at her, she simply raised her eyebrows. In a sort of ‘what are you gonna do’ expression.

“Are you seriously.... trying to tell.... Sirens... what kind of music is best?” Tobirama spelled out. Slowly. Patiently.

Itachi froze. “Oh my god. I sound like an asshole,” he realized.

“Mm... yeah,” Sakura had to agree. Shaking his head, Itachi began laughing. And Tobirama even chuckled a little too. He noticed Kiba and Kakashi enter the room and nodded at them.

“I feel like you're spending more time here than anywhere else,” remarked Kakashi, crossing his arms. He leaned against the doorway. Kiba nudged past him. He crossed the room in a few big steps before he knelt in front of her. Tobirama moved his arm so that Kiba could put his hands on Sakura’s growing stomach. 

“It’s pretty. And so much light gets in here,” Sakura replied. “And that tickles,” she scolded, poking Kiba in the forehead.

“Sorry. Sorry. It’s just... sounds crazy in there. The heartbeat, I mean,” Kiba apologized, pulling away. He left his hands on her stomach though. 

“I’m still not sure about the color. Maybe we should’ve gone with something more green,” Kakashi remarked, looking around.

“He did a great job. I love the color,” Sakura insisted. The walls were a mellow, peachy shade. Kiba had spent hours on his hands and knees, sanding every inch of the floor to make sure that there were no splinters. The window frames gleamed white in the afternoon sun. The double-panes would make sure to keep the room toasty in the winter and cool in the summer.

“I don’t really see how this is supposed to be gender neutral,” Kiba wondered, not for the first time. He had voiced the same concerns as he painted the walls.

“Who cares? It’s pretty,” Tobirama scoffed. 

Kiba and Kakashi froze at the same time. Kakashi sniffed once at the air.

“What’s done?” Kiba asked him, twisting around to look at him.

“The cheese cornbread,” answered Kakashi. And then the oven timer went off, as if to support him.

“I’ll get it. You savages’ll eat half of it before it hits the table,” Kiba sighed. He grunted as he got to his feet. He knocked his shoulder into Kakashi’s on his way out of the door. They snickered at each other.

They chatted for a little while longer. Just enjoying the quiet. Because soon, they wouldn’t have time to relax like this. Tobirama took Sakura’s hand as she spoke. She had complained so many times about them swelling, so he found  time to massage them every once in a while. He wasn’t particularly skilled, but it made her smile all the same.

Kakashi broke off mid-sentence, eyes darting around. Which meant that someone else had arrived. The front door banged open. Hidan yelled, “The party’s here!” And then Hidan swore once, likely as Madara slapped him with his tail. 

“Hello? We brought non-alcoholic beer and sparkling cider. And, unfortunately, we brought Hidan too,” Madara called.

“Sorry about that!” Temari added.

“We should’ve brought a gift receipt,” snorted Kakuzu, making his friends laugh. 

“Fuck you guys! You’re a bunch of fucking assholes!” complained Hidan. Heaving a sigh, Tobirama got to his feet. Sakura squeezed his hand once before she released him. Raking his hand through his hair, Tobirama strode out of the room. Sakura glimpsed Shiba rolling onto his feet as Tobirama walked past. Tail wagging as he followed him down the hall.

“Hidan, watch your mouth. The kid’s going to end up sounding like you,” she could hear Tobirama warn, voice growing farther and farther away.

“Hey! Can we get something out here for the steaks? Where should I put them?” Kiba’s nephew suddenly inquired. 

“I’ll handle it,” Itachi announced before anyone else could budge. He pushed the bluetooth speaker to the side. Putting a hand on either side of Sakura’s head, he kissed her forehead. Giggling, she pushed him away, saying, “Go.”

Kakashi still lingered in the doorway. He was still smiling as he watched her.

“I’d be a bad hostess if I stayed holed up in here all night. Help me up?” she requested. 

Kakashi eased her to her feet. His hands lingered on her waist. Her center of gravity had shifted so much in the last few months. Sometimes it took a moment to find her balance. And even when she was steady on her feet, his hands stayed there.

“I feel like a whale,” she sighed. 

“Well, then call me Ishmael,” he quipped in return. That made her laugh as he wrapped his arms around her. And she stopped laughing when she caught him staring at her again. That same smile on his face, like he was half-in a dream. 

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” she wondered.

“Oh. No reason. Just basking in all the glory of holding a beautiful woman who I love very much,” he retorted. Sleepy eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“Why? Is there a problem with that?” he then questioned.

“No. No problem at all. Carry on,” she answered, pulling him in for a kiss.

End

[sennokami]

Do the name adjective thing for me, will you?

SillyThat is the first word that comes tomind, when he turns around and sees that boy standing behind him. He looks tobe the same age as Madara, but he was dresse in all soft greens and dyedcotton, looking as rich and full as a merchant’s child. 

Madara can’t be blamedfor not realizing he was a shinobi until Hashirama walks on water – he’s nevermet someone like him before, a shinobi child who can do everything he can butstill retain his soft, curving lines. Maybe that’s why Madara asks him to stay.Curiosity, from one child to another, for something previously unknown.

EndearingHashirama is easy to love, even as aboy. His jokes are always kind and he never goes too far when he teases. He’squick to apologize and quicker to offer a helping hand. And yet, he’s not apush over either. He’s talented and he’s smart, and Madara quickly learns tolike him, all of him, for these things. 

It’s not that he’s unused to kindness,but he unaccustomed to it from strangers. Yet Hashirama shares everything hehas and Madara shares back, and they both mutually agree to keep their secretto preserve this friendship.

NewHe has a new friend now. And sure,Hashirama is occasionally very easy to mock and sometimes he’s unjustifiablystupid, but Madara will forgive him that. He will forgive him everything,because standing next to Hashirama makes him sweat nervously now, and he wantsto try things that friends don’t do together. 

It’s not the first time he’s feltthis way, but it is definitely the first time his feelings lasted for more thanthree months. It’s the first time they got stronger after seeing his crush bean idiot. It’s new, it’s sort of scary because now he’s beginning to suspectthings about Hashirama, and it’s a terrible idea, but Madara can’t keep away.

JoyHashirama… Hashirama makes him happy.He makes him smile and he makes him laugh so hard that he can’t breathe. Justthe thought of him makes Madara feel like he’s on the verge of sprouting wingsand flying into the clouds. It’s addicting. It’s inspiring. Madara didn’t knowthat the human heart could contain so much joy for the memory of one person.His emotions are over-sized for him – sometimes he can’t help but grin atnight, curled up in his futon and thinking about his secret friend. 

Sometimes, he wonders if Hashirama does the same thing too.

UnityThey are dreaming, and they aredreaming together. Madara never knew that someone could feel the same as hedid, but Hashirama does and it’s like a dream, that they sit together and talkabout the way they want to the change the world. There is no laughter here.There is no mockery. They sit under the gilded boughs of evergreens and theyexchange dreams with completely solemnity. These are delicate, glass-spundreams, fragile outside the protection of silence, and they are breathtakinglybeautiful. Madara will always love Hashirama for dreaming.

Hope(less)“That boy is a Senju. He’s our enemy.”

One sentence broke the spine of Madara’shopes. For an hour straight, he listened to his father berate him, and then heran away into his tent and he cried into his pillow until he ran out of tearsto give. He made a mistake, he realizes, because he has been reckless. He ranheadlong into what he wanted without thinking about the consequences, and nowHashirama is going to pay for it.

He can’t let that happen. Even if hehas to leave his friend behind, he can’t do it completely. Father tells himthey will set a trap. Madara waits until he sleeps, and in the cover of night,he carves a word into his rock.

AngerThis world is unfair. All things areinherently unjust: nature is a machine without morality and humans are animalsin the dark. Madara will pay for existence with his flesh and blood, and hewill cut himself apart to feed the needs of his clan. He will become strongereven if he has to burn himself to the quick to do it; he will rip out the lightfrom his eyes so his family can see a little longer than he. So he will pick up his sword and he will fight Hashirama with his anger, and there are no rooms for dreams anymore, children, it’s time to grow up now.

Madara is a prodigy, they say. Madarawill lead us to victory. Give us more, Madara. Give us everything.

Never stop or you will fail.

SorrowThere is only so much anger one cancarry in one’s heart before there is no more room. And when that time comes, itwill all flood over as deep blue sorrow and then you can only weep it out.

Madara cries sometimes. Not whereanyone can see, not in a way anyone can hear; he cries quietly and unmovingly,breathing in and out and staring at the ground. He cries because he has had tobuild six different pyres for his kinsmen, and because he is a genius andgeniuses don’t need to be comforted. He cries because he misses his best friendand the last time he saw him, it was on a battlefield.

HatredThe Uchiha and the Senju warred forgenerations. But hatred does not feed hungry mouths, nor does it make clothingto wear. Hatred was a devouring creature whose appetite was limitless, and theUchiha didn’t even have enough to feed themselves.

Enough of it. Enough of war, and enoughof hatred. Madara grabs Hashirama’s hand before he kills himself because hestill loves him, despite everything, and he would rather follow his brotherinto the grave than see another precious person of his dead on the ground.

Enough, he says with only histouch. Enough of this.

InequalityPeople say that Madara hates Hashiramafor being stronger than him. They could never be more wrong.

Madara has never begrudged strength inhis life, especially not Hashirama’s. No, truth be told… he adores him for it.He enjoys the thrill of fighting him, he is proudto say that Hashirama is the only man who can defeat him. He is unashamed ofthis fact. There is nothing greater than a good fight with Hashirama, in hisworld. It makes life worth living. It makes his problems seem smaller. He willset aside his personal goals and plans to make time for a tussle with him,because Madara loves the entire process. It’s the one, endless dance he willalways crave, and it’s one of the many reasons for why Madara respectsHashirama so much.

RivalIf Madara ever had the misfortunate ofexisting in a world without Hashirama, then he would have never reached hisfull potential. He would have inevitably plateaued somewhere as a talented warriorwho nonetheless fit the mold of all his peers.

It’s only with Hashirama to raceagainst that Madara can flourish. Their youth was a perpetual race betweenthem, always trying to get an edge over another, always striving to be just alittle faster, a little stronger, a little betterthan their rival. In many ways, their rivalry could even be called anotherexpression of their abiding profound bond, because they were always pushing tobe the best for one another.

AdmireMadara admires Hashirama in a lot ofways. For his ideals, for his dreams, his strength, his body, the list goes on…but he also admires him for his kindness.

Unlike many who would wrongfully thinkof kindness as a weakness, Madara admires and respects the immense depth of howforgiving Hashirama is. This ability to move on from loss and the seeds ofhatred, in his eyes, is an example of an incredible strength of character. 

Hashirama is untouched by the cycle of violence – he will never fall prey tothe inherent weakness of humanity, in which the selfish desire for love evolvesinto hatred. While Madara will criticize his ideology for being unrealistic, hewill never, ever believe that so much love can be a bad thing. They both wantpeace.

MineMadara is a fiercely possessive person.He just can’t share – ever. He loves so much and he loves so hard, and hecraves to have that all reflected back on him. And most of all, he wants to haveHashirama. The tragedy of being ripped away from him deeply touched his heart –the constant conflict in him between his duty and his desires keeps Madara upat night. 

But it says something about how fiercely he loves Hashirama that eventhe full weight of his love for his brother and his clan can’t force him to letgo. When they’re together, they world falls away. Everything revolves aroundthem. He wants to have him, entirely and totally, to own him, possess him, todevour him, until they’re one being.

(In a way, you could say he accomplishedthat.)

AlwaysTheir bond is more than just emotion.Their bond is built on mutual respect, recognition of each other’s strength,protection of each other’s humanity, and sharing an impossible dream. Aroundothers, they walk as giants. Together though, they are simply two men who can’thelp but hold hands on one side and strike each other with the other side. 

Evenat the end of the world, Madara can’t help but talk about Hashirama – how greathe was, how good he was, how much better than everyone else he was – even whenhistory remembers him to be the hateful, envious shadow. At the end of hislife, Hashirama is the one to kneel over his dying body.

Over the course of a hundred years,three deaths, and becoming a god, Madara has never lost sight of Hashirama. Hehas always loved him and he always will, because there is no universe inexistence in which Uchiha Madara does not love Senju Hashirama.

[crystallized-shadow]

Day 12 Pairing: Madara/Tobirama Word count: 2081 Prompt:  “You’re teasing me again...”

Warnings: Interrogation-type torture, asphyxiation kink, and Dark Tobirama

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

The sun was shining when Madara woke up and it looked like it would be a beautiful day, which should have been his first warning to stay in bed. Instead he’d gone to work like a responsible adult and instantly regretted it when Kagami had cheerfully dropped a huge stack of paperwork on his desk. “I hate you,” he groans, glaring at the young man, who just laughs.

“It’s supposed to be a slow day, Izuna says it’s the perfect time for you to finish all these incomplete forms and whatnot that you’ve been neglecting for months!” Kagami grins, way too chipper for so early in the morning.

“I hate you both,” Madara mutters with a dismissive wave of his hand, knowing Kagami will pass on his complaints when he skips back to his boyfriend. Madara may be the senior detective of the two, but his partner, who just so happened to be his little shit of a brother, loved to make sure all his paperwork was perfect; he’d lost count of all the documents that had been sent back to him because Izuna deemed them not good enough.

It takes hours, but Madara finishes the entire stack to what he hoped was Izuna’s standards. He doesn’t have far to walk to reach his brother’s office, and when he gets there Madara can’t help but smirk; Izuna has his back to the door, perfect. Creeping in quietly, Madara deposits the paperwork in one of the side chairs, he didn’t want it to be a casualty of the upcoming chaos, and leans his weight on the back of Izuna’s chair. The chair lurches backward sharply and Izuna lets out a shrill squawk of surprise and he lunges forward to counterbalance the chair’s sudden movement. Like any good brother, Madara helpfully leans back at that very moment, resulting in both Izuna and the chair toppling over.

“ANIKI!!!” Izuna screeches, jumping up and glaring at his brother as Madara starts to laugh.

“You had it coming,” Madara snickers as he gestures to the paperwork, “half of those were perfectly fine.”

“Which ones were those?” Izuna asks with a frown, “the ‘because I said so’ ones or the ‘he was asking to get shot’ ones?”

“There is nothing wrong with those answers!” Madara snaps, “especially when one guy did ask me to shoot him!”

“He was being sarcastic.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” Izuna just sighs as he rights his chair and sits back down, wordlessly holding his hand out for the papers. Madara huffs in irritation but passes the stack to his brother anyway. Izuna flips through the papers, scanning over each one; he really didn’t want his brother to give their boss another reason to fire him. “Well?”

“If you’d just do all your work like this the first time, we wouldn’t have an issue.” Izuna states, ignoring the middle finger his brother shoots him.

“You could just do it for me,” Madara suggests and Izuna doesn’t even glance up from his reading.

“You could smile more often.”

“If you’re going to be difficult, I’m leaving.” Izuna shrugs and Madara storms back to his office, no one daring to stop him and bug him about something unimportant. Deciding he’s earned a decent break, Madara leaves for lunch, telling Kagami to let Izuna know where he was going and that he’d have his cell on in case something came up. It might be low to have his brother’s boyfriend deliver the message, but neither of them was above using Kagami as a messenger and the younger cop thought it was hilarious.

Heading to his favorite diner, Madara frowns as a small form suddenly crashes into his legs. Looking down, he finds a scrawny blonde hastily hiding behind him as two teenage punks burst out of the alleyway he’d just passed.

“Give us the kid and no one has to get hurt!” One of them demands and Madara raises an eyebrow at the pocket knife thrust in his direction.

“Seems you brought a knife to a gun fight,” Madara smirks, shifting his jacket enough to reveal his gun. The two teens share a look before they turn and run back the way they came. Madara just rolls his eyes as he looks down at the scruffy kid he’s just saved. “I was about to eat lunch; would you like to join me?”

“You mean it?” The blonde asks, his blue eyes wide with happiness when Madara nods, “yes please!” Madara chuckles and leads the boy into the diner, promising him he can order whatever he wants.

“I’m Madara, what’s your name?” Madara asks as they wait for their food.

“Naruto!” The boy grins, “that’s for saving me!”

“Why were those punks chasing you anyway?”

“I took this from them,” Naruto admits as he pulls a flash drive out of his pocket, “because they were making fun of my parents.”

“You shouldn’t steal things,” Madara scolds automatically, “but if you give it to me, I won’t tell anyone.” He recognized the Senju symbol on the drive and knew it would be nothing but trouble for the young boy and his family.

“Okay,” Naruto agrees with a shrug, passing it over to Madara without hesitation. He didn’t know why everyone wanted it, he just knew those two bullies didn’t deserve it.

“Thank you,” Madara grins as he pockets the drive just before their food arrives. “Naruto, if those boys find you again, make sure you tell them I have the flash drive now.”

“Okay.” Madara mentally sighs in relief, glad the boy seems to have no connection to the gang, and watches in amusement as the boy scarfs his food down. Madara eats at a slower pace and once the check is taken care of, he walks the boy home.

“What took you so long?” Izuna asks with a frown when Madara finally makes it back to the office over an hour after he left.

“I found some punks chasing a kid,” Madara says and his brother groans.

“Aniki, we don’t need more complaints about you roughing up the local teenagers!”

“The kid was barely older than 7 and they were probably 18,” Madara states with a frown before he drops the flash drive on Izuna’s desk, “and I got that for my trouble.”

“Is that what I think it is?”

“If you think it could something to help us catch the Senju Gang, then yes,” Madara says with a grin, “I don’t know what’s on it, but I thought you might want to take a look at it.”

“Let’s do this!!”

It turns out the flash drive was full of accounting information that would definitely help them get several key Senjus behind bars. Izuna wants to log it right away, but Madara thinks they should wait, just in case the gang tries to retaliate. The two argue about it, but finally agree to create a copy of the drive to pass onto the detectives actively investigating the Senju gang while Madara keeps the original locked away in his desk. After bidding his brother goodnight, the two Uchiha part ways and head to their separate homes. Unsure how fast the Senju had found out he has the flash drive, Madara quietly enters his home with his gun drawn. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, Madara has just enough time to think he’s being ridiculous before something hard slams into the side of his head and everything goes dark.

Tobirama observes the man he’d just knocked unconscious with a critical eye. His long dark hair billowing out around his head and pale skin make the blood dripping down his forehead stand out even more. “I got a pretty one this time,” Tobirama chuckles as he retrieves the fallen gun and sets it off to the side, he’d need it later when he staged the detective’s suicide. Slipping the suit jacket off Madara’s shoulders, Tobirama can’t stop the cruel smirk that curls his lips; he loved it when his victims wore white shirts, it made the blood stand out so prettily and always seemed to freak them out. With a practiced ease, Tobirama has Madara sitting in one of his kitchen chairs, his arms bound tightly behind his back. Once his own sleeves are rolled up and his black leather gloves are in place, Tobirama smirks once more and punches Madara square in the jaw.

Madara jolts back into reality with a pained grunt, keenly aware of the blood dripping into his eye and down his chin before he’s even sure what is going on. Blinking a few times to try and clear his vision, Madara’s eyes settle on the pale man with cold red eyes and he can’t help but smirk. “You’re with the Senju I take it.”

“Detective Madara Uchiha,” Tobirama says, letting the name roll off his tongue in a way that makes the bound man shudder. “Tell me where the flash drive is, and I’ll make this quick.”

“If I’m going to die anyway, where’s the fun is making this easy for you?” Madara questions, his smirk never fading even a fist meets his nose. He can feel the blood gushing from his, likely, broken nose and he lets some pool in his mouth before he spits it at his assailant, leaving a smear on his cheek. The other man frowns and punches Madara in the mouth again, but all Madara does is laugh. He just has to hold out long enough for the gang detectives to use the information to help them; this man knew Madara was a detective, that meant once he had got ahold of the flash drive all their copied information would become obsolete. A blow to chest turns his laugh into a wheeze, but Madara manages to keep the smirk on his face.

Tobirama couldn’t help but find this man’s confidence thrilling, it had been a long time since he’d been able to break such a proud man. The very thought of doing so has him nearly giddy with pleasure. A few more blows to Madara’s face and chest have Tobirama’s gloves bloody but he hasn’t managed to wipe away that damn smirk yet. “I guess I’m going to have to try something new,” Tobirama mummers as he steps closer to Madara, trailing a finger up the exposed portion of the bound man’s chest to grab his tie.

“You’re teasing me again…” Madara manages to get out before his tie, a birthday gift from Izuna he notes distantly, is suddenly pulled tight and he can’t breathe. He is lifted off the chair by the albino’s strength and despite the fact his windpipe is slowly being crushed, Madara can’t help but find the other man attractive. He’d always had a thing for letting his bed partners rough him up a little, admittedly none had been this good, and if it weren’t for the fact that this man meant to kill him, Madara could see this encounter ending with him getting fucked senseless.

“Your lips feel any looser yet?” Tobirama smirks as he gives Madara just enough slack to breathe. The Uchiha drags in heaving breaths and Tobirama gives him a moment to answer. When he just gets a wheeze of a chuckle, he pulls the tie again. Tobirama watches Madara’s face as he continues to withhold oxygen, watching the smirk finally slip away as the man’s eyes lose focus. The tie is loosened once more. “Well?”

“Wish my pants felt looser…” Madara gasps out, his brain to mouth filter shot. His assailant glances down and Madara shudders at the dark smirk that graces the other man’s lips; a smirk like that held promise.

“You enjoy being beaten,” Tobirama purrs as he uses his free hand to caress Madara’s face. “If you’re a good boy and tell me what I want to know, I’ll fuck you through the mattress before I kill you.” Madara doesn’t even try and hide the groan that bubbles up his throat.

“I don’t think you have it in you,” Madara challenges with a smirk and the hand on his jaw drags him into a violent kiss, teeth tugging at the broken skin of his bloodstained lips.

Tobirama nips Madara’s lip once more before he stands up straight. Maybe just this once he’d break protocol and fuck Madara before he had the information he wanted. If the older man was good, he might even keep him around for a while; his basement was soundproof after all.

[writer-and-artist27]

A Girl and An Archer

After listening to some of the Emiya theme from Unlimited Blade Works, I had this idea that I wasn’t sure about fitting into Healing Over Time, since it’s supposed to be a Saber and Tomoko centric story. But, welp, I seem to have a thing for swords-wielding people, so a little piece that could come along in the Fate crossover I have going if I can make it work. Also, my empathy just makes me feel for all the Servants in one way or another, plus with finals coming up, I needed to write out the stress.

Here we go. Theme for this piece is linked, being the orchestra version of Fate Zero’s To The Beginning. Please let me know if you want to see this kind of development happen in the story for real!

“Master.”

Even if we had known each other for a long while, I found myself tensing from the formality of the title. I should’ve expected it, but can you blame me? I was still a civilian girl, even with ninja loved ones and two very strong people at my side.

“Archer,” I tried not to sigh while turning my head to face him from my place at the piano, pushing a long strand of hair behind my ear. “I told you to call me ‘Tomoko’, didn’t I?”

The white-haired Servant shrugged, his usual flippant smile on his face. Even with a waist-apron and his hair down to cover his forehead compared to the original slicked back look, it was still Archer. The insufferable dork I got to know as Archer. “Apologies, it’s a habit.” The gleam in his eyes said otherwise though, and I tried not to snort, scooting over for him to take a seat when he walked over nonetheless. “There was something I needed to ask you.”

That was new. I made sure to sit up a bit straighter, activate the nearest privacy seal on the piano, and make eye contact for the sake of giving him my full attention. “What is it?”

“…” For the first time that entire day, the bravado on Archer’s face seemed to falter, as if he was hesitating. It was easy to note the sudden tension surfacing in his shoulders too, and once we made eye contact, he jerked his head to the side, breaking it off. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

Uh, no. That’s not nothing. Outwardly, I exhaled before shaking my head. “Archer. It’s not ‘nothing’ if you pause like that. You can speak your mind, y’know. It’s why I tell you not to call me ‘Master’, because we’re humans before Master and Servant. And I see you as a friend.” Even when a part of me wasn’t sure if it was okay, I still reached over to lightly touch his hand. “So, you can say it. What’s wrong?”

Archer still wasn’t meeting my eyes, in spite of his shoulders relaxing just the slightest tad.

I extended my touch so that I could be holding his hand. “Is something bothering you, Archer? Or is it something I’m doing?” The second thought popped up just as I finished, and I found myself adding, “If you want me to do something for you, I can.”

The last thing I was expecting was the loud and exasperated huff on his part. “That’s the thing.” Archer swiveled his head to meet my eyes, and I could already feel myself flinching from how dark his eyes were. Were those gray eyes ever so clouded before? His eyebrows too were furrowed in a way that resembled anger, and I tried to swallow the sudden lump in my throat. “What are you trying to do? You have two Servants with you, Master. Two Servants that could do whatever you wish. Fight for you. Kill for you. And yet you do not ask for anything, instead providing Saber and I housing and food, without even requesting a single thing.” The lump in my throat seemed all the more suffocating with how he was suddenly gripping my hand tight enough to somewhat hurt. “What is your plan, Master? What do you mean to accomplish? What do you really want?”

I opened my mouth before closing it. “Um,” was the tiny response that came out of my throat. In any other case, I probably would’ve resembled a child with how quiet the reply was. “Am I allowed to note that both yours and Saber’s summonings were, um… accidental?”

I had no plan. Things happened, and I was rolling with the punches. That was how things were going. This wasn’t something I could’ve predicted, but for some reason, I wished I could’ve if it meant not being reminded of someone I lost a long time ago.

‘Do you ever stop talking and listen?’

Archer lurched back as quickly as he did when he originally leaned in to stare at me. The grip on my hand loosened too as his eyes seemed to clear. “Master.” His voice was softer now, a far cry from the tone he used before. Huh? “Are you scared?”

I didn’t even realize tears were budding in my eyes before one was already falling and Archer reached over with his other hand to wipe it away. Oh. “U-Uuuu,” was the best approximation of the whimper that left my throat. “A-A little, yeah. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” The ramble was already coming on. “For being inexperienced. For not… not being a real ‘Master’ to you.”

“Master.” Archer’s voice was still that same soft tone. “You don’t have to—”

“I-I don’t know, okay?! About what I want to do with your powers. With Saber’s.” I didn’t know where the yell came from. Maybe it was the tone from before. Maybe it was the scathing remarks from before. I didn’t know. All I knew was that I was yelling, Archer was still here, and I had a point to make. “I’m not a Mage. I’m not any kind of special magician! I’m not even a ninja like my best friends! I’m just a civilian girl, with some weird chakra that lets her touch other people emotionally! Said chakra being enough to bring you both here!” I didn’t even ask for my chakra to be like that. It just was like that, and there wasn’t much I could do about it except train and control. “I’m just a pianist girl. A-And, I’m not a Master. I can’t save the world. I can’t be a hero.” The oxygen was leaving me quickly, so I took a deep breath to try calming myself. “All that I am now is that same pianist girl, just with two more people in her home that need hugs in my opinion.”

The grip on my hand was lax, but still persistent. “…‘Need’ hugs?” Archer repeated quietly.   

“I’ve seen my friends bleed, Archer. I’ve seen myself die.” The words felt like poison in my mouth, and through our held hands, I could feel Archer flinch too. Of course he wasn’t expecting the last part. I never told anyone but Kei about that. Saber didn’t even know. But it was the truth. I couldn’t be anything but honest. “I don’t want to see others fall further than that. I don’t want to see other people get hurt like that. Hell, I don’t want to see people constantly fight and kill their souls in the process of ‘justice.’” Because Kei became a ninja and was already becoming numb to blood. It didn’t stop the worry that one day, she would lose more to missions and so on when I wasn’t looking. “So, hugs.”

“Hugs,” Archer repeated. Was it just me, or did I hear a bit of surprise in his voice? Or awe?

“Hugs, music, baking, anything I can do without hurting someone.” Maybe me, but I don’t mind. Everyone I love knows when to bring me back. “We’re all going to die eventually. Excuse my language, Archer, but the world is shit. People can be shit.”

“…” Without even looking up, I knew Archer had turned his head away.

Even if it hurt to acknowledge it, both of my statements were true. We both knew this. Orochimaru was human, and he was one of the greatest shitbags Kei and the others had to deal with, more so with his being an insult to the entire LGBTQIA+ community. Madara was human, and he nearly destroyed my village and home in the name of a distant pipe-dream that would be “better for everyone.” The White Zetsu even were all once human, and now they were putties that the ninja needed to exterminate if we wanted any chance to exterminate Kaguya for good. To put her away as the Sage of Six Paths wanted.

With my free hand, I wiped at my eyes to get those darn tears out. Now wasn’t the time to break down, especially when Archer was waiting for me to finish. “But that doesn’t mean people can’t improve on themselves to not be shit. That doesn’t mean the world has to stay shit.”

An exhale, and then the grip on my hand tightened. “So then…”

I raised my head to give Archer a smile. “Life can suck, but so what? It doesn’t stop me from trying my best to help others be a bit happier. It doesn’t stop me from trying to be kind and making someone’s day a bit brighter. And you and Saber are some of those people I want to see have better lives.”

Every single part of me was calling to hug Archer now, because the shock in his gray eyes was painful. Even then, I held back, both from our shared hand-holding and how my shoulders were shaking. How I didn’t trust myself in not making Archer uncomfortable.

“I might’ve summoned you both by accident. I might not be the Master you and Saber might want in any kind of grand conflict, heck, I don’t even know what happened to the two of you that led you here to the first place.” A small laugh left me at that, because to that old ex-friend, he probably would’ve called me pathetic. Childish, even. But it was all me. Plain old me. “But back when I summoned you to right now, in this very moment, I see you two as equals. Friends to treat with care and respect. So I don’t want you to sacrifice yourselves for me. There’s no huge war going on right now, so there’s no need to really fight unless you feel the need to.”

Archer’s jaw slackened by the slightest margin while in contrast, his grip on my hand tightened. “Master.”

My smile was still going strong as I squeezed his hand in return. “So, if you don’t mind working in the cafe, eating the occasional cake and muffin, and hearing a little civilian girl ramble in both words and music notes to try helping fighters be human and live again, you can stay. I’m not forcing you to stay if you don’t want to. You’re not just a Servant, Archer.” I meant every single bit of it. My heart was beating hard enough to prove that. “Even with swords and magic, you’re still human. And to me, you’re a friend. If I’m doing something wrong, you have the full decision to leave.”

The grip on my hand was still strong. “…” I was not expecting him to scoff softly. “What a naive and selfless Master I’ve ended up with this time.”

Even with the remnants of tears, a pout was forming on my face anyways. It did not help my case of squeaking, though. “I-I know I’m naive, but I’m fine with it! If you have a problem, speak it!” Another breath, and then I found myself blurting out, “A-And what did I just say about me not being a Master?!”

The laugh was completely out of left field. My eyes stung while blinking, but Archer was actually laughing. It wasn’t the scoff of disbelief I had grown accustomed to, or the mocking one he did when someone was trying to rile him up. This laugh was warm. “Hahaha,” he threw his head back, smiling all the while. “A-Apologies, Master,” and then he was making eye contact with me. Those gray eyes were shining now. “I’m not laughing at you. I…” a more solemn smile covered his face as he turned away slightly. “I just remembered something nostalgic. That was a good laugh.” He turned back to meet my eyes, and the smile was unmistakable. It was soft. Just like Saber’s when we first met. “Is that what you wish to do?”

“It’s not a wish, it’s my dream, Archer.” I couldn’t help the small squeaky laugh on my part too. “I can’t fight like Kei and the others can. I can’t really be a hero from the fairy tales. But I can be kind. I can help people. And even if it’s small and doesn’t matter to the people above me, it still changes things. Kindness can make the world a bit better, one little thing at a time.” My throat was feeling parched now, and I couldn’t help but sigh this time. “And if you keep calling me Master, I’m going to assume you’re okay with that, which I don’t want to assume unless you want to say otherwise…”

Archer rolled his eyes while still reaching over with his free hand to brush at the edges of my eyes with his thumb. “I’m merely surprised. I’ve had many Masters over the long time I’ve been a Heroic Spirit. But you…” The dirt at my eyes was gone, so why was his hand lingering…? “You, Tomoko, have said some of the most outrageous things I have ever heard.”

Another “uuuuu” left me before I could stop myself. Archer said my name, but still. “I-I’m happy that you called me ‘Tomoko’, Archer, but is that a compliment or an insult?”

“Ah, it appears I have, Tomoko.” Archer chuckled and shook his head. He used my name again. “It’s just a saying,” he said instead, and his hand still rested on my cheek. “But even if the words are naive, it’s not a bad thing to believe in. Inspiring, almost.” That spark in his eyes though, that was new. It was different enough to be blindingly bright compared to the cloudiness from before, but still. It made me feel like something changed somehow, somewhat. His thumb rubbed the corner of my eye as he continued to smile. “Do not change.”

Something was up now. “So then,” my voice was quiet now. “You don’t mind me?”

“You’re one large piece of work, Master, but you’re alright.” He let his hand drop from my cheek, but the other hand was still gripping mine. “My job has simply changed.”

The curiosity was tugging at me before I could stop myself. “T-To what?”

Archer huffed in exasperation, but he still smiled at me nonetheless. “From fighting in the Holy Grail War to cooking for a selfless workaholic girl who is far more of a hero than she gives herself credit for. It’s a welcome change.”

Welp. There went my heart. And the off button on the embarrassment. “A-Archer…”

Archer snorted. “Your face is red, Master. Is something wrong?”

Oh my god, this insufferable ass. He was getting mileage out of this. “J-JUST LET ME HUG YOU, DAMMIT!”

Archer still laughed once I tackled him. It didn’t stop Saber from noticing and striding over. The questioning voice over my head was obvious. The privacy seal must’ve been turned off. “Archer, what did you do?”

“Oh, nothing,” was the casual reply, almost matching the strong hand resting on the back of my head as I did my best to hide my red face in the crook of his neck. “I just had a talk with the Master and now owe her a plate of omurice.”

“…Could I get a plate too?”

“Always with the bottomless stomach, Saber. Alright. I’ll cook as much as you both want.”

“Archer…!” was the helpless whine coming out of my lips. Tears were already budding in my eyes again, because he was being nice and I didn’t deserve any of it. “You dooooooooooork…”

“Being a dork seems to be the best course of action when handling a naive Master, Tomoko.”

Yep. Insufferable dork. And occasional ass. And I don’t think I’d have him any other way.

I always did start loving the dorks.

[hoe-imaginess]

Part 2

Hashirama is well aware that he should settle as a bystander in these sort of situations, but it’s bothering him. 

He first notices his brother’s mood while they’re sorting through paperwork. Tobirama is quiet. Too quiet. He’s not a talkative man by nature, but Hashirama would have expected him to at least take up discussion of their daily duties, or ask for updates on recent negotiations, maybe even lecture him about something—he expected something. It’s almost shameful how badly Hashirama wanted to be assured that all was well. But no, his brother remains silent. 

It continues for days, until Hashirama can no longer bottle his concerns. “What’s wrong with you, Tobirama?” he asks one afternoon. 

“Nothing.” He leaves it at that.

Hashirama pouts. “There must be something.”

“There is nothing, brother. Finish reading those documents.”

“Are you sure? These past few days you’ve been—”

“Enough. We don’t have time for this.”

And there’s the familiar bite in his voice, sharp as a blade. That familiarity would comfort Hashirama, in a base, uncanny sort of way that only he as Tobirama’s brother would understand, but it still doesn’t satisfy his anxiety.

There’s something different about the frustration radiating off of his brother. He can’t remember the last time Tobirama looked so restless. It worries him. Hashirama knows his brother assumes responsibility as he sees fit, but there’s only so much one man can handle. He needs Tobirama to slow down. 

“I really have no problem relieving you of some of your responsibilities, Tobirama. Just let me finalize mediations with a clan or two, lend me some of the work. I can take care of it. You can’t keep up with everything.”

“And neither can you. Which is the reason I have so much to deal with.”

Hashirama frowns, feeling a flash of guilt, but it’s quickly replaced by attentive curiosity. “So it is the negotiations?”

Tobirama huffs but doesn’t respond. If he can’t deter Hashirama with force, he can just hope his interest will eventually die off. But Hashirama comes to stand right at his side, and the younger Senju puts down the paper he’s reading to scowl up at him. “Brother—”

“If it is all this village work, then it wouldn’t hurt to simmer down. If only a little.”

“Yes. It would. We’re hanging by a thread as is.”

“You make it sound so serious!”

Tobirama is about to snap again and explain that it is serious, but he doesn’t want to waste another breath. Which is odd, since he never passes up the opportunity to reprimand Hashirama’s naivety. But he doesn’t have the energy.

“Tobirama,” Hashirama speaks when the silence is unsettling. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll be forced to temporarily deprive you of negotiation duties, as clan leader, and as your brother.”

Tobirama gives him a cold glare, one that would stop any other man in his tracks, but Hashirama is not deterred.

“Tell me,” he repeats.

Tobirama is furious. He doesn’t like how Hashirama is suddenly so intrusive, and jeopardizing village momentum with his trivialities in the process. Even if the delay is instigated by brotherly sentiment, Tobirama can’t forgive it so easily.

He shrugs off the swelling anger by returning his attention to paperwork. “We’re scrambling to get the village in order. It’s exhausting. That’s it.”

Well that’s a start, Hashirama thinks, even if he’s still convinced there’s much more hounding his brother’s disposition.

“We’re doing well, Tobirama. It’s just a few clans that haven’t found their place yet.” But now that Hashirama considers it, as he inspects his younger brother and the tension written all over his face, something clicks. “Unless that’s what you’re concerned about. Maybe one clan in particular…”

“What are you getting at?” Tobirama snaps, not caring for whatever meandering Hashirama is attempting.

"Hopefully when she comes to discuss the new treaty with me today, she will find it agreeable. I’m sure she will appreciate the changes you’ve made.”

And as if he hadn’t expected Hashirama to catch on so quickly, Tobirama scowls. “Brother—”

“If you want, you can speak to her too—”

“No.”

He wants to. He definitely does. But he shouldn’t. He doesn’t trust himself to be civil. He’ll stay out of it this time, even at the cost of damaging his strong pride. 

“She wants to speak with you,” he says. “Not me.”

“Well, she didn’t specifically say that,” Hashirama suggests. “Maybe you should be the one to review—”

“No.”

That’s much sharper. Hashirama is skeptical. “That’s not like you to settle with being excluded, Tobirama.”

“If it’s going to appease her and make this easier, then I’ll deal with it.”

And Hashirama is suddenly smiling, breaking past suspicion and welcoming intrigue. “Is this what’s been upsetting you, Tobirama? That _______-san is getting the better of you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he counters, somehow not so confident in his anger. “I’m still infuriated by the way she’s been treating us. She’s been nothing but difficult and disrespectful.”

The elder Senju laughs. “Tobirama, if anything, you’re the one who’s been—” 

Madara announces himself outside of the room, and walks in.

Tobirama stiffens, and prays that Hashirama doesn’t open his mouth again. He can’t mention anything about her with the Uchiha around. The dilemma shouldn’t even be warranting his brother’s suspicions, but Tobirama will not have Madara involved. He doesn’t miss the delayed glances that the Uchiha sends her across the room whenever they’re together. He’s not blind. Which makes the confidentiality of his problem all the more imperative. To have Madara involved in his business would be opening the flood gates of disaster.

"Madara!” It’s as if Hashirama is completely absolved of the tension so heavy just a moment ago. “Did you speak to the Akimichi?”

“Yes.” He closes the door on his way in and notes immediately that Tobirama is on edge, more so than usual. But he chooses to ignore it. “Did you speak to ______?”

“Ah, no… She’s meant to come later and speak to me about the final draft of the treaty, along with her clan heads, I think. Apparently, they would like a face-to-face meeting this time.”

Tobirama boils over with renewed frustration, regretting his volitional exclusion. The reality of a final draft being rendered weighs heavily on his mind. Apparently, her clan came to a final decision about the treaty he had presented to them, and Tobirama anticipates that they’ll finally find a compromise. If not, her clan heads wouldn’t have agreed to something so personal as a face-to-face conference. Not when they could have sent her to convey their disagreement, again.

“When she does come, give her these.” Madara passes over a bundle of scrolls. "She forgot them the other night.”

The other night, Tobirama thinks. But he immediately puts the unpleasant thought out of his mind, wondering why it came at all.

"Of course.” Hashirama takes them and smiles warmly. “It’s nice of you to assist her with all the work she has, Madara.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.” He takes a seat on the opposite end of the table from Tobirama. “I just offer my company.”

Hashirama pouts. “But when I ask for company, you both chastise me.”

Madara rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment, just fingers through a stack of paperwork Hashirama has miraculously finished.

Tobirama would berate his brother for even complaining, but he’s suddenly distressed. He doesn’t like the situation. He doesn’t want to be there, regardless of how much it will damage his pride to leave. The last thing he wants is to give Madara the impression that his company is what drives him away, true as it may be.

Nevertheless, he gathers his papers and stands. "Look over what I gave you and bring them to me when you’re finished, brother.”

Hashirama perks up. “Oh, you’re leaving? Where are you going?”

“To the academy. I need to inspect the newly built classrooms.”

Hashirama is about to protest, but he can see the determination written on his brother’s face. Madara too sees the underlying cause of his departure. He would have to be a fool not to.

Tobirama is hardly scathed by any unrest created from his negotiations, from his own mistakes. Madara knows very well how little regret Tobirama carries when others suffer from his actions. But he’s obviously troubled this time. Troubled by the tension he’s caused with her clan. Madara keeps that in mind.

                                                 ~~~~~~~ 

Tobirama fends off turbulent thoughts by training his team. It’s a nuisance at times, usually when they’re behaving like brats or attempting to persuade him into leniency, knowing full well he has no intentions of letting them off that easily. But it’s a sufficient distraction away from the tension revolving around village matters. At least, that’s what he had hoped for.

He’s halfway through a lesson on shuriken when he senses her chakra. She’s only beyond the tree line of the field where they train, about to come into view. But he won’t turn over his shoulder to look.

He tells his team to go run laps before the inevitability of their intrusiveness becomes a problem. They complain, but he doesn’t tell them again. He’s too focused on her coming closer and closer.

He’s spent a fair amount of time memorizing chakra in his lifetime, but hers is particular. He doesn’t know if it’s good or bad, pleasant or displeasing, but it undoubtedly does something to put him on edge. He can’t focus whenever he feels it.

When he finally turns and prepares to meet the critical, cold stare he’s come to expect, it’s not there. If anything, she seems rather hesitant and misguided herself.

“Tobirama,” she says, stopping a considerable distance away from him.

He considers not replying, but his brother’s spiel over courtesy and manners is playing in loops in his head, along with a throbbing unease that he hates.

“______,” he replies.

She looks away from him then and inhales deeply, forcefully. Without even trying to read her agitated chakra, he can already tell she’s conflicted about her approach. “I just wanted to come speak to you about the treaty.”

He curses to himself. It wasn’t what he needed at the moment.  

“I suspect that your brother will tell you later, but we did accept your terms.”

Oh. So he had been right, after all. Still, it’s a surprise that she reports it so congenially. He knows for a fact that there were stipulations in the final agreement that didn’t exactly comply to what her clan wanted, stipulations he had sanctioned. Tobirama assumed she would be marginally irritated. But this? An almost amiable encounter? He would be suspicious if he wasn’t so relieved.

“I see,” he says. 

“It took some consideration, and… bickering among some of the elites in my clan, but the treaty is finally enacted and we plan to make arrangements to fit your terms.”

Hashirama probably had a great deal to do with that, Tobirama thinks. He hates to admit it, but congenial negotiating did have its advantages. His brother was right about that. But Hashirama is also more than capable of adding the right amount of authority when necessary, so it’s not entirely surprising that his elder brother was able to pull it off. Tobirama is at least relieved for that. He’ll have to thank him later.

“Also… I wanted to express my gratitude.”

That shakes him from his train of thought. He blinks in confusion. “For?”

“Your brother told me what you did. Speaking to the Shimura and Sarutobi, asking that they accommodate space for our clan momentarily until we’re settled. That must have been... taxing. I hear neither of their clan heads are very compliant. Yet you convinced them, somehow. So, thank you.”

Nevermind. He’s going to have a few words with his brother when he sees him. 

That fact was meant to be completely off the record, not just to save other clans from hearing of it, but to save him from this embarrassment. It was one thing to actually go out of his way and haggle for her clan’s benefit, but for her to know that he had done it…

But maybe the genuine, rare semblance of a smile she’s giving him is worth it.

Regardless, he evades the sentimental thought as much as possible. “Are you satisfied?”

She notices his hesitance, and decides the question isn’t spiteful, so she nods. “The clan heads are satisfied. Not completely, though, given that it is a temporary reprise. But I would say satisfied, nonetheless.”

"Are you satisfied?”

He doesn’t realize how sharp it sounds until he says it. It’s meant as a serious question. He truly wants to know, in case he needs to prepare for any more discourse. So maybe it had been spoken in aggression. Yet it’s quite clear she doesn’t detect that.

Now her smile twists into a smirk, and the heat of frustration flares through him. "I would have been happier if it never happened in the first place.” 

He just glares.

“But I understand the circumstances that the village is facing now,” she amends. “We’ll work with what we have.”

He’s having trouble concentrating. He’s half convinced it’s just her chakra irritating him, but that’s not it. Chakra rarely does that to him. It’s not strong like Hashirama’s, not forceful. Not threatening and bitter like Madara’s. Her chakra is serene. Comfortable, even. 

The following silence is difficult, though something about it is mildly pleasant. But she doesn’t let it last.

“Are those your students?” she asks, eyes focused somewhere beyond him.

He glances over his shoulder to see the three of them, barely running, staring back at him, blatantly abandoning their task in an attempt to eavesdrop from a distance. How nosy.

He grunts. “Yes.”

“I had heard you were taking up students. And none were Senju. All from different clans. A very diverse group. I was impressed.”

He doesn’t even have to ask to know the connotation behind those mocking words. But they’re spoken without malice, so he supposes there’s no need to defend himself.

"I would like to meet them,” she says.

“No, you wouldn’t.”

She frowns a little, but it hardly does anything to ruin her unusually content mood. “Refusing my requests, as usual.”

She’s teasing him again. Not something most people would dare attempt. A strange feeling of ease runs through him, which he immediately casts out. “They don’t deserve any breaks from their training today. They’re too unruly for their own good.”

“As most kids are at that age. They should be enjoying themselves, not worrying about war. Like we were. It’s refreshing, if you ask me.”

That’s true, and part of the reason he was so determined to form his team in the first place. They’re in his peripheral now, still jogging more than running. He has half the mind to yell at them, but she cuts his concentration.

“But I’ll leave you to it,” she says. “They look like they could use some work.”

He actually smirks to that, and for once, doesn’t feel bothered to wipe it off of his face. The atmosphere is comforting, even though odd and rather unconventional.

“I just wanted to thank you,” she reiterates. Then the smirk is replaced by a thin line of his lips. The dreaded cordiality returns. “I know this has been difficult.”

He eyes her curiously. Genuine sincerity? Or sarcasm? He can’t tell. And he normally can.

“Whatever benefits the village,” he says, and leaves it at that.

It looks like she was expecting more. The momentary silence proves that much. Nevertheless, she nods, and without another word, turns the way she came.

As she’s departing, Tobirama hears the scurry of hasty footsteps coming his way.

“Who was that?” Koharu pries almost immediately.

“I didn’t know you had friends that were girls,” Hiruzen thinks out loud, and Koharu gives him pointed look.

Tobirama doesn’t look at them, though he’s entertained by their enthusiasm. The smirk returns once again.

“I didn’t tell you to stop running,” he says, as he watches her figure finally fade into the woods and back toward the village.

And the trio are back at it a moment later.

                                                   ~~~~~~~~ 

She addresses herself outside of the door, and isn’t surprised by Hashirama’s delighted reply of permission. 

He’s smiling when she enters his office. “_____-san!” It’s almost humorous how fast he pushes away his paperwork and gives her his full attention. “How can I help you?”

“Hashirama-dono, I came to ask if you would sign this.” She slides the scroll over to him and he takes it in his hands. It’s meant to finalize the last of their treaty, a simple scribal notice, just for the record. It seems redundant, and she feels bothersome having to come so often and seek out Senju affirmation. But for the first time, she arrives without anxieties. She had actually been happy to come retrieve his signature. 

“Ah, I see.” He reaches for a brush and dips it into ink, then offers her a light smile. “And please, I told you to do away with the formalities. There’s no need.”

She’s close to protesting, considering that he refuses to revoke her own honorifics, but she’s comforted by the cordiality. She thinks she might even be blushing.

“Also, I’m sure I’ve expressed this numerous times…” Probably too many times, Hashirama thinks. “But I’m grateful that this worked out. You really don’t know how these misunderstandings have troubled me. I’m sorry that it took so long—”

“Don’t worry about that,” she says, understanding that he’s dancing around the mention of his brother. “If anything, I’m the one who needs to apologize. Tobirama and I sorted out our differences, I think. Though I admit, he seemed flustered when I mentioned his deal with the Sarutobi and Shimura.”

Hashirama laughs nervously. “Now that I think about it, I was supposed to keep that a secret. Tobirama wasn’t very happy that I opened my mouth.”

She chuckles, and settles for a small smile when he returns the scroll to her.

“Well, regardless, I am happy that it worked out,” he says. “Thank you for your cooperation and patience.”

Out of instinct, she wonders if that’s sarcasm. But she forgets Hashirama isn’t his brother. “No, thank you,” she says as she bows. And she plans to promptly depart, not wanting to delay her other duties, or Hashirama’s, even if it doesn’t seem to be a particularly pressing matter for him.

“Oh, by the way,” he says just as she turns to walk out, “have you seen Madara today?”

That unsettles her in a way she didn’t expect. She hadn’t spoken to Madara since their little altercation the other night in the library. She had done a marvelous job of putting it out of her mind thus far. It was only due to the ambiguity of their relationship now that she found herself in this position, subtly avoiding him until she could organize her thoughts.

“No, I haven’t,” she says.

“Ah, I see… No worries, then.”

Hashirama is an awful lair. She can tell there’s something meaningful pinning his normally complacent demeanor. She probably shouldn’t pry, but she can’t help it. And Hashirama isn’t tenacious or insulting enough to leave her in the dark, hopefully.

“Is there something wrong?” she asks.

He scratches his head and frowns. “He didn’t come by this morning to talk about the Akimichi negotiations like he was supposed to. The last I spoke to him was… well, after the meeting with your clan heads, actually. One of his attendants came to report that he was busy, but it’s unlike him to not inform me beforehand. I was only wondering.”

“No, I haven’t seen him. But I plan to later.” Given this new predicament, it’s as good a time as ever to break her anxiety and go see him. Besides, that day was one of their routine library days. But is it even worth going if Madara claims to be busy? Surely, he would have sent an attendant, or at least a message, to her as well? “I’ll let you know.”

“I appreciate it,” he says. But when she turns again to leave, he chuckles sheepishly. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for a while?” He sounds so hopeful, so silly. “At least until Tobirama comes and tells me to get back to work.”

She would almost feel bad, if she hadn’t just imagined Tobirama storming in and laying into his brother. It somehow makes her want to laugh.

“I would, but I have to go. Excuse me.” She bows and he pouts, but the smile finds its way back to his face with ease. Although, it’s still marred by that anxiety she heard in his voice when he spoke of Madara. And as she walks out, she feels it too.

                                                       ~~~~~~~~ 

She tries hard to put down apprehension and replace it with determination, but she fears that Madara’s disposition is her fault. Maybe their conversation—argument—tried his patience more than he could handle. In which case, aside from her fears being confirmed, she had a bone to pick with him. She hadn’t instigated the aggression, that had been his doing. If anything, she has more probable cause to hold onto the offense. He was in the wrong as well.

Madara is already there when she arrives at the library, signing and reviewing documents. She hadn’t expected that. It’s obvious his demeanor is dampened, however. There’s a dispirited gloom clinging to him, making the silence even more unsettling.

Every stroke of his brush is punctuated by a small delay. She can see that he’s thinking, staring down at the paper for far too long until it’s annoyingly noticeable. Then, as though remembering reality, he resolves and continues his work. This cycle repeats until he stills completely, a tense brooding overtaking his features. It’s extensive even for a grim man like himself.

It has to be her fault. She thinks back to her earlier dedication to question his behavior, and not in a civil manner, either. But seeing him like this now, it’s impossible. She feels odd. She feels guilty.

“Madara?” she asks finally, unable to shake the apprehension of silence.

That firm voice momentarily pulls him from whatever dark thoughts occupied his mind, and he looks at her.

“Are you alright?”

An innocent, delicate question—so unlike what he’s used to. He hears that, and acknowledges how his demeanor must be affecting her.

“I’m fine.” He smooths more ink onto the scroll, with a rushed pace to compensate for his previous delays. But the strokes aren’t fluid, and he’s obviously still entranced with something beyond her knowledge.

“No,” she refutes. “You’re not.”

He looks at her, but says nothing. He could of course lie, convince her nothing was wrong and tell her to stop inquiring if she remained so persistent. Though he knows if she ever treated him with the same evasion, if she kept anything from him, he would be infuriated. 

He’s not particularly merciful, or sympathetic. But for her, he has to be.

Still, he looks away as the words pass his mouth. It doesn’t make the pain any less harrowing, or the reality any less crushing, but he’ll endure it. 

“Today was my brother’s birthday.”

It takes a moment to understand, but when she does, her heart hurts.

She was but a moment away from opening her mouth and addressing their dilemma the other night, the source which she assumed was causing his behavior. But this is worse. So much worse. 

Before she fully accepts her own resolve, her hand reaches out and folds over his, inviting, but cautious.

It’s out of sensitive and compassionate instinct, nothing more. But that sentiment changes drastically when he intertwines his fingers with hers.

It startles her, almost instantly rouses something precarious inside of her, but she remains silent. He seems lost in his own world again, staring at their joined hands, brows pulled together deep in thought. His thumb runs softly against her skin just once, making warmth run through her.

She definitely wants to say something, maybe just his name. Something to restore the innocent comfort she had initially suggested with the gesture. But it’s all gone a moment later.

He tears his eyes away and comes back to reality, slipping away from her and standing. “I have more work to do with the Uchiha. I promised some of my advisors I would be there in person to discuss certain matters.”

The sudden withdrawal flusters her, but she allows it, because he probably needs it. “I understand.”

He notes the despondency in her voice, the confusion etched into her expression as she tries to acclimate to what just occurred. Guilt rises in him, but he ignores it, gathers his scrolls, and walks out.

                                                       ~~~~~~~~

The next day, all she thinks about is Izuna. 

She fleetingly remembers him from warring times. She can’t even conjure a face to put with the name, but he’s somehow familiar to her through Madara.

War was war. They all killed. Uchiha killed Senju. Senju killed Uchiha. It was natural. But it still must be painful for Madara, day by day sitting across from the man who murdered his younger brother. It must be agony.

In the evening as she’s returning to her clan’s neighborhood, she finds Tobirama walking out of their conference hall. He looks surprised, as though he hadn’t expected to see her there.

“Is there something I can help you with?” she asks, not adversarial, but not as welcoming as she could be.

He notices, but chooses not to address it. “They said you weren’t here, so I had to speak to someone else. I came last night, too, but you were again absent.”

“I was with Madara.” As soon as she says it, she feels like she’s made a mistake. But she pretends to ignore it. “What’s going on?”

“One of your attendants will explain.”

He walks past her, ignoring her completely, but she doesn’t let him get away with that.

“What? Am I suddenly undeserving of your time?”

He’s irritated by the comment, and visibly annoyed, but he relents for the time being. “We’re gathering clan heads to discuss the academy.”

“What for?”

“It’s built, but stocking it and establishing a scholastic system is a whole other ordeal. We need instructors and supplies, among other things.”

“Oh. I see.”

He says nothing, and she stares uncomfortably. She can’t stop thinking about Izuna, and the warmth of Madara’s hand on hers.

Tobirama notices there’s something amiss, but can’t put his finger on it. "We’re trying for tomorrow,” he says as he turns to leave. “You’re an advisor. But my brother thinks you deserve to be there as much as any clan head, if you wish.”

Only your brother? she wonders. Or do you agree as well? She wants to tease him and ask, but she can’t find the good will to do so. Not then. The ease between them not so long ago seems compromised once again. 

She just nods. But as he’s walking away, she speaks her thoughts out loud, cursing herself as soon as she does.

“Will Madara be there?”

Tobirama tries to ignore the confusing, irritating thoughts suddenly put into his mind. “I suspect he will be.”

He glances over his shoulder and watches her closely for only a moment, watches her face twist into something he can’t decipher, then leaves.

                                                  ~~~~~~~~~

As she regards the clan heads at the table quarreling with one another, she comes to truly sympathize with the effort it takes to determine compromise between so many people.

It was no more than an unhinged mess of unproductive arguing. Hashirama leaves no stone unturned in an effort to meet an agreeable consensus, but there’s never a pause without one clan head stirring a controversial point that riles all the others all over again. 

Madara sits quietly for the most part. She watches the Uchiha closely, seeking any remnants of the despair she had seen before, but he’s too difficult to read. His brows knit every time there’s a disagreement at the table. Or maybe it’s because Tobirama is the one who leads the general discussion, and is usually on the receiving end of dissent. Madara probably enjoys that, she thinks.

Her clan heads are engaged in the discord as well. They’re normally quiet, and hesitant to contribute. Hence why she’s always left to negotiate. But now they’re arguing with the Shimura—likely solicited, given they only recently had to concede part of their borders for her clan’s sake—and doing a less than commendable job of defending themselves.

She cuts in a moment later, only to explain what her clan heads can’t, for lack of deliberation. They’re still one of the smaller clans in the village, if not the smallest. It’s only rational that the Shimura would insist her clan contribute the standard amount of supplies for the academy that all clans are being asked to, regardless of their size. But they just can’t afford it. Not right now. 

Then one of the Shimura is snapping at her. “We’re still recovering from the warring period. Not that you would understand that. But we’ll still scrape together what we can to provide, as is only right. There should be no excuses from your end.”

"You think I don’t understand?” she returns swiftly, albeit lacking the confidence she would have liked. She hadn’t expected to be directly slighted. Her cheeks burn with embarrassment. 

“Of course you don’t.” He says it so flippantly, like it’s natural, expected.

Frustration runs through her, but Madara opens his mouth before she can.

“Why do you say that?”

The Shimura is instantly wary. The lines of his elderly, hard face tighten under Madara’s gaze. “I only meant to say that it’s imprudent that anyone but a leader speak for their clan.”

"Tobirama isn’t the leader of the Senju,” Madara returns. “He is an advisor. But he facilitated this, and you came to listen.” Everything about him demands authority. The way he sits, the way he crosses his arms. She’s so distracted that she doesn’t even look for Tobirama to gauge his reaction.

The Shimura is disturbed, on the verge of an anxious sweat that he tries hard to withhold. “That isn’t the same—”

“Because she’s a woman,” Madara finishes for him.

She’s startled. That isn’t like Madara. And he doesn’t even understand the impulse himself. 

There are men at that very table who retain traditional perspectives when it comes to a kunoichi’s place in war, Madara knows that. His father had been one of those men. And he suspects that the same mindset has been ingrained in him over the years. For that reason, he knows that if she were any other woman, he would likely treat her with the same cynicism. But he can’t. It’s her. It’s different. He can’t explain why, but it is.

The Shimura retracts his statement. Madara has half the mind to make him apologize directly, but he fights to calm the combative passion within him. The Uchiha can’t even look at her for the remainder of the discussion.

And she’s anxious. Proud, shocked, slightly humiliated to have left her defense to someone else—though she supposes that’s hardly a reason to complain when it’s the leader of the Uchiha—but anxious, nonetheless.

Tobirama watches both of them, carefully and slightly distraught. The tie between them is something he can’t place, and something he’s always refused to acknowledge. But now it’s clear as day. 

                                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~

She goes to Madara once it’s over, unable to tolerate the fact that he won’t even look at her.

It’s only after the other attendees have dispersed that she chooses to approach him. Maybe it’s to preserve whatever sense of private relations they once had, which is not likely to persist now with the way he spoke for her. 

“Madara,” she calls to him outside of the building. He turns and examines her under a dark mane of hair. “Are you alright?”

That’s stupid of her to ask, she knows. But she truly wants to know. His brief moment of vulnerability that day in the library shook her. Their relationship doesn’t feel the same, like the ability to relax around him is sundered.

“I’m fine,” he says. And truthfully, he is. Besides still pondering the way he came to her defense, of course. He can’t wrap his head around the sentiment behind his interjection. It was almost shameful, and uncharacteristic. But looking at her now, a refreshing sight after feeling like he hadn’t seen her in days, it seems like no question why he did what he did.

“And you?” he asks. “You seem out of sorts.”

She almost wants to laugh. The smooth normality of his voice is a relief, but she’s still lacking the ease that was once between them. There’s still so much left unsaid. From the time they argued, to his grief over Izuna. But she supposes it can be overlooked, for now.

"It’s been a long day,” is all she says.

He hums in agreement, and they walk in tandem without much thought.

He had meant to return to his home for the day, but he’s comfortable. He hardly walks through the village these days unless Hashirama drags him out. But with her at his side, it’s different. He can enjoy it in full.

They tour the streets, and Madara explains Hashirama’s current initiatives for the village. New buildings. New housing. New shops. Frivolous work, mostly. Especially when he’s supposed to be focusing on the academy, which is why Hashirama has chosen to keep his side-projects a secret from his brother, Madara says. The pair both find an odd humor in that. 

It’s surreal being with him like this, she thinks. Someone once so feared, still feared, by many, strolling at her side and giving her warm looks rarely offered to anyone else. It’s even more odd that they’ve seemingly washed away any tension that was so stifling just days before. She’s relieved for it, but somewhat uncertain.

They’re at the outskirts of the village now, at a path that leads to the surrounding lush, green woods. They chose an ideal region to build the village, she always thought. Most clans had battled through the shifty terrain of dense forests for decades now, yet finding herself landlocked around such a setting did not discomfort her or solicit turbulent memories of war. It was her home now. It was a place she would come to love, she knows.

The fresh wind that runs through the trees is only masked by the bakery settled near the edge of the village, sweet spices and warm dough making her smile. The rich smell of pastries leaves her nose the farther they venture from the village, and she’s about to suggest that they turn back, but something is nagging at her, a nuisance that her mind won’t let die. It’s a thought that needs to be voiced, even at the cost of shattering their serenity.

He’s paying no attention to her curbed demeanor, however. He’s glancing around inspecting the forest and the sky, grey clouds creeping over the faint sun to forebode rain.

“You stood up for me,” she says, breaking his lofty reflections.

He remains silent. She doesn’t know whether to take that as acknowledgement, or skepticism, so she continues.

“Thank you. But you didn’t have to, Madara.“

Finally, he glances at her, examines her like he’s searching for something.

"Do you really think that the Shimura would have taken you seriously had you defended yourself? Besides, if I hadn’t, I suspect Hashirama would have. And he would have meandered around the point, trying to be civil. You have to be concise with those type of men.”

Men like me, Madara thinks. Cold, stubborn, and as he had come to accept, traditional. She is a woman. And her presence among the elites in the village was, admittedly, peculiar at times.

What makes him any different from the Shimura man that snapped at her, besides the decency to keep his thoughts to himself? Was it any less insulting if he inwardly harbored the same bias? It confused him. Frustrated him, even. 

“You needed someone to defend you,” he speaks without thinking.

They had trekked past the brink of the village, even past the dense line of trees. Now, they stand in a large meadow that Madara has never seen before. He’s too busy examining the area to realize that she’s no longer at his side.

He looks back at her. She had paused a few paces behind him, an affronted frown on her face.

“Meaning what? That I couldn’t have defended myself?”

He should feel guilty about the comment. That low tone of hers surprises him, but he enjoys the threatening look in her eyes. It’s amusing. So he really should feel guiltier about wanting to keep agitating her.

“That is not what I meant,” he says. “Not exactly.”

“Not exactly?”

He walks around to admire the rich greenery surrounding them, and she trails after him, putting significant distance between them in some internalized sanction that he doesn’t seem to notice, or mind.

"It’s as I said,” he continues. “He wouldn’t have taken you seriously.”

It’s obvious by his relaxed tone that he’s purposely provoking her now, she knows that, but the sting of insult is all the same.

“Why?” she asks. “Because I’m a woman?” 

She’s mocking him, he can tell. He shrugs. “He doesn’t seem to think women should partake in diplomatic matters.” He picks a flower from the nearest patch, pretends to admire it. “Likely doesn’t think women had any place in war, either.”

She comes to stop at his side. “And what do you think?” she asks, fighting a smirk, but glowering up at him all the same. “Should I be partaking in diplomatic matters? Did I have a right to fight in war?”

“A right, certainly. But the important question is whether or not you were even useful to the cause.” He’s still not looking at her. He hopes she can’t hear the goading humor in his voice. “Unfortunately, I didn’t have the chance to see firsthand. I was too busy fighting the men of your clan.”

She scowls, though it’s harmless, just as he expected. He doesn’t even bother hiding his playful smile anymore.

“Is that really what you think?” she asks.

“What if it is?”

When he looks back she’s only a step away from him, her lips a thin line, betrayed by the smirk she tries so hard to suppress. He almost doesn’t spot the kunai until he sees the shimmer of something metallic up her sleeve. He scoffs.

“What, did I upset you that much?”

She doesn’t say anything. Just keeps looking at him with puckish but stern eyes. 

It makes him want to laugh. “Where do you even keep a kunai hidden in that dress?”

“I’m always prepared.” Yet the way his eyes wander over her body makes her skin prickle, maybe even enough to regret what she had started.

"Apparently so,” he murmurs.

Her eyes sharpen with caution. “No sharingan.”

“I wouldn’t waste that on you, no need to worry.” 

She scoffs, letting the humor run freely now. Still, he can practically feel her growing apprehension. 

“I’m not fighting you,” he tells her flatly, moving his attention from her back to the bushes and flowers. 

“And why not?”

“There’s no point.”

“So you do think less of me because of what I am. And here I thought you were so chivalrous, defending me back there.”

He almost rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to fight you because I don’t want to fight you. I don’t have to. I have nothing to prove. However, if it’s going to repair your damaged pride—”

He hears the whisk of the kunai’s blade slice through the air as she thrusts and aims for him. He sees it before it hits its mark. He almost wants to laugh at how ridiculously slow the movement appears, even without sharingan.

To her, the next second is a whirlwind of motion. He’s kneeling over her, she’s flat on the ground, trapped beneath him, wrists pinned underneath his strong grip. He dangles her stolen kunai above her head, the tip pointing right down between her eyes. She struggles for less than a second and then stills, passive and vigilant, accepting her defeat.

Nerves of steel. He likes it, likes the way she looks like this. Underneath him, at his mercy, so contradicted by the fire in her eyes.

He doesn’t even realize he’s activated his sharingan until the pulse in her wrists quickens beneath his fingers, and she snaps her eyes closed.

Maybe he did it just to capture the triumphant memory. Or maybe it had been a completely subconscious decision. Eager thoughts stir within him, but he returns to reality a second later and shuts his eyes, casting away the visual jutsu.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s partially genuine, partially a formality. It was meant to be a recreational endeavor, he imagines. Something fun to pass the time, to soothe her ego. Something innocent. But he’s not capable of that. Not with her. He would blame her for the naivety, but she had no idea of knowing what dangerous urges her game would yield.

She’s completely silent besides subdued, taut breaths. He’s about to move off of her and help her to her feet, when she turns him over with a speed and strength he would have never anticipated.

She’s on top of him now, pins him by straddling his waist, with the kunai pressed so brazenly against his throat that he would strangle her if she were anyone else.

“I said no sharingan.”

He can’t tell if she’s infuriated, enthused, or both. If he had to guess, he would say infuriated. He can see it in her eyes. Those fiery, gleaming eyes.

“So you did.”

He’s not responding in the way she had hoped. He lies beneath her, unaffected, unshaken. She’s nearly out of breath just from adrenaline alone, but his chest is rising and falling in calm, fluid motions.

She wants to move away once she realizes how wrong it is. So very, unforgivingly wrong. Attacking the head of the Uchiha? How foolhardy she must look. Yet, her thoughts drift into something instinctive. She wonders what she could have accomplished in this position during the warring period. How easy it would have been to kill him like this. It should be a triumph to have bested him. But that’s ridiculous. She wouldn’t be doing this if he hadn’t permitted it. If he wanted, she would still be the one on the ground, still pinned underneath him, at his mercy. She knows that well enough. 

Then his hands slide up her thighs, slow and meaningful. She stiffens. She catches her balance and plants a palm on his hard chest. He thoroughly enjoys the way her mouth falls open in an unspoken protest.

He slowly pushes off the ground to sit up, legs bending as he brings them up toward his chest, caging her between his strong thighs and his body. He’s much too close, face mere inches away from hers. In his eyes she recognizes a familiar, dark humor, suggesting that though it was an impromptu decision, he had every intention of testing her composure like this at some point.

“Madara—” She had hoped to sound serious, like she was giving warning. But she only sounds lost and apprehensive. Her grip on the kunai falters, and the weapon slowly inches away from his neck.

His expression doesn’t change. There’s nothing to suggest he’s anywhere near as flustered as she is. The palm still pressed flat against his chest confirms that even his heart rate is barely a fraction above normal. The pace only hastens when she accidentally shifts against him and presses down against his lap. He digs his fingers into her side at the sensation, and she can’t handle it any longer.

She manages to climb off of him, flustered, sweat dampening her clothes, and barely able to think past the momentary hysteria.

He lets her go. Mostly because he knows holding her there would have welcomed a vehement altercation that he had no intention of stirring. He knows better than to test her more than he already has. He simply remains where he is and watches her hastily rise to her feet.

“I have to go. I have to speak with Hashirama about the negotiations. About the treaty.” The garbled words pose an even greater threat to her shame. But she can’t look back at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He commends her for composure, but he catches a glimpse of those apprehensive eyes just a moment later, just before she hurries off back toward the village.

He smirks.

[godaime-obito]

ch 6 of 7 is out! Izuna is up to something, bad times are had. available on ao3 and under the cut

Whatever Hyuuga left the sent behind weren’t in the area anymore, but the fact that they had been there couldn’t be ignored. Madara called his father. He and Izuna and however many other Uchiha came out, ready to confront the Hyuuga as soon as possible. Tobirama couldn’t say what the atmosphere of such a gathering was like as Madara insisted he stay away from it all. He doesn’t want to risk him meeting his father or that many ghouls in general.

Sitting on his dorm bed going over legal documents, Tobirama becomes more and more frustrated. The concern is understandable, but he can’t take this state of not knowing. As long as he doesn’t go near Madara’s room a bit of exploring campus can’t hurt. He just needs to see if he can find out what they’re doing.

“Are this many people really necessary?” Madara asks.

“I told you that if they stepped an inch out of line we’d gut them,” Tajima replies, “and we’re about to gut them thoroughly.”

“If anyone causes trouble on campus it could mess up my semester,” he complains, “I want to get out of here in May.”

“So eager to get away from the humans,” he says, “I thought you were enjoying slumming it. Don’t you have a boyfriend? You’re not planning to keep hanging around him after you graduate, are you?”

“Well, he is my boyfriend,” Madara says tersely.

“He is a human.”

“I know,” he sighs, “can we talk about this after the Hyuuga are taken care of.”

“Of course, but don’t think I’ll forget,” he chides.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Madara grumbles. He slips out of his own dorm room, leaving it to his father and his men. Not far from the door Izuna appears.

“Nii-san,” he says, “Not having fun with father?”

“He took time out of his near single-minded plotting to annihilate the Hyuuga to reprimand me for my taste in men,” he deadpans.

“Ah,” Izuna says, suspiciously brightly, “Don’t worry about that. I know how much you like Tobirama and I have a plan.”

“A plan?” he says skeptically.

“I’m keeping it a surprise for now,” he grins, “Don’t look at me like that. Don’t you trust your little brother? I’m trying to help you.”

“Fine,” Madara says harshly, “but don’t think I’ll let it pass if you do anything stupid.”

“Oh, ye of little faith; It’ll be great,” Izuna asserts and then brushes past him to meet the others in his dorm. He has a bad feeling about this.

Tobirama has a bad feeling about this. About everything. Campus and the nearby parts of the city are eerily quiet. He’s been searching for anyone out of place, Izuna or another Uchiha, for a couple of hours now and it’s starting to get dark. At first everything was normal, with the same number of students milling about as usual, but at some point, the area emptied out. Where is everyone?

He went out to see if he could discover anything about what’s happening despite Madara’s warnings and he’s found nothing. Unless the uneasy feeling something awful is happening nearby or will be happening soon. Tobirama isn’t a reckless fool, he knows when to cut his losses before curiosity kills that cat. He turns around and walks hastily toward is dorm, doing his best not to be overly obvious about his discomfort. No one is around to see, yet it feels like running back would summon any nearby trouble to him.

The sound of his hurried footsteps on the pavement is his only companion back to his dorm. Tobirama slips into the building with a sigh of relief, finally slowing to a more normal walking pace on his way to his room. Madara better let him know what happened first thing tomorrow.

When he reaches his door, he’s struck with his earlier feeling of unease, only twice as strong. His door is cracked slightly opened. He locked that door when he left. Tobirama always closes and locks his door. He takes a deep breath and reasons with himself. He does have a roommate, even if he’s normally with his girlfriend and rarely comes to their dorm. He could have stopped by for some reason and not shut the door when he left.

Tobirama swings the door open and steps into the darken room. He flips on the light.

“Fuck,” he gasps, stepping back. “What are you doing here? How did you get the door open?” he demands.

“The locks in these dorms are cheap,” Izuna says, “They’re shockingly easy to break.”

“You broke my lock,” he fumes, “and that doesn’t explain why you broke my lock and sat in the dark in my dorm.”

“It’s about Madara,” he admits.

“Madara?” Tobirama’s starting to get worried. “Is he okay?”

“He is now, but if something isn’t done before the fighting is over father may change that,” Izuna says. “It’s looking like they’re going to end up fighting. Over you. I don’t think Madara’s experienced enough to take on father alone,” he explains tersely.

Madara definitely didn’t mention that was going to happen to him or even that it was a possibility. He can’t let him get into a losing fight with his own father. “What do you want me to do? Why did you come to tell me this?”

“If you come with me I know how we can stop them before it gets that far,” he offers.

He doesn’t like this, but Izuna seems like he’s being honest and if there’s any chance that its true Tobirama must do something. “Okay,” he reluctantly agrees.

Getting happy meal here was easier than he thought it would be. Izuna almost feels bad for taking advantage of how much he actually cares about Madara, but technically nothing he said was a lie. There’s only a few steps left in the plan, although the remaining steps are, of course, the hardest.

“Hikaku,” he calls over as he leads Tobirama into the safe-house. “Did you bring in the guest I asked you to?”

“Yes,” he answers, “He’s waiting in the backroom just like you asked. There’s a cot for your guest ready as well.”

“Wonderful,” Izuna cheers, “you know what to do.”

Hikaku nods and retreats into the backroom. There’s muffled groaning and the clinking of glass coming from it. Quiet enough he doubts human ears could really pick up on it.

“So, Tobirama, are you ready? Step into the back with me and I’ll take care of everything,” he instructs.

“I came this far. I might as well go in now. I doubt you’d let me leave if I tried as strange as you’re being,” he observes.

“Wow! You really are smart,” he remarks, too sharp smile fixed into place again. “Let’s go then!”

There’s a shirtless man strapped down to a metal table in the center of the room. He’s gagged, but awake, staring out with white Hyuuga eyes. His left leg is severed below the knee, and one of his hands is gone.

“Oh god,” Tobirama gasps and steps back toward the door.

Before he can get anywhere Izuna grabs him. Hikaku steps away from a table full of medical supplies set to the side of the Hyuuga and an empty cot and covers his mouth with a rag. He struggles in Izuna’s hold and tries to move away from the hand, but he makes no headway against their ghoul strength.

“Calm down. When we wake up you’ll be in better health then you’ve ever been,” Izuna says, not quite managing to sound reassuring. He tosses Tobirama over his shoulder and carries him to the empty cot when he finally loses consciousness. “I hope you’ve been brushing up on your medic skills and your knowledge of human and ghoul anatomy Hikaku,” he says, “because we’re breaking new ground here.”

“I have, but this could easily go very wrong,” he worries, “I’ve never heard of a kakuhou being transplanted into a human and I’m only half sure I’ve figured out where to put it.”

“Don’t look so grim! That’s part of the fun,” Izuna exclaims, stripping off Tobirama’s shirt. “If we manage this we get to be the first! We get to be mad scientists for a day.”

“That’s not nearly as appealing to me as it is to you,” Hikaku complains, but picks up a scalpel and walks over to the captives anyway.

[hellospunkiebrewster]

Flight Risk - Part I

Author’s note: Here it is, part one of this angsty emotional journey. I hope I’ve done it justice. Some NSFW in this chapter, so please, be gentle with me. The prologue is here.

The characters and portions of the dialogue from one of the scenes belongs to Pixelberry. I’m just borrowing it for fun. If you call this fun.

Summary: Liam finally has all the freedom he’s dreamed of, but still he feels so chained to his home.

Tags: @madaraism, @theroyalweisme, @viktoriapetit, @hopefulmoonobject, @captain-kingliamsqueen, @syltti78, @pbchoicesobsessed, @captainkingliam, @queencatherynerhys, @jamielea81, @bobasheebaby, @ranishajay, @blackcatkita, @jlouise88

It was two hours into the eight hour flight and he hadn’t spoken since take off. His hand rubs up and down Riley’s thigh absentmindedly as she nuzzles into his neck, gratefully breathing in his scent, something she had not been entirely prepared to say goodbye to. She wants so desperately to say something, but isn’t sure what would make this better for him. He continues to stare down the aisle, a deep pain in his heart.

Cordonia. It was his home and his duty. Liam was brokenhearted at the notion that his home would never welcome her. He tried to reason his way out of it over and over. It was because they didn’t know her but nothing changed when they did. It was because she was a foreigner unaccustomed to their traditions and again nothing changed when she embraced them. He made this realization the moment they stepped back on Cordonian soil, she wouldn’t ever be welcome there and he was done with allowing someone else dictate his happiness. It was in that moment that he knew he couldn’t ask her to endure any more, she had already sacrificed enough. Now was his turn.

She’d been dragged through the mud, over and over, and still she stood with him. Always making sure he was happy, that he was coping. She’d left everything behind for him because of that minute spark of electricity she felt with him. He knew he wanted nothing more than to be with her, but even as a king he was so powerless to change the way she would be treated, not by the public but by his peers. It hurt so much to see her rejected like that, relegated to alleys and shadows, when she deserved to be on a pedestal.

The plane shifts ever so slightly in trajectory. He notices and tenses, surely they wouldn’t call for the flight to be diverted over this. They knew where he would be headed. He thought back to making the arrangements, perhaps they shouldn’t have been so impatient to get to their destination. The should’ve hopped around, so they’d never know when to expect them in New York City. They could’ve flown to Amsterdam, taken a ferry to Newcastle, and continued from there. That would give them time and leave more of a trail. At least this way he knows no one else can arrive before them, he supposed. He only hoped that they had enough of a head start, that perhaps they’d be halfway over the Atlantic before they were noticed missing. Nothing more than some light turbulence, the plane continued on.

“It’s okay, we’re going to be okay. We’re together.” He feels her chest reverberate against his side as she reassures him. He nods to himself remembering the days before, when they were in New York.

--

“I seriously can’t believe you. A private ferry, to the Statue of Liberty, at this time of night?”

“Being a king has its benefits.” He felt a pang in his chest as soon as the words left his lips. These lavish outings were fine, but he hated how they had to be in the shadows, to the side. She deserved more than that. The only thing he truly wanted, he could never have as king.

He smiles at her and wraps his arms around her from behind as she leans against the railing, facing Lady Liberty. When the ferry lands at the dock, he leads her to the base of the statue.

“She really is something, isn’t she?”

“She is.” The words are barely there, a ghost on his lips. They’re surrounded by stillness and the quiet hum of late night New York behind them, staring up at her in reverence.

“Riley, do you remember the Coronation?”

“How could I forget?” She turns to him, her mouth downturned in a frown, tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

“I was going to propose to you that night, in front of the entire court. And not doing so will remain the biggest regret of my entire life.” The breeze rustles her hair and he sweeps a stray lock of it from her face.

“You couldn’t-”

“Fate’s been cruel to us. It would’ve been so poetic if you could’ve come out on the other side of this conspiracy here in New York, where we met. I’d have proposed right here and we’d come full circle.”

The breeze picks up around them, whipping her dress about, her hair stinging her face, her tears barely maintaining their grip at the corners of her eyes. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring, a vintage gold band set with three deep blue sapphires.

“This was my mother’s and since I saw you in Cordonia, at the masquerade ball, I knew I’d be giving it to you one day.”

“Liam, I can’t, not when-”

“Please.” He was barely holding on now. His voice cracks on his next words, “If nothing else, as a reminder of what we had, what I will always have for you. You’ve opened my eyes to what the world can be, it’s been an honor to witness your strength and be the object of your love. You give me courage, you make me better, I only wish I could give you everything you wanted, that I could be everything you wanted.”

She watches as he slips the ring on her finger and his heart breaks. He wishes it could mean something more. He pulls her to him, tears in his eyes, and he kisses her, tender and sad.

“You know, she’d have loved you, my mother.”

“Perhaps in another life, in another world.” She says quietly as they break apart. Her eyes glisten in the dark and she sniffled softly. His eyes were filled with longing, hurt, and sadness. He turned to face the Statue of Liberty, his eyes running up to the crown.

“I thought it would be nice to spend our last night in New York together, just us, I’ve arranged for us to go to the top. That is, if you’re up for it.” He took in her features, set in sadness. She nodded, a wistful smile pulling at her lips.

“There’s nothing I’d love more.”

Several minutes of climbing later, they arrive, a bit breathless. Liam pulls her into a kiss before taking in the view.

“Wow. I have never seen New York like this before. Breathtaking.”

“It really is,” she responds, still catching her breath, looking over the water to the skyline. Her cheeks are rosy with emotion and her eyes threaten to spill again. This was one of many lasts for her, for them.

“I’m glad I get to share this with you. I’m not sure I’ve ever truly understood before, this is why they call it the City of Dreams. America has always been a place that people come to achieve their dreams, New York City in particular. I had no idea how true that would be…” he trails off, thoughts warring behind his eyes, his brow knotted and untangled.

“You know… you carry a piece of that New York hope with you everywhere, it’s what makes you so special.”

“I do?” Her voice caught in her throat as emotion struggled against her need for for him.

“You help people achieve their dreams. Helping Drake find Savannah, helping Hana stand up to her father, helping me realize that I deserve more than a queen, I deserve a partner, a wife.”

“I think you’re giving me way too much credit, I didn’t do any of that.”

“And still, with all we’ve put you through, with all I’ve put you through, you stay humble.”

Riley looks down at her hands, her fingers spinning his mother’s ring around her finger. “You’re right about New York, it’s probably one of the most inspirational places in the country.”

“I’d go so far as to say the world.” He places his fingers under her chin, bringing her face up to look at him. His eyes roam her face, taking all of her in, her lips, her nose, her cheeks, before settling on her eyes.

“Lady Liberty exudes that New York possibility, the notion that it doesn’t matter who you are, you’re welcome here. That even when things are bad, they can get better.” He gazes over the water for a moment before turning back to her.

“There’s one more thing I wanted to say tonight. You’ll always have a home in Cordonia and I’ll never let anyone or anything threaten that ever again.” He was holding on to her for dear life. He couldn’t bear to see her go even though he knew she would be leaving. A tiny inkling of a thought, of hope, worms its way into his mind. He struggles to see what was so great about being king if it meant saying goodbye like this, to someone he loved with every tiny particle of himself. Surely, he could make them see reason, break off the engagement, live happily with her for a time as an unmarried king, and then, perhaps then, once the flurry of excitement died down, they could be happy. Together. He looks at her, reverence in his gaze. He’s resolved to do something about it, the moment they step off the train in Cordonia.

“I have never wanted anything more than you.” He kisses her and feels goosebumps rise on her skin under his touch. She sighs into the kiss and her hands find his chest to steady herself. He pulls her lower lip between his teeth, sucking lightly. She stumbles backwards, her back finding the glass. He deepens the kiss, only coming up for air when she breaks away.

“Liam, I want you.” Her voice is quiet and she fights to keep her tears and emotion at bay. She wants to remember him like this, to remember the bliss of being with him, just him. One of his hands finds the cool glass and he braces himself, running his fingertips over her jaw and down her neck to her chest. She pushes his jacket from his shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor behind him. Riley’s hands fumble at his buttons before slipping inside his shirt and feeling his chest and stomach. His hands move to the fastenings at the top of her dress, faltering when her fingers dip just inside his waistband. He pulls one shoulder down, exposing one of her breasts before he takes it in his mouth, flicking her nipple with his tongue roughly. His hand slips your her other shoulder from her dress.

He stands back up to kiss Riley on the lips once more, pressing her bare back to the glass and she shivers. His hand flicks the elastic of her underwear before pulling it to the side, drawing circles, slipping in between.

“Liam…”

“I love it when you say my name like that,” he breathes against her lips before catching her in another kiss.

Her hands find his belt, working furiously to unbuckle it before undoing his pants. Her hand slides in, feeling him firm against her, and she frees him. One of his hands grips her thigh as she hooks her leg around his hip and guides him to her. He starts slow, relishing how she feels around him, enjoying every little sound she makes.

He thrusts into her, each time bringing a wave of electricity that courses through her body, until they’re both panting and shaking, their legs weak.

--

He turns his attention to her, turning to kiss the top of her head. His fingertips slightly tingle from running circles on the fabric of her jeans and they graze up her thigh and in. He could feel her shift ever so slightly at his teasing touch. Her hand slips under his shirt, her fingertips riding along the waistband of his pants, before dipping in just slightly, barely an inch.

“Liam…” her voice comes out in a airy whisper, against his chest. His fingers swirl closer to her center and upon feeling the warmth she is radiating, even through her clothes, he feels the familiar tightening in the fabric of his pants.

Riley shifts and kisses him on his cheek. Her lips move to his ear and she speaks in a breathy murmur, “You’ve been quiet, care to join me?” Her eyes flit to the vacant lavatory sign and back to his, a sly smile rising to her eyes. Her bottom lip rakes against her teeth. She slips from his side, peeking back at him as she saunters down the aisle.

Liam closes his eyes for a moment, drinking in this tiny moment of bliss and centering himself around it. They were finally able to be together, on their terms, in a way. This isn’t how he would’ve planned it, but they were free, for the moment, of the gossip and looks. He didn’t want to think of what awaited them when they landed, he wanted to think of now.

He looks up and down the plane before placing two light knocks at the door her saw her disappear into. He hears the door slowly and quietly click open and slips in with her. There’s barely enough room for them to stand together so she props herself on the ledge of the sink, pulling him into a hungry kiss.

“I like this brash impulsiveness, Liam. I know you’re worried, but I’ve never wanted to jump you more.” Her eyes flash before darting downwards.

“What’s back there doesn’t matter anymore, all that matters is us, you.” His insides were being chewed up by his anxiety, even with her here, in front of him like this. Her hands at the waist of his pants, her eyes hungry, her lips devouring every part of him. He closes his eyes as he feels her fingers on his zipper.

--

“Ugh, LaGuardia is the worst,” Riley mumbles from the back seat of their cab. “Always under construction, always the worst traffic.” She glances over at Liam who looks out the side window anxiously, scanning the people lining the sidewalk, waiting for their loved ones or their Dryves. The moment they landed Riley had used a payphone to track down some old friends and locate a vacant apartment in Chinatown, it was small and a friend who was going to be out of town on business was willing to sublet it to them for the next few months while they got on their feet and figured out what exactly that would look like.

--

Each morning, Liam went for a walk to get his paper and coffee. He rose early, grabbing a small coffee and the New York Times from a street vendor. It wasn’t long before the man outside their building knew him by name. His walk took him to a new spot, a new bench, each morning as he explored the city he was now forced to call his home.

He perused the newspaper once he’d settled on an appropriate bench for the morning, immediately flipping to the International News section. His eyes would frantically search the page for any tiny mention of his homeland. It had been nearly a week before he saw anything: Royal Wedding Mysteriously Postponed Indefinitely. That was it, no mention for the next couple of days. His routine continued, his search for the perfect spot in New York City, while he and Riley figured out life and themselves, what they looked like together without the throne. It was something they had never contemplated. He began to tutor a couple kids in their building, in history and civics.

Over time, he developed favorite spots for different moods but Battery Park quickly became one of his favorite places in the world, rivaled only by the top of the statue he had such a clear view of from his usual spot on his usual bench. Like the days before, he brought his coffee and a newspaper to read in the crisp early morning air. The city had only begun to wake up. Today, his paper sits untouched on the bench beside him as he contemplates his view.

...Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me...

The words roll around in his mind, hitting all too close to his heart. The monument he so loved, was calling out to him in the words inscribed at her base. He was finally breathing free. He had all the freedom he dreamed of right now, but his heart still ached for his home. He struggles against himself, against the sheer urgency to return home, to fix what he’d done. His brother was never meant to be King of Cordonia and rightfully stepped down, using the correct channels. Here he was, the less impulsive one, the less brazen one, and he had stolen away, like a thief in the night. More than anything, he wanted to make it right, to make sure his people and country weren’t suffering because of his actions.

He stood from his bench after finishing his coffee, never once glancing at his paper, never one flipping to the International News section, never once reading the headline: Public Calls for Statement from their Absent King after Postponement of his Nuptials.

--

[the-formerone]

how the music can free her whenever it starts (and it’s magic) Pairing: InoSaku Word Count: 3133 Summary: Yule Ball doesn't go the way Sakura expects it to.

Sakura doesn't have a date to Yule Ball. And it's fine. At least, that's what she keeps telling everyone.

Between keeping Naruto alive during the Triwizard Tournament to making sure Sasuke doesn't actually set that stunning Haku person from Beauxbatons on fire for looking at Naruto, she's kind of had a lot to deal with.

She doesn't even have a dress, not really. She has some nice things that she could probably transfigure into a gown of some sort, but that would take too much work, and brain power that Sakura is sorely lacking at the moment. She's exhausted.

The tournament didn't mean that classes had just suddenly stopped, despite the way that Naruto was behaving. And while Sakura was eternally grateful for the fact that Professor Senju's healing classes had helped Sakura stabilize Naruto after the situation with the kitsune in the Forest of Death (and fucking Sasuke when his stasis charm winked out when he was in the Lake and Naruto dragged him from the grindylows grasp, sobbing because he thought Sasuke was dead. Honestly, they needed more healers on staff. Sakura was still a student, and even though she won fifty house points to Ravenclaw for snatching Sasuke out of the jaws of death, she really wasn't qualified), Professor Senju's homework load was legendary for its difficulty.

So when Sakura hasn't been busy narrowly avoiding her bullies or saving the lives of her best (read: idiot) friends, she's been making sure she's passing her classes with top marks so that when she applies to be a Hit Witch with a specialization in combat healing, she'll get the damn job.

Which means she hasn't had time to find a date for Yule Ball. Which makes her a loser.

ecause Naruto is the Hogwarts Champion. Or, he's one of them. Hinata's name was the one that was pulled out of the Goblet first, and she was doing her level best all things considered. Nobody thought she had it in her to even put her name in for consideration. But when she stood up before her name was called, the hairs on the back of Sakura's neck had stood up. The Hyūga were a long line of oracles, and it was clear that Hinata had something to prove to her pureblood family.

And she had a date to Yule Ball. Unlike Sakura.

Even Naruto and Sasuke managed to get dates, despite the absolute mortification that came with realizing that they were each other's 'precious people' as per the second task's parameters. And yeah, Sasuke was going with Karin because he told her he would when the damn tournament began, and maybe Naruto was going with Sai's weird ass because he was just bold enough to ask Naruto immediately after saying something rude about the size of his dick.

Sakura was left in the dust. She didn't even know if she wanted to go. She kind of just - She hadn't really thought about it. And now it's the night of the Yule Ball, and she's in the library trying to start a research paper on speculative theories about how the tenketsu system came to be so tightly bound to the respiratory system in certain pureblood families, giving rise to the corvustongued, fire breathing Uchiha.

Honestly, it was a miracle Senju even let Sakura use the topic considering Sasuke was one of her closest friends. It had given her an in with the Uchiha; Mikoto was a breathlessly stunning woman who led the family quietly behind her husband's performative iron fist. And she made really, really good scones. And she liked Sakura, which meant Sakura could have access to the family history tomes of the Uchiha, all the way back to Uchiha Madara, himself.

She's just about to scribble down something along the lines of the contract Madara made with the crows, a magical contract which literally altered the DNA of his descendants thereafter, when a slim wand taps on the parchment beneath her quill.

Sakura's eyes snap up. It isn't a threatening gesture, but it wasn't a benign one either. You didn't just put your wand in someone's face like that unless you wanted a fight. Sakura's own wand is tucked into her sleeve, but the offending instrument on her paper could fire off six curses before she could even get her own wand in her hand.

She could always throw a punch. That tended to throw most off their guard. Sakura was muggleborn, and it was an advantage when it came to dueling. She had knocked more blood purists on their asses with her fists than with her wand in DADA. Kakashi always gave her full marks for her 'inventive fighting style'. He'd made her his TA, too, insisting that modern witches and wizards needed to be able to fight wandless and without magic if they wanted to survive the coming war. The war that no one was really supposed to be talking about.

Sakura's got what Senju calls a 'natural aptitude' for wandless magic. Especially when she fights with her fists. Sakura discovered this entirely by accident the summer before the school year started, when Naruto had survived a seventh attempted kidnapping when he was visiting Sakura. She had been backed into a corner by Akatsuki members, Naruto bleeding just behind her, so she did the only thing her mind could tell her to do.

She punched the ground.

Her magic sung a strange song to her, thrumming in her fingers, making a crater so large that Ministry officials were still erasing muggle memories of it afterward. That and her incredible intelligence was why Senju had let her into her healing classes.

And now, Sakura can feel her magic twitch again inside of her at the threat. But when she closes the fingers on her left hand into a fist, she finds that she can't follow through.

Yamanaka Ino is looking down at her, looking as unfairly stunning as she always does.

After that first incident several months ago, Sakura's been studying with Ino. Her marks in Divination have gone up, and Ino's wand work in Charms has received special praise from Professor Umino.

They aren't friends per se, but they are acquaintances. They talk to each other every once in a while. Wave at each other in the hallway. They actually talk a lot more than Sakura expected them to. Sometimes they had meals together, or studied in each other's common rooms even though it was against the rules. Sasuke liked to ask her if she and the blonde were attached at the hip. Sakura would cut her eyes to Naruto, then back to Sasuke, and ask him if he really thought that joke was as funny as he thought it was. Sakura's bullies bother her much less now, which is nice. She already has the Uchiha and the Uzumaki on her side. Having a clan heir like the Yamanaka as a study buddy only increases Sakura's street cred.

And also that time she used wandless magic outside Hogwarts grounds and didn't get thrown in prison because of it.

"You realize there's a party going on tonight," Ino asks, drawing her wand back to herself, "right?"

Sakura snorts and scratches the side of her head.

"You realize I have a paper due on Monday, right?"

Ino rolls her eyes, and waves her wand. She's unnervingly good at unspoken magic, hardly needs to call out the name of her spell before it begins its work. Sakura's parchment and her books all slip into the air just above her head, and organize themselves as they hang in the air.

"I'm not letting you sit in the library on the night of Yule Ball like some kind of tragic peasant."

Sakura barely lifts an eyebrow, by now well accustomed to Ino's particular brand of snide.

"I don't want to go."

Ino scoffs, and the library books Sakura was reading assort themselves onto a nice pile, while Sakura's notes slip inside of her bag, along with the Uchiha family histories.

"That's what everyone who doesn't have a date says."

Sakura puts her elbow on the table, and cups her chin in her hand.

"So where's your date?"

Ino slips her wand into the bodice of her dark purple gown. There are no frills, or any excessive fabric; Ino's gown is straight, dark purple, with shoulder less sleeves that are just as severe. The only thing soft about her outfit is the bush clover of her family crest, hanging on a fine black chain around her throat.

"I don't need a date," Ino says, arching an eyebrow. "I'm a Yamanaka."

"And I'm a Haruno," Sakura quips. "And I need to study."

She goes to grab her bag, but Ino snatches it out of her reach.

"Are you serious?"

"Come on, Sakura," Ino says, "when was the last time you actually had fun instead of making craters or doing homework?"

Sakura opens her mouth, then closes it again.

"I have fun," she says, sheepishly.

But not lately. Lately, she's been stressed, and she knows it's beginning to show. Her schoolwork will be the last thing to suffer, and so will Naruto and Sasuke. But she hasn't been sleeping very well, her dreams plagued with the red clouded cloaks of the men who attacked Naruto, and there are things in the stories about Uchiha Madara that make her stare at the moon with a mix of longing and apprehension.

There is something very strange going on in the world around her. It's something she wants to understand, needs to understand, but doesn't know why exactly.

"Come with me," Ino says. "Stay for a dance. For some punch. The Demon Brothers are playing."

Sakura purses her lips. Ino waggles her eyebrows.

"I don't even have anything to wear," Sakura insists.

Ino clucks her tongue at that, and walks around the table. When she offers her hand, Sakura reluctantly takes it, and Ino helps her stand. She tries not to feel uncomfortable under Ino's assessing gaze. When Ino spins her finger in a slow circle, Sakura purses her lips and turns.

She isn't wearing much. A comfy pair of black sweatpants and a red tank top, all of it under her uniform cloak, which is absurdly comfortable all things considered. She had been wearing it as a blanket over her legs until Ino had arrived.

"Not too bad," she murmurs. "I can work with this."

The Ravenclaw cracks her knuckles and tugs her wand out of the side of her dress. Sakura stares down at the ground, trying not to see the way the wood of her wand just barely pushes against Ino's breast, and tries not to feel like a pervert for staring.

"Arms out," Ino instructs, "and keep spinning."

Sakura does as she's told, and she feels rather like Cinderella as she does.

Magic courses from Ino's wand in a faint blue light the same color of her eyes. Ino's magic is softer than Sakura expected it to be. She's worked with it before, has been near it, but it's never touched her, never has altered something as intimate as her clothes. The magic even moves into her hair, tugging it out of its lazy ponytail and curling it up into the air.

Sakura shuts her eyes to let the feeling wash over her, and wonders if Ino's hands are as soft as her magic.

"Alright, Haruno," Ino says. "Open your eyes, and tell me what you think."

As Sakura opens her eyes, Ino clears her throat and looks away. She pulls out a compact from her little clutch and transfigures it into a full size mirror. Sakura - Sakura is shocked at what she sees.

Her sweats have been transfigured into a terribly elegant looking pair of harem pants, overlaid with a startling pattern of bright red interlocking circles that crest over her right hip and flow down over both her thighs towards her left ankle.

Her red tank top is a long sleeve now, with a square neckline, and her cloak is much more fashionable, all gauzy and transparent, with sleeves that wrap primly around her wrists and around her waist in a thick black line. Her hair has been pulled back into an artfully curled ponytail. Her black flats are the same, but they look almost three times as fashionable as they did before in her current get up.

"Wow," she says, a little breathless.

Ino smirks at the word, but there's a vague dusting of pink on her cheeks that makes Sakura a little self conscious. Does Ino think she looks good?

"My mother is a fashion designer," Ino says, "this look is all the rage in Uzushio."

Sakura nods as if that information means anything to her. She knows Naruto's mom is from Uzushio. Was, before she went into hiding. And he has a lot of cousins from there, too.

Ino pulls a compact out of her purse, and pops a hand on Sakura's shoulder.

"I'm not finished yet," she says. "Sit down."

Sakura does. And the fabric on her cloak is so thin now that she can tell for sure; Ino's hands are as soft as her magic.

"Just some light coverage," Ino murmurs, dusting powder over Sakura's face. "You've got great skin, so you don't need much."

"Thanks," Sakura replies, trying not to sneeze.

"Open your eyes, and look up."

Sakura obeys, and tries not to blink as Ino applies mascara, and eyeliner. Ino replaces the items in her clutch as quickly as she reveals them, and Sakura has to wonder whether or not there's a Bigger on the Inside charm on the damn thing.

"Now lip gloss," Ino says. "Pucker your lips."

Sakura does it, and feels like a fish. Ino snorts at her as she unscrews the cap to her lip gloss.

"Not like a carp," Ino chuckles. "Softer. Like this."

Ino puckers her lips, and looks nothing like a fish. Sakura is pretty sure she's turned beet red.

She wants to kiss Yamanaka Ino. Desperately.

The urge smacks her in the face, and by the grace of Morgana, she somehow manages to mimic the girl in front of her.

"That's it," Ino says, dabbing the shimmery pink gloss onto Sakura's lips. "Now smack your lips together. I'll make my compact a compact again, and then we can go."

Sakura nods dumbly as Ino rises, and sets to her task. She runs her hands down her front, over the elephant pants and her newly red blouse, and touches her cheek to where Ino's foundation has settled into her skin.

She looks at the back of Ino's neck, at the easy way she holds her wand, uses her magic. At how she literally puts Sakura's entire messenger into her tiny clutch, proving Sakura's earlier theory.

It hits Sakura then, that Ino said that she didn't 'need' a date, not that she didn't have one. 'Come with me,' Ino had said. And was that an invitation? To be her date? To the Yule Ball?

Sakura isn't a Gryffindor. She's not all reckless bravery, and she isn't the careful cunning type of Slytherin. She isn't even a Ravenclaw, using logic and reason to get her in and out of tricky situations.

She's a Hufflepuff. Which means she's all of that, and she's so much more.

"Am I your date?" she asks, voice soft and hesitant.

Ino stills for a moment, then turns her head over her shoulder to look at Sakura. It's the first time Sakura has ever seen her look anything other than self assured and confident. Ino looks nervous.

"I mean," she begins. "I wanted you to come as my friend. I really like you, and I knew you weren't going to come out tonight because you're ridiculous, so I thought I'd ask you to come with me - ,"

"As a friend," Sakura asks. "Or as your date?"

Ino purses her lips, then squares her shoulders. She looks like she's being prepared for rejection. Sakura has no fucking idea what's happening.

"As whatever you're the most comfortable with" Ino says.

Sakura swallows, and this time when she opens her mouth, she doesn't even have to think about being brave enough to say what she's thinking.

"Ino," she says. "May I escort you to the Yule Ball?"

She has a split second to wonder if she's made the wrong decision, because Ino is very clearly hesitating. Decisive, ruthless Ino, who has hexed more people on Sakura's behalf than Naruto and Sasuke combined since they became friends earlier this year. Ino who tells Sakura exactly what she's doing wrong when they study Divination, Ino whose pale blue eyes are sharp and critical when Sakura demonstrates fine wand work.

Sakura holds out her hand. Ino looks at her it, her own hands wrapped nervously around her clutch. Like she didn't plan this far ahead, like she didn't expect Sakura to see through her, to want what she wanted, too.

"Or," Sakura says, cracking a smile. "You could escort me. I think that's what you'd prefer, since you're a Yamanaka and all."

Some color comes back to Ino's pale, nervous face, and she returns Sakura's smile with a cocky little grin of her own.

"Mark my words, Haruno," she says, carefully placing her hand in Sakura's. Her fingernails are painted a paler purple than her gown, and the color slowly changes to black to match Sakura's get up. "You're going to have the time of your life. The Yamanaka know how to have a good time."

With the kind of brass that would make even Naruto splutter in shock, Sakura tugs Ino close to her, so close their noses brush together and says, "I hope you're not all talk."

At the end of the night, Sakura will wonder whether or not she should kiss Ino as she walks her back to the Ravenclaw common room. She'll only half listen to Ino's polite good night, and she'll only really be able to focus on the way she looks in the evening light while other Ravenclaws move past them into their common room.

She'll kiss her, and she'll taste the vanilla and shea of Ino's lip gloss on Ino's mouth and her own, and Ino will turn bright pink. And afterwards, Sakura will walk all the way back to her dorm, arms wrapped around herself as Ino's magic keeps her clothes transfigured until she's safely in her room.

In the morning, when Naruto and Sasuke barge into her empty room underneath Naruto's invisibility cloak and will demand to know how she went from not having a date to Yule Ball to having a girlfriend in the same night.

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 2644 Chapter: 5/7 Summary:  An accident at work leaves Tobirama blinded while his eyes are bandaged to heal from some rather nasty burns. Too busy with his own job to play the role of caretaker, wife too pregnant to place the burden on her, Hashirama calls upon his best friend Madara to stay with them and help Tobirama out in anyway he can. Madara isn’t exactly thrilled to play babysitter but he can see an opportunity when one comes along; this may be the chance he’s always waited for.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

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Chapter 5

In his own apartment Madara rarely indulged in the poor habit of midnight snacks. Partly because the heating was crap and it was usually too much trouble dragging his poor feet across the freezing cold tiles just for a bite of leftover chicken but mostly because he was also much too poor to keep extra food stocked for a fourth meal every day.

Staying in Hashirama’s stupid mansion, however, came with more perks than just the pretty face that finally seemed to be warming up to him, perks like top notch central heat that actually worked and a fridge that was kept full at all times. Madara passed over the juice and fruit Hashirama insisted on keeping and went right for the leftover chocolate pie hiding close to the back. It boggled his mind for a moment that anyone could be stupid enough to leave a poor defenseless chocolate pie all alone where inquiring stomachs could find it.

Then he stood up and the triumphant expression drained from his face as he was met with the bloated face of a very pregnant woman. Mito flicked her gaze between him and the dessert in his hand. One eyebrow raised and Madara could almost feel the blood freezing in his veins.

“Share?” he bartered desperately. For a moment he thought she might bite his head off for the mere suggestion but it passed and she nodded, snatching the pie away to waddle over towards the table. Madara breathed a sigh of relief as he grabbed two forks.

He parked himself in the chair opposite her massive bulk and slid one fork over, immediately digging his own in to the exposed part where someone had already cut out several pieces. Both of them moaned in appreciation at the same time. If he remembered later he would have to ask where they had bought this because he’d never tasted better chocolate in his entire life. It was positively decadent, definitely something he would have to avoid the next time his bathroom scale guilted him in to another stupid diet.

They had inhaled more than half of what was left before Madara shifted in his seat uncomfortably and looked up to find Mito watching him with her sharp eyes narrow and thoughtful.

“Wha’?” he asked through a mouthful of chocolate mousse.

“You wouldn’t happen to know Tobirama’s favorite color, would you?”

“Um, blue. Shouldn’t you already know that?” He took a turn raising one eyebrow but Mito only blinked at him and daintily polished off another bite of pie.

After dabbing a bit of cream from the corner of her mouth she asked, “His favorite season?”

“Fall?”

“Hobbies.”

“Other than science I guess he likes to read and I think Hashirama mentioned once that he’s taken to tinkering with small mechanical things in the garage. Maybe he’s taken up engineering in his spare time or whatever, I don’t know. Why are you ask–”

“How does he take his coffee?”

Scowling now, Madara changed his grip on the fork to a more threatening one and answered out of spite. “Trick question, he hates coffee but he enjoys tea of almost any kind except mint.”

“And why is that?”

“Because he’s allergic to mint.”

Mito stared at him with no expression for a long time. Slowly a grin not unlike a smug fox tilted the corners of her lips but she said nothing, only dipped her fork in for yet another bite of chocolate pie and whipped cream. When he snarled in frustration she laughed unapologetically.

“Was there a point to this weird Tobirama trivia game?” Madara demanded.

“You’ll do just fine,” was all she said.

“I hope Hashirama puts another child in your belly so you have to do this all over again for another nine months.” Half asleep and with his brain full of chocolate, that was the best curse he could come up with at ten past midnight. Mito looked duly horrified by the notion though so he counted it as a win in his favor.

Since his snack buddy didn’t seem very open to explaining what the point of all her weird questions was Madara figured the best thing to do was head back to bed before things got even stranger. With one last massive bite shoveled in to his face he stood up, dropped his fork in the sink, and flipped Mito the bird on his way out of the room. If she found that offensive, well, the only weapon she had at her disposal was her own fork and he felt pretty safe that a pregnant woman with such fastidious habits was not going to give up the ability to gorge herself on chocolate pie. He turned his back to her and let the kitchen door stand open between them as he headed for the stairs.

Eating all that chocolate left him feeling disappointingly awake. As he trudged up the steps he made a mental note not to indulge in so much sugar next time because he was fairly sure it was going to be at least an hour before he managed to fall back asleep and since Tobirama had a habit of waking up pretty early he needed to get all the sleep he could now before a hungry albino started trying to find things for himself in the kitchen again.

At the top of the stairs he paused to yawn, tired but not sleepy yet still victim to the demands of his body, and it was that momentary break in stride that kept him in place just long enough to hear the ragged gasp from the other side of Tobirama’s bedroom door. For one horrible second he thought he might have overheard something to fodder his own nighttime thoughts and taunt his memories for months to come. The sound that followed after had the blood draining from his face and his hand reaching for the doorknob without thought.

It didn’t matter who was on the other side of the door, any human with a shred of empathy would react the same way to a scream as filled with terror as that one had been.

Madara burst in to the room only to pause and stare in shock at the sight of Tobirama clawing at his own head. It took precious moments for him to recover and by the time he stepped across the room the bandages covering Tobirama’s eyes had almost been torn clean off.

“Stop! Tobirama, stop!”

“Ma-Madara?” The man froze – well, he stopped trying to tear at his face. His body trembled like a leaf in the wind and his chest heaved with deep terrified gulps of air. His hands made fists in Madara's sleeves with the desperation of a man clinging to his only lifeline. When he spoke again his voice cracked and shook, quiet in the way of terror. “Madara, I can’t see.”

“I know. But you can’t take off the bandages until your eyes have healed.”

Taking a chance, he slowly sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to decide how he felt when Tobirama leaned in towards him, a floundering man looking for safety wherever it was offered.

“Why can’t I see?” he whispered. “Everything’s dark. I don’t like it, turn the lights on.”

“It’s just the bandages. You’ll see again, I promise.”

“I don’t like it!”

“Tobirama…it was just a dream.” It was only a shot in the dark but he could tell he had guessed right when the man’s breathing slowly began to even out, though the grip on his sleeves did not lessen in the slightest. Madara struggled to keep his own voice calm and even as he murmured again, “It was only a dream. You had an accident in your lab and there are bandages over your face but you’ll see again when they come off, okay? I need to fix them now so that you heal properly.”

With slow movements, telegraphing his intentions as much as he could despite having already verbally announced them, Madara raised his hands to pluck at the bandages around Tobirama’s head. He frowned at the shudder under his touch but continued on setting things back to rights as quickly as he could.

His unwilling patient remained still throughout the process, though he got the impression that it was less out of any sort of good behavior and more because the man was afraid of making anything worse. Still, Madara appreciated that things weren’t made more difficult than they had to be, happy that his efforts didn’t seem to be causing any additional pain. When he was finished he lowered his hands in to his lap and studied the expression staring back at him. Tobirama licked his lips nervously but he was shaking less and less by the minute, an excellent sign. Hopefully the nightmare had lost at least most of its grip as he came to realize that he was awake now and not caught in whatever horrors had visited him in his sleep.

“Thank you.” He spoke so softly that Madara would have missed it if he hadn’t already been staring shamefully at pale thin lips.

“It’s fine. I don’t think you could have tied them back on very well yourself.”

“No,” Tobirama said. “I mean…with the- you know. Thanks.”

“Oh. Right. That was, uh, no problem either. Everyone has nightmares I guess and nobody likes them.” Madara resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably.

Before he could ask whether he should leave or not Tobirama blurted out, “I was dreaming about being blind. About never seeing again. Ever since the accident I keep having these dreams where the world is an endless void and I know that I would see if I could just open my eyes but I can’t and somehow I just know that there’s something in the darkness with me. I try to run but then I trip and it’s always getting closer and then I wake up and I forget why I can’t see.”

“That doesn’t sound fun,” Madara said.

It took Tobirama a minute or so and several mixed expressions to reply with a flat voice. “No. It isn’t very fun at all.”

Both of them paused in awkward silence until the barest shadow of a smile crossed Tobirama’s face and Madara found even he could breathe easier just at the sight of that. Genuine smiles were already a rare commodity from the younger Senju brother; seeing even a hint of one here in the middle of the night was like a great glowing neon sign that everything would be fine. Eventually, at least.

“You’re okay now?” he asked. Immediately he regretted the question as the smile faded and Tobirama shifted uncomfortably, his fingers flexing and tightening where Madara hadn’t even realized they were gripping his sleeves again.

“Sure,” he mumbled. “I guess there’s really no point in dwelling on something stupid like a nightmare, right? It wasn’t real. I’m an adult. I can deal with it.”

After waiting a minute to think of a good response all Madara could come up with was, “Alright then.”

When he moved to stand up, however, Tobirama refused to let go. Or rather his hands did. There was a distinctly awkward set to his shoulder that said he was embarrassed by his own actions yet couldn’t convince himself to let go when he should have. Half standing with his back bent over, Madara cleared his throat and carefully lowered himself on to the mattress again. Tobirama turned his face away to speak to the wall.

“I mean, obviously I can deal with it. But you don’t have to go. If you don’t want to.”

“Guess I’ll stay then.” Madara wondered if Tobirama picked up on the fact that he had just openly admitted to wanting to stay, the first bare-faced hint with no effort to hide it that he was interested in pretty much anything Tobirama wanted from him. Unfortunately it was more likely that Tobirama thought he was only staying out of pity or just to be nice. Which he supposed still sort of worked out in his favor, in a way. It couldn’t hurt to show himself to be capable of doing nice deeds for others or as a caring human being rather than the selfish man-child people usually thought of him as when they saw him spending too much time with Hashirama.

“Don’t just stay because you think you have to,” Tobirama mumbled, confirming his theory even as he seemed to unconsciously pull Madara's arm closer.

Carefully not making any move to separate them, Madara smiled even though he knew the gesture went unseen. “Who wouldn’t want to sit up at midnight and talk about the terror of our own inevitable crushing humanity that we all experience in our nightmares? Fun times.”

“Oh sure, that sounds like a fun time to you.”

Both of them snorted in quiet laughter and Madara hoped to all the gods listening that his thundering heartbeat wasn’t echoing around the room as loudly as it was in his ears. He did his best to come up with interesting yet calm things to talk about and he was thrilled to succeed in keeping Tobirama’s attention all the way up until the man began to flag and slowly drift off. Without being able to see his eyes drooping Madara was actually a little confused when between one slurred sentence and the next he simply stopped responding.

Getting the other back in to a comfortable position lying down was a bit difficult to do without waking him up and Madara feared that his unsteady breathing would ruin everything as he tried not to think too hard about how nice it was to hold Tobirama in his arms even in such a creepy yet necessary way. It took a few extra minutes to work his way out of the iron grip that remained on his sleeves even now that Tobirama had fallen asleep but once he was finally free it was just a matter of keeping his steps as quiet as possible until he was able to slip out of the room.

Where he came face to face with Mito. She was puffing like a bellows, clearly resting after having fought her way up the long staircase, and she did not look impressed to meet him in that particular spot.

“How was your pie?” he asked in a flat voice.

“No sweeter than whatever midnight delight you just came from.” Her expression didn’t move an inch but the ice in her gaze was enough to have him squirming in place until finally he broke with a snarl.

“I’ll help you back to your room,” Madara ground out, “and explain; though it’s not my place to say much.”

Both of her eyebrows lifted but by the time he had indeed helped her back to bed and told her what he had actually been doing in Tobirama’s room she was waving him off with a much more sober look on her face. He hadn’t told her any specifics about what Tobirama’s dream entailed but it was clear she had a few guesses that were probably fairly close to the mark.

Despite the weight of Tobirama’s fears pulling at his mind, however, Madara was still in a pretty good mood when he finally crawled back in to his own bed. When he closed his eyes all he could see behind the curtain of his own eyelids was that tiny shadow at the corner of Tobirama’s lips. A genuine smile in a moment when he’d needed it most and it had been Madara that gave it to him. Long before he fell asleep that night Madara was already dreaming, lost in a fantasy word where he had stayed in that room and laid his head down on a different pillow.

[winterune]

A Natsume Yuujinchou Fanfiction #5 - Attachments

Word count: 2861

Summary: Natsume is gone and Hinoe and the middle-class youkais are inviting Madara to a once-in-a-hundred-year festival.

A/N: crappy summary and crappy title. I’m sorry I’m not good at making them. May edit them later. Inspired by @symgen‘s headcanon. Though in the end, maybe it’s not really what the original headcanon had in mind ^^; sorry... Edit: Anyway, just want to say I borrowed some of the series’ messages and a line from another series (Cross Game--which is just a beautifull slice of life/romance anime despite it being a sport anime and more people should go and see it because it’s just really one of the best things in anime world!)

Also available on AO3 and FFN. 

“Sensei! Sensei!”

Nyanko-sensei’s ears twitched.

“Wake up, Sensei!”

“Shutup…” Nyanko-sensei mumbled incomprehensibly. His ears hurt. His head hurt. He had stayed up so late last night and drunk countless bottles of sake that he had just stumbled back into Natsume’s room just as the sun hit the horizon.

“Sensei!”

A poke to his stomach that sent his irritation ricocheting.

“Shut up, Natsu—!”

Bright glaring light blinded his eyes as Madara opened his eyes and was ready to bite anyone who was poking and poking and poking his stomach. The shock at the sudden light caused him to shut his eyes again and it wasn’t Natsume but the middle-class youkai who were screaming as they fled and it was Hinoe’s voice calling his name incessantly.

“Madara! Finally!” The blue-haired youkai drew a deep sigh of relief. “Took you long enough.”

Madara’s eyes squinted against the light and he remembered where he was: a clearing in the middle of the mountain with a chill in the air and dead autumn leaves scattered throughout the forest floor. Him in his youkai form—a majestic white beast.

Natsume’s warm tatami mat room, the kid’s annoying voice…

A dream?

“Hellooo! Madara?” Hinoe called again, waving her hands high above her head to catch his attention. “Are you with us?”

Madara huffed irritably. “You just ruined a perfectly good nap,” he growled, his deep voice rumbling from deep within his throat. “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to remind you of the festival at the mountaintop lake. Are you coming?”

The festival…

Madara huffed. “I’ll pass,” he said as he lay his head down again, eyes half-closing for another nap.

“But, Madara-sama!” the one-eyed middle-class youkai piped in, poking his head from behind a tree. “It’s a once-in-a-hundred-year festival. You can’t miss it!”

Hinoe nodded her head. “The moon will be nearest to the earth tonight.” A slight smirk gracing her lips, she added, “And the entire lake will turn into sake for the whole night.”

Madara’s ears twitched again.

The smirk had turned to a full-on grin. “Are you sure you want to miss it?”

***

Madara ended up coming. Curse that Hinoe for mentioning sake.

By the time he reached the lake at the top of the mountain, the clearing was already filled with youkai. Lesser youkai. Powerful youkai. A mingle of scents and merry voices you’d only hear in a festival such as this.

It didn’t take long for him to spot Hinoe, with the middle-class youkai. And there were Misuzu, and Benio, and Chobi-hige, and a lot more of the lesser youkai gathering in a circle. A familiar banner stopped him on his tracks. The Dog Club.

The middle-class spotted him among the revelry and waved him over.

“What took you so long, Madara?” Hinoe said, though she didn’t sound the least bit irritable. There was a cup on her hand, half-full, and more bottles scattered throughout the circle.

“Here, Madara-sama,” one of the lesser youkai piped in, closer to the ground. It pushed a large bowl to his feet, filled with no doubt the sake from the bottles.

“I thought we are all here to drink the once-in-a-hundred-year sake lake,” Madara commented.

“The moon has not yet reached its peak, Madara,” Misuzu said, lapping the alcohol from his own bowl. “The festival has not yet begun.”

He knew that of course. He just needed to say something. Because no one said anything about the Dog Club gathering.

The Dog Club.

As Madara crouched down and lapped up the sake into his mouth, his mind brought him back to years ago. A similar situation. A similar scenery. The same faces and the same voices. Chatters and laughter and shouts as everyone tried to have the best time of their life, making sure that Natsume felt at ease with them around.

Humans’ lives were a fleeting thing. Beautiful like a flower blooming in spring yet so transient it was gone just as you were starting to enjoy its presence. Ephemeral in a youkai’s immortal life.

None of them would admit it. He wouldn’t admit it. That ever since Natsume passed away, that light that had been their source of joy and entertainment left a gaping void in their wake.

***

The moon reached its peak and all the youkai gathered there rushed to the edge of the lake. Madara only took several leaps to reach the lakeshore and as he watched the moonlight hit the water, it sparkled. One lap down his throat sent his entire body shuddering with delight at the best-tasting sake he ever had.

***

They had their fill and filled the now-empty sake bottles with sake from the lake. Merriment ensued. Dancing and singing and riddles. The sake from the lake was getting to him and Madara couldn’t help but join in the merriment.

It was toxic—their euphoria—and it was only a matter of time before Madara forgot his troubles. Well, it wasn’t so much of a trouble and more of an uncomfortable feeling you get when something felt amiss yet you can’t put your paw in it. And it had been bugging him for days and weeks.

The middle-class youkai pair slumped on the ground, heaving deep sighs after ten rounds of dancing and singing in the middle of their group. Silence fell. Half-lidded eyes and content smiles all around. The moon had moved way past its zenith by now and the all-around revelry was beginning to fade away. But their group stayed, quiet, lost in their own thoughts.

“How long has it been?” It was Hinoe who first broke the eternal silence.

“It’ll be ten years tomorrow.” Misuzu—deep voice from that horse-like face, but despite having laughed the loudest, his voice carried a melancholy tone as he responded Hinoe’s question.

“Ten years,” Hinoe mused. A distant look in her eyes as she smiled wistfully. “It feels longer than that.”

“It feels like it was just yesterday we were playing with him,” the middle-class youkai added. “Remember that time the two of us—” he nudged his companion, “—took him to see those flowers and he came down with a cold the next day?”

His companion’s eager nod was incoherent in his drunken state.

Hinoe barked a laughter. “Madara was so mad at both of you because of that!”

“I think we were more of a trouble for him than we realized,” Chobi-hige added with a chuckle.

“But Natsume-sama still helped us a lot,” Kappa piped in.

Heads nodded.

“Natsume-dono was a good human,” Misuzu said.

“A toast for Natsume-sama,” the middle-class youkai said, jumping to his feet, raising his cup.

“May he rest in peace wherever he resides,” Hinoe added, bringing her own glass to the sky.

The others followed. A solemn silence washed over them. They all faced the setting moon and it struck him then. They had laughed and joked around so much, it was as if every one of them had been pouring their hearts out to the moon, the stars, the sky, the earth itself. Wherever Natsume was now.

“Madara-sama!” the middle-class youkai suddenly broke the serenity. “Won’t you transform back to your lucky cat form?”

Madara blinked in surprise. “Do you want me to eat you, middle-class?” Madara growled.

“Oh, come now! I think we all miss your midget tanuki form,” Hinoe added, stifling a laugh.

“And that belly dance he does every time he got drunk,” chimed Misuzu.

They laughed and it was as though their reminiscence hadn’t happened. They chanted his name and all he wanted was to squash everyone.

Maybe he should.

He rose from his crouch, brought his form towering over everyone but Misuzu, and everyone cheered—

—until the glare he gave them sent them trembling in cold sweat.

“You have a death wish, I see.” He smirked down at them and landed his massive paw down.

***

“Are you going to see him tomorrow?” Hinoe asked him when everyone had parted ways.

Madara huffed but didn’t offer an answer.

“You haven’t gone to see him yet, have you?”

“Have you?” Madara asked back.

“I have.” Hinoe smiled.

Madara scoffed. “Attachment is a foolish thing, more so are attachments to things that are no more.”

“Things are not truly dead if you don’t forget about them,” Hinoe said gently. Hinoe stopped on her tracks, a wistful smile caressing her lips. “If I knew where Reiko is buried, I would go see her everyday.”

That made Madara pause. He looked back at her and it was a rare sight to see sorrow etching the lines of Hinoe’s face. “Go see him,” she said to him with a smile. “His spirit still lingers.”

***

Madara tried to convince himself that it wasn’t because Hinoe had coaxed him into going that he was now finding himself flying over mountains and forests to a hill near the old neighborhood where Natsume used to live. And it wasn’t anticipation and longing that he felt cursing through his body. He tried to convince himself that he was only taking a stroll to help him recover from his hungover from the night before.

But then he saw the flower field, and the hill beyond. A massive tree sat on the hilltop, paper and ropes strewn about to create a magical seal. Natsume had been sought after by so many youkai some people had decided to lay him to rest in a place with strong spiritual power surrounded by a strong seal. Not everyone could enter. Not many youkai could approach.

He spotted two figure down by the graveyard. An old man and woman.

The Fujiwaras?

No. These people weren’t the Fujiwaras.

The old woman bent down and laid down a bouquet of white flowers. Then they spoke and it was then that Madara recognized who they were.

He landed just at the edge of the magical seal right as the pair stepped through the gate. A slight shift of air that not many would notice but the old man immediately stopped. He turned his face toward Madara and squinted his eyes.

Even in his fifty-some years, Tanuma hadn’t changed. Nor did Taki, the woman beside him.

“Kaname-kun?” Taki turned to her companion. “Something wrong?”

“I felt something,” Tanuma murmured.

Madara stayed still.

“Ponta?”

“What?!”

Madara’s eyes widened slightly, then his lips stretched in a smirk. So the boy was still able to sense his kind. And Taki, the obnoxious girl that couldn’t get her hands off him. Even with her greying hair and wrinkling face, she still acted like she was sixteen. Whipping her head left and right trying to see him.

“I’m not sure though,” Tanuma went on. “Taki, do you remember that circle you used to draw?”

“Ah!” Taki exclaimed, fists pumping.

Wait! Madara’s eyes grew wider in panic.

“Let’s look for a stick.”

Idiot! He wanted to scream as both Tanuma and Taki spread out. Madara sighed. Why were things still the same?

Taki found a stick not long after and Tanuma found a space of dirt a bit far from the magic seal. She drew the circle wide and Madara waited, eyeing them skeptically, half waiting if something else might show up, just to let them have their lesson again.

Taki finished the circle, and both she and Tanuma stood, waiting, looking this way and that. But of course nothing showed up. He was the only youkai there.

“Maybe I was wrong,” Tanuma mused.

“No! Let’s wait for a while longer, okay?”

Taki was being insistent and there was nothing Tanuma could say to discourage her. But still Madara didn’t move.

They waited long. Longer than Madara would have thought. And maybe because he pitied them, but Madara rose from his haunches and took one step at a time. Tanuma was saying they should get back before it got dark and Taki was trying to shush him when Madara’s paw entered the circle.

Both of them gasped.

Madara entered his entire body into the circle. Half of him appreciated Taki for creating such a large circle. He stood, towering over them they had to crane their necks just to look at his face.

“Nyanko-sensei?”

It was Taki. Breathless. And the name sent a pang through him. He hadn’t heard it since the day Natsume passed.

“Is it really you?” Taki again.

It occurred to him again that they hadn’t seen him in his true form.

He looked down on them. What could he say? He was never particularly close with them.

“Foolish girl!” His mouth moved on its own. “Haven’t you learned your lesson? Drawing the circle on a whim. What if another dangerous youkai had appeared instead of me?”

“But you would have saved us, wouldn’t you, Po—sensei?” Tanuma said. He was smiling and… those were tears in his eyes. “Sorry, I guess calling you Ponta wouldn’t suit you now.”

“Hmph! It never suited me.”

“Sensei!”

“Oof!”

Taki had gone and entered the circle, arms spread wide, hugging his body. Madara stiffered. The hug—it was…different than her usual hug. Maybe he wasn’t so small now that she could strangle him to death. But the strength in her arms was still a force to be reckoned with as she buried her face in his fur.

“We missed you, sensei.”

And she was crying. And Tanuma was crying. And in half of his mind, it wasn’t Taki but Natsume who was holding onto him as he had been the only human whom Madara had allowed to touch him in his true form.

He sighed. “Didn’t befriending Natsume ever teach you not to play with our world?”

But they didn’t stop, because they missed him, and they missed Natsume.

Madara waited patiently until Taki let him go herself and went back outside the circle.

“Do you ever go back to being a cat, sensei?” Taki asked him.

An innocent question, but one that brought his mind back. Years and years ago when they were still students and he was riding on Natsume’s shoulder or being carried around in Tanuma’s arms or surviving Taki’s death grip.

“No,” was all he said, and the quiet in his voice said it all.

They bid him goodbye. He stepped out of the circle and it was a moment later before they erased it. He watched them as they turned and followed the path down the hill back to the town.

The sun had gone way past its zenith now and everything was awash in an orange light.

That was when he heard it, a voice so soft one could miss it, but he caught it riding with the wind.

Sensei…

A familiar voice he knew so well. One he had heard every single day for years until death took him away.

And Madara turned.

And there he was, standing just over his gravestone. His appearance, the warm smile on his face—he was just like that day they parted ten years ago.

And Madara was bounding over the grass before he knew it, up the hill, and in a burst of cloud and smoke, the great majestic white beast was gone and in its place was a fat calico cat.

“Natsume!!!”

In his cat form, he could easily go past all the strong magic seals, and in one movement, he leaped into Natsume’s open arms.

***

“Hinoe said your spirit lingers. I only wanted to see if she was right.”

Natsume chuckled.

Nyanko-sensei frowned. “Fool! Why are you still here? This is no place for your kind.”

“I wanted to see you, sensei. At least one more time,” Natsume replied. “That’s why I stayed.”

Nyanko-sensei’s scowl deepened, and he looked away. “I—Idiot,” he muttered.

Natsume laughed. “Oh, and I wanted to give you the Book.”

“What?”

That brought Nyanko-sensei’s attention back and he watched as Natsume fished the book from somewhere behind him. The Book of Friends. It was said the Book was lost ten years ago. No one could find it. And all this time…

“As promised.”

Promise. That long-ago promise they’d made.

“Will you protect it?”

He had always said he would use the book however he wanted, but somewhere along the way, his priorities had shifted and all he cared about was protecting Natsume and hence protecting the Book.

“I will.”

“You’ll make sure it won’t fall into the wrong hands?”

Nyanko-sensei nodded. Another promise.

Natsume smiled. “Thank you.”

He patted Sensei’s head, gently, and Nyanko-sensei hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it. Something stirred inside him, pulling, squeezing.

Natsume once asked him if Nyanko-sensei would ever get attached to him. He never answered him. Never even let his mind go near it. Because attachment was a human thing and in the wake of their immortality, it was foolish to cling onto something that would, sooner or later, disappear.

“Thank you for always being there for me, Sensei,” Natsume said.

And Nyanko-sensei could hear the unsaid words, the things neither of them ever admitted. That he was a friend, always had been, always would be. And there was an unbreakable bond between them that no one could define.

The air moved and the wind blew. Nyanko-sensei watched as the edges of Natsume’s body transformed into light and petals, pure and white. The last of his touch was a gentle caress and his smile lingered a second longer before the wind took him away.

Nyanko-sensei sat on the graveyard alone with only the Book as his companion.

Hinoe had said things wouldn’t die as long as they didn’t forget about them.

Thank you…

A whisper of a voice reached his ears, even though the wind had died and the petals were nowhere to be seen.

And Nyanko-sensei believed that Natsume would never die as long as he lived in his memories.

Attachment was a foolish thing.

But maybe, it wasn’t such a bad thing.

Thanks for reading^^ So sorry if there are out-of-character moments, or it’s not that good. thanks anyway for reading this far.

More of my natsume fanfiction here.