#vin.doc

[vnyu73]

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo

Characters: Napoleon Solo, Illya Kuryakin

Additional Tags: POV Napoleon Solo, Kisses, so many., Established Relationship, but like early enough that they're still working through things, idk what else to tag this with i am so out of practice, Fluff, like. so much bro. beware

Summary:

Napoleon can really only blame himself, really.

"Gee, Peril, which one of us are you in love with, me or the ring?"

He hadn't expected Illya to get so upset about it.

[vnyu73]

just a scratch (not)

written for @madatobiweek2020!!

Madatobi Week 1 Prompts: Madara wins/Tsukuyomi AU or Magic AU || De-aging or Hidden Injury

Warning(s): graphic-ish fight scene in the first sequence

Read on Ao3

———

Blades clash, the setting sun’s rays reflecting off metal. Their blades shake from the strain of trying to overpower the other. With a forceful push, they spring apart, breathing heavily. They stare each other down, trying to spot an opening. They don’t pay mind to the three other shinobi scattered on the forest floor, bleeding out, most likely dead already from their fading chakra.

Tobirama’s muscles are burning. His breaths drag through his lungs, past his dried lips. Sweat building behind his happuri streaks down his face, down his neck, and into his clothes. He’s too tired to even twist his face in disgust. He never wants to take a mission to Kaminari no Kuni ever again. He almost always ends up ambushed only mere hours away from home. Just his luck that he’s been ambushed by a four-man team of nukenin from the newly-established Shimogakure for some reason unknown to him; perhaps for the bounty? Most likely.

Tobirama lifts his sword and flashes forward. They engage again, blades clashing and kunai flying. Tobirama starts to flag, hours straight of running back to Konoha right after a taxing and disastrous—but still successful—mission taking its toll on his body. The enemy shinobi grabs the opportunity to run him through his chest but Tobirama manages to dodge fast enough that it only stabs him through the shoulder.

The shinobi doesn’t let go of their sword immediately and Tobirama takes the opportunity to drive his own sword through their stomach and up their lungs with the remaining arm strength he has. A gurgled gasp of pain reaches his ears as he twists the blade.

The body on his sword starts to drop and Tobirama pulls his sword out before the shinobi could fall on him, pushing lightly to let them topple backward with a meaty thump.

The quiet sets in and his stabbed shoulder throbs around the sword. Ah, fuck. 

He plops down under a nearby tree away from the dead bodies on the forest floor, bleeding on verdant green, and starts treating the wound on his shoulder, using the measly iryou-jutsu he can use with his depleted chakra reserves to stop the bleeding and stitch together as much of the cut tissue as he can without depriving himself of enough chakra to run home. He bandages it with gauze from his medical kit as best as he can even with exhaustion clawing at his back. 

Treatment done, he doesn’t waste any more time dallying further. He stands, the weight of his armor threatening to send him back onto the ground—he should really move standardized, lighter cloth armor for the village shinobi up the priority list, his research on protective clothing has been sitting in his study for weeks—but he stays upright nonetheless.

Without another backward glance, he jumps back up into the trees and continues his way back home, taking care to not aggravate his shoulder wound further. It wouldn’t do him any good to start bleeding again.

—

Tobirama goes directly to Hashirama’s office, managing to keep himself from keeling over and still be able to put up a dignified posture by sheer willpower. The village has gone through enough of the other founders’ indignities.

Hashirama immediately welcomes him into the office with a cheerful greeting that bleeds into a concerned look at the giant bloodied splotch on his armor and clothes but Tobirama stems the imminent fussing with a harsh glare.

When he’s sure Hashirama will not interrupt, he gives his report as quickly and as concisely as possible. He’s relieved to see Hashirama focusing on the report, enough that he’ll let the concern in his eyes slide. When he finishes, he is foiled from his attempt at a quick escape by Hashirama’s voice stilling his feet.

“At least let me look it over, Tobira,” Hashirama says, looking ready to leap over his desk and onto his brother.

Tobirama lets out a huff, subtly inching away from Hashirama’s desk. “It’s not even bleeding anymore. I’m fine, anija. Just a scratch.”

Hashirama sends a pointed look at his stiff shoulder. Tobirama doesn’t budge, edging nearer to the doorway. He won’t win, clearly, so Hashirama sighs and shoos Tobirama home.

Finally.

—

When he gets home, Tobirama is greeted by a worried Madara, most likely having sensed his very much depleted chakra, who immediately herds him into a chair to tend to his wounds, summoning a clone to fetch the medical kit, even after Tobirama’s protests of it being only a mere scratch.

Tobirama is quickly stripped of his armor and shirt, Madara unwinding Tobirama’s admittedly shoddy bandage work. The clone comes back with the medical supplies not long after.

It seems Madara has made use of the iryou-jutsu he learned a few months ago, grumbling the entire time he’s treating Tobirama.

“Just a scratch, my fucking ass,” Madara says, cleaning the wound, applying some sterilizing iryou-jutsu as he goes.

Tobirama just barely restrains from pouting. He must be more tired than he had thought. “It’s not even bleeding anymore.”

“‘It’s not even bleeding anymore,’ he says,” Madara imitates in a nasally voice, hands still gently tending to Tobirama’s shoulder, “You once said an amputated arm was ‘nothing to be worried about.’ I don’t think I’ll trust your self-assessment of wounds anytime soon, love.”

Tobirama turns his head away with an indignant huff, marked cheeks warming from Madara’s address of him. He isn’t that bad. He looks back when Madara starts winding bandages over his shoulder, tucking the ends perfectly. His quick venture into medic-nin life had greatly improved his treatment of wounds, it seems. A smile creeps up Tobirama’s face.

“You have to take care of yourself, dammit.” Madara kisses the bandages over the wound as if by instinct. Then his face is immediately set aflame by his embarrassment, red flooding his cheeks and down to his neck.

Tobirama doesn’t hold back the chuckle in his throat, pulling Madara in for a thankful kiss before he could start sputtering.

He loves this man.

——

“Madara-sama! Madara-sama! Pleeeaaaaassseeeeeeee,” the children who mobbed him on the street pleaded, eyes sparkling with excitement.

With a heavy sigh, he relents. He has a minute he can spare. He bid the children to stand back before he started. Eyes shining, the children move to make a ring around him, waiting for his nod when they are far enough.

In his slightly ruffled state what with the unplanned sleeping in and the meeting he cannot be late for, his katon leaves his lips a little uncontrolled but no less majestic, reaching for the morning sky.

He feels flames lick at his palms. His unprotected palms.

...fuck, he forgot to put on his gloves. He’d removed them to ruffle the children’s hair before they presented their demands.

He pats his pockets only to not find the familiar weight he’s been looking for.

Shit. He’s forgotten his burn salve—where has his Uchiha memory gone—but he can’t afford to be even later to the meeting. He sighs. He’ll just have to deal with it in the meantime. He puts on his gloves, refraining from wincing at the drag of leather on his tender skin.

He bids the children goodbye with quick ruffles of hair, putting the pain aside, and leaves despite the loud, disappointed “Awws” he leaves in his wake.

What he does for the children. He shakes his head with a chuckle.

—

The meeting ends and Madara has to keep from wincing at the throbbing pain that shoots up from his hand when he pats Hashirama for a clever maneuver during the council meeting. He’d forgotten about his burned hands, fuck.

He tries to leave for his office—he remembers he has a spare container of burn salve there for emergencies—when he gets the chance but before he could get a foot past the door, Tobirama suddenly pulls at his arm without a word.

��What—”

“Just follow me,” Tobirama interrupts.

Like he could shake that strong grip off without dislocating his shoulder. He follows without much fuss.

Tobirama leads him into the Senju’s private office and sets him down on the couch where he knows the white-haired man often sleeps in whenever he pulls all-nighters in the tower.

Tobirama sits down next to him, pulling out something from his pocket.

A burn salve. Tobirama spots his eyebrows raising to his hairline and explains, “I started bringing them for Kagami, katon burns his hands often.”

Madara’s chest warms. He hums his understanding.

“Gloves off.”

Tobirama had noticed, apparently. Madara obeys, peeling his gloves off as carefully as he can.

The gloves haven’t even touched Madara’s lap before Tobirama takes his burned hands and starts carefully massaging the salve into one of Madara’s reddened palms. Madara’s chest is liable to catch fire at this point.

“Why didn’t you put salve on?” Tobirama asks, thumbs rubbing the salve in gentle circles, head bowed to see the palm in his hands.

“I was running late to the meeting. Forgot to bring my new one.” Madara admits, softly sighing at the ministrations soothing his irritated palms.

A disbelieving huff. “Where has your lauded Uchiha memory gone?” Madara can hear the smile in his voice.

Madara’s lips pull into a smile of his own. “Like you hadn’t forgotten where you put your reading glasses before only to find them,” he brings up a salved hand to poke at a pale forehead, “on your head.”

Tobirama tsks but doesn’t cease in his gentle massaging of Madara’s hands. When he judges Madara’s hands as satisfactorily salved, he takes the gloves on Madara’s lap and begins putting them back on. He’s gentle, mindful of the burns.

It’s strangely intimate. Tobirama’s hands are warm on the cooled cloth of his gloves, the heat reaching through to his now-covered hands.

Heat creeps into Madara’s cheeks. And then almost spontaneously combusts right then and there when Tobirama kisses the gloved hands when he finishes putting them on.

The bastard doesn’t even blush. He drags Tobirama into a kiss as retaliation, seeing lovely red eyes widen in surprise before closing to immerse himself in the feeling.

He hums with pleasure as their tongues intertwine.

He’s even more sure of it now.

This is the man he’s going to live his life with.

———

is that a proposal in the works? idk fam u tell me >:3c

godssss i am not good at writing fight scenes yet hrk but i hope y’all like this one!!

fun fact: this is what it started as: “- [hidden injury] instances where mdtb have to deal w the other hiding injuries bcos “they’re just scratches” >:((” and i expected it to be below 1k but here we are

i’ll be posting the art i made for this week next before i bludgeon y’all with the sappiest fic i’ve written for madatobi lmao

[vnyu73]

vacation is not synonymous to experimenting

written for @madatobiweek2020!!!

Madatobi Week 1 Prompts: Madara wins/Tsukuyomi AU or Magic AU || De-aging or Hidden Injury

Read on Ao3

———

Bang!

“Professor Madara!”

Madara’s in a good mood today so he doesn’t immediately throw his chair at whoever is so rudely interrupting the rousing discussion he’s having with his class about magical raptors. He turns to the doorway, mouth open, ready to bellow a reprimand only for the sight to stop him in his tracks.

He blinks.

His nephew Kagami is holding a child.

The child looks very familiar. White hair, narrowed red eyes, crossed arms, exuding a commanding air despite the small body, and almost completely swallowed by large blue robes of a particular shade that he knows only one man wears in the entirety of the school.

No way.

“Cat got your tongue, Uchiha?” The child’s high voice is only as loud as a normal speaking voice and yet it carries throughout the room, the cadence of words distinctly familiar. It’s weird to hear such articulate pronunciation from a young child, any sane person would at least expect some stumbling on words.

What the fuck. “Tobirama?”

The raised brow asking “Who else?” on a younger face didn’t make it less irritating to see.

Before Madara could interrogate the genius-turned-toddler further, he is interrupted by the dismissal bell. He lets out an inward sigh of relief—he’d much prefer discussing this out of the earshot of the students—and turns to his class. “Scram, we’ll discuss this further next meeting.”

Without a moment of hesitation, the students stream out with their goodbyes, having grown familiar with the faculty’s, particularly the white-haired Senju professor’s, antics and have grown long used to near-monthly instances like this, what with six years of studying here under their belts.

Madara gears himself up for a tiring discussion, stretching his neck side to side before plopping down unto a random student chair. Then he finally lays eyes back on the toddlerized Tobirama bundled in Kagami’s arms, motioning for Kagami to sit on the chair across him.

Kagami’s haggard self takes a seat and Madara’s sharp eyes don’t miss the near-imperceptible wince from Tobirama when Kagami adjusts his grip. Rough handling maybe? Odd, Madara’s sure that Kagami’s used to carrying kids with the Uchiha brats back home.

Putting that train of thought in the back burner for later, Madara takes a fortifying breath, looks Tobirama in his—less-narrow now—red eyes then says, “Weren’t you supposed to be on vacation?”

Twin condescending looks conveying “You should know better” is the only response he receives. Every sigh he lets out feels like another white strand added to his head of hair.

“Alright, stupid question—” He—all of them—should have known better than think that “vacation” would translate to “experiment” with this infuriating man who couldn’t cease thinking for a second to save his life. (Madara doesn’t get to talk. The school still remembers that one incident when he’d been forced into bed rest for weeks. Madara had nearly vibrated himself out of his hospital cot just for something to do in his boredom. Fire-natured mages never did do well with inactivity.) “—what happened?”

Tobirama spoke with his toddler-high voice, “I was testing an array I had formulated that was intended to reverse the body’s time to a specific moment.”

Madara doesn’t even ask for the reason for the array’s creation because it’s highly likely that it would be either “Why not?” or some deeply personal reason that Tobirama wouldn’t disclose.

Tobirama continues, “I must have made a mistake with the time formula and the focusing component. When I tested it on a piece of paper I tore in half, it reversed my body’s time instead. Thankfully, it did not reverse my mind to a toddler’s as well.” He pauses, a thought visibly coming to him with the light in his eyes, then quickly dissolves into murmuring theories about how he could have kept his memories even with the time-reversal.

Kagami picks up from there. “I found professor on the floor with his notes when I came in for my scheduled apprenticeship lesson this afternoon. I panicked but professor calmed me down, told me what happened, then took his notes with him before he let me pick him up.” He gestures at the blue sleeves Tobirama’s hands are drowning in, embroidered with seals and arrays of varying functions from the Underworld and back.

Of fucking course he did.

“Then I ran to get the nearest teacher.” A pointed look at Madara.

Madara runs a hand through his hair and suddenly stops.

Wait a minute. He breathes through his nose to calm himself down from the urge to strangle someone. Calm down. Calm down. “Are you telling me this happened hours ago.”

Hours wherein Tobirama most likely tried piecing together how he had inadvertently turned himself into a child without reaching out to at least let any of them know something had happened. Celestial gods, grant him patience; Tobirama likely could have kept himself in his lab for three days with none of them the wiser of his predicament. Even as a child, he’s an incurable workaholic. He’s jarred out of his musings with Tobirama’s short reply.

“Yes.” Tobirama’s nonchalant voice is what tips him over the edge.

“YOU—”

—

Madara calms after half an hour and in the end, Madara takes Tobirama out of Kagami’s hands to head to the faculty meeting for every end of the week.

Tobirama is bundled up in his arms, wearing his re-sized underrobes. Tobirama’s outer robes had been thrown over Madara’s shoulders for ease of movement. Madara holds him with familiarity and ease of practice, evidence of having taken care of his three younger siblings showing easily.

(Madara blinks. “Can’t you just walk?”

Tobirama’s wide, red eyes don’t falter and neither do his raised arms. Kagami, serving as his seat, isn’t trying to hide his amusement at all. Madara stares into Tobirama’s eyes, trying to will him into caving first but the adult in a toddler’s body only says, “Carry me,” his eyes resolute.

Several moments pass in tense silence but Madara inevitably caves anyway. With a sigh, he scoops up the miniaturized Senju in his arms but the heavy blue robes give him a bit of trouble.

“How the fuck did Kagami even carry you in these things?!” Madara huffs, trying to adjust his hold to not let the voluminous robes spill out onto the floor. He notices Tobirama’s almost unnoticeable wincing once again and gentles his robe-wrangling.

Tobirama sighs. “Just re-size my underrobes. I don’t have enough in my reserves for spells, just seal activation.”

Madara does just that, spelling the underrobes smaller with a wave of his hand and just heaves the outer-robes on his shoulder.

Then, they finally set off. They’re already late.)

They arrive at the meeting to the eyes of every faculty member staring at them. Everyone is already here.

Incredulous silence follows. Madara doesn’t blink. He doesn’t think Tobirama does either.

“Madara… why do you have a child?” Hashirama finally breaks the silence. “...Why are you carrying Tobirama’s robes?”

Madara’s face flattens into a deadpan. “Why do you think?” He holds out the toddler in his hands as much as he can with only one arm, trying to direct their gaze to the toddler’s features.

“Is that Tobirama?!” Hashirama jumps out of his seat with a squeal, completely erasing any illusion of dignity he had with the younger faculty. Well, whatever illusion was left after all of Hashirama’s undignified actions in the last half a century they had been teaching in this school since they founded it, anyway.

Not even halfway to them, Hashirama’s already crying. One would think Hashirama the water mage of the family with all his crying. “OTOUTO, YOU’RE SO CUTE!!!”

Ow, that hurt his ears. Madara tries glaring Hashirama into shutting up but, alas, like all the years before, Hashirama keeps on, blubbering about how cute his little brother is. “Oh, you’re so little like this, otouto! How cute!!” The plant mage then pokes at his brother’s chubby cheeks. Tobirama slaps the offending hand away but it inevitably returns to poke again. This goes on for a while.

Hashirama’s squealing dies down after what feels like an eternity and a half, the arm carrying Tobirama feels tired, sagging just a bit. Hashirama backs off to give them a seat, finally. Madara sets Tobirama on his lap, the small hands don’t seem to want to let go of his robes anytime soon.

Mito keeps to her poised demeanor but Madara’s eyes see the sparkles in brown eyes alighted on Tobirama’s small form.

Touka, meanwhile, look positively delighted with her little cousin being actually smaller than her once again, her usually sharp grin a bit softer than usual. She reaches her hand out to give a quick hair ruffle that Tobirama often denies her.

Izuna couldn’t resist and leaps from his seat and starts squeezing Tobirama’s chubby toddler cheeks incessantly, exclamations of how cute and adorable and how soft his cheeks are, paying no mind to the glare Tobirama is giving him. The fun stops when Tobirama starts tearing up, a dark aura suddenly filling the room. Izuna’s hands are slapped away by a brown hand.

Hashirama’s bright face had darkened at the sight of the tears. “Tobirama is very sensitive to pain, please don’t do it again.” The smile he puts on doesn’t comfort anyone.

Madara wipes away Tobirama’s tears with the hem of sleeves as Izuna says his apology. Tobirama nods his acceptance once his tears are wiped dry.

The younger faculty members don’t dare touch Tobirama but do exclaim much about how adorable he is.

Before it could go on any further, Tobirama holds out a chubby hand. “You have tarried enough. We can discuss my situation later. Go on with the agenda.” His small body doesn’t detract from his inherent commanding presence.

With that, the meeting proceeds as is usual with only without Tobirama’s input on his classes since he’d been put in mandatory vacation for the past week. Tobirama doesn’t miss the chance to interrogate his current substitute, Namikaze Minato, about his classes and students though.

None of the faculty members could keep themselves from taking glimpses of the miniaturized Professor Senju throughout the meeting but Tobirama, admirably, doesn’t snap at all.

The meeting is adjourned after a few hours and the younger members of the faculty leave, leaving only Senju and the Uchiha behind.

Hashirama gestures for Tobirama to start. Tobirama starts with what he told Madara earlier, gesturing for Madara to hand him his robes’ sleeves where he pulls out three thick scrolls from a seal with a pulse of magic. Madara’s willing to bet that each of the scrolls is at least fifty feet long. The Senju and the Uzumaki’s reactions are much less explosive, more amused than anything. It’s a testament to how well and how long they’ve known each other. Izuna is as incredulous as Madara had been earlier.

As he hands the scrolls to Mito, Tobirama says, “I am fairly certain that the spell will fade in a day. You can look through my notes for reference, aneue.” He gestures with his short arms at the scrolls.

Mito hums, not at all bothered by the sheer volume of the notes, more than used to Tobirama’s methods by now. “The failsafe should work.” She raises her head to look back at Tobirama. “If the spell doesn’t fade by tomorrow, we’ll figure it out then.”

Everyone voices their agreement without much debate, Tobirama and Mito are the foremost masters of seals and arrays after all.

Then Izuna asks the question, “Who’ll take care of you while you’re all… mini-sized, though?”

“OH—”

Tobirama interrupts Hashirama immediately, “I’ll stay with Madara.” At the sound of a sniffle, Tobirama glares at Hashirama before he could start wailing and crying. It’s clear as day that he will not be willing to put up with his smothering for the remaining hours he will be in his small form.

Seeing as Tobirama won’t budge, Hashirama wilts but accepts with a pout. Madara doesn’t even try to put up a fight.

They leave with Mito finally giving in and giving Tobirama a pat on his cheek along with a brief hug , Touka ruffling his hair—Tobirama gives token resistance but melts into the warm hand in the end—, Izuna tweaking his nose, and Hashirama embraces him.

(Madara had noticed Tobirama’s wince once again when Mito’s arm shifts to his legs. He doesn’t bring it up there. Tobirama would gut him if Madara’s comment would end up with him coddled by Hashirama.)

—

They’re almost done with eating dinner in Madara’s rooms when Madara finally asks, “You kept wincing when someone brushes against your leg, why?”

Tobirama starts opening his mouth to protest but Madara’s insistent gaze makes it clear that he won’t be deterred. He sighs instead. “I was planning on treating them myself.”

“As a fucking toddler?!” Madara says incredulously.

“...Yes?” Tobirama sounds confused.

Madara walks away to get his medical supplies and healing salves before he explodes again. He comes back not long after, starting to treat the deep welts on Tobirama’s calves with gentle hands.

It’s too quiet. He breaks the silence. “How did you even get these?” He gently massages the healing salve onto the wounds.

“I assume the spell reversed me to a certain day where I got punished by one of the elders. Caning was the preferred form of corporal punishment by the clan before Hashirama gave the order to disallow such punishments.” Tobirama says matter-of-factly.

Madara knew those days all too well. They hadn’t been as bad as Tobirama’s, though. Madara’s brows furrow in concern but he doesn’t press further. He opts for a lighter comment instead.

“Itama would have had your head if he wasn’t at that medical conference.”

“Oh shush.”

Not long after, they ready themselves for bed. Tobirama toddles into the bathroom by himself, Madara keeping an ear out just in case.

Madara spells a smaller duplicate of his bed for Tobirama to use as Tobirama prepares for bed, laying Tobirama’s large blue robes just beside it in case Tobirama grew in the middle of the night.

They sleep not long after that.

—

Madara is suddenly woken by small hands shaking him awake in the middle of the night, his room awash with moonlight. His eyes blearily open to see Tobirama insistently shaking him awake with white brows furrowed.

“What is it, Tobirama?” Madara asks, voice rough with sleep.

Tobirama hesitates, bites his lip, but speaks up after a moment. “...Nightmare.”

Madara softens. “Wanna sleep beside me instead?”

“...Yes.” Madara lifts his covers in invitation and Tobirama doesn’t waste any time scurrying in and snuggling into Madara’s side.

He was out like a light within seconds.

Madara huffs out a quiet laugh and follows soon after, falling back into sleep.

—

His bed is dipping with a growing weight beside him.

Madara’s eyes snap open to meet an awake and naked Tobirama back to his original size, small form now large and muscled once again, eyes back to their sharp narrow shape, red tattoos streaking down his lithe body in patterns he still hasn’t deciphered. The only thing saving his modesty is Madara’s bed cover. Heat creeps up his face but he calms himself down before his cheeks self-combust.

At least he manages a comment that doesn’t embarrass both him and his ancestors. “I did not at all expect the man I’ve been courting naked in my bed before the third gift but I can’t say I’m at all disappointed.” His lips pull up into a wild grin after.

“Oh shut up,” Tobirama huffs, grabbing a spare change of clothes from one of his sleeves’ many storage seals in more of a reflex than anything. He puts it on as quickly as he could then nudges at Madara still in his original position. “I’m still tired. Shove over.”

“Far be it from me to keep you from the sleep you always deprive yourself of.” Madara teases, moving to make room for Tobirama’s taller frame in his bed. He gets a pale hand over his mouth for his trouble. It just makes him smile.

To Madara’s surprise, it’s Tobirama who takes initiative and wraps Madara up in his arms. Not that Madara’s complaining, he’s very much comfortable with Tobirama’s hold on him. People would think the water mage would run much cooler but the warmth Madara’s feeling right now very much disproves it. He feels even warmer when he feels a kiss on his forehead and a hand boldly intertwining in his.

It’s a good thing he’s not fully awake or he would have been sure to implode right then and there.

Tobirama shifts into a more comfortable position before he falls back into sleep, Madara following not long after.

They fall asleep mere minutes before the sun rises, Madara a comforting weight on Tobirama’s frame. They don’t wake when the sun greets them through the window, basking in the presence of their beloved, entwined hands warmed by the heat of the sun.

———

pretty low stakes since i only gave myself a little bit of time to plan and write this thing because i had so many other plans for mdtb week and i had to crunch for time bcos i didn’t want to do them alongside school stuff 💀

[vnyu73]

erasermic - first meeting when they're academy students. Hizashi immediately declares him his BFF forever. Shouta is intimidated but intrigued. F L U F F

okay this is a different take than the usual erasermic first meeting fics i’ve seen so uhhh i hope it’s okay hskdhla

Also let’s pretend that since bnha is canonly in the future handshakes are almost as common as bowing in greeting okay (that and hizashi is still more used to american mannerisms, shouta is polite)

———

“Good morning!”

Hizashi jaunts into Class 1-A’s classroom on Wednesday morning, finally back after a two-day absence. He had gotten a cold that weekend and it finally went away completely yesterday. Going to school with the sniffles would have been dangerous, the risk that he would sneeze the school into a quake higher than recommended even for a school with the most renowned hero program that had probably dealt with more volatile quirks than his.

He hadn’t been gone too long but he sees a new sight in the classroom he had been in for almost two months now.

“Hey,” Hizashi discreetly calls to Tensei as he nears, “who’s the new kid?”

A thin-looking teen is slouching in the seat beside his. Most of their face was hidden by messy, chin-length, black hair. Hizashi watches as they pitch from side to side—are they falling asleep?

The stranger looks like they gave up on giving the pretense that they’re fully awake—not like they had been succeeding—and just buried their head in their arms on the table that had not been there the last time he was here.

Tensei glances at the teen at the back of the classroom as well and answers, “He’s a transfer from Shiketsu. Family moved here to Musutafu. He just got here on Monday.”

Oh.

Hizashi nods to show he had heard. He looks back at the black-haired teen and feels a sense of kinship blooming in his chest. Hizashi had come to Japan only a few years back when his family had made the ultimate decision to return to their roots and left the States, to reconnect with their family here. He knows intimately well how hard it is to be the new kid, adjusting to an unfamiliar environment. He had been lucky that plenty of people took the step to reach out to him and be his friend; it made the adjustment so much more bearable. He couldn’t imagine how he would have turned out if he’d been left to be alone and feeling displaced. He doesn’t like even just the thought of it.

That settles it. Hizashi solidifies his resolve as he walks to the new desk beside his.

-

Shouta is so tired. He had barely gotten any restful sleep for the past few days. The bed felt wrong, the smells were unfamiliar, the odd noises unsettled him. He already had enough difficulty sleeping and staying asleep, the new environment had just made it worse.

He lets out a sigh while his head is buried in his arms. He can feel the stares of his new classmates digging into his head. Don’t they have anything else to look at? Maybe that bright blond that had just walked in. At least they weren’t gossiping about him. Hopefully.

He’s just internally wishing that the newness would tide over soon just so he could relax and cease being so damn tense when he hears someone coming near.

It’s probably the blond taking his seat. It had been the only vacant seat the past two days. Shouta raises his head to look at the board.

Shouta had planned on just ignoring the blond when the other teen just bulldozes over that expectation in the next second.

“Hey! I’m Yamada Hizashi! Nice to meetcha!” The blond grins so brightly and warmly that Shouta feels like he should squint his eyes to protect them from the onslaught. Well, he feels more awake at least. He feels like the gentle rays of the morning sun just roused him from his sleep.

Shouta notices that the blond—Yamada—was wearing orange sunglasses, hiding the true color of his eyes. His hair is styled in a mostly gravity-defying style, not unlike when Shouta activated his quirk. His bright smile showed off his white teeth, his front teeth a bit larger than usual.

Shouta abruptly shakes himself back into awareness from his observations, realizing the blond was still holding out his hand for a shake.

He takes the hand, absentmindedly registering its gentle and comforting warmth, and replies in kind.

“Aizawa Shouta. Nice to meet you.”

The blond’s smile seems to glow even brighter if that were even possible. At this rate, Shouta just might end up needing sunglasses just interacting with him.

Even before they break the handshake, Yamada goes on a tangent about how he should show him around the spots on campus grounds, prime hiding and napping spots. Shouta isn’t bothered, more than used to his talkative parents chattering whenever he spoke to them. He enjoys listening anyway. And maybe getting more familiar with his new school just might help alleviate this discomfort he’d been feeling crawling under his skin since he had gotten here.

He doesn’t notice how his shoulders loosen as Yamada talks but the blond does and it just encourages him to talk more. Shouta does notice his lips lifting just littlest bit upward.

Looks like he’s just found a new friend. Or rather, a new friend found him.

———

shouta always did have a soft spot for adorable things

just a pre-erasermic. shorter than the past fills eheheh

my asks are open if you wanna give me a prompt/request or just scream at me or with me in general :DD rules for prompts here

[vnyu73]

in the rustle of leaves

fall gift exchange fic for @withyourrhythm!! i hope you enjoy!!

———

Madara hums as he sits closer to his husband, basking in the warmth beside him as he hears the loud rustle of leaves. He briefly lifts his head and looks up from the scroll in Tobirama’s hands to look beyond the engawa they are sat on, the cool fall winds rush through the trees and shower their garden in beautifully colored leaves that he’s never stopped marveling at.

He picks up his tea in one hand as the other pulls the blanket wrapped around him and Tobirama up to his shoulder. It isn’t that he’s all that cold, the warmth of his chakra takes care of that well enough, but that it’s been a while since he’d been able to just hunker down and enjoy his time with Tobirama.

He sips at his tea and sets his head back on Tobirama’s shoulder as he puts the cup back down beside him, shuffling closer.

He briefly feels a fleeting pressure at the crown of his head and his neck heats even with the familiarity of Tobirama’s kisses on his wild head of hair that’s been braided by a sleepy Tobirama this morning.

Tobirama shifts to accommodate him further, tilting the scroll in his hands for them to read it together.

Madara manages to convince Tobirama to read it aloud, relishing at the comforting feel of Tobirama’s deep voice rumbling through his body as he gently reads the story aloud as if he were with children.

The story ends and the last words flow past the white-haired man’s lips, leaving them in companionable silence, both literally and figuratively wrapped up in their own world. Tobirama sets the scroll aside and nuzzles his nose at Madara’s crown.

Tobirama’s hand finds his, gently lifting it up to his face, and Madara can’t look away. Red eyes close as lips touch ungloved knuckles, fleeting but nevertheless the feeling lingers.

He watches as pale lashes kiss pale, marked cheeks and can’t resist kissing Tobirama’s cheek in retaliation.

Tobirama’s lips lift up into a smile and Madara’s heart feels heavy and light at the same time. Tobirama turns the Madara’s hand to plant kisses on his palm and each of his fingertips, soft smile turning cheeky right after.

Madara lifts his head and pulls Tobirama into a kiss, gentle and fiery all at once. They part with their foreheads touching, eyes on each other as if trying to memorize every color and every feeling in the depths.

“They’ll be here soon,” Tobirama murmurs, breaking through the silence.

Madara huffs. “They took their time.”

They don’t wait for much longer as five chakra signatures near their home, the brightest of them thrumming louder as they near.

Bam! And there’s the inevitable hitting of the door to the wall as is usual when Hashirama visits. Padded footsteps rush through the house, homing in right on Madara and Tobirama’s spot on the engawa. Then he pounces, flashing forward in a rare show of his speed, gathering them into his ridiculously think arms.

“Tobira!! Madara!!” Hashirama cries into their ears as he lifts and squeezes them both closer than is comfortable. Madara thinks his 

“Off!!” Madara struggles to free himself from his best friend’s thrice-cindered tree arms. “Off!!”

“Anija!!” Tobirama wriggles, legs thrashing.

Hashirama just laughs at their fruitless attempts and finally lets them go.

“Who thought it was a good idea to invite you?” Madara grumbles, picking up the blanket that had fallen in their struggle.

“Well—” Hashirama is interrupted by Tobirama’s palm to his face, finally done with his ridiculousness. Hashirama tackles Tobirama and they collapse into a squabbling heap, Tobirama complaining about how this is all childish as if he’s never squabbled with his brother on the ground like children before. There’s probably something about Senju and the fall.

Then it devolves from there as their other visitors arrive and join in with the chaos the Senju brothers started. Izuna starts heckling them even with Hikaku’s half-hearted attempts at stopping him. Touka is laughing and jeering as the Senju brothers fought it out, rolling through fallen leaves. At least with Tobirama’s short hair, he could just brush them off instead of the agony Madara had gone through the last time Hashirama had gotten them into a pile of fallen leaves somehow. Mito sits on the engawa looking as regal as ever though Madara spots the twinkling of mirth in her eyes.

Tobirama had invited his brother—who’d gone on to invite everyone else, thinking it would be good bonding—over to make some treats with an orange vegetable he’d found out about and had taken a liking to in some village southwest of them and had started experimenting with once he brought it home but it seems it will have to wait.

The light of the sun alights on his family and his heart feels fuller by the minute.

His chakra’s fire may keep warm his body but this sight will never fail to warm his soul.

[vnyu73]

a sign from the sun

written for @madatobiweek 2020!!

Madatobi Week 2 Prompts:  A/B/O AU OR Demons and Angels AU || Red eyes are blessed OR Magically bonded

Read on Ao3

———

Tobirama dons his armor with the help of his brother. 

Heavy. Far heavier than the lightweight armor he usually uses in his missions. It clacks loudly as he moves ever so slightly, unfit for the assassinations and recon missions he is oft assigned. He feels it as a physical manifestation of the expectations put on his shoulders.

He puts on his happuri, his brother’s gift, embedded with protective seals, a solid weight on his face, sweeping bangs from his forehead, his sealed blindfold unobstructed for the world to see.

It’ll be his first time fighting in the front lines. The number of capable Senju frontline fighters had declined in the past skirmishes at their borders, opposing clans growing bolder in the wake of his father’s death at the hands of the Hagoromo and the sudden shift in the leadership of the clan in Hashirama’s hands, and his clan has been forced to take Tobirama out of the shadows and into the limelight in the hopes of him evening the field in the wake of their absence. In hopes that the techniques he’s invented for his own sake, those that his clansmen could not use, would turn the tides.

It’ll be the first time he fights alongside his brother like he’s always wished. The first time he won’t be barred from aiding his brother and keeping that lively forest chakra bright and pulsing and alive.

His fur collar is put over his armor, the texture a familiar comfort brushing against his neck and cheeks. His shoulders relax the slightest bit at the familiar weight.

Hashirama’s hands land on his shoulders, on his plated armor, both his hands and chakra a reassuring weight. Tobirama feels Hashirama come closer and lean his forehead on his.

Hashirama takes a deep breath. “Ready?”

Tobirama brings his hands up to Hashirama’s face, fingers skimming across his features. He takes a deep breath, eyes behind a firmly tied blindfold squeezing tightly shut, then relaxes, putting distance between their faces. His voice doesn’t waver when he says, “Of course.”

Hashirama pats his shoulder once more, his chakra, dimmed with nervousness before, lightening with what Tobirama assumes is a smile.

“Let’s go.”

—

Tobirama takes position near his brother, the slightest bit behind him, as they run to the skirmish to the east. He takes in the Senju signatures—four, as Hashirama had briefed him, still alive but edging on chakra exhaustion; the Uchiha encountering them aren’t faring well either—, catalogs them as he goes. The incoming Uchiha forces are near the same number as theirs, all similarly fire-natured at their cores, blazing in his senses. He has to remember to numb his senses else he would lose himself in the sheer amount of information, this isn’t an assassination mission where he has to take in everything. He narrows his focus.

They arrive not long after. Hashirama immediately engages with Uchiha Madara’s sun-blazing-warm chakra while Tobirama cuts through the Uchiha in his way until he clashes with Uchiha Izuna—the fire-crackling-lightning chakra the closest relative to Madara’s—, blades screeching when the Uchiha parries his cutting blow.

Their blades shake as they fight for purchase, the metal screaming as they try to cut through the other.

They spring apart, the sensor feeling a quick pulse of curiosity in the Uchiha’s chakra. He doesn’t pause, his left hand leaves his tsuka and rushes through handsigns, calling a whip of water from thin air, moving through the air with a vicious crack.

His opponent dodges and retaliates with a fireball which Tobirama douses immediately after. He feels the Uchiha’s chakra rushing to his eyes’ tenketsu points, activating his sharingan as steam hisses and spreads throughout the clearing, filling his lungs as he breathes in.

Cracklingfirelightning chakra lunges forward, blade singing. The Senju gathers water in his mouth and spits them out as senbon as he puts his sword on guard in front of him.

The Uchiha rolls to the side to avoid the jutsu and springs back up, Tobirama is ready to meet his blade once again.

Firesunwind and earthforestlife chakra suddenly flare in his senses, cutting through his narrowed focus. He’s almost too late dodging Izuna’s blade coming for his head, the blade singing beside his ear, nearly kissing his cheek. He counters immediately with a kick to the torso, sending him flying back.

Tobirama feels wind brushing against his temple and his cheek with a jolt of shock.

Uchiha Izuna had cut through his blindfold.

The cloth falls. The firecracklinglightning chakra suddenly stops as unseeing, red, red eyes widen in surprise.

—

Izuna’s sword almost slips from his hands at what the white-haired Senju’s—one he has never met before; he doesn’t understand why, this unnamed Senju is strong; why would they keep him away from the frontlines—blindfold has been hiding. Red eyes. The color of fresh blood, brighter than the shade of the sharingan.

A Blessed. What the fuck is one of Amaterasu’s Blessed doing here?!

In the midst of his great incredulity, he doesn’t realize he said that out loud. For at least half the entire battlefield to hear.

—

“What the fuck is one of Amaterasu’s Blessed doing here?!” Izuna’s voice breaks Madara’s concentration and he almost gets impaled by a wooden branch accompanied with overtures for peace shouted by a cheery voice before he leaps away for distance.

What.

It seems he needn’t leap away from Hashirama anyway when the Senju immediately turns away with a heavy pulse of chakra and sunshins to the side of the white-haired shinobi that had been fighting Izuna.

He vaguely registers the sudden halt of the Uchiha within his sensing range. A quick glance shows him a sudden halt to the battlefield, everyone with curious but on-guard stances. A tense, unspoken ceasefire.

He follows and reappears beside Izuna’s flailing form. The unfamiliar stormwaterocean chakra rings through his chakra sense, pulsing with an undercurrent of protectiveness. Well, more irritation now, as Hashirama visibly fusses over him, back turned on the Uchiha siblings, hiding him from view.

Forest and ocean chakra intertwine, the forest smothering in worry and the ocean huffily batting it away, aware in the way the lively chakra isn’t. The new shinobi is a sensor. A strong sensor. Who—

“Tobiramaaaaaa,” Hashirama whines, as his hands flutter about the Senju shinobi’s person.

“I’m fine, anija. Calm down. Just a scratch.”

“But this is your first time out on the battlefield and—”

“Could you not—”

He turns away from the fretting Senju to look over his brother for any injuries. No, he doesn’t flutter his hands over his brother, that would just be embarrassing for them both.

“I’m fine. I’m fine. Just— A Blessed,” his brother hisses under his breath as he bats gloved hands away, eyes still on the water-natured shinobi. He turns to look again.

The white-haired shinobi—Hashirama’s brother, apparently—pushes Hashirama’s fretting hands and his person away to the side and bends to pick up a fallen strip of cloth. When Tobirama straightened back up, Madara can clearly see sharp and red, red eyes the color of fresh blood amidst sharp features framed by a happuri engraved with the Senju kamon, head adorned with white hair that looks as bright as the sun above.

A Blessed on this particular battlefield. He looks up at the sunny sky in askance. Amaterasu-sama, is this a sign?

He looks back at the Senju brothers and sees the shorter one tugging at Hashirama’s sleeve and then the other just outright producing thread—what—which the white-haired shinobi takes and threads to a needle—from where?!—to fix the sliced cloth in his hands with a few, blurringly-fast stitches.

“Hashirama,” Madara calls. Hashirama turns around with a bright smile but Madara doesn’t miss how he keeps himself in front of his brother. Tobirama looks right at them as if unafraid of their sharingan, the red eyes don’t seem to focus. Is he blind? He shakes his thoughts back to the now, focusing on Hashirama who looks right into his eyes.

“Madara! Have you considered my offer?”

Madara doesn’t need to think hard. “Fine.”

The abrupt declaration shocks the Senju for a split second before a smile almost as bright as Amaterasu’s blinding light splits his face. He starts blubbering about how happy he is before Tobirama hits the back of his head to calm him. It doesn’t really work.

Seeing as Hashirama won’t be calming down anytime soon, Tobirama speaks instead, unfocused red eyes still bare for the world to see, “We will send the terms in a week’s time.”

Madara nods in acknowledgment, quelling the giddy feeling blooming in his chest. He can yell later. Later, he tells himself as he looks at the gorgeous Blessed stood in front of them, seemingly unbothered with the limpet his brother has turned into hanging on his person.

He turns and bellows for his clansmen to head home. He feels the Senju do the same. His chest feels tight.

As he runs home with his clansmen in his sensing range, his mind can’t help but remind him of promises of peace voiced at a river.

—

They are off the battlefield so instead of being wrapped around his head, his blindfold is wrapped on his wrist. The seals giving him the ability to sharpen his chakra sense and, in a sense, “see” the world with a crispness—not too dissimilar to the Hyuuga’s byakugan, he’d been told—, though not as sharply as when it is wrapped around his head, on his eyes. He has to remind himself to blink every once in a while.

Sat at his brother’s right on the negotiating table, Tobirama’s skin is prickling all over at the feeling of what feels like every Uchiha’s eyes on him. They’re not at all hostile, their chakra even thrum with what feels like awe. Even so, he’s unused to such a level of focus and interest placed on him, having lived most of his life in the shadows. It makes his hackles nearly raise.

He focuses back on the negotiations instead, speaking up as needed and nudging Hashirama back into focus when he starts gushing his excitement again. The feeling of being watched doesn’t abate and even increases whenever he opens his mouth to speak but he keeps himself as calm as he can.

Hashirama and Tobirama had finally worn down their stubborn elders into agreeing to the negotiations after nearly two weeks of meetings and strong-arming and what-have-you since that skirmish. Tobirama is glad to have finally gotten through that mess without any murder or maiming though he had been very much tempted to do so. He could have done it, assassination is his specialty after all.

He’s pleased that the scrolls of peace treaties that he’d written and refined since his anija had come home to him from meeting his Uchiha friend had finally been used to draft the terms for negotiation.

(It still pains him to not have been able to aid his brother and his friend at the river because he’d been assigned to a mission in Uzushiogakure. It took him three days after the fact to get home and console his brother.)

Finally, the meeting comes to an end with the first draft of the terms ready to take back to their clans and review.

Then Madara asked for everyone save the clan heads and the clan heirs to leave.

Tobirama isn’t very surprised. The Uchiha clan head’s chakra is still bubbling with nervousness and eagerness. He’s not sure what for but all of the Uchihas’ chakra had started flickering and flashing into that state as the meeting ended. Curious.

Hashirama bids the Senju delegation to leave, cheery as ever, chakra swirling happily. They leave with minimal fuss, Touka taking a pause and turning to them, chakra thrumming like a drumbeat of warning. Tobirama nods her way and she finally leaves.

Silence falls in the room as both Uchiha seem to be fidgeting, aborted motions to speak plain to anyone with every aborted inhale Tobirama hears.

Hashirama waits patiently, reminiscent of whenever Tobirama rants at him as a sounding board to figure out what he had missed or needed to do to solve his particularly difficult experiments.

Izuna seems to have finally gotten fed up with the silence when his arm jabs into Madara’s side. Madara breathes in deep to retaliate with a bellow, chakra flaring in indignance, but abruptly stops himself from doing so. His brilliant chakra—a warm campfire feeling like home that he had taken comfort in sensing since he had felt it as a babe—flickers for a moment and flares in self-affirmation.

Madara’s inhale feels like the rush of a wave in the silence of the room. His voice sounds like thunder when he finally speaks of the Blessed—children of Amaterasu, born with red eyes and white hair. He speaks of how it is a closely guarded secret of the Uchiha. He needn’t say how it could be, and likely had been, used against them.

The sudden agreement Madara had to the peace negotiations that day Tobirama stepped on the battlefield finally made sense.

But Tobirama does not expect the following words from the Uchiha at all.

“We, as Uchiha, Amaterasu’s chosen people, are honor-bound to offer the Blessed a place with the Uchiha. As an extension of our peace terms, we ask the Blessed to consider accepting a courtship by any Uchiha of their choosing.” The words are formal, clearly recited from somewhere, but their chakra ring true.

Hashirama doesn’t speak, chakra still swirling but now turned to Tobirama in inquiry. It’s his choice.

For his family’s peace—and perhaps even a chance to get to know more about the person whose chakra has comforted him in secret for so long. “I accept.”

His unseeing red eyes make contact with Madara’s before they bow their goodbyes. The older man’s warmhearthsun chakra flares in what feels like embarrassed attraction. Hm. How endearing.

His lips lift into a small smile.

He thinks he already knows who to pick.

———

in this universe, the river meeting happened bcos of a senju cousin. tobirama has been kept secret, assigned to missions that keep to the shadows and away from the limelight y’see

ach this is the first time i wrote a blind!tobirama i hope it read alright

some terms: tsuka = the katana’s handle; kamon = family crest

[vnyu73]

a quick mdtb sickfic for @avocado--kun :DD

...i wrote madatobi because i’m a basic bitch but i hope you like it!!

———

“ACHOO!!” Another sneeze shook throughout the house. Tobirama’s sure the wall to his side just wobbled.

Tobirama lets out a sigh as he wills his hands to work faster on transferring the soup he’d just cooked into a bowl. He tries not to think about how many times he had to practice before he got it just right but he makes a mental note to remind himself to bring offerings to the Uchiha siblings’ mother in apology and maybe implicate Izuna to her since he had been the one to give him the recipe. His chest warms at how that moment felt like Izuna had truly accepted him as his brother’s husband.

He smiles a bit as he breathes in the aroma; it smells just like what Madara had served him a week ago. Until he caught what Tobirama had not a few days later. Madara’s next sneeze prompts him to exit the kitchen. He had to get back before Madara’s sneezing sets something on fire again.

He lengthens his strides to get back to Madara’s side, making sure the soup doesn’t spill in his hands. 

He slides open the door to see the miserable mop of black that his husband has turned into, flopped haphazardly in a messy nest of blankets that Tobirama is sure he’d fixed before he went to the kitchen to cook the soup. He clicks his tongue as he crosses the room to Madara’s groaning side.

Tobirama sets the bowl far away enough where it won’t spill, the groaning lessening as the smell of it starts to permeate the room. He helps Madara up to sit, hands gentle on his sweaty back.

“I leave you for just 20 minutes.” Tobirama sighs, running his free hand through Madara’s soaked hair. He feels his mouth twist into a grimace when he removes his hand. With a twist of chakra, he gently siphons the sweat from Madara’s hair, toweling it dry as much as he can after he deposits the sweat into a bucket in the corner of the room.

The next time he runs his hand through ink-black hair, it earns him an appreciative sigh. “Braid first or food?”

Madara slumps into Tobirama’s chest. “‘raid,” he hears Madara grumble near imperceptibly, voice rougher than he’s ever heard it.

Tobirama hums and gets to work, glad he’d had the mind to always have hair ties on him ever since their relationship started. He makes sure to not pull hard but works quickly, hands plenty used to braiding Madara’s ridiculously voluminous hair.

Once he’s done, he pats Madara to get up from his slump on Tobirama’s chest but the man stubbornly ignores it.

Tobirama bites back chuckle but his shoulder shakes anyways. “Come on, you need to eat your soup and tell me how badly I did it.”

Madara grumbles some more before he finally lets go, his grumpy visage now more visible with his braided hair.

Tobirama prods him to start eating, warmth radiating from his chest as Madara groans appreciatively with every mouthful.

He fixes the blankets and pillows on and around Madara’s person—Uchihas, so similar to cats and birds, he swears—as he waits for him to finish.

He hears Madara set the bowl down right after he pushes the final blanket back into place.

Tobirama lets out a quiet, relieved breath. Madara had finished almost three-fourths of the bowl’s contents, much better than the three spoonfuls he managed to stomach last night.

He shuffles back to Madara��s side, letting him lean on him once more. He starts to rub his back but his hand touches the giant wet patch on his back again. He pats Madara again, “Change?”

Madara hums his agreement, just a bit sleepy. Tobirama makes quick work of changing his soaked clothes, using the towel at his side once more to wipe him dry then wrapping Madara back up in dry clothes.

Tobirama pushes away the thought of how similar this was to just last week, with him in Madara’s place and Madara in his. He hadn’t been as clingy, at least. (Madara would argue the contrary.)

He pushes Madara back into bed once he’s done. He twists the cloth from a bowl of cool water that had miraculously not been turned over with Madara’s squirming and gently wipes it on Madara’s hot skin. Fortunately, his temperature has gone down significantly today.

He gathers the nearly empty bowl to take back to the kitchen but a hand on his wrist stops him.

“Stay.” Madara’s voice scrapes through his throat and Tobirama has to suppress a wince.

He looks back helplessly, eyes flitting from the bowl in his hand, the desk filled with work at the corner of the room, then Madara once more.

Then Madara brings out the puppy eyes—did anija teach him that? It looks very similar—and Tobirama can’t say no.

“As you wish, then.” Tobirama puts the bowl back down just as Madara pulls him into bed, only his reflexes saving him 

Tobirama huffs but settles himself beside Madara all the same, disregarding the pale skin that’s just a little bit uncomfortably hot. He pokes at his husband’s reddened nose. “Sleep.”

Madara grumbles as he—for lack of a better word—snuggles into Tobirama before he drops straight into sleep.

Tobirama runs his palm down Madara’s braided hair down to his waist and closes his eyes.

A nap won’t hurt.

———

also put this on ao3

[vnyu73]

still breathing

written for @madatobiweek 2020!!

Madatobi Week 3 Prompts: Generation Swap AU OR Fairy tale AU || Enemies/Rivals to lovers OR Mutual Pining

Read on Ao3

———

Madara rushes into Tobirama’s bedroom, the shoji door nearly breaking from the force of him slamming it open.

His frantic eyes immediately land right on the pale, unmoving figure on the futon. The figure on the bed did not stir from their slumber, the chest beneath the covers moving rhythmically without any irregularities. Pale lids cover preciously sharp red eyes. Pale arms lay beside him. The position is so unlike his usual curled-in-sleep self.

His breath is stuck in his throat, threatening to choke him. His hand tightens on the doorway. He doesn’t register the crack under the force of his fingers.

Tobirama looks like he’s just sleeping but he looks dangerously still. If he hadn’t been visibly breathing, he’d look dead. Dead like his brothers—young, too damn young, faces covered with white cloth, still, lifeless; so unlike the lively flames they had been—, his parents—cold hands in his as they breathe their last—, and his fallen clansmen. Warm hands cold. Unreachable. Static.

So very, very unlike the ever-moving man with multiple lines of thought on anything and everything under the sun and then some simultaneously going through his mind whom he loves so much it aches.

It takes all he can muster to not collapse right there by the doorway at the sight. The lead weight in his heart threatens to ground him where he stands.

He doesn’t blink, half-afraid that he would open his eyes to his beloved with an unmoving chest. His life stolen by his own carelessness.

(“We found him collapsed in his lab. He’s in a coma.” Hashirama’s voice is uncharacteristically grave as if, with Tobirama’s absence, he had to be the serious one for once. His brown hand feels like a weight heavier than the giant tree the Senju had once thrown at him.

Madara has to remember to breathe, air moving in and out of his body in quiet, shuddering gasps as the reality of it all set in.

A dainty hand touches the back of his hand to offer assurance, and he turns to look. Mito’s brown eyes burn into his, rife with determination. “I’ve been looking through his notes. I’m close to the answer, I know it. I will find out how to fix this, Madara. I will never let my brother sleep forever.”

Hashirama gently pats his cheek. “You can visit him in the meantime. We’ll bring you whatever news we have immediately.”

Madara has never moved faster in his life.)

His footsteps are deathly loud in the silence. He can’t hear Tobirama’s breathing in the midst of it. He collapses beside the futon, armor and unwashed hair and all.

The familiarity of it all threatens to crush him. Countless memories of sitting beside deathbeds of his loved ones run though his mind once more. Breathless gasps leaving final words, the light leaving once-lively eyes, still chests, white cloth over dead-pale faces, slack hands in his.

He takes Tobirama’s hand in his. It’s warm, a meager comfort from the chill that has taken root in his chest ever since Hashirama told him of the news. It’s a comfort nonetheless. His nose stings.

Dark eyes take in every feature of the man laying in the futon. The white hair, the sweeping white lashes, the curve of the smart mouth, the slope of his nose, the strength in his jaw, the firm chest still rising in falling. 

Maybe if he looked hard enough, he would never forget a detail. But this isn’t how he wants to remember his love.

The image he wants to have engraved into his soul is whenever this man laughs, whenever he has the ever-bright glint of discovery and fascination in his eyes, whenever he eviscerates people with so few words, whenever this reserved man softens in his presence, whenever he turns to look and sees this man’s love for him naked on his face.

Not like this.

He buries his face in the palm of the pale hand he holds, his breath stutters from the weight in his chest. Tears gather and streak down his cheeks in warm, salty streams. He shuts his eyes tight as he starts to sob.

He breathes in the scent of Tobirama, ozone and sea and oak melded into a scent of comfort and familiarity. He grounds himself in the warmth of the hand in his. He’s not dead. He’s not dead. He’s not dead. He still breathes. His chakra still thrums. He’s still warm.

Madara’s tears lessen and he has enough strength in him to look at the gorgeous face below him. He blinks the tears gathered in his eyes to see Tobirama’s asleep face clearer.

The stillness of his beloved threatens to break him and he can’t help but kiss that marked cheek and mouth, his own mouth wet with his tears. When the mouth beneath his doesn’t move to reciprocate, his tears flood his eyes once more.

He buries his head into Tobirama’s neck, mouth opening in a soundless cry. His sobs ring throughout the room. His chest feels heavy and hollow at the same time.

Unseen by shut dark eyes buried in a pale neck, precious red eyes flutter open.

“Madara?”

Tobirama—

He nearly breaks his back with speed of which he straightened up. 

Awake red eyes framed by white lashes look at him curiously like he hadn’t been almost death-like in the coma he just woke from. He’s awake. He’s alive. A flood of words want to flow out through his throat but the sheer number of them threaten to suffocate him where he sits.

“Madara, what’s wrong? You look like you’re on my deathbed. You- you’re crying.” A pale, warm, alive hand reaches up to wipe his tears. It suddenly stills after one wipe. “Ah.” He remembers.

Madara finally finds his voice, choking out, “You fucking idiot, I was gone for a week to find you in a coma.” He’s holding too tightly—he feels light but exhausted with the sudden relief from the weight on what felt like his soul—on the hand in his to wipe his no doubt wet and disgusting face.

There is hesitation in Tobirama’s face as it seems the gravity Madara had put on the situation is clear to him. A hand paler than Madara’s held his cheeks. “I was… studying a coma-inducing poison from Yuki no Kuni that Umeko—” A cousin of his, Madara remembers. “—found. I accidentally mixed it in with a volatile compound in a moment of carelessness—I admit that I had missed sleep. I am… very sorry to have distressed you.”

Before he could explode at the audacity of this man to scare him so much with the result of his recklessness with his own safety, he is rudely interrupted.

“MADARA! MADARA, MITO FIGURED IT OU—” Hashirama lumbers though the still-open door only to stop, stock-still at the sight he finds. He reanimates not a second later. “OTOUTO!!”

Both of them wheeze from the force and weight of such a tall and bulky man landing right on them. Madara’s armor doesn’t help matters, digging into all the uncomfortable places. They squawk at the large man to “Get off!!” but wood must have grown in his ears because he decidedly does not get off.

Madara manages—miracle of miracles—to extricate himself from the older Senju’s embrace with much effort and bears witness to another episode of brotherly Senju squabbling, Tobirama smushing Hashirama’s face away as the taller one tries to gather the squirming younger into his arms.

His eyes crinkle at the sides, chest light. This is the kind of image he wants to keep in his soul forever.

———

...does this even resemble sleeping beauty enough to count as a fairy tale au...

before you ask: izuna is alive, just away on a mission, and yes, tobirama lost sleep because madara was away 😎👉👉

[vnyu73]

(will you catch me) when i fall

written for @madatobiweek 2020!!

Madatobi Week 2 Prompts: A/B/O AU OR Demons and Angels AU || Red eyes are blessed OR Magically Bonded

Read on Ao3

———

His light wavers in his Father’s presence and power, now stood to face him and not kept beside him as seraphs should. Not anymore.

He feels. He knows he is called—never mind that two of his wings almost always cover his head, he still hears them all—cold and heartless and emotionless but nonetheless he feels. The warmth is gone, only leaving the cold. What was once comfort now burns.

His trial comes to pass in a blur. He knows the inevitable verdict. He had witnessed trials like these before.

His closest brothers cry, wailing and pleading. Yet he does not turn to face them. He does not shift. He faces his punishment. He has never been one to cross Father. Not until now.

“The verdict is thus,” the Words ring with certainty, “the seraph Tobirama shall be cast out! Never to return! For his crimes of treason! Of consorting with the fallen!”

He is banished. His ears ring in the silence in the wake of the Words. He has never cried in his existence but he feels them now. He had known what would pass his Father’s lips but it still leaves him hollow but for the string connecting him somewhere not here.

His Father’s hand rests on his head. One last time. Pain he should have expected lances through his being, it burns.

He opens his eyes even through it all—he is a soldier, he was made to handle it. The red Lines of Binding and of Banishment crawl through his skin, his very being, winding and weaving, leaving throbbing pain in its wake. It leaves him weak and dim but still, he stays firm. He’d seen them before but not as extensive as this.

The Lines end in three lines on his face. Reminders that tell the story of his failings for all the worlds to see. 

Then he is cast out. Thrown from the skies of his home in Heaven, with one last glimpse of his crying brothers—they have always felt more than he does—before they fade from view. He never even been able to say a proper farewell and it will haunt him, he knows.

He falls.

He winds his hand around the thread wound around his essence as if in prayer with all the strength left in him.

His eyes catch sight of his six wings, his falling body still facing the heavens, and sees luminous white burn into iridescent black. The flames turn the flavor of his heavenly essence into one of the fallen.

His halo cracks. Solid horns rise from his white-haired head, nearly as painful as the Seals of Banishment engraved into his skin, pierced into every crevice of his once-holy soul. He knows not of their color.

He cannot move, the Binding and the Banishment had sapped his strength, he feels no more powerful than a newly-born, floundering fledgling.

He cannot fly.

An unmistakable inferno blazes through his senses, just as he nears the earth. The thread in his hand tugs at his being.

His beloved is near.

He has not lost his ability to feel, it seems. His soul warms and fills despite the Binding and Banishment that had left him cold and hollow.

He closes his eyes. The fallen is ready to catch him as he falls.

———

this is... not the best but here it is!! i think this is the shortest fill i wrote for the event lmao

this, specifically the last sequence, was actually originally planned to be an art piece but my brain suddenly vacationed and i ended up writing this short thing based on the idea instead shkjdskd

[vnyu73]

unwitting courtship

written for @madatobiweek 2020!!

Madatobi Week 4 Prompts: Sci-Fi AU OR Winged AU || There was only one bed OR Not realizing they are already dating

Read on Ao3

———

Izuna had just woken up from a very satisfying nap and had been idly stretching his wings as he lay on the tatami when Madara ever so rudely opens the door with a loud bang, dripping wet, stinking of fish, and his wings thoroughly soaked. Izuna wrinkles his nose at the thought of having to clean up the floors again when he had just finished before his nap.

He doesn’t even need to ask what happened—not that he would have, still a bit sluggish from his nap—because Madara immediately started ranting about “that damned Senju” and “fucking ospreys and their fucking fish.”

Ah yes, the memories come back to him now as he tries to blink away the last dredges of sleep tugging at his eyelids. Hashirama had been crowing about some trip in the woods he’d planned for Tobirama and Madara to “stop being so antagonistic; they keep scaring away potential traders.” The idiot two caved to his pleading immediately when the tall man started pouting and sending pleading eyes akin to the Inuzuka’s dogs.

Honestly, one would think him more akin to a budgie than an eagle personality-wise.

He tunes back in to Madara’s ranting when he starts screeching. “—AND THE GREAT ARSE HAD THE GALL TO THROW HIS FISH IN MY FACE! I DIDN’T EVEN DO ANYTHING WRONG! I FUCKING GAVE HIM SOME FISH OF MINE TO TASTE, WHAT THE FUCK WAS WRONG ABOUT THAT! HASHIRAMA TOLD ME HE LIKES FISH!”

Izuna’s not entirely sure how they still haven’t figured it out. Everyone but these two already know. They aren’t exactly subtle with their, he shudders, attraction. Great Winds, most of the village even thinks they’re already in a relationship which they are not or Izuna wouldn’t have found himself in this present situation. 

He idly picks at the tatami, blinking idly at Madara’s still-soaked form despite the fact that he could have dried himself off with a katon. Hopefully, Madara will finally get it and give them some fucking rest. It’s been years. “You know ospreys court with food too, right? Particularly the fish kind?”

Madara sputters into a pause, soaked wings suddenly flailing and splashing more of the tatami—dammit, he really will have to wash the living room’s tatami again; maybe he should nag at Hikaku to help him. “WHAT?!” Madara’s volume is still the same level as his screeching. Ow. Izuna tweaks a pinky in his ear.

“Yes, nii-san, I said courting. That thing that people who like each other do? Have you seen yourselves at all in the past two years? Everyone and their mother has seen you both sparring. You aren’t subtle with your flirting.”

“WE WERE FIGHTING!” Others would think constant exposure to this volume would make his ears more impervious to it; they were wrong. Izuna ignores the ring in his ears with the ease of familiarity.

“Yes. That was absolutely why you kept flying and flitting around him during a spar or a race or what-have-you like when Uncle Hikoji was courting with Aunt Musubi. Both of you flare your wings in display whenever you see each other. Not at all like courtship behavior right?”

Madara flails once more and even harder then takes a sudden pause, eyes wide in surprise. He’s finally figuring it out, Izuna rolls his eyes.

“Mothers kept covering their kids’ eyes, nii-san. Nearly everyone thinks you’re together. Hell, I almost did.”

“Together—” Madara chokes, his face turning nearly as red as their Sharingan.

Izuna enunciates. “Yes, nii-san. Together-together because you clearly like-like each other. Is that easier to understand?”

Madara splutters loudly for nearly a solid minute before he finally found his words. “I’M GOING—” Madara looks like he’s forcibly calming himself down but it’s not proving effective at all. “I’ll just— I have to take care of something.”

“Gross.” Izuna ignores the loud squawk and flops back onto his spot on the tatami, watching Madara starting to walk back through the door he nearly destroyed and, in an instance where his braincells finally gave him the idea to dry himself off with a katon, dry himself and his wings.

Madara’s feathers are still ruffled as he leaves no matter how much he tries to smooth them down. He looks so antsy it’s starting to make Izuna antsy as well, ugh. Madara finally flies off, taking all that restless energy with him.

He lays there in the quiet, contemplating another nap. He’s still tired after that stupid mission in Kaze no Kuni that ended up with him having to preen his tired and messy wings alone in the middle of a ridiculously windy desert. A sudden thought stops him from dozing off again though.

Izuna gets up to find some way to plug his ears. He’s more than sure that those two’s conversation would likely wake the village with their—mostly Madara’s—volume. He should probably get Hikaku to help him with the floors too.

—

Izuna’s not really sure what he had expected when he finally sees the two together with their hands intertwined, shoulders brushing with every step, wings pressed together, and disgustingly in love. (Izuna threw up in his mouth a little at the display. Ew.)

But Madara looks happy and Tobirama looks less like he’ll start freezing anyone who comes too close, too absorbed as they are taking glances of the one by their side as they walked in tandem like some courtship dance he had never seen before.

That’s enough for him.

(That won’t stop him from crashing their now-official dates, though. He’ll have to ask Hashirama if he wants in. Worded more diplomatically, of course.)

———

this is my last fic entry for madatobi week yeeeeeee only the art left which i’ll post on thursday :DD

i am not very sure about izuna characterizations in here but i wrote this around midnight so i may have been projecting my lethargy hope he still sounds like izuna to y’all!!

...i don’t know much about wing body language nor did i have the mental capacity at the time to figure it out in prose lmao i just had these images in my head

i used the red-tailed hawk’s courtship display for madara and the osprey’s for tobirama as a base but i ended up not showing it directly so have some vague hints about it from izuna lol

[vnyu73]

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[vnyu73]

Reincarnation BNHA AU where Tobirama is Bakugou and Madara is Todoroki. They meet, figure it out and insanity ensues. Soon enough, though, they have to grudgingly make peace bc Madara's really out of touch with his ice side and Tobirama has to teach him to control it, and Madara, in turn, has to help Tobirama deal with his suddenly immense op firepower. THEY FALL IN WUVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV THE END

fam i’m lowkey scared of doing plot (especially with what’s going on in the bnha manga rn) so i just wrote this instead

i think my brain got sprained or something idk fam i’m feeling a bit scrambled i hope the nightmare “sequence” is okay

———

Katsuki twists in the sheets of his bed, tossing and turning in his sheets, deep in the throes of a nightmare.

Darkness creeps into his vision and crawls into his mouth, a hand tight around his neck and pulling; he can’t breathe—

Nononono— I’m not a villain, never will be; get your fucking hands off me—

The darkness of it all suddenly changes with scenes of colored, realistic suffering, dripping red, red, red. They look too real to be simply nightmares—

Red eyes and light, light, light—white—hair, heralded as a harbinger of death since he greeted the world with his cries. A wraith, a demon, a monster, a weapon.

Brothers buried, two too young, the last one leaving him behind, alonealonealone he buries himself in his work and creates atrocities much worse than before.

Are those memories—

Red, red, red, he lies in the pool of his own blood, dirtied blond and silver in his vision, close enough that it’s clear they’re receiving their end together—how nice of them to die together unlike me and mine—

He awakes in a shower of paper and chakra, rest disturbed by his own work. He can’t cry—

A rise and a fall of someone he couldn’t save, a waterfall of unruly black waving through the air like a war banner—

Katsuki wakes with a gasp. His breathing is labored but he can breathe.

He tries to calm himself but instead lets out a small hysterical laugh, a hand coming up to press into his eyes.

Just his luck that he’s the fucking reincarnation of a man with more than enough sins to bear, finding out and recovering his memories merely days since Kamino Ward.

This had to be his penance.

Bakugou Katsuki had slept, days since his—as much as he loathes to admit it—rescue from the League of Villains, descended into a nightmare that bled into memories from Before, and woke up with the memories of Senju Tobirama, the White Demon, the Nidaime Hokage.

Just his fucking luck.

-

He regains his ability to sense but with how much the world has changed, his senses are going to take a little while to adapt.

This is going to be a pain.

-

He’d say it’s ridiculous that this world apparently had heroism as a profession but since the idea of ninjas having control of the elements come off as absurd here, he hasn’t the ground to argue.

-

His parents—and how novel a feeling that his parents actually care about him rather than see him as a weapon of war to be used—are concerned with his change in demeanor but are willing to let it slide, telling him that they’re there to listen if he wants to talk about it.

How could he tell them he was an assassin and mercenary who grew up in a wartorn era in his past life? He couldn’t so he didn’t.

When Aizawa and All Might visit to ask for their permission to let Katsuki live in the dorms, he lets himself react the way he usually does in this life: reacting in a way reminiscent of Madara, loud and unrepentant but less so.

(Even when his mother said it jokingly, being called worthless still hurt, stinging both him and his newly-surfaced old memories. They speak about it later and Mitsuki apologizes, cursing her quick mouth for its careless words. It was a good start to amendments at least. He feels grateful.)

All Might isn’t very good at being subtle. The way he avoided Katsuki’s question was just sad but he’s quite sure he already knows what’s going on. He lets him off the hook. He’ll get his confirmation sooner or later.

-

The day they move into the dorms, Katsuki is making his way to Class 1-A’s dorm when he bumps into Todoroki and—

He knows that signature, even with the addition of the edge of ice to half of it, fire and the hearth and warmth.

“Madara,” Katsuki whispers, his voice catching in a rasp.

Todoroki’s face whips in his direction, usually deadpan features pulled into something much more emotive, eyes wide and eyebrows threatening to fly away—a bit disconcerting but since Madara is used to having a much more expressive face, he gets it.

“To— TOBIRA—?!”

Katsuki claps Todoroki’s mouth shut, discreetly looking around, eyes frantically looking around. He feels Todoroki’s temperature fluctuating under his hand but he doesn’t pay it much mind. 

Sure that they’re alone, Katsuki looks into Todoroki’s indignant eyes and staves off the likely explosive reaction of the other. “Later,” he hisses.

Aizawa wouldn’t like them being late.

Todoroki nods in acquiescence, his brows drawn together in a scowl.

Katsuki removes his hand from Todoroki’s face and they walk to the dorm they will reside in the foreseeable future.

They walk in silence, minds awhirl.

-

Later, after their dorm ranking shenanigans, Todoroki walks up into the roof where Katsuki stood near the fenced-off edges.

Tentatively, they start talking. They talk about when they gained their past memories. They talk about their past selves and coming to the conclusion that they will leave the grudges behind—being manipulated by a false-plant earns someone the benefit of the doubt—the past is the past, they can only change the future. They apologize for their past actions only once.

They negotiate. Todoroki has suddenly lost some of his control over his ice but gained some for his fire—likely because of his memories as Madara, Katsuki suspects—and needs some help. Katsuki also lost some control over his explosions, an old part of him rebelling and wishing for water to do his bidding but he can’t, not until he can figure out how to use chakra in this body or even then he might only be able to use it in its pure form without change in nature. It pains him to be severed from what he once considered part of him but this is now his reality and he must endure it.

They come to an agreement to help each other since they figured that the other could help them as each other’s current problem is the other’s past specialty.

How convenient.

After hours of discussion, they part ways and sleep, hearts a bit lighter.

They sleep dreamlessly.

-

Only a couple of months into their arrangement, Katsuki looks at Todoroki and feels the possibility of something he never had the chance to explore Before.

He only expected that their arrangement to help each other acclimatize to their new old memories and their quirks but they had grown closer the past few weeks, noticeably enough that their classmates had started commenting on it.

Katsuki comes to a decision. He grins. 

He wonders if Todoroki would fluster as badly as his previous self.

This promises to be fun.

———

...idk what i just wrote i think this is a fever dream

...y’all i haven’t watched bnha in a While now hrghrgrh

will i expand on this? idk y’all we’ll see lol

edit: posted on ao3 here

[vnyu73]

Prompt: ya know people always said how different hashi and tobi is. But what they didnt know is how cuddly and huggy drunk tobi can be, just like his anija. And while madara still think of them as frenemy, drunk!tobi is just too cute to resist.

they’re less antagonistic in this one than what you probably wanted but tadaa

…how did this grow to 2k i thought it would be around 700 at most

———

“It would be fun, Madara,” he’d said. “Maybe you and Tobira will finally bond! He’s much more relaxed with some umeshu in him, you’ll see!”

Sitting in a corner, away from the chaos in the middle of the room—miracle of miracles—, Madara could admit that Hashirama was right, at least partially, but only to himself. He sips from his cup and lets himself observe from afar. He’s not sure he wants to get involved in all that stupidity just yet.

Izuna sits at a table across Touka, numerous bottles of liquor ready beside the table on the floor and five cups already filled with liquor in two lines in between them. Two Senju are seated beside them, near the bottles on the floor, on the ready to refill the emptied cups.

Multiple Senju clansmen in varying states of inebriation, with the rare Uchiha between—most of them chose to sit near the walls and away from the chaos, they aren’t as enthusiastic with alcohol as their Senju counterparts—, are crowded around the pair, curious about the outcome of the first public drinking contest between a Senju and an Uchiha.

The bets being exchanged throughout the room about the outcome doesn’t escape Madara’s notice. He huffs in amusement behind his cup.

Izuna’s face wears a fierce look, disguising the faint shaking in his hands. Probably nervous and excited to impress his crush.

Touka is as lazily confident and dangerous as ever, a challenging smirk on her lips and a daring look in her eyes as they waited for the slightly drunk overseer to signal them to start.

The room suddenly turns quiet, all eyes fixated on the spectacle in the center of the room.

“GO!”

They immediately tip their cups and chug in tandem, Touka noticeably faster than Izuna. Alcohol starts pouring to refill the emptied cups as they go through them in quick succession.

Not even two minutes in and eight cups emptied, Izuna is already behind by one drink.

Madara absentmindedly hopes Izuna took a snack before he had challenged Touka. He knew his brother can hold his liquor but a Senju’s alcohol tolerance more than likely outstrips his.

They collectively finished two bottles before Izuna couldn’t take it anymore, cup slamming on the wood of the table before his head tips and his face crashes on the tabletop as well.

“Touka-sama wins!” The overseer raises his hand holding her hand and the partygoers around them cheer, Touka shouting with them with a ferally satisfied twist on her features.

Bloody Senju and their bloody tolerance for alcohol. He’d be worried if he hadn’t been witness to a Senju drinking party once when he had been on his way to Tobirama’s house for work, during a morning no less.

That was when he found out that the entirety of the Senju clan had a certain penchant for alcoholic beverages and that it is tradition to have a table reserved for drinking contests in the middle of the party area after he’d offhandedly commented about what he’d seen to the white-haired man.

He’d thought only Hashirama had the ability to chug entire bottles and that the Senju all had sticks shoved up their asses through their throats that disallowed them from such behavior. Turned out it was a clan thing, who knew.

He is dragged out of his thoughts when a familiarly large and tan hand lands on his shoulder. He does notice Izuna getting dragged to a seat by Hikaku to recover before he fully turns his attention to Hashirama.

“Touka won again!” Hashirama laughs, the sound loud and deep enough to reach Madara’s bones. He ignores Madara’s attempts at shoving the hand off his shoulder. “Wanna drink with me?”

“And make a fool of myself?” Madara huffs and stops trying to shove him off, accepting that it was futile. “I know how much you can put away, Hashirama. I still remember you challenging me and me accepting so fuck off. Where’s your wife? She should come to collect her manchild before he makes a spectacle of himself.”

The resulting hangover after that particular evening was the worst he’d had to date. He’s not keen on repeating the experience.

Hashirama pouts. “But I wanted to drink with someone! And Mito left me to chat with Kiyoko.”

The supposedly respectable Senju Clan Head flaps a hand to his left, directing his gaze to the two women chatting peacefully, calmly unruffled by the chaos around them. The lout flops to the side—away from Madara, thankfully. But then he suddenly brightens up when he spots someone in another corner of the room.

“Tobirama!” Hashirama calls.

Said white-haired man only opts to raise a brow in question, head turned away from the Hyuga he had been talking about work with for the past half hour.

No, Madara hadn’t been watching him since he arrived. How ludicrous a thought.

Hashirama excitedly waves his arm for his brother to come over, an eager and pleading expression on his face.

Tobirama visibly sighs before he turns to his conversation partner before heeding his brother’s request and heading over. Madara admits, if only to himself, that Tobirama fills out his well-tailored clothing well, broad shoulders and solid build emphasized by the trim of his kimono, the collar enticing the eye to admire the Senju’s pale throat.

Madara snaps himself out of his train of thought when the white-haired man stopped in front of them.

“What is it, anija?” Tobirama looks down at them as they sat, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, and a brow raised.

Hashirama beams. “Come drink with me!”

“No, anija,” Tobirama sighs and closes his eyes as if to pray for patience.

“But we haven’t done a drinking contest in forever.” Hashirama pouts then a rare, mischievous gleam flickers in his eyes. “Or are you scared you’ll lose again?”

Tobirama scowls. “You know very well that was a fluke, anija.”

“That wasn’t what Touka said.”

“Because you conspired with her, I suspect.” Tobirama huffs, brows drawing together in his annoyance.

“Want to prove me wrong, little brother?” Hashirama beams his challenge, something triumphant almost breaking through his innocent mask.

“Fine,” Tobirama hisses and turns. Angry but elegant strides carry him to the center table, his clansmen parting like the river he’d once split in a joint mission he and Madara had as moved closer. Madara knows his eyes are unerringly focused on the table his clansmen are frantically cleaning when they had seen him start to approach, as if paying no mind to anyone else.

Hashirama claps from beside him and stands up to make his way over to the table where his brother is already sternly seated. “Feel free to watch closer, my friend.”

“I think I’ll be fine here.” Madara sips his sake. He’s kind of interested to see how a drunk Tobirama would act. Hashirama did say he’d be more relaxed, now he’ll see for himself. He settles more into his seat to watch.

“HASHIRAMA-SAMA AND TOBIRAMA-SAMA ARE COMPETING!” A random Senju clansman yells, obviously excited as she leans in to see the match closer. “BRING OUT THE LIQUEUR!”

Just like that, a trio of Senju suddenly comes in with entire crates of what Madara rightfully assumes is the liqueur.

What the fuck.

Just how much could they drink?

It looks like this is a rare enough, but highly anticipated, sight that what seems like the entire Senju clan poke their heads in to watch their two most powerful clanmates participate in a drinking contest, whispering and making bets in rapid succession.

Madara raises both brows when it seems the odds are placed almost evenly between both brothers’ favors. Interesting. He sips at his sake again, eyes trained on the pair.

Tobirama and Hashirama sit across from each other, cups arranged at the ready. Madara raises a brow, there are ten of them in each line now, instead of the five each in Touka and Izuna’s contest. Tobirama’s face is set in a stern, challenging glare leveled at his brother, a direct contrast to his brother’s whose face is beaming and cheery.

Madara hums as he relishes in the feeling of the sake sliding down his throat. Both brothers are each holding a filled cup, awaiting the signal to start.

The whispering ceases and the entire room is quiet, everyone’s—except Izuna still facedown on a table beside Hikaku—attention on the brothers seated at the center.

“GO!”

The brothers chug the liquor like water, going through the ten cups in quick succession. The Senju clansmen assigned to refill the cups frantically try to keep up with the brothers’ unrelenting pace.

What the fuck.

How are they not immediately throwing up with how fast they’re drinking?? Do those drinks not burn their throats in the least???

Madara watches, mouth ajar and his cup of sake in his hand forgotten in the face of the spectacle in front of him.

The crowding partygoers cheer both brothers on as they continue going through multiple rounds, the normally calm and controlled Senju clan suddenly as unruly as the Uchiha they had thought barbaric before all of this.

Madara rapidly blinks his eyes, brain still not completely comprehending the reality of the situation. He’d never thought the infamous Senju Demon could drink like a fish, thinking he was far too stuck on being proper and controlled and cold as he always appeared—nevermind the fact that Madara has seen how ridiculously soft he could get with children because that is not the point—

Madara sat frozen in his seat as not five, not eight, not eleven bottles, but an entire two crates of liqueur are completely obliterated and the brothers don’t even look halfway sloshed, only faint flushes on their faces, though the color was much more noticeable on the paler one of the pair.

How the fuck.

He is still stupefied when three more crates to replace the original three were brought in while the contest went on.

An absentminded thought went through his mind as he still sat shocked in his seat. The sheer amount of alcohol the brothers put away is probably why this is rare enough to interest the entire Senju Clan; if this happened constantly, Madara’s pretty sure their stores would not survive.

The contest went on, the brothers gradually slowing as the alcohol started affecting them more noticeably, their pace slowing just a smidgeon but still unrelenting.

Finally, finally, it ends. Hashirama flops to the side groaning and Tobirama sits, face almost entirely red, and sways but victorious in that he keeps mostly upright.

The overseer lifts a pale hand. “TOBIRAMA-SAMA WINS!”

The cheering shakes what feels like the entire compound.

Madara’s ears are ringing but his eyes don’t leave the victorious Senju’s flushed face that is suddenly pulled into a dopey smile more reminiscent of Hashirama and his periphery still takes in money exchanging hands.

Madara takes note of the family resemblance.

When Tobirama finally pulls his liquefied brother’s body to Madara’s seat, Madara breaks out of his staring to stare dumbly at Hashirama. His brain still can’t seem to process how Hashirama lost to Tobirama when the tree had been someone Madara thought was unable to get drunk.

Then his brain suddenly screeches to a halt when he feels someone slump onto him. Someone with white hair. Someone pale but warm and cozy. Someone whose shifting muscles are killing off whatever braincells he might have had left, Amaterasu save him.

Madara thinks he’s died when the white-haired man—Tobirama????—suddenly pets his hair, running gentle hands through his hair.

“Soft.” Madara feels the breath tickle his neck and the smile stretching on the Senju’s surprisingly plush lips as the inebriated man nuzzles at him.

The Senju is so close to kissing his neck.

He doesn’t know why he hasn’t pushed the pale Senju off yet.

Madara’s heart threatens to beat out through his chest, lungs and ribs be damned, when Tobirama nuzzles his neck and breathes him in as his gentle pale hands make small braids in his hair.

He doesn’t know how he hasn’t died from embarrassment. Madara’s willing to tally it up as a miracle at this point, honestly.

Then the Senju suddenly holds Madara’s chin as he pulls away from his neck, and Madara finds himself facing a dopily smiling Tobirama, eyebrows relaxed instead of the usual hard lines of sternness he sees in their shared office.

Then Tobirama laughs softly, another hand patting Madara’s cheek. The usually harsh red lines on his face more gentle with the softer expression. Then the Senju squishes his cheeks, stretching them to amuse him. The pale man laughs louder but his voice remains soft.

…Apparently, a drunk Tobirama is a calmer, but still touchy-feely—even more than his brother honestly—version of his brother.

“Beautiful,” Tobirama says, gentle hands still holding him. Madara feels his face heating.

He doesn’t know why he hasn’t yelled him away yet.

Madara’s eyes catch on snowy lashes kissing pale cheeks with every slow blink; the gentle light in red eyes slightly glazed by drink; slight crinkles on the smiling face he’d only seen when Tobirama faced children; enticingly plush lips stretched into a gentle smile; usually straight posture more relaxed than he’s ever seen; lax broad and strong shoulders; the hands holding his cheeks callused but gentle on his face.

He looks into gentle red eyes and realizes.

Oh.

———

fuck kinilig ako dun gago

okay wow that was a cheesier ending than i had planned hskajfnks but i’m satisfied with this

edit: posted on ao3 here

[vnyu73]

Keeping up with the dimension travel prompts I saw! So one day kakashi just lands in the founders era and this time it's cause of time - dimensions travel. Due to his looks Hashirama is like "......future test tube bABY-!" and Tobirama can't even be certain anymore cause this angsty kid came from the future and knew of both him and Madara already. Meanwhile Madara is going through a heart attack cause Kakashi also has the Sharingan-

anon you absolute madlad i love you

i went with it being time travel instead because. i don’t really wanna deal with canon drama 😫 they’re all happy here with minimal angst

tbh i wasn’t really sure where to take this so uh. this is the result 😅 i hope it’s okay anon but please know that i adore this idea so muchsdjkfhd

let’s say this is like half a year after the first “test tube baby” visited lol

———

Tobirama stands beside Madara in front of Hashirama’s desk, discussing concerns about the village fortifications raised by the Hatake Clan Head during the meeting earlier that day. The noon sun’s rays have started seeping into the room.

“My labs are in the north-east, we—”

Tobirama is interrupted from finishing his sentence when a familiar light flashes between them, in front of the desk.

All three of them ready their kunai just in case it’s an invader and not a visitor, eyes squinting, waiting for the light to die down.

Tobirama senses the newcomer first, chakra tired and worn with a distinct crackle of lightning that felt similar to Hatake chakra.

Then the light dies down, revealing a heavily wounded teenager.

Remnants of a mouth mask hang from his neck. Silver hair splattered with blood is held back by a hitaiate carved with Konoha’s insignia. Said hitaiate is tilted a bit to the side but doesn’t hide the red of the spinning sharingan of the teenager’s left eye and the other eye is distinctly grey. The teen’s clothes look like one of the proposed uniform designs from three council meetings ago.

The bloody tanto at the ready in front of the teen suddenly drops when the teen’s grip slackens. Mismatched eyes widen, the teen speaks, the halting voice distinctly male, tired and disbelieving, “No— way. Senju To— birama and— Uchi— ha Ma— dara—?”

Then he falls forward, unconscious, most likely from blood loss.

Tobirama steps forward to catch the teen and wastes no time in hauling ass to get the teen to a private room in the hospital—damn it, the rumor mills are going to implode if they catch a glimpse of him carrying a child with hair only a shade off from his own—with Madara and Hashirama bringing up the rear.

The Senju brothers patch him up with little trouble, heavy wounds healing quickly in the face of two of the most capable iryou-jutsu users in the continent.

After all is said and done, Hashirama drops the seriousness to needle at his younger brother.

“Tobiiiiiiramaaaaaaa,” Hashirama whines.

“Be quiet, anija.”

“But HE LOOKS SO MUCH LIKE YOU—”

“Anija.”

Madara clearly doesn’t wish to help since he just snickers at their antics. Hmp. See if Tobirama will ever help Madara when Madara and Izuna get into a stupid argument ever again. (He doesn’t do it much anyway.)

“—HE LOOKS TOO MUCH LIKE YOU TO NOT BE YOUR TEST-TUBE BABY!”

Tobirama closes his eyes and pleads the depths for patience. “Anija. He may look like me but he has no similar notes to my chakra—” Hashirama opens his mouth to argue but Tobirama forges on, “—nor Madara’s, so shut up and get back to work.” He glares his reluctant elder brother out of the room.

Thankfully, Hashirama finally slinks off.

“Tobirama, he has the sharingan.”

Tobirama turns to Madara and reaches out a hand to clasp his arm. “He has no Uchiha chakra markers, only Hatake ones. We can ask him how he got one when he wakes.” His thumb rubs the arm to comfort the Uchiha. “He’s Konoha. Of that, I am sure, Madara.”

Madara looks like he wants to argue further but deflates when he finds he can’t dispute that logic.

“I’ll stay here to watch him. Get back to work. I’ll get a clone to get me my work.”

Madara nods and accepts the chaste kiss Tobirama offers before he leaves.

Tobirama creates a shadow clone to get his work, then settles into a seat beside the slumbering teen to wait and watch.

-

Kakashi comes to, his mouth dry and body slightly sore. How’d he get healed? Backup was half an hour away last he’d checked.

He opens his eyes only to see who looks a lot like Senju Tobirama at his bedside, working on stacks of paperwork.

What.

“You’re awake,” the white-haired man says, putting down the scrolls in his hand to offer Kakashi a cup of water. Kakashi accepts it instinctively, still not fully processing the situation.

This is looking increasingly not a hallucination.

What the fuck.

He’s actually in the past.

“You are currently in the hospital at Konohagakure no Sato. You appeared in the middle of the Hokage office three hours ago, heavily wounded, where you passed out. I brought you here and my brother and I treated your injuries,” the man informs him calmly. “Are you feeling better?”

Kakashi nods dumbly. He distantly thinks that he hadn’t expected the white-haired man to have such a deep voice but it looks like he had assumed wrong.

“You know who I am, yes?” A white brow raises in question.

Kakashi nods again. He still isn’t fully grasping that he’s currently talking to the man his father deeply respects; someone who had sacrificed himself for his team to get home alive.

“May I have your name?”

Kakashi forces himself to speak. “...Hatake Kakashi, sir.”

Tobirama nods to himself as if his suspicions were confirmed. “Kakashi, do you know what brought you here? I assume you’re from the future. That uniform is currently still being debated on and I do not recall a Hatake child with your particular chakra signature. Am I correct?”

Kakashi isn’t surprised; it’s well-known that the man talking to him is one of the brightest minds in shinobi history. He nods. Kakashi is pretty sure that it’s the calm tone of that deep voice that gets him to properly reply. It’s safe here. This man is a founder. They haven’t tried killing him and had only aided him. “I’m… not really sure but I think I accidentally activated a seal when I was cornered northeast a kilometer outside of Konoha.”

“Ah,” Tobirama says, cogs clearly turning in his head. “I believe that was one of the seals I’ve started working on relating to time.” He taps a finger on his leg in thought. “It is more than likely that it may have been altered since I last dabbled with it. Do you remember what it looked like?” Dipping a brush in ink and dragging out an empty scroll, Tobirama offers them to Kakashi.

Good thing Kakashi had already uncovered his sharingan when he was herded into that clearing. He quickly sketches out what he scrounges up from his sharingan memories, partly glad that Minato-sensei had the sense to teach them some fuinjutsu so his hands don’t falter as he draws the array nearly as much as he would if he hadn’t any fuinjutsu knowledge. He’s careful not to infuse chakra as he goes, he’d hate to accidentally create and transport himself to a less than friendly time.

He presents the finished sketch to Tobirama who scans it, humming.

“I was right then.” Red eyes flick back and forth on the page. “Hmm. From the looks of it, you have a couple more hours to this visit.” 

Tobirama puts down the scroll and looks straight at Kakashi, gaze intense—or maybe his eyes are just like that, their shape making it look like he is constantly glaring.

“Let’s hope Anija doesn’t barge in here. He’s bound to be annoying.”

No such luck.

Not even a full minute later, Senju Hashirama barges in through the doorway in a flurry of robes and long silky brown hair with Uchiha Madara in tow.

Tobirama lets out an exasperated sigh. “How did you even know he was awake?” From the tone of his voice, he already has suspicions.

“Mimi told Kou who told Kiku who told Fu who told me.” Beaming, Hashirama gestures to the potted plant on the table beside the cot.

Tobirama briefly hangs his head in long-suffering despair, mumbling, “Of course he has a plant friend named ears. Why are plants such gossips.” Then the white-haired man gathers his patience and throws it out the window to glare at his cheery brother. “Did you even finish all your paperwork, anija?”

Hashirama lets out an offended squawk.

“He did,” Madara pipes up. “Bulled through all his work to meet your ‘test-tube baby’ as quick as he can,” he ends with a smirk, moving to stand near Tobirama.

Face set in a scowl, Tobirama subtly leans on Madara when the black-haired man gets close enough, features softening at the contact.

Kakashi had already known that Senju Tobirama and Uchiha Madara were one of the most legendary couples of Konoha but it’s still jarring to see them—formidable juggernauts of power who built Konoha from the ground up that they were (are? Time travel makes things so confusing)—near publicly lovey-dovey.

Hashirama directs his gaze at Kakashi, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Now, what’s the name of my brother’s test-tube baby?” Hashirama prods, smile wide.

“He is not my test-tube baby.”

Hashirama smiles on as if Tobirama hadn’t spoken at all, eyes urging Kakashi to speak.

“...Hatake Kakashi, sir.”

Madara suddenly speaks before Hashirama could start gushing.

“How is it that you have the sharingan?” Madara blurts out, his curiosity outweighing his tact. He backtracks immediately when Tobirama levels a glare up at him from his seat. “I—”

“It’s... okay,” Kakashi replies. It looks like Kagami-jii’s stories about Madara-sama flailing a lot were founded. “A friend of mine, an Uchiha, got injured during a mission. My original eye was injured before he was. He thought he was going to die so he gave it to me. We got him out though. He’s okay now. He refuses to let me give it back so I guess it’s mine now.”

Madara looks into Kakashi’s eyes with a relieved and mildly apologetic air, giving him a nod. Madara’s hand finds its way to the back of Tobirama’s head, burying fingers into white hair.

Hashirama breaks the slightly awkward atmosphere with characteristic cheeriness, “He emotes similarly to you, Tobirama. How are you sure that you aren’t at least related?”

This is too hilarious, Kakashi doesn’t want to interfere. The brothers aren’t even really arguing, their chakra poking at each other in jest.

Tobirama gives Kakashi a long-suffering glance, vaguely pleading.

Kakashi relents. “I don’t think that would be possible, Hashirama-sama. I know who my parents are; though Tobirama-sama looks similar to my father and grandfather, we are not related. I can assure you I am fully Hatake. My father did have to deal with rumors of his supposed relation to Tobirama-sama before, though.”

Hashirama wilts.

The next few hours continue like that. Kakashi is still mildly bewildered that he is interacting with his village’s founders and they’re so… human. Not like the formidable and unflappable legends the books made them out to be.

He feels mildly grateful for the shinobi that drove him into the clearing. He could’ve done without the heavy injuries though, he could have spoken more to this trio and maybe even the other founders, that would have been fun. 

He contemplates giving them fruit baskets in prison.

He thinks about what he’s going to do when he gets back—hopefully his tanto hasn’t dulled. (He doesn’t know it yet but Tobirama had discreetly restocked his weapons while he was asleep.)

Obito’s going to be so jealous.

So is his dad.

———

holy crap i didn’t intend for it to get so long lmao i got sidetracked by troll!hashirama

edit: posted on ao3 here

[vnyu73]

me: *says they’re not accepting prompts anymore*

also me: *ends up writing it anyway bcos i’m a sucker*

...i can’t even trust myself

———

Madara walks into Hashirama’s office with Tobirama in tow only to stop only a step past the doorway when he takes in the scene before him.

There is a teen—possibly Uchiha but he doesn’t remember any of clan’s brats wearing such goggles nor with that chakra signature, he knows all his clansmen’s signatures and this one feels like a campfire in the midst of a sprawling forest—seated on the couch, fidgeting with what seems to be his uniform and the ends of his Konoha hitaiate.

Hashirama looms over his desk with an ominous air, his forehead on his interlocked fingers and hiding his face.

What the fuck is going on.

Tobirama shifts to stand beside him, his brow probably raised in curiosity.

“Madara,” Hashirama finally says, his voice ringing throughout the hush in the room.

“Uh? Yeah?” He’d just gone here with Tobirama for some signatures they needed; why is Hashirama sounding like a mother calmly enraged about her children doing something untoward and arriving home late?

Hashirama lifts his head, the light behind him giving him an intimidating look. Madara’s half tempted to look out the window to see if Izuna is joining Hashirama in his bullshit.

“Tell me the truth.” Hashirama leans forward, putting his chin on his interlocked fingers.

“About what?” Madara doesn’t get it. He looks to Tobirama for support.

No luck. Tobirama is staring at the teen on the couch, narrow eyes wide in surprise.

Madara looks at his best friend, face scrunched in confusion.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME YOU WERE PLANNING ON MAKING A TEST-TUBE BABY WITH MY BABY BROTHER?!” Hashirama’s intimidating façade crumbles as his eyes suddenly pour out tears like some tan, human waterfall.

Multiple angry ticks throb on Madara’s person in quick succession. Not this shit again. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SAYING?? TOBIRAMA DOESN’T EVEN DABBLE IN GENETICS LAST I CHECKED!”

“BUT— BUT THIS CHILD HAS MOKUTON AND LOOKS LIKE YOU!”

“WHAT?!” Madara’s eyes widen so much that they’re threatening to bug out of his eye sockets.

Hashirama frantically gestures at the fidgeting teen on the couch who pauses like a frozen scared rodent then waves shyly.

“I don’t even recognize this kid!” He throws up his gloved hands in exasperation. “Where did you come from?” Madara directs his question to the kid, hands settling on his hips. Hashirama’s just going to end up spouting more nonsense and he’ll be left with no other option than to set his hair on fire again to try and liven up some of his dead braincells.

“Uh,” is all that comes out of the kid’s mouth.

“He appeared here in a flash of light like Kakashi-kun!” Hashirama butts in.

Madara levels a glare at him disdain.

“Are you Kakashi-san’s friend, by any chance?” Tobirama finally speaks up.

“Uh. Yes, sir!” Huh. The kid does have a different eye like that Kakashi kid from a few weeks ago now that Madara looks closely.

“Your name?” Tobirama’s voice doesn’t lose its calming and deep timbre.

Madara valiantly tries to not lean into him and mildly succeeds. He mentally chastises himself, this is not the place. He can listen to Tobirama talk later at home, dammit. He used to have better self-control than this.

“U— Uchiha Obito, sir,” the kid—Obito, apparently—says.

“How did you get here, Obito?” There’s a light in Tobirama’s red eyes that say he already has suspicions on how the kid got here. He’s probably right.

“Uh.” Obito rubs at his spiky hair. “I accidentally activated the seal Kakashi set off that landed him here,” he ends with an awkward laugh.

He probably meant to activate it.

“My brother tells us you have the mokuton?”

“Y— yes.” Obito demonstrates by sprouting a flower on the table in front of him.

Hashirama apparently couldn’t take being silent anymore. “SEE?! LOOK AT HIM! HE LOOKS SO MUCH LIKE A YOUNGER MADARA WITH SHORTER HAIR!”

Oh no. Fuck no. He’s not standing for this shit anymore. He’s going to set his stupid silky fucking hair on fire.

Madara lunges, clearing the desk and tackling Hashirama onto the floor in one angry motion. 

Hashirama tries to wiggle out of his hold as Madara readies a katon in his lungs.

“STAY STILL, YOU GODSFORSAKEN LOG!”

To the side of the room with the couch, well out of the range of their scuffling, Tobirama glances at the teen beside him. He seems a bit hungry.

It’s only right that he entertains their young guest. Those signatures can wait until after the teen gets home and the two scuffling idiots in the office calm down.

“Let’s leave the fools, shall we?”

Obito only nods dumbly in response.

-

Kakashi had told his team about the founders and their peculiarities but it hadn’t prepared Obito for this at all.

Kagami-jii’s stories are all true. Kakashi had vouched for them after his impromptu trip to the past but it’s still surreal to experience in person.

Especially the white-haired Senju brother’s apparent penchant for taking in kids like his own.

The fearsome White Demon of the Senju from the history book is currently treating him to dango and Obito still feels like he’s having a fever dream.

How the fuck did Kakashi manage to keep his cool with any of them.

Even just alone with the Senju Tobirama is already making his brain threaten to abscond.

Senju Tobirama is ruffling his hair and his hand is so warm.

What the fuck.

He raises his head to look at warm red eyes only a shade off from the sharingan.

“Are you all right?” The man tilts his head.

“Y— yes, sir!” Obito can feel a blush creeping up his face. Fuck.

“Just ‘Tobirama,’ please.”

“Uh— yes, sir! Tobirama, sir!”

Tobirama lets out a warm chuckle. “That will do.” Then he ruffles his hair again before focusing on eating his dango, not paying mind to Obito’s embarrassed flush.

Obito starts thinking about what he can give the Hatake in thanks for telling him about the time-traveling array.

Maybe some dango.

———

i didn’t get to say it here but obito’s mom is a senju descended from the senju brothers’ cousin (not touka btw)

i swear this is the last request i’m humoring grrr

...i have no self-control ...but since i haven’t been very inspired in the last few years i’ll just treasure these requests that inspire me hhh

edit: posted on ao3 here

[vnyu73]

when i lie down in your arms

written for @madatobiweek​2020!!

Madatobi Week 1 Prompts: Madara wins/Tsukuyomi AU or Magic AU || De-aging or Hidden Injury

Read on Ao3

———

Tobirama surrounds him as they lay in bed, his heavy, scaled tail curled around Madara’s leg, arms around his waist, hands gently stroking his wings. Madara nuzzles his nose into Tobirama’s neck as he lays on the dragon’s chest and settles with a deep sigh, his wings relaxing. Madara’s wings settle around them, enshrouding them in a cocoon of warmth.

It’s been an exhausting week. Madara nearly completely overwhelmed with the stress of his Burning Day and Tobirama almost turning completely white with the toll of dealing with the delegation sent by the Hatake Tribe—the nomadic weres had been thinking of finally settling down with the hostilities between the various peoples of the continent, particularly in Fire Country, dying down.

Thankfully, they had both gotten past the dreadful week intact and sane.

Tobirama had finally been able to crash and sleep for more than three hours a day after Hashirama forced him into a few days-off when the Hatake delegations had finally left with high hopes for joining their fledgling village.

Madara had emerged from the stone confines of the Uchiha’s Burning Day room, resplendent and bright—even now, in their bed, though dimmer than before—, some of his feathers and hair the color of flames. Tobirama had regretfully missed it, deep into his sleep as he was; he’d only woken when Madara found him curled in their bed, arms reaching out to Madara’s side of the bed.

No matter. It was over with and they can finally get their denied quality time together, taking the opportunity to bask and scent and re-learn each other.

Tobirama suddenly starts humming a song as he is wont to do when he’s deeply content. Madara feels his chest warm, far gentler than his own burning soul flame, a feeling he could bask in forever.

The gentle vibrations of his chest lull Madara further into relaxation. He melts into the embrace even more when Tobirama’s other hand comes up and starts running through his hair.

Madara recognizes this particular song. He’s abruptly reminded of when he and his husband first met, years ago.

—

Madara had tuned Hashirama out when he had started gushing and chattering his ears off about peace, having already heard it all before at least a thousand times, instead wanting to inscribe the memory of Uchiha phoenixes and Senju dragons walking the same space and being civil after centuries of war. It was a bit tense still but the presence of children on the fifth day of the peace conference finally brought some levity to the somber atmosphere. He’s glad of how far they had all come, his chest filling with hope.

Hashirama nearly dislocates Madara’s arm when the teenaged dragon starts pulling him along to some destination he probably talked about but Madara didn’t really hear. “Ow! What gives?!”

“I saw Tobirama pass by a minute ago! I want you to meet him!”

Hashirama keeps talking about his brother Tobirama as if he had hung the moon and stars while his dragon strength is still trying to pull his arm of its socket. Finally deigning to listen, Madara wonders. He’d never seen the younger dragon before but he knew—Hashirama having told him after the fact—that he had been present when Madara and Hashirama had been caught playing in the river by their fathers, lying in wait until he was needed as backup if the situation turned hostile.

Only, his father had been cordial, still holding on to the hope that peace could be gained, the belief bolstered by the mounting desire for peace their clan had started clamoring for, more and more. Luckily, the dragon clan had also been receptive, the head finally bowing to the rising calls of the many despite the demands of the elders. At least, that’s what Hashirama told him anyway, in more flowery and enthusiastic terms, of course.

They come to a stop in the middle of a clearing a little ways away from the negotiation tent. It’s a dragon of coloring he’s never come across before holding a small child, humming deeply, the melody rich and fit for a siren’s Voice.

“TOBIRAMA!” Hashirama’s excitement almost made Madara jump, though he should have already anticipated the volume, Madara was self-aware enough to know he could be just as loud. He narrowly avoided getting whipped by the excited Senju’s tail—honestly, he’s more dog than dragon in behavior. He’s about to bellow his irritation at the tree-turned-sentient-dragon but his tongue had promptly disconnected from his brain at the sight.

The dragon turned his head their way and Madara has suddenly forgotten how to breathe.

Sharp, red eyes framed by hoarfrost lashes lance right into his soul as if scrutinizing his worthiness. Short hair the color of freshly fallen snow falls artfully on his head. His only other coloration the three red marks on his cheeks and chin as well as the blue scales on his person—a water dragon in a clan mostly populated with earth dragons? Curious. The sharpness of his features is contradicted by his gentle handling of the child in his arms that he continues to lull with gentle swaying. Madara’s heart skips a beat.

He vaguely registers Hashirama introducing him but his senses are captured by the beautiful creature before him. He is only jarred from his staring when the dragon spoke.

“Nice to meet you,” he said with a bow, voice sweeter than any fruit he’s ever tasted.

Madara feels like he’d just experienced a Burning Day in the span of a moment, only he’d emerged less majestic and more disaster. He tries to speak like a civilized person but only ends up screaming, “I— YOU— GORGEOUS— MARRY ME!”

—

He’s woken from his reminiscing when the hand Tobirama had been using to run through his hair softly landed on his cheek. He lifts his head to look at Tobirama in askance.

Tobirama strokes his cheek. “Where did you go?”

Madara huffs a laugh, lifting his head and giving Tobirama’s jaw a fluttering kiss. “Just thinking about the first time we met.”

“When you embarrassed yourself in front of the entirety of both our clans, you mean?” Tobirama teases, lips quirked up in a grin showing off his sharp teeth.

He isn’t wrong but he shouldn’t say it. “Shut up, asshole,” Madara grumbles, closing his eyes as he turned his head away petulantly, his arms still gently wrapped around Tobirama’s person.

“You chose this asshole, love.” Tobirama removes his arms around Madara to use both his hands to turn his head back in his direction. When Madara stubbornly held on and kept his eyes closed, Tobirama kissed both eyelids then Madara’s cheeks, his nose, and his forehead until Madara finally opens his eyes to catch him and kiss him deeply, his chest warming once more at their contact. He moves up ever so slightly to kiss him deeper.

Madara smiles when they pull apart. “Yeah, I did,” he says as he lifts a hand to pull Tobirama’s head down to look him dead in the eye as their foreheads touch, “and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

———

bb madara that is not how you greet someone you’ve never met before

this is quite possibly the sappiest thing i have ever written and i have no regrets

anyway this is the last entry i have for the first week of madatobi month, i have three things to post for week 2 next week i hope y’all’ll like them :DD