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spiritedmyway · 6 months

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If Ace had a child

Is absolutely terrified when he finds out. It’s not that he hadn’t thought about it, he had. Having a baby with you seems like a dream. But he had always shot that idea down. And it’s not because he’s a pirate but because who he is, because who his father is.

Does he even deserve to have a child??

You know the answer and gently hold him as he tells you his fears and worries, assuring him over and over again that he will be a wonderful father. He doesn’t completely believe you, but a faint smile appears nonetheless.

Whitebeard and the crew are ecstatic. A new member for their nakama. They’re going to be aunts and uncles! And the idea of being a grandpa? Oh, Whitebeard is ecstatic

Luffy and Sabo? Oh, they are excited. They’re going to be uncles!!! How could they not be excited!?

And he is happy, he truly is. But Ace wonders if he should be allowed to be excited. If he deserves to be happy. No matter what his crew or his brothers tell him he can’t help but think he doesn’t deserve this.

He struggles between excitement and dread until you're four months along and one day hurry over to him, excitement across your face. He looks at you confused as you hold his hand over the soft swell of your stomach. A few moments later he feels a soft tap against his hand. A kick.

The baby is kicking.

And suddenly all those worries, those fears that had been plaguing his mind vanish in the instant he feels the baby kick. A look of awe appears on his face. That soft fluttering from your stomach is answer enough. Your hand wraps around his, looking at him with a smile.

“Looks like they’re saying hi to Papa.”

He swallows and pulls you close, his hand pressed against your stomach. Seconds later the moment between the two of you is interrupted by the crew, all wanting to feel the baby kick.

After that first kick, Axe’s attitude changes towards the baby and the pregnancy.

He was already protective of you (especially after Marineford where you nearly died to save him), but now it’s magnified 100 times more. Forget trying to do anything remotely lifting. Ace is like a Velcro monkey to you and is always within throwing distance so you can barely pick up a box and he’s taking it out of your hands.

Not to mention that at night when he thinks you're asleep he starts talking to the baby bump, soft and gentle, as to not wake you. He tells them about his day, something one of the crewmen did, about his brothers. Occasionally he’ll talk about his fears and that he hopes he doesn’t fuck everything up with them. You can’t help but intervene at that point telling him he won’t. And even if he makes a mistake, he’s not alone.

He may or may not have nearly shit himself at that point.

You become all too aware that wherever you go, if Ace isn’t there, a commander or crewmate is never far behind you.

Ace had asked them, though it hadn’t taken much to convince them. After all this their crewmate and their niece or nephew too. How could they not make sure that both are safe?

You sigh but just accept your fate. You won’t be convincing your family to not follow you around like ducklings anytime soon

There’s a bet going around the crew as to when the baby will be born and whether it will be a boy or a girl.

They try very hard for you to not find out. They don’t have a death wish

If Marco knows during the examinations he does for you, he’s not telling the crew. He doesn’t even tell Ace (‘the damn bird’ Ace mutters angrily all while you laugh)

The food cravings and morning sickness you honestly could do without. Especially the morning sickness as Ace now wakes up nearly every morning to you puking. The ever dutiful lover he is, he holds your hair back and tries to help you out the best he can.

You want to be angry with him, but one look at that face and it dies on the tip of your tongue. Though your glare of annoyance is still there.

Then the moment finally arrives and you go into labor. And Ace is a nervous wreck, but is trying to be strong for you. He lets you grip his hand, lets you scream and curse at him. Making him promise to never put you through this again

He can’t tell if you’re being serious about the last comment, but wisely (for once, Marco would later tease) keeps his mouth shut

And after who knows how long, you finally deliver that precious little child into this world.

A little girl. You and Ace have a little girl.

The first time he holds his daughter, he just stares at her for the longest time, taking in every inch of her. She’s wrinkly and pink, and so tiny (how can a baby be that small), and wailing so loudly. There’s a tuft of black hair on top of her head and her one little hand doesn’t even wrap around his index finger

But he falls in love in an instant and is crying his eyes out. He doesn’t care if anyone makes fun of him for being a crybaby, his daughter is in his arms. Healthy and alive.

The moment Whitebeard and his crew meet the little girl, it’s love at first sight for the entire crew. She’s only been alive for no more than an hour but she is so tiny and so precious to them already.

Sabo and Luffy drop everything to go and meet their niece when they get word of her birth. It’s actually a race to get there before the other.

Because Sabo knows if he doesn’t get there before Luffy, he’ll never get to hold her.

Ace proves to be the ever doting father. He loves watching every little new thing she does. Every giggle and smile is precious to him. The way she reaches and clutches the red beads of his necklace or plays peek-a-boo with his hat makes him smile. He watches her sleep, her tiny chest rising and falling with each breath and he thanks whatever higher power that he gets to meet her.

For Sabo and Luffy that little girl can do no wrong in their eyes and she thoroughly enjoys it when they come to visit. She’s one of the only ones that can touch Luffy’s hat

Though her Papa’s hat is her favorite, much to Ace’s joy and his brother’s annoyance.

And if someone threatens his daughter? Or even attempts to harm her?

There won’t even be a body left to be buried. A well placed Fire Fist and they are nothing but ash.

Likewise if they think that Whitebeard’s crew won’t quickly annihilate anyone who goes after their niece/granddaughter they are sadly mistaken.

That’s not even mentioning if Sabo or Luffy get wind of someone threatening their niece.

It will be a bad day for anyone; marine, bandit, another pirate? Doesn’t matter. Go after her and be prepared to meet your maker.

Sometimes Ace worries he’ll be no better than his father. That one day his daughter will hate him as much as he hates his own father. But then he holds the little girl late at night, watching as she curls up in his arms and to his warmth, a tiny fist wrapped around his index finger and knows one thing:

He loves this little girl and nothing will change his mind.

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spiritedmyway · 1 year

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come the rain

domini album

#6 Madara Uchiha

summary: in which, with rain comes truth.

word count: 6,197

a/n: i...i honestly can't bring myself to apologize for the length of this one / inspired by the bottom-center concept of madara in this drawing

warnings: izuna being a little shit (how many times have i used this warning now??); indirect mention of d*nzo; partial nudity (madara)

Izuna wasn’t at the Head Household like he said he would be, which, in itself, wouldn’t have been all that irritating if it weren’t for the fact that you’d inconsequentially let yourself into a home where not you best friend was, but his older brother, of whom you were now caught in an unexpected stare down with from the entry hall.

You awkwardly cleared your throat, “Madara-sama.”

You weren’t unfamiliar with Izuna’s brother, and there’d been plenty of times you’d found yourself in conversation with him before, but it was always strained and tedious to navigate – more difficult to participate in than even conversations with Tobirama, the man of few words that he was – though you were never sure if it was on your part or his.

Probably yours.

Since the signing of peace and the foundation of Konohagakure, the Uchiha Clan had become less of a constant threat to your Senju-aligned clan, and you’d become friends with Izuna over many months of mutual exasperation over the meetings you were trapped in as your clans’ heirs, and your complainings had eventually sparked a debate that turned into a spar that had left you both laying on your backs on one of the training grounds, laughing breathlessly at his singed hair and your burnt clothes. Comradery had come easily after that, and Hashirama had taken to putting you on mission and patrol teams together which had only strengthened your friendship over the last two and a half years since the village’s founding.

Madara tilted his head slightly, regarding you from where he sat on a zabuton at the end of the chabudai. The shoji doors of the porch were opened, inviting the chill of the morning into the house, and you could see the greenery of the central garden beyond the deck, leaves gleaming in the overcast rain.

“Do you make it a habit of letting yourself in to other people’s houses?” Madara drawled, finally relaxing the hand he’d had suspended, chopsticks pinched between his fingers, and you realized that he was eating his breakfast, the smell of steamed rice and fish reaching you from across the room.

You were still holding onto the latch of the door, and your fingers fumbled to pull it open again. “Ah – my apologies, Madara-sama. Izuna said he would be here, but he’s not, so I’ll just –”

Madara let out a short huff and waved his hand lackadaisically, chopsticks swimming in the air with the gesture. “You’re inside already – there’s no use in waiting outside in the rain.”

You paused, the door partially pulled open, unsure that you’d heard the Clan Leader correctly.

You glanced back at him, and felt your face warm when you met his eyes again, one of his eyebrows raised expectantly. Damn it, Izuna.

Slowly, you shut the door and tugged off your boots, leaving them alongside the spot where Izuna’s were supposed to be as you silently crossed through the opened sitting area to the dining room Madara was in. You hesitantly lowered yourself onto the nearest zabuton at the square table, folding your hands in your lap as you forced yourself to sit comfortably.

Madara’s chopsticks clicked against his plate.

“You can help yourself,” he said, gesturing with his chin toward the place setting that was no doubt meant for Izuna, but was – for obvious reasons – left untouched.

“Ah, thank you, Madara-sama,” you replied, cringing inwardly as you added, “but I ate at home already.”

You could feel his gaze on the side of your face as you made faux purpose in tugging loose the fabric of your pants bunched around your knee. Kami, you could punch Izuna in his aristocrat nose for subjecting you to this awkwardness with his brother, before eight in the morning no less.

“What plans did you and my brother have this morning?” Madara asked after a moment.

You glanced up at him again, and then suddenly realized that while you were wearing in the becoming-standard jōnin uniform, Madara was dressed only in a loosely tied navy blue yukata that hung open around his torso, one sleeve nearly slipping off of his shoulder and showing the edge of raised scar tissue along his collarbone.

You felt your face heat instantaneously and you furtively looked away, locking your sights on one of the leafy ferns in the garden in front of you as you tried to force the image of the man next to you from your mind.

He was hardly dressed, and you’d barged into his house, and Kami – his chest; there had to be a god or two out there laughing at you right now, because there wasn’t a version of reality you could imagine Izuna not cracking up if he found out about this.

“We were going to visit the weapons shops in the Eastern Sector,” you answered, keeping your gaze in the garden. “Tobirama mentioned yesterday that a new merchant was approved to sell in the market, and we were going evaluate his quality.”

Madara released a quiet hum. “I doubt Tobirama would let anyone sell in the weapons market if their wares didn’t meet the regulation standard.”

His stare was still on the side of your face.

“Call it curiosity, Madara-sama,” you said, tapping the hilt of one of your own kunai strapped in its brace around your thigh. “Izuna needs to replace his shuriken stock since our last mission anyway.”

Madara snorted. “I hope he told you that at a distance from the compound, should any of the ninbyō overhear him and tell Nekobaa he intends to buy from another weapons dealer.”

You smiled, remembering a particular story Izuna had told you months ago when you’d gotten him decidedly drunk from shōchū and he’d told you about the childish fears that had plagued him for years on end about the Uchiha Clan’s infamous munitions keepers in Sora-ku. Apparently he’d done one ninbyō wrong in stepping on her paw and it was only the pact between their groups that kept the feline’s claws out of his eyes; didn’t save the rest of his face, however, which explained the thin scar that cut a line from the edge of his left eye. For over a decade you’d thought it was a mark left on him by Tobirama, but you’d been hysterical to find out it was from a cat, of all things.

“I think he’d plant a garden of catnip to appease your Nekobaa if it meant keeping the ninbyō away from his face,” you chuckled, glancing toward Madara again before you could think better of it. The sight of his smile caught you off guard, his lips pulling into the swell of his cheek as he shook his head slightly as he lifted rice to his mouth. The expression was uninhibited by any level of decorum that you usually saw him with in clan meetings and events, and it was different from the smiles he shared with both Izuna and Hashirama; it looked private, a glimpse behind the outward projection of Madara Uchiha, Leader of the Uchiha Clan that you knew and just Madara Uchiha, a man who ate fish and rice for breakfast. And somehow, conversation with this Madara was easier than any other conversation you’d had with him before.

“Ah, he told you the story of his abuse of poor Mimiko?” Madara asked, amusement clear in his voice as he ate his rice.

“‘His abuse of poor Mimiko’?” you parroted, giving a short laugh. “Izuna is the one still scared of cats to this day – isn’t he the abused one?”

Madara smiled that same, private smile. “He hasn’t stepped on any paws since then, has he?”

“No,” you laughed again, and shook your head, “I guess he hasn’t.”

Madara gave a soft hum of agreement and then silence blanketed the conversation, leaving you in another limbo. Madara had finished his rice and had picked up a cup of tea, propping his other elbow on his raised knee as he rested his head against the heel of his palm and stared out at the gentle downpour over the garden. The shift in his positioning had opened his yukata further and you snapped your eyes away before you followed the line of a newly revealed, particularly thick-looking scar that spanned down his chest into the folds of his robe, if only to keep your face from heating again the longer you stared unsolicited at him, and glanced at the opened Uchiha Main House.

You’d been in the house a dozen times at least over the years, but you’d never seen it opened up like this during the rainy season, especially when you knew Izuna hated how the smell of wet soil seemed to never leave his clothes no matter how often he washed them. Come to think of it, Izuna didn’t even like the rain – he’d blamed his Uchiha blood and said that no one in a clan with a predominant fire affinity liked the rain, but the way that Madara stared out at the rain made you wonder if Izuna had spoken too generally.

Your eyes trailed back to him, and you were careful to keep your gaze on his face as you studied him.

There was a difference in him now than from what you were usually familiar with. When you’d first met Madara, he was still jagged around the edges from the stress of the war and the stretch of his already thin patience it took to garner in peace with Hashirama while fending off his Elder Council with their combative conversative politics and traditions. Izuna was hardly any help, you knew, since he took to taunting Tobirama into arguments – “A passive aggressive way in which to get revenge,” he’d explained after showing you the scar that should’ve been a death blow over his heart from the other heir’s ninjatō – that you had the pleasure of interjecting upon by request of Hashirama and thus spurring the argument between you and Izuna that had spawned your friendship.

The man sitting beside you now held none of that tension in his shoulders, and there was a feeling of…serenity that seemed rest around him as you continued to watch him stare into the rain, dōjutsu disarmed and none of his usual weapons adorning his body at all. To anyone who didn’t know him, Madara could have been a handsome stranger, a man who was mysterious by the presence of his scars, but could be anyone or no one at all. A part of you had always wondered if he had wanted to be Madara Uchiha, Leader of the Uchiha Clan, or if he’d only accepted the role as it had fallen into his lap with the death of his older brother – another story from another time when the shōchū brought out Izuna’s darker nightmares instead of his laugher. Who might Madara have been then, if not the man he was now?

A rice farmer, Izuna had jested, but a really shitty one.

A cool breeze swept into the house, making you shiver slightly.

You glanced away from Madara’s face and toward the open shogi doors. “Aren’t you cold, Madara-sama?”

Madara looked at you, and then shrugged slightly. “Uchiha run hotter than other shinobi,” he replied.

Yeah, no kidding, you nearly muttered aloud, acutely aware of his opened yukata and the attractive tilt of his head as he regarded you, but bit into the flesh of your cheek to stop the words from taking shape.

Instead, you nodded, and asked, “Madara-sama, do you know when Izuna is supposed to come back?”

You glanced at the Clan Leader and tensed when you found yourself meeting his eyes full on for the first time since initially coming into the house. You could see it when he squinted slightly at you.

“Why do you use the honorific?” he asked, but it took you a moment to process his words. You’d obviously made eye contact with him before – it was impossible to not at times, when the whole world seemed to gravitate toward him, you yourself locked him his orbit whether he knew it or not – but this was not the version of him that you were familiar with; there were no pretenses in his expressions as spoke to you.

You swallowed. “I-I’m sorry?”

Madara tilted his head again slightly, a section of his hair falling off of his shoulder and showing more of his chest. “You address me with the honorific, but not when you talk to my brother, Hashirama, Tobirama, or the other clan heirs,” he explained. “We’ve known each other for just as long, have we not?”

Your brow furrowed as he spoke. You had always addressed him with the honorific of his title, even though you’d been friends with his brother for years now, and even familiar with most members of his clan. It’d never really been intentional, not until you realized that calling him by his name alone meant more to you than just being his friend. “I – yes,” you said, struggling to find a proper response. “It’s just – you’re a clan leader,” you tried, and then immediately winced at your own words. Hashirama was just as much a clan leader as Madara was, and you’d gotten away with calling him ‘Hashi’ by accident before while you’d been in a hurry.

One of Madara’s dark eyebrow rose again as he watched you try to parse out an answer.

“But it’s your name,” you tried, and chewed your lip at his blank look. You rubbed your temple. “We’ve never really spoken, Madara-sama, like I have with Izuna, or Hashirama and Tobirama, and the others,” you clarified. “It’s different from them.”

“We’ve spoken many times before,” he replied, dropping his knee, and crossing his arms over his chest. “How is it any different?”

You wondered where you’d found the shovel that you were currently digging your hole deeper with.

You chewed the inside of your cheek. “You’re not them,” you said, and watched Madara angle his chin. “I mean – that’s obvious, but I mean, you’re different. It’s just –” You blew an exasperated breath as his expression became more guarded, that ease he’d had slipping away with every word you spoke.

“You’re not like this, out there,” you blurted out, gesturing toward his sitting figure. Kami, you were glad the Uchiha didn’t have the same hearing abilities that the Inuzuka and Hatake did, else he’d no doubt hear your heart hammering against your ribcage. “This is different from when you’re out there, with them,” you kept talking. “You’re quieter, and…softer, I guess. It’s different, and not bad, at all,” you added, gauging the narrowing of his eyes again. Izuna would be rolling on the floor if he were here to witness this. “You’re just Madara right now,” you rubbed the side of your neck, ignoring the heat there, “not Mangekyō no Madara, the Uchiha Warlord. Just…Madara.”

A long moment of silence hung between the two of you, only the sound of the gentle downpour on the roof and in the garden to fill the air with a level of noise until Madara cleared his throat and his expression lost some of its hardness.

“Just Madara,” he said slowly, and then you felt the energy of the room shift as his dōjutsu activated suddenly, red bleeding through the hickory brown of his irises. The instinct to avert your eyes gripped you, but…you could feel the weight of his stare and there was something significant in it as you stared into the interlocking black tomoe. “Mangekyō no Madara, the Uchiha Warlord – how is he different from ‘Just Madara’?”

There was something incredibly beautiful about the Sharingan in a way that nothing else you had ever seen in your life compared. The dōjutsu was a weapon just as much as it was simply just another tool, and you’d seen plenty of patterns over the years you’d spent living alongside the Uchiha, but none of their eyes were quite as enthralling as their clan leader’s.

“Mangekyō no Madara, the Uchiha Warlord would rather me not drop the honorific,” you finally replied as you stared back at his kekkei genkai. Your heartbeat was thundering in your chest. “And he’d want me to be intimidated by his dōjutsu.”

Madara grunted. “And you think ‘Just Madara’ doesn’t want you to be as well?”

“I think if you wanted me to be intimidated, you would’ve put me in a genjutsu,” you answered evenly. His gaze narrowed again, and then you watched as he leaned onto the table, propping his cheek against his knuckles and exposing more of his chest to you. It was yet another effort to keep your eyes on his face and ignore just how much of him you could see around his robe.

“What if I’ve had you in a genjutsu since you entered the house and first looked at me?” he questioned, still staring at you. The intensity of his gaze was unwavering, but there was something different in the way that he gave you his undivided attention versus how you’d seen him trap other members of the leader council with his stare – there was no true intimidation in his eyes. “What if this ‘Just Madara’ lives only in a fictitious image I created?”

“You’d have to find inspiration for ‘Just Madara’ from somewhere then,” you replied easily, ignoring the urge in your gut to look away from him. By no means were you afraid of him, but he did slightly intimidate you at times, though for reasons unrelated to his rank or kekkei genkai. “And you don’t have a reason to put me in a genjutsu.”

“You broke into my home,” he replied.

You raised an eyebrow. “The door was unlocked and Izuna told me just come in last night when we’d made the plans.”

A short silence rose, punctuated by a distant roll of thunder, and then Madara spoke again.

“You’re not afraid at all of my Sharingan, are you?” he asked.

You frowned slightly. You’d never held his eye contact for this long before, especially not while his Sharingan were activated, but you could read no threat in his expression, only feel the weight of some unspoken significance between you.

“I’m not afraid of the man they belong to,” you softly corrected him.

Both of Madara’s eyebrows rose and his head righted just slightly. “You’re not afraid of me?”

You loosed a breathy laugh. “If I was ever your enemy again, then I very much would be, because now I know the man beyond Mangekyō no Madara, the Uchiha Warlord, and…” you chewed your lip again, “and I wouldn’t want to have to fight him.”

Madara’s gaze shifted over your face, tracing over your eyes, then down the side of your cheek, across mouth and then up over your nose and back to your eyes again, like he was memorizing face.

“I wouldn’t want to fight you either,” he finally replied.

You chuckled. “I’d be like a warm-up, and you’d kill me within ten minutes – we’re on two different levels of abilities.”

He lowered his propped arm so that his arms crossed on the table, and the way that he stared at you sobered the lighthearted humor in you.

“I wouldn’t raise a hand nor weapon against you,” he said.

You blinked, momentarily blindsided by the raw honesty in his voice.

“I suppose that makes sense, since we’re comrades now,” you said slowly, heartbeat somehow sluggish now in your chest.

Madara tilted his head at you. “Among other things.”

“‘Among other things’?” You parroted, your brow furrowing as you sat upright.

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you think I’d let just anyone see me in my nightclothes?”

Your lips parted and you glanced at his chest again despite your better judgement, and then jerked your line of sight away, toward the wall, though you could see the smirk on Madara’s face in your periphery.

“Hashirama?” you offered weakly, staring pointedly at the garden again.

He gave you a flat look. “Exempting the deified tree idiot from you and Izuna.”

You and Izuna.

If there was one thing that you knew foremost before any other thing about Madara Uchiha it was that his most treasured possession was his love for his brother, followed closely by his friendship with Hashirama and the responsibility he took seriously as the leader of his clan. Three pillars of his personality that you’d come to be familiar with very early on once coming to the village that had provided the foundation for the understanding of him.

He’d said, you and Izuna – what did that mean?

Your gaze slid back to him again.

“So, you’d of put more clothes on if I wasn’t the one breaking in, then?” you asked, trying to joke but lacking the tease in your voice.

One of Madara’s eyebrows rose. “With the way you’ve been stealing looks at me all morning, I thought you quite liked seeing me in little clothing.”

Your eyes widened and you felt your face burn as you ducked your head. This man – when had he become so…so–

Kami – this was not how you expected your morning to go.

“I –”

You shut your mouth as soon as you noticed the smile on Madara’s face, amusement clear in his expression. Yet another expression that you weren’t accustomed to, not without the standard pretense of him fulfilling some kind of social expectation of himself in meetings and village celebrations – and you liked it. That air of serenity seemed to only thicken around him as he smiled at you, his eyebrow rising again when you both realized you were staring at him.

Awkwardly, you cleared your throat. “I wasn’t looking at your chest,” you lied, “I – um…” Madara rested his chin against his knuckles again, expression expectant. You faltered, indignant. “You’re enjoying this.”

Tobirama had always compared the Uchiha to cats, but you couldn’t help but find more similarities between Madara and a tanuki right now.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Madara replied, the lilt of his tone making it clear that he knew exactly what it was you were talking about.

You cut the clan leader a look. “Madara-sama, has anyone ever told you before that you’re terribly overconfident?”

You saw him try to suppress a smirk before he replied, “Now, now, (Y/N), don’t you think if you’re going to insult me, you should at least drop the honorific so I know you’re only teasing?”

You bit into your cheek to stop yourself from smiling back at him as you said, “It’s not teasing if it’s true, Madara-sama.”

He raised his eyebrow again. “So you are trying to insult a clan leader, (Y/N)?” he asked, shifting his knuckles over his mouth in a weak attempt to hide his smirk.

You sniffed. “It’s said that the truth sometimes hurts, Madara-sama.”

He chuckled. “You know, I could order you to not address me with that honorific.”

You gave him another look. “I don’t have to listen to your orders, Madara-sama – you’re not the jōnin commander nor am I an Uchiha.”

He regarded you for a moment. “But I could make you one.”

You felt the blood drain from your face and your lips parted in shock –

Madara snorted and laughed at your expense, shaking his head. “That was teasing, (Y/N),” he chuckled.

Like a whiplash, your felt your face heat from sickening embarrassment, and you looked away from him, having to grit your teeth in the attempt to not scowl. Something in you felt wounded and annoyed with your own self for having fallen so easily into bantering with him that you’d entertained the idea of his teasing as being more than just that.

He was still chuckling at your reaction when you cleared your throat and made to stand.

“Since your brother isn’t here,” you spoke neutrally, “I’ll be leaving now, Uchiha-sama.” You saw his brow furrow in your periphery, but you ignored his expression as you unfolded your legs and shifted your balance.

“Eager to have Izuna make you an Uchiha then?” Madara asked as you began to cross the sitting room, back toward the door. You scoffed quietly at his question, irritation not only with yourself and your own foolishness growing, but also toward him, for pressing the wound.

You muttered under your breath and reached for your boots, but your hand was blocked in the same breath that Madara appeared in front of you, a surge of chakra from his shunshin the only warning you’d had to retract your arm.

“What did you say?” he questioned, tone flat and not unlike the voice he took in council meetings.

“Nothing, Uchiha-sama,” you said, making to move around him, but he blocked your path again with his body, making you bite your tongue to keep from forgoing your boots entirely and shunshinning onto the path outside the Uchiha Compound.

“Why are you calling me that?” he demanded, blocking you again when you tried to go around his left.

You clenched your jaw. “I’m not calling you anything, Uchiha-sama.”

The muscle in his jaw feathered, a telltale sign of his short patience. “I told you to drop the honorific, not tack on formalities.”

You let your eyes meet his again, trying to keep your expression flat and combined embarrassment and irritation concealed. “You’re a clan leader, Uchiha-sama,” you replied in a mechanical voice. “I shouldn’t insult you with less.”

His Sharingan gaze narrowed, not quite pinning you to the spot but making you wholly aware of him and just how close he stood to you, hardly more than an arm’s length between your chests.

“What did you say when you turned your back to me?” he demanded again.

“It’s of little importance, Uchiha-sama,” you answered, stare unwavering.

You went to step around him again, but his hand lashed and caught your wrist, making you instaneously stiffen.

“You are afraid of me,” Madara said, grip firm as he glanced between your rigid arm and your face.

You suddenly wanted, for all the world, Izuna to come back from wherever he’d gone, if only to rescue you from this conversation.

“Not for the reasons you think, Uchiha-sama,” you answered sharply, staring ahead at the door until Madara yanked you closer to him, filling your line of sight with his face.

You sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden proximity, but he didn’t grant you the opportunity to react before he asked again, “What did you say when you turned your back to me?”

This close to his face, you could see each of the long lashes that framed his Sharingan eyes, and the light smattering of tiny scars near his temple. This close, and the world narrowed down to a singular point in the shape of him as he filled your senses, drowning out the rain, the house, and all else. Your orbit finally brought you to the star itself.

You exhaled a slow breath through your nose and then let the tension bleed from your shoulders, out of your arms, and held his gaze as you replied, just loud enough to be heard, “I said, ‘Wrong brother.’”

Silence crept in through the house again as you stared at each other, his grip unwavering on your wrist that he’d tucked into his chest when he’d pulled you into him. Your hand was curled into a fist, but you could feel the warmth of his skin against your closed fingers, and beyond that –

His heart was racing.

The realization made your eyes drop from his to his chest, your brows pulling together as his fingers seemed to curl tighter around your wrist before they relaxed and his grip spread over your hand, pushing your palm flat over his chest, your fingers beneath the fabric of his robe.

“Why do you say my name with the honorific?” Madara asked again, his fingers slotted over yours, the scars on your knuckles making disjointed patterns with his.

You blinked, looking back up at him. “Because it means something else to me without it.”

He never looked away from you, not as he raised his other hand to the side of your face, touching his fingertips to your cheek.

“Say my name,” he said softly.

Your brow furrowed, just slightly, as his thumb touched the edge of your mouth, and you spoke softly, “Madara.”

You felt his heartbeat fasten beneath your hand, and then yours might as well of matched it when he slid his thumb beneath your chin and raised your face, and then –

Madara was kissing you.

You sucked in a sharp breath, but shock hardly lasted more than a moment as he slanted his mouth against yours, cradling your face with both his hands as your hands found a grip on his robe. Over and over, he kissed you, tracing your bottom lip with his tongue before one of your hands climbed up to his neck, fingers carding through the dark hair at his nape, and a soft noise like a grunt left him as he shifted closer to you. His kisses were consuming, all-encompassing and this was gravity, you realized, the effect of coming too close to a star and meeting it in a collision, the inevitable destruction of what was once two separate things and the formation of something else – something new and created in the combination of debris. This was a calamity, and you welcomed it, fully and completely, giving entirely into the forces that predetermined this gravitational impact.

A sharp whistle suddenly sounded from the central garden, and you sprang back from Madara as Izuna leapt down from one of the red maple trees onto the porch with all his usual flourish, damp from the rain but smirking all the same. “I must say, there’s nothing seeing my beloved brother finally kissing my dear friend to make my morning more interesting.”

You blinked as Madara scowled, one of your hands now tangled with his, though he stood slightly behind you.

“‘Finally?’” you questioned.

“Oh yes – finally,” Izuna snorted.

“Always purposeful with your timing, aren’t you, otōto?” Madara drawled, languidly. His posture had changed, but you could see a flush of pink over his face and neck, unconcealed by his tone.

Izuna made a show of sitting down on the porch and yanking off his boots, the smirk never leaving his face as he did so.

“Of course, aniki – I couldn’t risk leaving you unattended for very long, you know,” he replied airily. “Who knows what you two would’ve gotten up to if I hadn’t come back from that random errand you sent me on when I did.”

You cocked your head suspiciously at Madara. “You sent Izuna on an errand this morning?”

Izuna called from the porch, “Only after he found out you were supposed to be meeting me here.”

“Izuna,” Madara warned.

Izuna, the only heir to the mighty Uchiha Clan, stuck his tongue out at his brother as he crossed the room in bare feet. “Now that you’ve gotten a few good kisses in on my best friend, I think it’s fair time to embarrass you thoroughly.” He came up next to you, propping his arm on your shoulder as he asked you, “Don’t you think?”

“Izuna, I will demote you,” Madara warned again, glare cutting.

Izuna brightened, “Oh! I’m to be an uncle already?”

You jammed your elbow into Izuna’s ribs with little thought, cheeks burning with heat as you glared at your best friend and wholly ignored Madara’s startled expression.

“Traitor,” Izuna wheezed, holding his side with one hand and bending over with his opposite hand on your shoulder for balance.

“Me a traitor?” you demanded, rounding on the younger Uchiha. “You – you –!” You couldn’t stop the breath of laughter that escaped you, cutting off your tirade. You could see Madara smiling at you in his periphery, amusement clear on his face along with something like relief. “You’re impossible, Izuna,” you finally said, shaking your head.

“You’re the one kissing my brother!” Izuna puffed back, throwing his hand out at Madara, who had crossed his arms over his chest and raised an unimpressed eyebrow at the heir. “And here I thought one morning of your sheer awkwardness and his hate of being interrupted over breakfast would cancel out and I’d finally be relieved of hearing the blind pining you two do after each other constantly!”

Your face felt like it was burning – blind pining you two do after each other constantly.

Madara made faux work of picking at his index finger with his thumb, giving Izuna a look out of the corner of his eye. “You forget that I invite (Y/N)’s company whenever possible, otōto.”

And wasn’t that true – how many gatherings and meetings had you attended over the years where you eventually found yourself somehow at Madara’s side? You’d lost count. And now this morning, where he’d invited you to sit at the table with him, despite the early hour and him being hardly dressed.

Do you think I’d let just anyone see me in my nightclothes?

“Oh, excuse me, aniki,” Izuna rolled his eyes, a smirk growing along his lips, “I must’ve forgotten sometime between last year and this morning.”

You blinked. “Last year?”

“Oh, this obsession with you didn’t happen overnight, (Y/N)-chan,” Izuna cooed, and absolutely grinning at Madara’s scathing glare and your shocked expression. “My dear aniki decided to fall in love with you the moment you verbally filleted that Shimura heir over the dinner at Midsummer last year. What was it you said, Madara? Something like –”

“Izuna, I will banish you from the compound,” Madara ground out, wholly ignoring your widening eyes.

Fall in love?

It was only propriety that kept your jaw from dropping – Madara was in love with you?

Izuna waved him off, continuing, “You said, ‘She’s going to be my wife.’” A lick of flame darted towards Izuna’s pants, but he leapt back, snickering as he did. “Aniki! No need to get so heated! Save that for your future wife!”

“Izuna!” Madara shouted, while you bit down on your bottom lip, face hot and trying to not laugh as Izuna darted away.

“I’m going – I’m going! I can see that you need privacy!” he snickered, winking at you as he dodged another well-aimed katon jutsu spiraling for his face and then vanished into one of the hallways of the house.

A beat of silence, and then you couldn’t help the small laugh that left you. Madara’s attention immediately snapped back toward you, and he was still scowling, but when you laughed again, he gauged your expression with a guarded look.

“Somehow, I don’t think you planned on telling me this morning that you wanted to marry me,” you said neutrally, though still internally reeling from what Izuna had said.

She’s going to be my wife.

That was not just a simple thing to say, especially from a clan leader.

Madara crossed his arms over his chest, still looking irritated, though you knew it was more or less directed toward his brother. “No, not this morning,” he replied, jaw clenching like he was reluctant to give up more of his intentions than he’d expected to.

You stepped closer to him, watching him watch you back, Sharingan eyes fixed on your face. His arms slackened as you came close enough to touch a hand to the side of his face, as bold as you dared, and you felt his hands settle lightly over your hips. You leaned into him, holding again to the front of his robe with one hand as the other hand slipped into the hair at the nape of his neck, bringing his face closer to yours as you struggled to not outright grin at him, though his eyes flicked between your smile and your eyes. At your waist, his fingers tightened their grip, his focus never once leaving you as he tilted his head, and you whispered against his lips, “Tell me you love me this morning then.”

This close, you could see your reddened reflection in his Sharingan, and saw the last of his irritation toward his brother melt away as he raised a hand to your face, brushing his fingers over your cheek.

“I love you,” he said, hardly more than a breath against your lips.

You smiled, heart racing, and pressed your forehead against his. “I love you too.”

He pressed his lips to yours again, and you could feel him smiling even as he kissed you, one of his hands sliding to the small of your back and pulling you closer as the other one folded itself over yours on his chest. Again, he became the center of everything, all else fading as you lost yourself in him.

Though, you startled when Izuna suddenly shouted through the house, “I would like a niece to spoil first!”

None of Madara’s kisses could silence the laughter that burst from you.