mine and yours. - Madara/Reader
Summary: You don the crest, you bear the name. An Uchiha is always an Uchiha, even when surrounded by the influence of other clans. Madara seeks to remind you of this, when he spots you mingling a little too closely with the Senju
Pairing: Uchiha Madara/Fem!Reader
Rating: Explicit
Prompt: Jealousy/Obsession
Content warning for PWP, possessive behavior, rough sex, unprotected sex, little bit of choking
Author’s Note: DILF week is here! Cant wait to get this ball rolling, and what better way to start than with the OG Uchiha daddy 😏
@narutodilfweek
Ao3 Link
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He's looking at you far too closely once again. Pinpricks of awareness on the back of your neck, the telltale sensation of a hunter with its prey, watching your every move, your every breath. Even with the room humming with activity, with good-natured arguments and the sounds of scratching pens and tea endlessly poured - the one awareness that holds you steady is the weight of Madara's eyes. His stare is locked on your face as he lounges back in his low chair, chin propped on a fist and content to ignore the other members of Konoha's council that titter and argue around him.
You flush once you look up and finally catch his eye, embarrassed at the way he shamelessly studies you. You had made strides for the Uchiha in Konohagakure, tempering Madara's raised hackles and wary distrust of the budding village. It's a push and pull, a give and take; a battleground of finely picked words and charming dispositions. You'd argued over it with him many nights, trying to make him understand that if the Uchiha are to stand beside Senju and Uzumaki and all the rest as equals, compromises must be made, and he must at the very least attempt to be civil.
He's - trying. For the sake of the clan, and their continued safety and ensured future. You know intimately his temper and possessive streak are a mile wide, yet only you can ease his heart, can whisper encouragement and promises of trust and camaraderie amongst the village. Madara listens - mostly. He holds no ill will towards the other clans, not truly, not anymore; he simply worries, and distrusts far easier than he opens up. Most don't trust him in turn, even after declaring himself and the Uchiha friend and brother to Hashirama and the Senju. He had proved his dedication to building a home welcome to all, even if he had dug in his heels when it came to ensuring the Uchiha are equal. To others he seems nothing more than a contradiction, than a stubborn fool.
But Madara isn't a mystery, not to you. He had lost his family, each of his brothers. It's no surprise he's possessive to a fault, of both you and the rest of your clan; eager to keep you safe at his side. It was for love, after all, that made any of this possible in the first place. For his love of his family, his clan - for his love of Hashirama and of you, he had taken a Senju's offered hand. For peace, and for the future. Nobody loves like an Uchiha. And no Uchiha loves quite as deeply as Madara.
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Your musings are interrupted as Hashirama leans in close enough his hair brushes your cheek, catching your attention as you turn to him with a smile. He taps the tip of a finger on the back of your hand, wordlessly pointing out that you'd let the ink drip onto your notes, making your cheeks heat once more. You glance up and offer a sheepish smile, but Hashirama is already pulled into a conversation by the Nara councilwoman across from him; even still, his hand moves over yours, squeezing your fingers in silent encouragement. You expression eases into one of genuine warmth, leaning in the barest inch to nudge your shoulder against his. He's a good man, even if he's too kind for his own good sometimes.
Konoha is your home. Filled to the brim with precious people, and a bright spark of hope for the future of your clan.
Across the wide table, unbeknownst to you as you finally return to jotting down your notes, Madara watches the exchange with heavy-lidded eyes. The sight of freely-given tenderness and casual touch is enough to have his spine stiffening, catching the way Hashirama watches you from the corner of his eye when you're engrossed in your work.
Well. That just won't do.
You are his, in every way. Madara is clan head and you don his crest, bear his name. You are his, and no other's. An Uchiha is always an Uchiha, even when surrounded by the influence of other clans.
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The council room empties as the sun begins to set. You hardly notice, too busy muttering beneath your breath as you write a quick reminder into the margin of your expansive notes on building costs, barely making the effort to even lift your hand to wave at any who call goodbyes as the once-full room goes quiet. You're biting at the side of your thumbnail, tapping the pen rhythmically against the worn wood of the table, when the door slides shut. The sound catches your attention, finally glancing up from where you lean over the table. Madara watches you once more, unrepentant though there is something guarded in his dark eyes. He says your name, and all at once you realize you're alone.
You straighten to full height, pen forgotten as you smooth your palms down the front of your kimono. There's an unspoken tension as you meet his eye, and it makes your belly flutter with nerves even as something familiar and warm licks through your veins. You know without saying the words what it is he seeks, as he closes the distance between you with a steady gait. His affections are always kept behind closed doors. Madara is not ashamed, but he is private. Guarded. He will gladly have you on his arm, will glare away any pursuers who think you available. Your relationship is one of trust, as aide to clan leader and confidante. A relationship of your hair in his fist, of kisses that are more teeth than tender. You are a bright light, and belong only to him.
You remember that starkly when Madara tilts up your chin with the tip of a finger, gazing down on you as his chest brushes yours. The table digs into the small of your back, and with a thick swallow and a heated flush you realize you're quite trapped.
You open your mouth to speak, move to rest your palms on his chest, but Madara interrupts you with a tilt of his head.
"You don't have a very good memory, do you?" He asks in a murmur, catching your hands in his. He moves them until your palms are flat on the table behind you, bracketing your hips.
"I'm sorry?" You respond, eyes fluttering as your core tightens, just from the low timbre of his voice. Madara hums beneath his breath, and moves quicker than your eyes can follow. His hands move to tighten on your waist, lifting and pushing you until you sit on the table. He spreads your thighs, standing between them as he parts and lifts the fabric of your kimono, his eyes not once leaving yours.
"You're awfully close with Hashirama," he says after a moment, his broad palm warm on the naked skin of your thigh. Your breath stutters as you tilt your head back, arousal pooling in your core at his barest touch.
"We're friends," you tell him honestly, hips jerking forward as his hand climbs higher.
"Do all your friends want to fuck you? I must not be paying very close attention." Your eyes go wide the moment the words leave his mouth, jerking your head forward to catch his eye, incredulous and embarrassed both. But Madara only smirks, though something wicked hides behind the quirk of his mouth.
"He doesn't - I don't -" The words stutter in your mouth, tongue feeling suddenly heavy as Madara moves his palm up to press against where you need him most, eliciting a gasp from between your lips. He holds your cunt in the palm of his hand, fingers curling just under your ass. It makes you feel small, owned. It makes you feel good.
Madara's smirk widens as he feels the fabric of your panties dampen, heel of his palm pushed tight to your mound. "Do you want him to fuck you? Bend you over this table, take you for the council to see?" He punctuates his words by shoving your underwear to the side, tip of a finger swirling over your soaked entrance. You throw your head back with a moan, loud to your own ears; you don't feel embarrassed, not with him. He's made you make far louder noises, after all. The image of being fucked, being used, in front of a gathered group of esteemed clan leaders makes your core pulse in time with your racing heart; you want to be marked, to show the world just who makes you scream.
"No," you manage to breathe out, shaking your head.
"And why not?" Madara asks, tip of a finger dipping just inside your cunt. It's not nearly enough, not anywhere in the same vein as what you need. You grit your teeth, hips shifting forward in an attempt to get him further inside as you try and focus your hazy mind. You know exactly what words he wants to hear, needs to hear. You're in no position to tease, knowing exactly what happens when you push him, just a little too far.
You meet his eye, core clenching as sweat begins to bead on your temple. "Because if anyone were going to fuck me on this table, I'd want it to be you."
Madara's smirk shifts to a hungry grin, nodding once before he leans down to bury his face in your neck. An open-mouth kiss makes you shiver, his teeth grazing across your sensitive skin. When he bites down on your pulse point a new wave of arousal rushes through your veins, his name stuttering from your mouth.
"And why is that?" He whispers into your throat, dragging this out as much as possible as his hand shifts at your cunt, pad of his thumb brushing over your clit. Your thighs tense and back arches, pushing yourself towards him in wordless encouragement.
"Because I'm yours," you finally breathe out, the coil in your belly tightening.
Madara's answering chuckle is downright filthy. "Good girl."
He pulls away from you, but not for long. With practiced motions he parts the fabric of his yukata, pulling free his hardened cock. You watch with lidded eyes as he runs a palm up and down his thick length, closing what little distance remains between you. The tip of his cock brushes against your clit, making you hiss between your teeth at the taste of delicious friction, before he parts your folds and coats his shaft with your damp arousal. Your panties are shoved to the side, your only warning Madara's eyes spinning to red before he thrusts inside you, right to the hilt.
The stretch makes you gasp, feeling far too full as his thick cock spreads you open. It feels as though every nerve is alight, every small shift and twitch of him inside you making you clench around his cock. Madara sighs out a low breath as he pulls out, slow enough to make you writhe, his hand moving to your chest to push you down. You lay flat at his urging, fingers moving to wrap lightly around his wrist, a silent connection and encouragement.
He pauses with the tip just inside you, gaze focused solely on your face. The dim glow of his sharingan makes you shiver, bottom lip caught between your teeth and a low groan caught in your throat as you tilt your head to watch his cock slip back inside you, inch by aching inch.
Your cunt clenches around him, hard, before he's even halfway, your eyes falling shut and tilting your head back. Madara groans, tries to pace himself. Realizes he cant when its your cunt wrapped around his cock, impossibly warm and wet and inviting; your hand on his arm, nails digging into him. You belong to him, and no one else; only he will ever know what this feels like. He moans your name, softly, before slamming himself forward, hard enough to make your vision go white.
A gasp rips its way from your throat, eyes flying open in surprise as your back arches. You catch his eye, seeing plain longing and pleasure reflected back at you. You swallow around the lump in your throat, core tightening as Madara's thick cock drags against every secret spot inside you that makes your thighs tense and toes curl.
He goes slow for a time, adjusting to the feel of you wrapped around him like a silken sheath, watching your every shift of expression and feeling intensely how you clench and tighten and gush around him. But Madara knows his limits, and being balls-deep inside the most beautiful woman he's ever known breaches it. He rolls his hips back, pulling out to the tip, before thrusting right back in.
Your free hand moves to your clit immediately, thighs tensing as he fucks you. You're gasping out his name, spurring him on to go faster, harder. Madara bares his teeth, reaching to hitch your ankle over his shoulder, spreading you open and thrusting down into you, deep enough to kiss your cervix and pluck sweet sounds from your lips. He pushes his weight down on your lifted leg to get his cock as deep as he can, sweat beginning to run down his back. The hand on his wrist tightens, and you're grasping onto him with those nails that drive him mad, holding on for dear life. He'll have your claw marks on his skin for days to come, wearing them like a badge of pride.
Your fingers move faster over your clit, stomach knotted from being so close already. Your cunt keeps clenching over his cock, feeling so delightfully full that you never want this feeling to go away. His thrusting is becoming erratic, nose pressed to your calf and hips snapping against you as he chases his release. Your fingers nearly blur as they rub over your pearl, chest heaving as heat spreads through your body, nearing the edge right along with him.
"Who do you belong to?" Madara asks, voice a growl deep in his chest.
"You." The answer is immediate and breathless, your back arching clear off the table at his responding chuckle, deep and low and dripping in sin. He leans down, pushing impossibly deep inside you as his hand moves from your chest to your throat, fingers tightening on the sides of your neck.
"Look at me," he orders, "and remember who makes you scream. Be a good girl, princess, and come."
It's enough to make you fall. Your breath escapes you in a shout, legs shaking hard enough to jerk the table as your orgasm rips through you. Your stomach clenches, muscles in your thighs tense enough to cramp - you're certain stars appear behind your closed eyes, as you pant his name over and over like a prayer.
You're a shaking mess and he's not stopping, your oversensitive core soaked; the noises your body is making would be enough to be embarrassing on any other day. it's just too much; you're lost in the haze of pleasure as Madara fucks you through your orgasm, whispering words of encouragement and possession, reminding you with his voice and his cock that you belong to him, the hand on your neck cutting off blood without cutting off air, heightening the sensation as you meet his thrusts.
"Only mine," he murmurs, voice thick with desire as he tilts his head back, groaning as your cunt clenches around him. With a moan he drops your leg, wraps it around his waist instead. His hands go to your hips, pulling you against him in time with his thrusts. The angle change is enough for his cock to brush that roughened patch of skin inside you, and you nearly scream in response, eyes squeezed tightly shut at the over-sensitivity. Your name slips from his mouth repeatedly, your legs around his waist tight enough to bruise. Madara chases his finish, pulling you flush against him -
He comes with a low roar, still thrusting as he rides his high. Your entire body is quivering but find the strength to shove yourself up to wrap your arms around his shoulders as his hips stutter against you. Groin to groin, chest to chest; your labored breath mingles as Madara paints your walls with his come, barely slowing his thrusts, as your panting mouth peppers kisses over his neck and chest.
Madara uses the hand at your throat to tilt your head back, finally capturing your mouth. His kiss is lazy and tender, hips eventually slowing to a stop. Your heart's still pounding, feels positively thunderous when he breaks the kiss and catches your eye. But you only smile, using your legs around his waist to pull him close again.
"Mine," he whispers, nipping at your bottom lip and make you laugh, breathless, as you go boneless against him.
"Yours," you respond, seeking out his mouth once more.
