features: naruto, itachi, madara, kakashi, tenzou, hashirama, tobirama, kiba, shikamaru, konohamaru, asuma, deidara, jiraiya, and genma
minor notes: these drabbles include a female reader who exists in the village of konoha as a shinobi and no uchiha massacre has taken place!
on your belly
naruto — there's something dangerous, nearly feral, about the way he looks down at you when he leans over your body. its like kurama breaks free and takes over the ninja, like the whiskers on his face darken to black, his eyes glowing red and bright and ferocious— and it thrills you. utterly, and completely thrills you. naruto smirks, and in any other moment you might have been embarrassed about the fact that you both know then and there that he can smell your arousal. but you're too far gone to care. it's all you can do to hold on, clawing at his broad back, clutching your legs around his hips as you ride through the pleasure of his cock against your insides. he pulls out at the last moment, the way your fingers wind together as both of your hands work furiously over his cock, and the sinful moan that spills from his lips as he comes is almost enough to send you headlong into another orgasm. his cum splatters over your belly, icy hot and plentiful, and you expect him to collapse on top of you, caging you beneath his firm body and holding you there, as he usually does, but this time his holds his ground. his hands are at your belly, fingers moving through his spend as he works it into your skin, spreading it across the softness he loves to kiss, as though marking you with his scent, marking you as his. he growls, nearly purrs, and as you meet his feral red eyes, you both know kurama is pleased.
itachi — he loves the way you can quiet his mind, send the swirling storm of thoughts into quiet symbiosis, cooing the firestorm. you take him in his arms, make him feel protected, instead of what is usually the other way around. it's intoxicating, to be around you. when he makes love to you, when he wraps his arms around you, and your legs wind around him, he loves how you pull him down until he's chest to chest with you, like he can become one with you completely. you'll try for a child soon, he knows. but for now he contents himself with pulling out of you just enough to release on your stomach, to feel the warmth of your skin on his most sensitive part, to run his fingers through the liquid and it excites him to no end to picture little uchiha's running around the compound.
on your chest
yamato — there's something about the way you look, flushed, breathless, dripping with sweat, that overcomes him, makes him feel half wild as he looks down at you. he can't tear himself away from you, not even for a moment, and has been late for many a meeting because of this weakness, much to kakashi's delight and his chagrin. but every once in a while, when he feels particularly wound up, pent up, that he indulges his secret sin. he pulls out of you as he feels his orgasm bridging, a frisson of pleasure building at the base of his spine and rolling through him like a jolt of lightning, and rolls over to the side. your eyes are half lidded as you look up at him, confusion bridging into understanding as you recognize the familiar pose. even without asking you roll into a sitting position, as though reading his mind, and kami he loves you so much, even in the throes of passion and pleasure he drops a hand to your cheek to stroke it lovingly. he works his cock quickly as you push your breasts together, flinching slightly as your fingers pinch your nipple, still sensitive from the force of your orgasm, and the breathy little moan you let out is enough to send him over the edge. his cum sinks onto your skin, slipping down your breasts and onto your stomach, a fist of prideful pleasure tightening in his belly. kami he just loves you so much.
konohamaru — somehow, he knows, just knows, that this is all naruto's fault. he blames the hokage for having made his introduction into the world of sex be all bare breasts and long legged, until the memories of his sexy jutsu captivating his adolescent. even as an adult konohamaru has the same weakness, and the day he had met you he knew all at once that you checked all his boxes in perfect harmony. and when he's leaning over you, his spend dotted across your perfect chest like spilled pearls, your face flushed and eyes half lidded from the throes of pleasure, the aftershocks of your orgasm still trembling through you, he can't quite but thank the gods for naruto.
on your face
deidara — its a work of art on its own, the way your eyes look as you gaze up at him. the way your lips are swollen and half parted, wet by the tongue that drags across them seductively enough to make him dive back down into your arms. but there's nothing more beautiful than the way you look on your knees, his cock kissed against your lips, his spend streaked across your face like oil paint on a canvas. he smirks, near feral, and just the sight is enough to make him half hard again. he never feels more pleasure at the notion that art truly is an explosion.
shikamaru — he let out a long, sated sigh, breathing out a curl of smoke and thinking about the fact that he had never been this happy. your fingers clawed at the skin of his naked chest, nails dragging across his nipple in a way that made him flinch and his hips stutter, pleasure-pain rushing through his chest as he moaned. your fingers wound absently around the fabric of the yukata you had hastily pushed down around his waist, leaving his ass bare and ready to be fondled by you as you guided the thrust of his hips. your mouth was so hot, so wet and warm, that he wished he could live in it. not that he spent much time free from the tangle of your limbs, with the amount of time you spent fucking, the honeymoon period having never ended after your marriage three years prior. he gasped out a moan, leaning forward in his zaisu, and winding a hand through your beautiful hair, warning you silently that he was about to reach his peak. his cum marked your face, spilling across your cheeks, your lips, your chin, and you looked so beautiful he couldn't resist kissing you, his tongue entering your mouth, his hand cupping your bare breast, both of you already knowing he wasn't going to be going anywhere for the next hour.
on your ass
kiba — it's his animal instincts. it must be. it makes him feel wild, ferocious to see you like this, on your hands and knees, your hair messy as its tossed over your shoulders, your back bowed to tilt your hips up towards his. your skin is glistening with a mix of heady sweat and saliva, because he just can't stop himself from licking you, tasting you, mapping every inch of your body with his tongue. your thighs are parted, wet for the same reasons, and he longs to taste you again, to bury himself between your legs and eat and eat and eat until the neverending starvation in his belly is sated. but he can't, not yet, not now. his cock feels fit to burst, and he can't stand being parted from you for a second longer, pushing back into you until his hips are flush to your ass, and kami you feel so fucking good, he can't stop the growl that leeches from this lips. he comes quickly, pulling out with rabid ferocity and spilling over the curves of your perfect ass, unable to resist biting into it and leaving another bite mark among the sea of half healed ones.
tobirama — his brother had told him it would be like this one day, like him and mito, had told him that one day he would know what it meant to be completely consumed by another. but before you, tobirama had though his brother a fool. even worse, a god of shinobi, brought to heel by something so simple as love. but from the very first moment he had come across you, had taken your hand to shake and seen the way your lips arched into a smile, he realized he was a fool too. it's like heaven and hell, like sweet escape and even sweeter torture, to be with you, to be apart from you, even for just the moment it takes to pull out of your sweet warmth. but there's something wicked about the way you look covered in his spend, the way your ass reddens from the slap of his hips, the way your sweat speckled skin looks glistens like diamonds. kami, he truly is a fool, but much like his brother, there's no place he'd rather be than in your arms.
on your pussy
jiraiya — the toad sage can't help but be mesmerized by everything about you. the way your hair drapes around your shoulders, the mastery of your genjutsu, the way your eyes shine in the moonlight, the softness of your skin, the brightness of your smile. but fuck, if one of the most impressive things about you wasn't the way your pussy sucked him in. you're both sexual beings, he knows that. knows that you've had other lovers before him, but he couldn't tell— not from the way your pussy sucked him in like a tight-fist, like a virgin. it was near agony to pull out, to not cum in you like jiraiya so obviously enjoyed, but during times like this, when the cleanup was too messy, or you two had stolen the time for a quickie, when he forced himself to pull out as he came, splattering your skin with drops of cum that nearly sizzled your beautiful skin. you moaned, looking so beautiful covered in his spend that he couldn't help but seize your lips in a messy kiss, sighing in pleasure as he began to mentally draft the next volume of icha icha.
genma — he was a pervert. he knew it, you knew it. half of konoha knew it. he kissed you like a fiend, all tongue and teeth and exchanged spit, addicted to the way your body felt beneath his, all soft curves to his hard edges. your hand fisted in his loose hair, tilting his head down towards you, so you could kiss even more deeply, practically consuming each other. your legs were wrapped around his naked hips, his favorite belt, and he thrust into you with abandon, unable to resist the wet heat of your pussy, still fluttering around him after your orgasm. he was gonna cum soon, he knew from the reckless thrust of his hips and the fist of pleasure forming below his stomach and there wasn't enough time to properly make love to you since you were both supposed to report to the hokage in five minutes. genma pulled out begrudgingly, cum spilling across the lips of your pussy instead of inside you as he longed to do. he admired his handiwork, breathless and feeling lose from release of pleasure, and couldn't help but run his fingers through the spend, dragging it across your skin like he was painting. yeah maybe he was a pervert, but he loved it, and you loved it— and at the end of the day that was all he cared about. you
in your mouth
asuma — he's addicted to you, he thinks. utterly and completely addicted. he's never been dependent on anything in his life, not even his cigarettes, not the way he is to you. he wishes he could retire, could spend all day every day in your arms, in bed with you, cooking with you, eating with you, showing with you, sleeping with you. it's heaven, or the closest he's ever come, and the sole reason is you. he fucks you languidly, relishing in every part of you, the clench of your pussy, the bounce of your unbound breasts, the salty wetness of sweat on your skin he draws up with his tongue. asuma pulls out begrudgingly, desperate to chase the tightness, the heat of your insides, but the tiny thread of reason he clung to was telling him otherwise. instead he takes himself in hand, swinging a leg over your body to perch on your stomach, his cock brushing the plush suppleness of your lips. he cums across your perfect mouth, moaning too loudly when he sees the way your tongue darts out to lick your lips, and he could almost cum again just as the sight. asuma collapses beside you in the bed you share, pulling you into his strong arms and kissing you deeply. he wants to breed you, to get you full and pregnant and fill your house with little asumas, but for now this was enough.
kakashi — your eyes, he thinks. it's the way your eyes seem to pin him in place as you look up at him. he has more than enough experience with the look of fear on an enemies face when his eyes are upon them, and he thinks he must have much the same look on his as he meets your gaze. you've raised yourself up on the legs folded beneath you, one hand lazily stroking his bare thigh, your nails digging just firmly enough into his skin to cause a frisson of pain to rush up his spine, the other hand on his cock, doing things to him that he can only describe as sinful. your lips are swollen and reddened from the length of your lovemaking, your tongue dragging down his cock and paying special attention to his head. he gasps out a moan, the sound like it was dragged from the depths of his belly. his hips jerk forward as he comes, automatically seeking the warmth and comfort of your touch. he comes like a blast of raikiri, barely having the energy to do more than fall to his knees before you. he weakly opens his eyes, and nearly goes mute. his spend is on your tongue, your lips, the corner of your mouth, and the way you look drinking it down is utterly sinful.
inside of you
madara — there was no better place for madara than between your thighs, not the battlefield, not the winners circle. no, he'd give it all up just to stay pillowed between your legs. just as your happiness elevated his, your pleasure heightened his. when his hands push apart your thighs, your arms wrapping around his shoulders to pull him down flush against you. it's as though the gods had made his body just for yours, the way your hips fit into the cradle of his, the way his thighs made the perfect hook for your legs, the mold of your lips against mouth. kami, it was a miracle. he hates to leave you, even more to pull out of you, not when you're so hot, so tight, so wet against him. to feel himself spend inside of you, awash with pleasure and contentment, is the most powerful feeling in the world.
hashirama — there was nothing in the world hashirama loved more in the world than the way you felt in his arms. the way your bodies moved in unison as he made love to you, when your arms were wrapped around his shoulders, your body twitching in his arms as pleasure ran through you, the way your breath mingled as you kissed and kissed and kissed. your pleasure was as important to him as his own, as it was his highest order of duty to provide for you in every way. and the best part, the highest honor and highest pleasure, was to come with you. to feel you clench around his cock, tight as a fist and so utterly warm that hashirama was sure you could melt him more than you already had, and the feeling of your body sinking fully into pleasure, tight as a coil as you both achieved orgasm at the same time was the highest accomplishment of his life.
summary: the newlywedded uchihas have yet to fulfill their... obligations, even though they're coming up on a year anniversary. some think it's not going over as smoothly as expected, as many arranged marriages do. 'what a gentleman,' the old ladies would gossip at the fact that you were yet to be with child. it's funny, how wrong they are.
contains: madara x f!reader, arranged marriage (but you couldn't be more perfect for him), breed¡ng, preggo mentions, creamp¡es, mating press, light choking, praise (good girl, princess, doll), cerv stim, madara is a FREAK, reader matches it, uchiha love (he is fucking crazy)
your head hums each time you pull a groan from madara’s mouth into yours, straddling his waist with your chest flush against his as you tongue him down. “god- you’re insatiable, woman,” he murmured between a sloppy break in the kiss. a husky chuckle comes from him when he sees you already a mess of yourself. spit sticks strands of hair to your cheeks, your lips dripping in it- so pretty and swollen already.
your desperation was evident when he arrived home and you immediately approached him in a loose-fitting navy blue robe- certainly not yours judging by how it all but hugged your figure. he peered down at you when you wordlessly outstretched your arms to him, and his expression shifted once you were close enough that he could make out the mounds beneath the fabric. a thick arm hooks around your waist, his other taking a firm hold of your jaw for a kiss. madara loved you hard, an aggressive lover through and through. you were his, and he would make that fact apparent to everyone including you.
no other woman could match the energy madara exuded. you, however, were different. so much smaller than him, he clicked his tongue at your pitiful bow. your face remained unchanged, and you rose to look him in the eyes. madara felt something stir within him- he felt challenged, in a way. every woman before and without a doubt every woman after could not meet the eyes of the man, and if they did it was shaky and uncertain. never in a million years would he take such a woman’s hand. much to his fathers dismay.
it was much deeper than eye contact to him. to him, it was stability. it was significant of the fact that you matched him in beliefs and wits. to him, you were equal. you were weaker by many miles, but you were wise- somebody he would be proud to have by his side and make a mother.
marital manners were something quickly thrown out of the window though, because you matched him in one other thing.
desire. lust, you could say. you and madara were unapologetically attracted to each other in a carnal, unceremonious way. fuck making you shuffle around and bow to him in your own household. many would assume the two of you to follow such outlines firmly, but oh were they wrong.
even after he broke the kiss, your eyes stayed fixed on his face, searching for something. “what do you need, lover?” he’d break you from your little trance and you’d look him in the eyes, your fingers gripping wrinkles into his robe sleeves. “i need you, madara.” you’d purr.
and now you’re on top of him, his robe untied around you and the entire front of your bare body on display for him. ‘like an escort,’ he had chuckled when you tugged it free over top of him. “you look a fucking mess already, doll.” “for you, madara.” nothing sounded better than his name on your tongue. the two of you flash a sly smile at the other, like two animals pausing a fight for dominance before attacking the other. this time, it’s him. gloved firm fingers and a thumb nestle on each side of your neck, and he singlehandedly tugs you down by the throat to be centimeters from his face. “better be for me.” he squeezes and a breathless, silent yip comes from you. not from the action, but the sudden arousal it causes. “only you.” you weakly strain out. the pressure isn't enough to make you struggle, but enough to make you fuzzy. he nips part of his other glove between his teeth, unsheathing it and tossing it to the side. “let’s see what you’ve got for me then, hmm?” he murmurs, tugging you down into another kiss with one hand and the other finding it’s way to you already soaked cunt. a hot moan breaks from you and into his mouth at the contact, two thick fingers lazily rubbing at your clit.
it’s not long before he’s stretching you on them both- you make it so fucking easy for him. you choke when the hand around your throat pushes against you, separating the kiss with a breathless “phuahh..” from you. “pretty girl.” he smiles, admiring your fucked out face. “needed me home, didn’t you?” he gives your head a small shake, like you’re a toy he’s trying to get to work. “huh, doll?” “mhmm..” is all you can hum, catching your breath and swallowing the spit pooling behind your lower teeth. “it’s… it’s been two weeks…” you breathe, watching for his face to realize what you’re saying. “since i bled.” you can see the cogs turns behind those inky eyes of his, and your cunt throbs at the way they soften upwards.
you and madara fucked like rabbits when he was with you, but that was the thing. he wasn’t with you often, and when he was, it was horribly mistimed with your cycle. poor you had been left to get through every ovulation cycle on your own, left only with his robes soaked with the smell of oak, jasmine, and his musk.
“hahhh? is that what this is?“ his laughs send tremors through your body, still sitting atop him. “i’m still to give you an heir, aren’t i?” he chuckles, like it just slipped his mind. like that wasn’t the only reason you were arranged to be wed so quickly. everything is so hot to you that even that fact has got you tightening around nothing. the fact that such a traditional man is so lost in you he’s forgotten your joint marital duty. “mhmmm,” you hum, your hands finding their way to his chest, taking two handfuls of his breasts into your palm and softly raking your nails over them. “i’m still to carry it, madara.” your voice drips like syrup, and all he can think about is you, ripe with his child and in this same crested robe.
your cunt burns as he goes to the hilt, even when all you and your body needs is him, he’s still so big. “there you go, princess. you’ve got it.” he rumbles, licking his lips like he’s soaking up your noises and whines like an incubus. “fuck- you feel fucking good.” he shudders, pelvis to cunt with you. your legs are bent and your knees are to your shoulders, arms still drowned in fabric weakly splayed out across the futon. “you feel good- stretch me so good, madara-” you whine “yeah? do i, pretty girl? feels like this pussy was made for me,” he chuckles as you tighten around him at the statement, a weak whine crawling it’s way out of your throat. “jus’ for you, sir,” you weakly smile, and that title is enough for him to start moving.
your hands find your chest and you weakly squeeze and pinch at yourself while his cock splits you with each thrust, you feel so much but you’re somehow desperate for more. it’s not enough, you need more of him. “m-mada-raaa,” he fucks his name out of you, head tilting down at your pathetic little pleas. “more- i need f-fuh-hahhh.. fucking moreee,” you groan, eyes locking with his. he almost looks offended. “more? more??” he cackles.
in one swift movement, his hands are on either side of you and he’s leaning forward, still sheathed and curling you in on yourself with him. “you’re too fucking much, you know that, brat?” he hisses, punctuating that poisonous nickname with a small thrust that sends blissful agony shooting through your nervous system. “you take and take,” he pulls out, situating himself to stand on the balls of his feet now. “all you do is fucking take,” he buries himself- fully inside- balls practically to your fucking asshole, and you feel like you’ve fallen flat on your back with the wind that’s been knocked out of you. he's suddenly flush against every erogenous spot inside of you and you're sobbing. “but.. hahahh.. you’re so fucking perfect i just want to give.” for a moment, you swear you see red flash in those eyes of his. he looks crazed above you, eyes wide and weakly smiling, and you swear you’ve never felt more attracted to him.
you’ve already milked one load from him, warm cum shooting into you for maybe 20 seconds straight, but it’s not enough. he’s ramming it back into you, a milky white ring forming around the base of his cock as cum mixed with cream keep the two of you attached by strings of each other each time he pulls out, just to drive it directly back into you. you look fucking stupid on him, and he loves it. loves that pretty little fucked out face. loves bringing a hand up to smush your cheeks together and give you little smacks like he’s trying to wake you up. “thought you wanted more, doll.” “nghh.. i do… i want all of you- i need you, madara. you’re- hohhh, you’re all i n-need…” you pathetically babble. “you’ve got me, princess. i’ll fucking kill for you.” uchiha’s and the way they profess their love. isn’t it so dreamy?
tears stream down your pretty face, you feel so exposed beneath him like this. you’re getting the air fucked out of you again and your hands ball up as you focus on the increasing heat in your belly. “you’ve got it, doll. hahh- need you to finish- hahh, gotta make sure it takes- hahahh,” his filthy words make the turbulence of feelings you’re riding through even rougher, and a sob escapes from you as you teeter on the edge. “cum for me, princess. i’m- hah, i’m gonna finish too- gonna shoot right into you,” his words are separated with the loud wet plaps of your cunt meeting his pelvis, and the harmony of those noises and his vile speech create have got you throwing your head back onto the cushioned tatami. you’re not sure what he’s saying, but the rumble of his voice is the only thing that's keeping you grounded amid your nerve-frying orgasm. his fat, precise tip abusing your low-set cervix has you going crazy, and then a particularly hard thrust has the two flush against one another and he’s emptying directly into your womb.
madara isn't always so vocal, his roster of noises consists of low groans and huffs (and... laughs for some reason..?), but god you've got him falling apart. every clench around his wide dick has got him singing above you. "hahh-- good girlll," he growls, sucking air between his teeth. "don't waste a drop, take it all for me," he pulls out of you, falling back on his knees and letting you lower body unfold and drop. you're still twitching from your climax, every part of you feels fuzzy. like you're in a cloud. a rough thumb rips you back to the mortal plane as it grazes your clit and plugs your entrance. he tuts, "now what'd i say?" you whine, limp legs weakly jerking in reaction. "nnh- madaraaa..." you breathe. you're funny, he thinks. "whaddya say, princess?" "mmm... thank youuuu..." you giggle weakly, hands coming up to rub at your teary eyes. his smile is gentle as he looks at you- not so hungry compared to the others. you're just too sweet in your glow. you make him soft. and that dumb little smile you reciprocate has him even softer.
I hope your request are open if they aren’t feel free to delete this!
How would the Uchiha men ( Indra, Madara, Obito, Itachi, Shisui and Sasuke ) react to receiving the silent treatment from their usually loving wife? Maybe they had promised to come home on time this time but failed to do so again. Now, she was disappointed and truly upset. She had always been super understanding, but this time, it felt like she was no longer a priority to them.
We all have a limit, don't we? Also: my requests are always open! I'm a creative vampire, love to have a constant flow of scenarios to play with jeje
My patreon!!!
Indra – The One Who Watches
Indra was not unfamiliar with silence. He wielded it as a weapon, as armor. But this silence—the absence of her warmth, her voice—was different. It was not a tool; it was a wall. And he despised it.
(Y/N) did not acknowledge him when he stepped into the room, his dark gaze assessing her as one might observe an unfamiliar storm on the horizon. He exhaled slowly.
-You are upset.- A statement, not a question.
(Y/N) did not reply.
Indra’s jaw clenched. He moved closer, fingers ghosting over her wrist, but she turned away. He could command armies, bend the wills of men, yet here—before her—he was reduced to something small. Mortal.
-Speak,- he murmured, low and deep. -I do not enjoy this game.-
Silence.
His Sharingan flared to life, frustration leaking through the cracks. He was not one to beg, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes when he murmured, -I will not ask for forgiveness, but I will make amends. Look at me, (Y/N).-
She wanted to. Gods, she wanted to. But he needed to learn.
For the first time in his life, Indra found himself standing before something he could not control.
Madara – The One Who Fights
Madara Uchiha did not apologize. He fought, he commanded, he conquered. But this silence…
(Y/N) passed by him without a glance. He stood there, watching her go, a scowl twisting his lips.
-You're still angry?- His voice carried the edge of a man who did not like being ignored.
Nothing.
Madara crossed the room in three long strides, placing himself directly in her path. Arms crossed, expression thunderous. -This is childish.-
(Y/N) met his gaze at last, eyes cold. Childish?
Her silence turned sharp, a blade pressing against his pride. She saw the moment frustration flickered into something else—concern.
-Fine,- he exhaled, voice rough. -Tell me what you want.-
(Y/N) shook her head and walked past him.
A growl, a flash of crimson eyes. Damn it.
The great Madara Uchiha… bested by silence.
Obito – The One Who Falters
Obito was all heart. Loud, expressive, relentless in his affection. So when (Y/N) did not greet him, did not look at him, did not smile at him, the world tilted on its axis.
He tried at first to brush it off, draping himself over the couch dramatically. -Alright, alright, I know I’m late, but I brought dango! I know you can’t stay mad at me when there’s dango.-
Silence.
The smile faltered.
Obito sat up, brows furrowing. -Hey… you’re really mad...?-
Still nothing.
The panic settled in. His fingers fidgeted, reaching for her, but hesitating. -(Y/N)…?-
When she turned away, something in him cracked. His voice softened, hesitant. -I didn’t mean to— I just— Can you please talk to me? I don’t like this. You— You talk, you always talk.-
The desperate edge to his voice almost made her cave.
Almost.
Shisui – The One Who Pleads
Shisui was playful, light-hearted. But right now, there was nothing light in the way he hovered around her, hands twitching at his sides, wanting—needing—to touch her.
-(Y/N)~,- he crooned, voice coaxing. -You wouldn't really ignore your husband, would you?-
Silence.
His smile wavered.
-Okay, wait, let’s talk about this—
Nothing.
Shisui let out a very dramatic sigh and literally dropped to his knees before her. -You’re killing me here.-
(Y/N) looked down at him, expression unreadable.
-Just say something,- he begged, reaching for her hands. -You can yell, hit me, anything—just don’t shut me out.-
When she still refused, he groaned, falling backward onto the floor. -Oh god, this is how I die.-
A tiny twitch at the corner of her lips. Almost imperceptible.
Shisui caught it. His eyes glinted.
-Ah...- He shot up, grinning. -There it is! I'm winning you back already.-
She sighed. This idiot.
Itachi – The One Who Endures
Itachi noticed the shift immediately. He was perceptive, too much so. The subtle stiffening of her posture, the way her gaze lingered just past him rather than meeting his eyes.
A lesser man might have let it fester, waiting for the storm to pass. But Itachi…
He did not speak at first. Instead, he moved through their shared space with careful deliberation, bringing her tea, leaving small gestures of warmth in his wake.
And still, (Y/N) gave him nothing.
Finally, he placed a teacup beside her and murmured, -I have hurt you.-
A pause.
Itachi exhaled through his nose -I cannot undo the past, but I will ensure it does not happen again.-
His voice was soft, edged with exhaustion. He would not beg. But he would wait.
And she knew, in the end, Itachi never broke a promise.
Sasuke – The One Who Burns
Sasuke was used to coldness. He had lived his whole life in the shadow of it. But from her?
No.
His steps were measured as he approached, expression carefully blank. -(Y/N).-
Nothing.
His teeth clenched. -You're overreacting.-
The silence sharpened.
Sasuke inhaled slowly, struggling to rein in his frustration. -I said I'd be home. I didn't say when.-
That was the wrong thing to say. He knew it the moment her shoulders tensed, fingers curling into fists.
Sasuke was many things, but a fool was not one of them. He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to swallow his pride.
-(Y/N)... I didn’t mean to make you feel unimportant.
A flicker of something in her eyes. Sasuke pressed on.
-I’ll be better.
A pause. And then—finally—her gaze lifted to meet his.
“when the moon dared to touch the flame, the world burned and bloomed all at once.”
series by jasmmwriting
madara uchiha x hyūga!reader
genre ✧˖° slow burn • arranged marriage • angst • healing • historical
status ✧˖° finished
𓂃 summary 𓂃
In the dawn of konoha, peace is fragile and built on blood. to seal an alliance between the hyūga and uchiha clans, y/n hyūga, the heir and head of konoha’s medical division, is forced into an arranged marriage with madara uchiha, the man whose clan murdered her mother. bound by duty, they live as strangers in the same home: the healer and the warrior, the moon and the flame. but love, like fire, does not stay still for long.
𓂃 chapters 𓂃
✦ chapter i (10/11/25)
✦ chapter ii (10/11/25)
✦ chapter iii (10/11/25)
✦ chapter iv (12/11/25)
✦ chapter v (14/11/25)
✦ chapter vi (16/11/25)
✦ chapter vii (18/11/25)
✦ chapter viii (22/11/25)
✦ chapter ix (26/11/25)
✦ chapter x (05/12/25)
✦ chapter xi (27/12/25)
✦ chapter xii (31/12/25)
✦ chapter xiii (20/01/25)
✦ epilogue
𓂃 extras 𓂃
✦ the moon and the flame: playlist
✦ visuals / inspo board
𓂃 notes 𓂃
This story is close to my heart, i started it after coming back to writing, and it carries a piece of that warm and nostalgia of the girl I used to be. Thank you for reading, sharing, or simply stopping by ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)
🍥 MULTI | occasionally annoying, permanently beloved
naruto men with a partner who worries they talk too much
ft. madara, itachi, tobirama, kakashi, sasuke
word count: 3,183
content: multi character x reader, gn!reader, established relationships, insecurities about talking too much/being perceived as annoying, honest reassurance, healthy communication and boundary-setting; you love to see it
a/n: for @pink-sunrise-56, thank you for your request!! i hope this is what you were looking for! if i develop stockholm syndrome for tobirama senju after writing your requests, please remember that i fought bravely and lost
🔥 MADARA UCHIHA — annoying him is a marital privilege
Madara may be irritable, but talking itself is rarely the problem. This is a man who will deliver an entire history lecture in the middle of a fight, so he is hardly one to judge you for having six thoughts in quick succession. If the subject interests him, he will happily argue, interrogate and elaborate on it long after a more sociable person would have found an excuse to leave. I said this in my headcanons post for him and I stand by it: arguments and debates can become one of your most intimate forms of communication with him.
He genuinely likes that you say what you think! Again, I've said this before, but Madara has very little use for agreement offered purely for the sake of keeping the peace, and a partner who softens their opinions to avoid displeasing him would frustrate him far more than one who occasionally tests his patience. He wants to know the person beside him, not watch you slowly edit yourself into whoever you think will be easiest for him to love.
Your questions would appeal to both his curiosity and his ego. Ask him about something he knows well and you will receive several generations of context whether you wanted it or not. 😭 If you challenge one of his conclusions, you might just lose the rest of your evening to the resulting debate. He expects you to defend your reasoning, but he is always visibly pleased whenever you introduce an angle or variable he had not considered.
He does have limits, though. Madara has no patience for being interrupted when something requires his full concentration, or for answering a question only for you to ask the same one again immediately because you were not listening to his answer. Reassurance loops can wear him down too; he does not find the underlying insecurity ridiculous, he just does not understand why you asked for his word if you are then going to treat it as meaningless.
What irritates him most is the apology attached to every thought. This is probably stupid. You don't have to answer. Sorry, I'm talking too much. Never mind. Now he has to drag the opinion out of you when you clearly wanted to share it and, worse, it suggests that you believe his decision to keep you close could be overturned by a few inconvenient questions.
When you finally admit that other people have found you exhausting and you are frightened that he secretly feels the same, Madara would look almost offended.
"Do you take me for a man who suffers unwanted company?"
His first attempt at comfort is to declare that the opinions of anyone incapable of appreciating you are irrelevant. This is wonderfully invigorating of him and completely useless when you still have to interact with those people again tomorrow. Madara does not immediately understand that his certainty cannot simply become yours through sheer force of proclamation.
Once you explain that you are not asking for him to dismiss everyone else, only for him to be honest when you genuinely cross one of his boundaries, he will give you a much more useful answer: "There are moments when you test my patience, and there are moments when I test yours. Neither means I would prefer your absence."
That reassurance carries far more weight because Madara is ferociously selective. He does not maintain unwanted relationships out of politeness, and he certainly does not repeatedly seek someone out if he merely tolerates them. His irritation may be loud, but so is his interest! He will remember your opinions, expects you to remember his answers and returns to unfinished arguments with the significance of a military campaign.
One evening, you notice how intently he is reading and swallow the observation poised on your tongue. Madara finishes the report, sets it aside and turns towards you.
"You disagreed with what I said earlier."
You tell him it no longer matters.
"That was not my question." His gaze settles on you, patient in that formidable way that feels more like pressure than softness. "Speak."
Madara may occasionally demand quiet, but he will never allow fear to make silence your permanent condition.
🐦⬛ ITACHI UCHIHA — remembers the sixth thing you said three tangents ago
Itachi is the least likely to be bothered by how much you talk. He is perfectly comfortable listening without needign to compete for space, and your voice soon becomes part of the soundtrack of the domestic life that he never expected to have. He may only contribute occasionally, but his silence is attentive rather than vacant.
More than talking himself, he values how open you are with him. Itachi has spent most of his life surrounded by people with hidden motives, carefully chosen truths and questions nobody dared to ask. There is something sincerely relieving about a partner who simply tells him what they are thinking instead of expecting him to guess.
He is especially fond of the questions and thought that you consider unimportant, such as the exact colour of a bird you saw that morning, whether a tree growing at an angle feels pain, why somebody chose one expression instead of another. Those small curiosities show him how your mind works when it is not busy protecting itself, and listening to them is one of the ways he learns to know you.
His patience is much more likely to end around intrusion than volume. Repeatedly pushing him to discuss something after he has declined, trying to force an emotional confession or treating every boundary as a puzzle you need to solve will make him withdraw. He also has limits when he is exhausted or unwell, although recognising those limits and actually admitting to them are two very different things.
This is where Itachi can initially makes the situation worse. You notice the slight delay before his answers or the tension around his eyes and ask whether he needs quiet. He insists that you can continue, even when he clearly does not have the energy to follow another winding story. Rather than reassuring you, this makes you monitor every tiny reaction and wonder whether he is only enduring the conversation for your sake.
When you confess that you can never tell whether people genuinely want to hear you or are only being polite until they can escape, Itachi does not immediately dismiss the fear. He asks who taught you to expect that and listens to every example you remember, including the ones that seem too small to justify how deeply they stayed with you.
"Some people may find your questions tiring," he admits. "That doesn't mean every person who listens is waiting for you to stop."
When you ask what he thinks, his answer is much simpler: "I like knowing what you think."
Itachi will not pretend you have never irritated him. Every person he has ever loved has tested his patience at some point, just as he has tested theirs. Affection that could only survive effortless moments would not be worth very much. However, he does have to learn that honest boundaries are part of loving you. Eventually, he becomes comfortable touching your hand and saying, "I want to hear the rest, but not tonight." More importantly, he returns to the subject himself the following morning, which lets you know that the conversation was postponed, not discarded, and his need for rest did not become your punishment.
Several days later, you are halfway through preparing dinner when Itachi asks what happened to the injured bird your neighbour found. It takes you a moment to understand—you mentioned it briefly two evenings ago, somewhere between complaining about the weather and wondering whether crows recognise individual faces. You had assumed he stopped following the conversation long before then.
"You remembered that?"
"Of course." A faint smile touches his mouth. "You told me."
To Itachi, being trusted with the contents of your mind is not simple background noise, it is intimacy.
🌊 TOBIRAMA SENJU — director of spousal noise compliance
Tobirama does not hate questions; this is the man who devoted his life to understanding how techniques, institutions and people work, so curiosity itself is hardly going to offend him. What irritates him is mental clutter, for instance badly timed interruptions, questions asked without listening to the answer and speculative tangents arriving while he is already managing several more urgent problems.
A precise question, though, can keep him occupied for hours. He likes following the reasoning that led you there, especially if you expose an assumption he had not realised he was making. He may correct your terminology and challenge every weak point in your argument before answering, but that is engagement from him, not dismissal. If he genuinely considers a question worthless, you will know from how quickly the conversation ends.
He is another that appreciates that you usually say what you are thinking. Tobirama has very little patience for emotional tests disguised as silence, and he would much rather hear an imperfectly expressed concern than be punished for failing to infer it. Your running commentary may not charm him quite as much as it does Itachi or Kakashi, but the honesty behind it earns his respect.
Like Madara, his patience ends most sharply when talking interferes with his concentration. If he is calculating something dangerous, reviewing sensitive information or writing an order other people will depend upon, you will receive a firm, “Not now.” He does not intend to be cruel, but his tone can still make it sound as though your voice has become a problem requiring immediate removal.
When you admit that you worry you irritate everyone around you, Tobirama's first instinct is to investigate the claim. Who told you that? What exactly did they say? Does everyone actually mean everyone, or have three negative reactions somehow become a universal law? Were they annoyed by the question, the timing, the repetition or something completely unrelated?
Unfortunately, this sounds a lot like a formal inquiry when what you wanted was comfort from your partner. 💀 He only realises his mistake when you go quiet and admit that you did not come prepared with evidence, you only wanted to know whether he secretly wishes you would speak less.
“You do interrupt me occasionally,” he says. “That is a behaviour which can be corrected when necessary. It is not an indictment of your character.”
Tobirama will not promise that nobody finds you irritating, because he cannot possibly know that and suspects it would be untrue. What he can offer is something much more useful: predictability.
“If I require quiet, I will tell you. Do not invent my answer and then punish yourself for it.”
It is clinical enough to be unmistakably Tobirama, but the reassurance beneath it is solid. You no longer have to examine every crease between his brows and wonder whether it means he regrets loving you. If there is a problem, he will tell you; if he has said nothing, you are expected to trust that there is nothing to solve.
The two of you eventually develop a system. If he raises two fingers while working, it means he has heard you but cannot safely divide his attention. It does not mean go away, and it does not mean the conversation no longer matters. In return, he agrees to find you once he is free instead of expecting you to preserve an interrupted thought indefinitely.
One afternoon, you appear in the doorway of his study with three questions already competing to escape. Tobirama raises two fingers without looking up and you nod and leave him to finish.
Nearly an hour later, he finds you elsewhere in the house, sits beside you and places the document he was carrying on the table.
"You had questions."
"They weren't important."
"That was not the agreement."
He sets his work completely aside and gives you his full attention. Tobirama cannot offer unlimited access to his concentration, but he can offer the certainty that a boundary will never become abandonment.
📖 KAKASHI HATAKE — that filthy book is not soundproof
Kakashi has spent enough time around Gai and Naruto to know that somebody can be profoundly irritating and profoundly beloved at the same time. Your fear therefore makes perfect sense to him, even if he initially underestimates how much it genuinely hurts you.
Similarly to Itachi, most days, your talking becomes pleasant background noise. Kakashi reads while you move through six barely related subjects, occasionally contributing a hum, a vague question or an answer so suspiciously unhelpful that you know he is entertaining himself. He looks completely absorbed in his book and then casually mentions something you said twenty minutes ago and ruins the performance.
He genuinely enjoys your strangest observations because they allow him to remain connected to you without demanding his full attention, and your habit of explaining what you are thinking means he does not have to guess whether a silence signals comfort, anger or distress. He appreciates a direct question far more than an elaborate attempt to trick honesty out of him.
Kakashi is adaptable, but he is not inexhaustible. After a difficult mission, there are evenings when he has enough energy to listen but not enough to respond properly. He also becomes less patient if you repeatedly ask whether he is annoyed, and questions aimed at parts of his past he has deliberately closed will meet humour first, then deflection and eventually a much firmer boundary.
When you first admit that you worry you talk too much, his instinct is to joke that he has developed an exceptional ability to pretend he is listening. He expects the usual offended noise from you, not for you to freeze. The book closes immediately.
Once Kakashi understands that this is a genuine insecurity, he does not bury you beneath reassurance. He gives you the truth plainly enough that you cannot mistake it for politeness.
"You do talk a lot. I like that you talk to me."
Sometimes he needs quiet and sometimes you catch him at a bad moment. Occasionally you irritate him, just as he occasionally irritates you enough to consider hiding every copy of Icha Icha in the village. None of that means he wants a quieter, easier or less curious version of you.
Kakashi's greatest strength is making the distinction between a temporary boundary and a personal rejection feel completely ordinary. If he only has the energy to listen, he tells you. If he needs complete quiet, he asks for it without withdrawing affection, usually by remaining beside you so the silence feels companionable rather than corrective.
He also becomes more careful with his teasing. He will still joke about the number of questions you can produce before breakfast, but never when you are already shrinking beneath the fear of being excessive. If somebody else responds cruelly to your curiosity, he waits until you are alone, asks what you thought of the interaction and helps you decide whether their irritation contained useful feedback or was simply unkind.
One evening, you are explaining something while Kakashi reads beside you. His replies have become increasingly infrequent, and halfway through a sentence, embarrassment catches up with you.
"Never mind. It isn't important."
The top of his book lowers. "You were saying?"
You glance suspiciously at the page. "I thought you were reading."
"I’m very talented."
The book rises again, but his free hand finds yours between the couch cushions. Kakashi may sometimes need quiet, but that does not mean he loves the sound of you any less.
⚡ SASUKE UCHIHA — annoyed, attached, refusing to elaborate
For Sasuke to choose a life with someone at all, they already have to be an exception to nearly every single rule he has about solitude, but that does not make him endlessly patient. Of the five, he is the most genuinely affected by sheer conversational volume, and the most likely to show it through a sigh, a sharp glance or an unmistakable tch.
Sasuke will tell you when you have already asked the same question. If he is tired, you will receive a blunt, "Not now," and anything approaching a subject he does not want to discuss may earn a suspicious, "Why do you need to know?" Sometimes his tone is harsher than the situation deserves, so your fear that you occasionally irritate him is therefore not entirely imaginary, and Sasuke would do neither of you any favours by pretending otherwise.
What he values is directness. He would rather hear an opinion he dislikes than watch you smile while quietly building resentment, and he respects questions asked sincerely. Practical questions are easiest, which he might answer by showing you instead of explaining, but even your stranger, more abstract curiosities gradually become familiar to him.
Sasuke does not enjoy chatter as a general concept, he just becomes attached to yours. Your voice tells him where you are in the house, what happened while he was away and exactly what you are feeling without forcing him to drag it out of you one reluctant sentence at a time. What would exhaust him coming from a stranger becomes part of the private life he repeatedly comes home to.
His patience tends to end around repetition, prying and reassurance loops. If he has answered honestly and you ask again because anxiety made the first answer feel unreliable, frustration quickly enters his voice. You hear the frustration, assume it confirms your fear and ask another question to repair the damage. It is an excellent system for making both of you miserable.
When you finally admit that you suspect he only tolerates your talking because he does not know how to ask you to stop, Sasuke frowns and says, "I never said I wanted you to stop." Which, to him, is a complete answer. To you, it means you have not yet become unbearable enough for him to say it aloud. Trying to explain the difference only irritates him further, which is not especially helpful. Eventually, Sasuke gives you the truth with all the softness of a weapon being dropped onto a table.
"Sometimes you annoy me." Your face falls before he adds, "So does everyone, but I still want you here."
Sasuke cannot promise to enjoy every question or never need quiet. What he can do is separate irritation from rejection so you do not have to remain endlessly pleasant to keep your place beside him, and an impatient response does not mean his affection has suddenly disappeared.
Coming from Sasuke, the choice of that itself carries enormous weight. This man does not maintain intimacy out of politeness. Every time he returns, sits beside you and allows your thoughts into the silence he once protected from everyone, he is demonstrating his desire for your company more clearly than any elaborate reassurance could.
Some time later, Sasuke arrives home exhausted from a long journey, and you decide to spare him the usual account of your day. The two of you eat in silence, you continue tidying in silence, and, eventually, his attention begins following you across the room.
"What?"
You look over. "Nothing."
His brow tightens. "You were talking before."
"I thought you wanted quiet."
"I didn't say that."
You wait, but no further explanation comes. This is Sasuke, after all. Though, just as you turn away, he adds, "Finish the story."
All rights reserved. Please do not repost, copy, translate, plagiarise, or feed my work into AI. Reblogs are deeply appreciated; reposts are not permitted.
