Synopsis: The territory between the Uchiha and the Senju dwindles by the day. And in an era where social lines have been blurred, and new clan heads have been chosen, you're stuck between a scorned lover and a man who relentlessly pursues your hand in marriage. You don't have much time before you're forced to confront the sins of your past.
Word Count: 6.5k
Tags/Warnings: Warning for dark themes ahead, including tags for choking. Fem!Uchiha!Reader. Please consult AO3 for more specific warnings.
Chapter I Previous Chapter Part X (Current Chapter)
Notes: I'M FINALLY THOUGH EDITING IS IT REALLY MY FAULT I'M A FAILURE?????
The negotiations would last several weeks, and leadership from all allied clans would gather in one place with the intention to form a united village. Just prior to all the impending formal political talks, the Uchiha and the Senju shared a ceremonial banquet following Hashirama’s speech. The show of friendship between him and Madara was meant to act as the first step to unity, and for how tense you had expected it to be, the night went over fairly well.
Most people stuck to their own kind, and you could understand their hesitation to make casual conversation with the very people they had just been at generational odds with only a few days prior. Not to mention that Madara wasn’t exactly adept at acting friendly, which did little to help matters in the face of visibly petrified members of the Senju. You had discretely nudged Madara’s shoulder. He could have afforded to present himself far less intimidatingly.
But it seemed that Hashirama’s zealous personality could break through even the coldest of attitudes, and you choked it up to his extroverted personality that put people at better ease.
You hardly left Madara’s side throughout the duration of the night, even as he made extensive chatter with Hashirama: all shop talk. For bitter, lifetime rivals, you couldn’t help but consider that they got along rather famously. And for the dichotomy in their personalities, Madara’s imposing gravity and Hashirama’s endless electricity balanced out surprisingly well from what you witnessed.
They talked to each other like they’d known each other forever, and you couldn't recall a time you had ever seen Madara so at ease.
To your surprise, Tobirama was also active, doing the rounds to answer questions and shake hands just as much as Hashirama.
He seemed much more severe than you remembered him. His round eyes had become almost lidded and stern, and the expressiveness of his face had faded almost entirely. Any expression was replaced with a neutral line that resembled a frown more often than not. But despite his unfortunately standoffish demeanor, people still appeared to find him approachable, waving him over and standing with clear interest as they probed him with questions. And while Hashirama spun hope of the village's founding, Tobirama answered the logistical questions.
“Several locations will be considered during negotiations,” you heard him tell a small group of concerned Senju. He had his arms crossed sternly over his chest. His voice was much deeper than when you last heard it about ten years prior.
Tobirama appeared around you a few times throughout the night, standing a distance away with his attention occupied by various clan members. However, you couldn’t help but note how he kept his body turned ever so slightly, and you wondered if he eyed you out of his peripheral the way you kept him in yours.
You, too, shifted your stance, following Madara closely around the hall for the few rounds he made. Madara wasn’t nearly as social as the Senju appeared to be— perhaps it was a cultural difference. Although it did occur to you that the Senju didn’t seem to know much about the truce at all.
While Madara and the rest of the council (the council you supposed you were now a part of due to your fibbing) held a village-wide, night-long meeting to hash out questions and concerns about joining up with the Senju, Hashirama appeared to have had no such discussion with his people. Instead, it seemed that the first formal discussions about this decision among the Senju were occurring here at the announcement banquet.
And while the Senju certainly had significant concerns and an even greater number of questions, they appeared relatively docile, taking Hashirama and Tobirama’s answers and words with great weight. No one but Hashirama and his charming personality could have pulled such a thing off, you considered.
The Uchiha were the first to trickle off, many of them leaving after an unspecified amount of time to return to the village in the crook of the southern shoulder. The fact that it was approaching dark wasn’t of concern, considering that the Uchiha as a whole tended to favor nighttime travel.
The Senju stayed the longest, occupying the hall in astonishingly great numbers well into the night. They even outlasted you, Madara, and the Uchiha council, all of whom were beginning to drift away back to your temporary quarters on the neutral negotiation grounds.
You stood at the far end of the hall near the exit as Madara bid a lengthy farewell to Hashirama, having been sucked into an excessively long bout of shop talk. Tobirama stood at the far end, leaning against a table. He hunched intently and nodded along to a fellow Senju clan member.
You wondered if his gaze followed your presence as easily as yours did him. You soon left with Madara. You had lengthy negotiations ahead of you.
***
You were grossly underprepared; that much was true. And perhaps you should have known as much when you saw how every other clan, even those already affiliated with the Uchiha, brought parcels upon parcels of paper into the meeting room. As a self-appointed member of the council, you carried nothing, nor did the rest of the council members who were chosen through battle. The idea of Madara having prepared documents didn’t even occur to you, nor should it have, considering that he, too, came empty-handed.
“I would like to thank each of you for making the journey to join together in this place for these historic discussions,” Hashirama began, assuming leadership over the negotiations. “In the mere act of traveling all this way and bringing the openness of your mind, you are already changing the future for the better.”
Several clan heads from small clans as well as leadership from allied ones gathered around the table. Papers and quills sat neatly on the table everywhere but in front of the Uchiha. Members of the various councils and other assistants sat along the room's perimeter, some haphazardly pulling in a random assortment of chairs while others stood behind their respective leaders.
Madara sat directly across from Hashirama, ignoring the other clan leaders' pointed glances toward Madara’s ignited sharingan eye. Your back touched the wall just a short distance behind him. The other Uchiha counselors took up great space with their chairs, and even with one or two sitting on the floor, the liberal space behind Madara was indeed occupied.
“There are several topics to discuss on the docket, and while one is no less important than the other, I believe our first decision should be that of location.” Hashirama shifted a page in front of him before glancing back up at the table. “Does any clan pose a quarrel?”
“Is this perhaps too rash to begin with choosing land?” the head of the Fuma questioned. He sat forward, forearms crossed on the table as he stared directly ahead toward the Inuzuka clan head. “Setting boundaries for how our people are to behave should be of primary importance. From there, we can speak about the governmental structure.”
“I implore you to elaborate on what you speak,” Inuzuka spat, crinkling her nose in disgust.
“The notion that we are to join together in unity is indeed pleasant, but I do hold concern for my people over the lack of self-control in some disingenuous natures gathered here.”
“This is rich from your tongue!” Inuzuka barked. “Your interest in policy-making is so transparent it is foul!”
“I am in agreement,” Hyūga interjected, already beginning to gather his things. His slender, opaque eyes narrowed at Fuma before glancing at Madara. “Negotiating with those who only know savagery appears fruitless indeed. Gaze upon Madara’s brazenly ignited sharingan eye! I call for expectations to be set!” Hyūga glanced around in search of support before fully turning toward the Uchiha. “Is not the presentation of the sharingan in opposition to bare eyes a show of violence in your culture? Is it not a declaration of battle?”
“This is spoken by an amoral backstabber!” Hagoromo growled. “Your allegiance falters in the wind! Were you not recently allied with the Uchiha before your betrayal at the first sign of conflict?”
”Enough, enough, my friends,” Hashirama attempted, but the quibbling continued.
“He may set this hall ablaze any time he pleases! What if negotiations do not go his way?”
”All of us understand that you care not for clans which are not your own.” Fuma frowned. “Do us all a service and cease pretending you are remotely invested in unity.”
”As if you care for unity!”
Papers shifted across the table as intricately drafted documents were swept into piles. The cacophony of chatter only increased as voices melded together in petty dispute, and it was only when chairs began to shift back from the table that Madara’s hand slammed hard on the table.
”Silence!” Madara’s voice boomed, quickly standing with suddenness.
The sheer volume and dominance that Madara held in it caused all talk to cease, but it also caused clan heads and aids alike to stand, chakra networks flaring to life like a blazing wildfire. The word was curt and singular in its existence, but it only escalated the tension in the room as the backs of chairs slammed against the floor and kunai were drawn out of hidden holsters. The Uchiha council members shot up instantly, igniting sharingan as they stood at Madara’s defense.
He stood, hulking over his place at the negotiation table as the rest of the clan heads watched him where he stood, ready to strike with the most minuscule of sudden movements.
Hashirama sat at the opposite end of the table, his expression unreadable. Tobirama had instinctually stepped forward and stopped only by his brother's raised hand.
Madara continued to speak. His eyes still shone a glowing red.
“You all think this a game? You would play with the lives of your people so? Hashirama and I do not put an end to centuries of generational bloodshed for it to be tarnished by disingenuous characters…” Madara challenged. He slowly straightened his back to stand at full height as he surveyed the leaders around the table. “I thought we all gathered because we have all been worn by gore and violence… However, for any who is pompous enough to find himself not fatigued enough, so much that he may disturb these negotiations at this place, I would be more than willing to offer a remedy—”
“Speak for yourself, Uchiha!”
“Enough.” Hashirama finally spoke again with far more sternness, and perhaps it was the grave tone— such a difference from his usual upbeat demeanor— that caused the room to stand still. You watched as he heaved a heavy sigh. You had never seen Hashirama frown before. “There will be no talks such as this. I implore everybody to sit. Yield your jutsu… and your weaponry.”
A pregnant pause occupied the room. And slowly, each clan head began to return to their seats one by one. The tension in the air remained, but Hashirama’s marinating words slowly breathed life back into the atmosphere. And to your surprise, Madara resumed his seat without protest. Only one was left standing.
”Hyūga…” Nara spoke from his seat. “I encourage you to sit.” He offered a shallow nod to the leader of the byakugan-bearing clan. Blank irises stared back at him. “Please, I would like for Hashirama to continue.”
The contempt in Hyūga’s eyes was palpable, and the scrunching of his nose was even more explicit. But even he, too, took his seat once more.
Having gathered the room's attention, Nara yielded the floor to Hashirama, who appeared graver than you had ever seen him. His smile and cordial face had settled into a neutral if not stern, expression, and the atmosphere in the room sobered.
“If anyone around this table is disinterested in moving forward with this alliance, you are free to leave. Your decisions will not be held against you or your people, and you will be allowed to retreat from this place safely.” Hashirama said. The room sat still. “But if you choose to stay, we all are to approach these negotiations— and one another— with respect and sincerity. Charged rhetoric will get us nowhere. Are we in agreement?”
No one but Hashirama could have said such things and been taken with gravity. Even now, a heavy aura radiated from him, spreading across the room as clan leaders settled back into their seats.
“It is true,” Hyūga reluctantly admitted. He turned to Hashirama with a slight bow of his head. “I offer you my apologies, Hashirama.”
A low murmur circled the room with similar sentiments.
“However,” he continued, glancing back toward Madara, “If we are expected to yield ourselves to these negotiations, I would personally feel more at ease if Madara were to extinguish his mangekyo sharingan.”
“Aye,” Yamanaka agreed. “As a show of goodwill.” A few nods circled the table.
Madara scowled.
“The sharingan is a recording device—”
“The sharingan is a recording device as much as a kunai is a quill,” Inuzuka barked, leaning back in her chair with crossed arms. She rolled her eyes and yawned. “Extinguish your weapon, and let us get on with these talks.”
It took a beat of silence, but to your surprise, Madara obliged. The reds of his eyes spiraled into darkness, restoring his irises to their usual deep brown. He continued to frown.
“One of my councilmen will maintain his ocular jutsu,” he sternly insisted. “The Uchiha have a right to keep our account of these meetings.”
“Certainly not!”
“Have your council keep documents like the rest of us—”
“The Uchiha should not be able to maintain something so brazen as a warrior with an ocular jutsu—”
“The woman.” Tobirama’s voice cut across the chatter. You made eye contact with him for the first time since you had met each other again. He stood just behind Hashirama’s shoulder, his red irises boring into yours and his arms crossed. His gaze didn’t leave yours for a second as he spoke. “The woman can keep the record for the Uchiha, for she is not a combatant.”
Madara’s head snapped up instantly, a scathing glare painted over his face. Tobirama’s eyes flickered to Madara. A few heads bobbed around the table.
“That would be satisfactory…” you heard.
“She is a member of your council, is she not, Madara?” Tobirama doubled down.
You only had a view of the back of Madara’s head, not of the scathing expression that contorted his face as he tried to piece together what Tobirama was playing at. They stayed like that for a few moments, locked in a challenging stare before Madara finally spoke, surprising you with how easily he relented.
“Yes.” He glanced back at you for the briefest of moments. “Yes, she is.”
“Well, if everyone is in agreement, we can finally move past this,” Tobirama spoke quickly, just about cutting Madara off. His eyes drifted back to yours, staring at you along with the rest of the room.
All attention was on you. You felt it shouldn’t have mattered how important these people were, but knowing their status only made you sweat. Tobirama’s intense stare felt the hottest.
In a moment unknown to you, Hashirama’s wary gaze drifted toward his younger brother, the thoughts in his head varying in comparison to the room.
You averted your eyes to Madara, who had turned his head just slightly enough to catch your eye from over his shoulder. He hardly gave you a nod. He hardly needed to.
You cast your eyes down, the reds of your eyes swirling to life. The pattern of your irises was nowhere near as stunning as Madara’s, but your simple eye pattern didn’t appear too important to anyone else.
Hashirama spoke, his usual jolly expression back on his face as he laughed, “We have put off our first order of business for too long now! Let us begin with—”
With your sharingan ignited, you could never forget Tobirama’s scathing gaze.
***
You were arranged in your own sort of village. Having chosen a slice of heavily forested neutral land that belonged to the Nara, every clan head and posse of advisors were granted their own living quarters for the duration of the negotiations, which were spread out across the small territory. (It all was courtesy of Hashirama Senju’s wood style— you didn’t think there was a single thing that man couldn’t do).
The negotiation hall was also rather large, consisting of the main, intricately decorated conference room. It also held of a few smaller rooms for clan councils to work out their proposals after hours. You could always smell the kitchen from where you worked, which was exactly next door to the hall.
Run by three Nara aunties, the kitchen always seemed to dish out meals on time and in excess. And for all the petty fighting and suspicion that seemed to subtly lace every other word spoken between clans, no one dared to question any of the Nara cooks.
Meals were taken in a scattered way, with some councils choosing to sit at communal tables within the dining hall while others took their food in private and likely over political documents. You took yours at one of the few tables that sat outside. Nowadays, you learned to take in the sun whenever you could, opting for a quaint spot under a nearby tree.
The spot and the view were both aesthetically pleasing, which you assumed brought Mito Uzumaki to plop herself down next to you. And plop she did, her elegant and flowing robes creating a silk wave around her as she looked at you.
“I am Mito Uzumaki,” she said with a curt nod. Straightforward. You already knew who she was. She looked at you with all the seriousness in the world, and the severe pout on her lips made you lower your chopsticks on sight. You weren’t quite ready to handle political matters with such important figures on your own— “I have never seen an Uchiha woman before. Is it true that your clan prefers to send exclusively men into battle?”
Mito maintained direct eye contact as you waited for the punchline, despite the fact that you hadn’t truly mistaken her statement as a joke in the first place. No punchline came. Instead, a gentle breeze passed, making her hair ornaments sway as her face sat comically rigid. You offered her your name, but not even that caused a crack in Mito’s stoicism. You continued tentatively,
“I suppose now you have. Seen an Uchiha woman, that is,” you said, speaking more words that were absorbed into the silence. “I have never seen an Uzumaki woman before…?”
You hadn’t thought it was all that funny. You hadn’t meant for what you said to be comical in the slightest, and yet the loudest, most operatic laugh you had ever heard tore from Mito’s throat like a rogue bird. It came out as one giant “HA!” before she quickly slapped a sleeve-clan hand over her mouth.
“I see; yes, I suppose that is true.” She nodded, and in an instant, she had composed herself entirely, reverting to her severe, neutral expression.
You remembered her from the negotiations. She hasn’t said much during the initial squabbling; in fact, you hadn’t recalled her saying anything. But when it came time to discuss actual topics pertaining to the village, the Uzumaki clan made themselves prominent in the discussions. Poised and amply prepared in her talking points, you never knew there could be such a woman leader— much less a clan head.
“You have quite the sharp wit. I can see why you are so prominent on the Uchiha council,” Mito hummed.
You opened your mouth to correct her, but you faltered for words. What would you tell her? That you lied during a moment of panic in front of your scorned lover from your teenage years? Perhaps it was her compliment that caused your lips to close. Mito faced forward as you thought, tilting her head slightly.
“When I first came to attend these negotiations, I was warned there might not be many other women. I had approached Inuzuka, but she did not seem to be one for casual speaking. This is why I say these things. Perhaps I am too invested in such labels,” she said before she rose. Mito gracefully smoothed out her robes. “I will not disturb your meal more than I already have, although—” She turned to you with a delicate smile. “I hope that we may work together in the near future.”
”Yes, most certainly,” you offered, still not entirely wrapping your head around the interaction in the slightest.
Even as she walked away, you pondered her.
***
Mito hadn’t been the only one to mistake you for someone of importance. However, you couldn’t necessarily blame anyone who assumed you would be a good contact with Madara. You did tell Hashirama you were on the Uchiha council, after all, and having shown up to the meetings acting as the Uchiha’s resident records keeper, you had assumed the role rather ideally. But acting only served to get you a short distance and did little for your actual political knowledge or your nerve.
And so, when you received important documents to be reviewed by the next day’s session, you thought you would pass them off to Madara. You had tried to politely decline the scrolls several times, insisting that they should go to a member who was actually a part of the council without saying the quiet part out loud, but the notes had been thrust upon you regardless.
You flipped through them out of acute curiosity, skimming them as you returned to the Uchiha quarters. It wasn’t far out of the way, within walking distance of the meeting hall but far enough from the other residences for privacy and peace of mind. You trudged up the path amongst the trees, just beginning to roll the last scroll back up when the Uchiha residence appeared.
But it wasn’t the intricately built building that made you stop at the edge of the trees.
Tobirama scrambled up from where he sat on the steps to the engawa, placing one foot on the ground while the other retreated a step up. You stood just a short distance away, visibly stunned, as the surprise in Tobirama’s eyes flashed across his red irises before disappearing instantly.
His jaw tightened as a low rumble ruminated around his chest. He cast his gaze off to the side.
”I was informed that they had just sent a trusted member of the Uchiha council here to deliver the updated documents and that I was to give this to him.” Tobirama held out yet another scroll, nearly identical to the ones you carried. “It was left behind.”
You performed another swivel of your head. The Uchiha lodgings were quiet. A gentle breeze rattled the leaves around you. Madara must be off meeting with Hashirama.
The scroll sat in the air, and you made no effort to retrieve it from him. You took a step back. Tobirama’s arm lowered. His brow twitched.
”And they sent you for this?” you asked. Tobirama’s scowl deepened. “I understand being asked to run papers myself, but—” You purposefully met his gaze with a creased brow and a frown. “They sent you…?”
”I could do the task the swiftest, that is, if Madara was actually here. They must have headed back into town,” Tobirama said just a beat too quickly. “I am surprised you were not notified. I could have saved myself the trouble.” He waved the scroll toward you, bobbing his head in annoyance. “I cannot say I take a liking to the situation any more than you do, so be hasty now.”
“Any more than I?” You scoffed. Your head swiveled around to check your surroundings. When you faced him again, you spoke with a quiet hiss. “Excuse my hesitancy, for the last time we spoke, I do recall you were detailing your plans to mutilate my butchered corpse!”
Tobirama huffed, but he visibly tensed. His eyes also surveyed the surrounding woods before he glanced back at the Uchiha compound. He leaned forward, not that the slight distance made much of a difference, as he scolded you softly from across the clearing.
“Quite the exaggeration, considering you were an enemy spy,” he gritted lowly through his teeth. His gaze continued to dart around the trees. He scowled deeply before casting his shifty gaze off to the side again.
”This is false by your own admission!” You moved partway into the clearing, your index finger pointed. Another glance away. Your voice was hushed, still hissing in an attempt at secrecy. “You had affirmed that I was a non-combatant in the initial round of discussions, and in any case, it would be inaccurate to describe me as anything else—!”
“A spy constitutes a danger,” he said quickly, lip curling downward into a shape that could have easily been a pout.
It was an annoyed gesture but devoid of actual weight. Tobirama sighed, and as he closed his eyes, you could see the tension in his shoulders deflate. He was surely displeased with having to face you so soon, but lacked aggression.
It sent you back, thinking you saw a glimmer of something from the past in the barely recognizable man before you. You never thought you would see him again, after all, and despite the ongoing peace negotiations, there was no doubt in your mind that your previous affair could stir up tensions.
Your heart constricted, your pulse pounding in your ears. A magnetic force willed you forward, the feeling suffocating your lungs and throat, a dense curiosity. How purposeful had his appearance at the Uchiha compound been?
You wondered what Tobirama thought of all this. You wondered if he looked back upon you fondly like an old flame or perhaps if he was eager to see you again. Maybe it was all too hopeful for the disgust and resentment that coated your very last interaction.
You thought. You thought. You thought.
But an answer came more swiftly than you anticipated.
”You seek something that is no longer present.” The skin around his eyes had creased, narrowing his red gaze incredulously at you, piercing you deeply. Tobirama’s voice cut through your thoughts as if reading your mind. It occurred to you for a moment that such a jutsu might exist. “I can see it in those damned eyes… it is the reason you take matters of the battlefield so personally.”
It wasn’t until you stopped short that you realized you were walking toward him. The sudden hostility in his voice froze you mid-step. You stared into his red irises, looking for any hint of his thoughts.
You thought you had seen something, even in his vexed expression, but its shadow passed quicker than you could catch. And now, he looked down upon you, arms crossed and cold.
“What?” It was the only thing you could think to say. You blinked a few times in disbelief.
Tobirama held the scroll out to you again, waving it a few times in the air. Your gaze darted from the paper back to Tobirama.
You wanted to step back.
“Do not make this harder than it needs to be,” he gritted. “Your faintheartedness is going to make a mockery of us both, so I implored you not to take matters of the battlefield so personally.”
His eyes darted to the side with another shake of the scroll, but you didn’t move to take the document from him. Tobirama glared at you a moment more, anticipating a moment that would never come. He retreated with a sigh, pocketing the scroll with a vexed grumble.
He moved to bypass you, and you should have, by all means, allowed him to continue.
There was an immense burning in your chest, which grew by the second, pulling you forward toward an opposition you had intended to avoid. Your body moved on its own to obstruct Tobirama’s path.
A short distance still sat between you, but the few steps of dirt did nothing to make up for your indiscretion. Tobirama gazed down at you, almost as surprised as you were at your forwardness. You stood still by sheer and embarrassing stubbornness alone, driven by an urge to pull something from him that even you didn’t know.
Tobirama stood over you with lidded eyes and a severe expression that contorted his frown deeper. He crossed his arms, squaring his shoulders back as he regarded you. Your nose crinkled between your widened eyes.
You were scared, shaking. It was an incredulous move. Peace negotiations be damned; you must have been out of your mind to challenge the second in command to the most powerful clan in the Land of Fire. Not to mention alone, and for what? It was something that didn’t escape you, but the panic in you needed everything to stay the way it was. Nothing could move, not until you had time to think—
“Move.”
You shook your head. You babbled like a cornered doe.
— “You did not actually think I was a spy—”
“Move, you foul, demonic creature,” he suddenly thundered. His voice cut through the silence of the clearing in a way you hadn’t anticipated. The volume made you flinch, and the deep roar shook you, striking genuine fear into your heart.
Tobirama was a man now, you had to remind yourself. He had been tall before, but he held an even grander stature now. His form was carved through battle— the killing of your kinsman and the thorough training that you yourself had witnessed long ago.
You were not naive enough not to understand what such a man was capable of.
Tobirama’s face was beginning to turn a shade of red. The fur around his neck flared up around his neck like the mane of a lion. He tilted his head back to stare at the sky as he heaved a deep breath. Tobirama moved to retrieve the scroll from his belt, again holding it to you, this time far more aggressively.
“I implore you to cease your difficulty—”
You slapped his hand.
You slapped him, and the scroll went tumbling to the ground.
You wondered what your face looked like and if it looked as wide and shocked as Tobirama’s. You were sure your expression didn’t revert to stoicism as quickly.
You wished it did.
”Difficulty?” You steamed, spurred on by panic alone. “You argue with me over petty things such as definition, acting rudely to a diplomatic ally, and speaking of difficulty?” Your voice rose. And in a way, you were sent back to a time when you scolded Madara more often— before his promotion to clan head.
His face was severe.
Your heart pounded in your chest.
You had just laid your hands on Tobirama Senju. And to disrespect a document used in peace negotiations, no less.
“Are you out of your head?” Tobirama snapped. His hand jerked away as he took a half step back. A part of him seethed; you didn’t have to see it in the twitch of his brow. “If I informed my brother that a member of the Uchiha council made such a gesture, I am certain that the other clans would consider it a declaration of war.”
He made a sudden gesture toward you, flaring at you and forcing you to take a step back. And for a second, the reds of your irises swirled to life before dissipating into their usual color.
The movement stunned you, but it only fueled your mounting rage further. You stood, tense in the shadow of the tree line. Tobirama didn’t move as he settled back into stoicism. Although, his clenched jaw betrayed him.
The forest stood still around you.
“I had wanted to see it for myself…” Tobirama’s voice faded into a low, haunted grumble. Tobirama’s stare fixed onto your eyes, and whatever the expression was— curious or disgusted— held a morbid gravity.
He let out a steady stream of air in an attempt to rope himself back to calmness.
He blinked once… twice…
“You are fortunate that we are in this setting of negotiation and unity, for I would not have humored your petty whims for this long otherwise.” His voice dipped, registering at a timber that shook like a predator's growl. You were still shaking. Tobirama stepped forward. “You dare forget yourself when speaking to a warrior of my caliber? Do you consider that I have the time of day for these things? Now move, or I will move you.”
You were frozen, shaking with wide eyes and a crinkled brow as you did what Tobirama could only describe as staring him down. The embers of a raging glint flickered in your eyes, which were beginning to glaze over with tears of stress. You refused to let any of them fall, allowing the water outline the fire that burned in your irises.
“You would not dare lay a finger on me, and I know as much.” The words lashed from your lips with a heat that burned at Tobirama’s chilly defense.
You stood at a stalemate, a pause wedging itself between the two of you.
His presence was overwhelming. Displeased energy radiated off him in waves, making his mounting fury palpable in the air. Tobirama scrunched his mouth, forcing his bottom lip into a severe scowl.
“Because you think I fear Madara?” The question was laced with an accusation. “Madara knows better than to test me.” Tobirama took another step forward, continuing to darken. Instinctively, you stepped back.
“The only reason the Uchiha have leadership intact at all is due to my brother’s amply generous charity.” He tilted his head, studying you with scrutiny. “Is this what you do? Seek out powerful men to hide behind? To prey upon like a lowly urchin?”
You gritted your teeth, glancing him up and down with a flicker of your eyes.
“I would hardly have referred to you as a powerful man, let alone a man at all—“
“I have had enough of you and of the Uchiha. If this is how things will work, I might as well inform Hashirama that this entire endeavor is as fruitless as I advised him in the first place.” Vindictive. Spiteful. Reckless. Hyperbolized.
Tobirama pushed past you, moving out of the clearing and toward the path back to the main settlement.
Not even your momentary flare of courage could make you stand your ground or chase after him as he left. No, not when you were crushed by the weight of what Tobirama just threatened.
The Uchiha couldn’t afford to resume fighting the Senju, and despite Hashirama’s good nature, you were certain that the Uchiha could be ended here and now if Madara was forced to fight.
And while you had witnessed Madara’s great strength firsthand, you knew he could not hope to win in this setting. It would all be over. The clan. The dear one you had left. You. All for what?
That had been the question that had been ruminating through your thoughts.
You stared at the back of Tobirama’s retreating head. Air caught in your throat. Panic whipped around all of your thoughts.
For what? For what? For what? For what?
You hadn’t wanted to fight him, nor did you want to chase him. But the nagging heat in your core grew nonetheless. You spun around, an unyielding fury bubbling up in your throat. And against your better judgment, you critically called,
“What would your clan think about your dedication?” It was only with your empty threat that Tobirama stopped. He stopped short in the middle of the path, letting his foot slide as the earth crumbled beneath his heel. He dropped down a quarter step, faced away from you, and unreadable. He was listening, and you were desperate. “You had given much to an Uchiha girl in your past! Would your clan be pleased to know that her memory was the reason for the unrecognizably bitter chakra?”
You almost laughed at your own gaul, and your eyes only widened as he marched back up the path toward you.
You rambled with panic, the words leaving your tongue before you could think of them. Sweat manifested on your skin as pure adrenaline took over.
“The son of the famed Batsuma Senju and cherished younger brother of the great God of Shinobi, Hashirama Senju, is intimidated in the face of a woman! You should be ashamed—!”
Tobirama only needed a few long strides before he was upon you. Tobirama’s hand shot out to grasp your neck, only for it to phase right through, your illusion dissipating into the air. But just as your figure began to dissipate, and just as you were about to slip past him to make your escape, his other hand aimed directly through your genjutsu and wrapped tightly around your throat in a mere moment of battlefield instinct.
You were swept off your feet, the entire mass of Tobirama slamming into you like an ocean wave. He held you by the throat with one hand, the rest of his body pinning you against a nearby tree as all the air in your lungs was forced out by the impact. Your hands flew to his wrist.
He held you there, immobilizing you in an instant. It was as though a bear pinned you down or a beastly forest tiger. Tobirama’s breaths were deep and steady. His piercing gaze bore deeply into you, leaving you no choice but to meet his eye.
He was choking you, not with the intent to kill, but to establish dominance. The grip may not have comprised all of Tobirama’s strength, but it was enough to make your vision blur.
You squirmed, pulling at his grasp, but Tobirama didn’t budge. He held you close, with his nose almost touching yours. Tobirama’s arm bent at the elbow between you, impeding his chest from fully pushing onto yours. The bark of the wood dug into the skin of your back through your robes.
His dense, woody scent was overwhelmingly masculine yet clean; something about it shot lightning through your heart. Aside from the burning in your lungs, it was the only other thing you could sense.
“The only thing I am ashamed of is that I had not seen it sooner,” he gritted.
His hand jerked in punctuation, shaking you by the neck, and it was only with this movement that Tobirama recoiled. Or perhaps it was the prolonged look into your eyes, dredging memories up from the past that Tobirma thought he had long forgotten.
He let you go with an acute stumble back, which was hardly noticeable as he clenched his teeth hard.
You coughed, crumpling down on the ground. A harsh wheeze tore from your throat as you bowed at Tobirama’s feet, trying to collect yourself.
“Consider us even,” you managed to hiss, still at the ready to sling venom. You stared up at him from between strands of hair. Tears welled in your eyes.
He hardly lingered on you, decisively turning to storm down the dirt path, brewing with stoic, cold heat.
You sat on the first ground, just on the trail’s edge. Your hands tremored, holding your neck and face as you reeled from what had just happened. You could hardly move, let alone pick yourself up.
“I hope that the mere memory of me shall haunt you until the day you are killed on the battlefield and beyond!” You cried out, strangled. And to your surprise, your curse came out with a laugh. Your tears had been held at bay for long enough, and they finally streamed down your face.
Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.
Notes: So I was fully intending on wrapping this story up in the next 3 chapters... before this chapter. Ugh, because it didn't really make sense for them to be shy and want to reconnect now did it? I think people wanted more to the story anyway now that we're in the actually juicy part.
This series was supposed to be like 5 chapters you know.
Because the thing is is that I'm actually trying to make Tobirama a dynamic character because I didn't think he felt like a character at all up until now. If anything, I think I want to redeem the first half of this series because I hate it so much. I do it to myself at this point.
Oh and then I went back and actually read from chapter 7 on and AAAAA i need to FIX PLOT HOLES so...ooo... this series will be TEN MILLION CHAPTER LONG NOW SEE YA IN TEN YEARS
This story is officially "double enemies to lovers"
Next chapter dropping at 100 notes.
Tag list: @gracefulbumblebee @norasincubi @rahatake @frvv
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Full chapter list: Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX
The Fruits of Revolution (and the Ballad of Crickets)
Kakashi Hatake x (f) reader
Summary: Bordering the lands of shinobi, a vast forest that stretches to the far ends of the world raises bandits and rogues alike - those left to Nature's will by exigent societies and those who left on their own accord. When the man in charge of the brewing chaos is found dead before a long-awaited event, suspicions arise and fingers are pointed. With the head of the Forest People assassinated and an unwanted team of shinobi straying in uncharted territory, some strive to restore the centuries of peace the Land of Shiva had known in the past, while others struggle to find their way home through dense vegetation and lurking dangers. Somewhere in between all of that, two people unexpectedly cross paths, to never part again.
A/N: I've been working on this one for a while, but the road is long and rough and I'm still unsure about where I'm headed with the story. But would you be interested in reading this (if I finished it)?
Summary: Mainly a Suguru monologue on your relationship now and in the future.
Warnings: angst, no happy ending
Somewhere in the density of the grass below the crickets sang the dulcet ballad of the night known to man for many centuries and more yet to come. It was a sound you'd recognise immediately, without further thought, like the sound of your own name.
The crickets sounded so far away, yet close enough to reach out and feel their antennas skim your fingers as they hopped by. However, as Suguru sat perched on the egde of the boys' dormitories' roof, he knew for a fact he'd never come as close to their chants anymore.
They sang for people of sleepless nights, for admirerers of the moon, lovers gazing at the stars, late workers and disobeying children. And although he'd been all of those before - and still was, in some cases - crickets didn't sing for him.
Not anymore, anyways, but he wonders if they ever did. He can't recall the last time he shared a cigarette with one of his friends on that roof. Did he hear them hum then?
Probably, but he never noticed them. Despite being the observant type, Suguru never noticed anything when he was around his friends. Or maybe he did, he thinks, but everything else faded from his memory as soon as it had reached his senses.
When recalling nights like these or sunbathed afternoon classes or late sunday mornings, his mind displays nothing short of Satoru's shenanigans, his loud laughter, your voice and Shoko's exaggerated expressions. There were also shared secrets, the warmth of your skin, your hand in his, Satoru's "scary" stories, sweet kisses and your eyes in the dark.
He remembers how you told him all about the moon, how you pointed out constellations and the way your hair fell around your face as you gazed at the sky. Maybe he wasn't paying attention, or he was too tired to register it, maybe his mind played tricks on him - but the only thing he can actually remember is you.
No crickets, no stars in the sky, no chilly wind pulling at his clothes and biting at his skin. Suguru remembers you next to him - the hot air he blew on your cold hands, his cigarette between your lips, your head on his knee.
A shadow in the corner of his eye caught his attention. When he whipped his head around rather sharply, he found you crouching down on the edge of the roof.
Some loose strands fluttered in a soft breeze and the lantern below casted light on your features. You wore your fuzzy slippers and a familiar sweater - it might’ve been his, if he thinks about it long enough. A contented smile played on your lips.
“A penny for your thoughts?”
Everything about you was so normal. So known - no doubt of his could ever taint every detail he’d known of you. You were always the same. Like the trees surrounding Jujutsu Tech and the lanterns and the boys dormitories and the crickets. And all those nights you spent there together. Grounded - grounding even, to him.
In some way those things never changed. And he wouldn’t want them to. Yet at the same time, he couldn’t stop himself from changing. From morphing into what he was supposed to hate, turning against those he vowed to protect.
“You might as well give me Satoru’s credit card instead,” Suguru joked, but even then couldn’t he conceal the thoughts that’d been nagging him. He should tell you, he thinks, but everything he was about to do would inevitably change you. And he just wasn’t ready for that.
It would change him too - he’s aware - but the person he is right now wouldn’t forgive him for dragging you along in the dirt of his metamorphosis. Perhaps it wouldn’t matter afterwards, how you looked at him, your hair behind your ears and whispers in the dark - he’d be different. Like your hair and eyes, hands, and everything else. In his mind you'd change too, and he'd look at you with the eyes of a stranger.
“You look tired,” you stated softly. And then, placing your hand on his arm: “Have you lost weight, Suguru?”
You must’ve noticed too that he’d changed, but he wondered if you realised he’d never be the same again - that what he lost was forever gone. Did you realise that "Suguru" carried a different load; that even though written and spelled identically, it was a different name? That he was someone else?
“It’s just a little summer stress, I’m sure,” he laughed, lightly patting your hand.
Summer bought a lot of change too, yes, but he'd surely undergone an entire transformation since the encounter with the Sorcerer Killer, Toji Fushiguro. There was no other way to describe it; he no longer felt like Suguru Getou, friend of Satoru Gojo, Shoko Ieiri and y/n l/n.
He'd become something else, the way a caterpillar turns into a butterfly. But the change he'd gone through was something of a more fundamental calibre. It had shaken him to the core of his existence and yet, in the eyes of any living being, he remained Suguru Getou.
He'd always thought sight was traitorous, more than it was beneficient. Humans always see what they'd like to see, never what things really are. When they're in love, they tend to see their adoration reflected in the other's eyes. When they're insecure, they imagine the same disapproval on others' faces.
When Getou Suguru had changed, everyone looked at him just the same.
"Don't let it get to you, yeah? You know I can't survive another year of Satoru Gojo without you," you joked, feeling concerned about his general state as of late.
Suguru had been... distant, to say the least. No more shared meals together, no more late night talks, sneaking out past curfew. It concerned you to great length, but you doubted if attacking him with reproaches was a smart move. Especially after, well - that.
"Won't even come close," he replied smoothly. He was one of the strongest after all.
But was he as untouchable as Gojo Satoru? That blade had pierced even his skin. It had almost killed him. Suguru was sure it did kill something in himself.
"Just... you can come to me anytime if you ever need a talk," you paused, contemplating your words, "I wouldn't want that to change you, Suguru, I like you just like this, you know. You're sweet."
He didn't want to change either, he kept repeating to himself, he had never wanted to in the first place. Why couldn't he stay the same, sweet Suguru - like you and Satoru and Shoko remained unwavering.
He felt like a child that's outgrown his clothes, that doesn't fit in swings anymore and sleeps with his feet sticking out of the bed. A child that wishes to remain a child. He'd liked to believe he was still one, somewhere. After all, he hadn't even reached twenty yet.
The thought then occured to him, that no matter his age, nor yours, he'd always remember you as a teenage girl. With your skirts and your hair pinned up and your nails and your reckless courage and ideals. That version of you would've hated the way he turned out, he thought.
Maybe if you changed too, his own change would've been like growing up. And you'd go through the same procedure of adulthood together. In another universe, he reminded himself.
In another universe you'd graduate together.
In yet another you'd be a non-sorcerer, safe from the dangers sorcery brings along.
In another universe you would've never met. And that, he thinks, is the best thing he could've given you.
geto and gojo went on that mission together and saved miminana then they graduate and become teachers, toji is working through his gambling addiction and trying to raise megumi and tsumiki with shiu’s help, haibara barely missed a fatal blow on that mission and he and nanami brought the souvenir sweets back, riko and kuroi live in okinawa and are safe, and NOTHING BAD HAS EVER HAPPENED TO THEM.
Summary: There's Dazai being an alcoholic, a rainy night after an exhausting day at work and a stranger in an empty bar.
Word count: 1,443
A/n: Wrote this in one sitting, hence not proofread. Teensy bit angsty. Typical Dazai tw's - it comes with the package, I guess.
The sound of honking cars, rain splattering on the pavement and rushed footsteps faded when Dazai closed the door of Bar Lupin. The night was still young, urging workers out of their offices and to the comfort of their homes, lovers to romantic diners in town and people like him to whatever place they served dousing drinks at.
He had a long day behind his back and the rain that'd drenched his clothes on his way from work seemed to dilate his tiredness, pushing his slumped shoulders even lower. Really? he thought, right now?, when he'd felt the first droplets hit his face.
Dragging his feet along the floor he stepped all the way to the back of the bar, sinking into the stool farthest from the door. He tipped his head at the bartender, who got his hands to work in an instant.
Beside two well-aged men in work uniforms a few tables away, there was no one else in the bar. And suddenly Dazai felt alone. Lonely, even. Those men didn't even seem to have noticed when he walked in; the bartender had already returned to drying glasses when his drink was served. No one approached him on the streets; he'd watched a driver yell at a man crossing the street beside him, but he hadn't even seen Dazai.
Like he was a ghost swerving in empty bars and rainy, poorly lit alleyways in search for... well, he didn't even know himself what he was after. Another like him? Some kind of mystical rescue to bring him back to the real world of present people? No, he was just looking for a place to shelter himself from the rain, ofcourse. This was no time to indulge in self pity. He'd accepted long ago that one - and he is no exception - always ends up alone in the end. Even when you die you're alone.
The bourbon dwindled his thoughts - partially so - and he felt the familiar numbing sensation in his fingertips. He didn't know how long had passed since he'd entered the bar or how many drinks he'd had. Turning his head he noticed those two men still in place, as if they'd been frozen in a photograph all this time. For all he knew hours could have passed, or merely a few agonizing minutes.
Then, when he shifted back in his seat, the door opened and the roaring night flooded the bar for a moment. He didn't bother turning around again, still sore from last time he'd glanced at the other customers. Instead he focused on spinning the ice cube in his glass, at least until the rain stopped.
He heard her before he saw her out of the corner of his eye and fully directing his attention over his rigth shoulder, he caught a stranger's gaze.
"Sorry?"
"Rough day, hm?" she asked, taking a sip from her glass.
He hadn't even heard her order for a matter, too engaged in his own sorrow.
"Yeah. Rough day," he repeated her words like an echo. He hadn't stopped staring at her since he first looked up, partly because he had a gut feeling he must be imagining her and because she was outright captivating. It's not every day he starts seeing things after a particularly exhausting journey, but he wished she wouldn't dissapear as quickly as she showed up if he so much as blinked.
Sure he thought he'd seen Oda more times than he'd like to admit seated across from him, but those tricks his dazed mind would play on him never lasted this long.
"You surely seem the part," she laughed lightly.
His gaze lingered on the wet ends of her hair that rendered her coat a darker shade where they strayed. It was tousled and frizzy from the weather and her shirt was crinckled and damp around the collar.
"Alright, that was kind of hypocrite of me, I'll admit. I don't look any better," she continued when she noticed his eyes on her disheveled figure and that's when Dazai looked at her more clearly for the first time. A grin streched her lips and her hand was propped up under her cheek.
"Trust me, somehow you still do," he finally said. He had meant it as a matter of fact, but it came out more flirtatious than intended. Dazai was sure that the tired look in his eyes didn't come any close to matching the tone of his words.
She leaned in closer.
"I thought I couldn't get a word out of you and here we are, flirting."
Taking another sip she said softly: "Funny. You amuse me."
That confused him. She wasn't some kind of fantasy of his - a ghost from the past trailing after him - she was so... real to him.
His mind perked up at that and he sat a little straighter.
"Without even trying. And here I was trying to find the fitting words to swoon you," he answered smoothly. All of a sudden he felt much brighter, and although his words were essentially void of heartfelt emotion, he'd always known how to get the better of a situation with his speech.
She smiled, exposing her neck when she brushed her hair over her shoulder.
"I knew there was more to you than a drinking problem," she mused.
"It's a matter of digging and finding, I guess," Dazai said, pulling the cuffs of his shirt up to his elbows.
"Don't overdo the fancy words now, mister," she pointed her finger at him.
He hummed. "Having a preferrence for men of little words, huh?"
"I don't want to get used to it just yet. Besides, it wouldn't hurt anyone if men talked less," she said.
He chuckled, tipping his head back. "I'll take the hint."
"Y/n," she extended her hand to him.
He repeated her name before introducing himself and taking her hand into his. A warm touch is all he could feel.
"You pronounce it funnily. My name, I mean," she then pointed out, "I like the way you talk."
Now Dazai definitely didn't have a grasp on time as they continued to talk the night away, throwing playful words back and forth until they were left alone in the bar. The rain had long stopped now, but he was too occupied to have picked up the noticeable silence downing upon the city outside. He was too engrossed in - no, not his numbing liquor, but in their conversation about what not. The sun was either going to rise any given moment or Dazai'd spent a whole wide day in there and it was already night again.
"That Kunikida of yours surely seems to have his fair share every day," y/n said after placing her empty glass down on the bar.
"He manages. God forbid that man ever goes off schedule," Dazai laughed.
"Well, I sure did," y/n started, suddenly raising on her feet, pulling her coat over her shoulders. "I got a train to catch."
Already? Dazai wanted to ask. He hadn't told her about that time he'd hidden His coworker's glasses in Atsushi's drawer - he hadn't heard enough about her yet in return.
"Sure you'll find any available line at this hour?" he asked instead.
"How late do you think it is, Dazai?" she hadn't stopped using his name after he'd offered it to her.
"It's pretty dark out," he shrugged.
"It's november already. Can you believe past month’s gone by so fast?"
It's novermber already, he'd heard a police officer say yesterday too - or was it the day before that? To him it seemed the months couldn't go by fast enough. It's only november.
"Didn't even notice," he huffed.
"Hey, sorry I got to leave so early. We'll catch up another time," y/n said softly, noticing his scrunched eyebrows and the way he eyes his half-empty glass.
Early? Surely it must be almost morning then.
"Ofcourse," he answered and when he noticed the look in her eyes, he added, "don't worry, just moderating my words, dear."
"That was one too many," she shot back while pushing money on the counter.
He raised his hands in surrender, smiling. Then, as he watched her turn her back and drown in the swarming city, he felt the urge to reach out and brush his hand on her shoulder. He wondered if it'd slide right through her.
And when the door would open again, he'd turn his head without hesitation, only to find a giggling couple, a foreign man or the bartender throwing out the trash, and he'd turn into a ghost again, looking for another like him.
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