Chapter Text
Bull In A China Shop
Indra, personally, is not at all happy about having to infringe on his sanctuary. His home, his refuge, his safe place, is as important to him as his hair, and he does not expose it to the presence of just anyone. Not many people can say they have seen the inside of the Uchiha leader's home, but those who have, can only rave about how beautiful it is. Inviting the misfits of his cousins doesn't sound tempting at all, let alone thinking about the white carpets in his living room and the crystal decorations on the coffee table.
Since Shisui's news came into play and the resentments disappeared between him and Izuna, the man denied the possibility of using his house for Fridays, specifying that he wanted harmony and tranquility for the mother of his future child. It didn't take him a day after learning that he would be a father to make the woman move in with him, giving her everything she might need and even more. The speed with which that couple acted was amazing and admirable, solidifying their union and creating stability for the next Uchiha in line.
Indra likes it, is happy for his apprentices to be noble and responsible, but doesn't enjoy being a victim of it. Having Shisui remove the possibility of using his house put the continuity of Fridays as they knew them at risk, and Indra was unanimously voted to be the organizer after the rest declared themselves incapable.
"Love, I'm leaving." A kiss on the cheek disconcerts and forces him out of his nebulous thoughts, his girl bidding him farewell with almost a foot out the door. She doesn't wait for an answer, but looks at him twice before leaving so that the information finishes sinking into the distracted man's head.
He turns to look at her and tries to think if he should know where she's going, if she mentioned it and he forgot, but decides to risk an estimated and broad answer that can't miss "With the girls?". He asks with a bit of hesitation in his voice, not entirely sure.
(Y/N) nods, and sends him flying a kiss before closing the door behind her. His girl's outings are somewhat recent, and while he'd rather stay curled up with her in bed watching a movie, he's glad she has friends to enjoy herself with.
He looks back down at the rug under his couch, and decides he needs to get it out before Shisui arrives, preferably before any of them start tasting the poison they always bring.
Back to regular scheduling, Itachi arrived first, this time with Sasuke. Indra would not allow the chance to slip away, he wanted to show the youngest Uchiha exactly where their pedigree originated from. Ever cordial, Itachi is the only Uchiha that respects the sanctums of others. Indra deeply admires this trait. It’s one that the remaining lot lacked. He secretly hopes that at this Fridays gathering, some of them will acquire a bit of his class. Especially young Sasuke.
Although he doesn’t quite trust the gooey cookies in Itachi’s hands, he takes those and carefully administers them on the kitchen counter. “Welcome.” Is all that is spoken.
“Thank you for opening your home.” Itachi responds, following his elder’s proper etiquette. Sasuke nods, not with interest but out of respect. He quickly takes a seat in the foyer.
Indra’s house is anything but ordinary. While simplistic and elegant. It’s nothing short of a china shop. Everything is easily broken at the slightest tilt of the wind, but it’s extraordinary. Adorned with decades of Uchiha history, one could call it a personal museum. The decor is exceedingly fragile and Itachi doesn’t think twice about touching a goddamn thing. Even if he is slightly curious about the glass blown gunbai on the wall. He refrains from tarnishing it, and takes a seat at the gentleman’s bar in the darkened den.
Indra does not hug a soul unless it's his female counterpart— especially the next Uchiha. He has to physically resist the urge to bruise this one's knuckles for fiddling with the 100 year old rubber plant outside. Instead, he uses a firm word. “Obito.”
Obito arrives looking like a kid at the fair—too excited and hopped up on fumes for Indra’s liking. Subjected to Indra’s strict rule of—‘if you break it, I will break you twice as hard,’ he moseys in with hands behind his back and chin to his chest. The atmosphere was close to clinical, everything had a place, a designated spot. One would say it was exceptionally orderly, but Obito thought it was fucking absurd and manic. The house was so clean, it looked unlived in.
Madara and Izuna tip toe in. It’s only the second time Madara has been to his predecessor’s house, and he won't admit what he feels, he’s too proud—but Madara is smitten. Everything through these walls seethes of Uchiha pride and doctrine. A simple nod between the two is enough.
Though Izuna was forewarned before he received this gracious invitation, it was expected of him to keep his composure. There would be no shenanigans, no lollygagging and absolutely no snooping for curiosity’s sake. This was a sacred place for Indra, and while he loved his family tree, and had extended the olive branch to continue these small gatherings—gatherings that he rather enjoyed, on rare occasions. The tree his family shook from was full of fucking nuts. Never had he seen such a collective of imbeciles and vile idiots. This bloodline was nearly all but wasted by these fools. He often wondered where things went wrong down the line, but could never quite pinpoint who was to blame. Certainly, not himself.
They were human after all, and humans make mistakes. But the excuses they came up with were nothing short of schoolyard nonsense. That wouldn’t be acceptable in his home. Indra was going to prove that you didn’t need cheap booze to have a good time. He preferred fine wine and cardinbated spirits.
Last on his doorstep is Shisui. Who thought it comical to wear traditional ceremonial robes, and Indra couldn’t be mad. It suited his physique, but not his personality. Shisui, if anything, matured like an over ripe banana. Almost too late, but surprisingly was sweet and still useful—even past his prime. With a child on the way, this one gave Indra an unfound desire to mold him into a proper protégé. Though one look at Shisui’s widened eyes and cheeky grin, he dropped that sentiment like a ton of bricks. You could take the kid out of the fight, but you could not take the fight out of the kid. Indra was unable to determine if this was a good or bad thing. Shisui reeked of mischief.
Manners were not first on the family docket, but Indra enjoyed the quiet his subordinates brought with them. If there was anything he wanted to make sure of, it was that this was not an ordinary gathering of family. It was a gentleman’s club and the men in this family needed realignment.
Once everyone was comfortable, Indra physically relaxed into his chair. Drugs and liquor were permitted, of course and Itachi had brought a new strain of Kaguya’s lettuce. One that was stronger. One that Indra instantaneously knew on first puff was going to fuck his shit up, he tried to look indifferent.
Shisui sat with Itachi. Feigning high class, raising a pinky to drink his abnormally too small drink and was talking about foreign affairs. Of which he knew better, no political talk but Indra was too calm to scold. Sasuke sat on the smaller loveseat, Obito warmed the cushion next to him. The two not saying much a word, so Indra did it for them.
“Enjoy yourselves. This is a privilege not many would experience.” Oh boy, did that sound cocky.
And it was, Izuna pipes up. "Privilege will cease to be when Obito spills his drink on your couch." And he watches as his cousin tenses up next to Indra.
Izuna has a problem, always did, with respecting the limits that authority imposes, not fucking with those figures who could break his head in a second if he blinks, unable to learn anything from all the times Madara had to put him in his place. His Aniki, as often, slaps him on the back of the head, sending an apologetic look of understanding to his superior, while Shisui intercedes to break the tension that seems to build between them effortlessly.
"Try this shit, Izuna, it's good." He passes him the peace joint, as he eats one of Itachi's special cookies and soils his formal robes with crumbs. Shisui looks like a child forced to dress up for a special occasion, with no choice and no care for what he wears. Indra would have that vein of anger popping up on his forehead at the sight of his floor being littered with cookie scraps, but there's something in his brain that stopped working at the taste of that poison, and what would normally bother him, moves to the back burner.
It is a situation both funny and dangerous, because in view of problems, the rational part of Indra’s head will not be able to identify right or wrong, blinded by the lack of coherence swimming in his neurons. There have only been a few situations where he gets so stoned that he can't think clearly, and the last one was before Shisui was born. Both older Uchihas were young, and they were in a bar in the compound when someone decided to talk shit about them. In his inability to think straight, Indra left that stupid man like pulp on the floor, no chance of being saved before receiving help. No one could stop him, not even Madara, and it was only on the basis of his habit of smoking strong stuff that the poison ceased to have any effect on him, believing himself immune at some point.
The anger issues Indra usually deals with, mixed with the complicating influence of drugs, do not make for a good combination, and in some ways he's glad it never takes effect.
Of course, anything can change.
"Let's give grandpa some more, he'll need it to make it through the night." Surely and firmly, the Uchihas sitting in that circle of manliness look like little boys once the substance enters their system, amplified by the hors d'oeuvre Itachi purchased from the bakery girl. Madara gives it a few good puffs before handing it over to the eldest of the group, who smokes it as if it were a cigarette, used to it not affecting him.
Obito soon loses awareness of his body, a guy too big for the level of clumsiness he handles, three times about to spill his glass on the floor being only stopped by Shisui, who despite being above the clouds, retains reflexes unbecoming of a person under the effects of weed.
Itachi prevents Sasuke from getting involved in those less-than-positive activities, limiting him to a small glass of wine that is quickly replaced by a whole bottle when his older brother stops paying attention and Uncle Izuna appears on the scene. The little Uchiha drinks with animosity, living up to the standards of the family's bad influences as Obito watches and nods approvingly, "The only way… little Sasuke… you'll learn to drink like us is by doing it…”
“And throwing up a couple of times along the way," Shisui adds with a chuckle, holding Obito's glass again.
Madara could have an opinion on the matter, say they're being too hard on the youngest Uchiha, but he remembers how Indra himself got him drunk on cheap beer when he was 14 and could never touch that drink again, naturally deciding that Sasuke must develop a hatred for some particular brew.
Madara stops to look at the glass decorations scattered around the space, walking to the kitchen where a huge centerpiece adorns the island Indra presumably uses for cooking. You'd expect that area of the house to be a bit more... used, worked over, or with utensils here and there, but everything is as impeccable as the rest of the rooms.
It's even a little maddening.
There’s a presence behind him, and he speaks without turning around, assessing the whiteness of the environment. "I distinctly remember you liking a darker aesthetic." He gently touches the decoration in the center of the island, without force or pressure.
"Ah...there's always more than meets the eye. (Y/N) appreciates lighter colors." Indra replies, standing next to him and observing the space with different eyes. The poison Itachi usually brings tends to be mild, going almost unnoticed by expert smokers like the two older Uchiha, but it seems he put extra effort into making it hit everyone this time.
Madara smiles, eyes red and laughing at what his lungs absorbed "You just admitted being a dominated man."
Surprisingly, Indra smirks, putting a hand on his shoulder and speaking towards the room, "A woman will come along to change the aesthetic taste of your spaces. My house is no longer mine alone."
"Is that why you didn't invite us, hm? Afraid we'd judge you?" Madara looks at him sideways, not turning his head but directing that continuous smile of amusement that won't leave his face.
"You know me better than that."
"Little joke... But last time I saw this place, it looked like a vampire's lair."
Indra pulls a special wine from one of the cupboards, sealed and looking too expensive to even think about opening, but uncorks it and pours him a courtesy glass. "Taste that and shut your mouth." And as the saying goes, whatever Indra says is law, so Madara sips that liquid with dedicated finesse.
Both elders entertain themselves in a semi-deep conversation that loses coherence with each passing second, distracted and isolated from the rest, without paying much attention to their surroundings. When the children get annoying, both tend to seek tacit support from the other, taking refuge away from the problems and intervening only if necessary.
In the living room, chaos gradually increases in the absence of watchful eyes, Izuna being the oldest but acting as if he were Sasuke's age.
That and Indra left a rather outdated touch screen phone in his chair. It must’ve slipped his pocket when he stood up to follow Madara. Izuna chuckles lowly and points to it. Shisui, while usually bright and cat eyed, would normally see with sights dexterity, has to squint. Only when he observes with red spun pearls does he see that obsolete device, and quickly nods in approval.
Izuna wastes no time covertly snatching it up, the coast was clear. Sasuke now sits behind the bar, hidden from Itachi who is updating Obito on his recent ‘adventures.’ He opens a second bottle of wine, one that specified ‘Mr. & Mrs.’ dated for a peculiar day. One that had lovely gold cursive lettering that could not be deciphered fast enough before that total fuck up unhinged. He drank from it. This was the year of Indra’s and (Y/N) wedding. A special bottle to be opened on their 50th anniversary. Forty-three years too soon and Sasuke spoiled it now. They have only been married for 7 years.
The cacophony of girl-like giggles and cackles from Shisui and Izuna silently grows between the two. They’ve managed to unlock his phone. I mean really? It wasn’t 1 2 3 4, but rather 4 3 2 1 as his password. The simplest code for a man with no patience to protect his privacy. It wouldn’t be for another seven minutes, but Indra would understand why face recognition was popular amongst cell phone manufacturers.
Diabolical. The word Izuna would like to use, but it was more like lacking human decency. Beneath the thumbs of these two idiots, who can’t decide who gets to scroll through the photos first and instead take turns. There lies a folder within the photo app. And another folder within that one. It’s not password protected and Shisui holds his finger a hairsbreadth over the screen before winking at Izuna.
They knew what they would find. A gold mine—but really, they dug their graves in coal. With coal mines, there usually were precautionary measures taken before unearthing that chalky element. Canaries served a higher purpose, smaller than crows and more sensitive, though Shisui would eat crow and then some under these actions. Due to their smaller than average respiratory systems, it took less than a few minutes for a canary to alert miners of incoming carbon monoxide. Compared to rats, like Shisui and Izuna—it took nearly seventeen minutes to alert minors of ominous death.
Their eyes grow wide and buggy at the images before them.
This—this was scandalous. More scandalous than when Shisui was spreading his genes around like peanut butter. Lethal and dangerous for any person who wished to make it out of a mine with their lives. They obviously did not take heed to poison emitting through the walls. Instead they rapid fire off those salacious images of Indra’s wife to themselves, and quickly exit the apps. Deleting the sent messages from Indra’s phone and returning it exactly the way it was left. You could only cover your tracks as far as you walked, but if you ran off a cliff—there was no hiding the shit that stunk.
The realm of dumbassery they were on decided it was a fucking great idea, and they clearly did not count on Madara scrolling his own phone at the same time. Showing off his own personal comparative collection of this and that to Indra.
That phone chimes in Madara’s hand. Izuna’s name pops up. In fact, Obito’s, Itachi’s and even little Sasuke’s phone all chime. One right after another, like the bells that toll for a fallen comrade’s funeral. The final salute that put Shisui and Izuna more than one foot in the grave.
“He probably is just showing off a girl.” Madara quips, and for the first time ever. Indra is loose enough to elicit Madara to show him the images. For his wife was away, and looking was not cheating, he laughs ‘what the hell, why not’ and Madara clicks the message.
Madara was a smart man, his younger brother however. Was not. Madara’s face reddens and then pales two shades whiter than a bullet through a flock of doves. A collective of images flood his message thread and it takes no time at all for Indra to snap his face up to the living room archway.
Solid. Precious and beautiful photos of his wife illuminate Madara’s screen. Images that were sent, taken or distributed in a lover's private and intimate life moments. Images that he did not self release to, but kept regardless as time stamps. A man didn't need a proper reason to have nude images of his own wife. However, Izuna seems to have gone beyond self respect, for his own life, and for Indra’s wife. Madara grumbles that he didn’t know. Indra curtly nods. A hurricane brewed within this man, a man who spent many years adorning the temperment of a monk. Practicing what he preached and teaching it down the line. A line that snapped somewhere in the middle between Izuna, Obito and Shisui. Rusted, like an unkept kunai. Indra showed calmness, but he seethed internally with unequivocal anger.
Laws had been broken. Under his own roof.
Madara graciously was in the eye of the hurricane, quickly deleting the images without much thought. The winds of shit did not blow in his direction. And before he could show Indra the evidence was erased, the man was gone.
Indra quietly stalks his prey. Obito’s cheeks turn a fresh shade of pink when he sees his elder. A swift glance in his direction has Obito and Itachi both pointing behind the bar and when Indra walks casually to the oak wood pillaring his gentleman’s corner, he takes note of another commandment that's been broken. That bottle of wine had not even aged properly and it swished upwards on the lips of Izuna. One, two, and apparently three idiots sit before him. Concise and deliberate, he removes Sasuke from the equation and grabs Shisui and Izuna by the scruff.
Tugging them outside, the rage that simmered now boiled over. He cracks their skulls together once he reaches the backyard grass and tosses them across the large intricately detailed courtyard. Shisui’s crooked ass eye seems to look straight for the first time in two years after its replacement, and Izuna is hung by the length of his hair. Yanked facing forward to acknowledge Indra’s utterly terrifying scowl.
“I always knew you were stupid , but how you managed to strike an even more ignorant nerve in that single celled brain of yours—” Izuna looks over to his Aniki for help, and Madara just stands there, leaning in the doorway. Indra clutches his pony tail tighter, almost pulling the hair out at the root. Izuna winces. “—I don't understand how one born from greatness could have a functioning head as small as the one between his legs.” Indra kicks his groin, Izuna unsuccessfully sputters and apologizes on deaf ears while clutching his pearls. An even swifter clink of metal had Izuna feeling lighter at the head.
“I’m going to hang this up as a trophy.” Law and order warranted Indra to swift correctional reform and he lashes the threads of Izuna’s hair against Izuna’s own face.
He cut it clean off—Izuna was made to look like an even more babied Sasuke.
There was no reprieve on his old brother’s face when Izuna, wet eyed and groaning, looked over again. Madara could not undo this supposed miscarriage of justice, for his younger brother was guilty by default.
“And you.” Indra faces Shisui. “Coming here, feigning respect. You’re dressed more stupid than Izuna behaves. Two birds of the same nest. Both seemingly thrown off the tree by their mother out of disgust. THAT—” He takes a deep calculated breath. “—that was MY WIFE. Do you carry any regard for anything —” Shisui opens his mouth like a fish trying to breathe air and a loud crack thunders his cheek, “—don’t answer that, it’s rhetorical. ”
Punishment was to be served and it was personal. This was his family after all and Indra decided if there was one Uchiha he would make a proper example of, it was Shisui. Izuna was a decorated war veteran and had proven himself in that regard, his hair was of more value to him. But Shisui, whose two wide orbs sat stupidly kitty cornered on either side of his nose were his prized possession. While most Uchiha’s eyes were, Shisui had been blessed with an even more remarkable ability. Kotoamatsukami. A kid who, while formidable and a registered flee on sight, was hardly deserving of such a precious gift. If Shisui was once weak enough to suffer an eye plucking, well Indra didn’t have any reservations about removing the other and crushing it for good measure before shoving it back in his stupid skull.
Certainly Indra had gone mad. But this was his fucking wife, his good natured and beautiful wife. Tarnished. Subjected to the overtly horny exposure of the youngsters on his ancestral tree. He didn’t care, all Indra saw was red. For the first time in Shisui’s life did he fear a man more than Daznō and never had he seen Indra bare the sharingan in a malicious manner. Two fingers started to squelch around, puffing out long wonderful eyelashes. Indra thought it a shame that he would do something so vile to a beautiful family heirloom, but he still did not care. His own eyes bore into the corneas of Shisui’s now red bleary eyes, loosening the boy's will to cascade under a genjutsu. Shisui in this daze could almost hear the pop for a second time in his life and the lulled scream from his lips brought a crooked smile to Indra’s face.
“Cry some more boy. This will only hurt a lot the second time.” Then Indra stopped, just short of fully removing his left eye.
The incoming shrill and scorn of his wife fills his ears. She shoves Madara out of her way like a paper bag, picking up her pace and lifts her dress to run across the grass. Disgust and rage etched her expression.
“Don’t you dare remove that boy’s beautiful eyes, Indra. What on earth has crawled up your ass.” Shisui gasps and tears flood his eyes, streaming his cheeks. Quickly, he hurdles into a backwards crab crawl, away from Indra before turning on all fours and then flickering out of sight.
“(Y/N), I thought you’d be out late.”
“Don’t (Y/N) me. You were about to castrate that poor boy’s eye. Why!?” Then she notices Izuna’s hair in his hand. “ Indra . Did you actually cut Izuna’s hair?” Her brow furrows.
He did not like the look of disappointment from his wife.
Indra is not afraid of many things, he learned to be the one who holds the position of power and the reason for terror in others, but the look his wife can give him when she is angry is something that makes his blood run cold. Madara accused him of being dominated a while ago, and hell he was right.
The older Uchiha becomes the prey, and though he executed such cruel torture a few brief moments ago, he now looks like a little boy who knows he did something wrong. He lowers his gaze to the ground and hides Izuna's hair behind his back, as if to prevent his wife from having already seen it. "I don't want to talk about it."
"I'm not asking you, I'm demanding a damn answer. What is this?!" The woman crouches down to poor Izuna, who lies traumatized on the floor touching the short strands of hair he had left. Indra seems to have been kind with unexpected symmetry, but his long mane represented honor, bravery, courage. Now it's all gone.
Sasuke version 2.0 doesn't react when the woman hugs him and places his head on her chest, and all the mixed feelings Indra experiences at that image must be swallowed. "Can we not talk about this now? I'd rather-"
"After putting on such a show, getting the neighbors to call me in desperation over the screams of terror they heard in our yard, and unexpectedly ending my girls' night, you have no choice, young man." Tears roll down Izuna's face, obscuring (Y/N)'s dress carelessly. The woman whispers "shhh shhh" against his hair, accompanied by a few "we can fix it, it's not bad," and Indra is devastated knowing she's comforting the idiot who outraged her privacy moments before.
"They... they found my folder with your photos."
"So…?"
"Izuna and Shisui shared them with everyone present."
"And that drove you crazy." It's not a question, again, but a statement, finally wrapping her head around the matter. The girl feels protected at some point, knowing she has a man by her side who would literally go to unthinkable measures for her, but also flattered, having been the subject of appreciation during the night.
(Y/N) feared that getting married would make her relax, stop taking care of herself. The entire main Uchiha branch has tasted her pictures and it feels like a kind of validation she didn't know she needed.
"Hm... and..."
"And?"
"Sasuke drank our future anniversary wine."
Now this news does raise an impressive anger in the pit of her stomach, because she was the one who insisted for her husband to choose his favorite wine and agree to store it for years to come, many more than Indra would have suggested. If Sasuke wasn't in the condition she saw him in, with rosy cheeks and not because of the pictures he received on his phone, she would have personally taken care of him.
It's (Y/N) who invites Madara over with a hand, and hands him the traumatized Izuna to deal with. She steals the severed ponytail her man is holding, and hands it to Izuna's limp hands. In the background, Sasuke vomits on Indra's favorite plants, and Itachi holds him as he empties his excesses into the garden. Obito tries not to follow in his footsteps, but the sound of his younger cousin leaving life through his mouth prompts him to mimic him, his emetophobia too present to be ignored. Now Itachi helps them both, dividing his attention between them so they can sober up a bit.
The scene is chaotic, with a bit of trauma there and here, but the world seems to go quiet as (Y/N) approaches Indra, holding his face between both hands and looking him straight in the eyes. "I appreciate your concern and wanting to preserve my integrity, but that was a bit over the top, don't you think?" she asks patiently, because she knows it's hard to deal with her husband when he's angry.
"No, they deserved more."
"Wrong answer."
"But-"
"Why do you care about some old pictures, if you have the flesh and blood version married to you?" And with that rhetorical question, Indra remains silent, because he knows that his jealousy tends to be disproportionate, even more so under the successful influence of some things. The man answers nothing, but lowers his gaze and deactivates the Sharingan.
"Now, you're going out there to find that poor boy and undo whatever vision you've implanted in him, yes?"
"Hm." Is all the reply Indra offers, but when he stares at Madara they both understand each other perfectly. The effects of the drug seem to be forced out of both of their systems with such a pressing situation on their hands, and Obito doesn't see it coming when a hand closes over the back of his neck, dragging him along with the two older Uchiha in a necessary search.
A fresh wave of dizziness hits his stomach at such a sudden movement, and he blinks several times to stop his vision from spinning. "Wha... why me!?" He asks as Madara yanks him along with Indra into the middle of the forest, forcing him to start jumping from tree to tree to track the fleeing Uchiha.
"Because six hands are better than four when dealing with a drugged idiot wielding the ability to move at the speed of light," Indra explains, and the three of them scan the perimeter with active red eyes. Obito pauses at least three times to swallow what rises to his throat, and curses the fact that he doesn't have a younger brother to look after at times like this.
Fuck Itachi.
The three of them move with considerable speed keeping in mind the state they are in, and are improperly tired when they reach the Naka River, detecting a swift presence running erratically through the area.
Madara curses the glasses of expensive wine he accepted without qualms at this point, unable to focus his vision on anything. Indra seems to be in a similar condition, but it is he who points to a blind spot in the middle of the trees and guides them to the river cliff, where Shisui seems to be lying too close to the edge to be acceptable.
"NOOOOOOOO" is heard, desperate cries for rescue.
Indra sees stupidity in being the one to approach, having propitiated the genjutsu that now attacks his descendant's psyche, and sends Madara after Shisui. Of course, neither counts on having similar hair, being in the middle of the night, and facing a strong Uchiha under powerful torture effects.
All the traumas that poor Shisui had to go through, the terrible violation of having a part of him stolen, resurface strongly before the images that the older Uchiha engraved in his mind, making him recreate the memory but with Indra as the protagonist instead of Danzo. It was a low blow, and it is clear when seeing such a ray of sunshine affected so severely, writhing in panic on the ground as if what he sees is real.
Shisui is not weak, he has the ability to fight a Genjutsu of such caliber, but being so unprepared and carrying such things in his blood left him in an unbecomingly vulnerable state, exposed to things he normally wouldn't be.
Every Uchiha knows not to look his family in the eye when fighting, it is law.
"Shisui... relax, back away from the edge." The other two watch as Madara slowly approaches, both hands raised as if to trap a rabid dog. Shisui only screams even more at the sight of him, shuffling backward with his elbows closer and closer to the ledge.
"STAY AWAY, STAY AWAY." Is all he replies as he dangerously crawls backward, and if Madara were alert, he would notice the imminent danger of the situation.
"It's me, Mada-"
"STAY AWAY, DON'T TAKE MY EYE, NOT AGAIN." With those statements, Indra understands he may have taken his actions too far, and sets out to intercede before something genuinely bad goes down. He approaches Madara from behind, but his presence seems to push his nephew even further over the edge, who shouts "WHY ARE THERE TWO OF YOU?" the level of anguish in his mind making him obviate any kind of ninja precept he has ever learned.
No matter how fast the two older Uchiha leap forward, neither can catch him before he slips off the edge of the cliff.
"SHISUI!"
"STOP!"
The scene plays out in slow motion, and it seems impossible to capture either of his legs before Shisui's elbows run out of ground to crawl on. Life stops before those four red eyes, Indra and Madara never having felt so helpless. They both leap towards the direction in which the Uchiha falls, landing on the edge and looking down, expecting to see with pain a body plummeting towards the void.
How did it come to this? How could they allow themselves to lose one of their own for such trivial things? For reasons that were not even that serious?
The raging river sounds in the background, and no sane shinobi, no matter how much of an Uchiha, can withstand that fall without trying to stop it. Those present know it, and understand the terrible scenario they have just caused.
Indra's heart drops to his stomach, millions of terrible thoughts traveling at a thousand seconds per hour in his head and unable to understand what has just happened, to assimilate that all this is his fault. It was he who practically pushed him down that ravine, at least in the eyes of the boy who just fell, and all for selfish reasons.
Madara can't stop looking down, trying to elucidate some favorable sign, something to indicate that what just happened is not real.
Nothing.
Shisui vanished as quickly as if he had used his perfected body flicker, without leaving a trace or making a sound as he fell.
Both senior Uchihas stand motionless, stiff, paralyzed by the panic, when suddenly something catches their attention.
"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK." Obito shouts from the background, genuine effort in his voice as a body falls in front of him, being spat out of vortex that was generated in the middle of the air.
Shisui falls unconscious in front of the three of them, and Madara would burst into tears if he didn't have so many defensive walls built up inside. Consequently, Obito vomits on his sleeping and almost suicidal cousin, who doesn't flinch as he receives a shower of hot liquid and rejected liquor.
Kamui on fleek, he saved the day.
There are no words for this event, and no one speaks as they carry the escapee back to the house, dragging him on Indra's jacket as no one wants to touch his vomit-filled body. It's chaotic, to say the least, not knowing what explanation to give when they return and Itachi waits for them sitting in the garden.
"Is he okay?" is all the younger Uchiha asks, and upon confirming that he is, he helps them lead him inside and strip him of his ruined formal clothes. An unresponsive, thousand-yard stare Izuna is still sitting in the same spot Madara left him, cup of steaming hot tea in front of him but untouched. He doesn't even look at them as they walk in, holding his mutilated ponytail in his hands.
Sasuke, passed out, occupies half a huge couch in the living room, with a bucket beside his head to prevent soiling the floor.
The look (Y/N) gives Indra was no worse than the epilogue to be written on his grave, it would read something like—‘here lies some grumpy ass old fuck.’ A second thought on his earlier actions brings a wave of guilt, that and with the help of the dead eye stare his wife bores at him. It softens his eyes further. It was wrong, and hypocritical. The countless times he was peace keeper through his family’s motley crew of misfits wasn’t the same person he unleashed on them tonight. They were just photos, and Indra had been too prideful. (Y/N) is his wife, and if he didn’t defend her honor, then what kind of husband would be?
No better than what he was now though.
He picked up Shisui’s limp body. Passed out cold from the many influences he undertook in a single night, the biggest of them being fear. Indra’s wife would not have him leave their residence until she was certain Shisui was coherent and capable of making his own way home. He would stay in the guest room, and Indra laid a catatonic sleeping boy, vomit robes and all, on his side with a pillow and numerous blankets at his back. He knew Shisui was incapable of swallowing his words, but the possibility of him choking and swallowing his own tongue were high. His arm dangled over the bed and Indra patted his head a few good times to make sure that in all actuality, Shisui responded on some level of intelligence.
A snore. Good enough for Indra.
Madara ushered Izuna, who was inoperable beyond much of a nod and a halfhearted wave to his family. Indra could not make eye contact with the boy. It hurt, but probably not as much as losing more than a foot of hair had felt. Izuna’s Aniki would have made a joke that now his hair was the longest, but that would be distasteful under these circumstances. Instead, he took a length of hair from his younger brother and promised they would make something new out of something old. Patting him on the back, they made their leave.
Itachi, understandably upset. Forces Obito with a stern guiding hand on the shoulder over to young Sasuke diligently asleep on the couch. Making the brute carry the boy, and forcibly invites him to stay with Sasuke overnight. Obito would from now on be Sasuke’s child minder if he was going to subject his younger brother to liquid punishment. That was something Obito would not argue with, for Itachi could be just as formidable as Indra when provoked.
Which left a sulking Indra, alone. With his wife. And Shisui’s stupid ass in their guest bedroom. He sighed.
“You are something else you know that?” His wife snickers. “What on earth am I going to do with you?”
“You’ll presumably come up with something. I am undeserving of your love and kindness.”
He was a dramatic boy at heart, ok? Indra wasn’t stupid, not by a single hair on Shisui’s head kinda stupid. But he was dumb to some extent. The man had opened his home to the greater Uchiha main branch of screw ups, what did he expect? He should have accounted for them being just what they were. Human. With varying personalities, his house was a petri dish of excitement but the joy their mischievous behavior brought them he could not understand. Though who was he to rain on their parade? They were just photos, and if his wife had the resolve to allow others enjoyment of those promiscuous images.
Then who was he to deny the vixen her freedom. It aroused him slightly, but all too prideful, Indra would not fan the flame.
"Now, now... always so hard on yourself, hm? What would your boys say if they saw you moping around like that?" (Y/N) takes him by the hand, and without another word, leads him upstairs to the master bedroom. Her husband offers no qualms, and follows her blindly, unable to face the guilt he feels about the way the night has unfolded.
Years ago, in the catastrophic beginnings of the Uchiha clan, Indra would have mercilessly, torturously and slowly murdered anyone who challenged him like his nephews did today. Regardless of being family, in the face of disrespect of such caliber, he would have slit their throats bit by bit to bleed them progressively, gouged out their eyes, scalped them.
The darkness that filled his soul was overwhelming, a cloud of existential voids and curses too strong to ignore, consumed by what he believed was right. Death was common currency in the clan's daily life, and no one dared to face a presence as terrible as his.
You could say that (Y/N) made sure to modify all his ills, turn him inside out like a sock and clean him through and through. Perhaps the way life met them was not quite natural, but definitely covenanted by the universe. Indra learned to live without obscurity, to breathe light air, to laugh again, in the presence of his wife.
No curse could fight the feelings that girl shoved down his throat, and any kind of distorted vision was corrected by the kindness of her eyes, the warmth of her soul, the love of her caresses. The creator of the Uchiha clan found a north between the hands of the woman he arranged to be his vessel of offspring, unexpected but most welcome.
It is any threat to their bond, any potential attempt at destruction that unsettles him, and the only thing he has ever been as protective of as he is of (Y/N) is his hair. He can't imagine himself without her, doesn't want to, and at the slightest danger presented to him, Indra explodes with old habits, attitudes he struggled to change with the help of his wife.
Watching two men enjoy those photos, distributing them as if they were cheap pornography, disrespecting the greatest ray of light in his life, made his blood boil in a way he hadn't experienced for years. He is not proud, and perhaps regrets the ensuing drama, but he would do it again and again if it meant taking care of what is his.
Of course, that gang of troublemakers are also his, theoretically, but that's a discussion for another day.
"Out of your head, love." His sweet wife's voice wakes him from unpleasant thoughts, as two gentle hands push his chest so that he falls sitting up on the bed. "Let me help you."
(Y/N) also can't deny the warmth sent between her legs by having the most powerful man in a family of such renown wrapped around her finger, ready to protect her like a damn faithful dog. Not many can say that Indra Otsutsuki himself chose them as life companions, even more, as a soul mate.
Having a warrior with such a reputation rushing to her aid and doing his best to take care of her is the biggest turn-on factor in her mind, strong man to the outside but a grumpy kitty indoors.
Indra has no objection as he allows himself to be guided to the mattress, the woman laying him down as she kneels between his thighs, following a familiar path as she unbuttons his pants.
He's soft, of course, when he lifts his own butt so she can get rid of the clothes in between, but that state soon changes. (Y/N) fills her mouth with the prominent size of a dormant member, giving him the kind of cock-warming she knows her husband adores. Said and done, she feels him trembling under her hands as she holds his hips, full lips moving slowly to help him fill that region with blood.
Once properly hard, the game begins.
(Y/N) increases the intensity little by little, calculated and precise movements over the areas she has learned to handle as if they were her own, her tongue laboriously licking the underside of his cock while one of her hands settles at the base, squeezing and exerting pressure as she moves up and down in rhythm with her head.
She carries a moderate speed, slow for what Indra likes, and as one large hand is about to head towards her hair to tangle in it, (Y/N) pauses and stares at him, not a drop of hesitation on her features. "No hands, love, or you'll be left with the urge for me to go on." That command puts her husband on the spot, needing more speed but unable to be the cause for her to stop, biting his lip as he whispers an almost silent "fuck..." and squeezes the sheets between his fingers.
When (Y/N) starts doing it just the way he likes it, things start to get interesting. "(Y/N)... let me touch you..." and she knows her husband would beg if he didn't carry a built-in pride fee that will never go away, too hard to bend and almost impossible to break. Only once did she ever hear him beg in bed, and that was after a long, slow psychological torture, something Indra never expected.
"Yes, touch me, my dear, only if you want me to drop it at once and go to sleep." She chides.
No three strikes and you’re out with this woman—(Y/N) always kept her word, Indra would not have sex with a corpse if she went to bed. It was not arousing if she didn’t want it as badly or maybe it was. (Y/N) made sure Indra writhes under the tantalizing theater she elicits him to. Giving too little pressure or even too much when he became overstimulated. Slowly driving him to climax with each lap of her tongue, only to stop just short of the pulsing heat in his testicles. It’s only been since this morning and he’s desperate all over again. Forcing him to come down with a blow of cool air, only to do it again and again. All the while she works without hands, the woman has more talent in a tongue swirl than Indra’s ever been exposed to. Lips pucker and tease a kiss to his throbbing cock, driving him downright mad.
(Y/N) disrobes out of her evening garb, keeping the tethering eye contact that Indra can’t look away from. Slowly dropping her nickers and placing them over top his head. As a blinder, though he could cheat and use his eyes.
But Indra dared not to, the excitement was too great to spoil.
“Scoot up.” She commands, and Indra proceeds to inch up, resting his back against the head board. “Someone was naughty, overtly cruel to their next of kin. What do naughty boys get?” She croons.
“Oh, for the love—” He was restless, close to taking her for himself off and calling it a night. Impatience was damn near his middle name.
“Ah, ah, ah. Maybe it is bedtime after all, hm?” Indra was two legs and his dick in the grave. (Y/N) was the death of him and he couldn’t stop the desire to be overruled and used, but the woman had his wits at end.
“Hm.” Still a good boy though, not as formidable when under the influence of his lower brain and the soft touch of (Y/N).
Thighs straddle either side of him, and yet he kept his hands clutched to the mattress. This was her show, his admit one. Indra would sit through every torturous scene, but (Y/N) couldn’t help herself. It was all just for fun to rile him up.
She whispers in his ear with hot breath and a kiss. “Suddenly, I feel tired.”
“Like hell you are, (Y/N).” Indra removes the panties over his eyes, forcibly shoving them in her mouth and gagging her with the soaked material.
Regardless of (Y/N) putting up a fight, Indra knew it was feigned. That and she fucking huffed a laughed the best she could with dirty crotch fabric making it difficult. As he threw her over, harsh hands closed her thighs shut, and he mounted (Y/N) with primal rage. Condemning shaking legs the privilege to sovereignty of motion. She asked for belligerence and the woman shall receive it. Face pressed in the mattress, (Y/N) lets out a confined pleasured gasp. It was that quick, Indra didn’t need to search for her cunt, his cock had muscle memory and a radar map for that hot wet mess. Each rough thrust in her sopping went slick drove him too close to his edge, the one she dangled before him and denied at minimum six times.
So he would do the same. Using every single ounce of control he took his mind elsewhere, forgetting the throbbing of his cock and slowly driving (Y/N) to insanity. Sprawling the mattress with her hands for purchase. He rocked hard and fast, (Y/N) was incapable of catching her breath, the impending orgasm had her wailing and moaning out with gagged huffs. As spongy walls started to squeeze and clench his girth, Indra stopped. Smacking her ass and grasping harder on her neck, even degrading her further by pinching her clit.
“You don’t sound very tired to me, (Y/N). What happened?” He wasn’t really angry, but he used that tone she loved so much. “Speak when you are spoken to.”
“Ah—mmm.” Panties still in her mouth, that was all she could answer, her clit throbbed with mild pleasured pain and Indra soothed the bundle of flesh with two fingers before abusing it again.
Lightly pinching her clit and stopping his thrusts every time her climax was prominent. Though his own could no longer withstand that sultry whimpering from below, and it creeped up the base of his cock in surprise. Typically he did all he could to lengthen their time in the sheets, but it had gone too far.
All the emotions of the evening seemed to converge in one pulsing orgasm, removing the sock from (Y/N)’s mouth he cranes her neck upwards and bites at her neck. Indra’s name is chanted on with gods gospel as every muscled ring within her aching pussy starts to coax his seed into her. There was no deliberation on a condom tonight, and he wondered briefly mid climax if this was the glorious sensation of being milked dry that drove Izuna and Shisui to great lengths for indulgent self satisfying sex.
It shook his core and softened the rough grip of teeth at her neck, and he kissed up her jaw and and held their place as his cock still raced inside her. Ragged breathes and words of praise still filled his ears, (Y/N) was disheveled and reddened in the face.
“Good?” He rasps.
“Better than good.” She breaths.
Indra, not to long ago, had been far from a kindred soul, but (Y/N). That woman was his law. The one who ruled the taut tendrils of his heart strings. Tuning them beautifully to loves own melody.
“Come here you deviled woman.”
He wraps her in warm arms, pulling her close to his chest and kisses her forehead. It's the safety he feels in her warmth, the love with which her hands caress Indra's back, the affection with which she places little kisses on his chest as he hugs and helps her get under the sheets, regardless of the mess that will begin to seep between her legs in a few minutes.
Yes, finishing inside can be a wonderful, incomparable feeling, but no one mentions how annoying it is to clean up afterwards. "You know I madly love you, from the depths of my heart, right?" (Y/N) asks, as if the answer wasn't obvious. The love this couple has for each other was embodied in front of the eyes of the whole clan a few times, glorious and strong, perfect and flawed.
"Hm..." And he gives no more answer, because he tastes what's coming. Indra knows how to read his wife, through and through, and he understands that what happened today while it made her feel flattered, it also upset her in more ways than one.
"Please, never again."
"I can't promise that (Y/N). If they mess with you-"
"If they mess with me," She interrupts, leaning on her elbow and looking at him with serious eyes "I'll deal with them myself. Should I fail, I'll ask you to intercede. Deal?" She doesn't seem to leave much room for doubt, but Indra remains unconvinced, and looks up at the ceiling for about five seconds before sighing and closing his eyes.
"No." He pronounces flatly, voice low and sleepy but hoping his wife is not in the mood to have the last word.
"Very well, if you'll excuse me then, I'll go sleep on the couch." And yes, it's theater, it's a joke, techniques (Y/N) has to get what she wants when faced with the most stubborn man in the world, but it works to perfection. Two huge arms close over her as she tries to turn around, sticking her back to a toned chest anyone would pay to touch.
Her man doesn't respond verbally, but (Y/n) knows such action represents admitting that she is right, that he will please her and follow her intrusions, do what she asked. The woman smirks, a grin he cannot appreciate but probably imagines, and her smile transforms into an uncomfortable face as she feels warm liquid coming out from between her legs.
"Indra... help me clean up."