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Chapter Text

The Sharingan Virgin and the Byakugan Girl

The first to land on his doorstep at 8:59 pm (they were supposed to meet at 9), is Itachi, with a container in hand full of sweet cookies to share. Sasuke is not at his side, which is both strange and not.

Shisui's house is big, too big for one person, a special gift from his parents when he got old enough to move out on his own. Eventually, he had to find a way to fill it with more than temporary women, stable presences that would join him at least once a week, and what better company than his family? Having so many cousins was amazing as a child, always a friend to play with, but as life progressed and adult responsibilities appeared, inevitable distances were created between them. Lonely and a little empty inside, Shisui created the tradition of inviting them over every Friday night, a gathering of pizza, alcohol and drugs to relax their brain and forget the week. At first, it was hard to coordinate, getting everyone to come and not choose other plans (because his family is also composed of idiots), but once they all settled into the routine of meeting with continuity, it was easy to keep it going.

He greets his cousin with a warm hug and ushers him in, the other Uchiha already knowing where to head. Itachi walks straight to the kitchen, arranging his dessert on a plate and then sets it on the table. It is a tradition of collective understanding, where everyone collaborates in some way (or at least should). Shisui sets up the couch that his cousins like to use, after putting abysmal amounts of beer in the fridge. Obito is supposed to take care of the pizza, and should be arriving soon if he doesn't want to have an army of hungry Uchihas calling for his head.

"Tachi, look what I got." Shisui speaks from the couch, displaying a baggie full of green contents, beaming smile accompanying the gesture. "We're getting fucked tonight."

“Shisui.” The foreboding tone was a precursor. He would not be partaking in mouth to lung festivities. Which is why there are always two batches of cookies. With Itachi’s lungs on the mend, he was strictly forbidden Kagyua’s lettuce. So he ate it instead.

Shisui rolls his eyes, eliciting a dramatic flare of his sharingan and loads up a bowl. “More for me then.” Or Obito. 

The brute could smoke his weight in weed and hardly feel a thing. He’s the Uchiha who also comes in the door dead last, every time. With cold pizzas, warm beer and lacking the will to sit through another one of Shisui’s silly ‘family nights.’ If he drank it was another thing, and if one Uchiha was damned the most amongst them all it was Obito. Especially when he drank. Having to sit and listen from the outskirts of the kitchen to conversations that boarded on juvenile delinquency. He stayed quiet and wallflowered. Shisui looked like a Korean street thug with clouded red eyes and a mouth full of beer choking as he laughed at something his Uncle Madara said that was funny for once.

Izuna, second to last tonight, but his excuse was valid. Madara had a fit, and by fit he meant Hashirama one upping him over a game of pool, again. No matter how they tried to determine the top dog, Hashirama came out victorious. Insisting on one more game. Izuna had to be the older brother and drag him along. 

Which left Indra. Quiet, collective and observant. The premise of having one night stand in the bedroom made sense to him, and then Shisui burst his bubble. They were talking about women. He wouldn’t entertain revealing the secrets that unfold within the confines of his bedroom. Those were private. 

At some point Sasuke stood next to Obito, who towered over the young Uchiha, and grabbed a laced cookie. Testing it for its actuality. “Itachi really eats this shit?” Sasuke believed weed tarnished the flavor of the cookie, though he couldn’t quite tell the difference this time.

That was because Itachi had used a purer form of THC. Instead of boiling down the bud in butter, he selected it at the counter of the dispensary that was newly erected. Efficiently cutting the time in half to make cookies by hours. It pleased him. 

“You’re better off with a beer.” Was all Obito offered as consolation. Rummaging the fridge for one.

“I’m not old enough.” Sasuke says, plain as white bread. The kid was so straight edge, it put shame to any kunai in one’s arsenal.

“So what, you’re with your family. Your brother bringing you here is bad enough.” And it was, but anytime Itachi got to spend with family, was a second breath of fresh air he’d never take for granted.

“Hn.” Sasuke grabs the beer, tasting it with a scorned mouth.

The room, as large as it is, becomes permeated with a cloud of thick smoke, and it is Indra who opens the window to protect what is left of his other cousin's lungs. It is not lack of concern, but neither of them is in their right mind to collaborate with the cause.

Izuna loses his inhibition when it comes to a few good whiffs of green poison, awareness quickly fizzling out in a rush of self-inflicted idiocy, "You have no idea... like, no idea! About.. the girl I fucked last night... How do I explain it to you... it was... a girl."

"A girl... yeah, I was with one of those yesterday too... for cutting the week short, you know..." Shisui answers, even higher than him, both laughing at who-knows-what and unable to make sense of anything they say. 

Madara is forced to watch as his younger brother squeezes him in a choke hold, tightening his arm around his neck and not allowing him to get up from the couch. He finds himself in an uncomfortable position that he doesn't have the heart to break while trying to drink his beer, having tasted the rotating drug with no luck of it taking effect. "How's work?" he asks Indra as if they weren't part of a gathering with the goal of forgetting responsibilities.

"As usual. And yours?" answers his companion without encouragement, cigarette in hand more entertaining than what Shisui has to offer. They both look like toads from another well, and Itachi might join in the seriousness they manage if he didn't insist on a perfect arrangement of the cookies that all his cousins carelessly destroy.

Ambient music plays in the background to spice up the evening, the TV on and with a Spotify playlist developing with no one managing it. Everyone moves with programmed slowness and pronounced clumsiness, Itachi's sober point of view is immaculate at this point.

"But I tell you! A girl... beautiful! As she is, wonderful!" Izuna intones again, planting his index finger on Shisui's face as if to explain his point. His eyes are more red than black, but no one will say anything about it. 

Fucking with Izuna on drugs never turns out well.

"Yeah... mine last night was... blonde, I think. Or was it two...?" his cousin thinks, following the attempt at conversation they're pretending to have. He gets lost in the haze of stupidity that invades his brain, unable to recapitulate what happened yesterday... or the day before that?

Perhaps the cookies or the alcohol are finally kicking in, but Obito makes the mistake of asking. "Don't you two do anything but fuck?" He looks too distracted to understand what he's getting himself into, abruptly interrupting the conversation of the two most annoying Uchihas in the group.

There are clear rules in the family, indispensable mandates to be guided by if one wants to survive among so much fire. Never touch Indra's hair, never steal Madara's glass, never question Itachi's cooking skills, never interrupt Izuna and Shisui's sexual conversation, simple matters that promote survival in a complicated environment. And never call Sasuke the baby of the group, he’ll insist he's a grown man.

"What about you! Pretty boy... got the birdie wet yet? Last time I checked you were a virgin..." Izuna asks, looking at him as if he has grown a new head. Maybe it's the substances or the ability this man has to make you inferior with just his eyes, but Obito feels a terrible pressure in his chest.

Little Golden retriver boy seems to forget how to unfold with his cousins, brain taken hostage and not a neuron available to think of a fighting plan. "I'm not a virgin, not anymore... In fact, I got laid on Wednesday..."

"You did?!" Shisui jumps up with too much joy, inordinate actions for the volume driving the room.

“Any…more.” Izuna snickers, Itachi dials in at the debauchery his family is soon to unleash and looks apologetically at Obito. He could already see the farce bear trap his cousin fell into, and by falling into it—Obito set it, stepped on it and broke his own leg. 

Obito spoke irrationally, as if it was the best thing since sliced bread to be a virgin past the age of 19. Izuna by the age of 14, was mopping the floor with his dick, joking that it was so wet from all the girls flooding his room. Obito scoffed. And Shisui developed an ailment of the eye almost instantaneously. Full blooded moons pinwheeled and he had a sense with the sharingan that they were being had, and started capturing this moment for his family album. Or as he put it, ‘what kinda shit storm will blow in tonight.’ A lurid glint of ‘tell me about her’ filled the brim of Shisui’s bleary eyes. Full of skepticism and wonder. Obito thought Shisui looked ridiculous when he used his know-it-all stare while high. And still, Obito froze when he spoke his truth. 

“You’re lying.” Shisui laughs.

“I am not, just ask (Y/N).” Speaking too fast for his own good, it came out as word vomit. Obito knew name-dropping an unsuspecting woman was unholy. Especially when it was tied in with his virginal disorder.

Every Uchiha that gathered around the mythical fire pit that was Shisui’s coffee table had some story or other about falling in the sheets with a woman. As if it were a past time carved within the stone their ancestors inscribed. Even if Indra didn’t divulge a single detail, you could still see the comparative nature in his eye. That glimmer of a ‘job well done boys’. It had Obito feeling that somewhere along his family free the gods threw smite at him. Even Sasuke had a pink haired brat pining after him, and the worst part was, he didn't give to shits. It was unbelievable that Obito was literally the last of his kind. Innocent and virginal. 

“Oh, really?” Shisui says at length and narrows his eyes, “now I know you’re lying, cuz.” He sips at a beer, “I can’t tell you how many times (Y/N) cast stones at me with that Byakugan. The girl’s a prude.” 

“Well, maybe she didn’t want to be seen with an Uchiha that has a hand-me-down Sharingan.” Obito quips.

Because yes, indeed he did—that rat bastard, Danzo. And on his mothers own eyes, it took all Shisui had not to two step flicker and knock Obito into the next shinobi war. He felt too good and calm, remembering that Obito hardly ever got a few good licks in when they sparred and spared him this round. It was a good comeback also, and Shisui laughed it off. Though Obito should have known better, once an Uchiha— always an Uchiha. And sometimes his own family fought a little too dirty.

“Ok.” Shisui shrugs, “I believe you.” Dropping the matter too quickly for Obito’s wellbeing, but he was none the wiser. 

All too proud Obito straightens his shoulders, finally some respect from his damn cousin, the kid's dick slopped in so much pussy, it could have been confused for a wet noodle. Over seasoned and soggy, Shisui was a fuck boy. Izuna too. 

“That's right. Respect your elders, boy .” Maybe too full of himself and Madara glares at him. Knocking Obito down a few pegs.

“Let’s call her up.” Obito pales at Shisui’s cheerful words, that sly grin grows ill with making a spectacle of him. “Certainly, your integrity to the family name hasn’t befallen you.” Getting all Mr. Proper and stupid cheeky faced.

If it weren’t for Itachi, Obito would have been grilled. Again. “Shisui, leave Obito alone.” Nodding in his direction, and Obito thanked the gods. An ally within the ranks of this god forsaken family night. 

Because now he was a virgin and a lair. Great. Fucking idiot. 

"Nonono, that's a great idea. Respect your elders, you said, so you'll have to put up with us calling her because I-say-so ." Izuna wastes no opportunity to insert viciousness, disarming what little security his cousin thought he had gained. No one really cares if he's a virgin or not, but having something to tease him with does.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, device forgotten since he arrived and with too many private Instagram messages on the screen, proof that he doesn't fill his mouth talking just because. "Even I tried to get into her pants, there was no way dude." Shisui pats him on the shoulder like he's a fallen soldier, and they both laugh again in pursuit of what's to come.

"You gotta fucking stop this." Obito pleads to Madara in a low voice, who looks at him with the same curiosity as the whole family. Itachi's authority can only go so far and with his peers, but on a combination of debauchery, even Sasuke pays no heed.

Izuna browses his phone, scrolling down through the contact directory and passing at least 250 or so female names in the process. When he reaches (Y/N)'s, he looks at it with a smirk on his face, a child receiving Christmas presents, followed by an insistent "call call call" from Shisui.

Obito has almost tears in his eyes when Madara declares "Maybe you shouldn't, Izuna." and finally believes he's getting real help. His lie will be secret for at least a little longer under the mercy of his other cousin, giving him time to gather the courage to retract himself. "Let me call her."

Obito’s world falls apart before him, and his asshole shrinks two sizes than that of a normal pucker.

The only person who could stop those two tyrants joins in the madness, and Izuna hands him the phone with a chuckle, demanding he dial quickly. Madara analyzes him, waiting for him to say something, to defend himself, but in the absence of words, he presses the green button and gives way to the dial tone.

As a last resort, Obito turns his gaze to Indra, desperate but not willing to give up in front of his family this way, too stoned to think of a good justification speech. Usually, he is able to lie very well, he refrains because it is not right, but today it backfired. Indra hides his own smile in his cigarette, and Itachi disappears into the kitchen, considering the war lost.

Obito has no salvation.

"Hello, Izuna?" A female voice rings on the other end of the phone.

Pure tyrannical dictatorship lays waste before him, as Shisui hushes the crowd and bites back a cackle of his own. Izuna considers the more theatrical side of things and points a finger at Obito. Eliciting him to come hither from the wall he's taken to hide behind and Obito does not move. No sir, not a fucking inch. Instead he absent mindedly chokes on the air that’s supposed to bring life into his lungs, mouth agape and it dries his tongue. It’s happening, with or without his consent. It didn’t matter if a hundred years had passed or not, watching his elder lean his chin down into a balled fist and nod with a smirk was a formidable sign. Phone in the other, Madara raises it to the air. Symbolizing a toast of sorts, a farewell to all that Obito once dedicated his sorry life to. Had he just kept his mouth shut in the first place, maybe his dick wouldn’t have grown two sizes too big for his hand. He would die tonight, this he was sure of. 

Obito watches Madara from an ethereal perspective and that sorry excuse of a soul left his body the second (Y/N’s) sweet melodic voice lifted the airways. He was in deep shit. With his kinship, and (Y/N). Hauled by the shell of his ear like a petulant child, Izuna yanks the heathen from the kitchen archway, stumbling him front and center to the phone that's now on speaker.

“Hello?” (Y/N) echoes to herself. Obito is slapped upside the head by Izuna for good measure, defying his elder’s direct order proved ignorant. He would stand trial for his sins. His family—the jury—was hung, and they would hang him in return if the truth necessitated it. Figuratively, of course.

Madara takes the stage, sweet and honeyed. “(Y/N), It’s Uchiha Madara. Darling, how are you this evening?” Obito lets out an exasperated breath through clenched teeth. Madara shit out swine and spoke with silk, he was full on strutting before Obito.

A pregnant pause holds the line. Between Shisui snickering, Izuna pressuring Obito to speak up and Sasuke for once excited by something intriguing, and for once isn’t the target of his family's madness, (Y/N) finally speaks.

A deep drawn out sigh. “Hello, Mad-ar-a. And to what do I owe the pleasure of your calling me at 10:15pm? Surely your genius has a few marbles loose.” Madara’s smirk rolls a frown. Did she just do that? Obito smiles, good girl. Impervious to genjutsu and apparently Madara, (Y/N) yawns exaggerated like into the phone. 

“Girl, check your tongue—” The tone draws Itachi's tired eyes from the kitchen. Things were heating up.

Cut off by Shisui, who can no longer contain himself. “HIIII (Y/N)!! It’s Shisuiiii! The whole compound is here and you’re on speaker.” Drunk, high and if it worked in his favor. Maybe he would get laid. It was worth another shot, thinking with two heads rather than one.

Another brief pause, followed by a sigh. The poor girl seemingly became a 1-800-Uchiha entertainment hotline, on speed dial, no less. She speaks with more disdain. “ Shisui .” Taking in the background can be heard on the opposite line and then it goes quiet. “What do you want?” (Y/N) loathed Shisui, his charismatic nature stunk of sexual disease.

“We have Obito here!” Full mouth silent cackling, Shisui nudges at Obito, and he flops his arms around manically, mouthing ‘no’, eyes wide and fearsome. This was wrong. Madara slaps Obito on the back of the head tenfold what Izuna had. This time to reinstate his final order, but Obito still defies him.

“O-bito?” A few octaves higher than the rest of them, (Y/N) doesn’t sound so annoyed hearing his name. One might be inclined to say that intrigued the crowd, maybe Obito wasn’t a liar after all.

A third slap, and Obito becomes cross this time. The family punching bag wasn’t on his itinerary. Glaring behind at Indra before realizing who he was giving the stink eye to. Fuck. “Y-yes. Obito here. Hi…(Y/N).” Idiot. Of course he was here. The reason for having disturbed (Y/N) in the first place.

“Hi.” She clears her throat and whispers, “Obito, what is going on?” (Y/N) was kind. He almost felt like spilling the beans, taking his punishment and dying the virgin that he is, right here in the vaulted ceiling living room of Shisui’s house. Sweat creases his brow.

It didn't seem right to Obito, his little white lie. No doubt interrupting the peaceful evening (Y/N) was having. The entirety of the Uchiha clan were a menace, save for Itachi and sometimes Sasuke. If Indra had stepped up to slap him into next Tuesday, then he for sure would remain forever virginal in purgatory. It was law.

As his lips move to reveal the truth, Madara speaks. “Enough. (Y/N). A little bird told me you’ve taken a liking to Obito, is this true?” Silence. “(Y/N)?”

“Is that any of your business, Uchiha— Madara?” Spitting katon, she further unloads. “Are you jealous or something?” Though she was rather young for his tastes, and the fact that he was like four times her senior. His interest piques.

Itachi, against all odds, joins in the torture, placing a supportive hand on Obito's shoulder and eating a cookie with the other. "This is so wrong..." He sighs in mock sympathy, pretending not to care one bit but unable to stay out of the matter. He convinces himself that he's there to protect the integrity of the lady on the phone, but everyone knows that's a lie.

"This is not a matter of alleged jealousy or anything like that, but as is common knowledge, our little Tobi was a virgin, at least until last Wednesday." Madara speaks with venom in his voice and looking at his cousin with that demented glint he carries in his eyes when having a target in mind, concise proof that he won't stop until he buries him in his own shit.

Even Indra gives him a rueful look to the tune of another cigarette in his mouth, lifting his shoulders in a gesture of "nothing to do."

The room falls silent, and so does the other side of the line. (Y/N) seems to process what is being said, and just as Madara is about to speak, a

""that's what I thought"" on the tip of his tongue, Obito begins "(Y/N)... I-", but is interrupted.

About to admit defeat and the loss of what little dignity he had left on him (the rest also plundered by his family), the woman breaks the tension. "What do you want to know, old man?"

The way Shisui and Izuna's jaw hit the floor generates noise, and both of them hold each other's shoulders as if they were fifteen-year-olds celebrating that their crush stared at them. Sasuke chokes on the bitter taste of the beer Obito forced into his hands a while ago, and Itachi looks at him with concern, big brother instincts ever-present.

"Did you fuck him or not?" Indra asks without giving the matter a second thought, gloating at all the drama the family can't seem to avoid. He enjoys every bead of sweat that trickles down Obito’s forehead, as if the torture of exposing him was the best part of the night.

"Did you guys gather to measure each other's dicks and annoy people?" (Y/N) sounds pissed off, every voice that comes over the phone manages to break her patience, and Obito feels the end coming. This girl is not someone to fuck around with, let alone if the situation involves a bunch of men harassing her with questions.

He sends his last thoughts to heaven as he collapses to the floor, kneeling in front of Izuna's damned iPhone 13, staring at the screen as if it could convey the answers he wishes she would give them.

The room is filled with indistinct noises, Sasuke who keeps trying to get the itch out of his throat and Itachi passing him water, Shisui and Izuna providing idiotic questions without much coherence in between "You're not answering the question (Y/N)!!!", "Yes! We want answers!!!! Obito said that-" but the atmosphere falls silent again to the beat of a:

"(Y/N)... did you fuck him, yes or no?"

Obito could cry, really cry, for his family will never let him forget this event. When (Y/N) buries him, denies something that never happened, he won't even be able to blame her, for it was his own stupidity that brought him here, sentenced in front of a sea of red eyes and pressure on his chest. He lowers his gaze, trying to manage courage for the rest of the night.

A deep, annoyed sigh, and an answer no one expects. "So what if I did?"

The room explodes in sounds of celebration, Indra's cigarette falls to the floor as his hand loses strength, Madara's glass tips over the phone as Izuna and Shisui leap upwards, knocking the coffee table with their legs and dumping remnants of pizza on Obito's lap.

Itachi is the only one who manages to stop the madness, while Sasuke is on the verge of vomiting, perhaps from the news or from the itch in his throat.

"WHAT THE FUCK"

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!!"

The phone goes off because of the liquid, soaked in it, but before that, that sweet voice is heard saying "See you tomorrow, Obito."

The Uchiha doesn't know whether to laugh, cry, keep his lie or expose himself in front of everyone, not even understanding what that promise means. See you tomorrow? Probably to beat him to a pulp, and then force him to admit through an Instagram story that they didn't have sex, for the whole world to see.

His two cousins pounce on him, the instigators of the situation, and the three of them both fall to the ground in a mobbing of feasting and happiness because the virgin finally managed to get his dick inside someone. And what a someone, to top it all off.

Obito grimaces a smile underneath the dog pile Shisui has subjected him to. He didn’t care that his lungs couldn’t fill with air, he was relieved that at least one person out in the world thought enough about him to cover his sorry ass. And it wasn’t even his own family. Go fucking figure. On one hand he had shit in it. Lying but coming out victorious, so could he really say it was all bad. Everyone else in their family had a deplorable trait and Obito thought his to be the least self deprecating of them. Itachi wouldn’t even acknowledge the girl from the corner shop bakery he frequented, why wasn’t he being made fun of? On the other hand, well, he wasn’t sure what he had in that hand because he still had to deal with (Y/N). Probably another steaming pile of shit if he had to guess.

But he’d deal with that when the time came. Right now everyone was winding down. By the time they had gotten off the phone, it was nearing 11pm. And not that Obito was an old man, at 27 no less, but he was tired. Shisui could barely keep one eye open, and Madara was already slinging Izuna over his shoulder. Itachi was last seen ushering an inebriated and sick Sasuke out the door, while giving Obito the look of, ‘you should be ashamed of yourself.’ The only person unaffected by the night's cool hour was Indra. Who sat calmly at the window sill, looking that as if he spoke, the moon would talk back. Obito contemplated on what he could say to his elder, they’d never had a real conversation before, or at all. The closest he got to one was the slap Indra’s hand betrothed to him a half hour or so ago. 

Obito’s speaking intentions seem to catch his attention, bringing his cousin back to reality and making him pay attention to his surroundings. Noticing how everyone is making their way to bed, he predisposes himself to do the same, but not before slowing down in front of Obito and dropping a small plastic square packet in his hand. "You know how to put it on, don't you?"

That's all he says, and he seems to have detected his truths.

By the next morning Obito had, not the worst but damn near close to it, a bitch of a hangover. That was another stipulation of going over to Shisui’s that he didn’t particularly enjoy. He drank enough to drown a horse, and smoked enough to make a Christmas ham. The high tolerance that came with being 6’3 and the stature of a mountain was a double-edged sword. He could drink a few beers and be chill. Or he could drown in his sorrows and stupidity, like he did last night, and wake up feeling like he derailed a train in a high speed collision chase. It never varied in between, and after last night the party didn’t conclude at Shisui’s. 

He soloed himself in a game of misery and woke up on the couch. Empty beer bottle in hand, and a kink in his neck. Obito yawns and stretches an arm out to help lift himself up. There were worse ways to wake up on a Saturday. 

Groggy and rather smelly, he reeks of the particular stench that any self-respecting Uchiha would consider dishonorable. It's been a long time since Obito threw up, all over himself and the couch. And if that wasn’t considered karmic justice for his lie, then stumbling into the kitchen to check the time on his phone was. 9:56am. Nine text messages lingered in the notifications bar and each one brought Obito down through to the ninth circle of hell.

He scrolled from oldest to newest.

Three from Itachi: 

6:15am—‘Obito, I’m certain you’re still asleep.’ 

6:15am—‘We need to talk about something.’ 

6:16am—‘Text me when you can.’

Two from Shisui: 

7:17am—‘How did you manage to bag (Y/N). Seriously?’ 

7:26am—‘I gave her your number this morning. Weird that you didn't already have it.’

One from Izuna: 

7:56am—‘Welcome to the club lover boy.’

Two from Sasuke: 

7:38am—‘I HATE YOU.’ 

7:45am—‘Itachi won’t leave me the fuck alone. I blame you.’

And the two that sent him spiraling to the final circles of hell came from an unknown number, and he already suspected it was (Y/N) issuing a warrant for his death.

(Y/N): 

9:28am—‘Good morning, Obito. If you survived last night, text me.’

9:34am—‘BTW, I hope you don’t mind. I got your number from Shisui.’

He could just die. Or was he being over dramatic? Either way he fires off a few messages, ignoring Shisui entirely. Undoubtedly Itachi was annoyed. Sasuke was unwell last night, and it turns out he was experiencing a severe reaction to the gluten in the beer. So bad that his throat nearly closed on him and they spent the rest of their night at Konoha’s hospital. Oops. Though when Itachi messaged him back, rather quickly, he said it was an unfortunate way to learn that you had an allergy to something. Ultimately forgiving Obito. He thanked Izuna, saying that it wasn’t a big deal. Obito then apologized to Sasuke, ‘sorry little cuz, how was I supposed to know you had weak genes?’ Hoping to lighten the mood, but Sasuke left him on read. Which left (Y/N). Her massages were the newest and instead of firing off blank shots, he took a shower to think on what he would say.

Obito debates on what approach to adopt on the matter, whether to be honest with her or try to get into her bed as his cousins would (or tried) to do. He could secure a good fuck and make his lie come true, of course, if he survives the anger (Y/N) probably carries. How does one answer messages from the girl one wants, whom one conveniently got into a tangle of falsehoods?

His self-assessment of conscience ends when he inadvertently opens her chat, and has no choice but to compose a reply. Having left her on read, he writes several types of texts which he automatically deletes, varying from long-winded wills full of explanations and aloofness in order to appear unaffected.

None of them convinces him, and getting more and more nervous because (Y/N) has probably seen him write and delete about 30 times in the past hour, he decides to answer with something simple, short, foolproof.

11:34am—"Yeah, no, cool, no prob."

11:35am—"All good? :)"

Obito decides to play it safe, not to rush, and throws his phone on the bed for at least about four hours. He refuses to look at the screen, having left it on silent so as not to find out if there was an answer or not, unable to face the situation completely.

The Uchiha entertains his day with trivial chores and hangover recovery, cleaning the place a bit and changing his sheets, throwing his dirty clothes in the wash and fighting the stain on the couch. None of this would normally bother him (of course the vomiting does, he has his limits), but he decides that ignoring his phone as much as possible is the only way to deal with his anxiety.

By 4pm, his apartment is glowing, and Obito no longer has any plausible excuses for not picking up the device.

He could sit and watch TV, play a game, or shit, even read! But a delusional part of him wants to look at the screen and find a message from (Y/N). He takes three deep breaths before heading to bed, and when he picks up the phone, he doesn't dare turn the screen over.

He slowly flips it over, avoiding looking at it straight or intently, and activates the screen with only a third of a view on it. Of course, Obito wants to see if there are notifications from her, but his heart will break if not. He spots a few, several, and his heart races.

He takes another deep breath, and faces it.

(Y/N):

11:40am—"I hope you remember that we're supposed to meet today."

11:40am—"Your place or mine?"

11:40am—“We need to talk about some things."

Indra

13:45pm ---- Video

13:46pm ---- Video

(Y/N)'s messages twist his stomach, on one side with excitement and nerves, on the other with terror and panic. It breaks his heart to see that she replied so quickly, and he ignored her deliberately because of his anxiety all afternoon.

Obito forces himself not to over analyze his response, and considering he cleaned his entire apartment, responds:

16:30pm—"Yeah, super, great :)!"

16:35pm—"My place is good, clean and everything!"

16:40pm—"At 10?"

He takes five minutes between messages because he has to think about what to write, even without analyzing it thoroughly but still worried about screwing up, even more than he already has. With that matter on track, he opens the videos Indra sent, and finds tutorials on how to put on a condom.

He leaves him on read.

Obito swears by the gods that he will never eat another banana for as long as he lives or whatever short sun cycle (Y/N) makes of him. Why they chose a fruit for sexual education purposes, versus just using an actual rubber ding dong—wait—just don't think about that—at all. And then all he could think about was keeping his cool until (Y/N) showed up. Did she even know where he lived? How dense minded of him. He shoots a text off to (Y/N) with the deets, subsequently pressing the ‘winky smiley face’ instead of the normal one in his haste and fails to register that little shit stain smile until he rereads it. Over and over again, Obito rereads the short thread they have, concluding it made him look like a colossal Shisui. He continues to reread their messages on loop until ‘ it’ pops up, and Obito’s eyes turn into red saucers.

16:52pm— ‘😏’

He swallows. Hard.

As the hour of doom presided over Obito, that little plastic packet burned a hole in his hand as he inspected it for holes. He trusted his elder, but the man had an itinerary linked to his genetic coding. Birth as many Uchiha’s as possible, and Obito was not hindered by his biological clock to reproduce. Children, now that, scared him. Babies, even more. He crinkled and then frowned at it. Wholly untarnished but the prospect of trusting such a thin material had him all sorts of anxious. Had Indra’s gift been the consideration of certain implications? A child born from a sharingan and a byakugan wielder’s blood limit harnessed unknown potential. Formidable even.

Obito wasn’t moulded a masterkey, and he didn’t find it appetizing to be hit over the head as many times as Shisui had been, scorned by women of all ages. The oldest had been near 43 or older—Obito couldn’t recall. One’s self worth wasn’t measured by how many women they had in bed. And to avoid becoming presumptuous on the matter, the smiley face response she sent meant nothing, and he shoved the condom in the drawer of his night stand.

Three minutes past (Y/N)’s time of arrival and Obito was sweating bullets. Like he had to splash his hot face in water and he felt the sudden onset of getting sick. Did he even eat today? No, his hangover and basket case central nervous system made of that. Certain that if he had even drank a glass of water he would be pissing himself at the sound of four light raps on his door. He pales and his stomach further disappears and shits itself out. He sprints to the entryway and peers out the peephole. 

Maybe if he was more of a man this wouldn’t be such an issue. Goddamn it. He’s a fucking Uchiha for fucks sake, grow a pair. Shisui lost an eye once and no girl gave a shit and the hand-me-down one is only a little off center, he's still undeniably fuckable. It wasn’t like Obito wasn’t a handsome guy, he was just his own worst enemy when it came to social cues. He leans his head on the door, it wasn’t even the nerves that got him. What took all day to catalog the emotion that sat heavily on his chest, only took this hesitation all of three seconds. Wholeheartedly, Obito was feeling guilt. He gave two shits that he was a 27 year old virgin. 

Further speed running his deliberation, the easiest way to elaborate on the series of events leading up to this monumental fuck up shuffled in order faster than Obito’s little hamster wheel could spin. Thankfully it worked for him, until it didn't. First, the explanation that his family, as (Y/N) is acquainted with already, are a bunch of perverts. Secondly, he would apologize to (Y/N). He only said her name because he knew for a fact that Shisui would gawk and that maybe it would earn him brownie points. Not once considering that they would call her, and above all else he was a bit drunk and feeble minded. It just came out. 

And that hamster wheel rotates faster than a sharingan on crack, Obito spirals into the bad. The bad, bad. (Y/N) wasn’t holding her first in her hand through the peephole, so that was a plus. Though her genius was high class. Exceedingly above Obito’s rank amongst the greater allied shinobi nations.

Could his sharingan outwit that of a byakugan? If she used 128 palms would he be able to out run that? (Y/N) was a respected kunoichi. He hardly was able to manage a chidori. If he maneuvered to the right, maybe it would even out the scarring on his face to mimic the right side? Always think of the positive, Obito.

“I can see you. Obito. Open the door.” Right. Because the Byakugan was a damn cheat code.

And behind door number one stood (Y/N). Obito rubs the back of his head. Having spent the last few hours making sure small minute things were in order, he hadn’t spared any for this moment. (Y/N) was drop dead gorgeous in just jeans and a shirt. Simplistic, which was a harbinger for Obito to calm the fuck down and relax. She hadn’t dressed up in any particular way that went beyond casual. Just normal. 

“Hi.” He breathes, further opening the door but not moving an inch to invite her in. Any and all logic caught the nearest midnight train and left him to his own devices. His tongue was further disabled to use proper words. 

“Hi.” 

It is the girl who reminds him of his prominent build and the fact that he is standing in front of her, making a hand gesture followed by those magnificent eyes looking with clear intentions. Obito can do nothing but giggle nervously, and exaggeratedly move out of the way by sticking his body to the opposite wall.

He seems scared to even look at her with much attention, and shit he is.

"Nice place you got here." She says... smiling?! As entering the apartment. The woman carries a simple purse with her, but nothing indicating any precedence of what's on her mind. If she wants to subject him to slow and painful torture, she doesn't have the weapons to do it there.

Obito closes the door, replying only with a "Thank you...!" then remembering to add more words to his interaction if he doesn't want to experience the most uncomfortable night of his life, "My uncle gave it to me, Shisui wasn't going to use it because... well... Do you want something to drink?" It's a remarkably human effort he makes to speak without stuttering, and although the nervousness is apparent in the abrupt topic changes he makes, pulling it off feels like a success.

Baby steps.

"Water, please." And the Uchiha follows her orders like a good soldier, walking to the kitchen with more speed than he should and feeling like he's leaving his soul in his living room. He listens as (Y/N) settles into the couch, and curses himself for not having bottled water to offer.

The open faucet gives him a few seconds to think, actions executed painfully slow in order to gain time, to think, to compose himself. Obito has never stood in this situation, having to play host to the most beautiful woman in the world in a context of lies and deceit.

He feels bad, very bad.

The Uchiha leaves the kitchen with clear resolutions, unable to carry the weight in his chest that has been there since those words left his mouth. He finds her so beautiful, always elegant even in a disinhibited context, waiting for his presence. Anyone else would have taken out their cell phone to entertain themselves while the other is absent, but she waits for Obito as if she only wants to devote her attention to him. 

Hyuga clan manners exceed what an Uchiha could ever aspire to have.

"Listen, (Y/N), I-"

"Was it here where we fucked last Wednesday? On this couch? It looks comfortable."

The remark lands like a kick to his chest, and if the torture (Y/N) has planned is psychological, he has a very bad night ahead of him. Obito doesn't answer, unable to process a response, and all the conviction he had coming out of the kitchen disappears. He keeps the glass of water still in hand, and it is she who steals it from his grasp at the man's inoperability.

Hearing such a crude word coming from such a soft mouth unhinges his brain, and if there was any hope of keeping his sanity during the night, it just left the chat. Maybe he genuinely may have to fight her, but how will he explain the damage to the building to his family afterward? How will he avoid killing a few civilians in the process? How- "Thank you." And she signals for him to join her, marking the available spot next to her as she drinks from the glass.

Obito, again, follows her instructions like a faithful dog, and remains yet silent but too wide-eyed to be normal. He feels he shouldn't speak, keep quiet to listen to what she has to say and not interrupt her, though he wouldn't find the right words either if he wanted to. "You can deactivate the Sharingan, you know?" and he understands never having registered the moment his survival instinct kicked in.

“Heh—sorry.”  

“You should be. Come on, let’s hear it.” It was inevitable. Obito was in for a harsh scorn. 

Though nothing about (Y/N)’s demeanor revealed much, she needn’t rely on scare tactics to make a valid argument. The reputation that preceded her did plenty, she knocked down two Uchiha’s before, what’s another under her belt. Unable to decipher if he felt nauseous or happy she hadn’t reamed his neck yet, Obito fiddles with the fabric of the couch. He inhales deep, and rubs the back of his head a little.(Y/N) shifts a knee his direction, gently, but purposely, brushing one of his. Leaning down just enough to rest a chin on her first, and waits for the sorry excuse to filter out his lips. Whatever little courage he had as a man surmounts to that of a wet blanket, he couldn’t even look in her direction, let alone formulate the words. 

But he tried his best, which was actually his worst. “Look…I. (Y/N). I don’t even…” Black saucers absorb the delicate way she defined her stature, a soft playful glint in her eye sparks a dormant instinct, one that Obito feels full force, and it runs the base of his cock to the crown. 

“Know what to say? I’ll speak for you. You fed foul lies about me to your family. Put me on speaker phone and I had to listen to a bunch of grown men act like children. Uchiha Madara, of all people, called me.” He swallows hard, having just remembered the shenanigans of that, “Nearly tarnished my reputation. Do you know how big of a mouth Shisui has—you should he's your next of kin. It wasn’t even dawn by the time it got back to me.”

When he shit his stomach out and left it in the doorway that had been an understatement. It was more related to having the hose of a vacuum shoved down your throat and your insides inhaled through a tumultuous vortex. (Y/N) single handedly reduced him to the 27 year old virgin that he actually was, without even laying a finger on him. Obito chokes on his words, “I’m sorry. I—.”

“—I covered for you. That makes me a filthy liar. Obito, I despise liars.” 

“Ah.” He wants to say he does too, but the irony of it caught up to him. He was the most unfortunate Uchiha after all.

“If I had to choose between the two I’d rather be filthy. So Obito, let’s hear it.” (Y/N) stands and lifts a finger to his chin, drawing large black irises to porcelain blues, “let’s hear exactly how you fucked me last Wednesday, on this couch.” She leans a bit closer and says at length, “Better yet— show me.” 

And Obito was all but two shakes away from a full on chubby—scratch that, he was hard. Instead of instant ramen it was instant boner, unsolicited but not unwanted. An unbearably confusing hard on was the best way to put it. What did she just say? Show me .

(Y/N) straddles and slants her lips to kiss him, full force as if it was punishment, and his hands feel stupid just laying there motionless, on either side of him. And that wasn’t even the worst of it. She made it even more difficult to think coherently when she grinded herself into his ever growing erection, Obito moaned something soft and sweet in her mouth. Innocent and forbidden. For someone so big and brute, he crumbled at the slightest touch of her hands carding his face. Had she moved too fast and killed him? Surely this is what heaven felt like and his cock throbs under her weight. 

She stops their kiss and hovers a hairsbreadth over his slightly parted dumbfounded face, “I hate being the last to know things. Obi.”

He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything. His lips slacked over hers and allowed (Y/N) to make a meal out of him. She teased the soft flesh of the roof of his mouth, and he hummed from the back of his throat. Sucking her tongue further in, and (Y/N) tugged his hair withdrawing and gazed right through him. Maintaining eye contact, she runs dainty fingers down to the first button on his shirt, unfastening just the one. She would make him do the rest, after all, practice makes perfect. What little experience he could showcase edged the tip of his fingers to finally gain purchase on her waists’ supple flesh. Squeezing hard, as if he would fall through the couch and free-fall. 

He gets a little sound of approval, sweet confirmation that yes, this is real, and (Y/N) wants him to kiss her and touch her and squeeze her and fuck her. The woman holds his nape with both hands, and reaches up to his hair to tug on it, pulling him tighter against her as if it wasn't enough closeness.

It's overwhelming and wonderful all at the same time, and Obito realizes he forgot how to breathe when (Y/N) finally breaks away, gluing her forehead to his and looking him straight in the eyes. "Do you want this?" she asks as if the answer is nothing but obvious while moving her hips, delicious and desperate friction over him.

He needs more, more and more.

His tongue hasn't yet caught up with his hands, and unable to articulate words he only nods like a small child, never losing sight of the depths of those deep blue eyes. His fingers learn the rhythm of (Y/N)'s riding, and guide him to learn where to put downward pressure, right on his erection.

The woman pulls away, having taken his signal as all necessary to proceed, and removes her shirt without further ado. She doesn't ask for help with her bra, because even though she followed his lie, she doesn't ignore how that fallacy came from somewhere, and she doesn't count on Obito having enough experience to unbutton it without looking at the clasp.

She reveals two lovely breasts, perfect measure for the Uchiha's full hand to cover them in their entirety, and grabs both of his wrists to lead him to the area. Obito lets himself be manipulated and moved as she wishes, for he has no idea how to lead these situations either, coming in contact with the softest skin in the world.

His hands, driven by the head between his legs and not the one consumed by perplexity and shyness, squeeze and massage as if he really knows what he is doing, following all the material he has used these years to give himself self-love. It is he who lifts his chest and recaptures her mouth with desire, showing enthusiasm and need, earning a "Such an impatient boy..." between kisses and kisses.

"Take off your shirt, Obi."

The man obeys as if it were a holy commandment, making quick work of his hands and shirt to reveal a huge chest and worked-out abs where you could do laundry. (Y/N) takes a moment to slide her hands along his skin, feel every crevice and muscle, roam the expanse of his torso, and devour it with her eyes. The Uchiha even blushes at how exposed he feels under her, and dies to have her mouth close again.

"I've always wanted to see this up close.” Hands scrunched, she lightly claws his chest, and Obito huffs, the sensation was intoxicating and made it hard to remain motionless, and he thrusts up. Which made him even more drunk and delirious.

“You…have?” Swallowing his breath, (Y/N) splays flat palms over toned muscles once more, and kisses Obito, softly.

Whispering over his lips. “Since the day we met.” Then kisses him once more.

Earnest, and sincere, (Y/N) solidifies that statement, delicately tasting the edge of his bottom lip, and tugging it. Lazily guiding him in a heated kiss of tangled breaths, lowering to nip and suck at his jaw, and she leaves few red marks for him to trophy over the boys. A deeper groan comes out of Obito’s mouth, and when he acts with haste, she realigns his back to the couch.

“Obi.” She warns with a firm finger to his chest, and it resets his sights to hers. There was something overtly arousing when she used his childhood nickname that way, and Obito concludes that this was the first time he enjoyed being scolded.

(Y/N)’s eyes draft a simple solution, formidable even, and she leans back to unfasten the clasp of her jeans with a slow hand, taunting him. Testing the waters of Obito’s resolve, but Tobi is a good boy, and sits very still. (Y/N) slowly stands and grabs calloused hands, slipping his thumbs to hook at the hem. One tug, and he follows suit, watching soft skin and legs develop before his eyes. Obito’s forearms are big, and as (Y/N) uses them to balance, her hands look dwarfed spread over them. She has to feign not losing composure because goddamn was that arousing, big hands meant something else and even bigger arms could carry her, but there is not enough time for detours tonight. (Y/N) already knows Obito will be a two pump chump, and plans to make the most out of it for him. Taking time to teach Obito all areas of her body was top priority, but she could wait another day for that. He needs just the basics to set course for the next time.

“Stand.” A simple word, yet it feels complex and he does as it demands. (Y/N) exaggerates out the motions of undoing his belt, slipping it through the loops of his jeans and undressing him to just clan embroidered briefs, it wasn’t anything less than what she expected from an Uchiha. 

All the heat in this moment felt like it was vacuum sealed tightly around Obito, things were fast and slow and simply not enough. The room circled and suffocated him when a hand that was too cold for human contact brushed the hairs that peeked his briefs. (Y/N) took his delicate mindset, considered that he would shy away and gripped him by the jaw into a kiss before breaching his cock. Red pearl spun irises flitted and lulled behind closed eyes. (Y/N) won’t ruin the innocence of this man's natural ability to devour his feelings for her in such a way. And it was just plain fucking hot that his emotions were true and unfiltered at the sight and feel of her. Obito didn’t look at (Y/N) like the next girl in line to fuck, but as if she was wholly his. The few times they met in passing Obito was a gentleman and shied away from her small talk. Truly an Uchiha with a heart of gold, and unsung against the mould. Nothing like Shisui or Izuna, incessantly hounding her like a dog would for a bone.

“Im sure you’re aware what happens next, Obi.”

If it was a trick question, Obito played stupid, which ended up being smart of him. The next logical step, his distant memory had him thinking back to school on the birds and bees, was obviously the harbinger Indra had bestowed to him. 

“Condom.” Though it came out more a question, with his mouth still slanted over (Y/N)’s, she hums in agreement through a smirk.

“You are a smart boy, Obi. Let me guess, you are prepared.” He was in that aspect, but emotionally, physically and any other sense of the word he was not. “Go get it.”

Fast walking, but actually it was more like a lopsided skip. One handedly, he couldn’t decide to shuffle his briefs off or keep them on, and a sharp turn of a corner made that decision for him. Obito scurries the doorframe to his bedroom faster than Shisui could say flicker, well not really, but a cataclysmic under sight had him tripping on his briefs that pooled his ankles, catching his heel and then falling hard smack dab on his fully erect pecker. Right into the worn wooden floor—wood à wood—not a good combination and his brow crinkled at the sound of quick pattering feet enclosing the scene of the accident. How fucking embarrassing.

“Obito! Oh my god, are you all right??” He lays there, hand clutching his pearls, or what hadn’t gone numb yet and nods. “Here.” She helps him stand, and all's lost on his boner.

Pink cheeks bring a wave of hot embarrassment flashing through him and it takes all he has to not seek refuge in the closet, looking down at his sad peepee and back at (Y/N). Knowing it probably will have bruises by the morning. Even worse, he’s gone completely soft. “Sorry.”

(Y/N) does her damnest not to laugh, because holy fuck is Obito so wholesome and adorable. Hardly capable of containing a snicker, she didn't want to pour salt on the wound of his bleeding ego. Crouching before him, she kisses the ‘boo boo’. “Better?” He flushes even more, turning a cheek.

He didn't deserve this woman’s kindness or anything else she was offering. After last night and leaving her messages unread half the day, and now this. He sighs a tired groan and rubs his face. “It’s ok, (Y/N).” She looks at him perplexed, a dainty hand still holds a semi-hard chub, and she soothes the afflicted flesh of his cock unfazed. While it was arousing, Obito wasn’t interested in a pity fuck. “I just dont think I am deserving of—“

“—Obito, grab the condom. Collect yourself, and let me fuck you proper.” Kissing his cock again for good measure, she stands. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.” And kisses him fervently, stroking his growing length. “Will you let me do that?”

(Y/N) was unfazed by Obito’s pity party. It would be a lie to say she didn't have her sights on him for a while, and waiting for him to notice her, it never seemed to align within the stars. Being brought in the middle of his dire disposition last night was the perfect excuse, and she took upon herself to seek him out and annoy Shisui. It was rather annoying how things came to fruition, but hearing his gentle voice over the phone melted her insides. (Y/N) would have picked him up from Shisui’s on purpose if he hadn't been drinking. 

“Heh, ok.” He breaths a nervous laugh.

Hand in his, (Y/N) leads Obito back to the couch. Promising him once again, that yes she actually likes him and yes she really does in fact, want to jump his bones. What on earth happened to this man to make him so skittish. The one thing Obito insisted on doing was putting the condom on, and when he expressed the reasoning behind that, it baffled him and sort of scared him when she agreed with his statement. Though she reassured him that it wasn’t anything bad, he just had an exceptionally large cock, and the condom looked as if it almost was choking his girth. 

“I’ll take it from here. And Obi?” (Y/N) rests her hands on his shoulders. He was so innocent, he couldn’t see the plunge she was about to make.

“Hmm?” She precisely hovers right where she needs to be in his lap.

Soft lips dangle over his, and she kisses him between words. “Don't be discouraged.”

“Hu—” (Y/N) didn't wait to let him finish that one word sentence, dangling a tart fruit in front of a man like him would have been no worse than his cock face planting the floor, of which it had already. He shouldn’t feel the need to be more self conscious than what he currently is. 

Her words were only used as a ploy to distract. Just enough for her to line up and sink the full length of his girth in one swift drop, even she huffs out at how fucking good he feels, stretching out all the right places. Obito groans and curses the loudest he's been all night and slouches his head back, mouth open and a shiver jolts through him. White knuckling at her thighs, and squeezing them in an upward thrust to meet her downwards thrust. Properly was the word used, but it was hard, fast and it made Obito almost come. (Y/N) rests flush in his lap, he sits up to kiss her but ends up full mouth moaning on her lips instead. She slips up his cock and back down, fully bottoming out on that second return. That tap of resistance he hit radiated through the tip of his cock and back down his shaft, making his testicles buzz with static. Coming fast was a given, but she wanted to make sure it was done right. Obito’s cock was already pulsing quick inside her, and she slung her arms around him to bring him closer.

“Does it feel good, Obi?” She whispers in his ear.

“Gods—yes— too good.” It was so innocently cute to (Y/N), the farther he’s inside her, the more he talks.

Obito sucks in air through barred teeth as (Y/N) gently flexes tightly around him, purposely clenching his length just for the reaction, certain she could tear him apart this way. Now it made sense to Obito, and it went fucking beyond anything good he’s experienced. Prescribed another thrust, he caves as she slowly rides his length. Relocating the death grip from her legs for free range of motion, she sets his hands on her hips and tells him to move and touch her however he sees fit. Part of him wants to fuck her faster, but another side wants to keep it slow and let (Y/N) drift him down this dream boat, and to just marinate in the increasing coil funneling through his cock. She’s so tight it drives him mad, and instead of fumbling with inexperience, he continues their leisurely pace. Matching hip movements to one another, learning in the short process what made (Y/N) moan and tighten around him. Obito wasn’t near finished for what he considered acceptable, but the woman knew his body better than himself apparently.

“Obi, you feel so good. Don't stop.” (Y/N) whimpers over his lips, she drags her hands through his hair, and tugs back gently.

“ Ah —shit.” It was unfair, and his climax was boiling over too fast.

And then (Y/N) hit him with pure filth as one head took precedence over the other. “Are you gonna cum, Obi ? Good boy. So thick and hard. Just for me, hm ? You have such a lovely cock, and soon enough I’ll come all over it— just for you. ” She moves a little faster when his jaw slacks, and his head drapes back on the couch, full mouthed and groaning. His hands loosely mimic the rise and fall of her hips, and he loses the will to focus on anything but coming. (Y/N) rides his orgasm out and kisses every inch of skin below the neckline, sucking, biting and dragging her nails over his shoulder blades. Obito inconsolably moans and whimpers with each thrust before and thereafter his orgasm. 

But he was still just as hard.

“Was that how you fucked me last Wednesday, Obi?” She croons, and kisses his dried out mouth, he looked fucked stupid, but he wasn’t entirely all brawn and no brain.

“No.” Instinctively Obito knew that if his cock was still this hard, he could keep going.  Fuck the thin material of the condom, he wasn’t done with her. “But this is how I fucked you today.”

(Y/N) wasn’t expecting him to get wise and step up to the plate, maybe not even until the third or fourth time, but he sure as fuck is and then some. Snapping his hips faster than hers can keep up, it’s carnal. Obito only got a taste of what (Y/N) offered. Now he was going to eat the whole thing. Roughly, he brings her closer to his chest.

“Sh—Obi!” Writhing in his tight bear hug, it was shocking and wholly arousing that he was encasing her in a full bodied cocoon. 

Thick arms huddle her closer than close and Obito bites the crook of her neck. Just as she taught him, and he knows that was the right move because he can feel her fluttering and tightening around this second growing orgasm. So he didn't slow down and he didn’t leave her any room for air. With extreme prejudice he slants over her lips for a quick kiss, and trails more lurid kisses down to her breasts. Obito isn’t aiming for perfection, and thought it a good idea to lick a nipple and she moans even louder indicating his hypothesis was correct. But he might have accidentally bit that nipple too hard, he couldn’t really tell his own strength, and she was still moaning too. Quivering so tight around his cock, and where she dug her hands in his shoulders gave him enough leverage to lean back and admire the beautiful mess that was (Y/N). Face flush, contorted and her hot breathy pants fan his face. Yes, a good boy, indeed he was. This time she was the one with eyes closed and mouth parted. Huffing and—what was that? 

“Oh my— gods—Obi…Obi .” Moaning his name, yes, that's right. That made his cock feel even better.

“Good girl. Just as promised—cum all over this thick cock.” He says through a raspy moan.

(Y/N) moaning his name and swelling so tight around the girth of his cock made his head dizzier. The squelching of her swill floods his ears before he could comprehend what it meant, and as he looks down at how well she takes his cock, he sees it and then feels it. She was squirting. All over him, in his lap. A light drizzle pooled on and down his thighs, making a beeline to the couch. He was deliciously proud of that, and planted a kiss on her quivering mouth. 

For the first time tonight (Y/N) is incapable of a single word. Obito took her saccharine theater and bird fed it back to her. Making her speechless and shaky in his arms. He looks at her with an adorable smirk and she kisses him before resting her forehead on his shoulder. Collecting the deep breaths needed to coherently and subjectively deliberate on what she just experienced.

And all final conclusions were that she, under no circumstances, had expected to be thoroughly fucked stupid—by a 27 year old virgin. 

Chapter Text

Two Is Better Than One

Izuna's house is more of a mess than a home, but it is justified by the fact he was given very short notice to host this Friday. Shisui, who apparently had a very intense after-office meeting, proclaimed that same day at 7 p.m. that it would not be possible to attend his home, referring all the Uchihas to the second option.

Izuna's.

If this was about bringing a date over, trying to get into some woman's pants, wooing someone to his bed, he'd bother cleaning up, but come on, this is his family we're talking about. His living room is decorated with dirty laundry, coke cans hanging around on every surface, and cigarette butts in the windows.

In his defense, most of that junk isn't even his, and the laundry is mostly made up of thongs left on his bedroom floor, having the courtesy to wash them before returning them to their owners.

Could he bother to grab the broom or clean his coffee table? Yes.

Will he do it? No.

The first to arrive is his older brother, who has a key and doesn't even announce himself when entering. He finds him lying on the bed, starfish position and staring at the phone, wearing only his boxers. Knowing him, he has at least four simultaneous conversations with different women, always insatiable in the number of bodies that may have passed through his sheets. "Yo, Aniki, what's good?"

"Get dressed, dickhead, they’re coming."

"Give me a sec, I'm waiting for an answer. I might have to send some pictures-"

"I don't want to know."

He notices a damp rag in his older brother's hand, and assumes Madara's obsession with wiping surfaces came to light when confronted with the state of his apartment. Do you think Obito will complain about the stains on the couch? That Indra will say something about the ashes permeating the floor? That Shisui will object to meeting him in his boxers?

"Oh but maybe you do! I'm trying to win this girl over, you might know her." He chases his Aniki into the living room, forgetting about being half-naked or taking hot pictures for the girls waiting for his response. How many people must have evidence of Izuna's dick in their phone? Too many to keep track of. Someday, it will end up as a museum exhibit or street advertisement, most likely promoting sexual health care. Izuna would be proud of it. "Take a look."

"Ah, (Y/N)? Sure, I've got her in my sights."

"Pretty isn't she?"

"You could say that."

"You need to give me more effusive responses if you want this relationship to work, Aniki." He jokes, just as the doorbell rings and Madara opens way too quickly for him to take shelter.

Obito, for the first time in his life arriving early, appears with an uncharacteristic smile that quickly is replaced by one of disgust at the sight of his cousin only in underwear. "What the actual fuck dude, I just got here!"

Madara looks at him with an expression that says nothing but everything at the same time, and closes the door behind Obito. "And that's weird, but you brought food so go ahead."

The host of the evening, who has no self-consciousness or inhibition, shoves his cell phone in Obito's face, displaying the profile of the girl he's trying to win over this week. "Check out my next chick."

“Don’t need to, I have my own.” Were the only words Obito decided on, not even sparing a glance at the screen’s glow. 

“Just because you got your dick wet once, doesn’t mean shit.” 

Obito ignored Izuna after that. Further entertaining his cousin's whims never had anyone’s benefit in mind, and Izuna was always down for two things: a good fuck or a hard fight. Obito possessed neither genitals or the will capable of facilitating his older cousin’s modus operandi. Plus his family didn’t need to know all the spicy details between him and his woman. Those were sacred and Obito was a filthy liar, sure just the once, but what he had made up for that and then some. Learned more about himself than what he cared to divulge, that’s for damn sure, and mostly Tobi was a very good boy, so to speak.

“Loser, where is Itachi?” Obits asks.

“Here.” With brownies. Cookies were for Shisui’s, and Itachi wanted to try a new recipe.

Setting up the towered display in the kitchen, Itachi grimaced at the sight before him. The sink was overflowed with old dirty tea cups, stagnant water that was two molecules away from molding. Plates stacked the counter, and was that a cockroach? Disgusting. They should have just had it at his family’s house, but that would mean subjecting everyone to his father’s delusions. One could only imagine the conversation between Madara and Fugaku. It’d probably start another war. He was glad to have left Sasuke at home this time.

“Aaaahh yiisss, what do we have here?” Shisui chimes in, rubbing palms together, he grabs a brownie and takes a bite too large for his own mouth. “Are these…stale?”

That was a rule. And Shisui hadn’t ever seen Itachi snap his head so fast in any particular direction, it has him swallowing hard and dry, nearly choking on Heimlick’s door.

“They’re…gluten free, Shisui.” A warning, never question him. Again.

“Ah.” Clearing his throat, “my mistake.” And before Shisui could say cheese, Izuna snapped a photo of him. Brownie bits and all, on his lips and shirt. “What was that for?”

“A game.” Izuna lazily sends the photo over the screen.

“Of?” Shisui's interest skyrockets, he was never one to decline a challenge.

“This or that.” 

“Huh?” 

“I’m trying to get this girl's attention. So I needed to send her something…less desirable.”

“That wasn’t even a good picture, take another one.” Totally ignoring the insult, Shisui smiles a two time shit eating grin, ruffling his hair and wiping his mouth, “that one doesn’t count.”

“Too late, cousin. It’s sent.” Izuna shrugs, eyes glued to the screen. 

The message is shortly looked at, and left on read. Not before closing the screen, Izuna’s eyes widened. A reaction to Shisui’s photo registers. 

‘(Y/N) loved an image.’

“How unfortunate, Izuna.” Indra declared, hovering so silently over the shoulder of him. The man scared ghosts, ok?

It startled him so badly, Izuna jumped, and he scowled at the screen. Did his plan backfire? Shisui looked a hot mess, pigged out on food and cockeyed. In all fairness so did he, minus the cockeye, but why did the girl like Shisui’s photo and none of Izuna’s?

“What do you know—tch.” He says, at no particular person.

The Uchiha would have stayed semi-naked if he had gotten the answer he was hoping for, just to show off how metaphorically big his pecker is when it comes to getting what he wants, but with the opposite case in hand, the man grumpily walks to his room to put on some pants, obviating any t-shirts since it's his house.

If there are two Uchiha who particularly never wear a long face it's him and Shisui, and having one of the two in that state on a Friday night seems illegal. It is Obito who throws an arm over his shoulders and drags him to the drug table, making him swallow one of Itachi's tapped creations to start traveling. Doubts about whether he really got into (Y/N)'s pants or not are gradually clearing up, thanks to his behavior.

Madara, already settled on the couch with a beer in hand, looks at him curiously, trying to think when was the last time his brother got this way over a woman. Long time ago? When he was 12? Izuna, always flirtatious and ready for anyone who fell at his feet, never found many problems to conquer or win women, girls usually fighting for him. The only time someone told him no was in his teenage years, when he tried to fuck one of the teachers at his school. "What happened Zuna? Got dumped by your rival?"

"Shut the fuck up, Aniki. He's not even competition, I'm his fucking teacher." He angrily comments, while shoving a whole brownie in his mouth.

Shisui laughs, perhaps even a little affected by Itachi's magic by now, while drinking and throwing liquid on the ground. The baker is the only one who looks at him with a disgusted face, for no one cares about one more stain on that dirty floor. "Nah, you weren't."

"Yeah, he was tho. He taught you how to eat pussy when you were 14 dude." It's Obito who interjects, in an oddly good mood that doesn't usually characterize him. Normally, this Uchiha would love a good fight between cousins, maybe even a few punches, but the self-satisfaction he has shown since his arrival, almost comparable to the pregnancy glow, provides a weird state of peace and love.

Shisui, in his constant "I don't give a shit" mental bubble, ignores how tense the atmosphere is getting, still smiling and choking on dessert. "Well, yeah, but just that." 

Every word of his cousin, led by either recklessness or the constant desire to spread chaos he always carries in his mind, hits his ego again and again, making it bleed little by little."I was running when you were learning to walk, don't even try to compare yourself, pretty boy." Obfuscated, Izuna thinks he has closed the conversation with that last stinging argument, burying it deep into the night to never think about it again, but the other man doesn't seem to understand things are about to go to hell.

While opening a beer, Shisui whispers, "Upset that the student outdid the mentor?" and hides a smirk in his can. The room falls silent, filled only by the sound of the show Indra and Madara watch on TV, and all eyes turn to them.

Obito freezes in place, the brownie he was chewing forgotten on his tongue. In these situations, he would heat up the atmosphere even more by shouting something provocative “UUUU / HEARED WHAT HE SAID? WHAT’S YOUR ANSWER TO THAT HUH?!” just to generate more anger, but today he chooses silence. If Sasuke were here, he would probably choke on beer again, and the two older ones even ignore their program to pay attention to them. Itachi stares wide-eyed, unable to believe Shisui forgot rule number one when it comes to his cousin. 

Don't question his ability to charm a woman, especially if he's in a bad mood.

You see, the relationship Izuna and his younger cousin have is both chaotic and perfect, the two of them always united by a common cause (pussy) and allied to fight the rest. They have always been a team against the world, usually Obito the preferred victim, but when internal conflicts arise within the pair, when one oversteps the other's blurred boundaries, things tend to explode.

It's not often, but there have been several occasions when one of the two takes things too far before realizing that they're about to get into a fist fight, forcing Indra to give them both a good slap in the face and stop the madness.

"Take back what you said right now or this is going to get ugly, shithead." It was the first straw on the verge of breaking the camel's back, forcing Izuna to grab him by the collar of his shirt. Among the chaos, Shisui can do nothing but laugh, as if nothing truly serious is happening. It's infuriating and downright angering, Itachi's brownies taking him up and far away.

Everything ends up going to shit when Shisui’s phone vibrates at that very instant, and ignoring the Uchiha on top of him, looks at the screen. "Speaking of the devil…" He flashes the on-screen message to Izuna, revealing a "Hello 💕" from (Y/N) he just received.

If Shisui was already receiving unsolicited messages from (Y/N) by the hour's end, that reduced Izuna one option. 

A rather desperate and self depreciating one, especially for him. It was his least favorite and he could count on one finger how many times he facilitated it, but out of pure necessity. A coy tactic to secure a victory over Shisui, and it made perfect sense to any Uchiha who might dabble on the edge of lunacy. Izuna, being that sort of lunatic, considers it. Like most of his inner family circle, defeat was unacceptable. Even if the war was lost, another would ensue to conclude the previous. And another, and another. If his Aniki taught him one thing, it was to never give up—and sorry Ani, this one’s for Izuna—though a double edged sword for Shisui. Was it really losing if you came out on top? No. (Y/N) is that necessity, to Izuna, at least. Shisui could give two shits about her, he enjoyed nothing more than dangling a sweet fruit in front of Izuna whenever he got the chance. Shisui would go so far as to pity fuck her, but the truth of the matter was—Shisui had skipped over (Y/N) once before. She wasn’t his usual, and while that was true even now, Shisui would undoubtedly fuck her out of spite and hang it over his head. Izuna preferred a fresh meal, not leftovers.

(Y/N) would be his, wholly. Shisui might secure her for a moment, but only a flicker of the time Izuna could. He could have her for a lifetime if he so pleased. A curl of the wrist was more than enough effort on his end, or in modern times, dinner and some wine. Something Shisui was ill experienced in and would never risk another eye plucking to be seen out eating with a woman. Blinded by the silence of a thousand broken hearts of fuck boys past, if word got out Shisui was an eligible bachelor and seen courting a woman, or in a setting that implied even just that. His status of a good and free fuck would falter, and the largest contrast between him and Shisui was that—Izuna didn’t give two shits what a woman or a man thought of him. This brief and well thought out deliberation takes place with his inner monologue and for once he goes against the grain. Because after all, he was a master at his craft.

“I yield.” Silence befalls the room, and Indra chokes on the smoke of his cigarette.

Shisui laughs, “that’s what I thought. Out with the old, in with the new.” Izuna bites his tongue. Hard. Shisui was delusional enough, and drunk, to actually buy it. 

Izuna once heard an idiom, rather funny and insightful in trying times. One that he tried (barely) and failed to truly understand in retrospect. That when life gives you lemons, to not squeeze them in your eyes. The analogy went over his head, because it really meant to find the beauty in life, (Y/N) was beauty in that regard so it worked out. The actual terminology called for lemonade, but when faced with a lemon so sour and petulant it resembled a younger shit eating cousin. He laughed and begged to differ. Taking that lemon, or two, he would crush them in the eyes of Shisui. That was his kind of lemonade. Revenge. 

Obito sits a little cross with Izuna, the man pulled rank on him last week with being an elder and all that. Soliciting him to the most embarrassing ridicule of his life, which also ended rather well in his corner of the world. Izuna let someone even younger than him trample and subdue him. He smells the winds of shit blowing in the air, and keeps a close eye on Izuna from here on after this display of uncharacteristic desperation. 

Now Izuna just needs to implement the old bait and switch. It’s unfortunate that Shisui’s phone is always on silent. At 8:53PM, even if he noticed and flickered to the nearest phone store, it would be far too late to file an insurance claim for a replacement. That essentially would be killing two birds with one stone, Shisui would have to wait until at least 8AM for the place to open, and about an hour or so for the phone and paperwork to fall into his hands. That doesn’t even include the time it takes to update a new phone, download the cloud and have it fully operational. Estimated time of arrival being closer to 10AM. Leaving Shisui miserable in a cold bed for the night, and Izuna will have already set up the date with (Y/N).

Win. Win. Win.

Amongst the pandemonium of Izuna’s feigned loss, a knowing but swift look between brothers speaks of a league of seas between the two. And if his Aniki knew one thing, the war was not all lost. An even faster flit of eyes between Shisui’s phone on the coffee table and him has Madara for once on the offense of things. No red eyes float in the waters of his deceit. Shisui is that sure of himself at this moment. 

“Izuna—watch out!” His older brother, rambunctiously nudges the drink from his hand on Shisui. Spilling the concoction of purple on to a white shirt. Idiot.

“Wha—the fuck!” Shisui’s arms lift up, but he’s so drunk that he didn’t notice how hilariously obvious the purposeful spill had been. 

In fact the only person who does is Indra. Sitting in his usual spot, a crack of a smile lifts his lower lip and Itachi catches on to the man’s interest. If Madara was playing mother hen, the duo knew there was mischief in the air.

“Shisui, a simple roll of the ankle. Don't embarrass your uncle and cause more of a scene, go change. I’m sure Zuna has a few clean shirts.” There was nothing up for discussion. Next to Indra, when Madara spoke it wasn’t that it was considered law per say, but he was the judiciary committee, the jury and often enjoyed being the executioner. 

Shisui grumbles a small bit, but takes his leave. Allowing Madara a brief word with his charge.

“What are you up to, little one?” 

“Nothing that would disappoint you, Ani.”

“Good, what do you need?”

“Kill it.” He points to Shisui’s phone, and in less than two seconds Madara is degloving a hand. Pressing a finger to the screen and essentially paralyzing and decommissioning Shisui’s phone. 

A spark, so small, archs the tip of his finger.

“Done.” A wicked grin slips his older brother's face, and Izuna for once appreciates the lack of helicopter mothering, but rather his complicity. Madara wouldn’t dabble in the affairs of two men and a woman— usually .

And that's how you silently torment your family into collusion. Not a single soul dared tell Shisui what they witnessed, it was as if he never felt the room, and just as Izuna preemptively assumed. Shisui was none the wiser.

Then there was Obito. When one door closed, another door opened. He smelt the stench of his cousin’s intentions. Retribution itched in his palms. 

"Izuna, a little word?" his cousin asks, and guides him to the area Indra always takes hostage for privacy and peace, close to trouble but never directly involved. The older Uchiha doesn't even flinch as they sit down next to him, staring directly at the television as he takes a swig of beer.

Izuna doesn't even need to ask what the other is up to, as he sees it drawn in his features. Somehow, fucking Obito is related to his problem, to offer solutions or perhaps more disasters. Regardless of what he dares to propose, he will not lose his pride begging for help.

We all know that, if Obito does offer something, it will be in exchange for forgiveness and some good mockery (and probably getting his feet kissed, or something gross.)

"Wanna show me the girl in question?"

"I offered earlier and you didn't want to, what changed, hm?"

"Ah... nothing in particular, just wondering who she is..." The smile he tries to hide as he speaks is too obvious to ignore, and the kind of alliance this cousin offers is different from Aniki's. His older brother would give up his life to give Izuna whatever he asks for, a type of complete and total devotion only the two of them understand, but Obito doesn't count with anything like that.

In fact, he carries too much brotherly resentment to be merely curious about the subject.

"Want to see if you can fuck her?" And no, he knows that's not the case, but defensive words are his comfort zone, and he has a hard time expressing himself in a way that isn't complicated or offensive. 

Obito also seems to expect nothing more from him, ready for his dirty phrases with an eye roll by now familiar. "Fine, don't show me anything."

He dramatically leans back on the couch, and feigning interest in the program Indra is genuinely watching, manages to catch the attention of Izuna's whimsical side. If there's one thing this Uchiha can't tolerate, it's not being given the treatment he wishes to receive, and there's nothing better for him than to be the center of interest in anyone's eyes.

Izuna snorts, but opens (Y/N)'s profile in front of him and displays her photos for better appreciation. Obito takes control of the phone, and also a closer look at the woman's face. Yes, she is quite known, familiar to some even, but not at all close to him. Of course, that can be fixed, because in the tagged section, he finds a photo of his own girl posing with the one Izuna intends to conquer, a smirk crossing his face all too quickly again. "You certainly can use my help." He shows the photo in dispute, and his cousin seems rather inclined to sink into the cushions than look him in the eye. "My girl is her friend."

"Your girl... you've been dating her for a week and you're already married?"

"Shut the fuck up Izuna. I'm offering you a hand." Obito, blushing, can't fight the shyness that rises in his chest every time he talks about it with someone. Yes, maybe they've only been together a short time, but after Byakugan girl’s incredible confession about how many years she's been wanting to be with him, it feels like a decade has passed.

"I don't need anyone's help, my talent is enough to get her into my bed. Look." He proceeds to send a string of messages to the woman right in his cousin's face, seeking to prove the point that his natural amorous talents will do the trick in getting her into his arms. Not a minute passes before she leaves him on read, again, without deigning to answer anything.

To say that Izuna loses all color in his face is an understatement, and the fact that he sports an activated Sharingan speaks to the anger he must genuinely feel at being rejected for the first time in years. 

What's so special about this woman? How hard she makes the game for him.

If the Uchiha wanted to fuck her before just because of how pretty she is, now he's practically spellbound by her lack of interest.

"Yeah... amazing abilities, I see. Anyway, I think you don't need help so-" Before Obito can get up from the couch and rejoin the others, a cold hand stops him by the arm, his cousin not daring to meet his eyes and refusing to admit words. He can't say it out loud, his ego can't take any more blows.

"Against all odds, he's asking for your help. Don't be mean to him, Obito." Indra declares without looking at them or their entire interaction, cigarette resting on his lips and one hand holding his head as he kills brain cells with that terrible TV show. What the fuck is he watching and since when does he like cars? Nobody knows.

Obito smiles, with true happiness this time, because destiny seems to be on his side since seven days ago and counting, paying his suffering in a positive way. He never expected having Izuna himself in front of him in such a way, his childhood bully, always coming up with excuses to bother him, now silently begging for his assistance. The power of a woman is awesome, and he considers himself lucky. "You'll have to do some things before that, cousin."

And by some things he really means several, as the first request he makes is for Izuna to record an audio on their groupchat, giving a three-minute monologue about how wrong he has always been about him, asking for forgiveness and acknowledging how bad his actions were since he was 10 years old. "Little cousin, little brother, idiot- OKAY DON'T PUNCH ME. I wanted to apologize for how I cut your hair when you were 5, how I stole your food at 5 1/2, how I..." And the list goes on. Obito wants hard, irrefutable evidence about Izuna's repentance, undeniable proof about how he had to admit his mistakes at some point, about how he lost his pride because he needed to get a girl.

Again, the power of woman is incredible.

Obito sports a cocky grin behind a swig of a beer bottle. That’s right, respecting your elders is a two way street. Time played Izuna a fool and forfeited all his pride, bequeathing it into the greedy palms of his younger cousin. It was inevitable that Izuna would have to swallow his masculinity and shit out roses for help. 

Obito sizes him up for good measure with raised eyebrows, not breaking his gaze. And Izuna widens his eyes in return as Obito reveals his phone from a side pocket. Casually firing off a few cryptic messages to his gal, ones that hopefully she won’t ask further questions about. They range on the sickly sweet lover boy side. And he knows that her appetite for him is insatiable, and in that short time spent together Obito was undoubtedly her version of a food pyramid, just with sex.

8:57pm—‘Hey bby, I’ll be over soon. ((: The guys are winding down a bit early tonight.’

8:57pm—“Good. I miss my handsome boy. <3 Did you eat yet?’

8:57pm—‘A little…I could eat some more tho (:< I need a favor first…plz bby.’

8:58pm—‘Oooh, what kinda favor??? ((:<’

8:58pm—‘I want to set Izuna up on a blind date.’

Her response takes several minutes of an infinite looping bubble. Obito gets a little nervous, but internally relaxes, just a little when it pops up. She was skeptical, and he was…not very cunning when it came to playing a master of deceit.

9:05pm—‘I don’t even want to know. Who is it, and why?’

It wasn’t the most promising of answers, but he takes a few moments to really consider the weight of his words. Opting to just be honest with her. There was no sense in ruining a good thing he has now. 

Spilling the beans to his girl was a lot more difficult than he thought, but he managed. It’s Izuna who grows cross, red eyeing every word that Obito unleashes from thumbs too big for the screen. Well worth the effort though.

9:14pm—‘I’ll see what I can manage. Why do I have to say it’s Shisui. If Izuna is that desperate, why doesn’t he say so?’

9:14pm—‘Heh…you know why. (;’

9:15pm—‘Right. Lol. None of the men in your family are good with words. I’ll let you know when you get here. Now hurry up, I miss you. ):’

It made Izuna’s skin crawl. Not only was he at the mercy of his younger cousin’s girl, a girl that also had denied him a plethora of times, but his perfectly orchestrated plan had his stomach roped and tied at the guillotine. Was he actually considering a dinner date? With a woman who appeared as interested in him as the sun was the moon? No doubt they were polar opposites, but Izuna could not deny the feast that his appetite required. Had he grown up a little? No. The racetrack his heart speeds around was just the excitement of the hunt, nothing more.

“I’m heading out. My woman is waiting on me.” Obito stands up. 

Words of ‘fuck her where is counts’ come from a very inebriated Shisui, who desperately is resetting his phone or trying to at least. Perplexed that the screen is unresponsive, he taps it a few times and shrugs it in his pocket. Assuming it had died no less, and stretches his arms up behind his head. Unbothered that he would be going home alone, Shisui learned once that showing up unannounced to a girls house might actually have consequences. Of those consequences he didn't consider that maybe until death do us part, would actually mean getting caught off guard by her husband. Getting his neck reamed and all he could do was laugh, flicker off and taunt the man. Bruising the man’s ego further once he realized that his wife’s sancho was just as fast as she had been. Legendary even. Shunshin no Shisui, the man had breathed in the dark street. At nobody.

Itachi is up and waiting at the door for Obito. In the corner of his eye was a question, and Obito was certain it was stupid.

“If you are playing matchmaker, I would like to solicit your services.” He says low. Not wanting to give up their position to Shisui, who lingered one foot up from the couch.

How was it that Obito was now the epidemic of his cousins bleeding hearts. Itachi was supposed to be prolific, well regarded and their prestigious protege after all. If he blinked once, he would miss the smile that girl in the bakery had. 

“And what could I possibly offer you in assistance? I'm already up to my neck with Izuna’s shit.” Obito didn’t mean to sound coarse. He didn't have any advice to offer. “You want to know what worked for me, is that it?”

“Precisely.” He nods, eloquent and calm.

“Don’t tell this god forsaken hell in a handbasket family anything, keep it to yourself.” He leans closer, sensing Shisui’s enclosing presence. “And don't lie. You’ve got nothing going against you, just don't be a total Shisui.” Saying that last part loud enough to be heard, purposely.

A brief history of pain repeats itself on the back of Obito’s head. “I heard that assshole.” Shisui rubs glassy and tired eyes, “‘Tachi, take me home. Please.”

It was not safe to flicker while intoxicated.

After the trio’s departure Izuna sat catatonic on the couch. Waiting for Obito to follow through on his word. For as unlucky as Obito was, he seemed to have fresh air about him. Resonating to Izuna that Obito would most likely puppet the strings in his favor for him. He did owe Obito for last week, especially now that his own unattainable desire was outstretched before him. He hadn’t realized he was scrolling her page most of the night, stalking her facebook even. Even so far as to join a new platform, just to learn all that he could. Favorite color, what music she likes, where she spent most of her time. Hiking out in the forest, photos of her and friends splashing in a hidden grotto. He was apparently sick over it.

“Zuna.” His Aniki spoke.

“Hm?” Still scrolling, saving images to his phone. Not even for the spank bank, just to admire.

“You’re obsessing. What exactly does this woman hold over you?”

Taking respite from his screen, eyes bleary—tired. Yet the alcohol wore off long ago. Madara was insinuating his infatuation. If his brother could see it, then Izuna took that as a harbinger. Older brothers were wiser, around the block a time or two even. Madara knew all too well the symptoms. Izuna only just figured it out, somewhere in the middle.

“I’ll be fine once I get her out of my system.” He would not be fine. It swelled, deep. 

“Hn.” Was all his Aniki deliberated on, he needn’t say a word to scorn Izuna a fool.

The boy already knew.

The little reunion ends with Izuna abandoning his tired thoughts next to the leftover beer on the table, brushing his teeth while Madara wakes up an Indra who fell asleep an hour ago to leave together. The house is left empty, impossibly dirtier than before the boys' arrival, and there is no way to silence the anxiety coursing through his veins.

It seems that a Friday which promised fun ended up plunging him into unexpected shit, up to his neck in a situation he didn't think would develop like this. He turns off the TV before going to bed, and sticks his headphones up to his eardrum to fill his mind with loud music and not allow himself to think.

Izuna pretends to fall asleep like this, but when he closes his eyes, all he can see are images of (Y/N) dancing to the rhythm of what is playing in his ears, the woman haunting his every thought and leaving no way to escape her. Night is long, and solitude seems to be trying to kill him. Maybe he should get himself a girl to while away the hours.

...

Izuna’s phone ringing wakes him abruptly, and unable to open his eyes from sleep, he gropes around the bed until he finds the damn thing. He has no idea how he managed to answer it, or why he did it either because he could have ignored it and continued sleeping, but it is said that everything happens for a reason.

"Who the fuck is calling me at this hour-"

"It's three in the afternoon, Izuna. You're getting weak, aren't you? Listen-"

"Fuck you Obito." And he's about to hang up, as his head hasn't finished processing the shock of a rude awakening and his cousin's voice is the last thing he wants to hear when he opens his eyes in the morning (or afternoon).

"No, you fuck off and listen. Today, seven p.m., at the Uzumaki restaurant, okay?"

"What?"

"Fucking shit... TODAY, SEVEN IN THE AFTERNOON-"

"I heard you, idiot, but what for?"

"Blind date, with (Y/N), were you that drunk?"

"Fuck..."

"Yeah, fuck. Be ready, no second chances."

Izuna hangs up, without even saying goodbye, as he has no idea how to wrap his head around what's going on. Rudely awoken, cell phone ringing too loudly for what anyone would want to hear upon waking up. Obito's voice in his ear and that obnoxious tone of satisfaction he's been driving since yesterday, his heart in his mouth as he remembers the whole sequence he selectively forgot during his dreams.

Shit.

3:15pm. He has a few hours to physically prepare, but not enough to psych himself up. The Uchiha has no idea why this woman gets him like this, unable to even analyze it, not wanting to get even more nervous about it. It's been years since Izuna has taken anyone out on a date, let alone to a restaurant for DINNER, the most he's ever done was taking some random girl out dancing only to end up with an extra woman in his bed, getting threesomes as if they were drinks.

The Uchiha lost his shame long ago, nerves and anxiety nonexistent when it comes to dealing with the opposite sex, but there's something about her that makes his hair stand on end, like he's 13 again and about to lose his virginity.

It's horrible, disgusting, and he wants to get into her pants so he can get rid of that feeling in his chest. He went to sleep feeling like he couldn't breathe, and when he managed to get his mind to remember everything that happened, that feeling came back as a cruel attack.

Izuna's hands sweat profusely as he gets into the shower in a hurry and feels like time is running too fast for his liking. He shaves and grooms himself, complying with the parameters he knows women enjoy the moment they have a man in their bed. His whole body is ready, at least physically, to fuck her and give her a night of irrefutable pleasure, then forget about the girl as he would with anyone else.

The Uchiha doesn't know what to wear, and only after a long video call with Aniki does he decide on something... formal. Well yeah, taking someone out to dinner at a damn restaurant warrants good looks, even better, if the person isn't expecting you there. (Y/N) must be convinced, after the sad messages Izuna threw yesterday in her chat, that she earned a date with Shisui, the man having found out about her attraction to him during the night and asking Obito for help to match them up.

Izuna is probably not the person she's hoping for, but he's confident that his looks and dazzling smile will be able to overthrow any skepticism she has for him, ensuring a night of indulgence and quick morning oblivion. Yes, it won't fail.

It is only when he is about to leave his house, at 6pm, that he observes the state of the place. His apartment is properly a pigsty, nasty, graphic description of a man's den. He doesn't have time to do much about it, and even though he is impeccably dressed and deliciously perfumed, he tries to improve the aesthetics of the place with nervous and clumsy hands.

There is no way of throwing away all the cans, sweeping up the cigarette ashes, washing the dishes or picking up the laundry. He does what he can with what he has, and in his desperation, he spills at least a liter of beer all over the place. The couch is stained and filthy, the chairs are grimy, and every surface is occupied, but when the clock strikes 6:15pm, he knows he has no time.

He leaves the lights off and trusts that, when he returns with her (for yes, Izuna knows, he trusts, that he will manage to fuck her), everything will be too dark for the woman to scoff at the deplorability of the place. In the morning, he will kick her out of his house without much haste, before she can analyze his living room or kitchen. Piece of cake.

He arrives at 6.30pm at the Uzumaki restaurant, and a reddish-haired woman guides him to the table his cousin's girl reserved for them. Byakugan girl really behaved like a lady by giving him such a carefree hand, even considering how superficial Izuna was with her on many occasions. Maybe Obito genuinely found his perfect match.

He can't stop looking at his phone, anxious and feeling butterflies that hadn't lived in his belly in years, wishing he could fill his insides with pesticide and kill them all. He styles his hair every five minutes, anticipating looking his best, and pretends that the three loose buttons on his shirt denote the confidence he's struggling to feel.

He evaluates about three times whether to run away and send everything to hell, (Y/N), Shisui, the winged insects in his belly, but desists after remembering Aniki's teachings, and the times he faced more complicated battles. Women are his thing, his field of expertise, his comfort zone, and no one can defeat him.

Except maybe (Y/N) walking in like a complete boss ass bitch to bury him a good six, or maybe even eighteen feet into the ground. He pales. For the first time in his life, the faintest drop of perspiration freckles his hairline. Was it hot in here? No, that was the glare (Y/N) wore. It shone so bright and reflected off the low hanging metal artwork in the center room of the restaurant, burning him with the intensity of a thousand dying suns. He chokes. Reducing Izuna to a schoolyard boy with that 10 yard stare she gave him upon entering the establishment. That stare of ‘I know what you’re up to’. 

She fucking knew . 

The moment Obito’s girlfriend messaged her about a guy friend she might be interested in, she couldn't lie to her bff. So instead they devised a plan. 

Knock Uchiha Izuna off his high horse. Sure, she’d fuck him any day of the week, no questions asked. That photo of Shisui was the final straw. ‘This or that,’ he had said. Childish behavior from a grown ass man, so she told him exactly what he obviously didn't want to hear. The truth was, she had no desire to be another conquest in this man’s repertoire of tangled sheets he shared with women, that was unladylike and (Y/N) was not a moonlighter. And, well, (Y/N) sort of fancied him. Rough edges and all, growing impatient with his loose morals. Having hoped he would stop, and just notice her. And only her, but he hadn’t. 

So she would force him to.

Taking a seat at the table, Izuna scrambles to remember his manners. Rushing to pull her seat out and hand her the napkin that draped her plate—wait. That was clearly stupid, they hadn’t ordered yet. He was losing it. And the front door never looked so far away at this moment than when (Y/N) spoke.

“Well, someone does have manners.” Cold, icy. She watches him twist his hip a fraction of a second too soon. Bashing a well defined meaty thigh into the corner of the table. That fucking hurt.

“Of course, I have manners, all Uchiha have first class table side training from a young age.” It sounded more mechanical than intended.

“Mhm. I can see that. You don't look as greasy as you did yesterday. I assume your hygienic skills are high class as well.”

“Second to none. Why aren’t you more surprised to see me, (Y/N)?” As if it annoyed him that his coup was foiled. 

“You are obviously desperate. I am here to entertain that. So, Mr. High Class Uchiha. Give me a good time.” Resting her hands within laced fingers, she tilts her head the slightest nod.

A challenge. Just exactly the type of distraction he needs, and accepts it.

Even stranger, they had more in common than Izuna believed. Older brothers that were overbearing but also incredibly nurturing, ever present in their lives. Children of war, though that was as given. Izuna just hadn’t realized that (Y/N)’s father died fighting in that stupid war. The one his older brother started, and lost. He needn’t mention all that, Izuna was certain she knew of the Uchiha’s taste for bloodshed. And that sort of made him uncomfortable again. 

Food is ordered and for the first time in his life he tries a wine that isn't dollar general quality. The semi sweet sanguine is bubbly, and dangerously easy to get drunk off. So as a gentleman, he limits himself. That and by the night's end he expected to, for the first time no less, to fully experience the warmth of a woman that he hadn’t felt in so long. Sober, and attentive. Making sure that (Y/N) knew exactly what she was missing. Though that wouldn’t turn out to be the case. 

After taking up the table for an hour longer than necessary, a kind but very scared waiter asks if they are finished. Instead of losing his temper on the matter, he pays the check—in full, with a tip that doubles the recommended gratuity. Grabs her coat at the lobby’s door and shrugs her into it. How foreign and exciting that for once a woman had been interested in more than just what he brought to the bedroom. (Y/N) asked hard questions, and he gave honest answers. 

Jokes continued as if old friends, and she showed no opposition when they crossed under the wooden edifice of the Uchiha compound. Izuna considered that a slam dunk, already had the woman draped through a loose arm. And he sort of didn't feel a need to rush their walk, and took her through the beautiful scenery that bordered the greater area of the Uchiha district. Stopping to skip a few stones at the bridges arch, and surprisingly, (Y/N) had a killer fucking skipping arm. One could say even better than his brothers. 

“This is nice.” Was all he deliberated, leaning arms on the railing.

“It’s easier to enjoy things when you stop and stand still.” And she looked at him with eyelashes that sort of blew him away when she blinked, copper irises contrast to his inky ones. Unique and rare. 

Dare he say, beautiful? Because she was. Wholly woman, and the warm knitted long dress she wore said that she wasn't scared of a little chill. Contemporary, classy and elegant. The petticoat she wore covered her just below the breast line, wool and buttoned. Nothing short of prestigious. 

Returning her gaze at the stars. It was early October, only a few weeks until snow would touch down. The lake would be prepped for ice skating, and Izuna sorta fancied the idea of seeing (Y/N) enjoying that. With him, of course, no other males allowed.

“Mm.” Enjoy the simple things she had said, and that's what he would do. Basic, back to the beginning. The sense of nostalgia crept up the lining of his stomach and for the first time tonight, he realized those creepy crawlers, winged bugs—demons of the feels. Were butterflies. Beautiful and serene. Intended to signify an important moment in one's life. Excitement and fulfillment. Care. “Hey…”

A hairsbreadth of space is all he allowed. Winter’s kiss had chilled her cheeks, and she looked severely cute. A light lip tint edged the inner length of her mouth, and gave the appearance of a plumper than usual lip. It drove him mad. Saccharine, yet delicate. Even if she could potentially knock him out for this, he still acted with reckless abandon.

Izuna slanted his lips and made to kiss (Y/N). Precise, and soft. Petal like lips encased his probably cold chapped ones and if she cared she didn't show it. In fact, she rather enjoyed it, caught off guard nonetheless, but she leaned closer on his side of the rail to cup his cheek. Flushing at the woman’s audacious nature to do a man's job, he relaxes regardless. Fine. She could lead then, and she did. Turing the solitary kiss into small nips of kisses, eventually parting her mouth to suck his bottom lip.

(Y/N) had game, because Izuna melts like butter under her lips gentle sway over him, and before he knew it she was tracing the edges of his parted lips, licking the inner flesh of his bottom lip and even acknowledged his lower teeth. It was bizarrely arousing, and the teasing didn’t stop there, she roamed the edge of his tongue with hers and circled sensitive spots within his mouth that he didn't know existed before fully acknowledging his tongue. Teaching him a thing or two in the process. It fed the anticipation tenfold than what his rather slop lipping did. She laces a hand into rough chopped hair, and lurches him closer—demanding it. Cold noses cross and hot breaths warm chapped cheeks. On withdrawal she sucks at his bottom lip, dizzying a man who usually has a woman at the mercy of him and without preemptive warning. A low groan escapes his throat and he chases after her, full mouthed and needy. 

Fuck it.

Solidifying the kiss with that Uchiha fire boiling within him, he flushes (Y/N) to his chest, and squeezes her back against the railing. Sandwiched, with nowhere to go he holds her face between both hands. Deepening the kiss beyond what would be considered acceptable for any first date, hungry, feral and too close. She gasps and clutches hands to his coat, allowing him permission to take the same liberties she had with her kiss, testing her perceptiveness to his tongue’s agility. And yet the woman seems to have him under her thumb still, because her lips coax a more gentle pace. Unhurried by this man’s desire, it perturbes him, and she stops.

“What?” He breathes, chasing for her lips. Ah, ah, ah. 

“Enough.” Releasing him, “You’ll not be getting much further than that, Uchiha Izuna.” Exasperated by her insolence of his needs, she presses a finger to his chest. “You have to be a lot more patient, and less like a rabid beast.”

“Fine.” It was going so well, he had been certain he could have bent her over the railing, but she had a stronger will than he did, which also annoyed him. Why wasn’t this woman bending the knee to him? It was cold, maybe the woman had grown delirious from it, a warmer climate might necessitate a change in temperament. “Shall we then?”

She grabs his outstretched arm, albeit hesitantly. Izuna’s demeanor grew icily as the night's chill. Uncertain if she could keep her bearings any longer herself, it was hard to stop that kiss. “Sure.”

If he thought he was going to get further than just kissing, Izuna was wrong, and (Y/N) took note of the awful pigsty he lived in, solidifying that notion. The life of a bachelor was not favorable and loose women usually didn't care, but she did. (Y/N) was not easy.

"Please just... ignore all this. The boys are usually messy when they come over.." But Izuna knows he's not fooling her, as there's always some Instagram story left as witness and evidence of their nights at Shisui's, exposing the fact that almost all of them are done at his place. The mess in his home, (Y/N) knows, was not caused by them, if not perhaps slightly amplified.

It's sad that such a beautiful house is so neglected, and it gets her thinking about the reasons why that might happen. This Uchiha does not seem to be the type of person who enjoys solitude, always with a different woman in his arms, unable to live with only himself. Among those four walls, not even a bit of love for the space is reflected, and it is probably because the man does not tolerate being there. Behind every clutter, there is a reasonable explanation, and considering Izuna's general attitude, he may never have found himself in his own home. Too occupied trying to fill deep voids with temporary presences.

His internal conflicts, or those that at least she assumes the Uchiha must have (for it is known that any member of that clan comes with his own bundle of personal complexes, especially those of Indra's direct bloodline) are apparent in every crowded surface, every nook and cranny ravaged by grime and dust. Izuna does not enjoy his home, does not like his own space, and treats it as he treats his own inner self.

His efforts to keep her from seeing the situation in detail, to hide the obvious in the dark, soften her heart unexpectedly, and (Y/N) understands there are many things to be solved behind this man. Of course, she must first avoid being taken as just another conquest, continuing with a perfectly executed plan like the one she carried so far.

"You should put some love here—cleanliness to exact." She declares casually, lifting a used napkin from the couch and dropping it to the floor with an expressionless face. She won't allow Izuna to read her, to understand what she's up to, and that's what drives him to despair.

No one alive could ever recount a single time when this Uchiha seemed edgy, affected, conflicted about a potential seduction, and the woman feels privileged in one way or another for having him like this, raw and exposed but trying with all his might not to show it.

Izuna thought he had her in the bag with that buccal action, finally won her over, but the self-confidence he spawned with the movements of his tongue slowly unraveled with each step closer to home, his conquest indecipherable and having no idea what would happen when he arrived.

"You should stop trying to tell me what to do." And the little smirk he flashes is enough to know that he is recovering his usual composure. He'll have to eat dust again, because, in his mind, he's most likely planning a myriad of positions to put her in. Idiot.

Izuna leads her to his room, and before he lets her in, he lingers at least ten minutes in there with the door closed, noises of things being moved on the other side. (Y/N) acts impatient, rushes him with annoying words and metaphorically sticks her finger up his ass a few good times just to keep her dominance in check. Eventually, the door opens, revealing a freshly made bed. Judging by the way Izuna's hair is tousled and those noises of fabric being shaken a few seconds ago, he must have just put it together.

"Come in my lady, make yourself at home." The man shoots her that seductive grin yet again, the one he must use with every woman who enters that room and is guided to that very bed. Every generalized attitude of courtship makes her hair stand on end, but she feels safe in the knowledge that Izuna is convinced of his power and ability, ready in more ways than one to fuck her.

Poor boy.

She doesn't respond or ask anything when he walks out and leaves her alone, knowing every step the man intends to take. It's so predictable it hurts, and while with any average woman this routine would be highly effective, he doesn't stand a chance with (Y/N).

She takes his words at face value, and discards her dress before his return. (Y/N) steals a t-shirt, the largest in his entire closet, and slips it on after removing her bra. The way the fabric rests on her perky nipples, stimulated by the cool environment, leaves little to the imagination, and how the edge of the garment brushes the beginning of her buttocks too. She knows that any man has a unique preference for seeing the woman they want wearing their clothes, and she intends to use every card to her advantage.

When Izuna comes back, he finds her resting against the headboard of his bed, one leg crossed over the other and her knees slightly bent, revealing part of what her tiny thong hides. It's a wonderful image, better than he could have hoped for, and everything seems to be going in his favor.

"You're the most beautiful woman I ever dated, did I mention that?" he comments with pure confidence, feeling safe in his domain and stepping into an all too familiar terrain. The Uchiha is calm, relaxed, positive, and convinced that he’s gotten what he wanted. Using phrases he's probably fed to a million other women gives away how certain of himself he is, and puts him in the position (Y/N) was looking for to deliver her perfect blow.

He's surrendering to her hands, and best of all, he doesn't even have a clue about it.

(Y/N) lets Izuna believe he's going to have his way with her. So far as to him stripping down to…briefs with little uchiwas on them. Adorable. The man is so full of pride and arrogance that the fallacy she has him in goes unnoticed. 

He crawls the edge of the bed length up to her, and she has to hold back a snicker. He’s so rehearsed it's comical, and he falters at this woman’s lack of sincerity at his advancement. Not nearly close to half aroused as he is, she was wasting his time and patience it seemed.

“What is so funny (Y/N)?” Annoyed, yet he still sits on her lap. 

“Hmm—,” she holds in that same snicker, and he grabs her face. “—you are just a try hard.” She laughs a bit more.

A try hard. Izuna never heard of that term, but with her soft snickering and his wavering resolve to actually perform, it was safe to assume it was an insult.

He rolls his eyes, “Fine. Then you lead the way.” 

The thought of a woman taking advantage of him never crossed his mind, but as (Y/N) flips them over and straddles him, removing his shirt off her back, and revealing two perfectly tea cupped breasts. Harshly warning him of the repercussions of touching without permission. Izuna is floored. Halfcocked, and fully throttled, he asks to hold her waist at bare minimum. She obliges. 

(Y/N) has to really take account of her own resolve, this is exactly what she wanted. To see a man so drunk off power and possessiveness, only to crumble like sand running through her fingers. Carding his hair, she reels him up flush to her chest, the only skin to skin he would receive for the night. Slanting her lips over his eagerly waiting ones, hungry and hot, yet he tamed that burning need to a mild smolder. What had she said?

Stop and stand still. 

Fully allowing himself to succumb to (Y/N). Enamored at the way her lips dance over his, unhurried but with need. Turning his head to nip and suck at his jawline, slowly creeping down his neck. It was haunting him, his grip at her waist tightens when she sucks at his jugular and places a hand on his ribs to roam the skin there. This woman was testing his patience, more than teasing it. She was dangling herself in front of him, and he was unknowingly permitting it. Without much force he flushes her ass on the bulge that rests between them. Maybe she needed a little coaxing to open up. A tight shut clam, hiding a beautiful pearl sat in his lap, and he wanted to shuck it open and reach inside.

Izuna did just that. Roaming a hand over her thigh to slip so sneakily through the thin sting of underwear. Eliciting (Y/N) to suck in air and gasp out once he sunk two fingers in her cunt, her grip at his side clenches for support. Forgoing the clitoris entirely, he wanted her, and now. Groaning when a hand of not his own breached the small opening of his briefs. Teasing the folds of his foreskin with a thumb and a finger. Dizzying his composure further as his cock is released from that small opening, and he withdrawals from her wetness to moisturize what little of him was exposed. If she wanted to play hard, fine. Izuna could match that level of petty, and not to light his own torch, but he’s got one hell of a bullseye targeting system between his legs.

Easy and swift, that thin fabric is brushed aside, and tactfully at the same time his hips are lined up, (Y/N) barely has time to register a countermeasure to this man’s foul play and as a last resort she contemplates the worst possible thing she could do and sticks with that. Not that she didn’t want to be hotly impaled, but this was a lesson to be given. Izuna just shot himself in the foot by toying with a loaded gun. At the exact timing of his planned penetration, (Y/N) lifted her thighs, only garnering him hardly an inch of her entrance and he moans in exasperation at the the feel of her, even if it is just the tip. Purposely flexing on just the crown of his cock, it jumps in response and his grip fails to sink her further down.

He was good. Too good at her game, fine. This is where the line in the sand is drawn. (Y/N) roughly grips the nape of his hairline, and gently grinds only the tip of his cock, making him writhe like the sneaky snake that he is. Izuna contemplated how much longer he could wait, but the tantalizing nature of (Y/N) quite literally making him beg for it made it feel even more exciting than just regular sex. Was this sex? It was just the tip.

Hardly enough to really get a feel for her, and what little feel he got was still otherworldly. He knew what she was doing, massaging that small nub that rested an inch or so inside, only pleasuring herself and leaving him with the scraps, his ears draped with the most salacious sounds of (Y/N)’s whimpering and gasps. Toying with him was more like it.

Fine.

He would let her continue riding him this way, planting kisses on her neck and taking precedence over his own need, fully adorning a woman of her class with first place service. Gently rocking his hips in cadence to her shallow thrusts. He could wait it out. A woman was only so much coherent as they could be while in the throes of passion. Once that outer ring of muscle started to tightly squeeze and clench the tip of his cock, and certain she was fluttering hollow walls. Her head leaned back in his hand, and she loosened like putty. Dropping her guard and her better judgment of him.

He thrusts upwards. Hard. Grunting out at the delicious way her cunt sucked him in mid climax, and she moans tenfold in sound the measly whimpers she subjected him to earlier, her tightening swelled and swallowed his cock even more. So good . Another thrust, deep and hard, kissing her full-mouthed and her hands met firmly to his chest, he moans a small please for permission like a good boy would—because that was her rule. Yet she pushes him harder away from her face. If she gave in now, (Y/N) would never see him again. That was how things worked with Uchiha Izuna.

“Wait, wait—wait—stop.” But he said please .

Izuna never forced himself on any woman, (Y/N) fell into his bed by invitation. He unsheathed himself, uncertain what to say. “I’m confused. You willingly are here. What is the concern?”

(Y/N) sits flush on his groin, heavily panting and flustered. “If I let you fuck me tonight. Then you won't fuck me tomorrow.”

“My bed will always be open to you, (Y/N).” He made to kiss her but was met with hair. (Y/N) turned a cheek and so he waited for her lead.

“And it is to every woman in the village. I’m not interested in sharing a bed with a party.”

He didn’t quite know what to say. (Y/N) was by far the most beautiful woman he’s had. If you could even count it as such. The frown she wore at length strikes a nerve in him, and not an angry one. (Y/N) scurries to get redressed, this was bad. All bad, she was not capable of staying in the same room with this man. And just as she snatches her dress off the floor, a rough but rather desperate Izuna clasps her wrist.

“Stay.”

“I can’t.”

“Just sleep here. Nothing else. Please .”

Looking at him was the equivalent of seeing a small child who dropped their ice cream on the ground. His other hand holds the shirt she took ownership of as a white flag, outreaching it to her. Was he surrendering to just enjoying her presence and nothing more? Yes. Because Izuna fully understands exactly what she meant by not wanting to share. He couldn’t not release her out of his microscopic sights. For the first time, since he was 17,  he had scoped a woman with the sharingan, unknowingly. (Y/N) has to catch her breath, because it is such a beautiful and delicate thing before her.

Simultaneously climbing the edge of the bed, he slips the shirt over her head, and she tucks her arms in. He even has the decency to put on a pair of pants (again, no t-shirts) and snuggle up against her, abandoning any suggestive ideas because he doesn't intend to ruin the night. No, not the night, he doesn't mean to ruin what's going on with this woman. (Y/N) had the ability to destroy his modus operandi, to throw him to the ground and kick him and then kiss him and hug him, to make him feel alive while posing an unbeatable challenge.

He nestles his face in the hollow of her neck, the woman's perfume plaguing his senses and sending him on what could be another sexual journey he will avoid, because for the first time, he thinks with his functioning head and not the one between his legs. It was her honesty that finished sweeping him off his feet, the truth with which she uttered her words and exposed what was on her mind without any twists and turns. She could have lied, could have made up some excuse not to fuck him and Izuna would have thought she was a prude, full of noise and not much of anything. Then, the decision of ignoring her forever would have happened, unable to be after a woman who passes by his bed and doesn't give him what he wants, but (Y/N)'s openness led him down a path never taken before.

He has no memories of sleeping with a woman he didn't fuck, of allowing an untested body between his sheets, and he understands it's because he never did. The Uchiha never submitted to cuddling a woman he couldn't touch, always running from those who denied what he sought.

Feeling her warmth against his bare chest, the way her breathing becomes rhythmic and frequent, how she holds his hand intertwining her fingers as if afraid Izuna would disappear in the middle of the night, everything makes his head fly, run through possibilities never thought of before.

(Y/N) handled him as she wished the whole evening, having him surrendered in her hands without objection and with the ability to drive him wherever she wanted, and thought his company worthy enough to enjoy an innocent night's sleep with him. No woman had ever looked at him like that, seriously gazed into his eyes to affirm that she was interested in what she saw, not the physical body, but his soul and his essence.

The woman penetrated him to his depths without troubling intentions, held his heart in her hand, and proclaimed to be interested in more than his flesh.

For the first time, Izuna felt seen, genuinely seen, appreciated by the person sleeping in his arms. Maybe it was just an encounter, maybe (Y/N) will wake up and decide it wasn't worth it, break his heart some more and abruptly return him to nightlife and short-lived companionship. He can't process how much it means to him being able to hold someone with no ulterior motives, convinced that this situation touched him in a profound way.

"If I let you fuck me tonight. Then you won't fuck me tomorrow." She had said, pure conviction in what little he could make out on her face and urgency in her actions as she tried to leave. (Y/N) was blunt and very direct in explaining that she didn't want to be just another one of the bunch, and Izuna would normally have ignored any statement along those lines, but the sentiment entwined in those words pierced his heart.

For the first time, Izuna has the desire to act differently, to not hurt or use as he sees fit, to think of the person in his arms.

The fire he feels in his chest is unlike anything he has ever experienced before, and the Uchiha falls asleep looking at the mental image of (Y/N) he recorded with his Sharingan, the despair in her features, the stark reality of believing that he would fuck her and there would be nothing more (for yes, that was his plan at one point). He decides never wanting to see that beautiful face contorted that way again, neither because of him nor anyone else, and (Y/N) gives him an unconscious sound of approval as he squeezes her even tighter against his chest.

Izuna wakes up, again rudely, again with a call from his cousin. Obito seems to be fanatical about interrupting his beauty sleep, but this time he looks at the screen and rejects the call. He can't deal with him without his morning coffee, or having been awake for eight hours or so.

He turns to embrace the girl in his bed, but finds the mattress empty, the pillow she had occupied during the night under his own head, the sheets settled on his side. Was it a dream? Did Izuna just unconsciously fantasize about such a situation? Is this how vivid dreams feel?

He is disappointed, of course, but when he sees the coat (Y/N) brought lying on the bed, he understands that it was all reality, and she probably left before he woke up. She may have forgotten the garment when she hastily changed, or she simply left it there with the intention of Izuna seeing it and feeling bad about everything.

If that was her plan, it works, because the Uchiha sits on the bed with a feeling of extreme emptiness in his chest, and holds the coat in hand to smell that wonderful perfume. (Y/N) made him fall in love and broke his heart all in less than 24 hours, and he determines it will never happen again.

Not allowing himself to be sincere in front of any woman anymore, hiding his feelings under blunt barriers and-

"Fuck!" is heard from the kitchen, as what seems to be cooking pans fall to the floor and produce a tremendous noise. Izuna gets up, forgetting all about the whole little trip of unfounded resentment he just had, and heads to the source of the sound.

(Y/N), wonderful and pretty wearing his T-shirt and wearing his slippers, cleans his kitchen. The woman's hair is tied up and she is too focused on washing the dishes to turn and look at him, having already cleared every surface and... even swept the floor?

He leans his body against the wall and doesn't approach her so as not to scare her, arms crossed and a mischievous smile as if he hadn't suffered an abandonment that never happened five seconds ago. "Why aren't you in bed with me?"

The woman, even at his attempts not to startle her, jumps on the spot, spinning around rapidly and knocking over more pans in the process. The Uchiha steps up to help as she explains, "Well, you stole my pillow in the middle of the night and your arm isn't comfortable enough to replace it, so I decided to have a productive morning."

"There's no need (Y/N), I'm an adult, I can-"

"Yes, there is, because you're an adult but you live like a teenager." She kisses his cheek and holds his face with love and a wet hand, smiling at him with genuine tenderness. Izuna tries to kiss her, as he can't bear so much beauty together without wanting to wreck her right there (with gentleness and affection, not his usual style), but (Y/N) redirects his face. "I haven't brushed my teeth yet, wait!"

"I dont fucking care, come here." And it's between those lips and that tongue Izuna realizes how lucky he is to be able to be living this.

Chapter Text

You Can Grow Flowers From Where Dirt Used To Be

A stormy rain lashes the skies, and Shisui thanks with his whole life for not having to leave his house tonight. The perks of hosting family nights display themselves in curious ways, as everything is often a misadventure with his cousins. How many times did he end up with his table and some chairs smashed, glasses and windows broken, his floor full of sticky liquid? More than he would like to admit, but these are the things one accepts when mixing Uchihas with alcohol and drugs.

He doesn't even bother to keep the place presentable anymore as it is known that appearances and tidiness will be effectively erased after half an hour, giving up the case for preparing a comfortable place. The only ones who appreciate his effort are Indra and Itachi, both silently and with expressive looks.

It is Madara who arrives at the door first, strangely alone. "Where's the troublesome one?" Shisui asks while forcing him to dry his shoes on the porch carpet before stepping through, leaving his soaked jacket outside.

The older Uchiha wrings his hair out with both hands, squeezing and shaking water out in heaps "With his little girlfriend, I suppose." He receives the towel Shisui offers him to wrap around his mane, looking fresh out of the shower. Longhair's life is hard, and he doesn't envy it at all.

"Jealous? We should get one for you."

"I don't have time for such things."

"Sure—go inside." Shisui hurries him, as he notices Indra's arrival under a huge umbrella and dry as desert under the strongest sun. The man is the personification of a cat, alert to any moisture that does not come from a faucet helping him to sanitize himself, always avoiding water.

A handshake is enough to say hello and he joins the other inside without further words. Silent as always. Shisui stays outside, under the roof, waiting for Itachi's arrival and considering it's strange that he was neither the first nor the second.

It is impossible to ignore the man who runs with speed in the distance, like a little boy who is afraid of storms. It doesn't take five seconds from the time Obito rounded the corner to rush through the door, covering his head with part of his jacket, and leaving a trail of water behind him. Nor the third, it seems. Weird. It's not like his younger cousin to be late, knowing that his culinary skills are necessary for everyone to embark on satisfying and lengthy trips.

As he's about to close the door, the one mentioned also appears, agitated but under an umbrella... blushing? "Hey." Is all he says while adjusting his… loose hair? Isn't he overdressed?

"Where did you come from, young man?"

"None of your business."

"Were you with a girl?" Shisui snickers.

"No." And he walks through the door like Obito, distracted and leaving a wet path, unbecoming of him to have so little care for others' personal effects. What has him so distracted?

Unwilling to subject himself to Shisui’s distasteful loose tongue, Itachi had been with a girl. Obito was right, there was not a damn thing to fear. In fact the corner store bakery girl nearly passed out when Itachi had asked if she was busy after her shift. And when the response was that it would be a rather late night for her, he cut it close and waited regardless. That was for another time though, Itachi may be a fruit of the same family tree, it took a lot more to shake his branches for the truth to fall off. 

“And where is Sasuke? It is family night after all.” Madara asks as Itachi places a perfectly packaged box of cookies on the center table of Shisui’s living room, and takes a seat.

“I misjudged the appropriateness of these family nights, Uncle. I do not wish to tarnish his good nature.” Especially after Obito’s reckless adult supervision of him, encouraging a minor to drink. The amount of gluten from the yeast in that single beer was tenfold more than anything Sasuke has ever ingested. It caused a flare up so severe that the doctors advised to not risk even a single taste of it to cross his gums again.

“It’s family, Itachi. Sasuke survived.” Madara intones. Even though his own little brother was absent, Izuna had a valid reason. 

Divine female intervention.

It was due to the arrival of new furniture. That’s right, Izuna’s conquest had turned the tables, eliciting the hunter to be hunted and bossed around. Absolutely disgusted by his living conditions, and after seeing him pay an exorbitant amount of money for dinner. His decider pledged to only share the confines of his sheets if his house was orderly. Izuna obliged, even going so far as to permit the woman her choice of furniture she fancied. A whole new couch, loveseat and recliner adorned his living room. Steamed carpets, and tiled floors refreshed from years of grime. It was two overflowing trash bags away from being condemned as a biohazard. Izuna was whipped. 

“Maybe next time.” Was all Itachi deliberated on. In truth he was so busy up until their gathering that he didn’t bother asking Sasuke to join, he beelined it here as soon as he could. That box of cookies was purchased from the bakery, too distracted to make his own.

A fairly calm night, minus the raging storm outside, and if Shisui was being honest—it felt like the novelty of their family nights were waning. Obito now religiously leaves by 10pm, it was only 8:30pm and he was eyeing the door. Shisui was missing his buddy, Izuna. Madara had seemed to get more and more like Indra with each day. The two old fucks sat together, sharing a cigarette, though Madara not really enjoyed smoking it. He did it because it was passed to him like a mantel. And, well, with Indra. Everything was law. 

Looking to his left, Itachi was almost as catatonic as their two elders. He kept pressing two fingers to his face and rubbing his lips. Where they chapped? It didn’t take long for Shisui to grow bored, Obito glued to his phone, ignoring his inquiry on how his girl was. It was as if guys night was more like…ladies night. Izuna, actually stable with a girl, Obito too, and even if Itachi wouldn’t divulge his secrets. Shisui respected him enough to not pry, he looked properly made out and flush from a girl. He sighs.

“This is booooorrrringg. Tobi, hit this shit. Come on.” He hands a fresh bowl of Kaguya’s lettuce to him. Obito takes it, without a word and rips a fat hit. Cashing the thing in one drawl.

A fucking brute. “Sorry Shisui, just…ya know. Or maybe you don’t.” Obito shrugs.

“No, I don’t. Can’t say I want to either, you all can have your singular tastes. I won't settle for a life of complicity.” Or being a house husband. Shisui was certain there wasn’t a woman that could keep and retain his affections for more than a night or two. There were so many of them, and he wanted to have them all.

The storm pours, harder than a usual winter storm. Itachi looks up as the ceiling fan lights flit and a backup generator kicks on. Power outage, Shisui has enough power to keep a few selective lights on. 

“I’ll be back—don’t move.” It’s a joke, since literally nobody is doing a fucking thing. It goes unnoticed. Shisui runs a hand through his hair, and goes into different parts of the house turning off the lights that are unnecessary to preserve the capacity of the generator. It could last well into tomorrow morning, if they only use the bare minimum needed. 

While Shisui is off actually being responsible for once, it is Indra who notices the slightest of rasps on the front door first. Motioning for Madara to keep seated and relax, he takes meaningful strides to answer it.

Not a young girl, but not quite yet a woman stands in front of him. Drenched, cold and hesitant. Eyes wide, and red—puffy. No words are exchanged, and she holds out a particular utensil of sorts. One that Indra is not personally familiar with. And before he could ask what he already knew. 

She had already turned heel into the downpour. A very ominous symbol had stared back at him. “Wait.” There was a point to bringing an umbrella earlier in the night, but this was urgent. There would be no bastardized children under his regime. Ever.

"Come back here." He should be more polite, should ask rather than demand, but his hair is getting wet and there is a possible surprise at his feet, leaving him nervous enough to lose the decorum he never had anyway.

The girl slows down and obeys, for Indra is not a person anyone wants to challenge, but she refuses to look him in the eye. She hands over the object in her hands, silent tears rolling down her face that could be camouflaged by the rain, and waits.

Indra doesn't have his own children, but neither does he live inside a vacuum-sealed jar, and when he sees that "+" drawn on the plastic rod, he understands. Someone here is in trouble. "Whose is it?" He looks at her intentionally, doing all the pressing with his eyes that he can't bring himself to do with his hands. If his own girlfriend were here she'd tell him he's acting like a moron, and with her in mind, he places a supportive brotherly hand on the girl's shoulder, not yet returning that terrible object.

"Whose is it?" he asks again, this time in a softer voice.

"Whose what?" Someone snatches the stick from his other hand, and he doesn't have time to react before the damned Izuna looks at it and understands. "Oh my fucking good, INDRA?! BUT WHAT ABOUT YOUR-"

He doesn't pummel him in the stomach only because he comprehends how misunderstandable the situation is, but covers his mouth and prevents him from pursuing his stupid train of thought. What would one think upon seeing their cousin with an unknown girl and a pregnancy test under the rain? The only thing we can curse is Izuna's ability to arrive at terrible times.

"Shut the fuck up, idiot. It's not mine." Indra says with a vein popping out on his forehead, indignant at the fact that Izuna thinks he can be so irresponsible.

"It's not?!"

"No, I have a girlfriend."

"Well but I thought-"

"Girl, whose is it?" He interrupts and takes him out of the conversation for he knows his cousin will continue processing what he sees, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on just as he does.

Indra should know since the door that girl is knocking on under a torrential storm is Shisui's, but a part of his head stopped working in the face of such a tremendous situation. There are no words when he hears that name, nor does he do anything when Izuna goes running inside the house, surprising everyone with his arrival and with the news he excitedly shouts.

"SHISUI YOU ARE GOING TO BE A FATHER!!!!"

All eyes turn to him, and no one believes it at first. Everyone is used to his bullshit, but when he waves the pregnancy test in the air the picture starts to get very real. "WHERE IS HE?! HE'S GOING TO BE A FATHER! A FATHER!" Izuna displays the evidence with everyone, and jaws hit the floor one at a time.

Outside, Indra finds himself patting the girl's back as she continues to cry, unable to hug her for he hates physical contact but sacrificing the state of his hair for the moment. That should be enough. He assembles words in his mind, some quick solution to protect this woman's ego before that band of barbarians come out to get her.

He never gets involved in these things, always observes and appears when it's time to set limits, but he was the unlucky one who opened the door and now he can't abandon the ship. His stupid cousin got a girl pregnant and has her crying in the rain, it makes his blood boil.

"Come with me." He says before angrily starting to walk inside, forgetting about being soaked and feeling the girl's small footsteps at his back. This could have been the fate of either of his two dumb cousins, those who love to jump out of bed without much apparent care, but one of them was unfortunately caught by female claws.

If there's one thing Indra can't stand, it's unneeded trouble, this could have been avoided if Shisui kept his dick where it should be and didn't play with anyone's feelings. Indra has no knowledge of how he takes care of himself, if at all, as he always ignores that part of the conversation, but a pregnancy on your doorstep is no small matter, and it speaks volumes about a lack of precautions.

The room falls silent as Indra comes through the door dripping with water, and a circle of Uchihas open to reveal Shisui with the pregnancy test in hand. "Care to explain?" the older cousin asks with a frown, and no one dares to answer for the accused or jump to his defense.

“…it was…just…the tip?” Because yea, sometimes he was adventurous, but stupidly enough, Shisui on occasion dabbled with more than just the fucking tip. 

Quite often actually. Trusting and fully believing that a woman is in charge of her own body, and would specify their concerns—king of consent. Most usually forewarned they were on the pill or had taken contraceptive measures and they didn’t mind flesh on flesh. He needed to see this girl, to know exactly where the crack in the sidewalk started and figure it out with her.

“It sounds like it was more than just that.” Indra quips back.

“Obliviously.” Obito snickers, “Good job cuz, you really did outlearn the mentor.” And the only ones who laugh are Obito and Izuna. A weird bond between cousins seems to have formed over the past week. 

Shisui glares at Obito, and further looks behind Indra. He recognizes that girl as (Y/N). It wasn’t just a one or two time thing. More like a good long weekend romp. (Y/N) was insatiable, but so was he. Instantly Shisui’s heart filled with regret. Not at the circumstances, but rather that she was now subjected to his family’s torment and scrutiny. Not to say Shisui wasn’t of the same cloth, but making light on a life altering situation was incorrigible, even for an Uchiha’s standard. 

Taking to stand from the couch, he makes his way to (Y/N). What some young buck might call a walk of shame, Shisui considers it more natural than anything. That biological sense that he was more to blame than (Y/N) could ever be.

Shisui grabs (Y/N)’s hand, and speaks lowly. “Come with me.”

All she does is nod, and wipe a drying tear from her cheek. (Y/N) wasn’t upset about the pregnancy, but rather with who it happened with. Most women knew of, through the grape vine, that Uchiha Shisui was a fuck boy extraordinaire. Just like his namesake, Shunshin no Shisui, he was fast with women. Maybe even more so than he was with the body flicker. A reputation that some would consider shameful, Shisui enjoyed the free advertisement it brought him. Though (Y/N) was a rather rare occasion. This was a girl who purposely avoided him, until she could no longer deny his advances. Shy, cute and sweet—he found it entertaining making her flush red with inappropriate jokes. (Y/N) surprised him, an undercover freak once she came alive. They spent that whole Saturday night through Sunday mid afternoon curled up in his bed. So far as to longingly kissing her at the door before he sent (Y/N) off. Typically the after morning was awkward for the girls he brought home, (Y/N) was genuinely undisturbed and fully accepting of the encounter. 

Shisui takes her to a spare room in the large house. Not wanting to even step foot into the sanctum that was now considered the ‘baby making room.’ Fearing it would make her uncomfortable. The spare room was sparse with just a lame futon and a night table, for if someone was too drunk to get home safely or if Sasuke needed respite away from his parents.

He takes a deep breath, guiding (Y/N) to sit on the bed, he crouches before her. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Prompt and concise, (Y/N) sobers the atmosphere with her resolve.

Shisui is the clown in the family. Only on certain occasions did he wear a long, serious or solemn face. At the moment, he wore a poker face. The one used to decipher and make a quick analysis, but he was literally dying inside. Uncertain to express joy, or regret—that depended on (Y/N). The emotions that raced through him seemed to collide at a hundred miles per hour into a brick wall. Scattering and ricocheting off his pea brain. A baby? His?

Taking a deep breath, “Ok. I won't ask how…since, well. You know.” Thinking that a grin would calm the nerves between the two. It comes out more like a half scowl half pained look. 

(Y/N) couldn’t stand to make eye contact, it felt embarrassing. Like she was caught in a scandal, well, technically—it could become one. Tears well up and Shisui doesn’t think otherwise and without notice, he wraps warm arms around (Y/N). He reels her close, and she remains seated on the futon, hunched on his shoulder.

“Ah—shh. Shh, shh.” He pats her hair. It was still wet, and the rainwater smelt good mixed with her natural scent. 

Sniffling a few times, (Y/N) finally feels comfortable enough to speak into his shoulder. “I was on the pill. I didn’t understand how it failed. Until I looked up the possibility that antibiotics might counteract it. I called my doctor and confirmed my suspicions.”

It makes sense, though Shisui wasn’t a doctor by any means. There was always the risk that a girl would lie about these things, he didn’t peg (Y/N) for a liar though. “Shit happens, hm?” He chuckles. 

“I’m sorry, for causing a scene. I didn’t realize there were so many people in the house. I was going to drop it off in the mailbox, but it was raining….” (Y/N) didn’t know when it happened, but her fingers raked in his hair. Fiddling with loosely knotted curls. It acted as a distraction and Shisui rather liked the soft touch in this intimately surreal experience.

Shisui holds (Y/N) at a bent arms length, the look he gave her registers appropriate for someone who acknowledges their own shit stinks. “Do not apologize, and do not take blame. This was a group effort.” He laughs, albeit nervously. Jokes were inappropriate with the current situation at hand, but he needed her to understand. This was not any fault of her own. Shisui directly fired a cannon ball—actually, several of them into that beautiful woman and without concern of consequence. “A very fun effort—but, please. Do not worry that I won’t own up to it.”

“Heh—I’m not really sure what else to say. I figured you should know at least. I never did get your number and I just…” Shisui looks so full of ethereal light. 

“(Y/N).”

“Hm?”

“We have time, but right now. I have a house full of pyromaniacs. Unattended.” Shisui smiles wide and stupid, “they’ve probably taken bets in the event of my untimely death. It's raining. This room is available to you. Anytime.” He points to the several amenities within the small space. 

A private bathroom, guest clothes—although male, should still fit. The boys would be disbanding soon or geared up, further on high over the spectacle they’d make of him. Shisui leaves the decision up to her. She could just wait for them to leave, if that made her comfortable. It didn’t matter. There would be time to discuss their options. Co-parenting, adoption, abortion. Whichever (Y/N) chose, he was there to support until she no longer desired his presence. 

The living room is still abuzz. Izuna crackling jokes that Shisui’s pullout game went as soft as his dick will be for the next 18 years, Obito responds with similar quips. They were having a ball, and if it was at just his expense—Shisui would take it like the man he is, but there is a whole other person involved. In the room adjacent to the living area. It was despicable.

It angers him, and Izuna acknowledges his return with a distasteful drunken smirk. “Look who’s back from maternity leave. Were you busy making the second?”

“You’re a disgrace, Izuna.” Shisui says, and all background noise stops, except for the tv. Indra makes his way out from the kitchen and Madara watches with a calm exterior. Understanding when his younger brother needs to be made an example of.

“What—what did you say to me? You little cockeyed shit.”

"That you are a fucking disgrace, want me to spell it out?" He stands strong in his conviction, for he will not allow his family to walk all over him. Izuna may laugh at him all he wants in private, but the situation does not call for it, and alcohol does not justify him. No one issues a comment, but he knows the look his cousin shoots him, one he's seen too many times before. 

Everything is about to go to shit.

"Disgrace is what that poor woman is. Living with a child of yours inside, you idiot." Izuna retorts, and the atmosphere reaches an unknown level of tension. He walks up to him, and the two Uchihas go head to head measuring who has the stronger resolve. Fighting against alcolized Izuna is simply impossible, much like talking to a wall, but how the blood boils inside Shisui's veins eliminates any kind of rationality.

"Forgot how your girl wanted to have my child before she had you?" He replies mercilessly, and when Obito says "UUUUUUUUUU" while recording the exchange with his phone, it's Madara who hits him in the back of the head to shut him up. Indra burns his hair when he forgets the cigarette between his fingers, and Itachi is torn between whether to intervene or let the two of them crack each other's heads.

It all happens very quickly, a flash of red eyes and mess of hands as Izuna jumps on his cousin to the cry of "DON'T GET HER INTO THIS!". There are several rules within the Uchiha clan when fighting among family, and one of them is to use only Taijutsu. Of course the Sharingan is allowed, but the use of weapons or Ninjutsu to beat the other is not. Bare-knuckle fighting. Izuna is quick as his fist goes straight for Shisui's jaw, falling to the ground on top of him to then be kicked into the opposite wall.

"I DID IT ALREADY SO COME ON, FIGHT." Shisui jumps on top of him, both rolling around on the ground in a tangle of hands and legs, choking each other and trying to get the other into a genjūtsu unsuccessfully (as any Uchiha knows not to look their relatives in the eye during a fight, common sense).

Izuna gains the upper hand by finding enough traction with his right heel, and sends his cousin flying through the wall straight into the courtyard, landing in the rain and leaving prominent structural damage to his house. "WHAT'S THE MATTER PRETTY BOY, NO MORE QUICK ANSWERS?"

Both Uchihas come back through the wall as Shisui tackles him inward, causing a second hole next to the other. They both land on the ground, one soaked but both seeing red and unable to pause for thought.

The two idiots attempt the same blow, fist to the neck to stop the other's breathing, but are stopped before their hands hit one another’s bodies.

Madara holds his younger brother on the ground, both arms paralyzed against the floor and looking at him with a long disapproving face. Indra holds Shisui on top of Izuna, embracing him in a constricting grip and holding his arms against the sides of his body.

They force them to stand on their feet like that, neither releasing them nor allowing them to move, both elders having no trouble restraining them. It would be a totally different story if Uchihas had no rules and could fight to the best of their abilities, worse yet drunk or sentimentally affected, the two held back enough not to really hurt each other.

Izuna roars in his brother's grip, driven by the violence that runs naturally in his blood and enhanced by the alcohol. "LET ME KNOCK HIS TEETH DOWN, ANIKI."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU IDIOT."  Shisui replies, struggling to break free, too angry to think.

"Both of you, quiet down. Now." Indra declares, and as the saying goes, whatever Indra says is law. He doesn't intervene out of kindness, not wanting to see them fight. He himself enjoys a little blood and animosity between family, but (Y/N) watches the scene from the corridor door and is visibly affected.

Shisui's attitude changes completely when he notices her, and stops tensing under his uncle's arms to surrender his body with sadness. Disappointment for having scared her, and angered with himself. He should have thought before exposing her like this, before putting on such a show with her in the next room, and he supposes it's impossible to ignore when the walls are literally being destroyed a door away.

The woman walks up to them, a mixture of indescribable emotions on her face, but no one expects what happens. "(Y/N) I-" Shisui starts, but a slap interrupts him. Stunned, he listens as Izuna laughs at him, but the laughter dies when the girl slaps him too, even harder and with even more anger.

Madara knows better than to laugh in the face of a serial slapper, maintaining his composure with a neutral face and internal happiness about his brother being put in his place. The room falls silent again as (Y/N) takes Shisui by the hand and leads him back the way she came, whispering a quiet "I think you guys should go home. Thank you." For cordial first and foremost.

Obito stops the recording on his cell phone, and making a "yes sir" gesture puts his hand to his forehead like a dutiful soldier, after uploading it to Instagram for all to see. The party ends with property damage and bruised egos, but Shisui is at a loss for words as he follows the girl down the hallway.

(Y/N) further leads Shisui into his own bedroom straight to the bathroom. Setting him against the sink and rummaging for a towel, she fills the sink with hot water. Indra peeps through the door notifying Shisui that someone will be out first thing in the morning, granted if the storm has cleared out by then, to repair his wall. Courtesy of Izuna’s bank. Shisui loosely nods but keeps watch on (Y/N) clearing debris from his arms, torn shoulder blade and then his face. Scowling when she sees the damage there.

Maybe it was just the way the light shone, or that he got his gourd cracked a few good times, but he can’t keep his sights off this woman. Taking special care around red spun pearls—he had a laceration above the right eyebrow. His eyes close in anticipation and (Y/N) rinses the towel to wash another cut opposite on his forehead, just below the hairline. The close proximity has (Y/N) almost flush to him, and any and all impure thoughts are hardly abandoned when she speaks.

“I was expecting a house fire. More like a hockey game broke out.” And Shisui laughs softly, but still too hard for bruised ribs. He hadn’t expected any type of humor from her.

He rubs the back of his head. Sore there also, but smiles that ten thousand suns beam of a grin. “Just doing my job.”  

“Must be all that katon heat in you boys.” Because, yea. They were all hotheaded.

Besotted by this woman’s unwarranted display of affections, Shisui grabs her working hand. Reeling it to his chest. (Y/N) dials in at the gesture, and her chin is lifted to red blood moons. “Do you know how hard it is to not kiss you right now?” 

“And look where that got us.” She jokes, gesturing to the tiny elephant in her womb.

It took every muscle in his entire upper body to not lean down and wreck (Y/N) in the most beautiful of ways. This woman he’s already seen in nature's most carnal and intimate acts. Shisui is low key so shameless. Equipped with a personal theater at his disposal, there are images of many women engraved into those corneas. But (Y/N) is all he can visualize. Opposite of amnesia, Shisui still contemplates a full semester of their heated lessons on repeat. 

There was just no caging a rabid animal. Cupping her cheek, he leans and slants his lips to hers. (Y/N) rests her other hand on the fabric over his hip and sighs at the pressure on her lower back, Shisui draws her in flush and doesn’t let go. It was not like she could get pregnant while already displaying a no vacancy sign. Purposeful with this kisses execution, Shisui further implores (Y/N) to part her lips and fully purges any and all thoughts of logic. Gently nipping and sucking her bottom lip and she with him. Peppering kisses all over her cheeks in loose pecks and sucking at the juncture below her jaw, (Y/N) grips taut curls and it accelerates his heart rate. Irresistible wasn’t even the word. He was dissatisfied with the barriers between their skin. Longing for her to permit the kiss to evolve into tangled sheets and busy hands. They speak for him and lift at the hem of her shirt.

“Ah—we shouldn’t.” She breathed out, and she was right. There was nothing that indicated (Y/N) was signaling to the greater lower region of Shisui’s slacks that she wanted to fuck.

“S-sorry. Heat of the moment.” The throat wasn’t the only place Shisui expelled katon, and the smallest stupidest part of him hoped she felt his raging hard on. The remorseful side regretted that he had most definitely and inappropriately, thrusted it in her stomach.

This woman was like second hand smoke, invading and filling the space of his lungs, unapologetically making him choke and gasp. She was ventilation and he was out of air. (Y/N) unknowingly cornered a scared and rare animal, but not in a sense that he was capable of ignoring or turning away. The tiniest of people decided for him. Too many war wounds and not enough wars—Shisui was deliberate in his resolve. No good at admitting defeat like most Uchiha males, he still debated that this woman was an unknown catalyst. (Y/N) became a cosmic threat by an insurmountable magnitude of proportions. What most would consider the death of a bachelor, Shisui slowly acknowledges is not the case. Because after the storm, is when the flowers bloom.

“You should shower. I’m returning to the guest room for the night.” (Y/N) slowly unravels herself from him. 

Shisui was good when it counted, but the woman had to keep her guard up. He was a certified lover boy. Too fast for her liking, and she unfortunately was feeling like it was entrapment if she lingered around too long. 

“That’s a good thought.” He quips.

(Y/N) takes her leave and heads to her room. Leaving Shisui to his own devices and a hot shower. It was maddening how easily she wormed right into him. Without any guilt to speak of he stokes that fire from the base of his cock to the crown. Water soaks his brow and he thinks that certainly this wasn’t the lowest measure he’s taken to rub one out, but with (Y/N) only half the opposite side of the house away from him. It was nothing short of deplorable, and he couldn’t help it. Something aroused a bewildered and unparalleled level of horny knowing that he’s now sired an offspring. And Shisui wasn’t going to bed without at least replaying the entire repertoire of salacious imagery from their weekend several months ago. With soloists hand motions, he works the length of himself—even so far as fantasizing that it was planned . That (Y/N) maybe or maybe not in this fantasy asked him to fuck a baby in to her. He sort of fancied a redo. A proper send off of his genetic coding. 

A different sort of morning after arouses Shisui. (Y/N) was already awake, guiding workers around the busted remnants of his foyer wall. Wearing a loose fitting shirt embroidered with the clans insignia. Befitting of a woman wayfarering a new member into existence, bringing life into the universe—half of her and him. (Y/N) is coordinating carefully the myriad of men with ease when she catches a glimpse of a very tired and very handsome Shisui advancing on her six. A little ignition in her chest catches that beating heart in her throat when he closes in. Wearing only sweats and a sleepy half grin. 

Shisui rather invades her space a little—more like a lot. Roping her in with a firm chested hug and whispers in her hair. “Good morning, (Y/N). I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.” Squeezing her tightly on the verge of melting her insides. 

Hard. (Y/N) found it unbearably hard to maintain a cordial relationship with Shisui. He spoke sweet and soft, she didn’t want to believe this would be anything other than what it was. Two people accepting of an awkward situation.

“Well someone wasn’t awake to let them in, though the giant hole in the wall had already done that.” She tries to keep a rough exterior, thinking of the way he had kissed her last night certainly didn’t help. Nor did his warmth, hospitality and well, just him.

“Hm, are you hungry?”

“Starving, but listen.” Looking up at Shisui was a bad idea. Most of the sleepy had worn off and now it was just some incredibly handsome man holding her tightly. “I wasn’t expecting this. We can just accept it for what it really is.”

Shisui holds the back of her head, not relenting in the slightest to (Y/N). He was one hundred percent ready to fight heart and soul for this woman. “And what’s that?”

She frowns. “An accident.”

He shuffles her face between two hands and kisses that sour attitude with sugar and spice. “No Uchiha is an accident. Sorry, babe, but I come with the kid. Package deal.”

“Then you can join me Monday at the doctors for the big reveal.” She quips.

Doctors didn’t make Shisui nervous. With his fair share of yearly physicals down to a science, he felt that was the easy part. What scared him was actually seeing that little blip on the map and making sure it really existed. He agreed easily. The rest of the Saturday was spent making sure (Y/N) understood where his loyalty rests. That regardless of his previous unsavory behavior, that was now a dead end road. Whether (Y/N) wanted his assistance or not was left up to her. Co parents, lovers and even marriage if she so wished to form the union as a family unit. Granted that could be done over time, Shisui promised he wasn’t compensating for anything, but rather was so beside himself he didn’t want to live a life where the child was fatherless. Or thinking it was born out of anything less than love.

It catches (Y/N) on the flip side. Hormones were a bitch and she sobbed like a baby. Shisui reeled her in from the kitchen island where they had finished breakfast and further solidified his resolve.

“I mean it. You can’t get rid of me that fast. I’m quicker than you.” He chuckles.

“I’ll hold you to it then.”

(Y/N) didn’t allow Shisui to kiss her at the door. It wasn’t anything personal, but she told him that it would take time. She did like him, like a lot and that made Shisui happy to hear. Quicker than lightening, he still kissed her something romantic and saccharine. A memento of sorts. It made her flush and anxious, unable to fully trust the new leaf Shisui had turned.

Up until twenty minutes to their arrival, Shisui was fine. Easy like Sunday morning, only it was Monday morning and he was in a waiting room with a bunch of pregnant women and (Y/N). The sound of magazine pages filled the room, and the clock on the wall had a rather antagonistic way of reminding him this was just the first room they would enter. 

Hands laced together, she squeezes. “You seem nervous?”

“No—not at all.” He speaks fast, unable to really prove that point, he does what Shisui always does. Smiles the width of his mouth and pats her hand. “I’m ok.”

He wasn’t. Not truly ok—excited, but morbidly scared. Utterly damn near close to shitting his pants. (Y/N) seemed more calm about the whole situation, and he jumped two seconds too fast at the sound of her name being called out. He flickered out of nervousness.

“Try not to run the building in its entirety. I don't think the doctors would appreciate Shunshin no Shisui causing early labor.” She whispers.

“Heh.” They follow the doctor.

His palms are sweating as they enter the doctor's room, but he tries to keep a composed and calm exterior for (Y/N)'s sake. It is collectively known that they are both scared. The first pregnancy and to top it off a total surprise. Of course there is doubt and uncertainty about it.

He helps her sit on the observation table as if she were an 80 year old lady with arthritis, and only realizes this when (Y/N) quips a, "I can do it myself, take it easy." 

Shisui can only giggle nervously. His smile speaks louder than a thousand words, and sits down in the side chair to wait for the doctor. "Sorry..."

It's an understandable twenty minutes of silence, since even though they've gotten along great from the start, no conversation is appropriate for a time of such considerable suspense. The Uchiha appreciates being allowed to be a part of this, that (Y/N) has sought his help and support, but he has no idea what is appropriate to comment in such delicate contexts.

(Y/N) seems to be on the same emotional edge as him, biting her nails as she stares at the same spot on the wall since she sat on the examining table. It's an overwhelming moment, unfamiliar territory, and the emptiness Shisui feels in his belly is mixed with a sense of excitement he doesn't know how to properly convey.

He's going to be a father, a fucking father! Wonderful and terrifying at the same time, how does one get used to the idea? Nine months seems like a short time to make a complete life change, and while on one hand he feels totally ready, on the other he is admittedly scared.

Shisui comes out of his haze of conflicting thoughts when the doctor enters the room, having the compelling urge to show respect and greet him with a hug, eternally grateful for the one who will undertake care for the growing little Uchiha. When (Y/N) blushes, he understands that perhaps it was too much. Fortunately, the professional doesn't comment on the matter, accustomed to the jumpy impulsive reactions of future parents, and after a few brief introductions, he gets down to work.

The Uchiha chooses to remain silent for the rest of the consultation, not to hinder with his joy what the professional should do, but the world falls silent when the doctor proposes to listen to the heartbeat of their child-to-be. He asks both of them, and even though Shisui's answer is totally obvious, he looks at her, indicating she is the one who should make the decision.

Respectfully, he waits patiently, agreeing to whatever she says.

(Y/N), reluctant at first, expressed on a few occasions her fear of something going wrong, anxiety that things might not work out with the pregnancy as she expects. She didn't prepare for this, she didn't pursue it, and while she is thrilled to have this little situation in hand, she also has a lot of fears she couldn't prepare for beforehand.

What if there is no heartbeat? What if the life inside her decided to shut down? What if something is not working?

This little ray of sunshine brought a different flavor to her days, and having the father's presence painted the picture in a beautiful color. Shisui and (Y/N) found a wonderful bond despite life's way of bringing them together, and she fears that too is in jeopardy if something is wrong.

After a few minutes of silent patience, the girl finally agrees, and with a transvaginal ultrasound, that noise invades the room with energy and passion, Uchiha fire running through the veins of that child just like the father.

(Y/N) can't hold back the tears, for to be raising her child with her own body, harboring her baby, is one of the most intimate connections she has ever felt in her life. A new level of closeness and vulnerability unlike any other. This is her little one, growing from within her and preparing to journey through life at her side, a fact that is all too moving. What is surprising are Shisui's tears joining hers, a sight no one would expect from a proper womanizer. Each step in this process seems to have him mature in a different way, helping him build the first stable relationship in his existence apart from the one he carries with his family, teaching him that there is more than just easy sex and instant pleasure.

The Uchiha sobs at that ambient sound, strong and brave little heart bouncing against the four walls of the office, and can't help but get up and hug (Y/N) as they go through that surreal experience.

They both look into each other's eyes and realize that the fruit of their creation lies in her belly, for the first time listening to it. Finally understanding what is going on and realizing that it is real, very real—their child, their baby, and that life brought them together in the most curious and wonderful way it could be. Shisui once again in the throes of his emotions, kisses (Y/N) fervently. Raising a hand to match the small swell in her lower abdomen, forgetting the doctor was still in the room, but certain it wouldn’t be the first time to see new parents celebrate.

“Congrats.” The doctor says warmly with a smile. “Thirteen weeks, and in three more or so—we’ll be able to see the sex.”

That excited him even more. A little girl? Or a boy? It didn’t matter to Shisui, or (Y/N). The visit ends, and the party favors—Shisui’s terminology, are handed out. Small sonograms of the unborn Uchiha in a twist of motions were captured. The little fucker was already as fast its dad bouncing around in her uterus. That made Shisui smile something special and kiss (Y/N) hard on the sidewalk. And at every crosswalk they had to wait at. Every shade of a tree and just for the hell of it. The man could not keep his lips off this woman.

“Are you hungry?” It would be a question Shisui would not grow tired of asking or kissing on those sweet sweet lips of (Y/N)’s. Making sure that the mother—his woman and their child were put before himself. It was his entire hyperfocus to make sure she was fed properly and sufficiently taken care of. 

“Why are you obsessed with feeding me?” She jokes.

“That’s what boyfriends do.” Coyly slipping the word in there, it didn’t burn or recoil him in the slightest. Certainly he’d rather be her husband at this rate. Shisui’s exposed heart bounced and grew within her womb. That in less time than he imagined, he would be watching it beat from the outside. 

“Oh that was cute. Yes, feed me—please. I feel famished.” She raises a hand to her forehead. 

“You didn’t say no.” At this point, Shisui wondered about the effects of flickering with the unborn. It could be potentially devastating, so instead of hurrying off for food, he keeps their pace.

“We can try that out…I guess.” Mockingly shrugging, (Y/N) had a wit to match him. And she was going to need it.

That wasn’t all she was going to need though. Just as fast as his namesake, Shisui made good on one thing and quickly, that (Y/N) was going to need to fully understand in this relationship.

Exactly who daddy was. 

After lunch of course, and allowing proper time for food to digest. That poor woman was hardly capable of coherently pleading when she was writhing beneath him. Shisui wanted to thoroughly and swiftly christen this relationship, it wasn’t like he hadn’t fucked her nasty before and with a heavy set of lungs, she moaned as Shisui fed off the biological weapon between her legs. Bent over the arm of the couch, he was crouched between her legs. Ravenously devouring her. 

What did she expect with a dress that made it so easy? And teasing him on the matter only had (Y/N) swiftly ordered for correctional release. A game it had felt like to her, but to Shisui it was gospel. A small crack of her ass to further clarify his stance, and she moaned treasonously when he teased her panties.

(Y/N) would be a damned liar if she said she didn’t like it.

Disgruntled that she was a mess of lube from the visit still and in need of a shower. He didn’t care—no. Shisui sucked and nipped at her clit with so much delight that there wasn’t an ounce of the stuff left. That delicious nectar from her cunt dripped his chin and slicked his nose, two fingers sluiced at her fleshy nub and she came instantaneously from the hormonal increase and blood flow. He liked that—a lot . How easily flipping her over to suck a nipple had her nearly undone in a second orgasm from the sensitivity. The sensation was even more exhilarating under the five o’clock shadow of his chin as he rubbed it across her sternum. 

And when that little appetizer on the couch was picked and eaten clean, hand in hand he corralled her into his bed, she came with jokes and on his mouth again.

“Maybe we should use a condom this time?” She breathes, Shisui kisses the plains of her stomach. Taking special care of acknowledging their little fledgling in there with a raspberry on her belly. She squirms.

“Ha ha—ha. Very funny, (Y/N). I had something better planned.” He nips at the soft fleshy juncture of a hip and thigh, and (Y/N) grips at his forearm arching her back.

“I could think of a hundred things better to do right now.” No, she couldn’t. But the sarcastic tone has Shisui pinching her sides, eliciting small yaps of laughter and gasps.

He draws the strings of his slacks and removes all remaining constricting fabric off.

The moment he parted her legs again with a knee, Shisui knew he was one lucky son of a bitch. Disheveled, laughing and utterly drop dead gorgeous—(Y/N) must’ve been sent from the gods themselves. A coup d’état he’d gladly surrender to, if they had fated him to this woman, he had no qualms to speak of.

A battle he easily concedes with a swipe of slick folds and a tap of her clit, she jolts at the sensation. Bestowed right into his lap, and on his cock. She moans. A sound he would never tire of. A connection he could not explain or question the authority of. That first thrust has (Y/N) clamping and fluttering all over him already, dizzying and making him drunk off the feel. The ethereal glint in her eye and furrow of the brow as he bottoms out a second time and he rests his forehead to hers. 

Shisui was fucking filthy in bed, ok? Curls bounced all on her face when he captured her whimpered gasps with a kiss. Totally lost in his own fantasy, he wanted to bring her up to flicker on exactly what he was thinking. And (Y/N) didn’t quite know how to formulate a response when he dropped a paper bomb mid stroke, softly grunting when her body’s own reaction swelled and tightened around him. She was hesitant.

“Was that too much?” He stops to kiss her, consumed by her surprised face.

“Well…no, but—it's…sort of too late for that, now.” She breathes.

“Just this once?” He pleads.

(Y/N) sweetly rolls her eyes, and decides to humor the man. After all it was hot as fuck. Shisui literally begged it of her and thrusted hard and fast once she agreed. But it was so corny and beyond cliche. ‘ Fuck a baby in me ,’ that’s what she reiterated with a giggle. But the laughing wasn’t asked of her. It grew serious. 

He withdrew, forcing (Y/N) on all fours and sheathing to the hilt with velocity that should have been saved for a flicker—fast, unrelenting and unforgettable. Shisui closes her legs within his thighs and towers flush on her backside. Plating a hand overhead, the other to her stomach.

“I’m not convinced.” He thrusts hard, and (Y/N) leans her head further up into his shoulder and huffs out.

“Gods—please. ” She begs but Shisui was really invested in it, and slowed once he felt her pussy swallowing and clenching his cock. It made it all the more delicious that she was feigning ignorance.

“Please—what? ” If she couldn’t say it without giggling it out the first time, then he’d fuck it out of her the way it should have been done originally. Teasingly keeping (Y/N) on the edge of her climax, she whines, and brings a hand to her clit. “Nu-uh.” He grabs her hand, lacing it with his on her abdomen.

Exasperated and taunted, she whimpers the words through broken moans. “Please—S—Shisui.” 

He felt so damned good. Every minor thrust had no wavering effect on the squeeze of her incoming orgasm. It was hard to speak when the sound of hot skin slapping, mixed Shisui’s small groans and grunts filled her ears. It distracted (Y/N). The way he held her close and thrusted hard, but slow. She whimpered when he sucked at the juncture of her shoulder and neck, certain that was her undoing.

Because she was coming whether he wanted her to or not—but she didn’t want to disappoint. 

“ Ah— Fuc—right there. Don’t stop.” She pleads, Shisui groans and pushes (Y/N) down into the mattress. “You better fuck a baby in me. Like you mean it.” 

After that, and even before—he meant every purposeful retreat and hard thrust, making (Y/N) spasm and moan inconsolably. Lifting them both to their knees again and spreading them out to sit them up, squeezing a breast to steady her uneven stance. Shisui grazes interlocked hands down to her clit and uses hers to circle that engorged little sweet spot. The strength of his own hand mimicking and guiding her has him biting the soft flesh of her back and cursing when (Y/N) begs and begs more for it. For his cum that is. 

There's not much Shisui can do to resist the way the woman milks his cock, ready to steal every last drop from him as if trying to give a roommate to the child in her womb. It's maddening, and the Uchiha forgets the purpose of pushing her to the limit when he feels her come again on him, over him, and with him.

(Y/N) is everywhere and in all his senses, flooding him with her and drowning him in the sweet sensations that run through his body as he breathes her in, skin to skin. An intimacy that seems to have an even more precious meaning now that it brings them together.

This is the mother of his child, the girl who bears the fruit of his strength, and if there is anything that turns him on more than that, the Uchiha doesn't want to know. The idea of stuffing her with his cum, of her exploding inside out because of him, how she asks him to fuck a baby in her again...

Shisui finishes hard and powerfully as a good Uchiha would do, and if the way (Y/N)'s pussy swallows him doesn't guarantee them a pair of twins then nothing will. He makes sure that every last drop is buried in her, deep inside her channel, and after a few seconds of acting as a human plug to prevent spillage, he guides them both to the mattress, hugging her in the process.

Against all odds, Shisui does not come out once the encounter is over, enjoying the sensation of being able to purposefully end up inside. The first one is not yet born but he is already thinking about the second, even the third, as he caresses her belly and whispers sweet nothings in her ear.

He has never stayed cuddled up to a woman after fucking, but this girl seems to have him under a complete spell, and the Uchiha is happy to say that she is the mother of his future child. "What are we going to name this one?" he asks in a mixture of drowsiness and ecstasy, trying to decipher if this is what heaven feels like.

"We have to know the sex for it first." She answers with a yawn, settling against him and cradling herself in the Uchiha's natural warmth. Now she has two to enjoy, and while that's intimidating, it's also delightful.

"Yeah... you're right." He has no idea at what point he falls asleep, but the last thing his Sharingan records is the silhouette of his girlfriend, calm, relaxed, the most beautiful woman in the whole fucking world, all for himself.

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."