the one

“It’s a good thing you found him in time, my lord.”

Tobirama lay curled up beneath the thick blanket, his back pressed against the cold wall, staring blankly into nothingness.

Beside him, Madara sat upright, his posture rigid as he listened intently to the Uchiha family physician.

“The blood loss was severe. Fortunately, the child is unharmed.”

The words rang in Tobirama’s ears. He clenched his fists beneath the fabric, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

Madara was unmoving—his focus entirely on the conversation. One of his hands rested atop the blanket, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over Tobirama’s abdomen.

“Tobirama-sama’s health remains a concern,” the physician continued, adjusting his glasses. “A lack of pheromones, compounded by inadequate nutrition, has made the pregnancy unstable.”

Madara’s hand stilled for a fraction of a second before resuming its gentle motions. His attention remained fixed on the doctor’s every word.

“Even though the critical stage has passed, his condition demands careful monitoring. He is still a Beta, after all. Any carelessness could have dire consequences.”

The room felt unbearably small, suffocating even.

Sixteen weeks. Four months.

The pregnancy had reached its fourth month. And it had been one month since Tobirama had married Madara.

Tobirama closed his eyes, curling deeper into himself beneath the covers.

When Tobirama first discovered he was pregnant, the child was already five weeks along.

By the time Madara came to demand marriage, Hashirama had been furious—so much so that he had beaten Madara into the ground. The wedding could have taken place sooner, but the injuries Hashirama inflicted were severe enough that the ceremony had to be delayed for several months.

And yet, none of that seemed to dampen Madara’s mood.

That day, the day of their wedding, was the first time Tobirama had seen such unguarded joy on the Alpha’s face.

Like a warrior basking in the glory of a hard-won victory.

Tobirama, however, felt like he was attending his own funeral.

He stood there, silent and ghostlike, while his husband laughed and spoke as if this were the happiest day of his life.

“You don’t have to marry him if you don’t want to,” Mito had told him. “But don’t give up the child, Tobirama. Abortion is too dangerous. You are a Beta. Your body won’t survive the procedure.”

Tobirama had lowered his gaze, voice quiet. “Even if I keep the child, I can’t stay here. You know our clan doesn’t tolerate bastards.”

“And worse, I am a Beta.” Tobirama’s voice was barely above a whisper, but the weight of his words settled heavily between them. “They already despise me for that alone. If I stay, it will only bring shame to the clan. It will put both my brother and you in a difficult position.”

Mito said nothing at first, but Tobirama could feel the tension in her silence. Her fingers tightened around his, warm and trembling.

“I’ve already caused enough trouble for both of you,” Tobirama said, lifting his head to meet her eyes. “I’ll marry him.”

Their eyes met, and Tobirama could see the unspoken fears in hers. Tobirama reached for her hand, gripping it gently.

“Your due date is near,” Tobirama forced a smile. “You shouldn’t worry too much. I’m sorry for making you think about all of this when you should be resting.”

It was an empty reassurance.

As Tobirama turned away, he realized—no matter how much he tried to comfort the Omega—he could never quiet the storm inside himself.

On the night of his wedding, laughter still echoed from the distant halls, voices rising and falling in drunken revelry. The celebration stretched on, filled with warmth and joy—but Tobirama remained alone in the bridal chamber, untouched by the merriment.

Somewhere out there, Madara was still drinking, surrounded by their guests. Meanwhile, Tobirama sat in the silence of their shared bedroom, his fingers trembling as he clenched his hands into fists.

Tobirama had told himself, over and over, that he had to accept this fate.

That he had no choice but to close his eyes and endure.

That resistance was futile.

But, oh—even now, his shoulders trembled, his breath came uneven. His fingers, white-knuckled from gripping the fabric of his robes, refused to steady. His body still remembered fear, even if his mind had long since given up the right to it.

This room—this very place—had once been the scene of his deepest humiliation. It was here that he had been dragged against his will, his pride crushed beneath the weight of an Alpha’s cruelty.

Here, where he had been violated, stripped of all dignity, left with nothing but the hollow ache of his own helplessness.

And now, Tobirama had returned.

No longer dragged, no longer forced—this time, he had walked inside on his own. Of his own accord. Of his own supposed will.

The undeniable proof of that night rested in his womb, a silent testament to everything that had transpired. A life that had taken root inside him, growing with each passing day.

Tobirama told himself that this was different. That this was a choice.

But then why—why did his body still shake like this?

The laughter outside grew louder, and Tobirama curled in on himself, his breath hitching in his throat.

It was cold.

Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just him.

And maybe, no matter how tightly he shut his eyes, no matter how many times he told himself to accept it—

Maybe a part of him would always remain trapped in that night.

“Tobirama.”

The voice was thick with alcohol, slurred at the edges, but unmistakable. The door creaked open, letting the scent of sake drift into the dimly lit room.

Tobirama did not turn. His back remained facing the entrance, his shoulders tense beneath the weight of his untouched wedding robes. He could hear the faint unsteadiness in Madara’s footsteps, the way the wooden floor creaked beneath his measured approach.

“Tobirama, you haven’t changed out of your clothes yet? Or…” Madara chuckled. “Are you waiting for your husband to undress you himself, so we can finally consummate our marriage?”

The room felt smaller, the walls closing in. Tobirama could smell it now—the heat of liquor on Madara’s breath as the Alpha pressed in behind him, wrapping strong arms around his waist.

The warmth of another body, so close, so inescapable.

Tobirama inhaled sharply through his nose, trying to steady the trembling in his fingers.

Madara, still clad in his groom’s ceremonial robes, the deep, rich fabric a perfect match for the dark hair that fell over his shoulders. And Tobirama—draped in white, the pale silk of his wedding attire standing in haunting opposition to the man now caging him in his embrace.

Madara sighed, dipping his head into the crook of Tobirama’s neck, inhaling deeply. “Tobirama,” he murmured, voice hushed but fervent. “I missed you.”

His grip tightened.

“Since my last rut, I’ve been wanting you.”

His fingers found the delicate ties of Tobirama’s robe, and he began to undo them with an agonizing slowness, one by one. “It’s been too long. You have no idea how much I’ve been waiting to touch you again.”

Tobirama swallowed, forcing down the bitter taste in his throat.

He stayed silent, unresisting.

The doctor had said the pregnancy had stabilized. That it was safe. That there was no longer a reason to abstain.

Madara had taken those words to heart.

“Your pregnancy has stabilized, Tobirama.” Madara’s voice was low, a murmur against his skin, his breath warm as it ghosted over the shell of his ear. “The doctor said so. There’s nothing to worry about anymore.”

“Your body is ready for me again, Tobirama.” Madara’s lips curled into a smile against Tobirama’s skin. “I can’t wait any longer. I want to feel you around me.”

Tobirama did not respond.

He sat still, his hands resting on his lap, the weight of his own silence pressing down on him. His body remained rigid, every muscle drawn taut as if bracing for something inevitable.

Piece by piece, layer by layer, the fabric slipped from his skin.

Tobirama did not resist.

Did not protest.

He simply sat there, rigid and silent, allowing the hands behind him to strip him bare, to undress him as if he were nothing more than a doll.

Until all that remained was the thin, white outer layer of his wedding attire—slipping off his shoulders, barely clinging to his form.

His body trembled, whether from the cold or something far worse, he no longer knew.

Madara shifted behind him, pressing closer, the broad expanse of his chest molding against Tobirama’s back. A slow inhale, deep and indulgent, as if drinking in his scent. “It’s been so long, Tobirama.”

Tobirama shut his eyes.

“I’ve waited.” The Alpha’s lips brushed against the curve of his jaw, his voice dipping lower, more hushed, almost coaxing. “I’ve been so patient.”

A hand moved, warm fingers sliding over the curve of Tobirama’s stomach, resting there.

“I miss you.”

Another hand followed, slipping downward, slow, deliberate. “I miss how your body feels around me.”

Tobirama’s fingers curled against his lap, his knuckles turning white.

Madara exhaled, his breath hot against Tobirama’s ear as his hips shifted, pressing forward. The unmistakable hardness of his arousal pushed insistently against the small of Tobirama’s back.

“Can you feel that?” His voice was a low rumble, dark amusement curling at the edges. “This is what you do to me, Tobirama.”

A hand dipped lower, fingers teasing along the inside of Tobirama’s thigh. “You’ve kept me waiting long enough.”

“Tonight, I’ll finally be inside you again.”

Tobirama’s breath hitched, but still, he did not move.

“Let me have you again.” Madara sighed, his voice thick with something indulgent, something unwavering. “Let me feel you, Tobirama. Let me sink into that sinful, tight heat of yours again.”

Tobirama’s breath hitched, but still, he did not move.

Madara chuckled, a pleased, knowing sound against his ear. His grip firmed over Tobirama’s stomach, his other hand continuing its slow, inevitable descent.

Outside, the night was still filled with the distant echoes of laughter.

But here, inside the chamber, there was only silence—thick, suffocating, and inescapable.

Madara knelt behind him, arms wrapping around his body in a slow embrace. His breath, thick with the scent of alcohol, ghosted against the shell of Tobirama’s ear before his lips closed around it, wet and insistent. His tongue moved in slow, deliberate strokes, tracing every curve, every sensitive ridge.

Tobirama shuddered. His thighs trembled, his body caught between the instinct to recoil and the deep, inescapable weight of the Alpha’s touch.

Madara’s hands, always searingly hot, moved downward, a slow and unhurried descent along Tobirama’s body. The calloused pads of his fingers grazed over the delicate plane of his stomach, lingering there, stroking absentmindedly as if savoring the sensation of soft flesh beneath his palm.

The other hand trailed lower, mapping the swell of his hips before settling over the curve of his ass. A firm squeeze, fingers spreading, kneading.

“I can’t wait to see you swell with our pup, Tobirama.” Madara sighed, pleased.

Tobirama pressed his lips together, unmoving.

“Why aren’t you showing yet?” Madara’s thumb brushed over Tobirama’s stomach again, circling lazily. “Hnn… Does my greedy little wife plan to keep that flat belly for much longer?”

His other hand continued its slow exploration, fingertips tracing the crease of Tobirama’s ass, sliding lower, lower—until they found their destination.

A breath caught in Tobirama’s throat.

Madara’s fingers lingered, teasing around the tight entrance without breaching it. His touch was deliberate, methodical, rubbing slow circles around the rim, pressing just enough to make Tobirama’s body tense.

Tobirama shivered violently, an involuntary tremor racking down his spine.

The Alpha hummed in approval, his grip tightening over Tobirama’s stomach as he nuzzled against the nape of his neck, lips parting to drag hot, open-mouthed kisses along the pale expanse of skin.

“Still so tight…” the Alpha murmured, voice thick with hunger.

Tobirama’s breath hitched.

At some point, Madara had already freed himself, his thick cock pressing hot and heavy between the cleft of Tobirama’s ass.

“Tobirama…” His voice was a low growl, breath hot against the shell of Tobirama’s ear. “I can’t hold back anymore.”

Tobirama flinched as Madara’s hands spread him wider, strong fingers kneading into the soft flesh of his ass, pressing his cheeks together to form a tight, sinful channel.

And then—the slide.

Madara’s cock, swollen and aching, fit perfectly between them, moving slowly at first, gliding up and down, teasingly rubbing against the untouched entrance as he used the heat of Tobirama’s body for his pleasure.

His grip tightened. His thrusts grew firmer, dragging slick heat along sensitive skin.

“Did you know, Tobirama?” Madara murmured, breathless. “Just seeing you every day is enough to drive me insane. And now…” His voice dropped lower, thick with lust. “Tonight, dressed like this—.”

Tobirama swallowed hard, fingers curling. Madara’s lips pressed to his ear.

“My wife, everything you do… it’s as if you’re seducing me.”

His pace quickened, his breathing turning ragged, needy. The head of his cock dragged against soft, pale skin, leaving behind a trail of slick heat, marking, claiming. The friction was intoxicating.

Tobirama felt it the moment Madara stiffened behind him, felt the low groan that rumbled in his chest.

And then—warmth.

Hot, thick ropes of cum spilled onto his bare back, streaking across his pale skin. The heat of it burned against him.

But Madara was never satisfied.

Even after spilling himself across Tobirama’s back, the hunger in his eyes hadn’t dimmed.

With practiced ease, the Alpha gathered the thick, hot release that painted Tobirama’s skin and pressed it back into him.

Tobirama gasped sharply as slick fingers pushed past the trembling rim of his entrance. The walls of his body clenched in protest, but Madara’s fingers only pressed deeper, stretching, curling, slicking him open for something even thicker, even harder.

“So tight, Tobirama.”

A low, indulgent chuckle rumbled in Madara’s chest as he watched Tobirama’s body react to him—helpless, unwilling, but yielding all the same.

Tobirama kept his gaze locked straight ahead, refusing to meet the reflection of himself in the dim light. His body trembled slightly, but his lips remained pressed into a thin, unyielding line.

Madara’s hold on him was unrelenting. One strong arm wrapped around his chest from behind, holding him against the broad, overheated expanse of his body, pinning him in place. The other hand continued its slow, thorough invasion, fingers thrusting deep, twisting as if searching for something hidden inside.

And then—Madara inhaled deeply, his nose dragging along the sensitive skin of Tobirama’s neck.

“Where are my marks?” His voice was soft. “They were here before, weren’t they?”

Tobirama held his breath.

Beta bodies could never truly be marked. The deep, vicious bites Madara had left on him had begun to fade—healing over, erasing the evidence of the Alpha’s claim.

Madara didn’t like that.

Tobirama stiffened as the wet heat of Madara’s tongue slid over his nape, trailing along the delicate skin like a beast scenting its prey.

The first few kisses were deceptively gentle, soft and lingering, but they didn’t stay that way for long.

Sharp teeth followed, dragging over sensitive flesh, nipping, biting, claiming.

Tobirama’s body jerked, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as pain bloomed across his skin.

He had seen it before—how his body had looked after Madara’s rut. How the back of his neck had been layered with bruises, deep crescent indentations from where Madara’s fangs had dug into him over and over again.

The memory alone was enough to make his stomach twist.

Madara’s teeth sank in deeper, and Tobirama bit back a sound, forcing himself to remain silent.

There was no point in struggling.

The Alpha was going to take what he wanted, regardless.

And Madara didn’t wait. The moment he deemed Tobirama ready, he pulled his fingers free and pressed the thick, aching length of himself against that trembling entrance.

There was no warning, no hesitation.

Madara drove himself in, forcing past the last line of resistance in a single, unrelenting thrust.

Tobirama’s eyes widened, his entire body stiffening in shock. His hands clenched tightly into fists as his breath caught in his throat.

It hurt.

It always hurt.

He forced himself to breathe through it, to keep still, to swallow the instinctual terror clawing its way up his spine.

This was his fate now.

This was the life he had resigned himself to.

But even knowing that—even after telling himself over and over again that this was inevitable—he still felt the crushing weight of humiliation settle deep in his bones.

A thick, shaking sense of helplessness coiled around his ribs, pressing down on his chest until it hurt to breathe.

Behind him, Madara growled low in satisfaction, hands tightening possessively around his waist.

The Alpha’s grip was bruising, firm, unyielding.

And then he moved.

Tobirama shuddered as Madara pulled out, only to slam back in just as harshly, setting a pace that was fast, rough, and utterly merciless.

“It’s alright.”

Madara’s voice was low, a pleased growl against his ear.

“If the marks fade, I’ll just have to leave more.”

His hand slid lower, pressing against the faint swell of Tobirama’s abdomen, warm palm stroking over soft skin as he thrust deeper.

“Besides,” he murmured, voice thick with something almost tender, “our pup is already here.”

Tobirama squeezed his eyes shut.

Madara’s words settled over him like a heavy shroud, inescapable, binding.

From the very beginning, the Alpha had been whispering to him—question after question, low and indulgent, as if they were any ordinary couple in the throes of passion.

“Do you want a son or a daughter?”

Tobirama hadn’t answered.

“Never mind.” Madara’s hips drove forward, punctuating his words. “As long as it’s yours, I’ll love them either way.”

Tobirama hated how those words made something in his chest twist painfully.

Something deep and aching.

Something he didn’t want to name.

“I can’t wait to meet our pup, Tobirama.”

Madara exhaled against the nape of his neck, hands sliding down, down—

Tobirama gasped sharply as calloused fingers wrapped around him, stroking him to release with slow, firm pressure.

His body shuddered, too overwhelmed, too overstimulated, and the moment his own release spilled over Madara’s hand, the Alpha groaned low in satisfaction, burying himself as deep as he could go.

The heat of it spread through Tobirama’s body like fire.

Madara stayed there, lingering inside him even after he had spent himself, as if unwilling to part from the tight heat of Tobirama’s body.

And then he moved again.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

His lips trailed along Tobirama’s shoulder, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against sweat-damp skin.

“I love you,” the Alpha murmured.

Tobirama closed his eyes, his entire body trembling.

He had known this was his fate.

He had already resigned himself to it.

So why did it still feel so utterly, suffocatingly hopeless?

Madara pulled out, his touch lingering for only a moment before he shifted Tobirama’s pliant body.

Without a word, he turned Tobirama onto his back, spreading him open on the cold floor.

The white of his wedding robes was still draped across his body, the fabric pristine, untouched—stark against the ruin beneath.

Tobirama’s thighs trembled as Madara parted them, guiding them open with firm hands.

Tobirama did not resist.

Did not move.

He simply lay there, eyes dull, breath slow and uneven.

Madara settled himself between his legs, fingers ghosting over the soft, pale skin stretched over lean muscle, lingering over the dip of his navel.

And then, without hesitation, Madara’s cock was pressed back inside.

The slow stretch made Tobirama’s fingers curl weakly against the floor.

The intrusion was smooth, slickened with the last of Madara’s spend, but it was still too much—still sharp, still unbearable.

Tobirama’s lips parted, an exhale slipping free, but he did not make a sound.

Madara groaned above him, lowering himself further, pressing his palm over Tobirama’s abdomen, where the faintest, almost imperceptible swell had begun to form.

He rubbed it, slow and thoughtful, letting his thumb trace circles over the vulnerable skin.

“Ah… Tobirama,” he murmured, almost in awe. “I can see it now.”

Tobirama barely heard him.

His mind had gone somewhere else, distant and empty, somewhere beyond the reach of the voice above him.

He turned his head to the side, slack and silent, teeth sinking into his trembling wrist to keep himself from making a sound.

Madara was too preoccupied, pressing closer, his lips trailing lower until they hovered over a pert, untouched nipple.

And then he bit.

The sharp, sudden pain was enough to make Tobirama’s breath hitch in his throat.

Madara’s teeth clamped down, tugging, drawing the sensitive bud into the heat of his mouth with slow, unhurried precision. His tongue pressed against it, soothing and tormenting all at once, lips suckling at the already sensitive flesh.

“Tobirama,” Madara hummed, voice thick with amusement. “I wonder… when will you start lactating?”

He rolled the nub between his teeth, giving another slow, deliberate suck before pulling away with a quiet pop.

“I can’t wait to taste it,” he murmured, breath ghosting over saliva-slick skin. “I should be able to drink from my wife, shouldn’t I?”

Tobirama said nothing.

He barely even reacted.

Madara paused.

The Alpha lifted his head, finally looking up, searching Tobirama’s face—

And froze.

Tobirama was crying.

The tears ran silent and slow, slipping down the curve of his cheek in quiet streams.

His lips parted slightly, quivering with the effort to hold back the faint, broken sounds trembling in his throat.

It was the kind of crying that didn’t come from pain.

Didn’t come from fear.

It was deeper than that.

More raw.

More fragile.

Madara stared at him for a long, heavy moment, unmoving.

And then—

“Tobirama,” he muttered, voice barely above a breath.

His hand reached for him, tilting his chin, forcing him to look up.

For the first time that night, Tobirama’s glassy, tear-filled eyes met his husband.

Madara inhaled sharply.

Something flashed across his expression.

And then, just as suddenly, his jaw clenched, and his entire face twisted into something furious.

Without warning, Madara slammed a fist against the floor. He stared at Tobirama, his breathing uneven, his muscles tense.

And then, without another word, Madara pulled away.

Withdrawing from Tobirama’s body, he rose to his feet and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Tobirama stayed where he was.

His body curled in on itself, trembling, as the warm spill of Madara’s release continued to leak from between his legs, pooling against the cold floor.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

And then, finally—

He wept.

He curled in on himself, knees pulled to his chest, hands clenching into the white of his wedding robes, and wept.

He had known this was coming.

He had told himself this was inevitable.

That this was his fate.

So why did it still feel so unbearable?

Why did it still feel like something inside him had broken beyond repair?

Somewhere, distantly, he could still hear the echoes of the door slamming shut, of Madara’s heavy footsteps fading into the hall.

That night, Madara never returned to their marital bed.

Or the next.

Or the next.

Instead, he took residence in the long-empty chambers of Izuna.

And the room that had once belonged to Madara became the room of Tobirama.

Alone.

If he could, Tobirama would never return home.

Every morning, he left early, before the sun had even risen, before anyone else could wake and see him go.

And every night, he delayed his return for as long as he could.

Sometimes, it was midnight.

Sometimes, it was long past that, the hours slipping away until the black sky began to pale at the edges, morning creeping in again before he even set foot inside the Uchiha compound.

Tobirama drowned himself in work, buried himself in it until there was no space left in his mind to think about anything else. Until his body was too exhausted to feel. Until the only thing he knew was the cold efficiency of his tasks, one after another, like clockwork.

He told himself it was necessity.

That there was too much to do.

Too many responsibilities.

That the weight of the village rested on his shoulders, and if he faltered, if he ever allowed himself to pause, everything would crumble.

But deep down, he knew the truth.

This was avoidance.

A desperate attempt to buy himself time.

Time away from the house.

Time away from the man waiting inside it.

Because he was afraid.

Afraid that if he returned too early, he would have to face Madara.

Would have to face that.

But… Madara no longer sought Tobirama out.

At night, Madara took his place in Izuna’s old bedroom, keeping his distance, retreating into silence.

And in the vastness of their home, there was nothing between them.

Tobirama should have been relieved. He should have felt something close to gratitude, that Madara had finally decided to leave him alone.

But all he felt was exhaustion.

A deep, bone-deep exhaustion that never seemed to leave.

His body was always aching, always sluggish, as if he was wading through water too thick to move through.

And it was getting worse.

The weight of his work, the erratic hours, the lack of sleep—it was all catching up to him, dragging him further and further down.

It was as if his body didn’t belong to him anymore.

As if he was merely borrowing it, wearing it like a disguise, pretending he was still something whole.

But he wasn’t.

He was fraying at the edges.

Coming undone, little by little, piece by piece.

Sometimes, he wondered—

Would the child inside him take the last of him?

Would it drain him until there was nothing left?

Until he was nothing more than a hollow shell, dried out and empty?

Would it consume him entirely?

Would he die this way?

It would be an easy death, wouldn’t it?

It would be quiet.

Painless.

He would simply fade, the life inside him taking everything he had to give, leaving nothing behind.

And that would be it.

No more fighting.

No more enduring.

Just an end.

…Would that be so bad?

Wouldn’t that be easier?

But the child did not grant him such mercy.

If anything, it seemed to fight against him at every turn, clawing its way into existence, demanding his attention, demanding his body, refusing to let him go.

Tobirama’s stomach cramped constantly, twisting and tightening as if in warning, punishing him for every extra hour he spent on his feet, for every skipped meal, for every night spent without sleep.

Even his work was becoming more difficult.

Tobirama could no longer push himself the way he used to, could no longer ignore the burn of overuse, the trembling of his hands, the sudden waves of nausea that left him breathless.

The child would not allow it.

Even now, before it had even fully formed, it had already begun to control him.

To bind him.

To dictate what he could and couldn’t do.

Just like Madara.

Just like its father.

And there was nothing Tobirama could do about it.

Nothing but endure.

Nothing but wait.

Nothing but drag himself forward, step by step, toward an existence he no longer wanted.

That morning, Tobirama woke earlier than usual.

It was exhaustion, deeper than any sleep could cure, that pulled him from his rest. His body felt foreign—too heavy, too weak, as if it no longer belonged to him.

He dragged himself out of bed, mind sluggish, limbs moving as if submerged in water.

The bathroom was only a few steps away, but it felt like crossing a battlefield. Each movement was a struggle, each breath more difficult than the last.

Then the floor tilted beneath him. Or maybe he was the one who tilted.

Tobirama couldn’t tell.

All he knew was the sharp, sudden pull in his abdomen, the way his body folded in on itself, the sickening weightlessness before he hit the ground.

For a moment, he lay there, stunned, the pain not yet catching up to him.

Then—

Something warm.

Something wet.

Spreading beneath him, soaking through his clothes, thick and sticky against his skin.

Red.

A flood of red pooling around him.

His breath hitched.

A sharp, agonizing cramp twisted deep in his stomach, and then—nothing.

Darkness swallowed him whole.

When Tobirama opened his eyes again, it was to warmth.

A blanket draped over him. The heavy scent of antiseptic in the air.

And beside him—

Madara.

Sitting at his bedside, one hand resting on the sheets, the other reaching toward him, fingertips grazing lightly against his skin.

The touch sent a shiver crawling up Tobirama’s spine.

Tobirama’s gaze flickered to the side, and he saw the doctor standing there, speaking in a calm, measured tone.

Madara was listening intently.

Tobirama barely heard them.

The world felt distant, muffled, as if he were submerged beneath water, only catching fragments of what was being said.

“…Beta bodies do not produce pheromones… It’s crucial that you remain close to Tobirama-sama. The child will stabilize if it receives pheromones from its father…”

A sharp, twisting sensation curled deep in his gut.

Ah.

So he was still alive.

Still breathing.

His fingers curled weakly against the fabric of the blanket, pulling it closer, as if to shield himself from the truth.

The child—

It was still there.

Still clinging to life inside him.

Still tying him to Madara.

Even now, it refused to let him go.

“…Physical contact, saliva, semen…”

The words floated into the haze of his mind, meaning pressing in but refusing to fully register.

He knew what they meant.

He knew what they were asking of him.

What they were asking of Madara.

“As long as the child remains undisturbed, Tobirama-sama’s pregnancy will stabilize.”

Madara hummed, a deep, thoughtful sound.

“I see.”

And that was it.

The conversation ended.

The doctor stood, packing his things, offering a brief bow.

“I will prescribe the necessary medication. Weekly checkups will be required. Until then, do whatever is necessary to ensure the child does not cause further complications.”

Then, he turned to leave.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Silence settled over the room.

A thick, suffocating quiet.

Tobirama could feel Madara’s gaze on him, heavy, unwavering.

Seconds stretched into minutes.

Neither of them moved.

Neither of them spoke.

Tobirama’s stomach churned.

He had tried.

Consciously or not, he had tried.

And still—

He was here.

Still in this body.

Still in this marriage.

Still carrying this child.

Nothing had changed.

Nothing ever would.

The sheets felt too warm, too stifling.

Madara’s presence too close, too heavy.

Tobirama closed his eyes.

And wished he had never woken up.

“Tobirama.”

A voice, deep and steady, cut through the silence.

Tobirama didn’t respond.

He stayed curled beneath the heavy blankets, his body folded inward, as if trying to make himself disappear. Sweat clung to his skin in a thin sheen, cold despite the heat pulsing through his body. The cramps in his abdomen hadn’t fully subsided, a dull, persistent ache that seemed to pulse in time with his ragged breathing.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Maybe if he stayed still enough, silent enough, Madara would grow tired and leave.

But Madara had never been the type to leave things alone.

The blankets shifted, warmth spilling in as they were pulled away.

A moment later, cool air brushed against Tobirama’s damp forehead, followed by the slow, deliberate weight of another presence pressing closer.

Then—

A touch.

Warm.

Solid.

Madara’s forehead resting against his own.

Tobirama flinched.

Not much. Just a barely-there shiver, a tremor in his breath. But Madara noticed. Of course he did.

The Alpha inhaled deeply, drawing in the scent of him.

“Why do you insist on making me worry like this?” Madara murmured, his voice quiet, but edged with something unreadable.

Tobirama swallowed, staring blankly past him.

The closeness was suffocating.

Yet, at the same time—

His body, exhausted and worn thin, responded before his mind could. His stomach clenched, then gradually began to ease, as if some instinctive part of him recognized the presence of the Alpha and begrudgingly accepted it.

Madara’s hand reached up, fingers brushing against Tobirama’s jaw, tracing the line of his cheek before coming to rest against his mouth.

“Enough,” Madara said, thumb grazing the curve of Tobirama’s lower lip. “You’ve been stubborn long enough.”

Tobirama stiffened, but he still didn’t speak.

Madara exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly, studying him.

“I thought,” Madara continued, “that if I gave you space, you’d take care of yourself. That you’d understand what you need.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavier than they should have been.

“I was wrong.”

Madara’s gaze flickered downward, settling on the small swell of his abdomen.

“Our pup needs me,” Madara said.

Then, softer—

“You need me too.”

Tobirama’s breath hitched.

A quiet, shuddering sound.

Something in him recoiled at those words, the certainty in them, the way Madara spoke as if it were an undeniable truth.

A strong hand pressed against his stomach, warm and firm, as if grounding him. And despite himself, despite the deep-seated resistance curling in his chest, he felt it—

The way the tension in his body began to unravel.

The way the cramps dulled, slow but sure, as if the child within him was soothed by the presence of its father.

No.

Not its father.

Its jailer.

Their jailer.

Madara’s lips pressed against the corner of his mouth.

Soft. Barely there.

A slow, lingering touch.

Then another.

Trailing downward, grazing the sharp line of his jaw, brushing against the sensitive skin of his throat.

Tobirama let out a breath, shaky, uneven.

He should pull away.

Should resist.

But the warmth, the pressure, the slow and deliberate way Madara’s lips ghosted over his skin—it made his body betray him.

His chest ached.

Not from pain.

Not from pleasure.

But from something deeper, something that twisted in his ribs and curled around his heart like an iron grip.

Madara’s kisses burned into his skin, dark marks blooming in their wake, deep reds against pale flesh.

Tobirama shuddered.

And still, the ache in his stomach eased.

The child settled, no longer twisting and clawing at his insides.

Madara’s lips hovered just above his own.

“Let me take care of you,” Madara murmured.

His mouth covered Tobirama’s, firm and unyielding. The kiss started slow—too slow, too measured, as if testing him. Then, as if sensing the way Tobirama’s resistance was beginning to crumble, it deepened.

A tongue slid past his lips, coaxing, pulling, overwhelming. Teeth nipped lightly at his lower lip before soothing it over with soft, languid strokes.

Tobirama felt himself sinking.

He wanted to fight it.

Wanted to push away, to claw his way out of this suffocating warmth.

But he was tired.

So tired.

His body sagged against the sheets, his thoughts growing sluggish, sticky, drowning in the heat of the kiss.

Somewhere, distantly, he realized—

The child inside him was still.

Silent.

Waiting.

Madara’s lips curved faintly against his, as if he had noticed too.