the one

“The construction of that district must proceed as planned!” a voice bellowed, thick with frustration.

Seated behind his desk, Tobirama remained composed.

“I’ve told you already—this project is not feasible. It will disrupt the balance of the surrounding sectors in the village.”

The man standing across from him snarled, snatching the proposal off Tobirama’s desk with a force that sent stray sheets of paper fluttering to the floor. His eyes burned with contempt, lips curled in a sneer of pure derision.

“I don’t see why I should waste my time listening to a Beta who spreads his legs for an Alpha,” the man spat, his words laced with venom.

For a moment, Tobirama’s fingers tightened around the brush he had been holding.

The man scoffed at Tobirama’s silence. “What a disgrace,” he sneered. “You reek of an Alpha’s scent—what kind of depravity is that? A Beta who stinks of someone else’s claim?” His voice grew rougher. “Filth. You think you have the right to make decisions here?”

The insult hung in the air like a slap. Tobirama remained still.

The man huffed before storming out of the office. The door was thrown open with an angry shove—only for him to nearly collide with Toka, who stood just outside.

She watched the retreating figure of the Hyuga man with narrowed eyes before stepping in. “What the hell was that about?” she muttered. Then, turning to Tobirama, her frown deepened. “Did he do anything to you?”

Tobirama exhaled slowly, and smoothed a hand over his silver hair. “Just a disagreement,” he said, his voice carefully even.

Toka didn’t seem convinced. Her eyes flickered toward the disheveled papers on his desk, then back to his face. But instead of pressing the issue, she merely sighed and held up a small package.

“Mito asked me to bring you lunch.” She walked over, setting the neatly wrapped bento box on his desk.

Tobirama’s lips twitched at the mention of his sister-in-law, the briefest ghost of a smile softening his expression. “She worries too much. She has a baby to take care of, and yet she still finds time to fuss over me.”

“Of course she worries,” Toka huffed, crossing her arms. “That Uchiha is out on a mission today, isn’t he? Mito was worried you’d skip another meal. She told me to make sure you eat properly—you have a little one to care for too, you know.”

At her words, Tobirama’s hand unconsciously drifted to his abdomen.

The child had been restless for some time now. Likely disturbed by the lingering pheromones of that Hyuga man. Tobirama himself could not sense them, but the baby seemed to react with unease, tiny movements shifting beneath his palm.

30 weeks into the pregnancy, Tobirama’s body had grown noticeably heavier.

The burden was no longer something he could easily dismiss. Where once he would have leaped into battle without hesitation, now he found himself restricted. The missions he once undertook had long since been reassigned—to Madara.

A deep sigh left Tobirama’s lips.

It was not in his nature to be idle. Yet now, with a life growing inside him, Tobirama had little choice.

“Enough… stop.” Tobirama’s voice came out hoarse, but his plea held little weight against the force pressing against him.

Madara had lifted him effortlessly onto his lap, one arm locked around his waist as his lips claimed Tobirama’s with an unrelenting hunger. The heat of his breath, the roughness of his calloused fingers against the small of his back—it was overwhelming.

“How can it ever be enough?” Madara murmured against his lips. “I will be gone all day, away from you… away from our pup. Of course, the baby would act up.” His fingers traced slow circles against Tobirama’s stomach. “Let me kiss you, just a little longer.”

Madara’s lips found Tobirama’s again, coaxing, demanding. The press of his mouth was unrelenting, swallowing every sharp inhale, every shuddered breath.

Even now, the ghost of that kiss lingered. Tobirama’s fingertips brushed absently over his lips as the memory surfaced.

“Don’t worry, I know how to take care of myself,” Tobirama murmured to Toka.

.

.

.

Damn it. It hurt. It hurt so much.

Tobirama lay curled on the worn leather of his office sofa, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

Pain knotted deep in his abdomen, sharp and relentless. His body trembled, slick with sweat, as he cradled the weight of his belly.

The child was restless again.

Ever since that Hyuga man had stormed into his office, leaving behind a bitter trail of tension and resentment, the baby had been in distress. A constant thrumming beneath his skin, a ceaseless movement—kicking, shifting, pressing against his ribs as if echoing the turmoil inside him.

Anxiety curled in his chest like smoke.

Was it because of the pheromones? Could the baby sense it?

Tobirama clenched his jaw, forcing his eyes shut.

He wanted to move, to stand, to do anything other than lay here drowning in this suffocating ache. But every attempt to shift only sent fresh waves of pain rippling through him.

A hand pressed against his stomach, fingers trembling. The baby wouldn’t settle. It twisted and kicked with a stubbornness that left him breathless.

“Stop it,” he whispered, voice hoarse from exhaustion. “I’m not Madara. I can’t soothe you the way he does.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, each inhale jagged.

“Don’t do this… please.”

Another sharp jolt from within made him gasp, his free hand gripping the couch as if anchoring himself. His body was burning, his vision swimming.

Tobirama swallowed hard. His fingers pressed firmer against his belly, as though trying to reach the child through touch alone.

“He’s not here,” he murmured, breathless. “Madara isn’t here, so don’t—don’t torment me like this.”

The movement inside him slowed.

Not entirely, not at once—but the frantic kicks and shifting softened, as if the child was listening. As if it had heard him.

Tobirama exhaled shakily, his body sinking into the cushions as the pain ebbed into something bearable. His pulse was still racing, but for the first time in what felt like hours, he could breathe.

His hands, still trembling, traced gentle circles over the swell of his belly.

“…Please,” Tobirama’s voice was barely a whisper, choked and fragile, slipping past trembling lips.

“Don’t treat me like this,” Tobirama choked out, his voice barely a whisper. His entire body trembled with the weight of his grief.

Madara and this child—both of them had carved wounds into him so deep, so raw, that he wondered if he would ever be free. Was there any release from this suffering? Any escape from the agony that had become as familiar as his own heartbeat?

Tobirama felt pathetic. Trapped. Abandoned.

The suffocating presence of Madara lingered on his skin, in his very breath, saturating the air around him in a way he himself could not perceive.

But others could.

The Hyuga man had sneered at him, spat venom at him, calling him Madara’s whore. And perhaps, in some way, it was true—Madara’s claim on him was undeniable, something more than physical, more than anything Tobirama could put into words.

Even the child growing within him could sense it.

Tobirama felt it in the way his baby stirred, restless, uneasy, reacting to a presence that wasn’t even here. As if Madara’s very essence had settled into his bones, had seeped into the very core of his being.

The Hyuga had felt it. The baby had felt it.

Everyone could feel it.

Everyone but Tobirama himself. He was just a Beta.

Tears spilled freely down his pale cheeks, warm and unbidden, tracing silent paths along his skin. He couldn’t stop them. His chest ached with every shallow breath, the weight of sorrow pressing into his ribs, his lungs. His fingers clutched desperately at his belly.

“Don’t do this to me,” Tobirama pleaded, voice breaking, thick with exhaustion. “Not you, too.”

Madara had done this to him—this unbearable, relentless ache. And now this child, this tiny life within him, the only other being who could possibly understand the depths of his suffering, tormented him just the same.

Was there no end to it?

He was so tired. So unbearably tired.

But the baby… the baby was finally settling. As if listening. As if, in its own way, it understood.

Tobirama exhaled shakily, wiping at his wet face with unsteady hands. The room around him was silent now, save for the faint echoes of voices beyond the wooden door.

Then came the knock. A voice from the other side.

“Tobirama-sama, the interrogation is about to begin. The council needs you.”

He lay motionless for a moment, the weight of his exhaustion pressing down on him like a suffocating fog.

With a slow, measured inhale, Tobirama steeled himself. He willed his voice to be steady, his words to hold strength they did not possess.

“I… I know.”

His hand lingered for a moment longer on his belly, his touch softer now. Then, with a final, silent exhale, he forced himself upright.

There was no other choice.

.

.

.

The child must have sensed his distress. It stayed quiet for the rest of the afternoon, allowing Tobirama to focus on the interrogation without distraction.

An unidentified shinobi had infiltrated the village today. The interrogation team had pried and pressed, but the spy had refused to speak.

By the end of the session, the team decided that, if he remained uncooperative, they would use the Yamanaka clan’s techniques in the next round.

“That stubborn little bastard,” the interrogation captain growled. “Let’s see if he keeps his mouth shut after that.”

Tobirama followed behind them, his footsteps measured, his mind already occupied with the next steps. Behind him, the captured shinobi was being dragged forward, his arms seized by two village shinobis.

Then—

A sudden, heavy thud.

Tobirama turned sharply at the sound.

The spy had collapsed.

“What the hell are you playing at? Get up!” One of the guards barked.

The captured shinobi didn’t respond. His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, his entire body trembling. His skin burned red, sweat beading along his forehead. His pupils were blown wide, unfocused.

And then—

“Alpha…”

The word was barely more than a whimper, escaping the boy’s lips in a breathless, desperate plea.

Tobirama’s eyes narrowed. He knew exactly what was happening.

The boy was an Omega, and he was in heat.

The shift in the air was instant, suffocating. Tobirama could feel it, that subtle but undeniable change in the Alphas nearby.

The two guards at his side—both Alphas—stiffened, their eyes darkening, their pupils dilating as they turned, drawn toward the trembling, scent-drenched body before them.

Predatory instinct stirred.

For a moment, the hallway felt different—thicker, heavier, charged with something dangerous, something primal.

Tobirama clenched his jaw.

This was about to become a problem.

Before the two escorting shinobis could make their move, Tobirama had already surged forward, positioning himself between the trembling spy and the Alphas who loomed over him.

“Step back.” His voice was low, controlled—but firm.

The guards didn’t listen.

They looked at him like he was an intruder, a thief snatching away something that rightfully belonged to them. Their instincts were in full control now, raw and unfiltered—Alphas denied what their bodies craved, their hunger turning into something dangerous.

Their breathing was heavy, their postures tense, their muscles coiled as if ready to strike.

Tobirama knew this reaction all too well.

The frustration of an Alpha in rut, cut off from its target, had one inevitable result: aggression.

One of them shifted forward—an unconscious step, a twitch of his fingers, a sharp inhale as his scent thickened in the air. He was losing control. They both were.

A moment later, they would attack.

Tobirama didn’t wait for it.

“Suiton—”

His hands flew through the seals. Water burst forth like an unrelenting tide, slamming into the Alphas and sending them sprawling across the corridor. Their bodies hit the ground with heavy, wet thuds, skidding across the slickened floor.

Tobirama barely took a breath before sweeping his gaze around him.

The hallway was thick with tension.

He felt their eyes on him—sharp, burning, barely restrained.

Alphas.

Not just the two who had been escorting the prisoner.

All of them.

The entire corridor, scattered with village shinobi, every single one of them an Alpha.

Their pupils were dilated, their expressions twisted with something primal. Their gazes clung to the spy like predators sizing up prey.

There was no suppressant here. No medicine to dull their instincts.

The only Omega present was the spy.

And they were going to lose control.

Tobirama’s heartbeat pounded against his ribs, hard and fast. His mind calculated the next move—how many he could take down, how quickly, how to get out.

But the truth was, even with all his strength, all his skill—he wasn’t sure if he could fight them all off.

Not like this.

Not when they were looking at them like that.

Like they were about to devour the spy.

Tobirama was still assessing his next move, calculating possible escape routes, when he felt something—a presence, too close, too sudden.

Before he could react, a pair of trembling arms wrapped around him.

The Omega.

The prisoner had moved without him noticing, pressing his feverish body against Tobirama’s, inhaling deeply as though trying to drown in his scent.

Tobirama stiffened.

The Omega clung to him, breath hot against his throat, lips brushing against his skin. A sharp gasp left him as he felt the press of teeth—small, almost delicate bites against his neck, a mimicry of an Alpha’s claiming.

“Alpha…” The whisper was hoarse, desperate.

A shudder rolled through Tobirama’s spine.

No. This wasn’t right.

A wave of pain twisted through his abdomen, sharp and relentless. The child inside him stirred violently, agitated by the foreign pheromones flooding the air. Tobirama’s body tensed as sweat beaded at his temple, the ache rippling through him in waves.

He needed to move. Needed to shove this Omega off before—

Soft lips grazed his skin.

“Fuck me, Alpha…” The Omega moaned, pressing closer.

Tobirama’s breath hitched.

For a brief second, his mind went blank.

Then, everything snapped into focus.

His hands shot up, shoving against the Omega’s shoulders, forcing distance between them. The Omega whimpered at the loss, eyes glazed over with desperation.

Why?

Then Tobirama realized.

Madara.

His scent.

The remnants of Madara’s pheromones clung to him—dense, overwhelming, unmistakable. This Omega, lost in the haze of his heat, had mistaken him for an Alpha.

A terrible realization gripped him.

This wasn’t just about the Omega pressed against him.

Tobirama’s gaze flickered to the hallway, to the surrounding Alphas.

Their eyes had darkened. Their breathing had deepened, their pupils blown wide, their bodies wound tight with something dangerous.

They weren’t looking at the Omega anymore.

They were looking at him.

With rage.

With the unmistakable hunger of something territorial.

Tobirama had stolen something from them.

They wanted it back.

And they would take it.

The Omega whimpered as Tobirama pushed him away, eyes glassy with rejection. But instead of backing off, he clung tighter, his hands gripping onto Tobirama’s clothes like a lifeline.

Then, to Tobirama’s horror, the Omega slid down, pressing his flushed face against his thigh, nuzzling, rubbing, his breath hot and erratic.

“Please,” the Omega whimpered. “I’ll be good, I promise—just fuck me, Alpha.”

Tobirama gritted his teeth, fingers curling into his palms as cold sweat slid down his temple. He shoved against the Omega’s shoulders, trying to pry him off, but the Omega was relentless, desperate, body trembling against him.

The Alphas around them were watching.

Their breathing had shifted—low, ragged, possessive.

The atmosphere had changed. A sharp, suffocating tension gripped the air, pressing down on Tobirama like an iron vice.

He could feel it.

The crackling threat of violence.

The resentment burning in their eyes.

To them, he had stolen something—their prey, their Omega—and he could feel their instincts turning, twisting, focusing their anger onto him.

Tobirama’s heart pounded.

He didn’t know how to get out of this.

Then—

A shadow moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

A force slammed into the Omega, yanking him away from Tobirama’s legs and flinging him through the air like a discarded rag doll. The Omega’s body hit the wall with a sickening thud, collapsing onto the floor in a breathless heap.

Tobirama barely had time to react before a firm hand gripped his wrist, yanking him backward.

Tobirama looked up.

Madara.

Madara stood before him, a barrier of unshakable dominance, his back to Tobirama as if shielding him from sight. His long, wild hair swayed as he breathed, each rise and fall of his chest exuding an unrelenting, territorial rage.

The Omega lay crumpled against the wall, momentarily stunned from the impact.

But within seconds, his unfocused gaze steadied—no longer directed at Tobirama.

Now, his eyes found Madara.

“Alpha…” the Omega whispered, voice thick with need. He began crawling toward them, hands weakly clawing at the floor, his body trembling with desperation.

Tobirama felt the shift immediately.

Madara was here. The Alpha was here. And for an Omega in heat, nothing else mattered.

Tobirama couldn’t see Madara’s face from where he stood—only the slight tremor in his body, the way his grip tightened painfully around Tobirama’s wrist. The Omega, on the other hand, looked utterly debauched, lips parted, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide in mindless submission.

“Alpha, Alpha, mark me, claim me,” the Omega pleaded breathlessly, his voice rising in a feverish chant, a siren’s call of instinct and longing.

And then—

Madara let go of Tobirama.

He moved.

Toward the Omega.

The moment it happened, something inside Tobirama cracked.

A sharp, breathless pain clenched his chest, a sensation so foreign, so sudden, that for a second, he didn’t understand it. A dull ringing filled his ears, drowning out the sounds around him. His stomach twisted—whether from the child in his womb or something deeper, more unbearable, he couldn’t tell.

He should have expected this.

Madara was an unbonded Alpha. Their marriage—despite its legality, despite the child growing inside him—had never been more than a practical arrangement. A Beta could not be marked, could never form that deep, instinctual connection with an Alpha.

No matter how potent Madara’s pheromones were—no matter how they clung to Tobirama’s skin like a ghostly embrace—he could never feel them the way an Omega could.

He had always known this.

Had accepted it.

So why did it hurt so much to watch Madara step forward?

Why did he feel like the air had been sucked out of his lungs?

But then—

Before the Omega could reach him, before his eager fingers could so much as graze Madara’s clothes—

Madara’s hand shot out, fisting into the Omega’s hair, and slammed his head against the wall with brutal force.

A sickening crack.

Blood splattered.

The Omega’s body convulsed before going limp, his form crumpling against the cold floor, his face now a mess of crimson.

Madara didn’t even spare him a second glance. He exhaled sharply, shoulders rising and falling with barely restrained rage. His voice, when it came, was a guttural snarl—

“Filthy dog—don’t fucking touch me.”

Tobirama stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat.

Everything had happened too fast.

One moment, the Omega had been crawling toward them, eyes glazed with mindless desire. The next, his head had been smashed against the wall, his body bloodied and motionless, before Madara had grabbed him by the collar and hurled him into the nearest room.

The door slammed shut with a deafening bang, sealing the Omega inside.

And then—

Madara turned.

Tobirama braced himself. He expected fury. Expected that wild, uncontrollable rage still burning in Madara’s blood-red gaze.

But the moment those eyes landed on him—

The anger faded.

In its place, something else flickered. A sharp, desperate kind of panic.

And before Tobirama could even process the shift, Madara moved.

Fast. Too fast.

Tobirama didn’t understand what was happening—

Until another set of arms wrapped around him from behind.

A powerful grip—too strong, too possessive—yanked him backward, crushing him against a firm, muscular chest.

Tobirama gasped.

The breath against his neck was hot. Thick. Overwhelming.

A hand slid up his body, gripping at his waist, groping, roaming too much, too fast.

A low, shuddering moan spilled against his ear.

“Omega… You smell so good… Gotta fuck you…”

The words sent a sharp jolt of panic up Tobirama’s spine.

No—

No.

He knew that voice.

The Hyuga Alpha.

The one who had called him a whore. The one whose pheromones had been simmering, barely restrained, since the very moment he had sensed Madara’s lingering presence on Tobirama’s skin.

And now—

That restraint was gone.

Tobirama felt the man’s grip tightening. Felt the way his body pressed closer, heavy and hungry.

Madara roared.

The world exploded.

Was it the Omega’s pheromones clinging to him?

Was that why the Hyuga Alpha thought he was an Omega?

Tobirama barely had time to process the thought before pain shot through his abdomen.

The baby.

The baby inside him twisted, protested, as if instinctively recoiling from the foreign pheromones flooding the air. A sharp, breath-stealing cramp seized his body, and for a moment, his vision blurred.

He tried to struggle.

Tried to fight.

But his limbs were weak. His body—betrayed him.

The Hyuga Alpha’s hands groped him—violated him.

Fingers squeezed his chest, kneading roughly, possessively. And then—they found his stomach.

The moment those hands pressed against his swollen belly, the Alpha stilled.

A guttural, low growl rumbled against Tobirama’s ear.

“You fucking slut.”

The words slithered into his skin like poison.

“Pregnant, and still whoring yourself out?” The Alpha’s breath was hot and wet against his neck. “Who the fuck do you belong to? Hah? You still reek of that Uchiha’s stink—”

Tobirama trembled.

Fear.

It drowned him. Suffocated him.

Tobirama couldn’t breathe.

The nightmare—the violation he had endured at Madara’s hands—ripped through his mind like a jagged blade. The helplessness. The shame. The way his body had been forced open, used, made to endure something so unspeakable.

And now—

Now it was happening again.

The Hyuga Alpha’s arms caged him in, hands roaming, touching where no one else should. His violation was overpowering, thick with desire, with sick hunger.

Tobirama twisted, his body screaming to get away, but the Alpha only held him tighter.

“Let’s see how good I can fuck you.”

The voice dripped with amusement, breath hot and wet against Tobirama’s throat.

The press of a tongue traced the sensitive skin there—slow, savoring.

Sharp teeth scraped against his earlobe, then—bit down.

Tobirama gasped.

“Maybe I’ll fuck you so good you’ll forget all about him.” The Hyuga Alpha’s voice dripped withpleasure, his tongue dragging over the shell of Tobirama’s ear. “And who knows? Maybe the brat inside you will end up being mine—”

Tobirama shook, his breath hitching.

No.

No.

Tears pricked his eyes.

No.

No.

His hands clawed at the Alpha, desperate to push away, but his limbs—his own traitorous body—had gone weak. The baby inside him kicked, protested, as if sensing his terror, as if trying to fight for him when he no longer could.

The Hyuga only laughed, holding him closer.

Tobirama was trapped.

And then—

A familiar blur of black and red surged toward him.

Madara.

His eyes—wild, frantic—locked onto him. His steps were reckless, his hands reaching, desperate.

The Hyuga Alpha sneered, pulling Tobirama tighter against his chest, relishing the power he had in this moment.

Madara was watching.

Watching Tobirama be held—claimed—by another Alpha.

And he couldn’t do anything about it.

The Hyuga grinned, his lips dragging slowly, purposefully along Tobirama’s skin.

“Mm. Tastes good.” His tongue flicked over the damp trail he left behind, smirking as Tobirama shuddered. “You’re even sweeter when you’re afraid.”

Tobirama couldn’t breathe.

His vision blurred.

His body screamed for Madara—

Then—

A massive, unseen force—violent and all-consuming—ripped the Hyuga Alpha away from him.

The hold around him vanished.

Tobirama collapsed.

But before he could hit the floor, warmth—strong, unwavering warmth—caught him.

An arm wrapped around him, pulling him close, shielding him.

Tobirama’s breath hitched. He felt the unsteady rise and fall of a chest, the way powerful hands shook as they held him.

Madara.

Tobirama could feel the rapid rise and fall of his breaths, the way his entire body shook with rage.

His heartbeat was pounding—as if his rage, his fear, his relief, were all tangled together, unraveling at once.

A sharp scuffle broke the tension.

Tobirama looked up, vision swimming.

Hashirama.

His brother was towering over the struggling Hyuga Alpha, forcing him down with ease. A syringe in hand.

The sharp prick of a needle.

A guttural snarl, then—silence.

Tobirama barely heard the urgent, panicked voice calling out to him.

“Are you hurt? Tobirama—are you hurt?” Hashirama shouted.

Tobirama barely heard him.

His body was wrecked with exhaustion, his mind drowning in the aftermath of fear.

But—

He was safe.

A sob clawed up his throat. His fingers curled into Madara’s cloak, gripping it tightly.

The tears—finally fell.

.

.

.

“The baby is fine. There’s nothing to worry about.”

The medic’s voice was calm, but Tobirama could hear the underlying nervousness in it.

Tobirama nodded. His hand instinctively rested on his stomach, feeling the soft, subtle shifts within. The child had stopped its restless movements, as if sensing Madara’s presence—settling only because he was here.

He exhaled, feeling some of the tension drain from his shoulders.

They were in his private chamber now, where the physician had been conducting a post-incident checkup. Tobirama sat on the long sofa in his office, the examination finally complete.

Yet—

The entire time, Madara had not let go of him.

Not once.

The Alpha sat behind him, his arms locked around his waist, chest pressed flush against his back. Tobirama could feel the heat of him, the subtle tremor still running through his muscles.

He hadn’t stopped growling either—low, persistent, directed at the physician as if the man were a threat.

The medic had rushed through the process as quickly as possible.

And now, hesitating, he glanced at Madara before clearing his throat.

“And—your husband… I…”

Tobirama sighed, tilting his head slightly toward the man.

“He’ll be fine.” His voice was measured. “Thank you. Now leave us.”

The physician bowed deeply before retreating toward the door.

As soon as it clicked shut—

Tobirama felt it.

Madara moved.

A hot, wet press at his nape.

A slow, lingering inhale against his skin.

Then—a tongue.

Tobirama shivered.

“There are too many scents on you,” Madara muttered, voice rough. His breath ghosted over Tobirama’s pulse as he buried his face in the crook of his neck.

His mouth moved lower, lips brushing over exposed collarbones, the tip of his nose dragging along bare skin. Scenting. Tasting.

“Too many filthy hands were on you.” The growl rumbled against Tobirama’s throat. Madara’s teeth scraped along his shoulder. “I can still smell them. I need—”

He licked at his skin again, hungry, possessive.

“I need to get rid of it.”

Tobirama stiffened.

Madara’s fingers were already at his clothes, tugging insistently, attempting to strip him bare.

“I have to clean you.” His voice was desperate. “From head to toe. I have to lick you everywhere, otherwise their scent won’t come off.”

His hands—rough, unrelenting—were already at Tobirama’s waistband, trying to pull at the fabric.

Tobirama scowled, shoving at his face.

“You’re annoying.”

Madara stilled.

Then—suddenly—he pulled Tobirama forward, forcing him onto his lap, shifting their positions so that Tobirama was now straddling him.

Tobirama yelped, his balance thrown off.

Instinctively, his hands gripped Madara’s shoulders, steadying himself. His knees pressed against the cushions on either side of Madara’s thighs, the closeness forcing their bodies flush together.

A tense silence hung between them.

Tobirama’s hands curled against Madara’s broad shoulders.

Madara’s grip was iron-tight around his waist.

Their breaths mingled.

Their gazes locked.

And that was when Tobirama saw it.

Saw the wet, glistening tracks running down Madara’s face.

The tears.

The silent, uncontrollable tears.

Madara was crying.

Tobirama’s breath hitched.

His own fingers trembled slightly, gripping the fabric of Madara’s cloak, unsure what to do.

Madara’s entire body was shaking beneath him.

Tobirama’s lips parted slightly.

He didn’t know what to say.

Didn’t know how to respond to this—to a man who was meant to be unyielding, who was meant to be cruel, unstoppable, monstrous.

Yet now—

Now he was weeping.

Crying like something inside him had shattered.

“Please… don’t leave me.”

Madara’s voice was broken, raw with something achingly fragile.

Tobirama stilled.

The Alpha’s red-rimmed eyes shone with unshed tears, his entire body trembling as he clung to Tobirama with a desperation so visceral it was suffocating.

“I was so afraid—” His voice cracked, barely a whisper. “Afraid I was going to lose you. You and the baby.”

A shuddering breath, then—

Madara pressed a feather-light kiss to the corner of Tobirama’s lips.

A kiss so soft, so hesitant, so utterly unlike him, that Tobirama found himself unable to move, unable to react.

Just staring, stunned, as the Alpha trembled against him.

Madara’s arms tightened around him.

A grip that refused to loosen.

A grip that clung like drowning hands to lifeline.

Tobirama’s breath hitched as he felt it—the desperation in the way Madara held him, the unbearable fear still quivering through every muscle.

“I love you, Tobirama,” Madara whispered.

Then, he broke down completely.

A choked sob escaped him, his forehead pressing against Tobirama’s chest.

And suddenly—

Suddenly, his body collapsed into Tobirama’s, boneless, shaking, wrecked with grief.

Tobirama could feel the warmth of Madara’s tears seeping through the fabric of his robe.

Could feel the erratic rise and fall of the Alpha’s shoulders as he cried silently, helplessly, the weight of it shaking them both.

And it was—

Unbearable.

To see this—to witness this man, this powerful, unshakable force of nature, unraveling like a wounded animal in his arms.

Tobirama couldn’t breathe.

“Please,” Madara choked out between ragged sobs. “Don’t leave me. I’m scared. I—”

His grip tightened, as if afraid Tobirama would disappear the moment he let go.

“I can’t—” The Alpha gasped, burying his face deeper into Tobirama’s chest, voice breaking apart. “I can’t lose you. I can’t even—”

A strangled breath.

“I can’t even smell you anymore.”

Tobirama’s fingers twitched.

Madara’s lips pressed against his skin, trembling.

“Let me wrap my scent around you,” the Alpha pleaded, voice wrecked with need, desperation dripping from every syllable. “Let me hold you until you smell like me again—until I know you’re here, until I can feel you, completely, entirely, forever.”

Tobirama shuddered.

He didn’t know what to say, what to do.

The way the man held onto him—as if he were the only thing keeping him alive.

Slowly—without thinking—Tobirama’s hands moved.

His fingers threaded through Madara’s hair.

A touch so tentative, so unsure.

The Alpha’s breath hitched—his entire body shuddering from the contact.

Then—

A broken, needy sound, muffled against Tobirama’s chest.

Tobirama exhaled shakily.

And, despite himself—

He held him.

He held him, as the Alpha wept in his arms, curling into him with the desperation of a man who had lost everything and finally, finally found something to cling to.

“Let me stay,” Madara whispered, nuzzling against his chest, voice wrecked and achingly tender.

“Let me hold you, just like this.”

And so, they stayed like that—entwined, unmoving, wrapped in each other’s presence as if the world beyond this fragile moment no longer existed.

Madara did not stop crying.

Even as his sobs quieted into tremors, even as the ragged gasps turned into broken whispers, the tears did not cease.

He buried his face deeper into Tobirama’s chest, his breath warm and uneven against the fabric of Tobirama’s robe, as if simply breathing him in was the only thing keeping him together.

And through it all—

He spoke.

Between the tremors of his breath, between the way his arms tightened around Tobirama as if he would vanish the moment he let go—he murmured, voice hoarse from crying, from desperation.

Soft, sweet things.

Things that felt too tender, too raw, too achingly fragile to belong to a man like him.

“I love you,” the Alpha whispered, pressing a kiss against Tobirama’s collarbone, lips trembling against his skin.

“You’re everything. You and our pup—you’re all I have.”

Tobirama’s fingers twitched.

Madara clung to him tighter.

“I need you,” Madara murmured, voice thick with unshed grief. “I need you more than anything. More than air, more than this wretched life.”

A shuddering breath.

“I don’t care what happens. I don’t care what you do to me. Just… don’t leave me.”

Tobirama exhaled slowly.

His throat ached.

And still, he did not know what to say.

So—

He did the only thing he could.

His fingers slipped into Madara’s hair, carding through the strands with silent reverence, feeling the warmth of his skin, the slight tremble in his frame.

A gentle, soothing motion.

One that made Madara’s breath hitch, his body curling tighter against Tobirama’s like a wounded animal seeking shelter.

Madara pressed closer, as if trying to melt into his skin.

His hold did not loosen.

His tears did not stop.

And Tobirama—

Tobirama simply held him.

Held him as the Alpha whispered his name like a prayer.

Held him as Madara kissed his shoulder, his throat, the edge of his jaw—featherlight touches, worshipful and reverent, as if trying to etch the taste of him into memory.

Held him as the night stretched on, as the silence wrapped around them like a fragile cocoon, as Madara whispered, again and again, the only thing he had left to offer:

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

And Tobirama—

Tobirama did not let go.