Chapter 2
"Senju Tobirama, you're a murderer!" a woman screamed, her voice raw and unrelenting.
Tobirama stood motionless as the woman's hand struck his face, the sharp sound of the slap echoing in the air. The force was enough to turn his head, and for a moment, his vision blurred.
But Tobirama didn't react. He didn't flinch. He didn't even lift a hand to touch the reddening skin where her palm had landed.
This was his burden to bear, and Tobirama had never been one to run from what was owed. Tobirama took it all—her words, her anger, the hatred in her eyes—without a single protest.
The mission had been doomed from the start. Tobirama had tried to warn them, tried to convince the council to let him go alone, but they had insisted on testing their theory: a joint mission with a shinobi from another clan. A testament to the fragile alliances holding the village together.
It had been chaos from the beginning.
Tobirama had barely escaped with his own life, dragging his injured comrade back to the village on sheer willpower alone. And now, as his teammate lay fighting for survival in the emergency ward, Tobirama faced the wrath of the man's wife.
"I have nothing to say in my defense," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest.
The woman began pounding her fists against him, her grief pouring out in violent waves. Tobirama let her. He stood there as her blows landed on his chest.
"I have to report to the Hokage," he said softly when her strength began to falter. "When I'm finished, you may do whatever you see fit. I'll accept any punishment."
Tobirama gently pried her hands from his chest and bowed his head before turning to leave. Her sobs followed him, along with the weight of her words, heavy and relentless. Even as the villagers gathered to restrain her, her cries rang out: "Murderer! You're a murderer!"
Tobirama could endure this. He had to.
"What were you thinking?" his elder brother roared, his hands slamming against the desk with enough force to shake the room. "Do you understand the damage this has caused? The alliances we've worked so hard to build? How could you let this happen?"
Tobirama stood stiffly, his hands folded behind his back, his face an impassive mask. He said nothing, letting the tirade wash over him.
"Do you know how fragile this system is? How much it depends on trust? And now this failure—this disaster—will make everyone question everything we've worked for!"
"I have no excuse," Tobirama said, his voice calm, steady. "I will do everything in my power to make amends."
Hashirama scoffed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "You should pray your teammate survives. For all our sakes. Now get out of my sight. I can't even look at you right now."
Tobirama bowed and left without a word.
Even back in the cold solitude of his laboratory, Tobirama couldn’t stop trembling.
His brother’s words still hung in the air around him, sharp and unrelenting, a chorus that he couldn’t escape.
Even though the door was closed, even though he was alone, Tobirama’s hands still shook. His body betrayed him, a physical echo of the turmoil churning inside. He clenched them into fists, trying to steady himself, but the tremors wouldn’t stop.
Tobirama sank to the floor, leaning against the door as if it was the only thing keeping him upright. His body curled in on itself, knees pulled to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them like a feeble shield.
Tobirama had always known that crying was futile.
The child who cried only received comfort when there was someone willing to offer it. And for those like Tobirama—those who were left to fend for themselves—tears were an indulgence, a waste of time.
Crying wouldn’t erase the scorn on Hashirama’s face. It wouldn’t soothe the sting of the slap or the guilt tearing through him like a storm. And yet, here he was, helpless against the tide that surged forward.
The first tear slipped silently down his cheek, its warmth a startling contrast to the cold rigidity of his body. Then another. And another. Until his breath hitched, his shoulders began to shake, and the flood overtook him.
The slap still stung, the angry red imprint of the woman's hand etched into his cheek, and it burned even more as tears began to spill over it.
Tobirama buried his face in his knees, muffling the sobs that tore from his throat. They weren’t graceful, weren’t quiet. They were raw, broken sounds, ripped from the depths of his chest as though the pain inside him demanded release.
You’re a murderer.
You’re a failure.
You’ve ruined everything.
These words looped endlessly in his mind, a cruel mantra that refused to give him peace.
Tobirama clutched his arms tighter around himself, his nails digging into his skin as if trying to anchor himself to something solid. But the sobs kept coming, shaking him with the force of all the exhaustion he’d tried so desperately to suppress.
Pain was easy to inflict. Healing, though, took time. And Tobirama wasn’t sure if he had the strength to endure the wait. It was just pain, raw and unyielding, spilling from a wound too deep to ever fully close.
His tears came faster now, his breath hitching in short, desperate gasps. The sound filled the small, sterile space of the lab. Tobirama let himself fall apart, let the mask of control he wore so tightly crack and crumble.
Tobirama didn't hear the footsteps approaching over the sound of his own ragged sobs.
It wasn't until the figure knelt before him that he realized he was no longer alone.
Tobirama flinched, startled, his teary eyes widening as they met the familiar gaze of Madara's clone.
The clone stared at him, its dark eyes deep and unreadable, before lifting a hand to Tobirama’s face.
The clone's touch was feather-light, tracing the damp trail of tears with a slow, deliberate motion. A thumb paused at the corner of Tobirama's eye, pressing there gently, as if trying to stem the endless tide of his sorrow. But the tears wouldn't stop. They only seemed to fall harder, Tobirama’s chest tightening with each shuddering breath.
And then the clone leaned closer.
Tobirama froze as he felt the clone's warm breath ghosting over his cheek.
A moment later, a soft, wet sensation traced along his skin. It took Tobirama a heartbeat to register what was happening.
Madara's clone was licking his tears away, its tongue gliding over his face with an intimacy that left Tobirama stunned.
Tobirama’s breath caught.
He could only sit there, trembling, as the clone lapped up his tears, its lips grazing his skin in a way that felt impossibly tender.
Somewhere in the haze of Tobirama’s disbelief, he realized the tears had stopped.
He stared at the clone, wide-eyed and dazed, unsure of how to process the strange, inexplicable softness of the moment.
But then the clone leaned in again, its lips brushing over Tobirama's quivering mouth.
The kiss was light, almost reverent, as though the clone was handling something precious and fragile. Tobirama's breath hitched, his sobs quieting as he let himself sink into the warmth of it, the gentleness soothing some of the ache in his chest.
A soft sound escaped his lips and for a brief moment, Tobirama felt like he could stay like this forever.
But the moment shattered as the clone's hand suddenly gripped Tobirama’s jaw, tilting his face upward with an authority that made Tobirama's pulse race.
The clone's lips returned to his, but this time there was no tenderness, only hunger. Its teeth nipped at Tobirama’s bottom lip, demanding entry, and before Tobirama could protest, its tongue forced its way into his mouth.
Panic flared in Tobirama's chest.
The kiss was no longer soft or careful—it was fierce, overwhelming, a devouring force that stole the very breath from his lungs. The clone's tongue tangled with his own, insistent and unrelenting, as if trying to consume every part of him.
Tobirama's hands pushed at the clone's chest, but it was futile. The clone's grip on his wrists tightened, pinning them to his sides with an ease that left him feeling utterly powerless.
"Madara..." Tobirama tried to speak, his voice muffled and trembling against the clone's relentless mouth. But the sound dissolved into a strangled gasp as the clone bit down on Tobirama’s lip again, drawing blood. The metallic tang of it filled Tobirama’s senses, mixing with the heat of the kiss and the suffocating closeness of the clone's body.
Tobirama's chest heaved as he struggled for air, his vision swimming, his tears renewed and slipping down his flushed cheeks.
Tobirama felt trapped, helpless, every instinct in him screaming to break free. But the clone's grip was unyielding, its kiss growing more fervent, more desperate, as if it sought to & claim something buried deep within him. Tobirama's world narrowed to the press of lips and the clash of teeth, to the overwhelming heat of the clone's body and the dizzying lack of oxygen.
Just when Tobirama thought he couldn't endure another second, his teeth clamped down in a final act of defiance.
The sharp taste of blood bloomed between them, and the clone finally pulled back.
Tobirama gasped for breath, his lungs burning as he sucked in air, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow bursts. His lips throbbed, swollen and bruised, smeared with blood and saliva.
He stared at the clone through tear-filled eyes, his body trembling with the aftershocks of fear.
The clone's gaze was steady, dark and unreadable as ever, its lips stained red.
Tobirama couldn't bring himself to look at it for long. He turned away, pressing his face into his shoulder, trying to quiet the sobs that threatened to break free again.
The room was silent except for the sound of Tobirama’s uneven breathing and the faint rustle of the clone shifting beside him.
It didn't leave.
It only stayed there, its presence a weight that Tobirama couldn't escape, even as his tears continued to fall.
Tobirama’s hands trembled, his fingers curling in a futile attempt to weave the familiar signs of release. The air felt heavy, suffocating, as though it carried the weight of his desperation. Just one gesture, one incantation, and Tobirama could dissolve this clone.
But before the thought could solidify, the clone’s grip was iron, twisting Tobirama’s arm behind his back with a precision that sent pain searing up his spine. Tobirama gasped—a sharp, broken sound that barely escaped his lips before he was shoved unceremoniously to the floor.
The cold surface bit into Tobirama’s skin. Tobirama thrashed against the weight pinning him down, but it was useless. Tears spilled unbidden, streaking his cheeks, blurring his vision. Fear clawed at his chest, raw and unrelenting, a helplessness so profound it threatened to hollow him out.
“Don’t—please, stop,” his voice cracked, each plea breaking under the strain of his panic. “Don’t do this. I—” His words dissolved into incoherent sobs, the edges of his composure unraveling strand by strand.
Madara’s clone, unyielding and indifferent, remained silent. There was no answer, no acknowledgment of the shattered man beneath it. Tobirama felt the strength in his limbs fade, his struggles turning weak, almost pitiful.
Tobirama choked on his sobs, his body trembling beneath the clone’s control.
There was no escape, no salvation in sight.
For the first time in his life, Tobirama was utterly, undeniably at the mercy of his design. And the weight of that realization pressed down on Tobirama harder than the hands that pinned him to the cold, unforgiving ground.
The clone showed no regard for Tobirama’s resistance, maintaining an unhurried pace as it removed Tobirama’s pants. With the other hand, it firmly held both of Tobirama’s wrists behind his back, restricting his movements entirely.
Tobirama lay beneath it, his body trembling uncontrollably, curled in on itself like a fish pulled out of water and laid helpless on a cutting board. His breath came in ragged gasps, his struggles futile against the clone’s overpowering grip, and his entire being seemed to collapse under the crushing weight of powerlessness.
After successfully removing Tobirama's pants, Madara’s clone forcefully parted Tobirama’s legs, exposing the pale, vulnerable flesh beneath. The area below Tobirama’s soft, flaccid manhood was laid bare under the clone's gaze, a sight that seemed to draw out an almost clinical deliberation.
Without hesitation, the clone extended a hand, its movements unhurried but deliberate, pressing fingers into the tender curve of Tobirama's hips. The strong, calloused hand gripped his flesh with an unnerving intensity, molding and twisting the soft skin as if testing its limits.
The pressure grew as the clone's fingers moved downward, exploring with a calculated roughness. The curves of Tobirama's body seemed to yield entirely under the demanding touch, his form distorted with every grasp.
When the clone’s probing fingers pressed against the unyielding resistance of his entrance, it was as if the last vestige of Tobirama’s autonomy shattered.
The roughness of the touch conveyed violation rather than care, a silent assertion of control that left Tobirama trembling beneath the weight of his powerlessness. Every nerve felt raw, each exposed sensation a cruel reminder of how utterly vulnerable Tobirama had become, his strength reduced to nothing but a futile, trembling form beneath the clone's relentless force.
The convulsions of Tobirama’s throat mirrored the trembling in his thighs—a futile attempt by his body to resist what his mind already knew was inescapable. His breath came in short, broken gasps, each one punctuated by the sharp sting of humiliation. At this moment, the nightmare had taken shape, not as an abstract fear but as a visceral, all-encompassing reality.
Desperation overtook Tobirama in waves, each stronger than the last. Tobirama thrashed against the force holding him down, the motion more instinct than intention. The tears that streamed down his face blurred his vision, reducing the world around him to a haze of unrelenting cruelty.
“Help!” Tobirama choked out, his voice cracking under the weight of hopelessness. Again and again, the words escaped his lips, frantic and pleading, yet they dissolved into the silence of the room, swallowed whole by its indifference. Tobirama had sealed this space himself, its walls reinforced with silencing jutsu meant to protect his work.
Now, they served only to deepen Tobirama’s isolation.
Every plea, every broken sob, dissipated into the vacuum, unheard and unanswered. The silence was deafening, pressing against his ears like an iron weight.
Tobirama’s instincts screamed at him to push forward, to flee, but every attempt was met with failure, as though the very air had conspired against him.
And so he moved, inch by inch, clawing at the emptiness ahead of him, knowing there was no salvation to be found, but clinging to the effort nonetheless. It was not hope that drove him—it was the primal, unyielding desire to survive.
Unfortunately, every desperate action Tobirama took fell squarely under the sharp gaze of the clone looming behind him. Just as Tobirama thought he might break free, a merciless grip closed around his ankle. In a heartbeat, Tobirama was dragged back, the cold surface of the lab floor scraping against his skin.
Madara’s clone then gripped Tobirama's waist with unrelenting strength, positioning itself without hesitation. The clone moved with unrelenting force, pressing forward until something massive and unyielding breached Tobirama's trembling form.
There was no gradual easing—just a singular thrust that drove into Tobirama completely, burying the full, unrelenting length in one violent motion.
A cry tore from Tobirama’s lips, raw and broken, echoing into the empty silence of his own making.
It was hot, overwhelming, stretching him beyond what Tobirama thought his body could endure. The intrusion filled Tobirama completely, its sheer size leaving no room for defiance, no hope of resistance, as if his insides were being reshaped under the relentless pressure.
Tobirama's entire body seized at the shock of it, a sharp, searing pain tearing through him like fire. His muscles clenched involuntarily against the intrusion, trying futilely to resist the impossible stretch.
Tobirama’s insides clenched instinctively against the sheer size of what pressed forward. It was an agonizing stretch, as though his body was fighting to reject what it could barely accommodate. The pressure was suffocating, his inner walls gripping tightly, quivering under the strain of something far too large to belong.
It felt like a force of nature, relentless and overwhelming, forcing its way deeper despite the desperate resistance of Tobirama’s trembling body. His insides convulsed involuntarily, squeezing down in a futile attempt to expel the intrusion, only to clamp down tighter as if refusing to let go. Each movement brought with it a new wave of pain, the disparity between his tightness and the foreign mass inside him creating an unbearable, unyielding friction.
Tobirama’s vision blurred as more tears gathered, the salty streams mingling with his ragged breaths. They were tears of helplessness, a raw, involuntary reaction to the excruciating invasion that left Tobirama trembling beneath its weight. No amount of resistance could stop their flow, just as no amount of will could numb the overwhelming pain tearing through him.
The visceral reaction of Tobirama's body, trembling uncontrollably, seemed to ignite something primal within the clone.
A shiver coursed through it, its breath hitching sharply, as if the sheer sensation of claiming Tobirama consumed it entirely.
Slowly, Madara’s clone straightened its posture, its grip tightening with a calculated ruthlessness. Its hips began a deliberate rhythm, each thrust unyielding and deliberate, pulling back only to plunge forward again.
The motion was almost mechanical in its precision, yet carried an underlying fervor.
At this moment, the nightmare for Tobirama truly began.
Every inch of his body was taut with fear, his muscles trembling as though on the verge of collapse. A hollow sense of dread gripped him, twisting his insides with every second that passed. His breath caught in his throat, struggling against the overwhelming panic threatening to consume him.
“Ha… no… please, don’t… please…” The words spilled out in a broken, desperate plea, a raw cry that barely left Tobirama’s lips before being swallowed by the abyss of his own helplessness. His voice cracked with anguish, the tears already flowing freely down his cheeks, hot and relentless.
Tobirama’s entire body trembled as a flood of panic overtook him, his breath catching in his throat. He could feel the relentless force behind him, a pressure so overwhelming it was as if his body would break apart. Fear gripped his chest, a raw, visceral terror that made him cry out, his voice cracking with desperate pleas for mercy. Yet even as he begged, Tobirama’s body seemed to move on its own, propelling him forward in a frantic attempt to escape.
But escape was futile.
The harsh pull from behind yanked him back mercilessly, forcing Tobirama to endure it all over again. It was a vicious cycle, his body caught in an endless rhythm of resistance and surrender. His strength began to wane, each struggle weaker than the last, until he could do nothing but collapse onto his knees.
Tobirama’s pale skin glistened with sweat, his hair clinging to his face as he knelt, legs trembling and spread wide. His weight threatened to buckle with every sharp thrust. Each time he faltered, the relentless presence behind him shoved harder, driving him to the brink of his endurance. Tobirama felt as though his very core was being torn apart, and the sheer helplessness of it all filled his mind with dread.
“I can’t… I can’t take it anymore,” Tobirama begged. His body refused to obey, exhausted and overwhelmed, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and despair.
Madara's clone showed no mercy, ignoring the broken pleas spilling from Tobirama's lips. The relentless rhythm of his movements left Tobirama gasping for air, his entire body trembling as the overwhelming sensations coursed through him.
By the end, Tobirama could no longer scream—his voice had abandoned him, replaced by breathless gasps and broken sobs. The sharp, merciless rhythm pushed Tobirama beyond what he thought he could endure. The raw friction against the cold, unyielding floor only added to the unbearable sensations coursing through his shuddering cock.
A sudden, uncontrollable tension built deep within Tobirama, and despite his attempts to resist, his body betrayed him. A violent shudder wracked his frame as the release tore through him, leaving him trembling and powerless. His muscles clenched tightly as waves of sensation overtook him entirely.
The heat, the tension, the unbearable stimulation—it all culminated in that moment, and Tobirama had no choice but to come.
Madara’s clone followed soon after.
The clone drove forward one final time, a guttural sound escaping it as the clone reached its peak. The warmth surged deep into Tobirama's trembling body, an invasive flood of its own release that seemed to burn as it settled in places Tobirama could barely comprehend.
The sensation was overwhelming, making Tobirama’s breath hitch and his entire frame shiver uncontrollably. Tobirama felt a sharp tingle run through his scalp, his entire body responding to the sheer intensity of it.
Tobirama's body, already pushed beyond its limits, clenched tightly around the intrusion, as if trying to reject what had been forced upon him, yet unable to stop the steady flow that filled him. The heat pooled deep inside, spreading like a brand marking Tobirama from within. His chest heaved with shallow, uneven breaths, each one accompanied by a trembling that he couldn't suppress.
Finally, Tobirama's legs also gave out beneath him, too weak to support his trembling body. He collapsed forward, sprawling helplessly on the ground, unable to hold himself upright any longer. His thighs, slick with sweat and other fluids, trembled as he lay there, his body spent.
The sensitive, abused entrance throbbed, swollen and red, still stretched open from the relentless intrusion.
When Madara's clone withdrew halfway, the sudden absence left Tobirama shivering, though it offered no relief.
Thick, hot seed clung to the clone's length, strings of it trailing and spilling from Tobirama's bruised entrance. The pale liquid dripped down the insides of Tobirama’s legs, tracing shameful paths along his trembling thighs, pooling beneath him as he lay motionless.
Tobirama lay there, utterly defeated. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, his skin damp with sweat as he tried to make sense of the lingering sensations.
Every part of Tobirama felt broken, his spirit crushed under the weight of his torment.
Tobirama's vision blurred, not from exhaustion alone but from the tears that fell uncontrollably down his face. He tried to steady his breathing, but every shaky gasp only made the ache in his chest more unbearable.
Tobirama’s eyes, unfocused and distant, stared blankly ahead as the words echoed in his mind: It's over. He's come.
Yet the relief Tobirama should have felt never came. His body, trembling and soaked, felt foreign to him now—a vessel emptied of its strength, dignity, and resolve.
The tears kept falling, silent but unstoppable, as his mind spiraled into a haze of exhaustion and despair. Tobirama was hollow, his will eroded, the only thought remaining a faint, desperate wish for an end to it all.
Madara’s clone moved with an unsettling calmness, effortlessly flipping Tobirama’s limp body onto its back. The movement caused a faint jolt deep inside Tobirama, a sharp reminder that the clone's length still remained buried within his trembling body.
The sensation was impossible to ignore. The sharp edge of reality blurred further as Tobirama's unfocused eyes struggled to track the figure looming above him. His breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps, his body too drained to resist, his mind too shattered to comprehend.
Summoning the last of his strength, Tobirama's trembling hands formed the familiar seals, his fingers moving almost on instinct. He released the jutsu that maintained the clone, desperate to end the nightmare.
The moment the technique dissolved, his body slackened with what should have been relief.
But when Tobirama’s vision cleared slightly, Madara’s clone was still there.
Tobirama's breath hitched, his body jolting with a spike of raw terror. His blurred gaze tried to focus, blinking rapidly as though clearing his sight would somehow change what he saw.
It's gone, he thought. I released it—it should be gone.But the figure before him did not waver.
The clone remained, its dark, piercing eyes locked onto Tobirama with an intensity that made his skin crawl.
For a fleeting moment, Tobirama thought his senses were betraying him, that his mind, raw and overwhelmed, was conjuring illusions.
Yet, as his sensor instincts flared, Tobirama gradually felt it—clear, undeniable, and horrifying in its intensity.
The man's presence was real.
Every nerve in Tobirama’s body screamed the truth he had desperately tried to deny.
This wasn’t a clone. It wasn’t an illusion.
This was him.
The real Madara.
A trembling wave of fear washed over Tobirama, leaving him paralyzed. His lips parted, but no sound emerged, only a shaky exhale that betrayed his panic.
The weight of the man’s presence, the impossible heat and pressure pinning him down, left no room for denial.
Tobirama’s breath caught as his gaze snapped upward, his unfocused eyes locking onto the dark, smirking figure looming over him. The air felt heavy, oppressive, as though even the room itself acknowledged the overwhelming power of the man before him. In that instant, clarity struck Tobirama like lightning, and terror surged through his veins.
This was the real Madara.
A sharp, jarring awareness struck Tobirama as he felt it—the impossible hardness still buried deep inside him.
Panic rippled through his chest, cold and paralyzing.
Why... why is it still so hard? The thought echoed in Tobirama’s mind as dread tightened its grip on him. His breathing quickened, shallow gasps that barely drew air into his lungs, and instinct drove him to inch backward, trying to escape the suffocating presence pressing against him.
But Madara was faster.
The man's hands moved with calculated ease, grabbing Tobirama's trembling legs and spreading them apart once more. A surge of helpless terror consumed Tobirama as his weakened body was dragged effortlessly back toward Madara's hips, the intimate connection between them unbroken.
The pressure of Madara's length shifted slightly inside Tobirama, and the sensation was enough to make Tobirama’s breath hitch, his hands weakly clawing at the floor beneath him in a futile attempt to pull away.
His unfocused eyes darted toward the man, searching for any sign of reprieve, but all he found was that dark, piercing gaze locking him in place.
Madara loomed over him, his voice low, cutting through Tobirama's haze of fear.
"Why so distracted, Tobirama? It’s just the beginning.”
.
.
.
When Tobirama stirred from the haze of unconsciousness, the world felt unbearably foreign.
The air was thick, heavy with the faint scent of cedar and something darker, almost metallic. Beneath him, the tatami mat scratched against his bare skin. A blanket, impossibly soft and alien, was draped haphazardly over Tobirama.
Tobirama blinked slowly, his vision adjusting to the dim light of the room.
This wasn’t his lab, nor his quarters—this place wasn’t his. He belonged nowhere within these walls.
The walls loomed around him, their surface marked by the unmistakable Uchiha crest. Its stark symmetry glinted faintly in the pale light of the moon, casting long shadows that stretched like claws toward him. The room was silent, yet it buzzed with an almost oppressive presence, the very air seeming to hum with Madara’s unshakable imprint.
Tobirama tried to sit up, but his body betrayed him, trembling with exhaustion and pain. His muscles ached as if they'd been wrung out and left to dry, and the slightest movement sent shards of agony through his lower half.
Hot tears pricked the corners of Tobirama’s eyes, but Tobirama forced them back with the last fragments of his pride.
If not for the searing ache radiating from every part of his body, Tobirama might have been able to convince himself that this was a nightmare. But the sharp, persistent pain that clawed at his senses refused him that escape.
His entire body felt battered and bruised, his muscles weak and trembling under the weight of what had been done to him. His lower half was completely numb, and yet the phantom memory of a deep, invasive ache lingered, sending cold shivers through his spine.
Tobirama gritted his teeth, his eyes flickering to the dim light filtering into the room, trying to find focus. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, the simple act of inhaling enough to ignite the raw, stinging bruises marring his pale skin.
He glanced down, hesitant, but the sight that met him made bile rise in his throat.
The once-pristine plane of his chest was ruined. Red, swollen marks dotted his skin where teeth had savaged him, the faint outline of Madara's sharp bites clear and unmistakable. Some had even drawn blood, the dried remnants a silent testament to how ruthlessly Tobirama had been claimed.
And then, his nipples were now mangled beyond recognition, their natural form twisted into something unthinkably ruined.
They were swollen and red, the skin around them torn and sensitive. The marks of merciless lips and a relentless tongue were unmistakable. Every shallow breath caused them to sting anew, a cruel reminder of how they had been toyed with.
The once-flat expanse of Tobirama’s chest was now marred by a humiliating, shameful swell, as if molded to resemble something grotesquely feminine.
Tobirama remembered it all too vividly—the way he had squirmed, pleaded, tried to resist. His voice, usually so steady, had broken into a desperate cry.
"Don't... don't touch there! It's too much—ahh! Stop!"
Tobirama had begged, over and over, but his words had only served to amuse Madara. That voice still echoed in his ears, low and filled with derision.
Every refusal had been met with a sharper bite, every tear with a crueler touch. Tobirama squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the memory, but it clawed at him, relentless.
The way Madara's hands had gripped him, kneading and twisting his chest with an unholy mix of cruelty and desire, left him feeling tainted beyond repair. His body had been reshaped, redefined, forced into submission until there was nothing left of the proud man he had once been.
Tobirama's body felt trapped in an inescapable torment, pinned and claimed in the most humiliating way. He struggled to move, to escape, but his lower half was fixed firmly in place, held by a force greater than his will. Every thrust of Madara's relentless body was like a hammer striking an unyielding nail, cruelly deliberate and merciless.
The sheer force of it left Tobirama gasping, choking on despair, as though each motion was carving his helplessness deeper into his very soul.
The thick, unrelenting cock invading him was unbearable, impossible to ignore. His insides felt stretched and raw, and though he longed for it to end, it only continued, over and over again, driving him further into the depths of his own powerlessness.
The obscene sound of their coupling echoed in the silence—a slick, wet rhythm that made Tobirama’s stomach churn with shame. Every movement was punctuated by that lewd, unbearable sound, reminding Tobirama of how deeply he had been claimed. The fluids left behind by Madara's previous assault had done nothing to spare him. Instead, they served only as evidence of his defilement, making it easier for that searing heat to drive back into him, unyielding and merciless.
It was like being torn apart, piece by piece, his dignity shredded with every thrust. The shame of it all burned through his mind, yet his body betrayed him, reacting to the overwhelming sensations against his will.
Tobirama didn’t know how many times he had came, only that in the end, he had been driven to the point of unbearable release. He had passed out soon after, his mind mercifully succumbing to the void.
It was real.
No matter how much Tobirama wanted to believe it was a nightmare, the truth pressed down on him like a suffocating weight.
Everything that had happened—every violation, every humiliating moment—was real, etched into his body and soul.
In the beginning, Tobirama had resisted. He had fought back with all the strength he could muster.
But his strength waned with every passing moment, and his protests became quieter, weaker.
Soon, he found himself too broken to fight, too exhausted to resist the overwhelming force that consumed him.
Madara had pushed him to the very edge, driving him to a place where resistance no longer existed. His body had been forced to respond, dragged unwillingly to a height that shattered his spirit. His vision blurred, eyes vacant as if the light within him had dimmed. He couldn’t even bring himself to focus on the world around him anymore.
By the end, his voice had been reduced to a hoarse, cracked whisper of its former strength. The cries, the pleas, the begging—all of it had left him. His throat burned from the effort, his body limp and unresponsive, and yet it hadn’t mattered.
Tobirama was powerless, utterly and completely powerless.
Stripped of his dignity, his pride, and his sense of self, Tobirama was left with nothing but the cold, hard truth of what had been done to him.
Tobirama sat still, trembling, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. His body burned with pain and humiliation, but worse than the physical ache was the hollowness consuming him inside.
It was only then, amidst the oppressive silence, that his dulled senses stirred—an unfamiliar prickle of awareness creeping over his skin.
Someone was there.
Tobirama’s breath hitched, panic bubbling in his chest as his mind struggled to process the realization. He hadn’t noticed it before, hadn’t felt the presence looming nearby.
Tobirama’s breath hitched as his gaze settled on the man sitting by the door.
That was Madara.
The moonlight painted the contours of his broad, bare chest, each muscle seemingly carved in stone yet brimming with an unsettling ease.
It was only now, in the suffocating silence of the room, that Tobirama could truly process the scene from yesterday. While he had been stripped bare, every shred of dignity peeled away along with his clothing, Madara had remained fully clothed—a dark, towering figure of authority and dominance.
The weight of his garments, unwrinkled and pristine, was a cruel contrast to Tobirama’s exposed and trembling body, his vulnerability laid bare against the cold, unyielding presence of the man who had claimed him without shedding so much as a sleeve.
Madara, for his part, sat with unnerving composure, his expression devoid of emotion. His eyes were already fixed on Tobirama.
Tobirama’s body stiffened in fear, every muscle trembling beneath the blanket barely shielding his exposed skin. He wanted to run, to put as much distance between himself and this man as humanly possible. But his legs felt like they no longer belonged to him, his strength stolen and his dignity ground into dust.
The rules dictated that shinobi were granted a day of rest to heal from whatever wounds the battlefield had carved into them.
Tobirama’s heart sank as the truth struck him. No one was coming.
No one would question his absence. No one would seek him out.
The realization clawed at his heart, each thought heavier than the last. He was alone. There was no rescue party, no lifeline. He was at the mercy of Uchiha Madara, who had taken every measure to ensure that Tobirama was his and his alone for this day.
The weight of that truth was unbearable, and Tobirama felt the pressure building behind his eyes. Tears threatened to fall, but he swallowed them down, refusing to let them break free.
Crying would do nothing.
Yet the ache in his chest was relentless, a physical pain that mirrored the bruises scattered across his body. In the silence, Tobirama bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, just to keep the sobs at bay.
Tobirama’s voice trembled as he forced himself to speak.
“Uchiha-sama, can you let me go?”
His tone was subdued, almost pleading, betraying the remnants of his pride that clung desperately to their last threads. The words felt hollow even as he said them. If his body weren’t so battered, he would’ve used his technique to escape this nightmare long ago. But now, even the simple act of breathing sent sharp, burning pain coursing through his ribs, as if reminding him of his brokenness.
Madara turned his head at the sound of Tobirama’s voice, and for a moment, the faint amusement dancing in his crimson eyes made Tobirama’s blood run cold. Then, Madara’s laughter echoed through the room.
“I don’t recall agreeing to that.”
The deep rumble of his voice was calm, and it only heightened the sense of suffocation that clung to Tobirama like a second skin.
“You…” Tobirama’s voice cracked, and he bit down hard on his lip to keep from shouting the string of curses burning at the back of his throat. His nails dug into the blanket draped over him. After a long pause, he drew a shaky breath and steadied his tone.
“Uchiha-sama, you’re imprisoning me. This is illegal!”
“Imprisoning?” Madara repeated, his lips curling into a smile that sent a shiver down Tobirama’s spine.
Madara leaned forward slightly, resting an arm on his knee, his sharp gaze never wavering from Tobirama. “You’re sick. I’m just letting you rest here to get better.”
Each word was spoken with deliberate softness. Tobirama’s heart clenched at the way Madara delivered the statement as if he were doing him a kindness.
“I appreciate your kindness,” Tobirama said through gritted teeth, the words laced with barely contained anger. “But I don’t need it. If you just let me go, I’d recover on my own!”
His voice grew more heated as the words tumbled out.
Tobirama wasn’t exaggerating. His body, which had always been a vessel of unyielding strength, had been pushed to the brink. The bruises, the aches, the sheer exhaustion—none of it compared to the crushing weight of being in Madara’s presence.
Every second spent in his company stripped away Tobirama’s sense of self, reducing him to nothing more than a fragile, trembling creature. Tobirama could feel it in the way his breath hitched, in the way his hands refused to stop shaking.
Madara leaned back, his gaze never leaving Tobirama.
“Tobirama… and what about the forbidden jutsu you’re conducting in the lab? Are you not concerned about what I might reveal?” Madara’s lips curled into a small smile. “I could always tell the council about your little… experiment there. How would you explain that, hmm?”
Tobirama shivered.
His skin crawled, and for a moment, his breath caught in his throat.
Still, his eyes darted uneasily, avoiding Madara’s scrutinizing gaze. A chill running down his spine at the sharpness in Madara’s tone.
“No, I—I was simply conducting scientific research for the benefit of the village. Please, Uchiha-sama, don’t misrepresent my work like that,” Tobirama stammered, his voice faltering as the weight of the accusation bore down on him. His hands gripped the edges of the blanket that covered him, knuckles white, trying desperately to hold himself together.
“Oh? And what about those kisses?” Madara’s smile curled into something almost teasing, his eyes glinting with an amusement. “The clone of yours—it looks exactly like me. How do you plan to explain that?”
Madara’s voice, though smooth, sent another shudder through Tobirama.
“I have to admit, I was quite impressed with how real that clone felt. You must have been… thorough in your study.” Madara continued.
Tobirama’s heart pounded in his chest, his face flushed with embarrassment and shame. He couldn’t look Madara in the eye, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. He had hoped his secret would stay hidden, but now it felt like Madara had laid bare every part of him.
The air grew heavier with each passing second, a suffocating pressure filling the room.
Madara rose to his feet and moved closer, lowering himself to sit near Tobirama. His proximity was deliberate, leaning in just enough for his presence to feel utterly overwhelming.
Tobirama’s breath hitched, his thoughts scrambling for some kind of escape, but none came. He was trapped, both physically and emotionally, in Madara’s will.
“You have two choices, Tobirama,” Madara purred, his voice low and dangerously close. “One, I walk to the Yamanaka clan and show them everything I’ve seen in your lab, let them question you and expose you for your… little experiments. Or two…” He leaned in, his lips brushing against Tobirama’s ear as he whispered, “You listen to me. Properly.”
Tobirama’s chest tightened, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered if he’d ever have control over anything again.
Tobirama could feel the weight of his defeat before it even reached his mind.
His eyes, once sharp and filled with resolve, now betrayed him with their emptiness. It was as if the very air around him had thickened, suffocating him, yet he couldn’t move. The silence between them stretched on, cruel and absolute.
Madara’s gaze, cold yet full of satisfaction, locked onto him, and Tobirama knew. He knew in that fleeting moment of contact that he had already lost. The humiliation sank into his bones like ice water, a slow, bitter realization that there was no escaping what was coming next.
With deliberate slowness, Madara began to undo the bonds of the blanket that covered him. Madara crouched before him, one hand gripping the edge of the blanket. Slowly, agonizingly, Madara pulled it away, baring Tobirama's trembling, bruised body to the cool night air.
Tobirama remained still, numb, his body betraying his mind as he felt the blanket fall away.
Madara's eyes dragged over him, unhurried and heavy, taking in every mark, every swelling bruise and trembling muscle.
His fingers trailed over the bite marks on Tobirama's chest, grazing the swollen skin. Tobirama flinched but didn't move away. "You wear my touch so beautifully.”
Before Tobirama could react, Madara's hands slid to his waist, pulling him forward with ease.
The movement left Tobirama straddling the man's lap, his body pressed flush against Madara's. The heat radiating from Madara's skin burned against his own, and Tobirama bit his lip to suppress the sob building in his throat.
The cold air on his exposed skin was a sharp contrast to the heat of the Madara’s body, pressing him against it. Every inch of his body felt exposed. Tobirama’s chest tightened, but he made no sound. It was as though the man had taken his voice along with his dignity, and all that was left was the fragile shell of a man who had no power, no way to fight back.
Madara's fingers traced lightly over Tobirama's bruised nipple, the touch sending a jolt of discomfort through his body. The skin, already swollen from previous encounters, seemed to burn beneath Madara's fingertips. The contrast between the gentleness of the caress and the pain it provoked made Tobirama's breath catch in his throat.
His chest tightened, the sensitivity of the wound making his whole body flinch, but Tobirama could do nothing to pull away.
"The real thing is still better than the replica, isn't it, Tobirama? I have to admit, you enjoyed it a lot. Yesterday, in my hands, you came so many times..." The words echoed in Tobirama’s mind, each syllable burning him from the inside, while the reality of his situation gripped him tighter than any chains could.
Madara's hand gripped the bruised curve of Tobirama's backside, his fingers pressing into the swollen flesh with an unsettling familiarity. Madara's touch was possessive, exploring the delicate skin as if it were something to be molded. Each squeeze sent a fresh wave of pain through Tobirama, the bruises throbbing in protest, but the sensation of Madara's hand was all-encompassing.
Tobirama's pale skin contrasted sharply with the red and purple patches, and as Madara fondled the flesh, he could feel the imprint of the man's hand linger on his bruised skin, the warmth of the touch searing into him even after it had moved away.
His thighs trembled from the strain of staying still, yet Tobirama couldn't find the will to escape, as if all strength had been drained from him. The marks on his body, vivid with the cruelty of yesterday's actions, were a constant reminder of how little control he had.
Madara's voice broke through the haze.
"From now on, you'll stay here. After work, you're not allowed to go anywhere. Be obedient and return to me." Tobirama felt the weight of the command sink into him, the suffocating realization that he was trapped, unable to escape even if he wanted to.
Tobirama’s eyes stared unseeing ahead, trapped in the deepening abyss of despair. The ache in his body was nothing compared to the emptiness in his heart.
It wasn't just the touch that overwhelmed him, but the crushing knowledge that there was no one left to save him.
The tension in his muscles was like a slow-burning fire that Tobirama could do nothing to extinguish. The humiliating pressure of Madara's arousal, even with the fabric between them, seemed to press into his bare, exposed body, inescapable and suffocating.
Tears fell from Tobirama’s eyes without him realizing, a slow trickle down his cheeks, each drop a silent testament to his broken will.
Madara seemed to savor every moment, watching Tobirama closely, taking in every fragile expression.
Leaning forward, his lips curved into a smile as he kissed the tears from Tobirama's face. "Good," he murmured. "You're finally starting to understand."