Katsuki no Monogatari [Uchiha Madara/oc]

Jealousy in a girl can manifest in a myriad of ways, like a tempest brewing beneath a calm facade. It might start as a small knot in her stomach, a flicker of insecurity ignited by comparison. Her gaze could linger a fraction longer on someone else's accomplishments, possessions, or even relationships, leading to a bitter taste of longing or resentment. Sometimes, it's the subtleties—the strained smile, the forced laugh—that reveal the depth of her envy. The feeling might consume her, brewing a storm of emotions within, causing her to withdraw or even lash out in a mix of hurt and frustration. Jealousy can paint her thoughts in shades of green, distorting her perceptions and causing her to overlook her own strengths and virtues. It's a complex emotion, one that can gnaw at her confidence, leaving her in a state of emotional conflict where the desire to possess what she doesn't have clashes with the awareness of her own emotions.

It didn't take long for the hushed whispers to reach the ears of the confined Katsuki; people talked, they whispered how the boy, married less than a year ago, shot longing looks at the foreign woman. They pitied her and her state of hopelessness. The woman could get closer to Madara in ways that she could not, she could talk to him freely, she had the luxury of ignoring the weight of cultural expectations, she was everything Katsuki wished she was. She had never seen the woman the maids spoke of, but she could already imagine the beautiful white hair and alluring opal eyes, captivating Madara and pulling him away further and further away from her. 

She could not play the part of the jealous wife because it had been a week since she had seen her supposed husband, and coincidentally, it had also been a week since the outsiders arrived. 

The teen tried to console herself with the fact that within the clan cheating and promiscuity is heavily condemned, but there was also no one who would dare scorn Madara. She prayed that someone would act in her favor and lead Madara down the correct path and away from that woman. The fear of abandonment ate away at her, but soon strange scenarios appeared in her racing mind, much darker thoughts arose and she began to panic; the words of her assigned handmaiden began to echo in her head, she spoke about men's urges and how they often seek comfort in the arms of foreign women when far from their wives, or when their wives are incompetent.   

Her tears, unshed and heavy, cling to her lashes like dew on delicate petals, refusing to fall. The room echoes with a poignant hush as her stifled sobs escape in soft, tremulous exhales. Her face, a canvas of despair, reflected the pain that words fail to convey. The ache in her chest felt like a weight, pressing down, suffocating her with an unseen burden. Each shuddering breath she takes seems to scrape against her fractured heart. Her hands, trembling with the raw intensity of emotion, reach for solace, finding none in the desolate emptiness around her. Her body, wrapped in a cocoon of silent agony, bears witness to the storm of emotions that ravage her soul. She cries not in a cacophony of sound, but in the haunting melody of a heart breaking in the silence of solitude.
She agonizes in privacy, far from prying eyes. Her hands find her chest, where her delicate and trembling fingers wrap around her fabric close to her heart in a weak attempt of easing the pain. Images of Madara giving the woman the side of him she had been practically begging for cause another wave of emotion to crash into the shores of her chest, causing the rippling ache to intensify, each crest of the emotional surge battering against the fragile dams of her composure. The swell of pain surged relentlessly, causing the once steady coasts of her chest to erode, leaving her breathless and overwhelmed by the relentless force of her sorrow.

"Young mistress, are you alright?" 

She opened her mouth to answer, but the words never made it, instead replaced by shortened breaths. She could not muster the strength to answer the woman behind the door, and cursed at her futile attempts at hiding her current state. Instead of answering, she shakily picked herself up and locked the door, even if the maids could not enter unless allowed to, she took the extra measure to ensure no one witnessed the mortifying scene. 
Katsuki wobbled towards the window, sitting on the wooden stool under the open pane. She watched the evening sun cast a golden glow upon the world below. Its warm rays painted everything in a vivid hue, yet for her, it only accentuated the stark contrast to her inner world. Amidst the chirping birds and the vibrant flora, a sense of desolation lingered in the air. The brightness of the day seemed to magnify the shadows in her heart, accentuating the contrast between the world's cheeriness and her subdued spirit. The cheerful laughter of children playing and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze only served as a reminder of the hollowness within. The sun, usually a beacon of joy, now felt like an intruder, highlighting the void she couldn't shake. It was a day when the weight of the world's happiness seemed to press upon her, casting a melancholic veil over a day that, to everyone else, appeared so radiant and full of promise.

Her eyes landed on the familiar figure of her husband, his messy black hair was in its natural state and it didn't take him long to notice her watching him. Before she could register his next movement, he was standing right in front of her, their noses almost touching. He stared at her as if he was studying her, and feeling awkward under his heavy scrutiny, she lowered her head in embarrassment. 

"Were you crying?"

She couldn't trust her voice to answer him, so she shook her head instead, while staring at her feet. 

"May I come in." 

Part of her wanted to say no, to send him back to his foreign friend, but she couldn't help but give into the other side; She silently moved away from the window and allowed him passage. He looked around the messy room and then at her. He was not used to seeing her in that condition, not that he minded, but she was usually so perfect that it was disconcerting how ethereal she looked in most cases, her hair always trailed behind her in a delicate way and her face was always shy and welcoming. Today, disheveled and mixture of confusion and surprise, she looked cuter and much more palpable than her flawless persona. He could almost coo at her little pout and puffy eyes.

"Why were you crying?"

"I wasn't." 

"There's no need to lie, you look as if you cried a river."

"Well, I didn't." She stubbornly replied, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting. 

"If you insist." He replied, finding her actions amusing, he couldn't help but smile a little. "I've been busy these past days, so I couldn't come as often." 

"When are you moving in?" She shot back, glaring at him a little. 

"Sooner than you think; as I said, I've been occupied and haven't found the time to sort out my belongings and send them here."

"I can't use the master's bedroom until you're here, I'm stuck in this ugly room until you decide to come." 

An exasperated sigh left Madara's lips, causing Katsuki's lips to clamp shut, as fear bubbled up her within her heart, rapidly pumping it to every inch of her being through her veins. 

"Alright, I'll arrange everything to be sent here this week." He gave in, laying down on the tatami. A deep sigh left his thin lips, the sound eared a squeak from the girl she moved closer to him, in fear that he would choke like that one time. "What're you doing?"

"I thought you were choking again..." This certainly caused him to choke; he violently coughed and wheeze, slamming his fist into his chest multiple times in order to regain composure. His gloved hand was held out to her when she tried to move closer, as he recalled the prior events, and the bruise she left on his back from the sheer force she used to hit him. 

"I'm..." Another set of cough cut him off. "O-okay." 

"I'm glad..." She whispered moving back to her original position. The room progressively became darker, as the sun hid itself behind the mountains that surrounded the land of fire. The chirping of the cicadas became louder as the compound settled into a comforting quiet. 

"How was your day, Madara-sama?" 

"Nothing new." He answered, still staring at the ceiling, his dark eyes trailed after the paper butterflies that moved to the mellow rhythm of the dainty flow of air that entered the room. Noting the silence from his counterpart, he turned his face to catch a glimpse of her crestfallen face. Her eyes never moved away from her balled hands, kneeling a few feet away from him. He wondered why she maintained that uncomfortable position at all times; the gesture seemed like nothing, but it felt as if she viewed him as a superior rather than a partner, a way to show that she had to maintain that posture as long as he was there because anything less would be disrespectful. 

In the quiet corridors of his mind, a complex interplay of emotions unfolded as he observed his wife's submission. Pride, like a warm ember, flickered within him— a reflection of the societal constructs that had ingrained in him a sense of accomplishment in her deference. Yet, intertwined with this pride was a subtle undercurrent of annoyance, a disquieting awareness that her submission came at the cost of her own agency. The echoes of tradition and expectation had shaped his understanding of relationships, but the realization that her compliance stemmed from societal norms rather than genuine choice left him uneasy. As he grappled with the conflicting currents of pride and irritation, he recognized the need for a nuanced reevaluation of their dynamics. 

"Why don't you sit comfortably?"

"I am comfortable, Madara-sama."

"You're not, I can see your feet turning white. Come."

She slowly made her way towards him, shakily coming out of the position she was in. Once she was close enough, his hands wrapped around her delicate arm and pulled, in a few swift movements, she was laying right beside him, face red as a tomato and giving shallow breaths. 

"Better?"

"Ye-yes!" 

A small smile appeared on his face as he continued to stare at the paper butterflies, a warm sense of quiet confidence settled in his chest as sleep slowly claimed his mind. Katuski's heart, on the other hand, was close to leaping out of her chest and she internally cheered at the tiny but significant show of affection.