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cyhyr · 2 years

Text

From Outward, In

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: T

WC: 3872

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Additional Tags: hurt/comfort, security blanket, fire, sleep deprivation, gift giving

A/N: This is my creation for the Valentines and White Day Gift Exchange event for @kakairu-discord-server. I hope it's to your liking @inkieravens

Out of the three gift ideas, I went with the item prompt: Blanket

The tropes I included are hurt/comfort and whump (specifically, sleep deprivation)

Thanks to @paperthinrevolutionary for the beta read!

Thanks also to @atereal for being an awesome cheerleader 💛

Read on The Archive

Iruka was told, many times throughout his childhood, about how his father had fled Uzushiogakure before its destruction with naught but the clothes on his back, a scroll detailing some very particular barrier seals, and the soft, teal, patterned blanket that he had wrapped around his shoulders. The blanket was old when Ikkaku had left behind Uzushio, and it had always been stressed to Iruka to please be very careful with it, as it’s the only family heirloom Ikkaku had left to pass on.

When the Fox rampaged and destroyed Iruka’s home, life, and parents, the blanket somehow remained unscathed—a bit dusty and covered in soot, but at eleven years old Iruka wrapped himself in one of the few things he had left of his parents and cried for hours.

It still held the faintest trace of his father’s cologne.

For five years, Iruka keeps the blanket on his bed, comforted by the familiar weave and worrying one of the corners in his fingers to fall asleep. When a mission takes him out of the Village, the blanket comes, too, sealed in a storage scroll and only occasionally taken out for brief moments just before he would sleep. His teammates never say anything, and his jōnin-sensei doesn’t care about him anyway. He keeps this up even when he passes the chūnin exam and starts running more dangerous, higher ranked missions. He never lets the blanket become a distraction, and most missions he runs he simply contents himself with the knowledge that the blanket is in his scroll and safe.

The one friend he has thinks it odd that he sleeps with a blanket in this way, and constantly teases him over it. Mizuki is brutally honest at times, and doesn’t back down when it comes to issues that are important; usually, Iruka appreciates his candor, but he’s kicked Mizuki out before over his commentary, though they always find their way back together later. Iruka is proud of the fact that even at forty and having attained the rank of jōnin, his father had once treasured this blanket and Iruka’s plan is to keep it with him until he dies or has children of his own to whom he can pass it down.

They’re sixteen years old, a couple months shy of Iruka’s seventeenth birthday, when they get into a terrible fight. They can’t even blame it on the stress of a mission, current, past, or future, because they are home and the evening has been going well.

Mizuki then starts going on about how Iruka needs to grow the hell up and Iruka scoffs good-naturedly and says, “We’re both chūnin now; how much more grown up do we need to get?”

“You could get laid,” Mizuki jeers.

Iruka flushes. “I’m just waiting for the right person…”

“Your clock is ticking and at the rate you’re taking missions you’re going to die a virgin,” Mizuki laughs. Iruka knows that it was a joke but it feels malicious. He continues, “What you need to do is redecorate your place; then maybe you wouldn’t feel so anxious about bringing someone home.”

“Mizuki, I don’t have anyone I’d want to—”

“You could start by getting rid of that scrap of fabric you call a blanket. It’s fucking hideous, Iruka.”

His mood darkens. “It’s an heirloom, and you can leave if you’re gonna be like this.”

“Seriously, what adult still has a damn security blanket?!”

“It’s not—gods, just get out. I don’t want to deal with you when you’re like this.”

“Fine,” Mizuki snaps. Instead of leaving, though, he storms farther into the apartment.

“What are you—?!”

“I’m just going to piss first, alright?? I’ll get out of your hair in a sec.”

Iruka huffs, but sits back and lets him go. Mizuki disappears down the hall, while Iruka frowns at his knees. It’s not a security blanket. Those are for babies and small children. He just wants to keep it safe, it’s all he has left of his parents.

…The water isn’t running—the toilet should have flushed by now. A cold dread settles in Iruka’s stomach.

He enters his bedroom just in time to watch Mizuki light the blanket—and his whole bed, beside—on fire.

“No!!! What are you doing!!!” Iruka makes the fastest seals for a water-release jutsu he can, and puts out the fire before it can damage the rest of his room, but the blanket…

This blanket had seen the rise and fall of Uzushiogakure, the birth and raising of his ancestors, survived the Fox attack, and seen Iruka through depression and grief and hundreds of missions. And now, soaked and burned, it crumbles to ash in his fingers.

“Well, at least—”

“Get out,” Iruka whispers, deadly quiet.

“Iruka, seriously, I did you a favor.”

Mizuki flinches at the kunai Iruka throws, not even looking over his shoulder, as it lands in the doorframe beside his ear.

He says nothing more, and sees himself out. Iruka sleeps at the kotatsu that night, fitful at best but fraught with nightmares for most of it. So much fire, the angry red of the Fox’s fur, the sounds of screaming and destruction around him, the acrid taste of terror and heat. All these things and more, he dreams; and then, screams himself awake.

Perhaps it was a bit of a security blanket.

“You’ll be accompanied on this mission by an ANBU team to ensure its completion.”

Iruka, exhausted and slightly dazed, just nods. He can’t read the mission scroll—the characters won’t stay still, and if he tries to focus his eyes water. It’s been a week and he’s gotten maybe two hours of sleep total. But the village has no one else available who’s proficient with Uzushio-style sealwork, and so he can’t bow out.

“The team leaves from the east gate in half an hour.”

“Yes, Sandaime.”

He goes to pack. It’s another daze as he unrolls his sealing scroll and places his overnight kit inside. He almost reaches for the blanket from his bed before remembering and sniffing away the tears.

Mission. Pack. He can do this. He can function without it.

He grabs his sealing kit and fits it into his pouch, restocks his kunai and shuriken, grabs ration bars from his nightstand, and locks and wards his home before heading for the gate.

He’s a third of the way to the south gate when he remembers he’s supposed to be meeting the team at the eastern one. At least he doesn’t have to backtrack.

Iruka is proud to admit that he manages to get through the first two days of travel without either passing out or waking up from a nightmare. That said, he certainly doesn’t sleep either night, and by the third day he’s falling behind and can tell that the ANBU with him are getting antsy and annoyed.

The captain, Hound, keeps the pace slow enough that Iruka can keep up. But Iruka’s exhausted, the evening before they’re supposed to reach their destination, and he flounders through his assigned jobs in setting up camp. When he’s done, he sits across the fire from two of the ANBU while they chat and eat, but he ignores whatever they’re chatting about to instead stare into the flames and doze with his eyes open.

“Hey.”

Iruka looks up and blinks rapidly to clear his eyes—heat and exhaustion combined make for a teary situation. Hound sits beside him and Iruka resists the urge to shuffle aside. It’s quiet in the clearing and he glances across the fire to see that Snake and Turtle have left, likely on a patrol.

“We’re arriving tomorrow. Are you ready?” Hound asks.

Iruka nods. “Yes, taichou.”

“Will you need anything from any of us?”

“An uninterrupted ten-minute window so I can find what we’re looking for and ensure that there aren’t any other copies or relevant texts that need to be destroyed.”

Hound hums. “We’ll give you fifteen. Intelligence says it’s an expansive archive.”

“That’s fine. Thank you.”

“Are you alright?”

“I—What?”

Hound leans in a bit, bracing an arm behind himself and turning to face him. “You haven’t slept since we left. If you’re worried about getting caught, don’t. We’re here to ensure your safety.”

“I’m not… It’s not that.”

“I also understand that you’re newly chūnin, as of the last exam. Are you—”

“I’m not worried, I’m not nervous, I just… can’t sleep.”

Hound lowers his voice and murmurs, “Nightmares?”

Iruka softly bites his lip and nods once. He doesn’t lift his head back up. To the ground, he whispers, “My friend—we got into a fight, and he—he burned a blanket of mine about a week ago. It was my father’s, an heirloom from Uzushio. I just… I know it’s pathetic, but I can’t seem to sleep without it. I’m sorry.”

Hound is quiet for a few moments, and Iruka’s anxiety is screaming that he shouldn’t have bothered, that the ANBU have enough to worry about without adding a burned blanket to their mental loads and now Hound is going to just see Iruka as some weak child who can’t—

“Please just… the blanket wasn’t on you, when this,” he seethes, “friend of yours lit it on fire?”

Iruka shakes his head.

Hound’s shoulders drop. “I’m… sorry to hear this, and yet also relieved that you weren’t hurt.” He drops a hand on Iruka’s arm, offering comfort that Iruka soaks up with a silent sigh. “However, we have to complete this mission before we can deal with the destruction of your property.”

Iruka nods. “I know, I’m sorry. I—”

“I could help you sleep, if you’d like?”

“What… do you mean?”

Hound fidgets the slightest bit, and then says, much quieter, “I can use the sharingan to put you to sleep. I could even make it dreamless if you wished?”

Iruka fights the flush that rises as he realizes just who is under that mask and the embarrassment of having Hatake Kakashi offer to help him sleep makes Iruka’s chest ache. But still… a dreamless sleep sounds really nice. “If… if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, taichou…”

Kakashi nods and Iruka steadies himself against the weight of the sharingan’s gaze. “Try to relax,” he murmurs, and Iruka breathes out a harsh sigh as he forces his spine to soften. The sharingan spins lazily, and Iruka watches it steadily. “Don’t fight it.”

“Okay…” Iruka feels the soft edges of a genjutsu press into his mind, and instinct rears up; he pushes back with his chakra.

Fingers come up to cup his cheek and a more forceful, harsh whisper, “Don’t fight me, Iruka. Sleep, now.”

“‘M try…ing…” Iruka lets his eyes close and his breath eases as he slips into sleep, falling backwards into Kakashi’s arm. He’s asleep before the embarrassment of falling asleep on his captain can hit him.

The mission goes smoothly, information recorded and seals shattered; Iruka considers setting the whole archive ablaze, just to be sure that every scrap of related information is gone. But ultimately, he trusts himself in knowing he got it all, and escapes the archive with six minutes to spare.

Kakashi had told him fifteen minutes, Iruka had said ten. Maybe if he hadn’t slept the night before he would have needed all fifteen, but as it is, the genjutsu worked and he was able to perform the mission perfectly. He’s grateful for the ANBU team providing back up regardless.

They’re seven hours out when Kakashi calls for a stop and asks if anyone needs a rest. Iruka shakes his head. He can keep going. But it’s Snake who raises their hand lightly and says, “I wouldn’t mind stopping for the night. We can pick up the pace tomorrow and go for longer?”

Kakashi nods. They go another twenty minutes before Turtle declares that there’s a safehouse nearby; ten minutes more and Iruka follows Snake inside the shack. It’s… cozy? Tiny, to be honest, but there is enough room to comfortably lay out three futons with space to walk between them. The wards hum steadily, and Iruka takes a moment to check them over. He perks up as Turtle and Kakashi come through the door, and Iruka says, “Do any of you mind if I add some things to these wards?”

“What’s wrong with ‘em?” Snake says.

“Not… wrong, per say, but the reach of the alarm system isn’t quite what I’m used to.”

Turtle scoffs lightly. “Yeah, I’m sure that they’re more—”

Iruka scowls. “My own wards on my apartment are more expansive than these. Taichou, with your permission, I’d like to extend the range on the alarms to a ninety meter radius and increase the sensitivity to include civilian chakra levels.”

“Why bother?” Snakes asks.

“We’re in the middle of the woods. If a civilian wanders by out here, they might need help; or they might be a pair of eyes against Konoha. Either way, if it’s not an animal, I’d like to know about it.”

Kakashi nods. “It sounds reasonable. Go for it.” He steps by his teammates to check out the fireplace and the kitchenette. “Turtle, did you bring coffee?”

Iruka turns back to the master seal and begins to change the wards here and there until they work the way they should. He listens idly as the team ribs Turtle about not bringing the damn coffee and Turtle defends themself that it’s not their job to bring the beans. It’s soothing and amusing, and when he’s done he picks a futon and drags it to one of the far corners, away from the fireplace. If they decide to light it, Iruka knows himself well enough to know that he’ll overheat.

He stares at the ceiling and lets time go by. Eventually, the ANBU put together a watch schedule, and Turtle slips out into the night to patrol. Snake takes a futon and sets it up close to the fire, which, while lit, is kept small. They apparently have the envious ability to fall asleep as soon as they lay down, because Iruka can hear their breath even out almost immediately.

It’s been hours. He can’t fall asleep. He doesn’t want to ask Kakashi for help, but that genjutsu was very helpful. He rolls onto his side and forcefully closes his eyes, hoping that he can trick himself into at least dozing for a few hours.

A few minutes and the softest of footsteps alert him to someone creeping close, and then a gentle hand on his shoulder has his eyes opening. “Hound,” Iruka acknowledges, and makes to sit up. He keeps his voice low so as not to bother Snake. “Did you need something?”

He shakes his head carefully and then says, voice equally as quiet, “I never asked, but how did you sleep last night?”

“Oh, I… yes. That was… thank you. I slept well. Thank you very much.”

“Do you, ah, need it again?”

Iruka worries the edge of the blanket and bites the inside of his cheek. “I… wouldn’t mind, if you’re offering?” Kakashi nods, chuckles lightly, “At least tonight you’re already in bed. I didn’t realize how dense you are until I had to carry you to your bedroll.”

Iruka flushes and tucks his head to his chest. “You could have left me on the ground,” he murmurs, “it’s not like the discomfort would have woken me up.”

“No, but the point was that you rest,” Kakashi hums. “Our plan is to try and make it back to Konoha tomorrow, but we’ll likely be home late.”

“Okay. That’s… okay.”

“Ready?”

Iruka nods and lays back. This time, he’s expecting the spin of the sharingan from behind the porcelain mask, the heavy fall of genjutsu guiding him to sleep, and he knows that the ANBU team will keep him safe throughout the night so he gives in and closes his eyes. He breathes, “Thank you, Hound,” and then he’s asleep. ~

Kakashi watches Iruka’s eyes flutter shut and guides the genjutsu to lift. Iruka doesn’t need help staying asleep so much as falling, and with the added benefit of being so exhausted that he won’t dream, Kakashi doesn’t feel the need to keep the genjutsu going all night the way he had the night before.

Iruka’s breath is even and slow and Kakashi wonders how anyone could bear to hurt him. He needs better friends.

Not that Kakashi is offering…

He goes to lay down on his own futon, pulled to the center of the room. It’s too warm by the fire, and he’s not sure Iruka would be comfortable having him sleep any closer.

Iruka gives his report to Sandaime, who smiles gently and says that he looks better for having taken a mission. He doesn’t have the heart to tell the old man that he likely looks better because he got two full nights of sleep after over a week of insomnia. Instead, he bows and sees himself home with the understanding that he will likely be summoned for a follow-up in the coming days.

That said.

Once he’s home again the dread settles and he realizes that he no longer has his own personal ANBU to put him to sleep tonight. Perhaps he’d hoped that he would be exhausted enough, after having run all day and evening, that he’d be able to pass out dreamlessly once he was home. But he stares at his bed, bare of his blanket, and he can smell the faintest traces of smoke in his walls, and he just…

He can’t. Even if he were to find Kakashi and ask to be put to sleep, what would that make him? Kakashi certainly has better things to do, and Iruka’s a nobody who just happened to require an ANBU detail for his most recent mission. He turns back to his living room and settles under the kotatsu with a cup of tea and lets his eyes shut. Sleep evades him, and soon enough the first traces of morning burn through his windows and he cries quietly through the insomnia.

The second night back he passes out. The last he remembers, his clock read 00:27.

He dreams of fire and lashing tails destroying buildings and Mizuki scoffing when will you grow the fuck up.

The clock reads 01:12 when he wakes up crying silently. He can’t keep this up. Something has to give eventually—

A couple light taps at his window startle him and he shoots upright and stares at the shadow in the glass. He rubs his eyes, pushing away his tears, and stands up to go and check who is tapping at his window—and more importantly, why.

Iruka is startled to recognize the spikes of his hair and the way that Kakashi perches on his windowsill. There’s no porcelain mask tonight, so it’s likely that Kakashi is here unofficially, but stranger things have happened, so Iruka opens the window and murmurs, “Hatake-san, can I help you?”

“Ah… could I come in?”

Iruka resists rolling his eyes. “You could use the door.”

“Yes, but you were sleeping. I waited until you woke up. I…”

Iruka steps back. He’ll blame this all on his insomnia in the morning, should he look back on these events with any sort of humiliation. Kakashi swings his feet inside, but doesn’t step down. Even exhausted, Iruka can appreciate Kakashi not putting his sandaled feet on his bedroom floor. Instead, he sits on the open sill and fidgets with a box in his lap.

“I—Here.”

Startled, Iruka takes the box as it’s thrust into his hands. He blinks, confused, but pulls back the top and gasps softly.

His blanket!

Or, well; not quite. He takes the blanket out of the box, carefully unfolds it, and studies it. The pattern is a bit different, a whirlpool that swirls out from the center, and the weave and fabric are the same—and at first glance it’s his and he lays it out on his bed so he can appreciate the whole image in the moonlight. There are some embroidered fish along the bottom hem, and careful, tiny words stitched into the swirls of the whirlpool.

From Outward, In

“My maternal grandmother was given this as payment for a mission,” Kakashi says, stiff and awkward. “An Uzushio merchant. It’s been in my family ever since.”

Iruka strokes his palm featherlight over the material. It could have been the same one. It could have been made by the same person.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmurs reverently. Sighing, he folds it back up and places it back in the box.

“What’re you doing?”

“I—What do you mean?”

Kakashi fidgets again, lightly kicking his feet where they hang in the room. “It’s yours,” he says, and Iruka wishes he had had the forethought to turn on a light. With the moon behind him, he can’t see Kakashi’s face; but his voice sounds so strained. “It’s… I know I can’t replace what you’ve lost, but I thought that… maybe this would help?”

Iruka shakes his head. “No—I mean, it probably would, but—no, Hatake-san, I can’t accept this! It’s been in your family for three generations!”

“And before it was in mine, it was in yours, wasn’t it? ‘From outward, in’; I looked them up, and that’s recorded as an identification phrase for one of the Uzumaki branch families, of which the Umino are, right?”

“Hata—”

“Kakashi, please,” he frowns.

Iruka bites his lip. “Kakashi-san. I can’t accept this. It’s…”

“I won’t always be around to help you sleep,” Kakashi says softly. “And I thought. I thought you’d like it.”

“I do, I love it, but I can’t—these blankets can’t be made anymore,” Iruka tries. “It’s yours and it should stay in your family.”

“I’m the only one left of my family,” Kakashi says stonily. “I want you to have it. Please.”

Iruka, selfishly, unfolds the blanket and holds it up to the moonlight again. As much as he doesn’t feel worthy of such a gift… he can admit to himself that he misses being able to sleep. He turns away from Kakashi, and gathers the blanket in his arms and shoves his face into it. It feels right. The faint scent of laundry soap and the musk of dust will fade with time, he knows.

“Blankets deserve to be slept with,” Kakashi says.

He wraps this new blanket around himself and it feels like home, like the last time his parents wrapped his blanket around him, bundling him up to bed, kissing his forehead. Warm, comforted—sleepy.

“Thank you,” he says thickly, eyes blurring with tears that he tries to blink back as he turns around and meets Kakashi’s gaze again, “Thank you so much, Kakashi-san.”

“You’re welcome, Iruka,” Kakashi says. Iruka can hear the smile and relief in his voice. “Sleep well.”

Iruka nods fervently, even as Kakashi makes the hand sign and vanishes in a puff of leaves.

He traipses back to bed, wrapped up snugly in his blanket and lays down. His eyes close of their own will, and he’s woken by the warmth of the sunrise and sighs, content. His clock reads 06:28, and he had no nightmares.

#kakairu springtime of romance exchange #kakairu #umino iruka #hatake kakashi #mizuki #gift exchange #my writing

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louiserandom · 4 years

Text

Of Stolen Innocence and Ruined Dates

Pairing: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara | Rating: E

Summary: Madara wants a date.

Tobirama also wants a date, and normally he’d have to ask his ridiculously overprotective brother’s permission first, but he’s feeling rebellious today.

Hashirama just wants to protect his darling Otouto’s innocence—and what the fuck is Tobirama doing naked in Madara’s bed?!

Read on AO3 or continue under the cut :3 Ko-fi info is in the header!

Madara takes a moment to breathe and silently reassure himself that he is, indeed, an exceptionally courageous man.

He was always able to face his fears and unafraid to check under his bed for terrifying giant spiders when he was a child (even though he would have to scramble to one of his brothers’ room more often than not for additional comfort). The latter is a redundant detail, however, since he’s grown into quite the dangerous, deadly, brilliant war strategist and army leader who sent his enemies fleeing in terror from his gunbai. Madara is, in fact, the only one strong enough to fight the fabled God of Shinobi to a standstill... well, was. As he’d learned soon after Konoha’s formation, Tobirama manages the feat just fine as well.

And therein lies the problem, of course. In Senju Tobirama, who seems perfectly content to keep at his paperwork, ever productive and efficient, completely oblivious to Madara’s struggle.

Madara grinds his teeth, groaning inwardly.

What a dick.

A shameless one at that, always flitting about with that overly lose kimono shirt and tight-fitting breeches, sitting with his legs spread out on his chair, lounging on the small couch in the corner or downright sprawled over his desk like some indecent... something.

Even more annoying is Madara’s inability to keep his eyes off him.

It was so godsdamn easy to deal with him before, going from hate to dismissal as they built the foundations of their village and Tobirama stopped being the chief threat to Madara’s only remaining brother. But things took a drastic turn for the worse (or better, as his mind insisted) that fateful day when Madara did learn that he’s not the only one able to match Hashirama in combat. There was something positively tantalizing and admittedly riveting about Tobirama’s genius, how he pushed his already exceptional water style far enough to be able to manipulate not only blood, but the water contained in Hashirama’s Mokuton, which often enough rendered it powerless. Even more surprising was his insistence on only doing the latter in the privacy of highly secluded sparring matches, lest any enemies of the village discover his Anija’s weak spot and take advantage of it.

That was the first time, really, that Madara ever saw something in the Senju that left him hopelessly intrigued. Intrigued enough toーnot stalk him, obviously, of course not, but to watch Tobirama more closely, to notice what made him tick, pick up on the little details Madara had never had an interest in before. He should have known it was a dangerous path, with every time he noticed Tobirama absolutely melt in the presence of children, every time he found Tobirama playing with cats, dogs, birds, even the wild and freakish animals populating the Forest of Death and cooing over them not unlike Hashirama would. Then there were the glimpses Madara got into Tobirama’s personal life, getting more acquainted with his mind-boggling experiments and audacious research that never left Madara bored. Neither did Tobirama’s impeccable training routine which Madara has grown used to running through together in the mornings, and his eager willingness to dance with Madara during their increasingly frequent spars is an added bonus.

Then there’s his efficiently in all matters ranging from politics to economics and infrastructure, which Madara gets to appreciate more now that he’s fled from Hashirama’s clusterfuck of an office to Tobirama’s working space. But that also led to the inconvenience of seeing those loose kimonos and flattering breeches (which Tobirama only tends to wear around Madara, incidentally, behaving more or less proper when Madara masks his chakra and... observes him). And those striking red eyes and messy locks of hair Madara wants to just grab andー

Well, Madara decides, I'm fucked.

Because even he had to admit, despite his best efforts to strangle his stupid fucking impulses before they manifested into fucking feelings, that somewhere along the line, he developed a dangerously persistent crush on his once enemy.

And the fourth night in a row dreaming about Tobirama writhing under him as he kisses him senseless was Madara last godsdamned straw.

He wants a fucking date.

One fucking godsdamned date. Maybe a good, hard fuck on top of that, and that will be the end of it.

(The end of it, he reiterates in his mind just in case.)

So, Madara reminds himself for the umpteenth time in a row that he is exceptionally brave, and he is not afraid to tell the Senju out, godsdammit. Ask him out, he mentally corrects himself, remembering Izuna’s advice on being civil and subtle and whatnot.

Madara can do that. There’s little in this world he can’t do. And Izuna’s assured him that Madara isn’t imagining things, that Tobirama’s gaze does linger a little too long whenever Madara strips in the summer heat. That Tobirama has made far too many an excuse to align his meetings and breaks with Madara’s schedule, rather than Hashirama’s, Izuna’s or Tōka’s.

This speaks to at least a little interest from his side, right?

Madara's sigh rings loudly in his miserable silence. Because of course there's only one fucking way to find out for sure—and the workday drawing to a close as they finish up their remaining concerns for the day seems like the perfect opportunity to embark on his romantic pursuit.

“Oi, Senju,” he starts, wincing at himself because how could he fuck up right from the beginning? “I meanーTobirama?”

The man in question gives him a questioning look from where he’s loungingーagainーon his desk. “Yes, Madara?”

Oh, gods that voice. Deep, and smooth, laced with the delicious inflections that make Madara's insides tingle... what he wouldn’t give to hear it tremble upon a moan.

“Uh.” Madara blinks, yanking himself back to reality. Tobirama is still staring at him with a raised eyebrow and what looks to be an inkling of amusement in his eyes. “I was going to say.” He clears his throat as his voice cracks a little. Fuck. Fuck, fuck. “You look exceptionally hot today,” he blurts out, giving himself another extra strong mental kick for such a foolish slip of the tongue.

Handsome. All he had to say, per Izuna’s careful, repeated instructions, was fucking handsome. Before he can correct himself, though, Tobirama says,

“Hot? Madara, you remember that my body temperature is much lower than is normal and I’m really sensitive to cold, right? It may seem hot to you outside but I’m freezing.”

Ah. He didn’t even get it. Madara sighs with an exasperated roll of his eyes. Calmly continue, he decides, no need to worry in the face of such inexperience.

“I meant,” Madara goes on, punctuating his works with a blatant leer and a smirk, “appealing. Easy on the eye. Handsome, one might say.”

He stops himself before he can overdo it, relishing the sharp intake of breath, the shock flashing briefly in Tobirama’s eyes.

“You mean,” Tobirama says, schooling his expression into casual curiosity, “you might say?”

Madara chuckles. “Why, yes. I’ve been thinking it for quite a while now, in fact, and thought it unproductive to keep this from you any longer.”

“Unproductive to what?” Tobirama asks, and even sans the Sharingan, Madara sees a hint of blush blooming on his pale, sculpted cheeks.

Beautiful.

“Unproductive to beautiful?”

Madara’s hands jerk of their own accord, knocking down half of the stacks of paper already placed dangerously on the edge of his desk. And Izuna warned him, too, to keep control of his limbs, but how is Madara supposed to do that with Tobirama smiling at him like that?!

“I-I didn’t mean to say that,” Madara rushes through his words, “I mean, out loud, I did meanーyou areーbut...” Overdoing it, alarm bells ring in his head. Giving up, he slams his hands on his desk as he stands up and glares at the grinning fool. “Fuck you, Senju! We’re going on a date! Tonight. Any place of your choice. With me,” he clarifies just to be safe, “andーif you want, that is! Yes.” In a desperate bid to fix the disastrous tirade at least a little bit, he says, more of a whisper this time, “I mean. Yes? Or...”

Tobirama laughs.

The utter bastard.

It’s a wonderful melodic sound Madara so rarely hears from him, cherishes each and every time his jokes land just right to gauge at least a chuckle from the man, but the fact that Tobirama is now laughing at him only makes anger boil at the pit of his stomach.

“What the fuck, Senju,” he growls.

“What you’re asking,” Tobirama drawls in a maddeningly playful manner, “is whether I'll consider accompanying you for a pleasant dinner tonight, just the two of us?”

That godsdamned look. Eyes narrowed suggestively as they glide over Madara’s body before locking with his eyes. The grin Madara now realizes is far from just that, watching, mesmerized, as Tobirama’s tongue slips out to wet his lips in a downright debauched manner.

Oh, gods. This man is going to be the death of him. And thinking back now to the time he distinctly remembers both Tobirama and Izuna supervising Hashirama’s questionable attempts to woo the Princess of Uzushio, Tobirama had to have gotten the meaning of Madara’s first flirting attempt.

Madara has just been played. And he’s enjoying it, too, the masochist he apparently is.

“Yes,” he grinds through his teeth, hoping the gravity of his glare impresses upon Tobirama just how pissed he is and pleading Amaterasu that it’s not a blush warming his cheeks as he seethes. “So, Senju? Don’t try my patience.”

Another chuckle escapes that infuriating, kissable mouth.

“You are ridiculous,” Tobirama says, the absolute bastard, “and nowhere near eloquent. But I must say I’m intrigued. If only because you’re...” He gives Madara another once-over, seemingly searching for the right term. “Cute.”

“W-whaーwho are you calling cute!” Madara shrieks despite himself, springing over his desk and stalking up to Tobirama to jam a finger into his chestーdistractingly prominent underneath the tight shirt he’s wearing. “Don’t you dare call me that to my face if you don’t wish to die.”

“Why, I was hoping you’d give me at least one little death today,” Tobirama purrs.

Andーwell. Whatever Madara was planning to yell next flies completely over his head, and damn his brain for shutting off completely in favor of imagining those lips stretched not in a grin but around Madara’sー

“But I suppose we really shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves,” Tobirama says, covering Madara’s hand with his and lowering it gently. “I’m intrigued but...” He scowls. “I really should be asking Anija’s permission first.”

That brings Madara back to reality. “Permission? From Hashirama?” Madara frowns. “What are you, twelve? Why do you need the loghead’s permission for things concerning your personal life?”

Tobirama rolls his eyes. “Anija is... protective. Overprotective,” he corrects himself, before sighing heavily. A crazy urge compels Madara to squeeze his hand in reassurance before Tobirama can let him go. “Really fucking overbearing. I hate it. But we’ll all be better off if we get his consent first. He might ground me.”

“Ground you?” It doesn’t make any sense. The most efficient warrior Madara knows, seen as the White Demon by clueless fools and as the incredible genius he is by those who know him, a shinobi capable of standing up to the idiot their kind considers God being grounded by said decidedly ungodlike idiot is... mind-boggling, to say the least.

“He’s my Anija,” Tobirama says, long-suffering, as if that explains everything. Madara keeps staring. Tobirama sighs again, his thumb rubbing circles onto Madara’s wrist as he collects his thoughts before speaking again. “I allow it, really. He hasn’t been the same since Kawarama and Itama died, and there’s this anxiety and fear he has of me being in danger or taken advantage of by others. He’s never unreasonable, though, and you’re his best friend. I’m sure he’ll be lenient.”

Madara makes a face. “Perhaps.” The important thing, he thinks, is to avoid letting on exactly what he’d like to do to Hashirama’s younger brother. Madara is sure he wouldn’t be so ‘lenient’ if he knew. “It’s still strange.”

“Tell me about,” Tobirama groans, a helpless look in his eyes, “I even have a curfew.”

“What if,” Madara asks, “we’re back before the curfew?”

Tobirama glances at the watch. “We have three hours,” he says, tentative, “and we have to be impeccably cautious unless you want the Mokuton up your ass.”

“Literally?”

“Literally.”

“We are great shinobi precisely because we can be careful, Tobirama,” Madara says, lifting their still interlocked hands to give Tobirama’s a gentle kiss. “So I say let’s give it a try.”

Tobirama fixes him with a thoughtful, conflicted gaze for but a moment, yet even that seems too long, with Madara’s heart still racing from the brief conversation they’ve had, anticipating an actual fucking date with the manーthe geniusーhe couldn’t help but fall for, if only Tobirama saysー

“Yes.” Tobirama’s smile is a dazzling thing. “Let’s.”

One minute stretches past Tobirama’s curfew, and Hashirama is ready to crawl out of his skin. Not having his brother near him for their evening tea and easy conversation before bed is... a struggle. It's been a tradition of theirs for as long as he could remember, save for the evenings of battle, and Hashirama cherished each moment he spent with his little brother, the unambiguous reminder that he was alive, safe, and right there.

(Not like the two bodies, bloodied and broken and far too little, resting too small graves in a forgotten compound littered with the countless sacrifices of a meaningless war.)

Of course, he realizes that will soon be spending most of his evenings with Mito instead, that Tobirama had long been planning his move out of their shared home to give them privacy. And however much he’s enamored with his future wife, Hashirama can scarcely imagine not being near his brother at least half of any given day, the insidious fear of peacetime shattering and devolving into another bout of bloodshed ceaselessly clawing at his mind.

It's fine, Anija, Tobirama would placate him were he here, as he always is, to listen to Hashirama's worries. I can take care of myself. You know this.

The clock ticks on, merciless, and soon enough it’s two minutes of Tobirama being lateーwhich he never is unless he’s in serious troubleーso, without further ado, Hashirama springs to his feet and runs out of the house. Channeling his chakra into the wood and plants around him is second nature by now, and he commands them to search the village and beyond for his Otouto, to immediately incapacitate any threat that might be endangering him. He follows their lead, little by little deciphering their vague, pulse-like 'speech’ which is more visual than resembling an audial message. Only the oldest trees, which have had time and put effort into studying humans around them, are able to communicate in the more normal sense of the term.

Luckily, Hashirama stumbles upon one of those soon enough.

Hello there, Kotomi, he greets the ancient willow tree stationed by the Administration Tower like the guard it is, unbeknownst to most people.

Looking for your Otouto? Kotomi asks, an inexplicable hint of derision in their tone.

Yes! Hashirama says, frantic. I think he’s in trouble. Do you know where he’s gone? He should have been back by now.

Don’t worry so much. He’s with the flailing firestarter. Having fun.

Madara? Hashirama frowns. The trees have taken to calling all the Uchiha firestarters and only ever use the word flailing to describe Madara, whose agitation and screaming seems to annoy them more often than not. Why would Tobirama break curfew for Madara? And are you sure it’s fun they’re having and not a fight?

Oh, they’re fighting all right, Kotomi actually tries imitating a giggle, which confuses Hashirama further, about who’s going to end up on top, apparently.

As the reality of the situation dawns on Hashirama, he can feel a different type of devastating horror overtaking him, as he realizes it’s not exactly Tobirama’s life he must fear for, but his innocence.

And to think his best friend would betray him this way. Hashirama clenches his fists, letting unbridled wrath wash over him in waves as he follows Kotomi’s direction towards Madara’s house.

Best friend or no, he will have to answer for his crimes.

Tobirama should have known they wouldn’t be able to make it in time for curfew. But, trapped now against the wall with his legs wrapped around Madara’s waist as he’s being kissed senseless, Tobirama finds he’s long since stopped caring.

Because they’ve been at this for an hour. A long, agonizing hour they intended, in all seriousness, to spend over tea at Madara’s place before Tobirama went back home but spectacularly failed to keep their hands to themselves. It should have been obvious, really; the closeness, their spirits high from a dinner date that went perfectly, the palpable desire in their chakra they could both sense and relished in how their signatures resonated. Fueled by just a touch of alcohol in place of the tea, then by a far-too-passionate kiss goodbye and just enough groping to warrant a continuation in the bedroom.

Madara’s bedroom. Which feels unreal, and even more so when Madara didn’t even manage to carry Tobirama all the way over to the bed, instead pinning him against the wall and trading shallow, intermittent kisses for a much more thorough exploration of Tobirama’s mouth, tongue hot, and demanding, and steadily driving Tobirama insane with want.

Tobirama moans, despite his efforts to keep quiet, too overwhelmed and craving to get Madara’s hands on him. Not like they are now, feeling him up through his clothes, but flush against his skin, sliding over his cock, moving inside him like he’s fantasized about far too oftenー

“Fuck,” Madara groans against his lips as they part for breath, just for a moment before leaning in for another messy, bruising kiss.

“Me, please,” Tobirama pants, pulling away this time to urge Madara towards their destination. “Bed.”

The ease with which Madara hauls him towards the futon only turns Tobirama on further, and he can’t help the keens and whimpers that escape as Madara claws his shirt off. His hands are finally on Tobirama’s chest, grazing his nipples, fingers digging into his sides as his chakra flares, hot and crackling, surging with lust and melding with Tobirama’s own as their cocks press together through too thick clothing.

“You haven’t actually done this before, have you?” Madara asks, voice lower than usual and strained as he speaks, pinning Tobirama with a gaze dark with unbridled desire.

Tobirama groans. “Was it that obvious?”

“You kiss well for a first time,” Madara says, grinning as he leans down to press his lips to Tobirama’s neck, “but I’m a sensor too, you know. You’d do well to calm down a bit.”

“I’m notーno, that’s not it,” Tobirama says, averting his eyes. As if he hasn’t lost count of how many times he’s touched, fingered himself, fucked himself with painfully insufficient toys with Madara’s name on his lips. And yet there’s treacherous embarrassment spiking up, fear creeping in that he’ll simply disappoint. “I am worried I’ll do something wrong.”

“Don’t be,” Madara whispers against his ear, kisses traveling down to his jaw and to his lips. “The only thing that can upset me is you not enjoying this.”

“I am,” Tobirama breathes, a shudder running through his body as Madara moves back to his neck, sucking bruises onto sensitive skin, making the pleasure all the more overwhelming.

“Good. But I’d like to do this right,” Madara says firmly, so unlike his usual blustering self, “and take things slow if you want. How about we keep things here for now?”

Tobirama amplifies the spike of annoyance in his chakra, lashing out with it enough to catch Madara off guard and flip them around.

“How about no?” he says, tugging Madara’s own overshirt off, relishing the thick, rippling muscles revealed for him to explore. “At least teach me how to suck you off. I’m a fast learner.”

“Fuck.” Madara squeezes his eyes shut, and Tobirama could swear he feels his cock twitch against his, though that may have just been his imagination. “You can’t just say things like that, Tobirama!”

“I can and I will.” Tobirama smirks, content to know he’s snared his target as Madara lets out a strangled moan when Tobirama palms him through his pants. “And do them, too, if you’ll let me.”

So contrary to his usual explosive nature, Madara seems conflicted, hesitant, even as Tobirama definitely feels his cock twitch this time.

This won’t do.

His own heart racing, throat dry and blood running hot, Tobirama leans in to mouth at his neck in an imitation of what Madara did to him before, just to test how sensitive he is.

The sound it earns him is divine. As is the way Madara’s grips his waist, pulling him closer, tangling a hand in Tobirama’s hair, tugging slightly as he trails a path of open-mouthed kisses to Madara’s chest.

“Tobirama...”

He keeps eye contact all the while, watching Madara bite his lip, trying and failing to hold in another groan, struggle to keep his eyes open, flickering between dark and red as his chakra flares hot like the fires of his jutsu. Beautiful, Tobirama thinks. So hot, panting and shivering under him, when all Tobirama is doing is lapping at his nipple, sucking it into his mouth, teeth just shy of grazing it. Then again, the taste of Madara’s skin, the closeness, the delicious feel of his chakra and the sounds he coaxes from the man are intoxicating, and Tobirama soon finds himself thrusting lightly against Madara’s thigh, hands wandering lower to touch him through his pants, finding him hard and already leaking through the fabric, andー

Another flare of pleasure, echoed by Tobirama’s own signature. He squeezes his eyes shut, overwhelmed, heat pooling in the base of his stomach as his cock aches for someーanyーkind of stimulation.

All right, maybe he’s a little overenthusiastic.

That isn’t any reason to stop, obviously.

Yet Madara’s sudden laugh, dark and low and feral for lack of any better word to describe it, gives Tobirama pause.

He moans, despite himself, as Madara’s grip on his hair tightens and he draws him up and away from his treat, and opens his eyes to the sight of a purely animalistic look on Madara’s face. Flushed, and panting, and still squirming under Tobirama’s hands, there’s no prior hesitation in his gaze, only pure, unbridled need.

Tobirama swallows heavily.

(Gods forbid Madara catches Tobirama actually drooling over him. What he does and doesn’t do behind closed doors is irrelevant; what Madara sees shouldn’t be as humiliating.)

"Teach you to suck me off, huh,” Madara says, voice closer to a growl as he cards his fingers through Tobirama’s hair, his other hand reaching down to still Tobirama’s that’s still palming his cock and guide him to a more languid rhythm. “You are infuriatingly eager.”

“And you,” Tobirama pants, “are infuriatingly slow. Honestly, I thought you’d be more efficient.”

It probably isn’t that convincing, what with Tobirama breaking into a gasp as Madara flares his chakra far, far stronger than he has up to this point, firewantlustsearing sensations prickling through Tobirama’s whole body, eliciting a whimper he’d be ashamed of if he had the capacity to be so, as his mind seems to self-destruct for a blinding flash of a moment.

Tobirama comes to slowly, thoughts still foggy, to the feel of Madara dragging his head towardsーoh. His cock, hard and slick with precome, bigger than Tobirama had expected even as he’d felt the girth through the fabric before.

“Whaー” Tobirama asks, because he’s certain Madara is saying something, if only the ringing in his ears would let him process it.

“I said get to work if you want it so much,” Madara command, the gaze blazing red now, tomoe spinning, recording this into memory which makes Tobirama all but preen under the scrutinyーand in the face of Madara’s devastating grin. “Go on. I’ll guide you through it.”

Tobirama lets out a shaky breath, ignoring his own cock pulsing, trapped painfully by the far-too-tight pants he’s taken to wearing to provoke more of Madara’s unsubtle ogling. Leaning down, he has time enough only to wrap his lips around the head of Madara’s cock, mouth stretching around hot, slick skin, the heady taste of precome on his tongueー

ーbefore the window crashes open and Tobirama’s mind flashes back to all the times he’d had to witness his Anija and Madara shout each other’s names stupidly across the battlefield.

“MADARA!”

Tobirama releases Madara with a not-quite decent pop which prompts Hashirama’s dramatic gasp.

“WH-WHY-HOーWOULD YOU FUCKING EXPLAIN WHAT THE FUCK YOU ARE DOING WITH MY LITTLE BROTHER?!”

“What the fuck am Iーit’s none of your godsdamned business!” Madara scrambles to shove himself back in his pants. Tobirama almost wishes he wouldn’t; maybe continuing with the blowjob out of spite would have scandalized Anija enough for him to run off. “Get the fuck out of my house!”

“Will not! Why are you keeping Tobirama past his curfew?”

“Why does a full-fledged adult need a curfew, you worthless fucking tree stump?”

“So he’s not exposed to people who are intent on defiling him,” Hashirama says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “like you, apparently! Madara, I expected better from my best friend.”

“And I didn’t expect you to be a fucking control freak,” Madara shouts. “You don’t see me stalking and cockblocking Izuna, do you?”

“Well, no, but that only means I’m more diligent in looking out for my Otouto,” Hashirama huffs.

“What the hell are you implying?” Madara growls, chakra crackling like it does every time before he throws a punch or sets a fire.

Tobirama sighs, giving up his attempt at meditation from where he’s settled cross-legged next to Madara’s flailing form.

“Anija,” he intervenes, “may I remind you...”

“Tobi.” Hashirama turns towards him, an almost pitying look in his eyes. “Please don’t believe whatever lies Madara spouted at youーejaculate is not a healthy bedtime snack!”

Oh, gods. Not the healthy bedtime snacks again.

“What the fuckー” Madara looks about ready to implode now, and Tobirama places a hopefully comforting hand on his shoulder.

“To be fair, he is right,” Tobirama concedes, resisting the urge to simply Hiraishin out of the situation and leave the two idiots to deal with it themselves. But that would disprove his following point. “But I must once again remind you, Anija, that I am a grown-up. I have been killing people since I was four, and I improved the efficiency of our clan’s entire taxing policy when I was twelve. A possibleー” one-night stand, dalliance, arrangement, “ーrelationship is nothing I can’t handle.”

Tobirama hates how his heart skips a beat as he glances to see Madara’s reaction, only to find him still staring at Hashirama, a mesh of confusion and anger battling in his chakra as he alternates between confused whispers of “what the fuck” and “bedtime snacks.”

“Butーbut I had a glass of milk and your favorite cookies ready and you weren’t there,” Hashirama whines, lip quivering as his face crumpling in a way that only ever leads to tears.

“Anija, I will be there next time,” Tobirama says firmly, “I promise. But tonight, I’d like to spend with Madara.” He gives his brother a look that hopefully conveys get the fuck out of here, Anija enough for Hashirama to understand.

But of course not.

“So, what,” Hashirama says, throwing his hands up, “you’re now going to spend all your time with Madara and completely forget about me?”

Tobirama sighs. “No. All I wanted was a date, Anija.”

“A date which ends with him stealing your innocence?!”

Tobirama closes his eyes and counts to ten as he replies, “If I say no, will you believe me?” He was tempted to say, Yes, and I’ll enjoy every fucking moment of it, but decided against it, if only to keep Madara’s barely coherent stuttering and wheezing from turning into a full-fledged seizure.

“Yes! If you come back home for bedtime snacks after a perfectly serviceable date, I’m sure,” Hashirama says, classic puppy dog eyes in full swing, “because Madara, if you’re courting my brother, you have to take it slow and woo him properly!”

Madara’s reply to that is a low, threatening growl now that he’s shaken himself out of the shock. Just in case, Tobirama tightens the grip on his shoulder. It wouldn’t do for Konoha to be destroyed by these two after the recent anniversary of its founding.

“Anija,” Tobirama says as calmly as he is able (which is, admittedly, bordering on furious), "since I consider it preferable that ‘wooing’ me ‘properly’ includes at least one fucking blowjob this evening, stop spying on me, leave us be and I will talk to you tomorrow.”

“Waitー”

Completely ignoring his Anija’s hysterical flailing, Tobirama tugs on one of the Hiraishin markers in his bedroom, and the next second he and Madara land in a heap of tangled limbs on his futon, well withinー

“...the professional Anija-repellent traps I’ve developed over the years,” Tobirama explains while Madara struggles to get his bearings, “so we shouldn’t be disturbed anymore. IーI’m sorry about that.”

“What the fuck,” Madara seethes, eyes still wide and hair sticking out from his insistent pulling on it during Anija’s tirade, “even was that?”

Tobirama sighs, rolls his eyes, and decides to answer with a kiss, hard, wet and sloppy, hopefully distracting enough to keep Madara’s mind away from pesky cockblocking idiots who will be wise to stay away if they value their wellbeing. And blessedly, Madara kisses him back after but a moment of stillness, the wild mess of confusion and irritation that is his chakra mellowing, gradually, into the familiar simmer of heat, scorching, electrifying, melding with Tobirama’s desire in turn.

“How about,” he suggests amid short-lived open-mouthed kisses, unfastening Madara’s breeches somewhat clumsily in his urgency, “we focus on more... pressing matters, shall we?”

Madara lets out a surprised laugh, gaze never leaving Tobirama as he forges a wet trail with his lips down Madara’s chest. “Still so eager to, uh, part with your innocence, I see,” he tries for a joke which breaks off into a harsh breath as Tobirama sinks down to lick at the head of his half-hard cock, stifling a moan at the feel of it twitching against his lips.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs with a self-satisfied smirk before focusing entirely on the very hard, very mouthwatering task at hand.

#madatobi #tobimada #madara uchiha #tobirama senju #lou writes #fluff #humor #smut #fanfic #naruto

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ofravensandpearls · 4 years

Text

Hiraeth

SasuHina Month Day 11

Paring: SasuHina / NaruHina

Genre: Hurt/Angst

Rating: T

Hiraeth a longing for a home you can't return to, or one that was never yours. It was warm. It was the sort of physical warmth that you felt whenever you drank a cup of hot cocoa on a cold December night among friends and loved ones. It was sweet and it felt like home. I mean, not that I would know. I never really liked hot cocoa. I’ve always liked the taste of black coffee more. It’s strong and straight to the point. That is what home feels like to me, but when she’s wrapped around my arms and when her back touches my chest, I question myself if black coffee is really what I want my home to feel like.

Growing up, I never really knew what it truly felt like to have an actual home. What I knew about it was simply from a mixture of observation, stories, and books. I lost my parents and my older brother at a young age. It was a freak accident they say. They were driving home one night, after my older brother’s piano concert, and a drunken truck driver hit them like a bowling ball.

Both my parents died on the spot, my brother was rushed to the hospital, but eventually died in transit. It was tragic and I couldn’t understand it fully at the time. I was just seven years old. I was suffering from a fever and my nanny just started crying and hugged me tight while repeatedly saying how everything was going to be alright. I didn’t understand. It wasn’t until the following morning when the servants were talking to my uncle, my father’s best friend, about my parents and brother being gone and how I’ll be living with him in Uzushio. Coming from Konoha, going to Uzhushio felt like miles away and I was just this scared and confused kid who wanted his parents back. It was a whirlwind of events after that. Things were being packed and I was quickly ushered into a black van with heavily tinted windows. The ride seemed to last forever, being seated beside my uncle, it was a quiet affair. He didn’t talk to me much. He just offered a gentle smile. “Uncle, what did you mean by my parents not coming back?” I asked. I realized how innocent I was back then, not understanding what was happening and how much hurt I was in for. He frowned for a moment but regained the gentle smile as he gave my arm a quick squeeze. “I’ll explain it when you’re older, but for now you’ll be living with me and my son Naruto. It’s going to be a vacation.” I remember smiling brightly at that. The idea of spending time Naruto Uzumaki, my bestfriend, for an entire summer was the best thing that could have happened in my life at that point, but of course I never understood what I lost until I was older and that’s when things started to change for me. After that summer, I started asking uncle why I’m not yet going home. He told me that it’s because my parents are having an extended vacation and that I shouldn’t worry about it. By the following year, when I started to go to elementary school, it was then that I understood I was never going home because there is no one to go home to. I finally knew that my parents were dead. They weren’t out on an extended vacation and me staying with the Uzumakis is a permanent thing. I went home angry at everyone. I pushed everyone away and locked myself in my room. I lashed out on everyone even Naruto, but he stayed. Now I’m twenty-one and I still wonder what home really is. I live in a two-bedroom condominium unit in a building located at Upper East Konoha with my adoptive brother and best friend Naruto. Our unit is always tidy because I can never take clutter or mess and I guess because of that it always felt cold. That’s where Hinata Hyuuga enters. She is sweet, smart, and beautiful all at once. She is unassuming and humble. She is all smiles and fluff and sugar and I never really understood what she saw in me. Naruto and I met her on the first day of high school. She was a new student and was awfully shy and soft-spoken. People were not exactly nice to her and Naruto being his everyone-deserves-to-have-friends self, dragged me to the corner where Hinata ate her lunch alone. “Hi I’m Naruto Uzumaki and this emo boy here is my best friend Sasuke Uchiha. It’s nice to meet you…?” He trailed off waiting for Hinata to respond to his boisterous introduction. She blushed and avoided eye contact with Naruto and myself. “Um… I’m Hinata Hyuuga. It’s nice to meet you too.” She almost whispered. Naruto smiled brightly and sat right beside Hinata even without invitation. “Okay Hinata! Since we’re friends, let’s all have lunch together? Okay?” Hinata once again blushed and nodded her head. I think I heard her say thank you, but I never really knew if she did because Naruto started talking animatedly. I sat across from the both of them barely giving input because just like Hinata, I was a quiet person. Since then, we’ve become best friends. It was always the three of us. If you saw one of us, you’d surely find the other two. Back to being twenty-one and sitting on my couch in Naruto and my condominium unit, with the television playing a random movie, Hinata sat beside me, her head laid on my chest, her legs were crossed with mine. My head was lazily propped on top of hers. It felt nice to have her warmth as I enclosed my arms around her shoulders. Her dark hair shined under the fluorescent lights of the unit. Her pale, lavender eyes are closed in comfort. I sighed in utter contentment. I would have said it was a perfect day, a perfect cuddle day. I would have had Naruto, my perfectly annoying-I’m-dumb-but-I’m-good-lookin-and-I’m-the-son-of-the-Mayor best friend not walk- in in that moment, but as fate would have it he did.

With Hinata being as shy as she was, she suddenly sat up straight upon hearing the door creak. She pushes herself off of me when she noticed Naruto entering the threshold of the two bedroom condominium unit. Hinata finally found her footing and stood up apologizing to Naruto in the process “Ah! Naruto-kun welcome home. I think it seems that I’ve overstayed my welcome. I’ll just-” Naruto cuts her off with a disarming smile. “What are you talking about Hinata? You’re always welcome here! I wouldn’t know how to appease Mr. Grouchy Pants over there if you weren’t here!” Hinata sighs in relief and looks at me with that radiant smile of hers. “Well, since you’re here HInata. Why don’t we have some instant ramen? I bought lots.” I rolled my eyes at Naruto as he wiggled his eyebrows at Hinata while showing her his plastic bags. Hinata giggled and joined Naruto in the Kitchen to prepare. I frowned. I can hear their laughter from where I sat. It was a nice sound, like the twinkling of bells- only those bells were currently being drowned out by some barking hyena. I hate Naruto sometimes. I mean I love him, he’s my brother, but now that he ruined a totally perfect afternoon I just can’t take his obnoxious presence. I closed my eyes and reclined on the sofa. Maybe if I tuned them out I’ll just imagine Hinata being back in my arms. That sounds nice. Maybe with some slow jazz and coffee it’d be perfect. My thoughts were cut because that’s when Hinata came out of the kitchen and came over to me and pulled me up. “C’mon, Sasu. Let’s go.” I peeked through my overgrown bangs, which Hinata always reminds me to cut because the emo look is very 2010, to look at her I shook my head no. “What why.” She pouted. It was always so cute when she pouted “Sasuuu…” I ceded. I couldn’t say no to her. She dragged me to the kitchen where Naruto waited. “There you are finally!” They laughed. I smirked and hugged Hinata. I kissed her temple and whispered to her how much I love her and how much I wish this were all real. She laughed, hit my rib with her elbow, and told me not to be silly. “This isn’t a dream!” and the bells rung once again. I laughed with her this time. A real, sad reverberation from my throat. I covered my face, frowned, and took a step back. In that moment. I stared into her wide beautiful eyes. “Yeah. This isn’t a dream.” I took a step back from her and backtracked to everything that happened today before I got to this point. I smiled at her as I kissed her temple, a promise of forever. She drags me to the kitchen island where Naruto waits for the both of us. I frown at her for leaving me. She sits up straight to distance herself from me. I opened the door to our dorm room to find her on the couch. With Naruto. Laughing at some stupid joke the movie said. She kisses his cheek and he smiles so brightly. He finally noticed me. “Oh hey Sasuke! Welcome home! I hope you don’t mind that Hinata’s staying over.” I eye her. I want to see that spark of recognition. That memory of her between my arms. Not this reality of Naruto and Hinata together. Of them in love. Of Naruto having his perfect little world. Of Hinata happily wrapped around Naruto and openly laughing and smiling, her chime like laugh a nightmare for me. “Ah… Hello, Sasuke-san.” A gentle, polite smile. I didn’t acknowledge either of them. I went straight to my room and locked the door. I lay on my bed. Wondering, what it would feel like to be the recipient of that smile. Dreaming of a time where she would laugh at something I say; and longing for a home that was never mine.

#SasuHina #SasuHina Month 2020 #shmonth2020 #Day 11 #Hiraeth #Fanfic

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the-formerone · 5 years

Text

shikasakuhanami 2019: day 2

soft content! get your soft content, fresh off the presses!

for day 2's prompt, you wake at dusk

my wandering days (are all i have) on ao3!

Sakura wakes at dusk these days. Gets up from her bedroll and cracks her back first thing in the 'morning'. She rolls over onto her knees, then to her feet, and does a few simple kata to warm herself up for the day. Then, she has at it.

They stopped in Mist for a while sometime after Sakura's thirty-fifth birthday. Shikana had been all but raised there, and didn't remember anywhere else on their travels, except for when the wandering bug bit Sakura, and she whisked her daughter away to Shikkotsu, or to the seal on Naruto's little cottage on an inlet just off Uzushio, where he said she was always welcome if she wanted home without the burden of it.

She started the women's night school in Mist because she wanted to. She told Mei what her plans were, and the Mizukage happily shoved the funds needed and the women interested Sakura's way. Sakura foisted the paperwork on Shikamaru, who settled quite well into being an administrator (all things considered), while Sakura spent her evenings teaching kunoichi and civilian women ancient and modern medicines.

She had taught village doctors and healers all around the elemental nations on their travels after she had gotten all of the gambling out of her system. Helping the next person, or town along just seemed like the natural thing to do. Before, their only plan was to win at every bar, tavern, or casino Tsunade had lost at on her own travels. Now, the journey picked them instead.

Sakura had seen more of the world at thirty-five than she ever thought she would have when she was nineteen, drunk, and brave enough to fill out the paperwork requesting leave. Her shishou had put her request on pending, which gave Sakura an intermediary-protection status that ensured she was still a shinobi of Konoha, but not currently affiliated with the village. Kakashi had kept her file on pending, and so had Naruto.

It had been hardest for Naruto to wrap his head around why she needed to leave. But when Sai (and Yamato. And Kakashi. And Sasuke) had reminded him that he and Sasuke had already had their great adventures outside of the village, he understood. Sakura needed her own great big adventure. It had just lasted a lot longer than anyone had expected it to.

She doesn't know if she ever plans on coming back. If she ever plans on allowing Haruno Shikana to become a Nara, and heir of her clan the way the Nara elders keep pestering Shikamaru. She doesn't know if she wants to trade the good that she does out here for the good she can do inside the village walls. Out here, Sakura sees the people she helps. She makes tangible differences in people's lives.

And what's more, she isn't beholden to anyone. Not even Shikamaru. She could gather Shikana in her arms and leave him at a moment's notice, and he would look for her and find her, and let her stay gone, just because he knew her that well.

But she doesn't want to leave. She wants to pad quietly through their cheap apartment, and kiss her sleeping daughter on the forehead. She wants to open the door a moment before Shikamaru's key taps the lock, to welcome him home through the front door. She wants to heat up the left-overs she took out of the freezer to thaw, so they can share a meal together as his day ends, and before hers begins.

Tomorrow, or even the day after that, this life in Mist could end as abruptly as it began. Sakura has trained up a good number of doctors, and Shikamaru has learned to draft contingency plans for one of Sakura's flights of fancy; if they go, the night school, and the new doctors in Mist would all be just fine.

Now, Sakura says, "Welcome home," with the dusk-light slatting warm and bright over her face, piercing through the mist just so Shikamaru can smile, and wonder how she can be so lovely as he says, "I'm back."

#shikasaku #shikasakuhanami #shikasakuhanami 2019 #ao3 #fic #day 2

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wickedcaitsith · 5 years

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About uzu or somth

Aight so,

The uzushio/uzumaki genocide is actually... a pretty big deal. It's been discussed before, but the parallel of "death by 'you scare me'" between the uchiha and the uzumaki is obvious, and in a more coherent story, if Naruto were to have a real reflection on his own culture and people, I think a deeper understanding of "this is wrong" would take root in his single brain cell.

It's very understandable for a, in the context of both cultural and temporal isolation, genocide survivor to latch onto the ideals and mindset of what surrounds them, especially when it yields a desired response. The same goes for childhood neglect and trauma survivors. Often these two things go together, and the hostile environment doesn't have an alternative to speak of, so the individual bends to what is percieved as the least painful outcome.

It also doesn't help that a (hidden) villiage built on child soldiers is actively seeking to indoctrinate those children (they even got boarding schools for it!! Lmao) to their dogma of villiage over everything, including your family and yourself, let alone your values. To me, it made perfect sense that an isolated child with no family, little regard for self, and unformed values would take the clearest way out of his dire circumstances as fast as possible. The out Naruto was given was to be useful so he would be needed. Be strong so he could be recognized as something like a human, like someone who belonged.

The compulsion to conform and curb yourself in order to fit into the worldview around you is damn near irresistible if you know you are "other" when you have no "us" and the only goal in front of you is to be like "them." Because being one of "them" means you wont be lonely and you have a shot at feeling at home. That's being a 3rd or 4th generation genocide survivor. In the series I think Naruto very much so succumbs to that for the worse.

But when you are able to recognize, or identify an alternative, your entire worldview shifts. Especially when that alternative is YOUR original, the way of your people. Or at the very least, what it was. And in naruto's case, it would've put the actions and views of the hidden leaf at odds with his own broadening perspective. How much can you subscribe to a self-prescribed "greater-good" mentality when it has led to the eradication of your entire clan? Your entire villiage?

The one thing Jiraiya could've done right was to be candid about who Naruto was, who his parents were, ESPECIALLY who his mother and clan was (how minato "sanic fast" no name namikaze got front row over kushina "oh yeah btw I'm the 9-tails jinchuuriki from THE strongest villiage and met MITO UZUMAKI, the FIRST jinchuuriki EVER, herself <if I'm not just related to her> and I've got SUPER COOL POWERS like CHAINS made out of PURE CHAKRA and UNBREAKABLE BARRIERS" uzumaki I'll never know. Kishi said: super fast> over all that. o k a y if you s a y s o) so that maybe naruto might have some better motivation or understanding for learning neat ball tricks other that "4th hokage did it :^)." So maybe he wouldnt feel so alone, or hell, even to distract him from chasing sasuke like Ol' Impending Restraining Order wanted.

At any rate, those three years could've been more meaningful if they'd had substance as naruto discovering that "dulce et decorum est" is a load of garbage and the things shinobi do, that children like himself are raised and taught to do, are monstrous. It could've at the very least made him question the shinobi order in general, and given him a renewed rage, or maybe prevented his old rage from being repressed, against konoha and their actions/inactions when it comes to injustice. Where were they when his people, their allies, were being slaughtered? Cozy and happy and content, like when he was treated as less than human? Probably.

And this would begin a progressive, maybe even rapid, alignment between sasuke's and naruto's opinions on the konoha/ninja system. Because sasuke was right, foreheads. 1st generation genocide survivor says: they should burn for their sins and he was r I g h t. Whoever said violence solves nothing was full of shit.

Naruto has then taken a side and is given real opportunities to make decisions in meaningful and impactful ways. And maybe not end up the ninja equivalent of NDN's who say "heyyy, white-man's not so bad, 'innit?"

#naruto txt

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drblueneck · 7 years

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Jagged Pieces - A glimpse into Minato and Kujin’s friendship

Looking glumly into his half-filled cup of tea, Minato sighed. It had been a long day, and he just wanted to relax before going home to think about a new strategy for his next ANBU mission, as well as a lesson plan for his Genin to follow during his absence.

For once, Kujin was silently eating his dumplings, too aware of his friend’s exhaustion. They were content to just grab lunch in each other’s company, sometimes exchanging words about the array of food spread in front of them.

Kujin was about to hail the chief for a new round of grilled meat when a flash of light caught his attention. It was immediate – his mood soured and exasperation was written all over his face.

A new gaggle of fangirls were peeping on them.

Or, more specifically, on the oblivious blonde shinobi.

With a sigh, Kujin leant towards his friend, long crimson hair falling from his shoulder onto Minato’s, effectively blocking the sight of his barely moving lips as he whispered, “Brace yourself, a group of girls are ready to come at you.”

Tan fingers clenched around the teacup, the only sign of annoyance betraying the blonde’s aloof expression. Deeming his duty fulfilled, Kujin was about to go back to his food but Minato caught his elbow and tugged the redhead back towards him.

“Say, I’m a good friend, right?”

The Uzumaki rose an eyebrow. “Yeah,” he drawled, confused, stretching a hand to grab a dango stick.

“And how far are you ready to go for the wellbeing of this friendship?”

At that, Kujin turned his head towards Minato’s, almost bashing his nose against the blonde’s sharp jaw.

“I love you bro, really. But not enough to murder civilian.” He popped the dango stick in his mouth and then amended with a careless shrug, “not in plain day light, anyway.”

This earned him an arched eyebrow, followed by a pleased hum. It was always good to know your friends had your back.

“You’re nuts,” Minato said nonetheless. “But I’m not asking you to kill the fangirls. Just… pretend to kiss me. That way, they’ll think I’m not interested in the female population and will leave me alone at once.”

He knew it was an awkward request, and truth be told, Minato was expecting an extreme reaction – something like Kujin falling from his seat in surprise and yelling how his lips were only made to be touched by big-breasted kunoichi.

Instead, the redhead blankly stared at him, the wooden spike from his dango dangling between his lips. “Dude,” he started thoughtfully, twirling the stick with his tongue before removing it and pointing it at his friend, “are you in love with me or something?”

There was a long silence before Minato felt the tell-tale pulse of a vein ready to burst at his temple. “Forget about it, I suddenly feel the intense urge to punch your teeth in.”

Kujin smirked, threw an arm around Minato’s shoulders and brought their faces closer, noses brushing together. “Ooh, so kinky Minato-chan. Do tell me more.”

Two tanned hands surged up and grabbed the Uzumaki’s collar. “I’m gonna ram a Rasengan up your ass, you little—”

The other man knocked their mouths together, biting the blonde’s lips in retaliation for the mean words. Minato froze, and at the same moment, wails and cries of shock were heard from their peeping toms.

Then Kujin leant back, a roguish smile firmly in place before sticking his tongue at the fangirls while giving them the finger. Many ran away with tears in their eyes.

With a proud huff, he turned towards his friend, “No need to thank me Minato, you can now eat in pea—”

A punch met his cheek, and he tumbled to the floor as Minato slowly sat back down, left eyebrow ticking without control and hands clenching sporadically around his cold cup. Kujin crawled back onto his chair, an affronted scowl firmly in place on his face, ready to break the blonde’s nose. “The fuck, man! I totally did what you asked me, and this is the thanks I get?!”

A dark glare quailed any further complain from a now pouting Kujin.

“Pretend,” Minato hissed. “I said ‘pretend’, idiot. I can’t believe you actually kissed me.”

The pout didn’t relent as the redhead puffed out his cheeks, petulant. “Pssh, why pretend when you can have the real deal! At least, now, they’ll leave you alone. Ya know, back in Uzushio, kissing on the lips is a common way to greet close friends!”

And Kujin went back to his pastries and meat, babbling about culture differences and how weird people from the continent were with public display of affection, while Minato brooded about idiotic friends, ruing the day he took pity on the his fellow exiled and showed him sympathy when they were kids.

The next day, the rumor went about that Kujin had been seen molesting a distressed Minato, and that the two were in an abusive relationship – though it wasn’t sure who was the abused one.

Minato swore it was the last time he’d ask Kujin for a favor, and doubled his effort to not be caught in the company of the red leech. Kujin, on his part, found it hilarious and privately decided that fueling the rumor mill was a fun way to pass time between missions.

Two months later, Jiraiya’s book featuring two dashing shinobi fighting for dominance in their coupling became a best seller.

(And so this signed the day the two exiled began to be seen by a certain writer as potent inspiration for his trash books. Yes, Jiraiya, in this universe, writes yaoi porn based on his student and his BFF.

So! This was a 900-word treat for all of you out there waiting for a new chapter of Jagged Pieces! I hope it’ll help you quench your thirst until I can update :) )

#jagged pieces #snippet #Minato Namikaze #Male Kushina #bromance

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dobe-and-teme · 7 years

Note

Do you have any recommended sns fanfics?

Of course! I will just list a few and hopefully you will like them. I put them under the “keep reading” button, because in the end, it became a really long post - hope you don’t mind!

In Good Company by weialala

Words: 198,928 - 15 chaptersStatus: completed

Summary: This will sound a little ridiculous, no matter how Sasuke phrases it. I see dead people is embarrassingly tacky, and I’m half-spirit seems like something Sakura might say when she’s stoned sky high. So he settles for a shrug.

Write Me a Love Story by narutophobia

Words: 97,687 - 20 chaptersStatus: uncompleted

Summary: “Of course, Naruto. You had to go and fall in love with someone who doesn’t want a romantic relationship at all. Great fucking job.” In which Naruto and Sasuke share the same University Dorm, Naruto somehow falls head-over-heels in love with a brooding Sasuke, whereas Sasuke is oblivious to it all since he has other things on his mind.Those other things being that he is, in fact, the heir to an international-billion dollar company, and there’s no food left in the kitchen except for instant ramen. Again. Fucking Naruto.

Clouded Mind and Heavy Heart by dawnstruck

Words: 9,458 - 1 chapterStatus: completed

Summary: You reap what you sow. Sasuke plants seeds of doubt.Instead of fighting in the Valley of the End, Sasuke convices Naruto to join him.

No Time for Survival by sazzafraz

Words: 89,109 - 7 chaptersStatus: uncompleted

Summary: A ‘What If’ starting from the premise of Itachi’s apparent demise at the hands of a rebel group attempting to overthrow the established shinobi system. Sasuke is quickly blackmailed into joining and thrust into a world of politics and hard choices, only to discover that his world is made of many threads and choices he could have never foreseen. Featuring the author’s love of world building, deeply maladjusted protagonists and politics.

Stormborn by blackkat

Words:136,326 - 34 chaptersStatus: completed

Summary: Flashes of an unknown past haunt Naruto, entwining his steps with those of a former life no longer content to stay forgotten. There’s a voice on the wind and another lifetime in his head, and it’s time for Uzushio’s Storm God to rise once more. (The soul of a city is a hard thing to kill. Uzushio is still aware, still waiting. And now, with the rebirth of her greatest Kage, it’s time to call her people home.)

A Wolrd of Truth by luchia

Words:23,642 - 10 chaptersStatus: completed

Summary: The world is trapped in an illusion which removes anger, hate, and death. It’s paradise, giving everyone everything they’ve ever wanted and reviving anyone they’ve ever lost. Nearly two years into the illusion, Sasuke snaps back to his senses and must decide whether to keep the world in false bliss, or return it to war-torn reality.

Give us our Daily Ramen by KizuKatana

Words: 174,343 - 24 chaptersStatus: completed

Summary: Naruto runs an underground newspaper called ‘The Daily Ramen’, focused on poking fun at the fragile egos of the rich and famous. How does Sasuke respond when he moves to town and gets in Naruto’s crosshairs? Not particularly well.

When the House Falls Down by sowell

Words: 40,323 - 14 chaptersStatus: completed

Summary: When the house falls down, all that’s left is to rebuild. [it is really good, trust me!]

Vagrant Heart by TheMagicCrayon

Words:16,375 - 1 chapterStatus: completed

Summary: “When are you coming home?” Naruto says, softly softly, after what seems like an age.“Konoha isn't—”“Home anymore. I know,” Naruto interrupts. “But what is home? To you?”

The Divine Glitch by michelerene

Words:38,842 - 5 chaptersStatus: completed

Summary: There are reasons why two people can’t be together. Separated by oceans, by wars, by family feuds. Try being the Angel of Death. Romeo and Juliet were lucky.

#ask #ask reply #fic recs #i hope you will like some of them!#have fun reading #sns #sasunarusasu #narusasu #sasunaru #fangirl-the-real-me

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bunny-hoodlum · 4 years

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Valentine's Day

Random scene from my Age Difference AU, which I still don't have a story title for. 😅

💗💗💗🤎🤎🤎💝💝💝🍰🍰🍰🍫🍫🍫

It's his first Valentine's Day since moving into the capital.

Naruto didn't put much stock into the fact that he had returned home empty-handed, but something made him pause as soon as he entered the kitchen.

The entire dining table was blanketed with red and pink gift bags, their contents filled with homemade chocolate.

An all too familiar sight from years before, for as long as he could remember.

Naruto slid into a seat beside his mother, who seemed to have already helped herself to a few bags. She was marking away at a sheet of paper with a list of names on it.

"Did the old fanclub find our address?" He said, as he reached for any ole bag nearby. He pinched the fanciful red ribbon and pulled it undone with a faintly buzzing, slithering sound as the fabric dragged across one another. The decadent aroma smacked his nose and his stomach grumbled in response.

Said old fanclub was his father's female students from his previous school. And every other female student from the other classes.

His mother huffed with amusement. "Nope. This is from the new fanclub."

Naruto reached inside for a chocolate and popped it into his mouth. "Geez. More for us, then."

"Here," His mother plucked up some of the bags she's sampled and placed them down in front of him. "Help me with these."

"Roger roger."

After about twenty minutes and nine bags, his dad entered from the other doorway, assessing the scene with a bemused frown.

"How's Sawamura's?" His mother asked.

Naruto pinched his chin and tilted his head. "Is too much sea salt. It's like rock candy coated in chocolate."

"Agreed." Kushina then added his remarks to the sheet.

Minato sighed. "My students would be so depressed if they ever knew you two were grading their chocolate." He sat down with them, chin in hand.

"I don't know why they would give chocolate to a married man. They know the wife's going to eat it all." Kushina punctuated her statement by consuming another ball of sweetness.

"And me!" Naruto added. The next bag he reached for was different from the rest. It was entirely white. He looked for a name tag attached to the ribbon, only to not find one.

"Oh, that's the one from Hyuuga Hinata." His father said.

The moment Naruto popped one of her chocolates into his mouth, he salivated. His brows flew up into his forehead and he looked at his parents with wide eyes.

"Ish yummy." He warbled through a full mouth. He offered the bag to his mom for her to try. Her reaction perfectly mirrored his own, and he looked to his father. "Dad, ish zo good."

"Is it?" He smiled warmly. "She told me she liked to bake for fun and that she had nobody to give them to. So she asked me if you'd like them instead. Well, I'll be sure to pass on your glowing reviews to her next time."

Naruto's nose crinkled in thought.

She approached the teacher's podium where his father stood behind, nervously cradling her bag of sweetness in her hands.

"U,Uhm, Namikaze-sensei…" Once she got his attention, she then presented the bag with the thrust of her open hands. She could not look him in the eye as she did so. "Pl,Please, give these to N,Naruto-kun."

Naruto processed his father's words over and over again, until he fully understood, until his cheeks couldn't get any warmer.

An Onee-san like her made him chocolates.

On Valentine's Day.

Naruto remembered her now, the dark-haired student at the Culture Day festival. His dad's class did a café. They always did a café. And she had been the one to deliver their strawberry shortcakes. Shortcakes that she made herself.

And they had been the best he'd ever had.

Even his mother had been grinning, and she knew a lot about food. Her father, back in Uzushio, ran the family establishment amidst the resort hotels on the eastern shore.

And as if she couldn't keep this revelation to herself, his mother had pulled Hinata aside and told her: "You'd make a good wife, Hinata-chan."

Whether Hinata's skin turned red with embarrassment or delight, he wasn't sure, but she seemed happy, and he had wanted to reassure her that it was okay to be happy.

"Yeah, you'd make a really, REALLY good wife! Who makes the best cakes!"

Hinata had hid her face behind the stacks of printed menus and murmured to excuse herself.

His mother and father exchanged conversation and light banter, while his mind was consumed with the pure white Valentine's bag that laid within reach.

Throwing a furtive glance towards his mother, he stared at Hinata's Valentine's chocolates.

Now that he thought of it, if she were someone else's wife, would that mean they'd get her shortcake every night instead of him? Would they get all of her chocolates too?

That's not fair at all!

Naruto reached out and snatched the bag, then tucked it beneath his shirt, his lips pressed together to stop himself from smiling.

For safekeeping. He thought to himself.

She made them for him, after all.

He didn't have to share if he didn't want to.

#naruhina #naruto #hinata #age difference au #genre: modern au #naruhina fic #fic scene #valentine's day

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dayseternal-blog · 5 years

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She's a nameless girl. Strange in dress, appearance, and accent in a foreign kingdom. She stowed away on a merchant ship, running from a certain future much worse than just losing her name.

A NaruHina retelling of the fairytale Catskin.

Inspired by Tumblr's NH Week 2019 Days 4-7 Day 4: Promises Day 5: Family Day 6: Forgotten Day 7: Yesterday

Rated M.

Chapter 4: Lies/Truths

Blushes are no strangers to Hinata’s cheeks. She’s blushed on several occasions--an incredibly shameful feeling she has associated with her father’s reprimands after less-than-perfect behavior on a day or night out in society.

But this?

This heat that rushes not just to her face but through her whole being is completely new.

Never has anyone ever been so respectfully forward with her. To kiss her fingers. An entirely romantic gesture that no young man has ever attempted in front of her family, her father.

Others have bowed or taken her hand to ask for a dance. Others have been like Toneri, expressing their interest with their eyes in extremely uncomfortable ways. But not like this. Never like this.

She can’t say a word with her heart in her throat and she nods. How could she ever say no? He made it a perfect impossibility.

He straightens, a smile lighting his face.

Oh. She gazes up at him as he guides her to the floor. He’s really beautiful.

He places his hand around her waist, at the small of her back, gently. He leads them in the simple steps, the music pulling their motion across the floor in time with other couples.

She’s looking up at him, her eyes never leaving his. It’s the sweetest feeling, being held by him, dancing with him.

The music slows to an end, but he doesn’t move to let go of her, and she follows his lead, unquestioning. She lets him guide her into the next dance, and the next one. Each one feels more comfortable, bringing them closer in intimate knowledge of the other’s rhythm and movement.

The musicians seem to take notice, the music becoming more elaborate to suit the young lord and his chosen dance partner. Fewer couples command the floor as others take to the side to watch him lead the young lady.

Gazing at his gentle smile and his lively eyes, she finds herself untiring, only too content to put her trust in his motion. She thinks she could dance with him all night, and it still wouldn’t seem like enough. She can’t remember the last time she enjoyed dancing so much, or a time her dance partner seemed relaxed enough to lead her so confidently. She doesn’t know how long they’re dancing.

Eventually, the music calms to a slower tempo, inviting more couples back to the floor.

The two sway to the music, cheeks slightly flushed.

With the undemanding music, Naruto notes the shine of her hair, the thickness of her lashes, the roundness of her eyes, and how they seem only larger with her light pupils, perhaps a pale lavender or other unnameable color. The fullness of her bottom lip. Her smooth skin. The dip of her collar and just below… He draws his eyes back up quickly. Desire and attraction unfurl so badly that he knows it, and it hurts.

Conscious thought returns to him.

She left him, but now she’s back, dancing with him in his arms, as if she hadn’t fled from him barefoot. Why did she leave me like that? Did I do something?... WHAT’S HER NAME? That seems like a good a place as anywhere to start, the perfect question to ask as they dance, until overwhelming shame engulfs him. His behavior yesterday was terribly thoughtless. It would be no wonder if she thinks him a fool. “Miss…”

Her long, dark lashes lift ever so slightly at his address.

“I must ask for your pardon.”

Confusion seems to knit her brow.

“I was such a fool yesterday.” They sway with the music as he leads her across the floor. “And I was filled with regret all day, not knowing if I would see you again.”

Hinata swallows and shakes her head slightly in disagreement, knowing this to be her own fault, knowing that in fact, he had seen her, and he just didn’t know it. “I’m here, aren’t I?” she questions quietly.

He smiles a bit, his hands unconsciously holding her tighter. “Forgive me...I never asked for your name. Tell me…” He gazes at her soft, pastel eyes. “...please, so that I might put a name to someone so beautiful.”

She should have been expecting this. She should have known that he would ask. But somehow it hadn’t been a concern. They had talked so naturally the night before, the fact that he didn’t ask for her name never alarmed her.

He searches her expression, wondering at her silence. Her lips part, and he focuses desperately on her quiet voice that could so easily get lost in the music and murmurings of surrounding guests.

“I must ask for your pardon, as well. Yesterday, when I left you so quickly…” Her eyes are cast low, and he can’t read her thoughts behind the words. “It seems I caused you great inconvenience. I am not such a lady to deserve your attention and kindness.”

But, your name?! He couldn’t care less about her running away from him. What is her NAME?! He shakes his head, and he’s not sure if it’s adrenaline or the crescendo in the music, or both, but he grasps her tighter, suddenly afraid that she’ll slip away from him again. “Miss, I…” He gazes at her, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. “I would gladly spend every moment in inconvenience if you would allow me to be acquainted with you.”

She turns her face up to him again in shock. He couldn’t mean that, could he?

“Please...I must know your name. I will never forget someone as beautiful as you for as long as I live.”

She blushes. How could he say something like that and mean it entirely? She averts her gaze, only to finally become aware of the many guests watching them. She blushes harder, and finds that she doesn’t know where to look. “...I am certainly not worth such exaggerated praise, Naruto. It must be the gown…” For all she knows, maybe it is. The last time she wore it, she heard incredible things, albeit it in a much different vein, from another man.

“...You’re unfair,” he quietly accuses. “You know my name, but you won’t tell me yours?” How can she deny him when he’s asked...countless times.

Unexpectedly, she smiles, her eyes sliding to the side with a secret. She looks up at him, but her expression appears almost pained. “You do know my name.”

His eyes widen. “I…” He doesn’t know what to say. He’s never met her before last night. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten it…please forgive me.”

Instead of defeat or understanding, she just looks up at him kindly. “You haven’t forgotten...you have called me before…”

He searches his memory. “...What do you mean? Have we met before?”

She slowly nods.

There’s just no way they’ve met before. She’s not from Uzushio. Even if she wasn’t in her ball gowns, he’s certain he would remember someone as elegant and beautiful as her. He rarely forgets a name. He buys himself time to remember by spinning her, lifting her, dancing with her, but she’s just so beautiful, he can’t concentrate. He’s never been so attracted to anyone before. “I must apologize again,” he says, ashamed. “Where have we met? When have we met?”

She pauses, unsure of how to respond. She looks plainly at him, wondering if she really looks so different in her gowns. “We’ve met…” she starts, looking earnestly at him. “...at…” Just that day she had been only a few centimeters from him, well, behind him, but still… “At...Comb…” She looks away, suddenly aware of herself. She shouldn’t lead him on. She doesn’t want him to find out who she is, right?

He stares at her. Comb? He shuts his eyes for a second, trying to keep himself from doing something he would regret. Like crying out. Or shaking her and forcing her to speak plainly. “Miss...I’m afraid you haven’t noticed. I’m not...I’m not clever, neither am I experienced with women...Please.” He doesn’t know how many times he’s asked. At this point, he must sound downright pitiful.

She feels another pang of guilt. “...Must I tell you my name for us to be acquainted?”

He considers her words for a moment, but he can’t understand why she won’t tell him her name.

“Can we not...enjoy tonight...as we did last night?” she asks carefully, hopefully, that these moments with him can last for as long as possible. She can’t tell him her name. Her real name. She doesn’t know what kind of connections he has. The Namikazes are involved in trading, a fact she’d learned the night prior when they met. He could somehow discover her family. He could somehow get her shipped back to Konoha. And she can’t bear to lie about her name. She doesn’t think she can handle having him call her with another’s name.

“If you can’t tell me your name, can you at least tell me why?” he asks quietly.

She looks away in thought, her expression darkening with the memory of what she’s left behind. “My name...only signifies my family’s selfish pride. It’s just a tradition to set us apart, to build us up, and keep others down…”

He blinks at her. To say that he’s proud of being both Namikaze and Uzumaki is an understatement. On one side, a lineage that traces strong through history. On the other, entrepreneurial spirit and adventure through trade. Old and new money. Appreciation for the past and for the future. A perfect match, an anchor for Uzushio’s continued prosperity. He’s never thought about it in terms of selfishness. Social rank always seemed to him like a matter of fact, of life, less so something his family maintained and upholded for their own gain.

The musicians eventually quiet as the song ends. He steps back and bows.

She curtsies.

He immediately offers his arm to her, and to his relief, she takes it. He guides her to the side of the dancefloor, the crowd parting to let them through. He realizes their eyes are all on the girl beside him, and he draws his arm in, pulling her a little closer. “Shall...we go somewhere we can talk?” he asks lowly.

She shouldn’t be going anywhere with him. She shouldn’t be touching him. She shouldn’t have danced with him so long. She shouldn’t be wanting him.

She nods in agreement.

They go out to the terrace, but even there guests turn to watch them.

He takes her down to the gardens, where other couples walk, admiring the flowers. He guides them back to the private gardens and finds them a bench to rest on.

She sits beside him, admiring the flowers around them.

“What shall I call you?” he asks, drawing her attention back to him.

She looks up in thought and shrugs, smiling. “Maybe I don’t want a name.”

He stares at her, bemused. He’s never met anyone like her before. He wonders vaguely if he’s fallen into a trap, one too late to climb out of, and one he’s not sure he wants to escape from, anyway. Everything she has said has been surprising to say the least, and has made him think twice as hard as he usually needs to. A beauty and a mystery, carrying secrets on her lips. “Who are you?” The rude question pops out before he can stop it. The heart of the matter that he’s been running around ever since he laid eyes on her.

Her eyes widen. What can she say to that? That she’s a maid for his family? She can’t even imagine his reaction. “I’m not who you think I am.”

“I don’t know anything about you,” he says in quiet argument.

“Well...you do know about me…” She smiles. “I like gardens and reading.”

“...What else?”

She hums in thought. What more can she tell him?

“What books do you read?”

“Oh...I read almost anything. I like novels and history…What about you? Do you like to read?”

“Well, I read when I must…” He considers for a second whether to say it or not, but he decides to go ahead with it. If he wants to get to know her better, perhaps he needs to be direct, relentless in his pursuit for someone as private as her. “Like today, I spent all day on it, you know. Where Bath is.” He pauses to catch her reaction.

She shies her gaze away uncomfortably, apologetically.

“I looked in every atlas, every geographical record my family owns,” he laments with an exaggerated sigh. “Only to find out that the sole piece of information I had about you was more a concept than an actual place.”

She grimaces. “I’m sorry,” she softly says. “It is an actual place, though. You just won’t find it on a map.”

He looks at her curiously. “What about Comb? Is it here? Somewhere else? Did we meet where you’re really from?”

She shakes her head, fighting a smile. Imagine if she told him she was in the same room as him as he undressed! “If I told you, you would certainly be upset.”

This only makes his eyes squint more. Why on earth would he be upset? Everything she says only gets worse, more confusing. “There’s no hope for me, is there? You’re never going to tell me!”

She smiles apologetically at his dramatics. “It wouldn’t be the best idea to tell you how we met.”

He huffs. “Fine. Then tell me about how you came to be in Uzushio. Are you visiting? Are you here with your family?”

She bites her lips. “I can’t tell you that, either,” she whispers. “But I can tell you that I’m not here with my family. They are all at home.”

He puzzles over why she can’t tell him so many things. Is she a criminal? What is she hiding? He asks this directly, plainly, “Why do you keep secrets? Are you going to get me in trouble? Are you here to steal my money and my heart?”

She shifts from worry to surprised amusement and embarrassment at his easy admission. He wears his emotions on his sleeve, and it occurs to her again why everyone likes to dote on him. She shakes her head. “Oh no! I didn’t come here with any plans whatsoever.”

“You come to my family’s estate without any motives to catch my eye? Dressed in silver and gold, looking as naturally beautiful as you are?”

She blushes terribly. She has never been complimented so heavily in her life. She shakes her head. “I had no such intentions. It had been some time since I enjoyed society in this way. I wanted to listen to the music. I hoped to dance a little, and then leave.”

He frowns, finding this somewhat damaging to his pride. She didn’t come here last night for him at all. Had he not gone up to her, she would have never even looked his way. Well, someone as beautiful as her… “You must have other suitors,” he murmurs quietly. For some reason, it had never occurred to him. She appeared, like a dream, and existed in his imagination as such, a vision just for him.

“No…” She shakes her head, but he’s not looking at her.

“Don’t tell me, you’re not already promised to someone? Or already married?” He turns to her, eyes wide. He hates to think he’s some dalliance. That would explain her secretive nature, her reluctance to have him close.

Her jaw drops. In a sense...she is. To Toneri. She hadn’t thought of it that way, and the idea is nauseating. No! No. She left all of that behind. “No, there is no one else!” she says as quickly as she can after getting over her initial shock. But it feels like a lie, even as she says it. She waspromised to someone else. Against her will. It was real. And she is wearing his gown, gifted to her, at this very moment.

He searches her expression.

She gazes at him steadily, albeit worriedly. She hopes he can’t read her deceit… Her many lies.

He relaxes. “There’s no one else?” he asks, skeptically. Are other men blind?

She shakes her head. “No, there’s no one else. You’re...you’re the first to...express...romantic intentions...toward me…” She blushes, and she can’t look him in the eye. It feels incredibly conceited to say that out loud about him. But it’s the truth, and she realizes, that’s why she can’t seem to let him go. Why she keeps piling on lie after lie, keeping him enticed. It’s shameful.

He looks at her in wonder. It’s unbelievable. Where did she come from? Why would he be the first? Who is she? Although they are talking, he still feels like he knows next to nothing about her. He can’t let the night end like this. He needs something of hers, a piece of her, a piece of her heart. How he wishes he could call her name. “Miss, have you been to Uzushio’s beaches?”

Why would he ask her something like that? She shakes her head, a question on her face.

“I’ll take you there. Have you been to our fields of cosmos in the late summer?”

She smiles and shakes her head.

“I can show you that, too. I think you’ll love it.”

He’s so charming, and he doesn’t even know it. “I think I would, too,” she murmurs.

“How long will you be here?”

Her smile fades. Indefinitely. Until she dies of old age. And in another perspective, only for tonight. “Not long…”

“You’re going back home?”

She nods. In a sense, she is. The servants’ quarters are her home now.

“You can’t stay?” But he already knows the answer. This must be why she won’t have him close.

“I wish I could.” She says this as sincerely as she can. Out of anything she’ll tell him tonight, this may be the only real truth.

He gazes at her longer, unable to accept that she would leave. He wasn’t exaggerating when he said he would never forget her, someone as beautiful as her. He takes her hand into his, and she doesn’t pull away. He takes a deep breath. “I still want to get to know you.”

She gazes back into his blue eyes that shine even in the moonlit garden. She doesn’t understand why he’s insisting on this. And she doesn’t know why she isn’t pulling away from him...or rather...she doesn’t want to think about it.

“Tell me anything about yourself.”

She thinks about it. Anything? She hums in thought. “...I don’t like formal dinners, but I have always enjoyed balls. I really enjoyed dancing with you.”

He smiles a little and blushes. “...I never enjoyed dancing so much as I did tonight…For me, I’d rather be eating and talking than dancing.”

“You were a great dancer, though.”

“Ahh...that’s because my mother forced me to practice a lot a couple of years ago. I always had two left feet.”

“It didn’t seem that way at all to me.”

“Maybe that’s because I was dancing with you,” he says shyly, watching her own shy reaction. He feels that fluttering feeling again, same as he did the night before. He wonders if she feels it, too. If she feels so happy to just talk to him, too. “Why don’t you like formal dinners?”

“Oh…My father wouldn’t let me talk because I get...I get nervous…and I stumble on my words a lot in front of others...”

He blinks at her in confusion. “Really? Last night, it didn’t seem that way at all to me.”

She thinks about it. It’s true. The night before, she hadn’t been nearly as flustered as she usually gets around people. “Maybe that’s because I was talking with you,” she admits, blushing, repeating his words back to him.

He smiles back, squeezing her gloved hand. He finally feels like he’s getting somewhere with her. “Your father wouldn’t let you talk at all?”

She shakes her head. “He also thought it was best if only the men talk. He isn’t the only one back home who feels that way.”

He shakes his head. “That would never happen here. Perhaps it’s a cultural difference, but all of the Uzumaki women are strong-willed. Our kingdom’s history is full of important women.”

She smiles, thinking of his mother. “I would like to study Uzushio’s history sometime.”

“You’re welcome to my family’s library any time,” he says, before remembering that she won’t be staying in the country. He clears his throat awkwardly. “Do you have siblings?”

Her entire expression brightens. “Yes, I have a younger sister.”

He takes in her wide smile. “What’s she like?”

“She’s funny and cute. She’s my biggest supporter and she always understands me even though we’re nothing alike.”

He smiles and nods, encouraging her to keep going.

“She’s a little sassy, but she never shows our father that side of her. She’s good at hiding what she really thinks. I was never really good at that. She’s a true Hyu-” She pauses, catching herself.

“...A true..?” he asks.

“...Nothing. Nevermind.” She shakes her head. She had never talked so much to a man before, and she got carried away. Wasn’t she talking too much? She felt like so many words had never come out of her mouth before all at once. She averts her gaze, suddenly uncomfortable with how much she said.

She is good at hiding what she thinks, he disagrees silently. He can’t imagine what her sister must be like in that case. “...I always wanted a sibling. A little brother or a little sister.”

“Your parents didn’t want another child?”

“They did, but my mother had complications when she gave birth to me, so…” He frowns. He always felt a little like it was his fault. “It was lucky that we both lived.”

She nods in understanding. “That really is. I’m glad that she was okay...um...After my mother gave birth to my sister, she was really sick. We don’t know what it was, but she passed away a few years later.”

“My condolences,” he murmurs.

She hums a disagreement, and they fall silent.

He continues to hold her hand, reviewing everything she told him. She’s a real person. Not just a mysterious, beautiful dream. But learning more about her doesn’t satiate his curiosity the way he thought it would. He wants to know more. “When do you leave? This week? Next week?”

She bites her lips. It would be strange to say “tonight,” right?

“I want to see you again before you go.”

She gazes at their connected hands, unsure of what to say.

“Miss?” He grows concerned with her silence. Unconsciously, he holds her hand tighter.

“I leave...I leave next week.”

“Can I see you again?” he asks nervously.

She looks at him sadly. “I don’t think you can...you see, I’m not supposed to be here.” Her voice softens at the end.

“You’re not supposed to be here?” he repeats, confused.

She shakes her head. “I wasn’t supposed to talk to you...or meet you, or be here at all.”

Again. Suddenly nothing about her makes sense. “What do you mean? Why?...You weren’t supposed to talk to me?”

She freezes. She said too much. “...I...I wasn’t supposed to go out.”

He processes her words, deciding that she didn’t mean it to be personal. She simply wasn’t supposed to be out. His next wondering is, who? She’s not here with family, so who would be keeping her? But he can’t ask that. She wouldn’t even tell him where she’s staying.

“...Are you in danger?” he asks quietly, worriedly.

She shakes her head. “But if I am found out, if everything is discovered, I could be.”

Another possibility comes to mind. She is a young lady, obviously of wealth. Could she be a part of a criminal family? Could she be here in Uzushio to do shady dealings? He wouldn’t want her to get in trouble, but if his wondering is true, then it would be best if he stayed away from her. “How dangerous?” he asks.

“Oh, not dangerous, I think. It would just be...shocking, and...I don’t know how everyone would react.”

He sits back, taking a long look at her. He can’t figure her out. He has no idea what her circumstances are. He should feel exasperated with her. The smartest thing to do would be to bid her good night and return to the ball, maybe meet someone else. There are numerous pretty girls here tonight.

But...none of them look like her. None of them would dance like her. None of them would make him feel the way he does with her. Effortlessly comfortable, like she understands everything he says and does, never taking offense to his lack of manners. Easily drawn-in, like what she says could never be enough. “We can’t...meet in secret? Like tonight?”

Her eyes widen. She wants to say yes. She wants to say that they could. But she has nothing to wear other than her now well-worn, plain petticoats, her maid’s uniform, and these ridiculously expensive gowns. “I...wish I could, Naruto. I really wish I could. But I can’t.”

It’s only slightly appeasing to know that she likes him. Only slightly. Because she obviously doesn’t like him enough to promise anything. “Will you ever return to Uzushio?”

“I don’t...I don’t think so,” she murmurs. She squeezes his hand back. All of this was a mistake. She should have never listened to Shizuka and Kurenai. He should have never seen her, and he shouldn’t be so interested in her. She shouldn’t be so interested in him.

But then she realizes, she would have never experienced something like this. She would have lived out her days never knowing anything close to this. Her only experience with a man would have been Toneri. She squeezes Naruto’s hand a little tighter. She looks up at him, and he turns to meet her gaze. “I’ll never forget you, either, Naruto. I’ll never forget last night and tonight. No man has ever made me feel so special, and...I don’t think...I’ll ever have something like this again. Thank you.” She smiles.

He listens, wide-eyed, to her confession. They are young still. He still has years ahead of him to find someone, even if he hasn’t had romantic liaisons before. Though he carries a less-than perfect reputation for being reckless...and others have told him that he’s too naive and trusting to properly lead, he always imagined that he’d naturally find someone perfect for him, someone who would accept him the way he is, just like his parents did. For her to decide that there would never be someone else, well, isn’t that strange, especially with how beautiful she is? Where did she come from? Why would no one else be interested in her?... But he won’t complain if he’ll forever hold a place in her mind, a part of her that can be his.

The clocktower rings in the still of the night, chiming the late hour.

“Is this where you run from me again, leaving your slippers for me to collect?” he jokes unhappily.

She bites her lips, trying to keep a smile from rising. “I’m sorry.” She watches him shake his head at the memory. “But I guess I really should get going...I don’t want to get caught.”

He stares at the ground. He doesn’t want her to leave. It feels too soon. “...One more dance. Please?”

She knows that she shouldn’t. But she’s been following her heart all night. So she nods.

They walk back together to the ballroom, the music growing louder until they’re in the thick of it. More couples crowd the floor as the evening draws nearer to its close.

He takes one of her hands, slipping his own around her back, enjoying the curve. They meld into the song of the instruments, finding each other as if they had years of experience together.

He steadies his gaze on hers, a tightening in his chest at finding the small smile on her face. He could kiss her. Not here, in front of everyone, and...only after two meetings, certainly that would be extremely inappropriate. Keeping her to himself for two nights was already incredibly forward of him. But she didn’t seem to mind it. She said she would never forget him. “I’ll never forget you.”

She smiles brightly. “I’ll never forget you, too.”

They’re holding each other, the music turning them across the floor, when he sees her gaze linger away, her entire expression change. Her eyes enlarge, her breath catching, her jaw dropping slightly, then her entire posture shrinking. He turns his head to see what caused such an expression, only to feel her pull away from him. He looks back, just in time to run and catch her hand as she dashes off the floor.

She turns, and he didn’t know anyone could look so frightened. His grip falters, a mistake.

She pulls away, her head shaking in a silent “no,” even as he tries to hold onto her.

He stands there, two steps off the dance floor, bewildered. Glove in hand. Her form disappearing through the crowd, out the side doors, out of sight.

When she’s reached the safety of her room, she realizes she’s shaking. Shaking like the first night she arrived in Uzushio and found sanctuary with Kurenai, only this time, there’s no relief. She strips off her gown, pulls on her plain maid’s skirts and coat, and unpins her hair as quickly as she can. She scrubs her face until all traces of makeup are down the drain. She slips into the kitchen, hoping to blend in with the hustle and bustle, her heart just as frantic as the movements of the servants.

He saw her. He definitely saw her. There was no mistaking the concentrated recognition on the heir of the Nara clan’s face.

They were never close. Never spoke to each other. She recalls one dance with him. A perfectly respectful dance between clan heirs for courtesy’s sake, nothing more, nothing less. She always carried a good opinion of him, if only for that fact. Others said he is too smart for his own good. She simply thought that he would grow into it.

As she helps wash dishes, she can only hope that tonight is not the last night for her. Now that she reflects on it, he has likely been here all night. He probably saw her even earlier. She and Naruto had danced for at least an hour together, and for awhile, they were the center of attention. If he wanted to catch her or confront her, he would have done so, right?

She can guess at why he’s here, likely for some sort of trade agreement, with generations of Naras known to be trusted advisors to the Royal Family. Maybe he just didn’t want to cause a commotion in the middle of a ball. Maybe he would try to find her later. Or maybe he would leave her alone?

She feels shivers go through her again, remembering his stare from across the floor. A look not of shock or confusion at seeing her alive and well. No, it was a look of calculation, of an intelligence at work.

She can’t at all imagine what he must have been thinking.

It was a mistake.

She should have never gone to the ball the night before.

He glares out into the dark gardens from the terrace, fisting her glove. He’s never going to see her again. And she left him with a face of utter fear. He realizes that it wasn’t directed at him, that it was at something else, or someone else, but he hates it.

He hates that the night ended, and he found out next to nothing about her. Not her name. Not her country. Not her current address. Not her family’s occupation. He had only a few hours with her of complete, blissful...confusion.

And it ended that way, too.

He can’t understand, either, why he’s so attracted to her.

Just looking at her made him feel like he was seeing the meaning of beauty for the first time.

But getting her to talk about herself was like pulling teeth.

It only made everything she shared about herself that much more precious.

And dancing with her…

“Naruto, you were here. Where did your companion go?”

He turns at his father’s voice. “She…” He looks at her glove. “...she left.”

His father steps closer, looking at the glove, too. “Kushina and I wanted to meet her. Well, everyone wanted to know who she was. The two of you looked so happy together.”

He lets out a long breath. “Yeah. I wanted to know her, too.”

Minato considers his son’s words and frowns, not finding any sense in them.

“She’s leaving next week,” he murmurs. “I’m never going to see her again.”

“We could contact her family. We could try to arrange the two of you,” his father offers.

Naruto shakes his head. “She wouldn’t tell me her name.” I asked a million times.

His father squints in confusion. She refused to give him her name? The young lady that had spent all of last night and tonight with his son? “Why not?”

He shrugs, frowning. “She couldn’t.”

His answer is bewildering. “...Why?”

The young man just sighs. “I don’t know. It seemed like she liked me…” He squeezes the glove again, remembering how she said that she would never forget him.

“It certainly looked that way to everyone.”

Naruto turns to him with such earnest curiosity, he realizes that his son really liked her.

But if everything he says is true, that she would be returning home, that she never gave him her name, then she obviously isn’t the best for him. “Naruto,” he starts gently. “None of the other ladies here have interested you?”

He frowns and turns away, his eyes distant at the memory of the nameless girl. “Father, did you see her?” He sighs, for the third time. “I don’t think I’m ever going to meet anyone like her ever again.”

It’s a dramatic statement. And unfortunately, it sounded sincere. Minato nods in acknowledgement of Naruto’s feelings. He pats him on the shoulder consolingly. “You might see her again. You never know. If it’s meant to be, then it will be.”

Naruto nods. “You’re right,” he murmurs, but it doesn’t make him feel much better. He wants her to be meant to be.

“...Do you think you’re up to meeting a guest? He’s an emissary from Hinokuni. He’s about your age.”

Naruto takes a second to compose himself before standing up to follow his father back into the ballroom.

The next morning, Shizuka rushes up close to the melancholic maid’s side. “How was it last night?” she whispers.

“...I told him I couldn’t see him again,” she murmurs back.

Shizuka looks at her sympathetically. “Everyone’s talking about you, the mysterious lady, you know. I heard that you both were dancing for over an hour together.”

Hinata just nods in silent affirmation.

Shizuka wants to ask. She wants to know if Bucchi loves him, but she bites her tongue. It’s a tricky situation, and not one to push thoughtlessly. “Are you...at least glad that you went last night?” she asks carefully.

She worries her lip. “I might be in trouble, Shizuka. I saw someone...last night...and he saw me, too. Someone from my past.”

“Did you get back here without anyone seeing you?”

She nods. “I think so.”

“There’s no way anyone can recognize you like this.”

Hinata shakes her head. She thought about this all night. “That man would just have to see my eyes, Shizuka...and he would know...”

“Your eyes?” she asks. She knew that Bucchi’s eyes were different, but there are all sorts of people in the world. After all, Kurenai and Lady Karin have red eyes. She herself has dark green eyes.

Hinata only nods again, unwilling to share that her eyes are specific to her family.

“Try not to worry about it too much. We rarely leave the estate, and we can ask Kurenai to not send you out on errands.”

So she spends the following days completing tasks indoors and out of sight, much of it concerning cleaning after the ball. When guests who stayed overnight take their leave, the festivities truly feel like they came to an end. She washes, sweeps, mops, dusts, waiting. She waits to be called up to the Namikazes to be questioned about her origins. But nothing happens. Days go by uneventfully, and she thinks that maybe, just maybe, Shikamaru is leaving her alone.

A week after, when the young “Miss” supposedly went home, she doesn’t mean to, she didn’t want to, but she cries in the dark of her room. It’s the first time she’s cried in years.

And what’s worse is, she doesn’t really understand why she’s crying. She appreciates her life. It could be so much worse. She could be married to Toneri. She could have gotten caught, imprisoned, and shipped back to Konoha in shame. She could have been forced into prostitution upon arriving in a foreign land with no connections and no support. Just, all of a sudden, all of the stress, the worrying, the disappointment, it all comes down on her at once.

She lets it out in quiet sobs.

Seeing Shikamaru, as frightening as it had been, struck her with homesickness. She misses her sister. She misses the familiarity of her country. She doesn’t like being different here, with people seeing her eyes and either thinking that she’s blind or creepy.

And Naruto. She never meant for anything like that to happen, but it all happened so fast, like a mad dream. It was sudden and intense. The intimate gardens, his attentive listening, the dancing. The freedom for her to just be with him, and not under the scrutinizing gaze of her father. Would it have been better for her to have never known such happiness?...

She avoids him at all costs, and he doesn’t summon “Bucchi” again.

But she thinks about him all the time, wondering if he ever thinks about her.

She finds out a couple of weeks later.

Heavy, ominous clouds roll in, covering the sun.

She and three of the other younger maids hurry outside, unclipping the linens and towels from the lines as quickly as they can.

A maid gasps, “You can see the rain coming!”

They look, and indeed, it’s a sight. The rain obscures buildings at a distance, drawing steadily closer and closer, enveloping hills and roads in a translucent sheet of grey.

Hurriedly, they bundle the material in their arms and run for covering.

But once safe, they stand together and watch the rain sweep over the Namikaze property.

Soon enough, the pebbling sound turns into a relentless drumming against the walkways and the roof. The rain splashes in quickly ponding puddles. Thunder booms in the darkened sky.

A sudden summer storm.

The maids watch in enthrallment as they slowly fold everything neatly.

“That storm came so unexpectedly,” Hinata comments quietly.

Another maid nods. “Uzushio’s summer weather can be incredibly temperamental.”

“I hope our lord’s family is somewhere safe,” another says.

Hinata quiets as she listens to the three wonder about the family’s whereabouts. It seems that the family went out into town together.

“Do you think that they will return home?”

“Not in this weather! They should have found a place in town to stay!”

“They left this morning. Don’t you think that they would have come back by now?”

They fuss over possibilities when Hinata hears a shout. She turns to squint into the pouring rain. “Is that...them?”

The other three turn to look. “Oh my goodness!” one cries. “Let’s go help them!”

The carriage stops at the front near the entranceway, the coachman jumping off to pull open the door.

The maids sprint out into the rain they had just escaped from, clutching the linens and towels tightly to their chests. Hinata only hesitates for a second before following after them.

It’s a bit of a run to the front.

They run only harder for it as they see Lord Minato tentatively step out, his blond locks immediately plastered with rain.

She’s struck again by the loyalty of the staff, how self-sacrificing they are for the benefit of their employers. It’s only a matter of fact that the Namikazes had also saved her from a certain terrible future by allowing Kurenai to hire her on.

She forgets about the cold rain and mud splashing onto her uniform and coat, drenched in rain, weighing her down. The other three are just as soaked as she in their own shawls and sweaters. She huddles with the other maids by the carriage, eager to assist.

One immediately spreads a sheet over Lord Minato to shield him from the rain and goes with him to the entrance.

The two before her hover over Lady Kushina as she steps out, immediately covering her with a sheet. “Oh Lady Kushina, let’s get you inside.” “We’ll call someone to bring you dry clothes.”

Hinata realizes too late that she’s left with their son. She spreads a sheet over him, but he grabs it and throws it over her, too.

“You all got soaked!” he says, his tone slightly scolding.

She blinks rapidly at the unexpected gesture, her heart already accelerating so fast, she thinks she could die.

Instead, she rushes with him to the covering of the entrance.

She pulls the sheet off of him and starts wiping him down with a towel, the way she saw the three others doing for Lord Minato and Lady Kushina.

He immediately starts rejecting her fussing. “I’m dry! I’m fine! I’m fine!” he insists. He steps away from her, then suddenly grabs her wrist.

She gasps, her eyes flashing to his for a split-second before she ducks her face down. She tries to pull away, but he only holds tighter. She can feel him staring at her. She tries to pull her wrist from his grasp once more.

“Naruto!” Lady Kushina yells. “What are you doing?!”

He lets her go just as quickly as he had grabbed her. “Oh...sorry...I’m sorry! I didn’t… I didn’t mean to.. I don’t know what…” he attempts to explain, looking between his mother and the soaked maid.

His eyes drift over to see the others staring at him, surprised.

“I’m sorry,” he tries, but she doesn’t look at him again.

She just nods, afraid to speak.

“Bucchi, please excuse my son. He hasn’t been himself as of late,” his mother tries to apologize.

Hinata again nods, more vehemently this time, understanding that her own silence is bordering nearly on rudeness.

“Look at what you did, Naruto. You scared her!” the red-haired lady seethes.

“I didn’t mean to, her eyes-”

“Enough!” she yells. She then turns and smiles sweetly to the maids. “Go ahead, girls, and get yourselves dry. We appreciate you so much for your assistance.”

They bow to the family and take their leave quickly.

“What was that all about, Bucchi?” one of them ask her when they’re out of hearing range.

“Yeah, that was so unlike him,” another comments.

Hinata shakes her head as if in confusion, even though she knows.

He recognized her.

The only thing that kept him from revealing her was the fact that she couldn’t possibly be a lady. Not with her long, soaked hair, dripping clothes, and poor posture.

“What was that all about?” Kushina demanded.

“I- I...she! I thought she was her for a second!”

“...You’re still thinking about that girl! We’ve talked about this. She didn’t want to give you her name, she wouldn’t tell you where she was from, she wouldn’t let you see her again, either she didn’t like you, she was using you as an affair, or she was hiding a criminal background. And in all cases, you need to stop thinking about her because it wouldn’t have worked out!”

“You don’t think I’ve tried? You don’t know what she was like!”

“It sounded like you didn’t know what she was like, either!”

“I do!”

“That’s not what you said last time!” she negates.

It’s true that at the time, he felt like he didn’t know a lot about her. But as the weeks went by, he still remembered everything she did share, and it was enough to get a picture of her personality. A shy girl who grew up under a strict household. One dominated by an overbearing and heartbroken father. A kind, caring older sister who enjoyed traditionally ladylike activities, like reading, walking amongst the flowers, and dancing. “We talked about her family and her interests...she just wouldn’t give me any names,” he argues quietly. “Also...I think I figured out where she’s from.”

“Naruto,” his father starts gently. “You said that she left and that she didn’t think that she would ever come back. It really would be best for you to try to meet other women.”

“...I know...but what if I could find her? I’m certain that emissary from Hinokuni had the same accent as her.”

“Hinokuni is a large kingdom, much bigger than ours. The chances of you finding her would be small,” his father reasons.

Naruto sighs. “I know. I know. It’s just...hard.”

“You just haven’t gotten the chance to meet other women. You only met her twice, Naruto. From a larger perspective, that’s not long at all to get to know someone.”

He nods sullenly, agreeing just for the sake of getting his parents off his back.

“Let’s have another ball!” his mother suggests. “It can coincide with the Summer Solstice!”

“Mother, I don’t want-”

“You just need to meet other young ladies, like your father said. You’ll find that it’s much better to know the name of the person you’re dancing with,” his mother points out.

He doubts that. The young lady he met a month ago made it clear to him that he doesn’t need her name to feel a connection. But maybe he does need to meet other women. When Bucchi was standing before him, he just had this feeling, and her eyes… Her hair color wasn’t blue. She seemed smaller than the young miss. Her figure was indeterminate. He really shouldn’t have grabbed the maid that way. She’s already so timid in front of him. Now he really went and scared her.

He thinks that he can apologize to her when he sees her again. He doesn’t want to summon her and scare her even more.

But he realizes that he never sees her. Not like before when he would enter a room and notice her standing apart, stepping away, or busying herself with her duties.

She simply isn’t around.

She makes sure of that. She uses only the servants’ passageways and she keeps to duties in the servants’ domains.

And she thinks about him all the time.

The rough of his voice, the shine of his eyes, the heat of his skin, the feeling of his hand at her waist, the angle of his jaw to his neck, his fingers squeezing her hand, the catch of the light on his hair.

She could see him if she really wanted to...she does want to. But she doesn’t want to chance him recognizing her. By some luck, he convinced himself that they weren’t the same, and she doesn’t know if she would be able to get away with it twice.

It’s a handful of days later when she realizes that she can’t hide from him forever. She works in his household. Unless he moves when he marries, which seems highly unlikely, then she would always risk getting recognized.

He said he would never forget her.

What about years from now? Would he still remember her?

What if, by some chance, he ever caught her? What would he think? What would he say? Would he be disgusted? Embarrassed? Happy?

What if he were happy?

What if he discovers her, and he is already married? How would he react then? Would he send her home to Konoha?

Can she handle seeing him get married?...

She thinks that maybe this is what she deserves.

She ran away from home, fighting against her fate of a loveless marriage. And now she would be condemned to loving someone she can never have.

It’s with these thoughts that she hears that the Namikazes will be hosting a Summer Solstice ball.

It was a mistake for her to go the first time. She knows that for certain.

But the second time? While it was necessary for her to tell him that they couldn’t be together, she also wonders if that was a mistake, too.

Because then she wouldn’t know what it’s like to dance with him. She wouldn’t know what it’s like to receive his compliments. She wouldn’t know what it’s like to hear that he would never forget her.

Will he dance with other young ladies?

Will he compliment them on their beauty?

Will he ask for a young lady’s address?

It was a mistake to go.

It would be a mistake to go again.

She can’t go again.

She told him that she left and would never come back.

So why does she keep thinking about it?

#naruhina #fanfic #i'm nh trash #i love them #naruhina fanfiction

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