A/N: It's silly, horny time. Temper your expectations of the "plot" accordingly ✌️


ITAMA


Little is as she imagined it today. Although she'd known, of course, negotiations must be held on neutral ground, somewhere yet unsettled, she'd still pictured something grander when considering the idea. A large room with high ceilings and soft light to filter through the silks, the type of room in which peace might be made, in her mind. Reality is a simple arrangement of hammered wooden poles and hung linens, just the same as she's seen used at the camps her brothers trained in, though here, the linens are both more finely crafted and heavily worn in a way the ones she's seen before were not. At the front is a simple eaved frame through which to enter, bracketed by Senju soldiers on one side and Uchiha on the other.

Itama has never before laid eyes on the Uchiha and to do so now unsettles her. Hashirama insists they are a fiercely loving clan and openly so, but there is little evidence of that before her. All throughout their walk through the Senju settlement, both of her brothers were greeted with kind words and broad smiles, shows of deference and respect, warmth and admiration both. While there was more effusiveness in Hashirama's reception, Itama thinks it's likely only because Tobirama doesn't invite it as their older brother does. When Uchiha Madara arrives, it's to a heavy shift in the air around him and the silence of his own people.

Once inside, Itama takes the seat next to Tobirama as they settle. It's the furthest from Madara's, and she has to remind herself to stare neither at him nor her own hands folded in her lap. The legacy of the Senju is one of great strength, and Itama searches for that strength within herself now as she tries to hide away the worst of her fears. In an effort to distract herself, she turns her eyes towards Izuna instead. Hashirama has told her of the girl who fights with blade and word both at her brother's side, scarcely older than herself, but Itama had been unable to imagine such a girl with any real clarity or sense of belief. Now, with Izuna before her, it makes sense. She moves with all the poise and grace of a woman truly grown, but nothing about her is demure in the way Itama has come to believe such refinement should be impossible without. Madara may frighten her, but Izuna is daunting in a way that makes Itama wish to be nearer to her.

"By now, we all know why we're here well enough that there's little reason to delay." Hashirama is jovial as ever, leaning forward to look around the table at them all. "A sister for a sister, a wife for a wife. A promise of care and trust between our clans upon which to build the village. A good and honourable proposal for all involved, is it not?" He looks hopeful. Tobirama opens his mouth to speak and Izuna chooses precisely that moment to make her voice heard.

"That it is," she agrees. If Itama weren't so close to her brother, she might miss the subtle shift in his demeanour. It seems Izuna's easy reaction has indeed come as a surprise. "When Madara spoke to me of your proposal on behalf of your brother, I can't say I expected it, but all the same, I accept." Izuna turns to look at Tobirama and tension unlike any she's felt before rolls off her brother in waves. "If he would have me," she adds. Itama takes in the curl of her lips and the challenge buried in her words and struggles to tell her brother's unease from her own. Hashirama turns to ask Tobirama his answer, but he gives it before the words leave their elder brother's lips.

"I would." Weighted as it is by memories and enmity Itama can hardly fathom, she feels her brother's voice in her bones and wonders if she's the only one. Across the table, Izuna seems unphased.

"Wonderful!" Hashirama exclaims, then he turns to her and Itama's heart climbs into her throat. "Itama, what of—"

"Is not a match between Izuna and I union enough between our clans?" Tobirama interrupts. Itama breathes slightly easier, but irritation stirs faintly underneath the relief. Although Hashirama is the one her brother asks, it's Izuna who answers.

"It would hardly be a balanced one." To Itama, she seems perfectly reasonable, but it's clear how her brother bristles at the question.

"Of course it would be, the second child of both our families brought together by marriage—"

"Naivety doesn't suit you, Tobirama."

"I'm only being practical. A wellborn daughter is an asset to any village. If Izuna secures the peace between our clans, perhaps it's wisest to look to others who might join us in settling here for a match for Itama." At that, Itama feels any relief leave her as her palms begin to sweat, hands going cold. Madara terrifies her, but whatever she knows of the Uchiha is, at least, more than any of them know of clans outside of their two settlements. At least here, she knows for certain she will remain within her brothers' reach.

"If the offer of your sister's hand is rescinded," Izuna turns to Hashirama to speak, "I will withdraw my own acceptance in turn."

"You would allow such pettiness to get in the way of peace?" Tobirama questions, voice hard.

"Trust me, Tobirama, it's not I who is the petty one between us," Izuna sneers.

"She's right." Until now, Madara has remained quiet enough that Itama nearly jumps when he speaks, looking to him as he leans forward and finding her cheeks inexplicably hot. "You get Izuna, a wife, an Uchiha body, and in return, what will my clan be given? What assurance are we offered?"

"One of peace," Tobirama snaps.

"Does your clan not gain the same?" There is a weight and depth to Madara's voice that leaves an echo in her mind when he speaks. Itama does her best to shake herself free of it and finds it impossible. She's seldom allowed herself to look at him since they arrived, and now she has, she struggles to look away. Untamed hair and tired eyes, he holds himself with the same confidence as her brothers, but there is an edge to him she's not seen in them. When she thinks of feeling its sharpness for herself, she cannot tell whether it's fear or intrigue that sets her heart racing.

"Let us not go back down this path," Hashirama interrupts before the argument can escalate. "We've not even—"

"If your sister is amenable, I will have her as my wife," Madara declares and all at once, Itama's world narrows to Hashirama's eyes on her and the beat of her heart rushing in her ears. Tobirama and Madara remain locked in a stare and Itama tries to gather herself. Her would-be husband hasn't looked her way once since they gathered, but he spoke without even a trace of hesitance. What she wouldn't give for even half his certainty.

"Itama," Hashirama speaks gently, "are you willing to become Madara's wife?" Itama thinks of every nightmare she ever had of red-eyed demons with wild hair. Every night spent wondering if her brothers would come home and, on the worst of them, praying to any god who might be listening that her father would not. Itama thinks of cautions, reassurances, wise words from both her brothers, and still, Mito's words drown all of it out.

"Yes," she breathes, unable to quite believe herself. "Yes, I am willing."


TOBIRAMA


"Wonderful." Hashirama claps his hands together, delighted, and Tobirama has rarely been so incensed with his brother's willful foolishness as he is now.

"This is ridiculous," Tobirama insists, "I do you the favour of accepting Izuna—" Across the table, Izuna scoffs.

"Don't forget yourself, Tobirama—" Hashirama begins, but Izuna stops him.

"Worry not, Hashirama," she assuages, there's an undercurrent to her voice that irritates Tobirama further with every word she speaks, "I've felt for myself the favour your brother wishes to show me." When her eyes turn back to him, the knot of anger building in his chest turns molten. "I have no doubt in his sincerest wish to be my husband."

"It's heedless to speak so brazenly, even for a woman of your nature," Tobirama bites. Although the words are spoken harshly, especially to one's betrothed, he keeps his voice at a far more even keel than he wishes. "You should thank me for being willing to make something of you."

"I do not need you to make something of me, Tobirama," Izuna intones, shaking her head ever so slightly as she speaks, as if she finds even having to do so profoundly unworthy of her time. "I'm not some Senju girl raised to fill the role of a glorified brood sow. If you're truly so off-put, refuse to have me. No one will force your hand." Izuna has never been shy, but she's a clever diplomat and the words are blunt by her standard.

"It's because I do not refuse you that I believe our marriage alone should be enough."

"And if I prove that my worth is no less than that of your sister, by your own standard? What reason will you hold for protest against Itama's match with my brother then?" Izuna holds his gaze and Tobirama searches for some sense that won't be read as protest for protest's sake.

"How do you intend to do so?" he stalls.

"By your own beliefs. What reason, Tobirama? I've asked you a question." Another demand she's not entitled to make, it's a habit Tobirama looks forward to breaking her of.

"None," he admits. There is resentment to being backed into a corner, though a part of him is curious to see what she'll do.

"Hashirama," she turns to his brother, "by what means might a woman prove her purity to your people?" Tobirama works to keep his breath even. There are only two ways, neither he would have her pursue in the presence of other men.

"A formal examination comes later, but we haven't the means to do so here and now—" Hashirama smiles genially and does his best to redirect, but Izuna isn't easily swayed.

"Is there no other way? I'd like to end this argument tonight."

"There is one," he speaks hesitantly, "but it hardly seems appropriate—"

"I'll decide for myself." Tobirama bristles at the way Izuna interrupts his brother so shamelessly, ever tired by Hashirama's refusal to reprimand the behaviour. Madara, of course, seems to care little, sitting at his sister's side, looking more than content to allow her to run roughshod over any semblance of balance or due respect. "What is it?"

"Izuna, this is truly—"

"It's—" When Itama is the one to interrupt their brother, Tobirama is taken aback, first by her voice, she so rarely speaks out of turn, and then by the force of his own anger. One encounter and she's begun to take Izuna's poor habits as her own. Itama bites her lip, stares up at him for a moment as though she's afraid he'll reprimand her, but she continues regardless, turning back to Izuna. "It's said that the peak of a woman's breast will darken if she is licentious." At that, Izuna smiles at his sister as she never has at him and thanks her graciously.

"An easy fix, then. Thank you, Itama. I'm pleased you don't hold your brother's penchant for making things difficult." She grins as if sharing a secret, and at his side, Itama blushes and Tobirama's knuckles go further white as he wills the too-tight stretch of tendon over bone to ground him. Izuna stands and reaches behind herself to begin tugging at her obi.

"That's not necessary." Hashirama stands, halfway in a panic. "Izuna, I'm sorry for my brother's rudeness, please don't feel you must—"

"If she wants to make a fool of herself, let her." Tobirama feels the hollow scrape of his words against his ribs. If Itama is going to look to Izuna as some example of what a woman should be, she should first see her for what she is. The thought that his own brother might see his betrothed so exposed makes his heart beat heavy in his chest, but to stay Itama's corruption is worth any price.

"You have done enough brother," Hashirama hisses as Izuna's obi lands at her feet. He falls back to his knees to grab at Madara's sleeve. "This is stupid. Madara, have you nothing to say?" Madara is the only one of them who remains relaxed, seemingly unaffected by his sister's brashness.

"This is Izuna's marriage, not my own. She can negotiate it as she wishes."

"This is hardly a negotiation—" Hashirama tries, but his voice fades from Tobirama's mind as Izuna steps across the table, forcing herself into his space, and lifts the hem of her tunic to expose herself to him as she stares down at him with eyes as vicious as ever.

"Look your fill, Senju," Izuna spits. "Do I appear used to you? Am I as you feared?" Yes, Tobirama wants to scream the word, drag her nearer and claw it from her own throat. Yes, you are exactly as I feared. Far off, Tobirama hears the clash of metal on wood and is suddenly reminded that they are not so alone as he'd like. Heat lances down his spine to coil tight and heavy in his gut and Tobirama is struck with regret. Without thought, he stands and grabs hold of Izuna's hem to rip it from her hands and drag it down again.

"Cover yourself," he growls.

"Why should I? Aren't you so sure everyone has already seen what I—"

"Izuna—"

"Let us be done with this," Hashirama implores. For a moment, neither of them move, then Izuna sighs and breaks from his gaze, turning to return to her seat. It leaves a bitter taste in Tobirama's mouth that it's his pleas that get Izuna to comply and begin to right her clothes. Impulsively, he catches her wrist and drags her in closer to him, surprised she doesn't try to break his hold as tears a strip from the hem of her tunic and holds it out in front of her.

"Prove there are no games."

"You truly think I prepared for your absurd beliefs?" Izuna scoffs.

"This was your idea, was it not? How am I to know it wasn't planned? Prove it."

"Fine," Izuna bites. She swipes the cloth from his hand with little grace and Tobirama watches as the peak of her small breast stiffens under it. He catches the sharp, familiar scent that haunts his nights and drives him to bloodlust and when she holds out the cloth for him, no stain to mar it, and asks him if he's pleased, Tobirama grabs her wrist before she can drop it at his feet as he knows she intends to.

"Not as pleased as you." He leans in close, keeps his voice low and admires the curve of her pretty neck, imagining what it might be like to split the skin there and feel the notches of her spine bow under his touch. "I can smell your ease." She may not be a whore, but she certainly has the nature of one. He stands straight and plucks the cloth from her fingers and believes he's had the last shot until Izuna spits in his face. Temper gets the best of him as indignant fury explodes in his chest and cuts through rational thought. Acting on instinct, Tobirama raises his hand and Izuna is dragged back across the table and out of reach by Madara as Hashirama shouts.

"That is more than enough!"

"Not quite," Izuna demands, "Itama should have to do the same."

"No," Tobirama answers reflectively. "She will not—"

"She will," Izuna argues. "This was about proving myself her equal, was it not? Now that I've done so, should she not be proven to be mine?"

"Izuna," Madara speaks sense at last, "there's no need."

"There is," Izuna insists, though her eyes don't leave Tobirama's. "Would it not be an insult?" she asks him. "To know men have seen the body of your wife but the Uchiha leader hasn't suffered the same? Which do you value more, Tobirama? Your pride, or your sister's?"


MADARA


Madara pays little attention to the argument between his sister and her betrothed . Even in his mind, the word sours and he cannot shake the bitterness of it. To see Tobirama's eyes on her, to be faced with such a blatant reminder that he'll be the one to know her as even he himself does not—the thought sickens him enough that he's almost grateful when Izuna stirs animosity between them once more, though less so when she tries to push Itama into her same recklessness. She should know better. Unfortunately for them all, Izuna makes points that can no longer be politely ignored once said out loud.

"It's alright," Itama's voice is quiet and clearly hesitant. It's the first time Madara has properly looked at her all night, and it's clear the girl is terrified. Her effort to overcome her own fear is almost laughable for its need. "I'll do it, brother." She looks up at Tobirama as she speaks. "Izuna is not wrong, it would be unfair."

"Itama, it is not the same," Tobirama insists. Truthfully, Madara has always respected the Senju for his strength if little else, but to see how Tobirama twists himself into knots to coddle his sister to the point of crippling her is pitiful in a way he'd not expected of him. Regardless of his own disinterest, he can, at least, consider removing Itama from under her brother's thumb an act of kindness on his part.

"Is your sister not grown enough for marriage? Surely she can decide for herself." To watch as Tobirama's gaze snaps to him, brow pinched tight, is always satisfying.

"It is not up to her —"

"Calm yourself, Senju." Madara gets to his feet, stretching his stiff back and working the ache from his shoulders as he does. "If Itama is to be my wife, this will be the first of many decisions she'll make for herself. However unready you are for her to learn, it seems the same can't be said of her." As he speaks, he turns to her and smiles in a way he hopes resembles something reassuring, only just managing to keep himself from sighing as she turns red under his gaze. Needling Tobirama, at least, makes this all somewhat worthwhile. He holds his hand out to help Itama to her feet. "Come," he doesn't mean for it to be a demand, merely a request, but from the way she flinches before rushing to her feet, she takes it as one. Placed in his own, he can feel the dampness of her palm.

Guiding her over the table, he walks them back far enough that no one else will see her, and she need not look at the rest of the room while exposed. Transparent fear lingers in her eyes and Madara finds little patience for her nerves, though he will do his best to make as though they don't tired him, if only for Hashirama's sake. It's a struggle not to roll his eyes at the way she balks when he reaches out with his other hand to pull her nearer by her elbow. He's gentle, but one wouldn't guess it from the way she reacts, he can tell as much from the look on Tobirama's face behind her. The vicious downwards curl of his lips leaves Madara unable to resist the urge to tease, just a little. "Come nearer , sweet girl." He lowers his voice as he coaxes her gently forward, but not so much he thinks Tobirama won't hear him. "No one else need see you but I."

"Of course," Itama's face flushes as she speaks, voice timid but allowing herself to be pulled closer all the same, and Madara despairs. She would make a pretty enough plaything, but he suspects she'll waste herself on nerves and modesty instead. A part of him wonders if he shouldn't have considered more carefully before agreeing to take her as his wife, but if Izuna is to go to the Senju, there must be something at stake for Tobirama to lose in turn if he hurts her.

"Good girl," he soothes, trying to keep any mockery from his voice and not certain if he's succeeded. It's lucky she's likely too frightened to notice one way or another. Itama remains frozen stiff in front of him as he reaches behind her to find the knot of the red obi belted at her waist. Upon realizing she holds her breath, he can't quite keep back the low laugh that seems to startle her. "Relax," he urges, "I'll only loosen it. Your hands tremble too badly to do so."

"I'm sorry," Itama's voice is wane. Madara doesn't bother to reply, instead loosening her obi only enough that he might part the top of her kimono without the rest falling open. Standing upright again, he takes the lapels of her outer robe in hand and holds each side open enough to be certain she is blocked from view to all but him.

"Hold this." Itama does as asked, taking the fabric from him with unsteady hands so Madara can focus on ending her anticipation. He does his best to take some pleasure in the way she shivers as he runs his knuckles down the hem of her neckline before pulling the fabric aside. Even he can admit there is a certain novelty to the sharp intake of breath that fills her chest and the way the action moves her. Most Uchiha women are slim by nature and Madara has rarely fraternized outside of his clan. Even at her young age, Itama has a full figure that's pleasing to the eye. The peaks of her breasts have stiffened and her breath comes quick, pulse fluttering by the hollow of her throat. When he glances up, Tobirama burns holes through his skin with the intensity of his glare and Madara cannot help but draw things out just a little longer. Holding the Senju's eyes, brings his thumb up to his mouth to wet before turning back to his sister.

"You're so lovely, one must be sure you come by it honestly," Madara speaks with a tone he rarely has the patience for and Itama gasps when he cups her breast and runs his thumb over the peak, toying under the guise examining any paint that might come away under his touch, already aware there's none to be found but finding his first real spark of amusement in the way she shifts.

"That's enough, Uchiha." Toirama asserts. "Now, you only seek to bring trouble."

"It's hardly my fault you didn't think to be so thorough yourself." Despite his words, Madara has no wish to torture the young girl any longer, and he withdraws his touch. "I'm satisfied." Itama hurries to cover herself, and within seconds of her stepping away, Tobirama is there, helping her to tighten her obi while she hides her flushed cheeks against his chest. Madara watches Tobirama's face darken as his nostrils flare and wonders if the Demon Senju can smell the wet Madara suspects is between Itama's legs.


IZUNA


Everyone resumes their seats but settling once more does little to ease the tension in the air. Itama's eyes remain fixed on the table, cheeks red enough that Izuna wonders if she's dizzy, and both Tobirama and Madara are wound tight. Part of Izuna wants to feel sorry for Itama, but truthfully, the sooner she learns to be bold, the better she'll do with the Uchiha. Tobirama, on the other hand, she would like to see snap under the strain to keep his temper.

"With that out of the way," Hashirama sounds more than a little dismayed at how the day's negotiations have unfolded, "there is still the formal confirmation of purity to consider." No longer distracted by her own irritation, Izuna listens as he explains. Once they've settled on a dowry and been to see the matchmaker, an examination will be held. Both she and Itama will allow their respective affianced to inspect between their legs, confirm they remain intact, and bring them to pleasure for the first time to see that they are sensitive as two untouched girls should be. Izuna wants to ask how literal Hashirama's meaning is, if Senju brides are truly expected to have never known pleasure at even their own touch before their husband's, but holds back. When Hashirama explains that the examination is typically carried out by the father of the groom, Izuna feels a shudder run down her spine and coil nauseous in her gut. It's rare that she thinks of Tobirama as the lesser evil, but in this case, she is certain of it. The thought of Senju Butsuma between her legs—she struggles to think of anything more revolting. "I understand how it might sound, but it is a sacred Senju tradition—"

"Then we will honour it," Izuna does not care for having Madara speak for her, but she trusts him to even so, and she enjoys the way Tobirama's face darkens when Madara turns his eyes to his sister. "This is about unity between our clans, is it not?"

"Of course," Hashirama beams. "Now, of Itama's trousseau…"

All in all, the rest of the day passes with great tedium, but Izuna enjoys the familiar distraction of pulling apart Tobirama's words to keep her mind from examining too closely the flush that lingers under her skin. It's not something she'll allow herself to hide from, but she must learn to moderate the feel before it drives her to be negligent. Regardless of how he's unsettled her, though, she is satisfied because it's evident she's unbalanced him even more so. Even now, with time for everyone to have gathered themselves, Tobirama is not so even-tempered as he was when they arrived. It's always pleasing, but today even more so, as Izuna's confidence in her plan to ruin him grows with every line drawn deeper into his face, every muscle held taut with irritation.

More intriguing for the moment is Itama. She remains something of a blank spot in Izuna's periphery. Timid in a way Izuna scarcely believed anyone could be, having grown up as they did, but then, she supposes that Itama did not grow up as they did. To have sheltered a child so thoroughly from the war that took their sibling and many of their clansmen seems as though it should have been an impossibility, and yet here Itama sits, pure as the driven snow and unable to look either she or her brother in the eye without flustering. Sweet, Izuna thinks, she is so, very sweet . Enough so that she's sure to spoil under the heat of the Uchiha banner.

There's little for it now, before they leave this table, agreements of marriage will be signed and the village will be written into being, word sent to the Daimyō so that they might seek the legitimacy they've fought for. Still, if Itama is to keep herself from blistering too badly at the side of her new husband, she must find her nerve and fast. Izuna struggles to pin down the reason the thought leaves her feeling bereft, but there's little time to dwell on that now. Madara should be— deserves to be happy within his marriage, and Itama, Senju or no, is to be her sister by law. She will bear her brother's children and Izuna will love them with all her heart. Family is sacred, it's one of the few beliefs their clans hold in common and it's the one that Izuna will use to help Itama find a place within her clan.

Madara, even prone as he is to optimism, is poor at hiding his despair from her and she suspects he worries he will never have the love their father held for their mother if he's to marry Itama. Izuna won't allow him to wallow in such beliefs, and to break him of them shouldn't be difficult. When they marry, they will no longer stand on war-torn ground held by tentative peace, they will stand on new ground named for a village born out of love and as much as Izuna may hold her own feelings towards the wisdom of founding such a thing with the Senju, she is proud of her brother and knows his sentimentality will run too strong to be resisted. As long as Itama can learn to open herself to his warmth, he will learn to love his new wife despite himself, Izuna is sure of it.

Knowing how the Senju pride themselves on their connection to the earth and all its creatures, she wonders if Itama might like to see the springs with all of the plants that grow by the edge of the rock and nowhere else in the valley, unique to the humid heat of the area. Perhaps she should bring her to the medicine woman, the Senju are known for their herbs, both in food and healing, and if Senju women are expected to nurture, cook and little else, Itama must know them well. There's little hope for her as a warrior, but perhaps she'll find her value elsewhere.

If she'd known what to expect upon arrival, Izuna might have expected she'd leave angry, haunted by the chill of Tobirama's touch, but despite the way it lingers, Izuna feels rather the opposite. For the first time, the thought of the village is one that leaves her optimistic. To see her brother well loved and her people safe—there is little else she could ever ask for, and both feel more within reach than ever before. A messenger rides with the newly signed scroll, and Izuna feels as if no touch, however frigid, could anchor her to the ground under her feet.


A/N: TELL ME why I can post explicit, graphic, detailed dead-dove porn without blinking but THIS has me all 😳 Also, I don't know why I'm incapable of writing Tobirama without incel vibes, but I really, really am. RIP.

And, because it's inevitable that someone is going to drop into the comments to complain that this is a thin excuse to touch some tits, let's all remind ourselves that this fic is a PWP, thank you 😌