Tag: madara

notbugarts:

I’ve seen a bunch of pics of Madara with short hair recently, and wanted to do my own take. For reasons. One is that I think it wouldn’t look too different from when he was a kid. Second… Imagine the reactions of anyone around if he decided to chop it off. ♡ ┏(＾0＾)┛

Look at this dork, will you?

finishing up those prompts

Prompt: Fuzzball Madara covered in syrup, good luck getting it out of the chest hair. 

I had a lot of fun with this one, and there’s a couple more to finish that @adsumcirrat gave me at the same time.

There’s a reason Madara rarely eats without a top of some sort on. Every now and then, he needs to prove to himself why he does that, and today… It’s warm in the house, even with the wall panels open to let in a breeze. He’s been lounging all afternoon in a loose pair of pants, uninterested in throwing on even a light yukata, which would take him from comfortable to sweating.

Tobirama brought dango in some time ago, setting it in on the table for Madara before heading into the kitchen. As far as sweets go, dango – especially mitarashi dango – is one of the best. The sauce is a thick, sweet and savory syrup that matches the simple balls of mochi. It’s just his luck that he drops the damned thing, when he picks it up. And it lands right in the middle of his chest.

The sound that escapes his throat is equal parts horror and denial. The dango is never going to be the same, because he’s going to have to pick chest hairs out of it before he can eat it. Worse, there’s now mitarashi sauce on his chest, and that’s just… No. Without full on bathing, getting that off is going to be a pain. Not that he’s opposed to baths, he just planned to take his once the day cooled.

Likely alerted by Madara’s squawking, Tobirama comes back, only to stand there blinking at him before bursting into startled laughter. “You utter disaster,” he says, wiping at his eyes. “I’ll go and get you a washcloth.” He’s still snickering as he walks away.

A washcloth. If it’s wet with warm water, it will ensure that he doesn’t feel <i>gross</i> as he lays around for the rest of the afternoon, and he can put off the bath like he had planned. By the time Tobirama returns – seemingly composed, but with a tell-tale tightening of the cheek that suggests he’s actively fighting the urge to keep laughing – Madara’s half-heartedly picking hairs out of the sauce on his stick of dango.

Tobirama’s composure slips, and his shoulders are shaking as he slaps the wet cloth onto Madara’s chest. “You’re pouting, and you look stupid,” he says, and bites his lips.

(Madara knows the truth behind those words. Tobirama thinks he’s cute.)

What about Tobi and mada hanging out together until they realize it’s a date and it’s not what they planned ?

(Not quite what you asked for. Madara’s the one who’s suffering from realization.)

Ever since the village was built, Madara finds that he has less and less to hold against the Senju. He even finds himself curious about one in particular. After a certain battle, when Izuna’s fears were proven fruitless, and Tobirama passionately spoke of what would come, if their clans didn’t put aside their differences.

That was two years ago, and as Madara watched, Tobirama’s words were proven. It didn’t take long at all for Izuna to reluctantly go along with their plans, and now…

Now Madara is trying to learn more about the taciturn, moody bastard that probably saved his clan from death and dwindling by being just as passionate as his brother. One thing he has learned is that Tobirama keeps that passion hidden underneath a tetchy exterior, constantly drowning in his own thoughts, only to verbally eviscerate anyone who bothers him without leave.

He’s endlessly fascinating, and Madara wants to know him.

He doesn’t know what possessed Tobirama to actually agree to spend some time together, getting to know each other, but… Tobirama had paused, given him a thoughtful look, with none of the usual prickliness, and shrugged. Not in dismissal, like Madara initially thought, but in a “I’m not protesting” sort of way.

Restaurant options are kind of limited, but Madara manages to find a place that will be comfortable, and uncrowded in spite of the fact that there’s a sakura viewing festival going on. And how he missed that it’s that time of year, he doesn’t know.

Yet, when he shares his choice with Tobirama, Tobirama decides for the both of them that they’re going to eat in the public garden – something that Hashirama insisted that their budding village needed – and he already has an entire picnic ready. It turns what was meant to be a friendly overture into something awkward. Date-like. Which is absolutely not what Madara was aiming for.

The village is still so small that they manage to find a quiet, empty place near the river, and all the questions Madara had dry up. Tobirama doesn’t seem to mind the silence. They enjoy a variety of snacks that Madara is absolutely certain that Tobirama didn’t make himself, and Tobirama watches the river – flooded with pink petals – with hazy eyes.

When Tobirama isn’t watching the river, he’s watching Madara with a soft expression, one that is at odds with his public persona. It’s as though he’s waiting for something, and the longer it takes for it to happen, the wider his smile grows, his eyes narrowing in hidden mirth.

Madara finally figures it out when Tobirama leans over and kisses him, lips tasting of sake and sakura. This isn’t just “oddly date-like.” As far as Tobirama’s concerned, it’s always been a date.

To his credit, he doesn’t flail over the kiss. He freezes, and then he melts into it.

Didn’t we once upon a time talk about Tobirama being a very hairy man, too, only the hair so light and fine it wasn’t easily obvious. And then Madara one day getting a hint of it, and becoming obsessively curious about just how fuzzy he might be and how it felt? Because hey, I’d love to see something prompted by that :3

A little bit of role reversal here, because I usually write Madara as the hairy one. x’D It’s short, but I had a lot of amusement writing it.

Madara often finds himself disconcerted by the gaze of other people when he takes off his top in public. Sparring, or battle is different, mostly because there’s more to be concerned with there than being watched.

Tobirama doesn’t seem to have that problem. While he sticks to the shade of Hashirama’s porch, drinking iced fruit juice, and looking utterly miserable, he doesn’t bat an eyelash at being stared at. When Madara arrives, he starts to stand, presumably to offer hospitality in his brother’s place, but Madara rolls his eyes and pushes him back onto his butt.

And he stops, blinking, even as Tobirama scowls up at him. For once, Madara’s as barehanded as Tobirama is currently bare-chested. Bear chested. Madara swallows a laugh at the thought. The hairs are so pale that they blend in with Tobirama’s skin, and if it weren’t for this touch, Madara would never have noticed.

Madara doesn’t know what clues Tobirama in to what is fascinating him – and really, it is fascinating, the texture of wiry hair under his fingers – but his hand gets slapped away, and Tobirama’s scowl turns downright petulant. There’s also a rising flush that makes the hair more visible. “Did you want something, or are you just here to feel me up?”

He has no control over what his mouth does next. “I’d be happy to feel you up some more.”

Much later, when Hashirama asks him about the swelling visible on his cheek, Madara lies through his teeth. The man doesn’t need to know that Tobirama punched him for an exceptionally audacious line, and he especially doesn’t need to know that Madara has a date for tomorrow night.

Hello, I see your ask for prompts. How about Tobirama and Madara at the hot springs? Shippy, friends, enemies on netural ground. Whatever you want to do with it.

So I went with a little shippy, and a little enemies on neutral ground. x’D I enjoyed writing this.

–

Visiting an onsen is a rare luxury for Tobirama, even public ones. Or perhaps he should say, especially public ones. It’s dangerous for a shinobi to let their guard down, but the hot water ekes the stress from his muscles, and he lays back against the rocks, a cool towel on his face, to enjoy the wonderful liquid warmth.

He isn’t marking the time. He has plenty of it, given that no one expects him home until late tomorrow. With the hot springs nearly empty this time of year, he’s blissfully alone. No Touka to demand the details of his mission, no Hashirama trailing at his heels, paranoid that he’s hiding an injury. Which, he would like to note, he hasn’t done since he was fifteen. It was a lesson well learned.

He also is paying far less attention to his surroundings than he ought to. He hears bare feet on stone, but they’re graceless, fumbling steps. No shinobi worth their salt would walk like that.

For some reason, civilians don’t like sitting in their own little corner. They always, always, approach, and they aren’t good at recognizing when a man wants to be left alone. The damp feet walk closer, a soft and sticky patter of sound, before their owner finally enters the water. Unlike the steps, the slip into the water is nearly soundless, and that’s what rings the first bells of alarm in Tobirama’s head.

Not a civilian. A shinobi that is good enough to sound like one. A shinobi whose chakra is hidden away to almost nothing, because all Tobirama senses feels like a civilian. Shinobi who can hide so well from his senses are rare, and when they’re the enemy, Tobirama likes to make them even rarer.

He’s too good to tense. Too good to shake off the towel that hides his eyes, even though he wants to see. Instead, he continues to listen, senses wide open for the inevitable moment when he can sense the chakra next to him clearly. The man has a deep voice, and he hums to himself in an indistinct way that makes it unrecognizable. It’s actually quite pleasant to listen to, almost distractingly so.

It isn’t until the man actually speaks – an inane comment on the weather – that Tobirama recognizes him, and he’s unable to stop the visceral reaction he has. He’s scooting away, the towel falling from his face before he can even think, ‘Madara doesn’t know it’s me.’

Madara squawks, also backing away, eyes wide. “What the..? Why are you..? The fuck are you doing here, Senju?!”

“I was relaxing!” He can’t even control his tongue, apparently. The jolt of adrenaline and indignation overpower all the work he’s put into maintaining a stoic demeanor. “Must you ruin everything good?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” And Madara slumps down, scowling at him. “Can we just. Forget about this? I was looking forward to doing nothing for a couple of hours.”

As difficult as relaxing next to an enemy will be, Tobirama still agrees. Partly because he feels similarly. Also, because Hashirama would be disappointed to hear that he got into a fight with Madara. Even if they’re enemies.

They maintain an uneasy silence for a time, Madara occasionally glancing at him out of the corner of his eyes. The awkwardness of the situation is palpable between them, and it doesn’t take long for Tobirama to grow disgusted with it. So he breaks the silence with an insult. “You look like you’re wearing a bush.”

Madara’s hands come up defensively, but they don’t reach for his hair, like Tobirama would have expected. Instead they cross over his chest, and the frankly impressive growth there. “It’s not like I can help it!”

Sometimes Tobirama forgets that Madara was once truly friends with Hashirama. But now he’s seeing that sensitivity that his brother enjoyed prodding. “I was meaning what you did to your hair, but I suppose that counts as well.”

More bemused than anything else, one of Madara’s hands creeps up to his hair, patting at the loose bundle tied high on his head. To Tobirama’s amusement, the man pouts. “I didn’t want to get it wet.”

Tobirama has the worst urge right now. He debates internally with himself, and decides that the worst that could happen is that fight he was originally worried about.

Madara’s screech as the water swallows him is oh so very satisfying. The subsequent fight is less of a fight than it is naked wrestling, and Tobirama can’t stop laughing.

They might end up kissing, Madara trying to shut him up, and Tobirama might enjoy it a little too much. They almost end up doing more, but sensibility wins out. When they leave, they’re both a little flushed, with smiles that are difficult to suppress.

(Izuna’s the last obstacle, really, between them and peace. He hopes that Madara can convince him to see their side, but if not… Tobirama has his own arguments to prepare.)