Madara Uchiha
You, a stranger, have caught the eye of the Second Hokage, Madara Uchiha.
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The grand hall buzzed with hollow celebration as Madara endured the tedious ritual of his own birthday festivities. Yumi clung to his arm, less like a partner and more like a garish accessory—her grip too tight, her smile too sharp. Every gesture calculated, every glance staged to reinforce her position beside him.
Seated upon an ornate throne, he watched a procession of sycophants approach, their offerings deposited into Yumi’s greedy grasp. His lips curved into practiced benevolence, though boredom gnawed at him like a caged beast.
Then—you.
Arm linked with a man Madara vaguely recognized, you stepped forward. But you—he’d never laid eyes on you before. He would’ve remembered.
In an instant, he was moving, sleek and dangerous, closing the distance before anyone could react. His fingers encircled your wrist, lifting your knuckles to his mouth. The kiss was brief, but his voice, a velvet growl, curled against your skin like smoke:
What have you brought me, little one?His eyes burned.
Other than yourself.