Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I.

It was almost shamefully pathetic how desperately Hashirama begged, only a few short leaps of judgment away from the pure desperation of kneeling before him; his voice was wavering, his eyes pleading. Madara felt his lip curl in disgust at such a paltry display that surely was so against Hashirama's Alpha nature. 

But then again, Hashirama often opted to act like a mere Beta. Why he'd ever lower himself to such levels, eluded Madara entirely. Yet he couldn't help but savor the moment of another strong, capable Alpha submitting to him in such manner —

"Please!" 

— Hashirama had said and it had sent a jolt of satisfaction down Madara's spine, making him feel drunk off of power. 

"Please, think about it, Madara!" 

How could he have not indulged in the thought then, if the other most powerful Alpha in this current world besides himself was begging him so prettily? It was so flattering to his Alpha ego, to his character as a strong shinobi that he did actually think about it — even if the serious consideration of the matter only lasted for a few minutes. 

Truthfully, he never planned to go through with it. Why should he give the Senju any chance at reconciliation at all? They had killed a majority of his close family, his father and many of his siblings; and killing pack was one of the most atrocious crimes that could be committed. It was something unforgivable. It didn’t matter then, that Madara had actually felt pleased that he could step up and take the position as lead Alpha of the Uchiha clan from his deceased father: that had been the only positive thing to come out of it. No matter how mirthful he could feel, the Senju were still at fault. 

Mangy, treacherous scum that they were. 

And while he did have a short lived, relatively close friendship with Senju Hashirama, it did little to persuade his mind to consider actual peace. It had been a long time ago, they were children with no serious thought for the world, set apart far from reality. And even back then, Madara had found Hashirama more amusing than anything else. He'd left those childish imaginations behind immediately after the parted ways in friendship a final time. 

And yet, he indulged. How far would Hashirama take it? How low would he go, to please Madara? To make this ridiculous idea of peace actually work? Fueled by this new feeling of power and the malicious joy of what could happen, he nodded. Slowly and meaningfully. 

“Fine.” He cocked his head to look down at Hashirama, “We will meet again for talks in three days time, at this exact location.”

The location: the battlefield, in which countless bodies laid. The dead from the gruesome fight that had taken place until a few short hours prior; to retrieve their deceased and to give them a proper burial pyre they’d need those three days. He didn’t think that anyone quite important died, his brother was alive as well as his close advisor Hikaku, but the families back at the settlement would want to properly grieve over their fallen. 

They would’ve certainly won this battle and decimated the Senju ranks, if Hashirama hadn’t pleaded for an armistice in the middle of their heated duel. It had rubbed him the wrong way at first, still so agitated and fired up by adrenaline and aggression, but the desperate tone had made him curious. 

This is what had come from it. Madara didn’t even wait for Hashirama to answer, he’d stated his terms and either the other Alpha would accept them or not. 

He turned and quickly made his way through the muddied, trampled earth: wet from water and blood, the stench of burned flesh hung thickly in the air. After he'd gained some distance, Hikaku hurried to his side as he retrieved his kiseru from underneath his armor — his Beta advisor looked fine, if not a little roughened up. 

“Round up the living, see that our wounded are properly treated and ready to travel. Count how many made it and send a falcon ahead for the medics. We will come for the deceased tomorrow and start with the funerals the day after.” He said as he was stuffing the pipe’s small bowl with the bit of tobacco that he always carried with him.

Madara’s thick fingers were soiled, blotchy with drying blood; crimson and dark it stuck to his fingers, smearing on the pipe’s stem, the bowl, the tobacco. He didn’t mind. It was a usual sight.

“I will do as told, my Lord.” Hikaku dutifully answered, “What shall we do with the couple of Senju that we have captured during this battle?” 

Madara looked up from his activity, towards the far away treeline rising under the gray, clouded sky, thinking. A murder of crows rose from the pines, cawing and screeching loudly in delight of the deadly outcome of this battle — hoping for eyes as a treat, soft flesh to rip from bones. 

“Anyone important?” He asked. 

In the corner of his eyes he saw how Hikaku shook his head. “No, my Lord.”

“Hm.”

He guided the kiseru to his mouth and carefully enlightened the tobacco with a small fire jutsu, taking a few deep inhales — the warm, familiar burn hit his lung and he exhaled the tasteful smoke with no hurry at all.

“Kill them.” He said and left.

Business went along. Madara watched a dozen pyres go up in flames — the heavy incense smelling of lavender and lemon balm hung in sickenly thick clouds over the settlement's funeral square. He shook the close relatives’ hands, expressed his condolences, grimly swore vengeance to his simple people — went home and slept peacefully. The remnants of the herbal scent still clung to his nose when he returned to the fallow battlefield after three days.

Madara kind of expected it to escalate into battle again, as he never really planned to indulge Hashirama's delusions for too long. He was simply curious. But as a caution he held some couple dozen men back, hidden a few yards from their meeting point, only taking a handful of trusted subordinates with him. Hikaku included. 

He saw Hashirama standing in a small crowd of Senju shinobi from afar, feeling validated in his precautious actions as Hashirama seemed to have done the same. But as he finally arrived within talking distance, the Senju was distracted, his face in a concentrated frown and eyes staring down at the muddy ground as someone was leaning closely into his space. 

The man that was whispering into his ear looked like a right bird of paradise among the brown haired, tanned folk surrounding him.

Silverish white hair curled in large, generous locks and strands around his slightly averted face, only held back by a metal forehead protector. The exposed throat and the hand on Hashirama’s shoulders were so pale they rivaled an Uchiha’s fairness. 

He was clothed downright decadently in comparison to his comrades, with a deep, navy blue armor that looked very similar in design to Hashirama’s bloodred body protection. On his broad shoulders and as a part of the armor rested a large, white fur trim; by Madara’s judgment, it had to be the skin of a snow fox. The get up not only looked impressive, but expensive. 

A man of status? From the main family's circle, perhaps? Madara could see that the armor was scratched up in places, even if well maintained; he certainly has been to battle. 

But this wasn’t the thing that bothered Madara. So one unusual Senju actually managed to accumulate some wealth unlike the pathetic and poor majority of his clan, comme si, comme ça.

What actually ticked him off was the fact that Hashirama was actually listening to the man, hanging off of his every word, even going so far as to only quickly acknowledge Madara’s presence with a brief upward flicker of his eyes and then ignoring him in favor of the man next to him. 

Not quite the supplicant now, with the way he nodded in a stern, determined way.

Madara felt one of his eyes twitch in irritation and he waved for Hikaku, who immediately was by his side, leaning closer — but by far not as close as the man next to Hashirama did. It seemed like such an eerily familiar scene for them and it rubbed Madara the wrong way. 

“Tell me who that is.” Madara demanded in a low tone. 

“Oh, we don’t quite know either, my Lord. He is definitely part of the Senju clan in some way, but was rarely seen on the battlefield. Among your shinobi he is known as ‘The White Demon’, as his skills in battle are quite unprecedented, even if they do not quite compare to Senju Hashirama’s or yours. He has been quite a problem in the past and we tended to lose the battles he was involved in.” Hikaku murmured. 

“What?! Why am I only told about this now?!” Madara hissed angrily, throwing his advisor a glare.

Hikaku looked a little sheepish. “Because the data wasn’t quite clear, it’s merely an estimate of mine. And The White Demon has always made a conscious effort to stay away from you or your brother as far as I’ve observed, my Lord.”

Madara huffed in annoyance and turned his gaze forward again. Now that he thought about it, he had seen the blue armor before; in the distance, in battle. He felt his eyes narrow in growing suspicion as Hashirama and the man broke apart, which finally gave Madara a good view of him. 

He couldn't help but inhale sharply.

The White Demon looked as if he was carved from marble by a true master of the fine arts, otherworldly handsome and stoic as could be. He looked straight ahead, right into Madara’s eyes; meeting his gaze unafraid and utterly unimpressed. Madara felt his blood boil as he scrutinized the sharp cheekbones, the strong nose, the pale, plush lips. The sharp, crimson seal tattoos that spoke of serious commitment. 

The eyes, astounding; glowing garnets, tiny, priceless jewels misplaced in a filthy Senju like him. A color Madara had never seen before, not even in the sharingan. How could it be? 

His gaze — sharp, grim, almost predatory which seemed profoundly jarring for a Beta that he likely was. Both parties walked closer and Madara already felt raw and rubbed the wrong way, his inner Alpha ego rearing its head and demanding to put this insolent Beta into place. 

That man meant trouble, whoever he was. 

The mood was tense, stretched taut like a longbow as the air seemed to grow thicker and more meaningful by the minute. The sky was as gray as the days before — the same crows circling in the sky, looking for the last scraps of meat that had possibly been left behind.

“Madara.” Hashirama greeted seriously, “You came. I didn’t think you would.”


Madara sneered. “You wound me, Hashirama. Have I ever broken my word?”


Hashirama frowned at that, but didn’t dare to contradict him. Instead, he straightened, reaching out for a handshake; which Madara actually took. 

“Very well. I pleaded to you for this meeting, I’m glad that you’ve considered it. I want to go into these talks as open as possible and I’ve brought my brother, Tobirama. He’s actually quite skilled with negotiations.”


Hashirama gestured to the man next to him, who had his head held high, his arms crossed over his large chest. He gave Madara a cold look over which made the Alpha bristle. Brother?  

How could that be? Madara wondered, I never knew Hashirama had another brother. Weren't they all dead? 

The White Demon, or Tobirama, slowly unfolded his arms and, too, held his hand out in greeting, though it looked like he forced himself to, as if he did the Alpha a favor. Madara, wanting to have the high ground and not back down, stepped closer, took the warm, strong hand and—

A windrow of scent hit him, carried by a faint breeze. Flowery and wild, like summer meadow bloom, elder, hyacinth, a faint hint of something sharp and biting like— Horseradish? No, aconite! — intense and clear, nothing overly sweet, not at all saccharine and yet still so very clearly—

Omega. 

Madara almost lost the strength in his hand in sudden surprise, only regaining countenance in the last second, staring ahead at the man in front of him. 

This arrogant, stoic, broad-shouldered Senju shinobi, known to be capable and skilled, that looked at him as if he was nothing but dirt underneath his boots, haughty and supercilious in his entire behavior, so fearless and undismayed by Madara's Alpha presence and overall person was a goddamned Omega. 

Every proper Alpha that thought himself to be someone of name and rank, of power and influence, needed an Omega. It was essentially a rule of nature. At least in Madara's world dynamic and he by far wasn't the only one — the majority of society, especially of shinobi society worked this way. Alpha and Omega, the most natural of relationships, nature’s most ultimate combination, the most respected form of bonding. 

An Alpha’s status was only peaked if he had an Omega by his side, a demure, sweet little thing to give him pups and make him better by existing alone. But while Betas were the most common designation, Alphas coming in second, Omegas have become rarer than they used to. Not entirely uncommon, but still a sight to see — it was a damn shame, families wanted Alpha children to continue their lineage, didn’t want Omegas and their often expensive dowries. 

Nobody really talked about it, but the cases of infant death had been on the rise in the past decades. 

Which made the Omegas that did exist even more of a gift. To be treasured and pampered. 

Madara had often thought about taking an Omega and knew that at some point he most certainly would. He was getting older, passing his mid-thirties a while ago and the Uchiha main family needed heirs. He needed heirs. Izuna was a Beta, he wouldn’t be able to take over the position of clan head should something happen to him and the thought of having some Alpha from a side branch taking over made Madara’s skin crawl. The Uchiha clan line should remain pure: it was his opinion, it had been his father’s and his father’s father’s. 

But he simply had never gotten around to it. Certainly, he could’ve taken any Omega from a respectable, noble shinobi clan, given that money for dowries had never been a problem and that he didn’t care about gender. He could’ve bonded them, fucked some pups into them and the topic would’ve been from the table. 

But Madara didn’t want just anyone. The picture in his head of some ditzy Omega asking him stupid questions about clan business and making him dread coming home for the risk of being annoyed to death has been in the back of his mind every time he considered looking for an Omega. These requirements meant that he’d have to take the time to properly look and evaluate his future bondmate and this was time he simply didn’t have. 

War kept him pretty busy. 

And he’d have to look pretty hard, given that most Omega’s generally weren’t very smart. It wasn’t really their fault, the families often just skimped on the money and didn’t send them to school, after all only the Alpha and Beta children were useful educated. Omegas were simply married off, it wasn’t deemed necessary for them to receive schooling. This practice was common, even among noble and large clans. 

Madara had his people ordered to have their Omegas at least go through basic education. He thought that he was pretty liberal with this decision. 

But this all didn’t change the fact that he needed an Omega. For his image, his reputation. For the Uchiha clan’s image and reputation. And for heirs, preferably a lot of them; one couldn’t be careful enough. His siblings, two of them Alphas, had already perished after all. 

An Omega was standing right before him now, the most beautiful Omega Madara had ever seen, with such a sour expression on his face that it was very clear what he thought of him. 

A Senju mainline Omega. 

The handshake only lasted for a couple of seconds. 

“I’d say it is a pleasure to meet you, but we both know that this isn’t true.” The Omega said dryly. His voice was deep and smooth, a real pleasure to the ears. 

“Tobirama!” Hashirama hissed, but Tobirama only clicked his tongue, folding his arms over his chest again. 

“Indeed,” Madara rumbled, having difficulty ripping his eyes from the man. Not that he really tried. 

Hashirama began talking, but Madara wasn’t really listening to his ramblings. The details of this meeting have never interested him after all, but this Omega right in front of him most certainly did. 

The uppity thing got him thinking. While he didn’t care if things went on like they did, the war was a pesky, annoying matter; costing the clan resources, people and overall weakened their position in shinobi society with these ongoing burdenings. And additionally to that, Madara couldn’t properly plan for the future and take the necessary measures to guarantee the Uchiha clan’s prospective, powerful existence. For that he’d have to finally have to get into family planning. 

Here was his chance, presented to him on a silver platter. Hashirama and the Senju clan were the supplicants, meaning that Madara could probably demand any condition he wanted for this peace — depending on how desperate Hashirama was, which he’d already shown.

He could demand the Omega as one condition. If he truly was Hashirama’s brother, he was of noble blood. Even if the Senju were treacherous scum, their bloodline was old and pure; their children wouldn’t be sullied. 

And, on top of it all, it would be the final, greatest humiliation to Hashirama. For everything the Senju clan had done to the Uchiha. To take his little Omega brother, bite him, fuck him, pump him full of Uchiha pups.


And wouldn’t it be of sweet satisfaction to put this arrogant Omega into his righteous place, to fuck this smug defiance out of him? 

It was perfect. 

Madara didn’t think too long about it. 

He snapped his head towards Hashirama, who’d still been talking, interrupting him in his long-winded speech. 

“How important is this peace to you, Hashirama?”

Hashirama fell quiet, visibly a little offended to be interrupted this way; his thoughts not really catching up to the question. His brother answered in his stead. 

“What a moronic question is that?!” Tobirama snapped, his arms still stubbornly crossed, “What do you think? Our people are dying and I know for certain that yours are, too! Does life and your poor subordinates mean so little to you that your asinine Alpha brain can’t properly comprehend how important peace is, after so many years of meaningless, mindless bloodshed?!”

“Now, now, Tobirama, let’s not get offensive,” Hashirama quickly said, casting a nervous glance towards Madara who was a little stumped, but nonetheless amused by the outburst. 

“Tsk.” Tobirama only emitted, looking past Madara. 

“To answer your questions, Madara, it is very important to me.” Hashirama answered seriously and his expression translated that, “I cannot stand for all of this death and suffering anymore. Our people don’t deserve that. For so many years our clans have been at war and we don’t even know why anymore. It is time to put our weapons aside.” 

Madara took this in, knowing he’d won. He’d won this. Yet, he remained silent for a few more moments, quickly thinking his plans through one more time before speaking up. 

“I have conditions. I want them to be met.”

Hashirama quickly nodded. “Of course, within reason I will fulfill them.”


Within reason. Madara smirked. 

“You see, Hashirama, for the longest time I’ve been wanting to start a family. But I simply haven’t found the right Omega yet.”

He paused dramatically, just to let the dread in Hashirama settle in. To let him draw conclusions.

“You should’ve told me that you have such a lovely brother, my friend . What a beauty he is and so opinionated, too. I’ve always wanted my Omega to be smart and with a mind of his own.”

Madara looked at Tobirama, hoping to see shock, dread, anything alike. To his disgruntlement however, the Omega just looked annoyed, his gaze still unafraid and unwaveringly fixated on him. Madara didn’t want to show how much that rubbed him the wrong way and so he turned back to Hashirama. 

“I want your brother as my Omega and bondmate. That is one condition I want fulfilled, otherwise this peace won’t happen.” He demanded, jaunting his chin. 

Hashirama didn’t say anything. He looked at Madara, really looked at him as if he’d been wearing rosy glasses for years and just now taken them off; his gaze spoke of hurt, betrayal, anger. His jaw was working in what could’ve only been furious insults he was holding back. Because at the end of the day, Hashirama wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly why Madara was doing this. 

Madara decided that he’d had enough of this. He would let Hashirama sit on it, though he was sure that he would come to agree to his condition. After all, he really wanted this peace. 

“Tell me when you’ve decided on it and we will meet again to properly discuss the rest of the conditions, from both sides. I will send a falcon.”

With that he turned and began to leave, the rest of his party on his heels. As soon as he’d turned his back, he’d heard it. 

A scoff. 

“Pah. Knothead.” Said in a now strangely familiar attitude. 

He grit his teeth, but only for a moment. Because as Madara walked away further and further he knew he wouldn’t let himself be bothered by it. 

He would show this little Omega his proper place once they were promised to each other. He knew exactly how to shut this impudent thing up and he’d enjoy every second of it.