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Chapter Text

At eighteen, Butsuma had believed that being the heir would teach him only ethics, the art of war, and how to manage the Senju clan. But his father had shattered all his dreams of independence.

He now insisted that the Senju and the Uchiha cooperate. To seal this accord, he had struck a bargain: Butsuma found himself engaged to an Uchiha—political proof that this was not a mere truce but a lasting peace between their clans.

A political marriage.

Butsuma surfaced from his thoughts, dragged back to reality by his father’s words, repeated yet again before the meeting with his future spouse.

“Do not shame us, Butsuma,” his father reminded him with contempt. “You are the future head of the Senju clan, an alpha with a promising future. You carry the weight of peace on your shoulders. We cannot end in failure. The wars between Senju and Uchiha cost us too much.”

“Yes, Father,” Butsuma breathed, frowning. He was not stupid.

“Stand up straight. Arrange your kimono properly. I don’t want anyone thinking poorly of my son.” The patriarch shoved the small of his back with a brusque gesture.

“My apologies, Father. I promise to comport myself better,” Butsuma replied curtly, his face fixed in a stoic mask.

“Make sure that Uchiha omega likes you enough for the chief of those rabble to put an end to the war.”

“Yes, Father.”

Irritated, Butsuma listened to his sire drone on about “good manners”: what an omega likes, what must never be said, the words that might offend the Uchiha. All of it seemed terribly tedious. His father was only trying to plaster over his wounded pride with this charade.

When the Uchiha arrival was announced, Butsuma straightened. The first to enter was Saka Uchiha, an old alpha who smelled of charred wood. The scent made Butsuma wrinkle his nose, but he bowed respectfully, posture impeccable.

Then came his future spouse.
Butsuma had never seen skin so pale, like porcelain; hair as black as pitch, dark as night; and eyes as black as the abyss. Red lips, a delicate face with fine, almost feminine features. Slimmer than he, a body made for suppleness and grace.

The Uchiha was beautiful.

His inner alpha roared its adoration. He wanted him—truly. Even if Butsuma hated his father, this time he couldn’t blame him.

They all took their seats: Butsuma’s father facing Saka Uchiha, Butsuma and Tajima seated to their right, Indra Uchiha—Tajima’s brother—facing Butsuma’s cousin, Ashura Senju.

“Uchiha-sama, welcome,” said Butsuma’s father. “I hope the journey was not unpleasant.”

“It was calm. As promised, the Senju did not attempt to attack us,” Saka replied. “As promised, here we are.”

“Thank you for answering our request,” the Senju chief replied. “We’ve exchanged for months, but this first meeting heralds a new beginning.”

“Indeed. This is my son, Tajima Uchiha. He is sixteen. He was presented as an omega at fourteen,” Saka introduced.

Tajima bowed respectfully.

“My son, Butsuma. He is eighteen. His alpha status was confirmed on his fifteenth birthday,” the Senju said in turn, presenting his son.

Butsuma bowed, though he felt as if he were being sold like livestock.

“This is my second son, Indra, seventeen. He is also an omega,” Saka added.

“I thought Tajima was your only omega son. My nephew, Ashura, is a beta,” Butsuma’s father noted.

“I thought your son could choose whichever he wanted. My sons are of an age to marry, after all. Might as well give him a second chance if he fails with one,” Saka said with nonchalance.

“How generous, Uchiha-sama,” the Senju patriarch smiled.

Butsuma, for his part, found it shameful. How could adults be so repugnant? He lowered his gaze to Tajima: his pale skin shimmered in the sunlight. He had already chosen. Between Indra and Tajima, his heart did not waver. He wanted Tajima—so lovely, dangerous, and delicate all at once.

“Butsuma,” his father snapped. “You were asked which one you wanted. Don’t waste our time.”

Caught in the act, Butsuma had clearly spent too long contemplating his future spouse.

“Forgive me, Father. I was thinking,” he lied.

“I suppose he is allowed to think,” Saka retorted arrogantly.

The Senju chief snorted and pinned his son with a stare.

“Tajima. I choose your son Tajima, Uchiha-sama,” Butsuma finally declared.

“Very well,” Saka answered without emotion.

“Go take a walk in the gardens to get to know one another,” the Senju chief suggested, falsely amiable, though his look warned Butsuma not to fail.

“A good idea. Tajima, accompany the Senju son,” Saka snapped.

“Yes, Father,” Tajima answered, rising.
He accepted the hand Butsuma extended to him.

---

Butsuma kept his eyes on Tajima, his hand clasped in his, until he was sure their fathers could no longer see them. Silence wrapped around them, broken only by the rustle of leaves in the garden. The alpha watched the Uchiha omega brush his fingers—fine and delicate—over the flowers.

He was magnificent.

Butsuma didn’t know what to say. He had never been this close to an omega. His father and instructors had taught him the theory: how to speak, how to woo, how to offer attentions. But practice left him speechless.

He could not simply stand there, motionless and silent. His father would be furious if he did not truly try to charm his future spouse. So, with a decisive gesture, he picked a brilliant red flower, convinced it would set off Tajima’s almost unreal pallor.

“This is for you,” he said, offering it delicately.

“Thank you…” the omega replied, his black eyes lingering on him, wary.

Gently, Butsuma slid the flower into Tajima’s dark hair.

“It suits you.”

A small movement of the hand: Tajima tucked a rebellious lock behind his ear. His eyelids lowered and a blush—discreet yet vivid—colored his pale cheeks. It struck Butsuma. That contrast, that shyness, awakened in him a protective longing that almost hurt.

Butsuma couldn’t take his eyes off him. Tajima still wore the flower, head bowed. The silence grew heavy.

“You don’t have to lower your eyes before me,” the alpha said, his voice softer than he’d expected.

“I don’t yet know who you are…” Tajima answered, fingers clenched in his kimono. “I haven’t been taught to trust the Senju.”

Butsuma drew a breath, accepting the mistrust.
“You don’t have to trust me now. But… I’d like you to see me as something other than a Senju.”

Tajima lifted his dark eyes slightly to him. For a second, they met—intense.

“And what are you, if not a Senju?”

The young alpha hesitated, then answered with naked sincerity: “Your future spouse. Nothing else.”

Silence fell again. Tajima turned away, a new flush tinting his cheeks. His fingers drifted absently over the flower in his hair.

“You talk as if it were easy,” he murmured.

Butsuma gently tightened his hold on the omega’s hand.

“None of this is easy. But at least I know what I want. And it’s you.”
Tajima blinked, startled by the frank admission. His lips parted, but no sound came. His breath trembled slightly.

---

Tajima stayed quiet for a long moment, his hand still entwined with Butsuma’s. He stared at the flowers as if they could give him an answer.

“They told me…” he began in a low voice, “…that I was a bargaining chip. Nothing more.”

Butsuma’s brow knit.
“Who dared say that to you?”

“My father. My clan. It’s the truth, isn’t it?” Tajima lifted his black eyes to him for an instant. “Omegas are never anything but a sacrifice for peace.”

Butsuma felt a dull anger rise, but he held it in. He stepped close enough for Tajima to feel the warmth of his presence.
“To me you are not a sacrifice. You are not currency. You are…” He searched for words, awkward. “…you are Tajima. And that is enough.”

The omega blinked, unsettled by the alpha’s sincerity. His throat seemed to tighten.
“You say that because you don’t know me. Perhaps you’ll regret your choice.”

Butsuma nodded, without releasing his hand.
“Then let me get to know you. Let me prove I’ll never regret it.”

A breath escaped Tajima’s pale lips. He looked away, abashed, a deeper blush coloring his cheeks. His fingers slid against Butsuma’s palm, an uncertain reply.

“You speak far too frankly for a Senju…” he whispered, almost in reproach.

Butsuma’s mouth tilted in a half-smile.
“I was taught many things, but not to lie to the one who might share my life.”

Tajima lowered his gaze again, but his lips pinched slightly, as if to hide a timid smile.

---

“What do you think of me?” Butsuma asked, voice low. “We don’t know each other well. But physically… am I your type of alpha?”

Tajima blinked, surprised by the question. His pale cheeks flushed at once. He looked away, fingers tightening on the edge of his kimono.

“You are…” He paused, hesitating. “You are tall. Strong. Self-assured. I suppose… many omegas would like that.”

Butsuma leaned in slightly, seeking his gaze.
“But you?”

Tajima’s black eyes finally lifted to meet his. A fragile gleam shone there.

“You… are intimidating. But…” His lips curved, almost imperceptibly. “…I don’t find you unpleasant to look at.”

A light, sincere laugh slipped from Butsuma—relief.
“That’s the finest thing I’ve heard today.”

Tajima dropped his eyes again, embarrassed, but he did not pull his hand away.

---

“It’s still too soon,” Butsuma breathed. “I don’t want to force you to like me so quickly. I understand your mistrust of the Senju. Your father’s decision can’t be easy either, Uchiha-sama.”

He didn’t force Tajima to answer. He respected his silence, preferring to wait rather than impose.

“Know that I chose you because I noticed you immediately,” he went on, voice low but sincere. “I hope I don’t sound odious saying this… but I barely even saw your brother.”

His fingers closed gently around the omega’s as he helped him sit on a stone bench hidden beneath a flowered arch. The air was perfumed; soft light filtered through the petals.

Tajima sat, his black eyes fixed for a moment on the flowers above them, as if to avoid meeting Butsuma’s. His cheeks had colored again, faintly.

“So…” he murmured at last, fragile. “You noticed me from the start?”

Butsuma nodded, without evasions.
“Yes. And I haven’t regretted it for a single second.”

A soft quiet settled between them. Tajima lowered his gaze to his hands, fingers clenched, but a timid smile brushed his lips.

“May I call you Tajima? Or should I say Uchiha-san?” Butsuma asked, a little awkward. “‘Husband’… still seems too soon.”

His words rang sincere, almost vulnerable. For all that he was an alpha, he showed his doubts, his hesitation.

“I’d like you to tell me how I should court you. If you agree to marry me…” He drew a brief breath. “…I can understand if you don’t want me. If you would rather tell your father I should wed your brother. I don’t want to force you.”

Tajima stayed silent a few seconds, surprised by the confession. His gaze settled on Butsuma, taking in the grave expression, the tension held in his features.

“You are very strange for a Senju…” the omega breathed, a hint of softness in his voice. “Usually, no one asks my opinion.”

He turned his eyes slightly, studying the flowers above them.

“If I must be married… then I prefer it to be to someone who takes the trouble to ask.”

A timid smile touched his lips, quickly hidden by a sigh. His fingers brushed the stone bench, nervous.
“You may call me Tajima. But… not too often. Otherwise I’ll think you’ve already become too attached.”

Butsuma ducked his head a little, as if to hide his smile.
“I’m afraid that may already be the case.”

Tajima fell thoughtful, gaze lost in the cascade of flowers above them. Then he drew a slight breath, as if finally deciding to break the silence.

“And you…” he said in a low voice. “What do you truly expect from this marriage?”

His dark eyes turned to Butsuma, seeking an honest answer.
“Is it only for peace between our clans? Or do you… expect something of me?”

Butsuma held that gaze without flinching, though the question caught him off guard. His shoulders tensed; he leaned forward slightly.

“I won’t lie. Yes, it’s for peace… but not only that.” He paused, searching for words. “What I expect of you, Tajima… is that you be yourself. Not the Uchiha handed to me as a spouse. Just… you.”

Tajima stared at him, cheeks colored again. He lowered his head for an instant, moved despite himself by the answer. His fingers toyed nervously with a fold of his kimono.

“You say things I’ve never heard…” he murmured, almost to himself. “It frightens me.”

Butsuma gentled his voice.
“Then let me go at your pace. Even if I must wait a long time.”

Tajima raised his eyes a little, and a fragile, almost tender gleam shone there.

---

“Cousin.” Ashura gently interrupted them. “Forgive me for disturbing your private moment. But my uncle and Uchiha-sama request that you return to the main house.”

“Truly? Very well… thank you, Ashura,” Butsuma answered, a touch vexed. The moment had felt far too short. He had enjoyed speaking with Tajima.

Ashura didn’t linger, already striding away. Butsuma helped the omega rise from the bench, keeping his hand in his.

“I would have liked to talk longer with you, Tajima,” he murmured before lifting that pale hand to his lips and pressing a restrained kiss to the knuckles.

“I… me too.” Tajima turned his face aside, cheeks red, but he did not pull his hand away.

“Whatever your decision, I will accept it,” Butsuma whispered. There was nothing authoritarian in his voice, only gentle sincerity.

They made their way back toward the Senju main house. His father’s severe gaze was already waiting—imposing, scrutinizing every detail. The son could only hope he had done well, this time.

Butsuma released Tajima’s hand, and the omega obediently returned to his father’s side. The old Uchiha immediately inspected his son, as if to ensure no improper attempt had been made. Saka, satisfied, stepped forward and spoke in a confident voice.

“My son seems pleased with this first meeting,” he announced. “He would like a cloth scented with Butsuma’s odor. It is good to know one another, but it is also necessary to see whether they will be sexually compatible. Let my son at least like your scent.”

Blood rushed to Butsuma’s and Tajima’s cheeks at once. The Senju was certain the omega had not asked for such a gift—it was his father’s demand.

“What are you waiting for, Butsuma?” the Senju chief snorted with disdain. “Give Tajima what he asks for. If you want a proper marriage, compatibility is essential.”

“Yes, Father.” Butsuma complied, taking out a blue silk handkerchief of fine quality. He felt a twinge of embarrassment as he scented it under all those eyes.

Saka Uchiha took it at once, wrapping it in a scroll with meticulous care.

“If my son appreciates this fragrance during his heat, we will meet again next month at the Uchiha compound to receive the Senju,” he declared, and with that he closed the meeting.

Farewells were exchanged with politeness. But as they parted, Butsuma dared to brush Tajima’s fingers in a discreet touch, slipping in a goodbye more intimate than rigid. Tajima said nothing, but his dark eyes betrayed a turmoil he could not hide.

❤️‍🔥❤️

Chapter Text

Tajima had kept the handkerchief. His father had carefully put it away, as if it were a precious object. The omega later retrieved it, alone, in his room within the Uchiha compound.

He hesitated for a long time before opening it. His fingers trembled slightly, as if this simple piece of fabric carried more weight than it should.

When he finally brought it to his face, the scent reached him. Warm, woody, with a hint of something more raw. It was strangely reassuring. His heart began to beat faster without him understanding why.

“Idiot…” he muttered to himself, as if to chase away the reaction.
But he brought the fabric closer to his nose again, inhaling more slowly this time.

It wasn’t only the strength of an Alpha. There was also a gentleness he had not expected.

Tajima sat down on the futon, clutching the handkerchief against his lips. He didn’t want to admit that he liked this scent. Not in front of his father. Not in front of Butsuma. But alone, he couldn’t deny it.
His cheeks flushed once more. He closed his eyes, unsettled.

“Why you…” he whispered.

The silence of the room seemed to wrap around him. And yet, the scent lingered, stubborn, as if Butsuma were still there.

---

It had only been a week since he had left the Senju compound. Tajima couldn’t stop thinking about it. About that bench under the blossoms. About Butsuma’s hand holding his. About that kiss on his knuckles.

He was confused. Butsuma was a Senju. An Alpha. Everything he had been told was dangerous, brutal, merciless. But the one he had met was none of that. He had been clumsy, almost tender.

Tajima buried his face in the pillow, frustrated by his own thoughts. Things could have turned out far worse than this proposal. His father could have given him to an older, crueler man. He could have been reduced to a faceless, nameless bargaining token.

But there was Butsuma. Too tall. Too straightforward. Too blunt. And yet… his scent lingered in Tajima’s mind. That woody fragrance returning to him every night.

He opened the small box where he had stored the handkerchief. The blue fabric lay neatly folded inside. His fingers brushed over it, hesitant. Then he lifted it to his face.

His heart sped up immediately. His cheeks grew warm. He inhaled deeply, and his body betrayed him, reacting against all his barriers.

“Stupid Alpha…” Tajima breathed, lips still pressed against the silk.

He closed his eyes. The scent unsettled him, soothed him, haunted him all at once. It was as if Butsuma were there, in the shadows, watching over him.

Tajima straightened, sitting in the dimness of his room. He ran a hand over his face. His mind kept insisting that he must not give in. That this was nothing but a political marriage. And yet… part of him wanted to believe that this Senju was not like the others.

---

It had only been a week since he had left the Senju compound, but Tajima still couldn’t quiet his thoughts. Butsuma’s face returned again and again. His awkward smile. His voice, deep yet gentle. The warmth of his hand around his.

He couldn’t understand it. Butsuma was a Senju. An Alpha. He had always been told they were violent, deceitful, incapable of tenderness. And yet he had seen none of that in him.

Things could have turned out far worse. He knew it. His fate could have been bound to someone older. Colder. Crueler. But it was Butsuma. And that was what troubled him most.

At night, his mind always came back to the handkerchief. At first, he resisted, refusing to touch it. But one evening, he gave in. The blue fabric between his fingers, he inhaled. The scent filled his senses. Woody. Warm. Reassuring.

His heart raced. His cheeks heated, and he felt that warmth sink deeper, spreading through his body. It was still too soon, but he knew. His heats were approaching. Butsuma’s scent only hastened the process.

He fell back onto the futon, the handkerchief pressed against his face. His lips trembled, his eyes closed.

“Why you…” he whispered into the darkness.

His body reacted despite himself, clinging to that scent as if it were an anchor. Tajima felt ashamed, but he could no longer deny it. The Senju he should have hated, the one he should have pushed away, had become the very source of his desire and confusion.

A shiver ran through him. This was only the beginning. But he knew that when his heats came, Butsuma’s scent would not leave him.

And despite the fear, a terrifying and tender thought crossed his mind: maybe he didn’t want it to.

❤️‍🔥❤️

Chapter Text

Butsuma’s father, it seemed, had no qualms about sending him alone to the Uchiha. That almost surprised him. And yet, he had felt something close to happiness when he learned that Tajima had liked the perfumed gift. The Alpha’s chest had warmed at the thought of the Uchiha breathing in his scent during heat.

Had it truly pleased Tajima? Had it helped him? Had it… aroused him more than usual? An improper, unworthy thought crossed his mind. Butsuma wondered if, even once, he had whispered his name.

So, deep down, he was not so troubled that his father was sending him alone to the Uchiha. After all, his future husband was there. And since he was an Alpha, his father believed he needed no escort. The Uchiha had protected Tajima when he came to them, but Butsuma would not be afforded the same care. His father didn’t care about him anyway.

According to the letters, he would arrive just after Tajima’s heat. That thought alone was enough to unsettle Butsuma. Would the Uchiha still smell good? Stronger than before? No. No, that wasn’t right.

He was not an animal. If he displeased his future spouse, if he offended the Uchiha, his father would blame him for failing in this fragile mission to unite the two most powerful clans. And worse, he would reproach him for wounding his excessive pride.

Sometimes Butsuma thought—sometimes even dreamed—of killing his father. Of ending his rigidity. Of silencing the elders who repeated the same speeches. He could at least grant his father this: he had evolved, he had finally understood that war was foolish. But arranged marriages remained a practice he wished on no one.

Why still, in his time? Why him?

And yet… he had been given the chance to meet Tajima.

It was so confusing. To hate the situation and cherish it at the same time. To reject the constraint, and still, strangely, to rejoice in the hope it carried.

---

The road was long. Butsuma rode on horseback, alone, just as his father had decided. The cool wind sometimes carried the scent of the forest, and in that silence he caught himself thinking of Tajima again. His timid smile. His cheeks that flushed so easily. The handkerchief he had kept.

He tightened the reins. No, he could not lose himself in such thoughts. This marriage was more than just the two of them. If he let instinct guide him, he could ruin everything. And still… he longed to see him again.

The gates of the Uchiha domain finally appeared. Two guards awaited him, but there was no escort, no ceremony. He was simply led inside.

Butsuma dismounted. His heart beat harder than it should. He was not afraid of the Uchiha, nor even of their leader. What truly unsettled him was seeing Tajima. Meeting his eyes after all this time.

He entered the great house. Soft footsteps slid across the tatami. And then he saw him.

Tajima, dressed in a dark kimono, the nape of his neck exposed, his black hair slightly tousled. He still looked fragile, as though the past days had left their mark.

Their gazes met.

Butsuma felt warmth surge through his chest.

“…Tajima,” he breathed.

The omega blinked. His face stayed impassive for a second, then a faint smile curved at the corner of his lips.
“You came.”

The Senju inclined his head, awkward.
“As promised.”

A silence fell, heavy with all they dared not say.

Butsuma, without thinking, stepped closer.
“Did you… did you like my gift?” he asked, voice low, almost nervous.

Tajima turned his eyes slightly away, his cheeks warming despite himself.
“…Yes,” he murmured.

---

Butsuma cleared his throat. He must not revel in it. That was unworthy. Even if, deep down, his Alpha self wanted to embrace the omega, to almost purr, to drown him in pheromones until he was dizzy.

Enough.

He looked at him again. His black hair a little messy, his face still tired but gentle… he was so cute it was hard to look away.

“You’re truly beautiful,” he blurted before he could stop himself. If his father had been there, he would have already reminded him of ethics, restraint, the weight of his role.

So as not to appear even more gauche, he pulled out a carefully rolled parchment. He held it out to Tajima.

“This is for you.”

The omega blinked, surprised. Butsuma then unfolded the package he had been entrusted with. Inside was a kimono of deep red silk, high quality, shimmering with changing hues in the light. With it, golden jewelry inlaid with rubies, shining like the Uchiha’s fire.

Tajima froze a moment, as though he did not dare touch it. His fingers brushed the fabric, and he drew in a quiet breath.

“…It’s beautiful,” he whispered, almost reluctantly, as if refusing to show too much emotion. Yet his eyes betrayed a true admiration.

Butsuma lowered his head slightly, relieved.
“I’m glad you like it.”

Another silence floated between them, heavy yet soft.

Tajima lifted his gaze to him. His lips parted, hesitant.
“Why… why choose this for me?”

Butsuma inhaled deeply.
“Because red is your color. And because I want you to have what is most beautiful.”

Tajima’s pale cheeks colored, and he quickly looked away, embarrassed.

---

The omega stayed silent a moment, the fabric still between his fingers. Then, without a word, he stood.

“I’ll try it on,” he said simply.

Butsuma stiffened. He had not expected the omega to dare so soon. Taken aback, he turned away at once, fixing his eyes stubbornly on the wall ahead. His heart pounded too fast.

He heard the rustle of fabric, the soft sound of layers being removed and donned. Each sound rang too loud in his ears. His Alpha boiled inside, but he clenched his fists to stay still.

“…Butsuma.”

His voice called him, soft, a little hesitant. The Alpha turned his head slowly.

Tajima stood there, wrapped in the red kimono. The silk embraced his figure with natural elegance. The color enhanced the paleness of his skin and the darkness of his hair. The rubies, still set aside, already seemed made for him.

Butsuma fell silent. His lips parted, but no words came.

Tajima lowered his eyes slightly, cheeks tinged pink.
“…Does it suit me?”

The Alpha drew in a deep breath, searching for words.
“It doesn’t suit you,” he said at last. Tajima looked up, startled.

Butsuma stepped closer, voice lower.
“It belongs to you. As if this kimono had been made for you, from the beginning.”

Their eyes locked. The air grew heavier, filled with something neither dared to name.

---

“Let me help you with these.”

Butsuma rose from where he was seated. He moved behind Tajima, carefully taking the golden necklace set with a ruby. His fingers brushed the pale skin of his nape as he fastened it. His warm breath passed too close, and despite himself, he discreetly inhaled the omega’s scent.

Kami, how impolite. He was ashamed. But his senses were intoxicated.

He brushed a strand of black hair with trembling fingers before securing the clasp.

“…There,” he murmured softly.

Then he picked up the sparkling ruby-studded hairpin. His heart beat too fast. He feared Tajima might think he was trying to turn him into a woman. It wasn’t that. It was simply… the desire to exalt what he already saw as an almost unreal beauty.

“May I?” he asked, voice lower still.

Tajima inclined his head slightly in agreement, cheeks already flushed. So Butsuma slid the pin into his black hair, gently arranging the strands around it.

When he finished, he stepped back. Damn him: Tajima was beautiful. More than beautiful. Almost otherworldly.

He stood breathless, unable to speak.

“…I cannot find the words,” he finally confessed, unable to look away.

“Uh… I-I also have a betrothal ring.”

Butsuma pulled out a small case, clumsy, almost awkward. The golden band gleamed in the light, set with a ruby where reflections seemed to dance. The flames engraved around the ring seemed to shimmer faintly, imbued with his chakra.

“I… I infused it with my chakra,” his voice barely shook. “If you accept to marry me… I can place it on you.”

Tajima looked at him for a long time. His dark, deep eyes seemed to probe the sincerity of every word. His cheeks tinted slightly, but his expression remained composed, calm.

A silence. Heavy.

Then, very slowly, the omega extended his hand. Slim, pale, with delicate fingers.

“Then… put it on me,” he whispered almost under his breath.

Butsuma’s heart skipped a beat. His fingers trembled as he brought the ring to Tajima’s hand. The touch of his skin was soft, almost burning under his own. When the band finally slid into place, he drew a deep breath.

The ring glowed briefly, reacting to the chakra. As if silently sealing a pact between them.

Butsuma lifted his eyes to Tajima. The omega did not truly smile, but his gaze had changed. In his pupils shone a new light. Something between shyness, acceptance, and… the spark of a budding attachment.

“It’s… heavy,” he said, observing the jewel on his finger. “But… I think it suits me.”

Butsuma bit his lip to hold back the too-wide smile that threatened to escape.

❤️‍🔥❤️

Chapter Text

Butsuma stepped back at once, restoring a proper distance between himself and Tajima. His heart was still pounding too fast, but he knew he must not let it show. To offend Saka, or worse, be accused of improper conduct… would bring shame to both clans.

The door slid open.

Saka Uchiha entered, imposing, his dark gaze first falling on his son, then on the Senju Alpha. The silence was heavy, almost suffocating.

His eyes stopped on the ring on Tajima’s hand.
“Hn.” A brief, unreadable sound. “So you’ve already received his gifts.”

Tajima lowered his eyes, somewhat unsettled, but did not remove the ring.

Butsuma bowed slightly, respectful.
“I wished to honor Tajima with my offerings. Nothing more.”

Saka remained still for a moment, then took a few steps toward them. His aura was heavy, filled with that icy severity unique to the Uchiha.
“Very well. But do not forget, Senju.” His gaze was sharp, uncompromising. “This marriage is an alliance. If you think it is anything else, you are mistaken.”

Butsuma stayed silent. His fist clenched, but his face remained impassive.

Beside him, Tajima slowly raised his eyes. He did not dare contradict his father, but his gaze, fleeting, slid toward Butsuma. A silent spark, fragile, like a promise he could not voice aloud.

Saka drew closer still, his hands clasped behind his back. His black eyes lingered on Butsuma, weighing each movement, each breath.
“If you claim to want to wed my son… then prove it.”

Butsuma stiffened. He had expected this. A trial, a demand. But what kind?

“I will not give Tajima to an Alpha incapable of guaranteeing his safety.” Saka’s voice cracked like a command. “You must demonstrate that you can protect him. Not only from my enemies… but from yourself as well.”

Butsuma inhaled deeply, hiding the tension in his shoulders. Was this a trap? A way to break him, humiliate him before Tajima? Or… was this truly a father’s concern?

The thought struck him. His own father, Butsuma knew, would have sacrificed him already for the slightest political advantage. Ashura or him—it would have made no difference. The clan came first.

But here… Saka put Tajima at the center. Not as currency, but as someone he refused to hand over without assurance.

Butsuma held his gaze.
“Tell me your condition. I will accept it.”

A heavy silence fell. Tajima tensed, his fingers clutching the folds of his kimono. His eyes flicked from his father to Butsuma, anxious, but mute.

Saka turned slightly away, his voice low and grave.
“You will face one of my men. Not to kill him. But to prove you can restrain your strength, protect without crushing. If you fail… you are not worthy of Tajima.”

Butsuma lowered his head briefly, concealing the fire burning in his veins. Was this a trap? Or truly the proof of a father’s care?

He raised his eyes.
“I accept.”

Butsuma felt as though it had all been planned from the beginning.

The Uchiha clan had gathered around the training ground. A circle silent yet suffocating. Dark eyes fixed on him, some with curiosity, others with disdain.

And in the midst of the crowd, Tajima. His beautiful Tajima. Seated slightly apart, his hands clenched on his knees. Worried. So worried that Butsuma could almost feel his fear within his own chest.

Facing him, the opponent entered. An Uchiha Alpha, taller, broader of shoulders, older than his meager eighteen years. His cold gaze loomed over him like a shadow.

Butsuma breathed slowly, tightening his stance. He was not afraid of fighting—he had been raised for it. But this was no ordinary duel. Strike too hard, and he would fail. Hold back too much, and he would fail as well. Everyone waited to see if he would break.

The Uchiha attacked first. Swift, brutal, chakra crackling in his hands. Butsuma blocked, his body absorbing the blow. The force vibrated through his bones.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Heavy footsteps striking the earth. Tajima’s eyes, never leaving him.

Every move was a trap.

Butsuma dodged, countered, but restrained himself. His grip caught his opponent’s arm, hurled him to the ground without breaking the shoulder. The Uchiha rose instantly, furious, unleashing another assault.

The fight grew fiercer, more violent. Sweat ran down Butsuma’s neck. His chakra boiled, ready to explode. But he must not. He must protect. Restrain. Control.

At every impact, he lifted his gaze briefly toward Tajima. For him. Only for him.

Butsuma finally understood. There were no rules. His opponent used everything: Raiton, Katon, and taijutsu sharper than his own. They did not merely want to test him. They wanted to break him.

The close combat grew too dangerous. Each blow pushed him back, flames licking at his skin, lightning sizzling in the air.

So he made a choice.

His hands formed quick seals.
“Suiton: Suijinheki!”

A vast water barrier erupted, clashing against the flames hurled toward him. Steam rose thick in the air, blinding.

Butsuma seized the screen. Chakra focused, his hand plunging into the water he had conjured.
“Suiton: Mizu no Muchi!”

A whip of water coiled in his palm, hissing through the air. It snapped forward, swift, precise. The opponent tried to dodge, but the steam slowed him. The whip struck his arm, then wound around his torso, imprisoning him in a cold embrace.

The Uchiha growled, struggled, but the whip tightened, immobilizing him. The murmurs in the crowd grew louder.

Butsuma did not move. He could have struck. He could have crushed. But he stopped there. His breath was heavy, his gaze locked on the captive opponent.

Then, slowly, he turned his head. His eyes found Tajima’s in the crowd.

And that was his victory.

Silence fell over the ground. The Uchiha was still bound, unable to move. The eyes of the crowd turned to Saka.

Tajima’s father advanced. Slowly. His steps heavier than the fight itself.

His frozen gaze examined Butsuma. Then the captive opponent. Finally, the dripping whip dissolving into the dust.

“Hn.”

A short, curt sound. Impossible to know whether it meant approval or scorn.

“You did not seek to break him.” His voice cracked, sharp. “You could have. But you held back your hand.”

Butsuma stood still, breath still rough. He knew a single wrong word could ruin everything.

Saka narrowed his eyes.
“This is… acceptable.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Acceptable. Neither praise nor compliment. But not rejection either.

Then his gaze turned to Tajima. The omega’s hands were still clenched, his eyes fixed on Butsuma. Saka studied him for a long moment, as if to read his expression.

“Tajima.”

His son flinched, lifting his eyes at once.

“You will follow him. But remember: if he ever fails to protect you… it will not be him I hold responsible. It will be you, for having accepted him.”

Tajima’s heart tightened.

Butsuma, meanwhile, understood just how cruel this man could be, even to his own blood.

Butsuma released the Uchiha. The whip dissolved into droplets falling to the ground, and the opponent stood, humiliated but unharmed.

He followed Tajima without haste, walking behind him at a measured pace. The Uchiha’s stares clung to them still, but he did not bother to answer the murmurs. His mind boiled otherwise.

Would the omega praise him? Just a word. A sign. Something to say it had all been worth it.

But the answer that came was silent, heavier than any word. Tajima did not smile. He kept his face closed, his hands clenched, his eyelids trembling now and then. The fear instilled in him had not left.

Butsuma felt a cold anger rising within him, one that had nothing to do with the pride of victory. Tajima’s father was as vile as everyone feared. The tone, the veiled threat—everything was calculated.

A brutal thought cut through Butsuma, so sharp he pushed it away at once: if it came to it, if Tajima asked… he would kill Saka Uchiha. And his own father as well, if either dared harm Tajima. Then they would be free. They would be the heads of both clans—and he would do it for him.

It was a forbidden thought. A dangerous one. He forced it back, but it left a burning trace.

Tajima walked on without turning back. When they reached the entrance, the omega finally stopped. He placed a hand on the silk of his kimono, staring at the ring on his finger as though to steady himself.

“Thank you…” he whispered, so softly that Butsuma had to lean closer to hear. It was no flamboyant praise. No promise. Just a thank you, fragile.

That word was enough to unbalance Butsuma. His heart warmed, and a new resolution swelled within him—gentle, protective, painfully real. He drew a breath, and for the first time in a long while, allowed a simple, honest emotion to surface.

“I will never leave you alone,” he murmured, more to himself than to the crowd.

Tajima lifted his eyes. A flicker—tiny—passed in his gaze. Then he looked away. The two returned together, closer than they had been that morning, but still far from at peace.

❤️❤️‍🔥

Chapter Text

Since the fight, Saka no longer paid much attention to Tajima and Butsuma. And honestly, that was for the best. Their absence of concern finally gave them some respite.
They were sitting together, a simple meal between them. Tajima pinched his chopsticks, but barely ate. His eyes stayed lowered, his face closed. The shadow of depression weighed on him.

“Here, eat a little more.” With a calm gesture, Butsuma placed more food in his bowl. His voice was neither authoritarian nor harsh, just soft, almost coaxing.

Tajima lifted his gaze briefly, surprised by the attention, then sighed. “I’m not very hungry…” he murmured, but he didn’t push the bowl away.

Butsuma insisted, without severity. “You’re too young to fast out of worry or fear. Your body needs strength.”

Tajima lowered his head again. Only sixteen. Butsuma, at eighteen, could see it clearly: this omega was being torn too soon from his nest, forced to marry a stranger.

Their fathers didn’t care about them. Not their fears, not their desires. Everything was just alliance and power.

Butsuma didn’t even want to imagine what was written in that marriage contract. The terms, cold and dry, that must have reduced Tajima to a signature, a dowry, a promise of descendants.

He watched Tajima from the corner of his eye. The boy chewed slowly, as if out of duty, not appetite. Butsuma felt a pang in his chest.

Then, in a lower voice, he added:
“You know… you don’t have to be alone in all this.”

Tajima barely lifted his eyes, a little unsettled. He didn’t answer, but his fingers tightened around the chopsticks.

Tajima remained silent for a long time. His chopsticks barely touched the food, but he kept his gaze fixed on his bowl. Butsuma didn’t press him, simply waited.

Finally, the omega inhaled, his shoulders trembling slightly.
“I’ve never left the Uchiha compound…” he murmured. “I’ve never slept anywhere but in my room. And now… I’m being torn away from all of it.”

His fingers trembled a little. He gripped his chopsticks tighter, as if to hold himself together.
“I should be strong. But I’m afraid.”

Butsuma listened in silence, jaw clenched. Each word sounded like a truth he wished he could spare him.

“Afraid of me?” he asked softly.

Tajima looked up, surprised. Then he shook his head.
“No… not of you. Of everything else. Of the unknown. Of… never being allowed to come back.”

His lips trembled, but he quickly looked away, ashamed of having spoken.

Butsuma reached out. Not to force, not to oblige. Just to lay his fingers gently over Tajima’s.
“You don’t have to be strong in front of me,” he said. “I’ll carry that for both of us.”

Tajima blinked, troubled. The silence returned, but it was no longer as heavy as before.

For the first time, he dared take a bite, even a small one, under Butsuma’s attentive gaze.

Butsuma understood now. So this was what Saka had meant: once betrothed, Tajima would live with the Senju. Leaving his clan, his home, his bearings… yes, this was the fear eating away at the omega.

He felt a pang in his chest. How could he promise Tajima wouldn’t suffer, when he himself knew what their fathers expected of them?

Tajima timidly lifted his eyes toward him. His hesitant gaze sought courage.
“But…suma…” His voice was lower than usual. “When I’m with the Senju… will you…” He stopped, pressing his lips together.

Butsuma tilted his head.
“What?”

“Will you let me… be myself?” Tajima finally asked, cheeks flushed. “Not just… the Uchiha spouse you’re forced to endure. But… just me.”

The silence that followed seemed endless. Butsuma remained still for a moment, then slowly nodded.
“Yes. I don’t want a mask. I want you. Nothing else.”

Tajima looked away, unsettled. His fingers clutched at his sleeve, but his breathing escaped more calmly.

Butsuma spoke plainly, his voice trembling with sincerity he no longer tried to hide.
“Tajima, I chose you, remember? Yes, the context is a political marriage. But you don’t know how the Alpha inside me struts with pride at having you as my future husband. If I ever upset or hurt you, I want you to stay yourself—even if it means shouting at me.”

Tajima looked at him, eyes shining with an emotion he first refused to admit. A tender silence hung, then he let out a dry laugh, more fear than joy.
“Shouting… alright. But promise you won’t make me regret coming.”

Butsuma leaned closer, gently placing two fingers against the pale cheek of the omega, as if to wipe away a tear he hadn’t seen fall.
“I promise. I’ll protect you. And if I falter, remind me who I’m supposed to be.”

Tajima pressed his lips together, attempted a small smile. He searched for words, then murmured:
“Then stay close to me. Don’t leave me alone in the night.”

Butsuma nodded. No grand gesture, no long speech—just his presence.
For a moment, they held on to one another. Fragile, clumsy, but resolute.

Butsuma was delighted to see the omega eat heartily after that. He watched him empty his bowl, then take another, without daring to point it out.

So adorable…

Tajima realized, his cheeks flushing scarlet. He set his chopsticks down a little too abruptly, as if to hide his embarrassment.
“D-don’t look at me like that,” he muttered, almost sulking.

But Butsuma saw nothing shameful in it.
He found it human, his gluttony. Not the forced elegance of an arranged marriage, not the coldness of warring clans. Just Tajima, hungry, letting himself go.

A discreet smile touched the Alpha’s lips.
“Go on. Eat. It makes me happy to see you like this.”

Tajima wanted to protest, but his stomach growled before he could. So he lowered his eyes, grabbed another bite, and practically hid behind his bowl, red as ever.

Tajima had taken another portion, despite the heat rising to his cheeks. His chopsticks followed a steady, almost comforting rhythm. Every bite tasted of something he didn’t know: safety.

Yet, as he ate, he thought of him.
Of Butsuma.

That Alpha who looked at him without anger, without demands, as if his mere existence was enough. It was unsettling. He had never been allowed to be himself. Not in his clan. Not before his father.

He bit a piece that was too big, swallowed awkwardly, and felt his heart race faster. Why does his gaze do this to me? he wondered.

His fingers clenched briefly around his chopsticks. He feared attaching himself too quickly, believing in a promise that might collapse. But at the same time… a small voice whispered that maybe he could believe.

He dared lift his eyes, briefly. Butsuma was smiling, discreet but sincere. Tajima immediately looked away again, crimson to the ears. Yet his stomach didn’t clench in fear. It clenched from something else.

And if… it was really possible?

When the meal ended, Tajima could have stood, claiming fatigue or the need for solitude. But he didn’t move. His fingers lingered on the empty bowl, his eyes fixed on the wooden table.

Butsuma noticed. The Alpha said nothing, simply waited.

Tajima finally inhaled softly. He shifted just a little, moving his futon closer to his, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed. His face was still flushed, but he hadn’t retreated.

“I… I’d rather stay here,” he murmured.

His dark eyes stayed lowered, but his voice was clear.

Butsuma turned his head slightly toward him. A silence passed, then a discreet smile appeared on his lips.
“Then stay.”

Tajima clutched his sleeves a little tighter, as if afraid someone might take this right away from him. But nothing came. Only the calm warmth of the Alpha’s presence beside him.

For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel alone.

Tajima remained still, his breath shorter than he would have liked. His bowl was empty, his hands tense on his sleeves. Then, almost without realizing, his fingers slid a little to the side… enough to brush Butsuma’s hand.

He hadn’t meant to. Or maybe he had. But he didn’t pull away.

Butsuma immediately lowered his eyes to the discreet contact. His heart beat faster. Slowly, he turned his palm and gently closed his fingers around the omega’s.

Not a brusque move. Not a forced grip. Just a timid pressure, like a promise.

Tajima flushed to the ears, his gaze darting away, but he didn’t move back. On the contrary, he let his fingers close slightly around the Alpha’s.

They stayed like that, without a word, the empty table before them. Two clumsy hands linked, as if this simple contact were enough to fill the silence.

❤️❤️‍🔥

Chapter Text

Butsuma had received the message from a Uchiha messenger: he was going to stay here. Saka and his father had agreed on it.

It wasn’t that he was against it… but he hadn’t prepared for this. He had thought it would only be a round trip, a formal visit. Not two entire weeks.

He didn’t have enough clothes. Nothing planned for a long stay. But his father had demanded he remain, and among the Uchiha, no one dared oppose Saka.

As if that weren’t enough, Saka had added one more condition: they would sleep in the same room. To "encourage the habit of being together."

Butsuma clenched his jaw when he heard that. He knew Tajima hadn’t had a say in it. No more than he had.

That evening, when they were led to the room, the Alpha felt his heart beat faster. The room was spacious, but only one futon had been laid out, neatly prepared.

He cast a furtive glance at Tajima. The omega had frozen, his cheeks red, but he hadn’t protested. He had simply lowered his head, silent.

Butsuma drew in a slow breath.
Two weeks. At his side. Day and night.
He hadn’t planned this. But he would have to get used to it.

"Th-thank you for the clothes."

Butsuma’s voice was low, almost hesitant. He couldn’t believe he was wearing Tajima’s clothes. The fabric was a bit tight, because the omega was smaller than him, but still it fit.

And above all… the scent.
Hot. Sweet. A faint trace that clung to the fabric and brushed against his skin.

Butsuma was already unsettled. Every movement reminded him these clothes belonged to Tajima, that they had covered him, touched his skin.

He discreetly inhaled, as if to carve that scent into himself.

Across from him, Tajima lowered his gaze, embarrassed. His cheeks had flushed, as though he feared he’d made a mistake lending his clothes. But deep down, he seemed relieved that the Alpha wore them without complaint.

Tajima kept his eyes down for a moment, fingers gripping his sleeve. Then, almost too softly, he murmured:
"It… it suits you."

Butsuma instantly raised his head, surprised. Tajima quickly looked away, his ears red, as if he already regretted speaking.

A silence fell. Butsuma smiled despite himself.
"Then… I’ll wear them with pride."

Tajima flushed even more, sliding his fingers against his own kimono as if to hide. Their eyes met for a brief instant. Tajima turned his away at once, but his heart was beating faster than before.

They both settled onto the futon. The silence in the room felt heavier than the warmth of the blankets.

"I’ve never shared a futon before… except with my cousin," admitted Butsuma, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "I have been in nests, though… with my family."

He let out a nervous laugh and shook his head.
"I don’t know why I’m saying this. I’m nervous."

Tajima turned his head slightly toward him. His cheeks were already red, but his eyes softened. He clutched his pillow tightly.
"I’ve never shared my futon either. But… if you’re nervous, that means I’m not the only one."

Butsuma finally lowered his eyes to him. Tajima had curled up a little, but there was no rejection. Just a shyness that mirrored his own.

Another timid silence settled. Yet it was less heavy.

The silence lasted a few more minutes, broken only by the rustle of the covers. Then Butsuma turned slightly onto his side.
"How should we sleep?" he asked quietly.

Tajima blinked, surprised. His heart skipped a beat.
"S-side by side… I suppose. Like… like people do."

He quickly looked away, ears red.
"It’s not like I know either."

Butsuma gave a small smile.
"Then… side by side."

He lay down slowly, leaving a deliberate space between them. A respectful distance, but not cold. Tajima stole a glance at him… then lay down as well, a little stiff, but more at ease than he had expected.

Butsuma spoke again, a little too quickly:
"Do you want to try sleeping in a spoon?"

Tajima froze, his eyes widening. His cheeks turned scarlet at once.
"In… in a spoon?" he repeated, voice trembling.

Butsuma looked away, embarrassed.
"I read it once… Well… it’s something that helps you sleep better, I think."

Tajima bit his lip. The idea seemed far too intimate… and yet, there was no hidden intent in Butsuma’s voice, only a sincere nervousness.

After a moment, he lowered his eyes.
"If it… if it helps us sleep…" he murmured.

Butsuma blinked, surprised. His stomach tightened, caught between nervousness and a strange joy. He carefully opened his arms.
"Then come."

Butsuma slid slowly behind Tajima, his arm wrapping around him with caution. He drew him close, their bodies adjusting with hesitant slowness.
"Is this alright?" he asked softly.

Tajima felt the Alpha’s warmth surround him and was overwhelmed. His cheeks burned, his breath quickened in spite of himself. Yet he didn’t protest.

Butsuma held him a little tighter.
"Or… we can switch, if you’d rather."

Tajima quickly turned his gaze away.
"N-no… like this is fine," he whispered.

A discreet smile touched Butsuma’s lips. Deep down, he loved feeling the younger man against him. But he didn’t need to admit it. Not tonight.

So he simply stayed like that, motionless, heart pounding hard, hoping Tajima would eventually fall asleep in his arms.

Tajima stayed tense at first, his shoulders stiff. The Alpha’s breath at his nape made him shiver.

Yet as the minutes passed, Butsuma’s warmth wore down his fears. His muscles slowly loosened, his fingers stopped gripping his sleeve.

Butsuma felt it. He didn’t dare move, afraid of breaking the fragile moment.

A soft sigh escaped Tajima. His eyelids closed, his breathing steadied. The omega had fallen asleep.

Butsuma stayed awake, heart heavy yet content. To feel this smaller body nestled against him, trusting him with his sleep, was already more than he had ever hoped for.

He lowered his gaze, watching Tajima’s peaceful silhouette in his arms for a moment, then finally closed his eyes.

I will watch over you.

❤️❤️‍🔥

Chapter Text

The sun filtered softly through the paper panels. The air of the room was still warm from the night.

Tajima hadn’t moved. He was still asleep, curled against Butsuma, their bodies in the same position as the night before. His light breath brushed the Alpha’s chest.

Butsuma opened his eyes first. For a moment, he wondered if he was still dreaming. Then he realized: no, Tajima was really there, in his arms, not having moved away.

A discreet smile escaped him. He breathed in gently, savoring the moment.

When the omega finally stirred, his eyelids fluttering, Butsuma let out, a little nervously:
“Good morning… fiancé.”

He wasn’t sure if he had the right to call him that. Maybe Tajima would take offense. Maybe he’d find him too familiar.

Tajima froze for a second, his black eyes searching the Alpha’s. Then, blushing, he quickly turned away.
“...Good morning,” he murmured, without protesting.

Butsuma’s heart warmed at once. Perhaps in that single word, he had received more acceptance than he could have hoped for.

---

Tajima moved a little, as if to get up. His hands pressed on the blanket, ready to rise.

But Butsuma tightened his arm slightly around him. Not strongly, just enough to hold him back for a moment.
“Stay a little longer,” he said softly.

Tajima froze. His heart sped up. His ear caught the calm but powerful beating of the Alpha’s heart behind him. He hesitated to protest… then gave up.

He let himself fall back against him, cheeks burning.
“...You’re too direct,” he whispered, like a faint reproach.

Butsuma hid a smile in his black hair.
“Maybe. But I prefer that to lies.”

Silence fell again. But this time it was neither heavy nor awkward. Just simple, unusual, almost reassuring calm.

And for the first time, Tajima caught himself thinking that maybe it wasn’t so terrible to open his eyes every morning at Butsuma’s side.

---

The day had begun early. Tajima’s father had insisted: their clothes had to match. Deep red and black. The contrast of their clans worn like a living banner.

Tajima obeyed without argument, but his cheeks remained pink as he saw his reflection beside Butsuma. The Senju wore those colors with striking poise, and the thought that everyone would see them like this tightened his throat.

They entered the market together. The Uchiha stepped aside as they passed, some watching with suspicion, others with curiosity they didn’t bother to hide.

In a soft but clear voice, Butsuma spoke to him:
“Fiancé. Shall we hold hands? Or is that too much, in public?”

Tajima stopped for a second. That word — fiancé — echoed loudly in his mind. He quickly lowered his eyes, ears red.

Around them, several gazes lingered, surprised. The Senju did not behave like an outsider demanding an alliance. He seemed… attentive. Even charming.

Tajima gripped his sleeve, hesitating. His heart raced wildly.
“If… if you want,” he whispered at last, barely audible.

Butsuma smiled faintly. Gently, he held out his hand. Tajima took it, awkwardly, but did not let go.

So, under the gaze of the whole market, the Senju and the Uchiha moved forward together, bound by that simple but powerful gesture.

---

The streets of the market buzzed as always, but around them the silence grew heavier. Eyes followed every step, every movement.

A Senju, hand in hand with the Uchiha heir.

Some muttered, others frowned. Younger ones whispered, clearly unsettled to find the Senju… respectful, almost charming. Not the savage enemy they had been told of.

Tajima felt all those eyes on him. His stomach knotted, his fingers trembled a little in Butsuma’s hand. And yet, he did not let go.

He breathed in, lowering his gaze to their joined hands. His heart pounded. It was strange. That simple contact, in front of everyone, gave him the feeling of being protected.

Is this what it means to be engaged? he thought. To be seen, recognized, but not afraid?

He was ashamed of his own relief. Ashamed, too, of the heat rising in his cheeks each time Butsuma squeezed his hand a little tighter, as if to remind him he was there.

Butsuma, for his part, walked straight ahead, his gaze fixed forward, as if he didn’t hear the whispers. But Tajima knew he heard them. He also knew he didn’t care.

And that, more than anything, troubled him.

---

An older Uchiha stepped forward from the crowd. His voice snapped like a rebuke.
“What does this mean, Senju? Do you think we’ll let you hold our heir’s hand so easily?”

All eyes fixed on them. The entire market seemed to stop.

Tajima squeezed Butsuma’s hand, his breath cut off. Fear clenched his throat. But the Alpha didn’t flinch. He simply raised his eyes to the man, his expression serious.

“It means exactly what you see,” Butsuma replied calmly. “Tajima is my fiancé. I respect him. I want to marry him. And I want you to see it.”

A shocked silence rippled through the crowd. To say this, here, before everyone… it was bold.

Butsuma went on, his voice firmer.
“If you think this is only a masquerade for peace, then look at me closely. I don’t need to play a role. Because I truly mean it.”

He tightened his hold on Tajima’s hand deliberately, as if to show everyone.

Tajima blushed scarlet, his heart beating so hard he thought everyone could hear. But he did not let go. On the contrary, his fingers gripped his more tightly.

And that simple, discreet but clear gesture silenced part of the murmurs.

---

Reactions soon followed. Some Uchiha muttered with contempt, judging Butsuma too bold, too confident. Others, younger, exchanged uneasy glances: this Senju was not like the war stories. He had neither arrogance nor cruelty, only calm and steady assurance.

An old man shook his head.
“Words are not enough,” he muttered. But he said no more, as if the Alpha’s conviction had caught him off guard.

In the crowd, a woman whispered:
“Tajima never had anyone speak of him like that…”

Tajima kept his eyes down, his face burning. He had not let go of Butsuma’s hand despite the heavy attention.

When at last they were alone, away from the market and its stares, Butsuma stopped. He slowly released the omega’s hand, looking a little hesitant.

He leaned toward him slightly and murmured:
“I hope I didn’t shame you, fiancé.”

His brows furrowed, a hint of worry passing through his eyes.
“It was improper of me to speak of you so openly in public without your consent.”

Tajima froze for a moment, clutching at the fabric of his kimono. His heart was still beating too fast, but not from anger. Not from shame. He drew a breath, then dared to lift his eyes to Butsuma.

“I wasn’t ashamed…” he admitted softly. His cheeks were still red, but his dark eyes held new sincerity. “I was just… unsettled.”

Butsuma paused, surprised by the words. Then a timid smile passed over his lips. Tajima, too, smiled faintly, awkwardly.

Their faces drew closer without their realizing. Heat rose between them. Their breaths brushed. They were on the verge of a kiss…

When a woman passed with her son on the path, nodding to them.

Both of them started and pulled away at once, red to the ears. Butsuma found himself pressed against Tajima, their shoulders still joined despite their attempt at distance.

“Forgive me…” the Senju murmured, low and ashamed. “My behavior is improper. Not worthy.”

Tajima turned his eyes away, but his lips trembled, as if a nervous laugh wanted to escape. His hand, however, remained against Butsuma’s, refusing to leave completely.

“It wasn’t improper…” he whispered, almost timid. His fingers clenched tighter. “On the contrary… it reassured me.”

Butsuma stared at him, startled, as if doubting what he’d heard.

Tajima quickly looked away again, unable to hold his gaze.
“It was… clumsy, yes. But I wasn’t afraid.”

A soft silence wrapped around them. Butsuma’s heart beat too fast. He had never thought he would hear such a confession from the omega.

He smiled, discreet, almost trembling.
“Then I’m glad…” he murmured. “Glad you don’t reject me.”

Tajima drew a deep breath, lips parted as if to say more. But no words came. So he simply stayed there, pressed close to him, their hands linked like a silent promise.

❤️❤️‍🔥

Chapter Text

The sun was still high, but the air had already begun to soften. The Uchiha clan market murmured around them: women haggled, children darted between stalls, and the smell of grilled fish mingled with spices.

Butsuma and Tajima had settled a little apart, on a dark wooden terrace attached to a small teahouse. Tajima hadn’t wanted to return to the family house. In any case, his father would have forced him to stay with Butsuma. So he might as well choose the place himself.

And besides… he liked being with him. Even if it was unsettling, even if other people’s gazes weighed on him, even if certain attentions seemed forced by circumstance, he didn’t want it to stop.

Butsuma, for his part, took care of everything. He handled the ordering, watched what Tajima ate and drank, and paid for everything himself without letting the omega draw a single coin from his sleeve.

“Drink a little more,” he said gently, pushing the cup toward him.

Tajima frowned, embarrassed.
“You don’t have to do all this.”

Butsuma shook his head, his expression firm but kind.
“I’m the one who invited you. And I want you to enjoy it.”

The omega lowered his eyes, his fingers grazing the warm ceramic. His cheeks had already flushed, as they did every time the Alpha was too attentive.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. The noise of passersby covered their hesitations. From the corner of his eye, Butsuma watched Tajima, noting how he pinched his lips at each bite, as if forbidding himself to enjoy it too much.

So he decided to speak.
“That red kimono…”

Tajima looked up, wary.
“What about it?”

“It suits you better than I imagined,” Butsuma said, sincere. “You are… beautiful. Truly.”

Tajima almost choked on his mouthful. He set his chopsticks down, coughed, then turned his face away. His ears went scarlet.
“You… you say that too easily.”

Butsuma couldn’t help smiling.
“Maybe. But it isn’t a lie.”

A silence passed. Tajima gripped his chopsticks, eyes fixed on his bowl. Yet a faint shiver ran along his nape. He didn’t know why those words affected him so much.

Butsuma resumed calmly. He didn’t want to smother him with compliments, but he couldn’t help speaking.
“I like when you eat well. You seem more at ease.”

“Don’t say that…” Tajima murmured, half-hidden behind his sleeve. “I’ll think you see me as a child.”

“No,” Butsuma answered at once, serious. “As someone I want to take care of. That’s different.”

Tajima’s dark eyes lifted, surprised. His lips trembled, but no reply came. He returned to his meal, a little faster, as if to flee the conversation.

Butsuma didn’t try to stop him. He simply watched him, every gesture imprinted in his memory.

Small dishes kept arriving, set down in little ceramic plates: marinated vegetables, grilled fish, fragrant rice. Butsuma had ordered generously, as if afraid Tajima would leave with an empty stomach.

“You ordered too much,” Tajima frowned.

“No,” Butsuma said, filling his bowl. “Just enough so you can choose what you like.”

The omega sighed, but tasted anyway. His eyes widened slightly at the sweet-salty flavor of a bite. And Butsuma saw it.

He smiled, leaning in a little.
“You see? I knew you’d like it.”

Tajima shot him a glare, but his cheeks betrayed him.
“You’re… irritating,” he muttered.

“But charming?” the Alpha ventured, amused.

Tajima flushed to the tips of his ears and focused on his bowl, refusing to answer.

Time passed like that, paced by the sounds of the market, the scents of the dishes, and their awkward exchanges. Passersby sometimes stole glances, intrigued to see the Uchiha heir sitting with the Senju. Some frowned; others nodded, as if reluctantly accepting that this young Alpha was taking care of their omega.

Tajima felt those looks, and his stomach tightened each time. But Butsuma’s hand, resting not far from his on the table, was a silent reminder.

The Alpha looked at him again.
“Do you feel… comfortable?”

“I prefer being here to being at home,” Tajima admitted with a slight shrug. “Back there… I know my father is always watching us.”

“I understand,” Butsuma said, pressing his lips together.

His gaze darkened, but he quickly pushed it away. He wanted Tajima to enjoy this moment, not think of Saka’s severity.

He leaned a bit closer, voice lower.
“With me, you don’t have to force yourself.”

“You say that like it’s easy…” Tajima blinked, unsettled.

“It will never be easy. But I can at least offer you that.”

A silence settled, heavy yet gentle. Tajima lowered his eyes, fingers tightening a little on his chopsticks. He wanted to believe him.

The meal ended slowly. Butsuma settled the bill without discussion, ignoring the innkeeper’s surprised look—he had likely expected the Uchiha to pay. Then he stood and held out his hand to Tajima.

The omega hesitated, eyes fixed on that open hand. His cheeks flared again. But he took it, softly, and let himself be guided off the terrace.

In the street, the stares returned, but Butsuma didn’t let go. His hand stayed steady, protective.

Tajima lowered his head, heart pounding wildly. His thoughts tangled: embarrassment, fear, but also a strange warmth he couldn’t push away.

Butsuma simply moved forward, straight-backed, resolute. He wanted peace, yes. But more than that, he wanted Tajima. And that, he was no longer afraid to admit.

As they left the restaurant, the gazes on them thickened at once. A few Uchiha stood nearby, pretending to chat. The murmurs were not hushed.

“The Senju is paying for him…”
“He doesn’t seem ashamed to show it.”
“Hn. Maybe he isn’t like his father.”

Others stayed colder.
“Fine words aren’t enough. Let him prove he’ll protect Tajima first.”
“Senju are still Senju.”

Tajima walked with his head down, fingers tightening around Butsuma’s hand. He felt those looks, those judgments, like arrows. Strangely, he still didn’t let go.

Butsuma remained calm, eyes fixed ahead. He knew they were being watched, judged, tested. So he deliberately hid nothing: to walk like this, hand in hand with Tajima, was the clearest answer he could give.

They found a quieter spot, in the shade of a tall pine that dominated the street. Away from the bustle, but not far enough to be unseen.

Butsuma stopped. His heart beat faster than he wanted to admit. He turned to Tajima, his gaze gentling.

“Fiancé,” he said simply.

Tajima looked up, startled to hear that word in public, again. His cheeks flushed at once.

Butsuma drew a breath, hesitated a second… then dared.
“May I kiss you?” His voice was low, sincere. “I admit I want to. But I’ll understand if it’s too soon.”

Silence stretched. Tajima felt his heart race, his lips parting without words. Heat climbed into his cheeks, up to his ears.

There were still curious eyes around them. But in that moment, there was only him and Butsuma.

Tajima’s heart surged. Butsuma’s words still rang in his head: “May I kiss you?”

His cheeks burned, his breath shortened. Instead of retreating, he gave a small nod.
“…Yes,” he breathed, almost inaudible.

Butsuma leaned in gently. His hand slid to Tajima’s, their fingers tangling awkwardly. His other hand rested at the omega’s back, hesitant but firm, drawing him close.

Their lips brushed. Tajima started slightly, eyes wide, then let it happen. His cheeks were crimson, his body stiff, but he didn’t turn away.

The contact was simple, chaste. Yet it set all his senses humming.

Butsuma kept his eyes closed, savoring that fragile first bond. There was no dominance, no obligation. Only a silent promise.

When they parted, Tajima stayed still, lips parted, his dark eyes on him, brighter than before.

“Thank you… fiancé,” Butsuma murmured, still shaken, smiling.

Tajima flushed even deeper, but didn’t protest. His fingers, trembling in Butsuma’s, tightened slightly, as if to say he hadn’t disliked it.

❤️❤️‍🔥

Chapter Text

For several days, Butsuma had grown used to the Uchiha compound. It was not easy: the stares were harsh, the whispers constant. But he had learned to walk through the courtyard without lowering his head, to greet the elders politely, to train alongside warriors who watched every mistake just to judge him.

Little by little, he felt his behavior was bearing fruit. Some Uchiha had begun to acknowledge his sincerity. People whispered that he was not like his father, that he took care of Tajima, that he did not see the union as a mere alliance but as a true bond.

And Tajima, too, was changing. He dared more often to remain near him, even in public. Their hands had been joined several times in the courtyard, and though the looks remained heavy, the omega had not pulled away.

All this, Saka Uchiha had seen.

Tajima’s father had never believed in this marriage. In his mind, sooner or later, the Senju would betray them, show himself brutal or indecent, finally give a reason to reject him and blame the Senju clan. He had waited. Every day, he had watched for the moment when Butsuma would reveal his true nature.

But that moment never came. Worse still: murmurs within the clan were starting to turn in the Senju’s favor. Some elders even dared to say he might be a good choice.

And that, Saka could not accept.

---

The drama erupted in the middle of the main courtyard. The Uchiha had gathered after training, some chatting, others sharing a quick meal. Butsuma was returning from a walk with Tajima, a basket of fruit in one hand, the other free but ready to take his fiancé’s.

Suddenly, a voice thundered.

“SENJU!”

Butsuma froze. Saka Uchiha’s voice cracked like a weapon.

The man crossed the crowd, his gaze dark as the abyss fixed on him. His step was heavy, his aura oppressive. Tajima, beside him, stiffened, his face draining of color.

“What have you done to my son?!” he growled, so loud that the entire clan turned.

A chilling silence fell. The Uchiha, surprised, drew into a circle, searching for the cause of the accusation.

Butsuma frowned. His heart quickened, but his face stayed stoic.

“Nothing,” he answered calmly. “Absolutely nothing inappropriate.”

Saka did not listen. His fist shot up, and before anyone had time to react, he struck.

Butsuma was thrown back, hitting the stone of the courtyard. The basket rolled, fruit spilling across the ground.

A cry escaped Tajima.
“Father! Stop!”

But Saka did not hear. He stepped forward, seized Butsuma’s collar, and slammed him back down. His hand closed around his throat.

“You think you can fool everyone, Senju?! You think I haven’t seen your greed?!”

Butsuma clenched his teeth, trying to pry off the iron grip. His eyes burned with anger, but he refused to strike.

“Let me go,” he growled. “I have done nothing to Tajima.”

Around them, the Uchiha whispered, unsettled. Some seemed convinced by the accusation, others frowned in doubt. Tajima rushed forward, eyes wide with desperation.

“Father, enough!” he cried. “He hasn’t done anything to me!”

But Saka only tightened his hold, ignoring his own son.
“You’re lying for him! You’re already manipulated!”

---

Butsuma felt his breath choking off. Saka’s hand was merciless. But more than the pain, it was rage that filled him.

So this is it. He never wanted this to work. He wanted to break me from the start.

But his eyes shifted to Tajima. The omega trembled, hands clutched at his kimono. His black eyes reflected fear and fury.

Butsuma drew in what breath he could, then gathered his strength and shoved Saka off him. The man stumbled back, surprised.

Butsuma rose, panting, his gaze locked on him. “I have never raised my hand against your son. Not once. I have only respected him.”

His voice rang across the courtyard, louder than the whispers. He turned, his eyes sweeping over the faces around him.

“You have all seen me. Since I arrived, I have eaten with him, walked with him, slept in his room. Have you ever once seen me force him? Brutalize him? Humiliate him?!”

Silence. Some Uchiha lowered their eyes, others exchanged uneasy glances. Tajima stood frozen, lips parted.

Saka snarled, his eyes blazing.“Your words are nothing but air. You could easily have taken advantage of him in secret.”

Tajima clenched his fists. He stepped forward, almost shielding Butsuma.“Father! Stop saying that! It’s not true!”

His cheeks were red, not with shame but anger. His black eyes burned into his father’s with a new intensity.“Butsuma hasn’t done anything to me. Nothing! If he had wanted to, he would have had a thousand chances. But he didn’t.”

The crowd murmured louder. Tajima’s direct defense had struck them. The Uchiha traded looks, uncertain.

---

Saka stepped back, his face twisted in fury. Never had his son spoken out against him like this.

“You dare… defend a Senju against your own father?!”

Tajima trembled, but did not yield.“Yes. Because you’re lying.”

Butsuma’s heart tightened. To hear Tajima say those words, before the entire clan, gave him new strength. He placed a firm hand on the omega’s shoulder, supporting him silently.

Then he turned his gaze back to Saka. “I have nothing to hide. If you want to accuse me, do it. But I will not back down. Tajima is my fiancé, and I will respect him until the end.”

The murmurs swelled again. Some elders nodded, others still frowned. But the balance was shifting. Saka, instead of rallying support, seemed to be losing it.

---

Saka growled, his hand trembling. His entire plan was collapsing. He had hoped to make the Senju a culprit in everyone’s eyes, but now his own son defended him.

He turned sharply, his cloak snapping behind him. “This is not over,” he spat. “You will regret defying my word.”

He strode from the courtyard, his looming shadow vanishing into the halls of the compound.

---

Silence hung heavy for a moment. Then, slowly, an elder Uchiha stepped forward.“Tajima… is it true?” he asked gravely. “The Senju has done nothing?”

Tajima nodded, his eyes still wet.“Yes. He has done nothing.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. Some warriors crossed their arms, others nodded slowly.

Butsuma, still catching his breath, straightened fully. He laid a reassuring hand on Tajima’s back, then looked at the clan.

“I did not come here to bring shame. I came to be worthy of him. And I will prove it every day, whether you wish it or not.”

This time, several Uchiha nodded openly. Their stares were no longer only suspicious: some now held a glimmer of respect.

---

When the crowd finally dispersed, Tajima stood still at his side. His heart was still racing.

Butsuma lowered his eyes toward him.“…I’m sorry you had to say that to your father.”

Tajima inhaled, his lips trembling. Then he shook his head slowly.“I had no choice. You hadn’t done anything wrong.”

He bit his lip, then added more softly:

“Thank you… for resisting.”

Butsuma remained silent for a moment. Then he squeezed his shoulder a little more firmly.

“I will protect you. Even from him.”

Tajima flushed, his eyes shining with emotion. He did not answer, but his silence said everything.

---

And that day, before the entire clan, the balance shifted. Butsuma was no longer merely the Senju outsider. He was the one who had dared to stand against Saka Uchiha… and who had earned Tajima’s defense.

❤️❤️‍🔥

Chapter Text

The Uchiha courtyard still echoed with the clash of wood and dry exhalations. The descending sun stretched silhouettes across the paving stones, drawing dark blades between worn slabs. The air smelled of sweat, hot dust, a thread of iron and ash.

Tajima walked in step with Butsuma, his gaze soft, almost relieved by this routine that, for the past few days, no longer hurt them. They spoke in low voices about a broth they had tasted the evening before—too salty, Tajima had judged, though the tenderness of his smile belied the severity of his words. Butsuma nodded, amused. The moment was simple, almost ordinary. He had learned to desire these banalities more than anything else.

The voice cut through the air.
“Tajima!”

The syllable cracked like a shuriken. Tajima stiffened at once, shoulders locking, eyes widening in alarm. Saka crossed the courtyard, long cloak striking against his calves, Sharingan barely restrained beneath tight lids. His aura rolled across the stones like a squall—dark, heavy, authoritarian.

Before Tajima could speak, the hand fell.

The dry sound of the slap reverberated off the stone. Tajima’s head snapped to the side, a vivid redness blooming on his fine skin. A shocked breath rippled through the circle of warriors. Chopsticks froze midair, gourds hung suspended. No one moved. The entire clan had seen it.

Butsuma stood still half a heartbeat. It was enough to unseal something ancient, mineral, within him. His blood roared like an avalanche in his ears. He no longer saw the courtyard, nor the faces. Only Saka’s raised hand, and on Tajima’s skin the mark it had left.

“Who do you think you are?”

His voice leapt before him, deeper, broader than his chest. He was already in front of Saka without remembering moving. His fingers seized the collar, gripped, pulled. He lifted him off the ground as one uproots a root. The fabric tore. Butsuma’s arms strained, his face so close to the Uchiha’s he could have counted his lashes.

“Being his father does not give you the right to strike my omega.”

The my rang sharp. Brutal. Indelible. It rebounded off the stone and settled in every ear. Someone swore under their breath. Someone else stepped back.

Butsuma’s fist struck, instinct and judgment entwined. Saka reacted—too late. The impact burst against his cheekbone. Blood welled, and for a second the elder’s aura faltered.

Then the counterattack. Saka closed in, slipped under the guard, hooked Butsuma’s ribs with a veteran’s efficiency. The Senju’s breath caught. The two alphas grappled, crashed, rolled in a quarter arc, carrying dust and exclamations with them.

The pheromones surged.

They filled the courtyard with a heavy scent, resin and heat mingled, stinging the tongue. Saka’s signature, old ember, iron and smoke, crashed down like a shroud. Butsuma’s, younger, sharper—amber heated, sap and storm—rose to cleave it. Two storms hurling themselves at each other. The youngest staggered back, hands at their throats, suffocated by the pressure. Some elders straightened, faces shut tight: this was not merely a brawl, but a battle of territory. A declaration.

Butsuma knew it. He hated it. He hated feeling his body respond like an animal, fangs bared, ready to bite to the bone for space, for a bond. Yet everything in him commanded: protect. Punish. Don’t let that hand fall again.

Saka feinted, Butsuma followed. Fist against forearm, knee against thigh, head against shoulder. Their blows carried the honesty of men who do not play. They clashed, shoved, reengaged. One step, two steps—their round broke the lines of stone, scattered gravel like shards of stars.

“Insolent!” snarled Saka, lip split. “You think you can challenge me here? In my court? You’re nothing but a Senju dressed in a veneer of gentleness.”

“I don’t need to be your equal,” Butsuma answered low, so near only Saka heard. “I only need to be better. For him.”

He twisted—wrist lock, shift of center of gravity—Saka bent. The Uchiha murmurs swelled into a tide. Some arms twitched forward, then held back. To intervene was to choose a side.

Tajima couldn’t breathe anymore. A tremor beat at his diaphragm. His hands clutched at his kimono, and the fresh mark on his cheek burned from within. He stepped once, then again. On the third attempt, his legs gave way and he clung to a nearby pillar. He wanted to cry “enough,” but his voice broke before the vowel. His nostrils were invaded by pheromones, his throat constricted by the dry violence of the alphas. He had never seen them like this. He didn’t want to.

Butsuma swung a short hook. Saka blocked, countered. Butsuma tasted his own blood, iron cold unlocking an old memory: his father’s voice, and hand, and words that struck like verdicts.

Failure. You think you protect? You’re nothing but an incapable son. You’ll end up destroying what you touch.

The rage doubled—but it collided with something else, a wedge planted deep: fear. Not of Saka. Not of the clan. Fear of seeing Tajima’s trust shift to suspicion. Fear of feeling his hand, one day, withdraw.

He caught Saka’s shoulders, lifted, overturned him with the force of a falling trunk. They struck the ground with a muffled thunder. Butsuma landed above, knee in ribs, forearm across the collarbone. Saka growled, clawed at his throat. Butsuma blocked. His free fist trembled, suspended.

He could. He knew it. One blow, well placed. He could shatter Saka’s pride and jaw alike. End it here. Cut the fear at the root.

He looked past the anger.

At the edge of the circle, Tajima’s eyes were wide—not with hate, not with disgust, but with a tender terror, a raw sorrow that broke the mechanism of the gesture. Butsuma’s Adam’s apple rose and fell too fast. His arm lost its rage, kept only its strength.

“You hesitate?” spat Saka, bloodied smile at his lips. “Pathetic. You’re not worthy of him.”

Butsuma tilted his head, a shadow of a dry laugh on his lips.“I hesitate because I am worthy of him.”

Instead of striking, his fist opened. He seized Saka’s hand—the hand that had struck—turned it palm upward and pinned it to the ground, fingers splayed, immobilizing without maiming. His other hand pressed on the shoulder to nail the alpha to the stone.

“You will not strike Tajima again,” he said loud enough for every stone to hear. “Never again.”

Silence fastened to every syllable with almost religious care. The young lowered their eyes. The elders made faint, unreadable movements.

Butsuma let go. He stepped back, then again, giving Saka space to rise and his own anger room to breathe. The pheromones ebbed reluctantly, like a tide resisting but obeying.

Only then did he turn to Tajima.“Forgive me,” he murmured as he reached him. His voice, raw from battle, turned almost gentle. “Forgive me for losing control. I… I couldn’t do otherwise.”

He lifted his hand, hesitated—then brushed the marked cheek with chakra so fine that only a warmth of water remained. Tajima flinched at first contact, then yielded entirely to the second, lashes beating against stubborn tears.

“You… you haven’t lost me,” the omega answered hoarsely. His trembling hand sought Butsuma’s forearm, resting there, light as a promise.

The rustle of fabric drew their eyes: silhouettes had stepped forward, dark robes, discreet belts. The Elders. At their center, a woman with gray hair, plain attire, gaze carved from pale stone. She was called Nao. She hadn’t yet spoken, yet silence already spread.

“Saka,” she said without raising her voice. “You struck your son before the clan.”

It wasn’t a question. Saka, chin high, didn’t answer. The redness on his cheek spoke for him.

“Butsuma Senju,” she continued, turning, “you answered violence with violence in our courtyard.”

Butsuma held her gaze. He offered no excuse. He felt the warmth of Tajima at his side, and that was enough to keep his spine straight.

“The council will convene tonight,” Nao concluded. “Until then: Saka is relieved of all decisions concerning Tajima. You will leave the main wing until the verdict. Butsuma will remain in the guest pavilion, under watch. No one will touch Tajima without his consent.”

A shiver passed through the assembly. It wasn’t condemnation. It was worse: suspension, a time for camps to count themselves and tongues to loosen. Eyes lit, calculated. Messengers already slipped from the crowd, as silent as cast shadows.

“And if he refuses?” asked Saka, voice rasping, without saying what.

Nao looked at him for a long moment, then inclined her head toward Tajima. “He will speak to the council.”

The words dropped, sharp. A right rarely granted. A right that could overturn an entire chamber.

The Elders withdrew at once, as if the decision had sealed the air. The circle unraveled in clusters, murmurs gathering into rumors. Respect for one, fear of another, disdain for all: the courtyard resumed breathing, exaggerating every breath.

Butsuma stood still a moment longer. Anger gone left a void—a pit whose walls were lined with echoes. Worthless. You bared your fangs. You just gave those who hate you exactly what they wanted to see. He didn’t dare ask Tajima to come with him. He feared the my spoken earlier had burned more than it had protected.

Tajima moved first. “Come,” he said simply.

It was barely a breath. But it was enough. He took Butsuma by the sleeve, not the hand—stubborn modesty—and led him toward the shaded gallery. They stopped there, away from the closest ears, though the shadow couldn’t dissolve the tension holding their napes.

“Were you afraid of me?” Butsuma asked, almost too low to be heard.

Tajima’s silence might have killed him. Instead, he raised his eyes. They were bright, rimmed red for a thousand reasons. He shook his head.

“I was afraid of you… for you,” he corrected with a broken smile. “Afraid you’d lose yourself. Afraid they’d use this to crush you.” He paused. “And afraid of my father.”

Butsuma closed his eyes for a heartbeat. He pressed his forehead to the pillar to remain standing. He had wanted to promise. To say, I won’t lose myself. He didn’t lie.
“Sometimes I don’t know how to be without anger,” he confessed. “I wish I did. But when they touched you…”

Tajima stepped close enough that only a finger’s breadth separated them. He still felt, faintly, the amber-storm scent of the alpha, softened yet vibrant. It calmed him. It frightened him too.

“Then learn,” he whispered. “With me.”

Butsuma wanted to laugh and cry at once. Learn. As if one could learn to be anything other than the son of a father too harsh and a clan too old. He nodded. That was enough for today.

A step scraped dust in the gallery. Kagemaru, squad captain, stopped two meters away, torso bent in measured respect.

“Senju,” he said. “We’ll wait for your words at the council. What you did… no one will forget.”

Impossible to tell if it was threat or promise. Perhaps both. Butsuma inclined his head in return. Kagemaru vanished among the pillars.

They stayed a while longer. The evening wind pushed in the courtyard’s smell—a bit of broth, a bit of sweat, much iron. Far off, someone laughed too loud. A door slammed.

“Tonight,” said Butsuma. He straightened, set his shoulders back. “I’ll say what must be said. And if they reject me, I’ll leave. But I won’t leave you.”

He had spoken the vow like planting a standard. Tajima breathed faster, then steadier.

“You won’t leave alone,” he replied, almost timidly, as if frightened by his own audacity. He lowered his eyes, flushed, and added quickly: “If… if it comes to that.”

A suspended beat. Butsuma felt his fear loosen into finer cords. He wasn’t saved. Nor entirely forgiven. But he was no longer carrying the weight of his anger alone.

They resumed the path to the guest pavilion in small steps, side by side, touching no more than the sleeve Tajima still held with two fingers. Behind them, the courtyard sealed the event in a shell of rumor. Ahead, a council chamber awaited, burning and frozen all at once.

The balance had tipped. Politically: for a patriarch had been pinned to the stones before his warriors’ eyes, and an omega had gained the right to speak. Personally: for the my hurled among the stones now had the size of an oath, and could never be taken back.

When they passed the last column, Butsuma looked back. The marks of the struggle—dust, scuffed lines, drops of blood—drew a map on the stones that wouldn’t be cleaned right away. He knew then, with quiet certainty, that this blood had a price. He also knew he would pay it.

He turned his head toward Tajima. The latter was already looking at him.

They had nothing more to say for now. The rest would wait for the council, the night, and whatever the night chose to break or bind. Their steps resumed, steady, and in the narrow corridor, the scent of amber and rain mixed with a trace of ash took on, for the first time since the blow, the smell of a possible home.

❤️❤️‍🔥

Chapter Text

The courtyard was silent, but Butsuma no longer heard anything.

Everything echoed inside him.
The crack of the slap. Tajima’s trembling breath. His own cry when he lost control.
And now… silence, sharp as a blade.

He had pressed his hand against the pale cheek, his chakra glowing faintly. The mark was fading slowly, but not fast enough to soothe the rage still burning in his chest.
Butsuma stared at that delicate skin, his fingers tightening against his will.

He struck you. Your father. In front of the whole clan.

He drew in a deeper breath, but it trembled.
He wanted to scream again. To strike again. To erase Saka, to destroy him.
But that… that was his Alpha howling. The part of him he hated.

Failure.
Useless.

The voice rang out, cold and harsh. His father’s voice.
You think you’re protecting someone? You’re only showing weakness.

Butsuma lowered his head, dark hair falling across his eyes. He didn’t want Tajima to see him like this. But he couldn’t hold back the flood.
He loved him. Too much. Wrongly. Not in the way he should.

It wasn’t strategy. It wasn’t politics. It wasn’t an alliance.
It was obsessive. Instinctive. Brutal.
He wanted Tajima. Not for the clans. But for himself.
And that was wrong.

A Senju heir had no right to love like that. No right to be weak, dependent.

The voice returned.
You will be a leader, Butsuma. Not a man. Not a lover. A leader.

And already you fail.

His fingers trembled. He pulled his hand away too quickly, as if the contact burned him. The light of chakra went out.
He lowered his head further. His breath ragged. His eyes fleeing.

“I am not a good fiancé,” he whispered. “Not a good son. Not a good Alpha.”

The words fell like stones.
Tajima froze. His lips parted, but no sound came.
His dark eyes fixed on the Alpha, surprised, unsettled.

He was used to arrogant Alphas. Strong, domineering, sure of themselves.
But here… Butsuma had bowed his head. He almost trembled.

The omega slowly raised a hand, hesitant. His fingers brushed the Senju’s wrist.

“Butsuma…”

The name hung in the air.
Butsuma barely lifted his head, eyes glinting with restrained fury.

“I struck your father. I showed my fangs like a beast. And you… you were there.” His voice nearly broke. “You saw what I am.”

He turned his gaze away at once, ashamed.

“If you hate me, I’ll understand.”

Silence fell again. Tajima felt his throat tighten.
He was afraid. But not of Butsuma. Not of his act.

No. He had feared his father’s face. The slap. That humiliation.
But Butsuma… he had raised his hand to defend him.

Tajima breathed in. His hand gripped the Senju’s wrist more firmly.

“You don’t need to say that.”

Butsuma blinked, surprised.
The omega lowered his head too, his cheeks flushed, but went on.

“I didn’t see you as a beast. I saw you… as someone who protected me.”

The words were clumsy, but sincere.
Butsuma froze, unable to answer.

His father’s voice still drummed: failure, failure, failure.
But another voice had risen. Tajima’s voice, soft, trembling, yet clear.

Protected.

His eyes burned for a moment. He bowed his head, crushed by the weight of that word.

The courtyard had emptied, the Uchiha leaving them alone after Saka’s furious departure. But they knew: the rumors were already running.

Tajima breathed again, his fingers sliding this time to catch Butsuma’s hand.
He held it, timid, hesitant.

“You say you’re a bad fiancé. But me… I’ve never had anyone defend me like that. Never.”

He finally raised his eyes. His dark pupils glimmered.

“So… if that’s what it means to be bad… then I want you to keep being bad for me.”

A nervous laugh slipped from his lips, cut short by embarrassment. His cheeks scarlet, he quickly turned away.

But Butsuma remained frozen, struck by those words like lightning.
Something cracked inside him. His father’s voice fell silent, for once.

His fingers tightened around Tajima’s. His breath grew calmer, steadier.
He finally lifted his head, his black eyes meeting the omega’s.

“Tajima…”

He had no words. Not enough. Not worthy.
So he simply stayed there, leaning closer, their hands linked, their breaths mingling.

And for the first time in a long while, the silence in his mind felt less heavy.

Later, Butsuma lay down on the futon, beside Tajima. The room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of a dying lantern.
He stared at the ceiling, thoughts still restless. But this time, his father’s voice did not dominate. It faded behind Tajima’s.

Protected.
Never had anyone.

His eyes turned toward the omega, already half-asleep, curled on his side, his features still faintly marked by the slap.
Butsuma breathed in, resting a cautious hand on his shoulder. He didn’t dare go further.

“I swear…” he murmured in the dark. “Even if I must become a monster… I’ll never let anyone strike you again.”

Tajima barely stirred, but his fingers searched in the dark and found his. He said nothing. But that simple gesture was more than an answer.

Butsuma closed his eyes. His heart pounded, but for once, shame did not devour him whole.

He spoke very softly, as if his words could summon demons.
“I really wanted to kill him. Your father, mine too. I hate them both. Does that make me someone bad?”

Tajima lay still for a moment. His heart beat fast. The night had left shadows under his eyes, but when he spoke, his voice was surprisingly steady.

“You wanted to protect.”

He placed a hesitant hand on Butsuma’s thigh, then slid it up to his palm. The Alpha’s fingers still bore the marks of the fight. Tajima studied them, serious.

“Wanting to strike someone who hits the person you love… that isn’t being bad. That’s being human.”

Butsuma turned away. Shame returned, heavy.

“And if I cross the line? If I become the one who frightens you?”

Tajima breathed in. He turned his head slightly to force the Senju to meet his eyes. His gaze was calm, but determined.

“If you become violent for yourself, then we’ll stop. Together. But wanting to protect me… that isn’t weakness.”

He searched for words, awkward but true.

“You shouted, you struck. It was for me. I was afraid, but I was also saved. I can’t hate you for that.”

Butsuma felt something uncoil in his chest. His father’s anger, the reproaches of a lifetime, echoed still. He wasn’t sure he deserved this forgiveness.

“And if I still want it, this hatred? If every time I see you hurt I…”

Tajima interrupted gently:
“You can be angry. You can hate. But you can choose what to do with it.”

He squeezed Butsuma’s hand tighter, as if anchoring a silent promise.

“Tell me what you feel. Tell me when you want to scream. Tell me when you want to strike the earth instead of a man. We’ll find ways. We won’t let hate rule you.”

The silence that followed was no longer heavy. It was filled with an agreement. Butsuma let his head fall onto the pillow, almost ashamed of the peace that spread through him.

“I’m afraid. I’m afraid of losing you if I become… too much,” he murmured.

Tajima leaned closer, pressing his forehead against his.

“Then don’t be alone in your hatred. Let me be with you.”

Butsuma breathed. His father’s words returned, dull: failure, useless. But Tajima added another sound to the silence.

“You’re not bad because you want to protect me. You’re bad if you let that hatred consume you without stopping it. But I’m here.”

They stayed like that, two bodies in the dawn, hands entwined. No simple answers. No magic solutions. Only one truth: the anger was real, but greater still was the will not to let it win — for Tajima, for them.

Butsuma closed his eyes. His voice, when he spoke, was calmer.

“Alright. Together.”

Tajima smiled, timid and sincere. He brushed a kiss against the bruised cheek.

“Together.”

❤️❤️‍🔥

Chapter Text

The main hall of the Uchiha complex was full. The elders had been summoned, several warriors sat in silence. The air smelled of incense and ash, but the atmosphere was electric. Butsuma hadn’t understood why his father had been called. But when he saw him cross the threshold, he knew. The Senju stood straight, his heavy kimono on his shoulders, his hard eyes fixed on his son like on an insect. To his right, Saka Uchiha wore a smile he didn’t even bother to hide. The silence thickened. And the Senju chief’s voice fell, icy.

“Must I really give you the pleasure of pretending not to be disappointed in you, Butsuma?”

Every syllable cracked like a slap. The Uchiha straightened, some glancing at the young heir. Tajima had gone rigid, fists clenched inside his sleeves. The Senju went on, relentless.

“I didn’t expect much from you. Only that you do what you’re told. Nothing more. And yet even that you are incapable of accomplishing.”

Butsuma clenched his teeth. His knuckles whitened. His breath was heavy, but he didn’t answer. Not yet.

“Sometimes I wonder why I had only one child,” his father continued, his gaze cold. “You’re nothing but a good-for-nothing. Surely the greatest failure I’ve ever produced in my entire life.”

A murmur swept the room. Even among the Uchiha, used to harshness, some frowned. But Saka was exultant. His smile widened, savoring every word like well-distilled poison.

Butsuma felt his chest tighten. The words rang in him like chains: failure, good-for-nothing. He already knew them; he’d heard them a thousand times. But to hear them here, in this hall, in front of Tajima… it was worse than a blade. His gaze slid, despite himself, toward the omega. Tajima trembled, eyes wide, lips pressed tight to keep from crying out. Seeing that expression broke something in him.

But his father wasn’t finished.

“You’re not even capable of being a proper Alpha,” he spat, every word dripped like venom. “What went wrong in your upbringing?”

He didn’t care about the elders’ looks, or that Tajima was there, or Saka’s obvious delight. He spoke to humiliate. To crush.

A frozen silence followed. Then the sentence fell like a final blade.

“You’re like your mother, aren’t you. Useless.”

Butsuma stood frozen, his eyes widening for an instant. His throat tightened, his breath cut off. The hall fell into total silence. Tajima felt his body move before he could think. His lips parted, his heart pounding so hard it hurt.

The room erupted into a frozen chaos. No one had seen it coming. Butsuma had turned on his heel three quarters of the way, his arm fast, precise. The kunai drove into his father’s neck as if into dry wood. Blood spurted, splashing the floor and the dark kimono. The Senju patriarch staggered, his hard eyes fixed on his son. And he smiled. A cold smile, almost proud.

“Hm… his father’s son… after all.”

Then his body toppled. The sound of his fall rang through the great hall like a sentence. Butsuma remained standing, his hand still clenched around the kunai’s hilt. His breathing was calm. Too calm. He pulled the blade out slowly, the metal sticky with red, and looked at his father lying on the floor. He had never felt so right.

Around him, a horrified silence. The Senju present stepped closer, their faces tense.

“Butsuma-sama…”

Their voices shook, worried, uncertain. They didn’t know whether to stop him, judge him, or bow. Butsuma didn’t even look at them. His eyes stayed on the body.

Ashura stepped forward. The cousin studied Butsuma’s impassive face. Not a tear. Not a shadow of remorse. Only that glacial calm. He set his hands on his shoulders, then pulled him into an embrace.

“Me too…” Ashura whispered, his forehead against his. “I hated him too. I don’t blame you. You’re not like him.”

His voice was broken but firm. Ashura held him as if to keep him from falling, even though Butsuma didn’t waver. The Alpha remained silent. He had killed his father. But he didn’t care. That man had never been a father. Only a stranger. A cruel master. A tormentor.

In the distance, Tajima still trembled. His eyes were fixed on Butsuma, unable to fully grasp what he’d just seen. But one thing rang clear in him: he wasn’t afraid of him. Not for an instant.

Butsuma turned toward Saka the way one turns toward a target that has no more room for error. His eyes were black. Cold. Merciless. He saw no reason not to finish him. Saka was superfluous. Between him and Tajima, there was no longer any place for an obstacle. A single swift motion and it would all be over.

“Butsuma, wait,” said Ashura, his voice strangled, reaching out a hand.

But the Alpha didn’t hear. He advanced. No sound, just the rustle of cloth. Tajima trembled, a hand over his mouth. Everyone held their breath.

Butsuma stopped before Saka. The kunai gleamed in the daylight, ready. His voice was as cold as the blade.

“You’re in the way. Like my father. It’s time to make room for new clan leaders. Sorry, you’re no longer invited to our wedding.”

He raised the kunai. Ready to strike.

Saka, seated on a cushion as if still at home, didn’t look surprised. A cruel smile curled his lips, even bloodied.

“You really think you can decide like that? With a knife stroke? Who legitimizes you, Butsuma? You? Your whim?”

The words were nails driven into the air. Voices rose around them, shocked, furious, appalled. Some Uchiha stood, ready to intervene. The Senju present froze, incredulous.

Butsuma felt his anger surge, darker, fiercer. His fist tightened around the blade. The pheromones still hot from the previous clash pulsed in his skin. He hated that part of himself that loved violence, that reveled in the power a blade gives.

And then he saw Tajima. The omega still held his cheek, his hand stained with a little blood. His eyes were wide. Anxious. Shaking. And yet there was something in that gaze that stopped the blade: fear shadowed by a fragile trust. Tajima didn’t want to see him become a murderer. He wasn’t pleading for Saka. He was stopping him for his sake.

For a heartbeat, something cracked in Butsuma. His father’s voice echoed, duller than ever: Failure. Good-for-nothing. Then he heard something else, fainter, truer—the small voice of Tajima from the previous night: We’ll stop. Together.

Butsuma’s arm shook. The blade wavered. Saka seized the moment.

“Look at you. Hesitating. Pathetic.”

What answer was there to that? Striking a father was one thing. Striking a clan leader in public was another. The death of a patriarch would set everything ablaze, revive old hatreds, trigger wars they could not afford.

Butsuma saw Ashura approach, his face hard but his hands raised, not to restrain—to understand. Tajima stepped back, tears threatening. He murmured a single raw word:

“No.”

It was enough. With a single motion, Butsuma brought the knife down toward Saka’s shoulder. Not the neck. Not the throat. The shoulder, clean, precise. The blade slit silk, bit flesh and muscle. Saka screamed, a wild exclamation, more surprise than pain. Blood spurted and stained the stone. The patriarch fell back, clutching his shoulder. The roll of whispers exploded into boos and exclamations. Some Uchiha sprang up, shocked; others stepped back, weighing the political turn of the act.

Butsuma stood still, kunai still in hand, arms trembling. His breath came back, hard. He had chosen a violent but nonlethal wound. He hadn’t wanted to spill the blood that would ignite war. He had wanted to silence it.

Saka glared at him with hatred, and for the first time without a smile. His ragged breath let out a short laugh.

“You’ve understood nothing, foolish boy. You think cutting me once will make everything clear? You know nothing of the chains chieftains hold.”

A chill ran through Butsuma; he knew Saka spoke a truth. But he also knew that as long as this man wielded cruelty like a scepter, Tajima would never be free.

Ashura finally stepped between them, eyes blazing. He set a hand on Butsuma’s shoulder, but his gaze also cut to Saka, full of restrained fury.

“Enough. You will be silent. Now.”

Both sides fell quiet. The Senju dampened their voices to avoid provoking an ambush. The Uchiha looked at one another, worried about what would follow.

Tajima had come closer despite everything. He was pale, but he placed a hand on Butsuma’s chest, as if to say he was there. His voice was weak but carried:

“Don’t let me lose you.”

Butsuma looked at him. The world seemed to center itself around those two words. He felt his hatred transform into something else: a cold resolve. Not blind rage. The will to protect without losing himself.

He sheathed the kunai. Slowly. His fingers trembled. He had wounded Saka, but hadn’t finished what could have lit the fire. The gesture was calculated and savage at once.

The courtyard held its breath. The Uchiha present divided into whispers. Some murmured admiration; others spoke of crime. The elders consulted one another with their eyes.

Saka, hand pressed to his shoulder, spat again:

“This will be paid for. You will come before the council. You will answer for your act.”

Butsuma didn’t respond. He fixed Saka with a stare that sought neither victory nor humiliation. Simply an announcement.

“I will come. But know this: if you raise your hand against Tajima again, I will not hesitate. And I will not let you destroy what we are beginning.”

Saka sneered, avoiding his gaze. Rage surged in Tajima and he barely held back a scream. Ashura set a firm hand on Tajima’s shoulder, an anchor.

Around them, clan life resumed, slower, like after a tremor. Messengers began to run. Elders swore to convene a council. Eyes turned to Butsuma with a new look: that of the man who had defied a patriarch. Some were impressed. Others terrified.

When night fell, the courtyard emptied. Whispers became rumors. But one fact remained: Saka was wounded. And Butsuma had shown himself capable of attacking a leader.

In the room later, Tajima finally cried, silently, his head pressed to Butsuma’s shoulder. The latter stayed awake a long time, face set. He hadn’t killed Saka. He hadn’t sunk lower than he already was in his own estimation. Yet something had broken and something else had formed. The blade had spoken. Tajima’s sobs had told the truth: they had bound their secrets and fears.

In the morning, Ashura came to find him. His face was grave, but his voice was the gentlest anyone had heard from him.

“You’re going before the council, cousin. We’ll go with you. We’ll speak. But be ready: this will not pass without consequences.”

Butsuma nodded. He knew. The road would be more dangerous. Harder. More political still. But Tajima was at his side. And that made everything—even death and hate—bearable. He felt weak and strong at once. Human. Weak for having wanted to kill. Strong for having managed to stop. And for the first time, he no longer heard his father’s voice screaming failure so loudly it split his head. He heard it, distant, muffled. But beneath it, another voice—fragile, stubborn—was asking: stay.

The summons did not take long. In the morning, messengers came for them. The Uchiha and Senju council sat together to judge the unforgivable act: the murder of a clan leader and the grievous wounding of another. Butsuma walked into the great hall with Tajima on his arm. Many had thought he would come alone, head bowed. But no. He walked straight, his face set, and the Uchiha omega was at his side, dressed in a dark kimono, his hand gripping the Alpha’s sleeve.

Silence fell at once. Dozens of eyes weighed on them. The Senju elders sat in a half circle, their faces severe. The Uchiha formed the rest of the assembly. All awaited submission, an apology, fear. But Butsuma bowed only slightly, without letting go of Tajima.

“I am Butsuma Senju. Heir of the clan. And I take responsibility for my actions.”

A Senju elder, his voice glacial, struck his staff against the floor.

“You have spilled the blood of your own father, leader of our clan. Explain yourself.”

“My father was no leader. He was a tyrant. He humiliated our own. He humiliated me before the Uchiha. He raised his hand against those I protect. I ended his reign.”

An Uchiha spoke up, voice full of irony:

“And Saka Uchiha? You wounded him like a dog in our courtyard. You call that protection, Senju?”

“I wounded the one who raised his hand against Tajima. My fiancé.”

Eyes turned to the omega, who flushed but did not retreat. Tajima straightened, clutching Butsuma’s sleeve even tighter.

“I regret nothing. If I must be judged for protecting the one who has been promised to me, then judge me. But know that I will never back down.”

Ashura stepped forward, his firm voice covering the uproar.

“My cousin speaks true. We all know what his father was. And we all know what Saka is worth. What he has done is not a crime: it is a deliverance.”

Finally, the Uchiha elder presiding lifted his staff and silenced the room.

“Here is the decision. Butsuma Senju has spilled his father’s blood. But he has taken responsibility for his acts. There will be no execution. No banishment. From today, Butsuma is recognized as the leader of the Senju clan.”

The old Uchiha added, his hard gaze set on Saka:

“And as for you, Saka Uchiha… your conduct will be examined. Your authority put into question.”

Saka’s face twisted with rage. Butsuma stood still. His eyes showed nothing, but his heart pounded. He did not cry. He did not smile. He only bowed.

“I accept.”

The council hall was still thick with murmurs when Butsuma took Tajima’s hand and led him outside, ignoring the looks, ignoring protests. His steps were heavy but assured. Once alone in a quieter wing of the complex, he stopped. His black eyes fixed on Tajima with burning intensity.

“I am clan leader. And our marriage will be dictated only by us. Not by my father. Not by yours. Not by their wars.”

He slid his arms beneath the omega’s legs and lifted him. Tajima’s eyes widened, his arms instantly circling his neck. Butsuma’s breath was warm against his temple. His grip firm but not brutal. Like a promise: you are mine, and I am yours.

“Butsuma…”

He looked up at him. There was no hardness left, only that awkward tenderness that belonged to him.

“No one will part us.”

He set his lips against Tajima’s. Gently, as if the contact could shatter. Tajima closed his eyes, his fingers tightening in Butsuma’s kimono, accepting a kiss that was not imposed. The whole world could burn outside. Here, there were only the two of them.

❤️❤️‍🔥

Chapter Text

The room was silent, bathed only in the glow of candles.
Butsuma and Tajima were finally alone, the turmoil of the wedding far behind them.

The futon awaited them, covered with fresh sheets, but what lingered in the air was stronger than any perfume: their pheromones. Sweet, intense, entwined.

Butsuma approached, nervous, his fingers trembling slightly as they brushed the pale cheek of his spouse.
“Tajima… you smell so good.” His voice was rough, almost strangled by instinct.

Tajima blushed, his breath short. The scent of omega rose again, sweet and burning, filling the space. He said nothing, but his lowered eyes, his offered nape, were already an answer.

Their lips found each other. At first timid, then more insistent. Their bodies pressed together, clumsy but hungry for warmth.

Butsuma slid one hand into his dark hair, the other to his slender hip. Tajima clung to his kimono as if afraid he might vanish. Their pheromones collided, creating a bubble around them, a unique blend no elder, no father, no clan could ever control.

“I want it to be you,” Tajima whispered, his lips brushing the Alpha’s ear.

Butsuma held his breath. His instincts screamed, but he forced himself to remain gentle. His hands caressed his omega’s skin slowly, each movement a silent prayer.

Their rings gleamed for a moment as their hands linked against the futon. The two bands clinked softly together, a reminder: this is real. We are bound.

They drew even closer until they joined. The act was awkward, hesitant, yet profoundly intimate. Their breaths mingled, heavy and short, their fingers still interlaced.

The heat rose, stronger, more overwhelming. Tajima moaned softly, his scent spreading, an irresistible call to the Alpha. Butsuma kissed him, his mouth trying to soothe every sound.

There was a moment when their bodies pressed even tighter, as if something anchored itself so they would never be apart again. The knot. It didn’t need to be named. They both felt it.

Time lost its meaning. Nothing existed but their clasped hands, their joined lips, their mingled scents.

When all grew calm, they remained lying against one another, still joined, breathing heavily. Butsuma buried his face in Tajima’s black hair, murmuring in a voice almost broken:
“You are mine… and I am yours.”

Tajima answered in a whisper, his fingers caressing the Alpha’s back:
“Forever.”

And in the silence of the night, their blended pheromones soaked into the futon, like an indelible promise.

❤️❤️‍🔥

Chapter Text

The silence stretched, broken only by the frantic beating of Butsuma’s heart. His fingers trembled against Tajima’s belly, the soft warmth under his palm.
He was afraid to speak, afraid to break this fragile reality. But the scent… that sweet, deep, enveloping scent… he had ignored it in his exhaustion, but now he could no longer deny it.

It was the scent of a pregnant omega.
His omega.
His spouse.

“Tajima…” His voice broke, rough, strangled with emotion. “You… you’re carrying… our child?”

The omega looked away for a moment, as if he still feared his judgment. But his fingers stayed clasped over Butsuma’s, guiding them, pressing them more firmly against his rounded belly.
“Yes,” he whispered, shy, his cheeks red. “For a few weeks now.”

The world stopped.
Butsuma felt his breath leave him, his eyes filling with tears. His Alpha instincts flared suddenly, uncontrollably: his pheromones flooded the room, heavy, dense, protective. They wrapped around Tajima, marked the space, proclaimed: he is mine, he carries my bloodline, no one will touch him.

He bent forward, pressing his forehead to the omega’s belly. His hand cradled it entirely, trembling, feverish. His lips brushed it, awkwardly, again and again, like a prayer.
“My child…” he whispered. “Our child…”

Tajima slid a trembling hand into his hair, caressing his nape. His pheromones answered softly, reassuring, sweet. They welcomed the Alpha’s storm without fear.

Butsuma lifted his gaze, still shining.
“Why… why didn’t you tell me? Were you afraid of me?”
“No…” Tajima shook his head, his fingers tight in the dark strands of his hair. “I wanted to wait until you were here. Until you were ready. And… I wanted to give you this news in person, not in a letter.”

Butsuma let out a trembling laugh, half sob. His arms wrapped around Tajima and he held him tight, as if he could protect him from the whole world. His pheromones spilled out, saturating the room with a warmth that was almost overwhelming, but gentle for Tajima.
“I swear to you, Tajima…” His voice vibrated with promise. “You will lack nothing. Neither you, nor him. I will give my life, my blood, my entire clan if I must. I will be there every moment.”

Tajima closed his eyes, a tear slipping down his cheek. His arms circled the Alpha’s neck.
“I know,” he murmured.

They stayed like that, their pheromones entwined, the warmth of their bond filling the room. For the first time in a long while, Butsuma no longer heard his father’s voice in his head, no longer felt the shame, nor the anger.
There was only Tajima. And beneath his hand, that new heartbeat that belonged to them both.

---

Tajima placed his hands on his rounded belly, which felt larger every day. The doctor had just left, his words still echoing: “You’ve gained a lot of weight for a pregnancy. Nothing serious, but you’ll need to take it easy.”

Tajima, red to the ears, immediately shot Butsuma a dark look.
“This is your fault.”

The Alpha blinked, surprised.
“My fault…?”

“Yes!” Tajima tugged at his too-tight shirt. “If you weren’t so… so clingy with your pheromones and your obsession with making me eat at every meal, I wouldn’t be huge like this!”

Butsuma opened his mouth, shocked, then shut it again. Finally, he dared:
“But… you were hungry. And besides… I only wanted you to be healthy.”

“You wanted me to look like a watermelon, that’s what!” Tajima snapped, though his voice almost shook.

The Alpha approached gently, as though facing a wounded animal. He laid a hesitant hand on his omega’s cheek.
“You are beautiful. Even with this belly, even with… all of it.”

“You’re lying.” Tajima lowered his head, ashamed.

Then Butsuma took his hand and placed it on his own chest, where his heartbeat pounded strong.
“No. I love you, Tajima. And you’re not huge. You’re carrying our child. I’m the one who’s proud of you.”

The omega, tears brimming in his eyes, finally hid his face against the Alpha’s neck, muttering:
“Idiot…”

Butsuma sighed in relief, wrapping his arms tenderly around his waist, though they struggled to reach around that heavy belly.

❤️❤️‍🔥

Chapter Text

Tajima walked slowly through the courtyard, one hand resting on his round belly, the other clinging to Butsuma’s sleeve. The stretched fabric of his kimono could no longer hide the weight he carried. His breathing was shallow, his legs heavy, but he refused to let himself be burdened without dignity.

Yet for weeks now, whispers had spread.

“He’s really huge…”
“It can’t be just one baby…”

Butsuma said nothing. But his sensory chakra had already told him the truth. Two distinct sparks, two tiny flames that pulsed beneath his fingers every time he placed a hand on Tajima’s belly.

The physician finally confirmed what the Alpha already knew.

“This isn’t abnormal weight gain. It’s a double pregnancy. Two children.”

Silence fell in the room. Tajima froze, eyes wide. His lips trembled.

“Two…?” he repeated, half-sitting on the futon.

Butsuma had already moved closer, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. His gaze shone with a mix of pride, panic, and awkward tenderness.

“I’ve known for a while. Your chakra carries two heartbeats.”

Tajima frowned, shook his head, then let out a nervous laugh.

“And you didn’t say anything?!”

The Alpha shrugged, looking sheepish.
“I wanted to be sure. And… I didn’t want to worry you for nothing.”

The omega gave his chest a light punch, cheeks flushed.

“You think I’m not worried now?! Two, Butsuma! What if I’m not strong enough?! What if—”

His voice broke, tears rising. At once, the Alpha’s soothing pheromones filled the room, heavy and protective. Butsuma cupped his face in both hands, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“You are strong enough. You always have been. And I’ll be there, every moment.”
He lowered his head, pressing his forehead to Tajima’s.

“Two children or ten, I don’t care. What you’re carrying is our future. I love you, Tajima.”

The omega sniffled, clutching his kimono.

“Idiot… I’m going to look like a house…”

Butsuma gave a rare, slightly trembling smile. He laid a hand over the taut belly and murmured:

“Then it will be the house of our children.”

In the following days, everything changed.

Tajima grew even more irritable, refusing to get up without Butsuma’s help, complaining that he was hungry and then crying because he ate too fast. Butsuma, awkward but devoted, brought him fruit, soup, blankets—until he finally collapsed beside him, exhausted.

At night, they lay together on the futon, Tajima curled on his side, Butsuma behind him, a large hand resting over his belly to feel each of the two heartbeats. Sometimes, both babies kicked at once, and the Alpha would laugh softly, amazed, while Tajima groaned in fatigue.

“They’re going to tear me apart before they’re even born…” he would mumble, flushed and weary.

“No. They know you’re strong,” Butsuma would reply, pressing a clumsy kiss to his nape.

One evening, as he helped Tajima sit up, the Alpha suddenly said:

“I think they’re already fighting to see who’ll come out first.”

Tajima widened his eyes, then burst into laughter despite himself. His laughter melted into gentle tears. He grabbed Butsuma’s hand and squeezed it tightly.

“Then… we’ll have to teach them not to fight.”

Butsuma nodded solemnly, as if it were a mission of war.

“Yes. That will be our duty.”

And in the quiet of their room, their two hearts—joined by two smaller ones—already formed a complete pack.

---

The room meant for the babies had been opened for days. Wooden planks, fabric rolls, and baskets piled up in a chaos that irritated and exhausted Tajima.

Seated on a cushion, his heavy belly before him, he pointed sharply as he gave orders.

“The cradle, more to the left. No, not there, it blocks the light! More… a bit more!”

Butsuma, carrying the furniture as if it weighed nothing, moved it for the fourth time.

“Here?”

“No, still too close to the wall.”

The Alpha sighed but didn’t argue. He tried again, obediently, and finally placed it where Tajima wanted.

“Perfect,” the omega declared with satisfaction, then grimaced as he rubbed his back.

Butsuma stepped closer.

“Do you want me to finish it alone?”

“No.” Tajima shook his head. “It’s their room. I want to prepare it myself.”

---

That afternoon, they began discussing names.

Tajima unrolled a scroll of paper, scribbling ideas with great seriousness.

“I want names that mean strength and longevity. No nonsense.”

“Hmm,” Butsuma hummed, leaning over his shoulder. “What if we choose according to who’s born first?”

“You already want to decide which one is older?!” Tajima turned to him, cheeks red. “That’s ridiculous—they’re both ours!”

They argued for an hour, somewhere between seriousness and stifled laughter, before agreeing on a provisional list. Tajima rolled it carefully and set it beside the cradle like a charm.

---

Night fell. Tajima lay down on the futon, eyes heavy, breath shallow.

“I can’t take it anymore…” he sighed, fingers clutching his blanket.

Butsuma watched silently, then understood. His Alpha instincts flared—his omega was too tired to build his own nest. He began arranging the covers, cushions, and sheets, stacking them around him until he formed a warm, round space: a nest.

Tajima followed his movements, blushing despite his fatigue.

“You know what you’re doing…” he murmured.

“Yes,” Butsuma answered simply. “You want warmth, safety, your own space. I’m giving it to you.”

When he was done, he sat back slightly. Tajima, nestled in the center, placed a hand on his round belly, breathing in the comforting scent of fabric soaked with their mixed pheromones.

Butsuma stayed kneeling nearby, hands on his thighs, gaze patient—burning with the desire to join him but too respectful to move.

Tajima turned his head toward him. His lips trembled, then he held out a hand.

“Come in,” he whispered.

Butsuma’s heart tightened. He slipped off his sandals, climbed into the nest carefully, and immediately Tajima pressed against him, clutching his kimono like an anchor.

The air grew heavy with protective pheromones. The babies kicked, as if in approval. Butsuma wrapped his arms around his mate and murmured into his hair:

“There. You’re safe. All three of you.”

Tajima quickly drifted to sleep, breathing calmly. The Alpha stayed awake a long time, cherishing the privilege of being welcomed into that sacred space.

---

The nest was warm, dense with their scent. Tajima slept curled against Butsuma’s chest, hands still resting on his belly. The night stretched on quietly.

A muffled cry broke the silence.
“No…!”

Butsuma’s eyes opened instantly. Tajima trembled, his brows furrowed, tears sliding down his cheeks even in sleep. His breath came fast and uneven.

“Tajima,” the Alpha said softly, laying a steady hand on his shoulder. “Wake up. I’m here.”

The omega’s eyes snapped open, gasping. He looked around in confusion until he met Butsuma’s dark gaze.

“I dreamed…” His voice shook. “That I died in childbirth. That I left you all alone—with them.”

His fingers brushed his belly, desperate. His shoulders shook with silent sobs.

Butsuma pulled him into his arms at once, holding him tight, flooding the room with calming pheromones.

“Don’t say that.” His voice trembled with restrained force. “You won’t die. Not while I breathe. I’ll protect every breath you take.”

Tajima wept against his neck, throat tight.

“But if I don’t survive…? If you end up alone with them?”

Butsuma lifted his chin, forcing him to meet the burning black of his eyes.

“Then I’ll die too. Because I have no life without you.”

A thick silence fell. Tajima’s heart pounded so hard it hurt. The raw sincerity in Butsuma’s words wasn’t a hollow promise—it was an unshakable truth.

He hid his face against his mate’s chest, ashamed of his tears but soothed by his strength.

Butsuma ran a slow hand through his dark hair, and after a long pause, he murmured:

“Tajima… I’ve been thinking about names.”

The omega lifted his head a little, eyes red and wet.

“Already?”

“Yes.” The Alpha smiled faintly. “If they’re both boys… I’d like us to call them Izuna and Madara.”

Tajima froze, surprised. Then a trembling laugh escaped him.

“You’ve been thinking about that for a while, haven’t you?”

“Since the day I felt two hearts beating under my hand,” Butsuma replied without hesitation.

Tajima placed a hand on his rough cheek, moved despite his tears. “Izuna and Madara…” he repeated softly, as if tasting the names.

Their eyes met again. Butsuma sealed the moment with a brief kiss on his tear-stained lips.

In the nest, the two tiny heartbeats shifted, as if answering to their names.

❤️❤️‍🔥

Chapter Text

The night was heavy, saturated with heat and tension. Tajima had woken with a start, breath short, his belly hard as stone.

Butsuma, who had been a light sleeper for months, jumped up instantly.

"What is it?"

A groan, then a brief cry escaped the omega. His fingers clutched his husband’s arm.

"It’s starting..."

Butsuma’s blood froze. His instincts roared. Without hesitation, he called for the healers he had already ordered to be on standby: the best among the Senju and the Uchiha, gathered under one roof by his will as chief. He would trust no one less than the finest with Tajima’s life.

---

The room turned into a battlefield

Quickly, the healers arrived, laying out cloths and preparing seals of medical chakra. The air was thick with incense and burning herbs, and already, Butsuma’s pheromones filled the room—dense, overwhelming.

"Calm yourself, Alpha," one of the doctors said firmly. "You’re suffocating us."

But Butsuma couldn’t. His scent saturated the air, fierce and unyielding, proclaiming his territory: This is my omega. No one will harm him.

Tajima, lying on the futon, panted, his hair sticking to his forehead. He reached out a trembling hand toward him.

"Butsuma…"

The Alpha knelt at once, seizing that hand and gripping it as if it were his lifeline.

"I’m here. I’m not leaving."

---

Hours of pain

The contractions came one after another—brutal, exhausting. Tajima bit his lips to keep from screaming, his omega pheromones rising and falling like waves, filling the air with a sharp, burning heat.

Butsuma wiped his forehead, his fingers clutching the sheets. Each cry split his heart open.

"You’re strong. Stronger than me. Hold on…"

At one point, he thought Tajima would break. The omega’s hand gripped his with inhuman strength.

"I can’t anymore…" Tajima gasped, trembling.

Butsuma pressed his forehead against his, voice hoarse and vibrating.

"Then I’ll hold on for you. You won’t lose me, and I won’t lose you. Not now."

His pheromones shifted—softer, soothing, wrapping Tajima in an invisible cocoon. The healers exchanged surprised looks; never had they seen an Alpha restrain his power like this—to comfort rather than dominate.

---

The first cry

At last, a cry split the air. The first baby was born, caught by steady hands, wrapped in a white cloth.

A strong, vibrant cry.

Butsuma froze, eyes fixed on the tiny body squirming in the healer’s arms. But he had no time to take it in—Tajima cried out again.

"The second one!" the doctor announced.

Panic flared again, blazing. Butsuma turned toward his husband, eyes wide.

"Hold on, Tajima! He’s coming, I can feel it!"

The second child came—smaller, more fragile, but breathing. A second cry, higher, rang out.

Two blankets. Two lives.

---

Aftermath

Butsuma was still shaking when the doctors handed him the babies. He didn’t dare take them at first—his large hands seemed too rough for such fragile beings.

Then Tajima, exhausted but smiling faintly, whispered:

"Take them… they’re yours too."

The Alpha gave in. He held the twins to his chest, clumsy and trembling, as if they might shatter. His pheromones exploded, saturating the air with a protective force that made even the healers shiver.

"Izuna… Madara…" he breathed, tears blurring his vision.

He finally sat down, placing the infants on their mother’s chest. Tajima wrapped his arms around them, his fingers trembling as they caressed their tiny black-haired heads.

Butsuma encircled the three of them in his strong arms, resting his forehead against Tajima’s.

"My family," he murmured. "No one will touch them. No one."

And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t think of his father or the war. Only of them—three beating hearts against him, alive.

---

Tajima had already drifted into sleep, the twins nestled against his chest, when Butsuma leaned down toward him.
He pressed a kiss to his sweat-damp forehead.

"Rest, my beautiful omega husband," he whispered. "I’ll present our children to the clans. I’ll be back soon, so they can find your scent and your milk again. Sleep a little."

He took the two babies in his arms. The eldest was already asleep, peaceful, while the second squirmed, fists clenched. Butsuma rocked them gently, his heart pounding hard.

---

Before the clans

The great courtyard was full. Senju and Uchiha alike had gathered—anxious, curious, impatient. Silence fell when the Alpha appeared, carrying his sons.

Butsuma advanced with a straight back and the heavy steps of pride. His pheromones filled the air, not aggressive but solemn. His voice rose, clear and strong:

"These are my sons. The sons of Tajima and me."

He raised the first child high.

"Madara Senju, the eldest."

Then the second, smaller one, nestled against his arm.

"Izuna Senju, his younger brother."

A murmur swept through the crowd. Some Senju nodded respectfully. Some Uchiha straightened, surprised that such intimate Uchiha names were spoken here—linked to the Senju name.

Butsuma’s gaze cut through the assembly.

"They bear the Senju name. But they carry the Uchiha blood. They are children of both clans. Never again one against the other—now, one with the other."

A heavy silence followed, then murmurs, applause, astonished exclamations. Some still looked wary, but none dared oppose the Alpha’s presence.

---

The sleepless night

Later that night, Tajima slept deeply, exhausted. Butsuma kept watch.

He refused to close his eyes. The twins cried in turns, demanding warmth and comfort. The Alpha rose, pacing, holding them against his chest, his pheromones flowing in soothing waves.

Sometimes he walked in circles, Izuna on his shoulder and Madara in his arms. Sometimes he sat beside the futon, caressing Tajima’s dark hair, whispering:

"Sleep, Tajima. I’ll take care of them."

Each cry pierced his nerves, yet he never grew angry. He felt a new strength within him—the duty to protect not just one, but three lives.

By dawn, Tajima stirred awake, still weary. He found Butsuma sitting there, both babies asleep on his broad chest. His Alpha, dark circles under his eyes but proud, looked up at him.

"Everything’s fine," he murmured with a rare smile. "I stayed up so you could rest."

Tajima’s eyes filled with tears. He slid close to him, resting his head on his shoulder, his fingers brushing through the twins’ hair.

And the four of them, wrapped together, welcomed the sunrise.

---

The room was bathed in pale morning light. Tajima, sitting against the cushions, held Izuna in his arm. The infant nursed eagerly, his tiny fingers gripping the edge of his half-open kimono. Madara still slept, curled under a warm blanket.

Butsuma watched them silently. He couldn’t look away.
Seeing his husband nursing was… overwhelming. Beautiful. His pheromones vibrated uncontrollably, heavy with pride and affection. Tajima, cheeks flushed, avoided his gaze.

"What?" he whispered, embarrassed.

"Nothing," Butsuma replied softly, a discreet smile on his lips. "I just think you’re beautiful."

In truth, his heart was pounding too fast. Tajima’s chest was fuller than before, his features softened by pregnancy and nursing. His body had changed, gained new tenderness and fragility—and yet, Butsuma had never found him so breathtaking.

He forced himself to remain composed, focusing on the sacred sight before him: his husband, his sons.

Madara stirred in his sleep, a small pout crossing his face. Butsuma approached and placed his large hand on the baby’s forehead. The delicate features, fine nose, dark lashes—all reminded him of Tajima.

"They look like you," he said softly.

Tajima lowered his eyes to Izuna, still nursing, a gentle smile on his lips.

"Maybe a little."

"No," Butsuma said firmly, eyes serious. "They have your face. Your eyes."

A silence followed. Then, as if realizing something, he added:

"They’ll probably have the Sharingan."

Tajima’s eyes widened; he looked up at him in surprise.

"You think so?"

"I’m almost certain," said the Alpha. "Your blood runs through them. When it awakens someday… the Uchiha will be proud."

A flicker of emotion crossed Tajima’s gaze—a blend of worry, pride, and wonder. His clan, which had shamed him for so long, would have to honor his sons.

Butsuma knelt, bending to kiss Izuna’s forehead.

"Madara and Izuna Senju," he said in a low, vibrating voice. "But in their eyes, I’ll always see you."

Tajima turned away, cheeks flushed. A tear escaped him despite himself. He held Izuna a little tighter, while Madara’s eyes finally opened—dark, deep, already hungry for the world.

And Butsuma, standing before them, felt his heart swell with certainty: his sons were living proof that no cruel father, no hostile elder, no divided clan could ever erase what they had built together.

❤️❤️‍🔥

Chapter Text

Madara and Izuna were already six months old. Their laughter echoed throughout the house, their tiny hands grabbed everything within reach, and their cries still tore through the nights. Tajima insisted on breastfeeding them despite the exhaustion—he wanted to give them that bond, that comfort. Butsuma watched over them, often awake at night to the sound of soft whimpers, ready to step in whenever Tajima needed rest.

And yet, despite the fatigue, their couple had found a kind of intimacy again—moments stolen between the twins’ naps, in the secrecy of their room. That evening, the sheets were messy, their breaths short, their bodies intertwined as if they had never stopped craving each other. Butsuma, above him, skin burning, stroked his husband’s neck when a cry shattered the moment. A whimper, followed by insistent wailing. Tajima closed his eyes, frustrated, his breath trembling.

“Izuna…” he sighed. Butsuma froze for a second, torn between his instincts as a mate and as a father. Then he groaned softly, pulled away reluctantly, and climbed out of the futon half-naked.

His broad chest gleamed with sweat, his hair tousled. He grabbed a blanket and tied it quickly around his hips before leaving the room. Izuna was crying in his crib, his little face scrunched up. Madara was still asleep beside him, undisturbed.

“Shhh… calm down, little warrior,” murmured Butsuma as he picked him up.

He breathed in his scent and understood immediately. A full diaper. Still half-naked, he sat by the low table, changing his son with firm but gentle hands. Izuna wriggled, kicking his legs, but his cries slowly quieted.

“There. All clean.” Butsuma smiled despite himself, brushing his son’s round cheek. “Just like your mother, you like to fuss just to be comforted.”

Tajima appeared in the doorway, hair undone, his kimono loosely tied. He leaned against the frame, cheeks still red, torn between exasperation and affection.

“You could at least put on proper clothes…” he muttered.

Butsuma looked up, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “Why? You don’t usually seem to mind.”

Tajima blushed even harder but stepped closer, resting a hand on Izuna’s head as the baby calmed down. The little one immediately grabbed his finger, squeezing it with surprising strength. The omega sighed, his tired eyes shining.

“We’ll never have peace, huh?”
Butsuma kissed his son’s forehead before replying: — “No. But… I wouldn’t want any other life.”

A soft, almost sacred silence settled. Izuna fell asleep in his father’s arms, and Tajima nestled briefly against him, their pheromones mingling in the heavy night air. Desire would wait. Their intimacy had changed—it now included two small beings who ruled their nights and days. And yet, in this chaos, in these constant interruptions, Butsuma felt more whole than ever.

---

At eleven months, Madara and Izuna had turned the house into a battlefield. They crawled everywhere, climbed on furniture, pulled tablecloths, and grabbed anything shiny within reach.

Butsuma, feared and respected clan leader, had no power over his two sons.

That morning, Madara ventured near the low table, clutching the tablecloth. Tajima shouted, too late. Half of what was on the table crashed to the floor.

Butsuma sighed, picked up his son, who kicked his legs proudly, pleased with his destruction. “No, Madara,” he said gently.

The child looked at him with big dark eyes, then, without hesitation, threw his wooden toy right at his father’s face.

The Senju stood frozen for a second, then declared solemnly: “All right. That toy’s banned.”

Tajima, sitting nearby with Izuna in his arms, burst out laughing.

---

Izuna, seemingly calmer, had developed another weapon: incomprehensible communication. Sitting on the mat, he turned to his brother and shouted triumphantly, “Kya!”

Madara immediately answered with an equally determined “Da!” Then the two launched into an animated exchange:

“Gha!”
“Da-da!”
“Kya-aaa!”

Their conversation lasted several minutes. Butsuma, sitting in front of them, frowned, trying to make sense of it.

“It sounds like… a military strategy,” he muttered.

Tajima rolled his eyes, amused. “They’re just babies, Butsuma.”

“No,” said the alpha seriously. “They’re plotting. I’m sure of it.”

As if to prove him right, Madara began crawling toward the cabinet, Izuna following close behind. Together, they tried to reach a vase just out of their grasp.

Tajima jumped up, catching them in time. “Don’t touch!”

Both boys burst into laughter, their tiny bodies shaking with joy.

Butsuma crossed his arms, defeated but smiling. “One day… I might rule over two clans. But never over these two.”

Tajima turned to him, Izuna on one hip, Madara clinging to his sleeve. “And that’s just fine,” he said softly, smiling tenderly.

Butsuma sighed, but truthfully, he wouldn’t trade this chaos for anything.

---

At a year and a half, Madara and Izuna had reached a new stage—they could walk. Or rather, run—stumbling everywhere like two uncontrollable storms.

Butsuma had thought crawling was the worst. He was wrong.

That evening, Izuna dashed through the house stark naked, waving his diaper like a trophy. He laughed gleefully, tiny feet slapping against the tatami. “Izuna!” roared Butsuma, charging after him with his long legs.

The child zigzagged, slipped, nearly fell, then sprinted off again, shrieking with laughter. Butsuma finally caught him, lifting him into the air like a wild animal.

“You think you can defeat me?!” he growled playfully, hugging him against his chest. Izuna’s laughter rang through the room, bright and contagious.

---

The twins had also expanded their vocabulary—mostly with one word.

“No.”

They used it for everything: to refuse, to agree, to demand. When Madara nodded eagerly while reaching for a fruit and said “no,” Butsuma nearly lost his mind.

“So… is that yes or no?” he asked in frustration. Madara, unfazed, repeated, “No,” nodding harder.

Tajima stifled a laugh behind his sleeve, thoroughly entertained by his husband’s confusion.

---

But the worst, for Butsuma, was another word: “Mama.”

They called Tajima that. All the time. Even when they wanted him.

“Say papa,” Butsuma urged patiently, leaning down. “Pa-pa.”
Madara stared straight at him and proudly said, “Mama.”
Izuna immediately echoed, “Mama!”

Tajima hid his laughter behind his hand.
Butsuma clenched his jaw, convinced his sons were doing it on purpose.

“You’re doing this to drive me insane,” he grumbled. The twins just laughed harder.

---

Then, one day, came another surprise. Tajima, cheeks red, rested a hand on his still-flat belly. His scent had changed—softer, heavier. Butsuma, attuned to every pulse of his chakra, knew before a word was spoken.

He turned to him, eyes wide. “You…”

Tajima nodded shyly. “Yes. Again.”

Silence. Then a disbelieving laugh escaped Butsuma. He leaned in, wrapped his arms around his husband, and proudly placed both hands on his belly.

Izuna, still naked, clapped his little hands. Madara shouted, “No!” while bouncing happily.

Chaos resumed immediately—but within it, Butsuma felt his heart swell with fierce joy. Two sons. Soon three children. And Tajima, always by his side.

He couldn’t dream of a greater victory.

---

Tajima was five months pregnant. His belly was already round and firm under his kimonos. Madara and Izuna, now two years old, were fascinated by it.

They often laid their tiny hands on it—sometimes to caress, sometimes to slap with clumsy palms.

“No hitting Mama,” warned Butsuma firmly, though the taps didn’t hurt. “Gentle hands.”

The twins exchanged a mischievous glance, then touched again—this time softer, pretending to behave… while clearly plotting something.

---

One afternoon, as Tajima lay down to rest, Madara climbed onto the futon and pressed his ear against the round belly. He stayed still for a few seconds, then lifted his head proudly.

“Mama, you ate too much.”

Tajima sat up halfway, blushing furiously. “Madara!”

Izuna burst out laughing, repeating, “Ate too much!” while patting his mother’s stomach.

Tajima rolled his eyes, exasperated, but a reluctant smile tugged at his lips.

---

Butsuma, witnessing it all, couldn’t help but laugh. He picked up Madara and gently shook his head.

“It’s not because Mama ate too much, idiot,” he said, kissing his son’s black hair. “It’s your little brother.”

Izuna blinked, surprised, then placed his hand back on the belly. “Little brother?”

Tajima nodded softly. “Yes.”

The twins exchanged a mysterious look, as if they’d just uncovered a great secret. Then, without warning, Izuna pressed a loud kiss to the round belly—quickly followed by Madara.

Tajima froze, wide-eyed, then looked away to hide his blushing face.

Butsuma, touched, placed his large hand beside their tiny ones. “That’s it. You protect your brother.”

The children nodded, not fully understanding, but content. For a moment, the scene froze in perfect stillness: Tajima with his sons clinging to his belly, and Butsuma standing beside them, proud and at peace.

It was a strange kind of chaos—exhausting, often ridiculous—but it was their home.

---

Dinner was unusually quiet. Madara and Izuna, usually loud and giggling, barely touched their food, lips pressed tight.

Butsuma frowned. “What’s wrong, Madara? Izuna?”

Tajima, weary but attentive, tilted his head, rubbing his round belly absentmindedly. “Yes, boys. Are you upset?”

The two exchanged a look before Madara blurted out sulkily: “I don’t want a little brother.”

Izuna murmured softly, “Me neither. Mama and Papa… only care about him. The one in Mama’s belly. You don’t play anymore…”

Silence fell. Tajima froze, his spoon suspended midair. His eyes shimmered, but he quickly looked down to hide the tears.

Butsuma took a deep breath and gently stroked his sons’ hair. “Hey,” he said softly. “That’s not true. We still care about you. It’s just that Mama’s tired. And I… need to help him.”

Madara shook his head stubbornly, eyes glossy. “You help too much. You forget us.”

Izuna sniffled, his tiny fists clenched. “We’re not babies anymore…”

Tajima’s heart clenched. He placed his free hand over theirs. “You’ll always be my babies,” he whispered. “Even with a little brother. Even if I look busy.”

Butsuma nodded firmly. “And I can promise you one thing.” He leaned closer, his dark eyes locking onto theirs. “I’ll play with you every day. Even if it’s late, even if I’m tired. I’ll never leave you alone.”

Madara pursed his lips, Izuna looked away. But after a moment, they climbed onto their father’s lap, wrapping their arms around his neck.

Tajima smiled through his tears.
Butsuma held them close, his arms surrounding both boys.

“You’re my first,” he said quietly. “My legacy. My clan. No one will ever replace you. Not even your little brother.”

The twins finally relaxed, clinging to him. That night, dinner ended joyfully again—with two reassured little boys, and a couple who realized that love must always be shown in simple gestures.

---

The morning was bright. Tajima insisted on going to the doctor, his belly already well-rounded at five months. Butsuma walked beside him, one protective hand resting on his back, while Madara and Izuna toddled ahead.

“Where are we going, Mama?” Madara asked curiously.

Tajima smiled softly, stroking his belly as he walked. “We’re going to see if the baby is a boy or a girl.”

The twins’ eyes widened. Izuna, clutching his father’s hand, frowned. “I don’t like girls,” he declared firmly.

Butsuma chuckled, glancing down at him. “And why’s that?”

Izuna shrugged. “They scream. And take everything.”

Madara nodded vigorously in agreement. “We want a brother. Not a girl.”

Tajima looked at them, half amused, half exasperated. “Girls are good too. They can be kind, funny… and strong.”

“No,” both said in unison, without hesitation.

Their seriousness made Butsuma laugh out loud. “You’re already worse than stubborn old men.”

Izuna tugged on his father’s hand. “Papa, say it’ll be a boy.”

The alpha crouched down, placing a large hand on their heads. “I don’t decide that,” he said calmly. “But whether it’s a boy or a girl, it’ll be your little brother or sister—and you’ll have to protect them.”

Madara crossed his arms, pouting. “We protect boys better.”

Tajima sighed but smiled, touching his belly. “We’ll see. But boy or girl, they’ll have two big brothers—and that’s an incredible gift.”

The twins didn’t answer, but they shared a glance. And despite their pouting, their little hands came to rest on Tajima’s belly—just for a moment, to show they were already there.

---

The examination room smelled of ink and medicinal herbs.
Tajima lay down, his round belly exposed under the doctor’s hand. Butsuma held his hand, dark eyes fixed on every movement, ready to intervene at the slightest sign of trouble. Madara and Izuna, perched on a bench, watched wide-eyed.

The doctor finally nodded after gently pressing the belly. “It’s a boy,” he announced.

Silence—immediately broken by the twins. “Good job, Mama!” they shouted together, jumping off the bench to high-five Tajima. “We can play soccer with him!”

Tajima, red to his ears, couldn’t help laughing. “Great,” he said simply, amused by their excitement.

Butsuma sighed, half smiling, half defeated. “You two are hopeless…”

The doctor, unfazed, adjusted his glasses. “Very well. Everything looks normal for now. But Tajima-san, you should avoid too much exertion during your sixth month.”

“You see?” Butsuma said immediately, far too pleased with the excuse. “You need to take it easy.”

Tajima shot him a glare, though his lips curved into a smile.
The twins were already jumping around, shouting to anyone who would listen: “We’re getting a baby brother!”

The room overflowed with joy—loud, clumsy, but pure and bright.

❤️❤️‍🔥

Chapter Text

The room still smelled of new fabric and dried flowers. Tajima, heavy with seven months gone, had sat down on the floor to arrange blankets and cushions. Madara and Izuna were helping, clumsy but careful — one pulling on a blanket, the other bringing an oversized pillow.

"Closer, Izuna," said Tajima with a tired smile.

"Yes, mama."

They laughed softly, focused, when suddenly a shiver ran through his body. Tajima froze, a hand clenching over his belly. Then a sudden warmth spread, flooding the floor beneath him. The twins’ eyes widened.

"Mama… what’s happening?" Madara asked, frightened.

"Mama?" Izuna tugged on his sleeve, his little voice trembling.

Tajima inhaled, his breath already short. His gaze found his sons, serious despite the pain.

"Madara… Izuna… listen to me." His voice was firm despite the shaking. "I need you. Your brother is coming."

The twins froze, mouths half open.

"He… he’s coming?" repeated Madara.

"Yes." Tajima nodded, sweat beading on his forehead. "I want you to call your father. Right now. Do you hear me?"

Izuna, pale, gripped his hand tighter. "But… are you okay?"

Tajima managed a weak smile, brushing their hair with a trembling hand. "I need you both. You’re my big boys. Go call your father."

Madara nodded, suddenly determined. "Okay, mama!"

Without waiting, he grabbed his brother’s hand and pulled him along, their little footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Left alone, Tajima placed both hands on his tense belly. His breathing quickened. "Butsuma…" he whispered. "Hurry…"

---

Madara and Izuna’s cries echoed through the courtyard, throwing everyone into a panic. Butsuma, who had been talking with the clan elders, didn’t wait another second. His heart was racing, his chakra bursting into the air.

He tore across the compound like a beast charging into battle, shoving aside anyone in his way. His hands ripped open doors, his breath came in ragged growls.

He nearly broke down the door to their room. "What’s happening?!" His voice shook, hoarse. "He’s coming… early?!"

Tajima, pale, was lying on the floor, his scent clouded by pain. His black eyes immediately found his Alpha’s, and a faint smile passed across his tear-streaked face.

"Butsuma…" he breathed, exhausted.

The Alpha dropped to his knees beside him, his large hands enclosing Tajima’s, unable to hide his panic. "Stay with me. I’m here."

Behind him, hurried footsteps filled the room. The best Senju and Uchiha healers arrived at last, carrying their pouches of herbs and tools. One bowed briefly. "We’ll take care of him, Butsuma-sama."

But the Alpha didn’t move. His black eyes flashed dangerously, his scent thick with protective instinct. "If anything happens to Tajima…" His voice trembled with threat. "You’ll answer to me."

The healers exchanged wary looks, aware of the gravity of the moment.

Tajima, panting, squeezed his husband’s hand. "Don’t scare them…" he murmured. "Just help me."

And for the first time in a long while, Butsuma yielded. He sat behind him, supporting his back, whispering raw promises against his ear.

The storm began.

---

Butsuma decided to stay with Madara and Izuna. Too young, too innocent to witness their mother’s pain, they played nervously in the next room under a nurse’s watchful eye. The Alpha paced restlessly, glancing at the door again and again, his heart pounding so violently it felt like it might shatter.

At last, he couldn’t take it anymore.
He left them for a few minutes and went inside.

The air was heavy, thick with sweat and omega pheromones. Tajima lay there, hair plastered to his forehead, lips bitten from pain.

"How are you?" Butsuma asked, his voice low, almost pleading.

Tajima barely opened his eyes, but his gaze caught his. "Good…" he whispered, panting.

The healer looked up, focused. "The baby’s coming. Three more pushes."

Butsuma knelt beside him at once, gripping his trembling hand. He could feel every tremor of Tajima’s body, every shiver. His heart beat in sync with his mate’s.

"Hold on. I’m here."

One push. Tajima screamed. A second. His fingers crushed Butsuma’s. A third.

The cry tore through the room. A small, slippery body was caught in the healer’s hands.

Silence lasted one heartbeat, two. Then the newborn’s cry rang out — clear, strong despite its tiny chest.

Butsuma inhaled sharply, his eyes filling with tears. "Is he alright?!"

The nurse checked quickly, focused. "Your husband is stable. The baby too. Seven months… not ideal, but he’s strong. He’ll need a few days in the incubator."

Butsuma closed his eyes, his chest shaking with a trembling sigh. His large hands reached out for the tiny, swaddled body.

He froze, breath catching. The baby was breathing. His child. Their child.

He turned to Tajima, already asleep from exhaustion. "He’s okay, Tajima. Do you hear me? He’s okay."

The Alpha kissed his husband’s forehead, then looked again at the newborn. His heart ached from beating too hard.

"The baby’s name?" asked the nurse.

His lips trembled. He hadn’t had time to talk about it with Tajima. But the name came to him, strong and promising.

"Hashirama," he whispered.

The healer nodded. Butsuma stayed there, his fingers brushing the small forehead.

"Welcome, Hashirama Senju," he murmured.

That night, Butsuma didn’t sleep. Between rocking Madara and Izuna to calm them and watching the incubator where his newborn rested, he kept his promise — to watch over them all.

---

Tajima opened his eyes slowly. The soft light of the room hurt for a moment, but nothing prepared him for what he saw.

To his right, an incubator. And inside, a fragile, tiny body, sleeping. His heart leapt. His hands trembled.

"My baby…?!" His voice broke in a gasp.

He tried to sit up, but his weak muscles wouldn’t allow it. His gaze stayed locked on the baby, fear rising in his chest.

Butsuma was at his side immediately, his large hands resting gently on his shoulders to keep him down.
"It’s alright, my love. Everything’s fine," his deep voice vibrated softly. "He’s not in danger. They just need to keep him under watch — he came a bit early. It’s routine."

Tajima blinked, tears spilling despite himself. He wanted to touch him. To feel him. His child.

A small sound drew his attention.
Madara stood near the bed, eyes wide, tugging on his sleeve. "Mama… can we play with Hashirama?"

Izuna climbed awkwardly onto the futon’s edge, repeating earnestly, "Yes, mama, we want to play."

Tajima felt a smile bloom through his tears. He gently stroked their messy black hair. "Hashirama…" he whispered softly, tasting the name.

He turned to Butsuma. "You chose it?"

The Alpha nodded, a bit tense. "Yes. Do you like it?"

Tajima lowered his gaze to the incubator. His heart softened, melted. "Very much." He took a breath and looked up at his husband. "Can I hold him? Just for a while?"

"I’ll call the nurse," said Butsuma at once, already standing.

Meanwhile, Madara and Izuna bounced excitedly. "Look, mama!" They held up scribbled sheets, circles and uneven lines, little baby shapes with big eyes. "It’s Hashirama! We drew him while you were sleeping!"

Tajima placed a trembling hand over their drawings, smiling through tears. "It’s beautiful," he whispered.

When the nurse finally brought Hashirama to him, the whole world fell silent. Madara and Izuna, wide-eyed, climbed closer to see. Tajima held the baby against his chest, his fingers caressing the warm little cheek.

"My son…" he murmured, lips brushing the newborn’s forehead. "Welcome."

Butsuma, standing behind him, placed a steady hand on his shoulder. His black eyes burned with tenderness and pride.
Madara and Izuna leaned closer still.

"Hashirama, you’ll play with us!" they declared together.

Tajima laughed through his tears, shaking his head.
"Easy, my loves. He has to grow first."

But in that moment, surrounded by his three children and his Alpha, Tajima knew: his home was here.

❤️❤️‍🔥

Chapter Text

The Senju-Uchiha household echoed with familiar chaos: laughter, quarrels, the sound of hurried footsteps. Madara and Izuna, six years old, were already bickering in the hallway. Hashirama, four, followed them everywhere, clingy and demanding, his eyes sharp and curious. And little Kawarama, barely a year old, toddled unsteadily, bursting into laughter every time he fell. Tajima sat on a cushion, one hand resting on his still-flat belly, and let out a long sigh. He hadn’t even recovered from his last pregnancy, and yet another one was already beginning.

“Mama, give us a sister!” Hashirama cried as he jumped onto his lap, his eyes shining with hope.

Madara immediately frowned, scandalized. “Stop it, I don’t want a girl!”

Izuna, loyal to his brother, crossed his arms with serious conviction. “Me neither. Girls are lame.”

“That’s not true,” Hashirama replied with a pout. “I want one. That way she’ll be pretty like Mama.”

Tajima almost choked, his cheeks flushing red. “Hashirama… be quiet.”

At that moment, Kawarama, sitting on the floor, clapped his hands and toddled over to him. His tiny fingers clumsily grabbed at his belly, repeating a meaningless syllable:
“Ba… ba…”

Tajima placed his hand on the soft little head, torn between tenderness and weariness. He finally looked up at Butsuma, who had just entered, his broad silhouette filling the doorway. The Alpha froze under his gaze.

“How many children are you planning to make me lay exactly?” Tajima asked, his voice icy.

Silence fell. Madara and Izuna exchanged nervous glances, trying not to laugh. Hashirama burst out laughing for real. Kawarama kept patting his mother’s belly, delighted without understanding a thing. Butsuma immediately looked away, coughing as he pretended to be interested in a scroll on the table. His cheeks had taken on a faint color.

“Hm. It’s not… my fault,” he muttered.

“Oh no? Then what, did I get pregnant by a miracle?”

The twins broke into laughter. Hashirama repeated gleefully, “Papa, it’s your fault!”

Butsuma ran a hand through his hair, exasperated but unable to defend himself. Tajima sighed, though a soft smile escaped him despite everything. He looked at his sons—their overflowing energy, their endless squabbles, their laughter. Then at his husband, awkward but with eyes shining with clumsy tenderness.

“Fine. But if it’s another boy this time, I swear, Butsuma…”

The Alpha raised his hands in mock surrender, but the proud smile he tried to hide gave him away.

---

The room was noisy, full of children. Madara and Izuna had each climbed onto one side of the futon, talking over each other. Hashirama, sitting on a cushion, swung his legs while staring at his mother’s belly. Kawarama, barely a toddler, babbled happily, trying to climb up but slipping on the tatami every time.

“I say if they’re like us, they’ll have black hair and black eyes!” Madara declared proudly, thumping his chest.

“Yeah, like Mama!” Izuna added.

Hashirama shook his head with a mischievous smile. “No. I want them to look like me. With brown hair and brown eyes. Then we’ll be three against two.”

“No!” the twins protested in unison.

“Yes!” Hashirama insisted, just to tease them.

Kawarama, who didn’t understand a thing, clapped and chirped joyfully, “Ba! Ba!”

Tajima sighed, lying on the futon, one protective hand resting on his belly. His eyes moved from his overexcited sons to Butsuma, who sat nearby trying to stay calm amid the chaos.

“And what about names?” Izuna suddenly asked.
“Yeah, Mama! We have to pick names!

Butsuma looked up, interested despite himself. “Do you already have an idea, Tajima?”

The omega shook his head, thoughtful. “Not yet. But we can’t just give them anything. Every name should carry meaning.”

“I want them to be called Dragon and Tiger!” Hashirama shouted, laughing.

Madara threw a cushion at his head. “That’s stupid! They’re not animals, they’re our brothers!”

The argument started up again. Tajima rolled his eyes.
Before it could escalate, footsteps echoed in the hall—the doctor had arrived with two assistants. Silence fell at once.

The examination was quick and precise. Tajima stayed lying down, Butsuma silently holding his hand. Then the doctor straightened up, a faint smile on his lips. “Twins,” he announced calmly. “Two boys.”

Stunned silence. Tajima slowly turned his head toward Butsuma. “Twins… again?” he whispered.

The Alpha swayed slightly, caught off guard. His eyes widened. “W-what?!”

The children burst into laughter. Butsuma ran a hand through his hair, almost trembling. “It’s… it’s not my fault. It’s your body!” he blurted out clumsily, blushing to the ears.

“My body?!” Tajima glared at him. “You dare say that—”

Madara and Izuna were already clapping, thrilled at the news. Hashirama sulked, convinced no one wanted a sister. Kawarama clapped too, delighted without understanding, chanting, “Ba! Ba!”

The news spread through the house like wildfire—two more boys on the way. Tajima closed his eyes, exhausted by the revelation. Butsuma, despite his embarrassment, gently squeezed his hand, as if to say, We’ll handle this. Together.

---

That evening, the house was full of lively noise.Madara and Izuna were sitting at the table, each holding a brush, clumsily writing characters on paper. Hashirama paced around them, giving his opinion on everything, while Kawarama scribbled on his own paper with more ink than sense.

“I’ve decided!” Izuna declared proudly. “The first one will be Thunder and the second Lightning.”

“That’s dumb!” Madara shot back. “Their names should sound strong, not noisy! I say Sword and Shield.”

Hashirama burst out laughing. “That’s ridiculous! I want Hero and Dragon! Then they’ll be the strongest in the world!”

“No, no, no!” Izuna protested, shaking his head. “That’s silly!”

Tajima sat on a cushion, watching the scene with a mix of amusement and fatigue. His round belly kept him from moving much, so he rested a hand over it. The twins inside kicked so much that it already felt like there were five children in the room instead of four.

Butsuma, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, tried to hide a smile, his eyes following every exchange with quiet affection. Kawarama, not wanting to be left out, finally lifted his brush and announced proudly, “Mine will be Baba and Dodo.”

Laughter erupted around the table. Tajima covered his face with his hands, torn between laughter and despair.

“That’s enough for tonight,” he said, trying to sound firm.

“Your brothers deserve better than silly names.”

“But Mama, we’re helping!” Madara protested.

“Yeah! We’re the big brothers, it’s our right!” Izuna added.

Tajima sighed but reached out to ruffle their hair gently, unable to stay mad.

Later that night, when the house had grown quiet and the children were asleep, Butsuma and Tajima stayed awake in their room. The oil lamp cast a warm light over the tatami. Tajima was lying against the cushions, his rounded belly rising under the blanket, and Butsuma sat beside him, one hand resting there.

“So…” the Alpha murmured. “We really have to decide.”

Tajima nodded, his dark eyes fixed on him. “No silly names. No whims. Their names should mean something.”

Butsuma gently caressed the curve of his belly, thinking. “Madara and Izuna already carry heavy names. Hashirama too. Kawarama’s name is lighter… but I want these two to have names that give them strength without burdening them.”

Tajima watched him silently, touched. “You’ve already thought about it, haven’t you?”

Butsuma hesitated, then admitted, “I was thinking Tobirama — like a river, flowing but strong. And maybe Itama — for freshness, vitality.”

Tajima repeated the names softly, tasting them.“Tobirama… Itama…” His eyes softened. “Yes. I like them a lot.”

A peaceful silence wrapped around them. Their pheromones mingled gently, filling the room with quiet warmth. Tajima laid his hand over Butsuma’s, still resting on his belly.

“Then that’s decided. Tobirama and Itama.”

Butsuma smiled, rare and sincere, and pressed a kiss to his spouse’s temple. “Welcome to the world already, little ones.”

❤️❤️‍🔥

Chapter Text

The delivery room still trembled with echoes of cries and the smell of sweat. Tajima, exhausted, had collapsed against the pillows, his breath ragged. Butsuma knelt beside him, wiping his forehead, his own heart pounding in his chest.

Suddenly, a near-hysterical shout broke the air.
The Uchiha doctor’s eyes widened at the sight of the newborns. “Blessed ones!” he nearly shouted, his voice trembling with emotion.

Butsuma sprang to his feet, furious and alarmed. “What does that mean?! What’s happening?! Are they dying?!”

The doctor, on the contrary, looked ecstatic. “No! No, quite the opposite! Blessed ones!”

Butsuma clenched his fists, unable to understand.
“Tajima, what is it?!”

The omega, gasping for breath, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, whispered faintly, “Blessed ones…” His eyes were wide, troubled, almost disbelieving.

“Will someone answer me?!” Butsuma roared, his voice shaking the room.

The nurses finally stepped forward, their arms full of newborns. They were smiling, eyes bright with pride. “Look, Butsuma-sama. Tajima-sama. You are blessed.”

They placed the two babies in their arms. Hashirama, Madara, Izuna, and Kawarama, who had been standing in the doorway, hurried closer, their small eyes wide with awe.

Butsuma looked down. The first baby had two-toned hair—dark at the roots and light at the tips—and his vivid red eyes were already shining, incandescent.

“Itama…” Tajima breathed, recognizing him as they had decided.

The second was even paler, skin white as ivory, his hair nearly white from birth. His red eyes blazed as well, piercing and strange. “Tobirama…”

A chill ran down Butsuma’s spine. He tightened his hold, unsettled by those intense gazes that seemed to already sense the world around them.

“But… Mama, why do they already have their Sharingan?” Izuna asked, fascinated, eyes round as marbles.

Tajima inhaled shakily, his lips trembling. “It’s not that,” he murmured. “They haven’t activated it… They were born that way.”

A murmur spread among the Uchiha nurses. “The blessed ones,” they repeated in almost reverent voices. “Children born with red eyes. It’s a sign of blessing, of power. You are incredibly fortunate, Butsuma-sama, Tajima-sama.”

Butsuma frowned, torn between pride and concern. “Fortune… or a curse.”

But the doctor had already leaned closer, his expression growing serious again. He pointed to the paler of the two babies.

“We will still need to check the condition of their eyes. Especially this one…” His gaze lingered on Tobirama. “The blessed ones are born with exceptional power, but sometimes… their vision suffers. We’ll need to test it.”

“Blind?” Tajima repeated, his voice breaking with fear. His breathing quickened, his arms tightening around Tobirama as if to shield him from the mere idea. “No… no, he won’t be blind…”

Butsuma immediately placed a firm hand on his shoulder, his pheromones filling the room with a warm, reassuring scent. “Tajima, listen to me,” he said, his voice deep yet gentle. “Whether they see or not, whether they carry blessing or curse, they are our sons. And I’ll protect them, just as I protect all of our children.”

Tajima closed his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks, but nodded. Madara and Izuna, awestruck, said nothing. Hashirama squeezed Kawarama’s hand. The four of them stared at their new brothers with a mix of fear and wonder.

And in that room heavy with pheromones and emotion, the Senju and Uchiha clans may have just witnessed more than a birth — a sign of destiny.

---

The room had filled again with tension. The Senju nurse burst in, eyes shining with excitement, clutching her parchment of notes.

“It turns out Itama has good eyesight. But Tobirama…” She paused. “Tobirama’s vision is very poor.”

Butsuma straightened immediately, his shoulders tense. “And you find that amusing?” His voice was cold.

The nurse shook her head, unable to suppress a trembling smile. “No, you don’t understand, Butsuma-sama. Your son… he’s already sensing it. Somehow, he’s channeling part of your sensory chakra—into his eyes.”

She laid her parchment down, her hands shaking with enthusiasm. “This leads us to a theory. He might develop unique senses. It’s not just a weakness—it could be a gift.”

Butsuma, wary at first, slowly widened his eyes. “You’re saying… my son could become a sentinel?”

The nurse nodded eagerly. “Exactly. His eyes don’t see like others’, but his chakra perceives. It’s a prodigy.”

Silence followed. Tajima, cradling Tobirama in his arms, frowned, lost. “Hm. You’re talking all technical again, Butsuma… but the rest of us can’t follow.”

Butsuma took a deep breath, turning to him, eyes gleaming.
“It means that even if he can’t see well with his eyes, he’ll sense the world differently. Like me, but stronger. He could become the ears and eyes of the clan.”

Tajima blinked, surprised. He looked at the sleeping baby, the white lashes resting against his pale cheeks. “So… he’s not doomed?” His voice trembled.

Butsuma placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “No. He’s exceptional. Like all of our children.”

Tajima held Tobirama tighter, his lips trembling with a fragile smile.

---

The room had turned into a miniature battlefield.
Butsuma held Tobirama in his arms, looking at him tenderly, as if the rest of the world no longer existed. The baby slept peacefully, tiny fingers curled against his father’s chest.

“Papa has a favorite!” shouted Hashirama, his cheeks flushed.

Madara and Izuna immediately joined in, indignant, pointing accusing fingers at the Alpha.

“It’s true! Papa’s lying!”
“Mama! Papa’s lying!” they chanted in unison.

Butsuma straightened abruptly, startled. “What?! That’s not true! I love all my children equally!”

“You only look at him!” Izuna snapped.
“And you don’t even pay attention when I build my wooden towers!” Madara added, offended.
“Me neither!” grumbled Hashirama.

Tajima, exhausted but amused despite himself, rolled his eyes. “By the kami… there are four of you against one. Let him breathe.”

“No!” the three of them shouted together.

Butsuma took a deep breath, gently laid Tobirama in the cradle, then grabbed Madara and Izuna, one under each arm, lifting them effortlessly off the floor. Hashirama protested, but soon found his hand caught too.

“Listen carefully. You’re all my sons. Every one of you. I don’t have a favorite. But your little brother needs a bit more attention because he doesn’t see well.”

The three frowned, unconvinced. Tajima sighed, a small smile on his lips. “He doesn’t have a favorite. But each of you has a role to play. And so does he.”

Madara and Izuna exchanged a look, still sulking. Hashirama puffed out his cheeks.

“Fine… but I want you to look at my tower next time!”
“And my drawings!”
“And my fights!” added Izuna.

Butsuma stiffened, then nodded very seriously. “I promise.”

Tajima burst out laughing, shaking his head. “You see? Even you have to swear an oath to keep the peace.”

Butsuma, slightly embarrassed, quickly kissed each of his sons on the forehead before setting them down as if afraid they might rebel again. He loved Tajima and their sons equally, and never once regretted meeting him.

❤️❤️‍🔥

The end.