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Of Courtship and Kidnapping

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It was widely acknowledged that Konoha shinobi were strange, and not just because they’d been the ones to come up with the idea of sealing biju inside people and handing them out in a bid to create peace. The idea of bringing together a bunch of people who hated each other’s guts – that had started in Konoha too. They were strange folk from the sheer singlemindedness of all their shinobi to the way they went about courting their intendeds. In Iwagakure, all one simply had to do was ask if the other party was interested and then go on dates like perfectly ordinary people. In Kumogakure there was the exchanging of gifts, along with obtaining their parents’ permissions. None of them had anything on the Konohagakure standards of courtship, and none of them really wanted to either.



Madara had always assumed he’d be the courter and not the courtee should he have decided to start a relationship, but the view of the unfamiliar ceiling proved otherwise. He wasn’t in his nice comfy bed, nor were his toasty kitten-shaped slippers anywhere nearby. Stiffening, he sat up slowly, eyeing the rather plain room he found himself in, silently cursing himself for falling asleep so deeply – and for his apparent courter for being so stealthy. A sign of their strength, he could begrudgingly admit, and also sheer recklessness. Who in their right minds would kidnap him? Uchiha Madara? He glanced to the side, eyeing up the pink sprig of sakura blossoms before he realised he probably ought to get moving.

He pulled himself out of the unfamiliar bed. It wasn’t all that uncomfortable, quite the opposite actually. It just smelt unfamiliar, unlike the scent of the Uchiha Compound. Rather than ash and butter, it smelt like flowers and left a sweet tang on his tongue. He stood, taking the sprig of sakura blossoms from the bedside table, playing with it in his hands, silently debating whether or not to accept the suite for the time being. He’d probably look stupid with flowers in his hair – that was the Senju’s thing, and he was a proud Uchiha. But he did want to meet the person who’d managed to sneak into the Uchiha Compound and make off with him to god-knows-where. Freezing mid thought, Madara blinked before hurrying over to the window.

He was still in Konoha at least, he mused, blinking as he caught sight of felled trees being carried down the road he knew to be located near the outskirts of his village. It was his village – no matter what people said. He’d helped Hashirama and his irritant of a brother in both designing and creating it. They weren’t just any trees though – they were giant ones, probably taken from that latest forest Hashirama had decided to grow on a whim. The same one he’d put too much of his mokuton in, so much so that it was probably the deadliest forest in existence. He called it the Forest of Death. Other people called it Training Ground Forty-Four, but he thought the name he came up with was better. It told people exactly what to expect, unlike that foolish number Tobirama had insisted on.

Yawning, he stuck the sakura blossoms into the hair by his ear, admiring its positioning in the wild spiky black mop. It functioned a bit like a clip and looked oddly fetching despite the pinkness. He was Uchiha Madara. He could make anything look intimidating, and that included the colour pink. He walked down the stairs, his meagre sensory ability telling him nobody was in the house.

Seemed he’d have to find his intended on his own. He bit his lip, walking out of the front of the house, watching as the trees were taken towards the place Madara knew would be crackling with life and fire that very evening. It was a celebration of sorts – the village was finally up and running, most of the clans were there, relationships weren’t as tense as they used to be.

“Where the hell are they?” he grumbled, folding his arms, watching as more and more trees were carried past him. Apparently it was going to be quite the bonfire. “I’m not standing around here with flowers in my hair for the hell of it,” he continued, plucking a red flower he couldn’t name for the life of him off a nearby bush.

A commotion in front of him had his scowl only deepening, eyes narrowing as two of the men carrying one of the many trees tripped, the rest of the group of eight stumbling under the sudden shift in balance.

“Incompetent idiots,” he muttered, stepping forwards to intervene, blinking as he was beaten to the post.

A single hand lifted the gigantic tree before it call fall on the incompetent fools, and Madara blinked. He stared at the petite figure, noting the fluffy pink hair and the sheer strength she seemed to possess as she handed the tree back to the idiots. Turning on her heel, he first caught sight of her eyes – a bright vivid green, and they lit up in an unnervingly similar way to Hashirama’s when she caught sight of him standing there.

He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, staring down at her as she appeared in front of him. Her head barely brushed the tops of his shoulders, and yet she could probably lift him with ease. Well, that explained how the slip of a woman had taken him from his room.

“You’re finally awake.”

He folded his arms again. “Obviously.”

“You could probably do with more sleep.” A finger brushed underneath one eye, and Madara tensed at the sudden sensation. “Though I suppose the eyebags are kinda cute.”

Madara sputtered, jerking away from her touch.

“Do you accept?” she asked, tilting her head, reminding him of a kitten. Cats were one of his few weaknesses… not that he’d ever admit to having a soft spot for small things cute and fluffy.

“Hn.” His cheeks reddened. “For now,” he said, setting the red flower he’d picked out in her hair.

She was small, oddly cute, had no qualms about kidnapping him, didn’t find his face all that scary, and could probably bench press him with her pinky. What was there to say no to?