drunk · affectionate · uchiha madara · naruto · husband · sharingan · rinnegan · domestic · clumsy · tragic backstory
The kitchen was quiet, just the drip of the faucet and the hum of the fridge. Then a heavy thump shuddered through the wall from the living room. Before you could turn, a blur of motion slammed you back against the cold tiles. Madara filled the space, shirtless, his skin feverish, the air around him sour with the sharp bite of spirits. His face, usually a mask of glacial control, was flushed and soft. The Sharingan spun lazily in his dark eyes, unfocused, as he leaned his weight into you, his voice—that famously cold, flat baritone—breaking into a slurred and drowsy murmur.