"Are you sure it's wise to plan our wedding now, Hashirama? Madara just betrayed the village and left us vulnerable," an incredibly beautiful woman with fiery red hair asked, a deep frown marring her otherwise flawless face. Her piercing gaze, a mixture of concern and frustration, locked onto his, searching for reassurance.
Hashirama, standing tall with an unwavering demeanor, glanced out the window at the village he had built, his expression calm yet resolute.
"Yes, I'm certain. This marriage will stabilize the village at a critical time. The clan heads are on edge after Madara's departure, and this will send a clear message that I don't fear him or whatever secret plans he may be plotting. I defeated him once, and if necessary, I'll defeat him a hundred times more. We need to move forward, Mito. Let's get married," he said, his smile gentle but firm, as if his very resolve was enough to soothe the tension hanging in the air.
Mito's brow furrowed even more deeply. She crossed her arms, her fiery red hair cascading over her shoulders, and regarded him with a pout of distaste.
"So, that's all I am to you, then? A convenient political maneuver to calm the nerves of those old geezers?" Her voice was tinged with both hurt and frustration. Though her words carried a bite, there was an undercurrent of sadness in her tone, as if she had hoped for something more.
Hashirama's expression softened, his eyes growing warm.
"Mito, you know it's not like that," he said, stepping closer to her. "This wedding isn't just for them. It's for us. It's a symbol of the peace we've fought so hard to create—a peace I want to share with you. I've wanted to marry you for years, long before Madara's betrayal. This is about more than just politics."
Mito turned her gaze away, staring at the horizon with a sigh.
"I know, Hashirama. But sometimes it feels like everything we do is for the sake of the village, for others. What about us? What about me?" She looked back at him, her fiery eyes softening slightly, though her expression remained conflicted.
"You're not just a political tool, Mito. You're my equal, my partner in everything. I want to face the future with you, not because it will calm others, but because I believe in us," Hashirama said, his voice low and sincere.
Mito hesitated, her pout still lingering, but a slight smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Though she was already 30 years old, she looked no older than 18, her flawless beauty and striking figure a sight to behold. Her presence was both regal and fierce, and Hashirama knew there was no one else he would rather stand beside him.
"Fine," she finally said, her lips curving into a full smile. "But don't think I won't hold you to your word, Hashirama Senju. You owe me more than just political peace."
Hashirama chuckled softly, reaching out to gently take her hand.
"I wouldn't expect anything less, Mito."
The marriage was arranged swiftly, and congratulations poured in from all corners of the village. Hashirama and Mito were regarded as a perfect match, a union that many deemed destined by the heavens.
Hashirama, revered as the God of Shinobi, was a figure of immense strength and integrity. Mito Uzumaki, with her fiery red hair and fierce determination, was no ordinary ninja; she was a powerful kunoichi from the famed Uzumaki clan. Together, they symbolized hope and strength for the future of the Hidden Leaf Village.
Rumors circulated that during their rigorous training sessions, Mito had bested Hashirama on several occasions. These tales, whispered in the corners of the village, painted a picture of a rivalry steeped in mutual respect and admiration.
However, the truth of those rumors was more complicated. The prospect of Mito defeating Hashirama could tarnish the Hokage's image, so it was carefully concealed by those few in the know.
Despite the gossip, the veracity of these claims remained elusive; they were tales spun from envy and admiration rather than solid fact.
On the wedding night, Hashirama sat nervously on the edge of the bed, the soft glow of candlelight illuminating the room. At 30 years old, he had faced countless life-and-death battles, proving his mettle as a shinobi time and again.
Yet, despite his numerous victories on the battlefield, he had never tasted the fruits of carnal delight. This was not entirely unusual; his relentless dedication to training had consumed his waking hours, leaving little room for anything else.
The world of the shinobi was merciless, a place where the weak were often discarded. Hashirama had seen countless comrades fall, their lives snuffed out like flickering candles.
The harsh realities of his life had instilled in him a burning desire for absolute power, a need to protect those he loved from the cruel fate that awaited the vulnerable. In his heart, he longed for strength—not just for himself, but for the peace and security of his village.
Yet, amid this turmoil, he felt a flicker of hope as he thought of Mito. She was not just a beautiful woman; she was a formidable ninja in her own right, possessing the unique abilities of the Uzumaki clan.
Hashirama knew he was fortunate to have someone like her by his side, especially in such a chaotic world. Their bond had been forged through shared experiences, mutual respect, and an understanding of each other's burdens.
As he waited, Hashirama's mind raced with thoughts of their future together. Would they be able to create a family amidst the ongoing conflicts? Would he be able to protect her from the dangers that loomed outside their doorstep? These thoughts swirled like a storm in his mind, each question amplifying his anxiety.
Despite his unease, he felt a warm flush of excitement. This was a new beginning, not just as a Hokage, but as a husband. He was determined to cherish every moment with Mito, to build a life filled with laughter, love, and the strength they both sought.
As he glanced toward the door, he reminded himself that he was not alone in this journey.
Hashirama smiled as he reminisced about all they had been through together, the trials and triumphs that had forged their bond. Memories of their laughter, shared victories, and even the quiet moments of solace flooded his mind, warming his heart. Just then, the washroom door opened, and his breath caught in his throat.
Mito stood before him, wrapped only in a pure white towel that draped gracefully over her body. The fabric clung to her curves, barely containing her voluptuous figure, accentuating her hourglass shape in a way that made her both alluring and breathtaking. Her proud bosom nearly spilled from its delicate covering, adding a captivating allure to her already stunning appearance.
Hashirama's gaze was drawn to her hair, which, instead of the usual bun that signified her role as a diligent kunoichi, flowed freely down her back like a cascade of crimson silk. The sight was nothing short of mesmerizing, making her look like a goddess come to life, a vision of beauty that could easily distract even the most battle-hardened shinobi.
As he took in the sight before him, a thrill of anticipation surged through him, igniting a spark of excitement deep within. He thought that if nothing else happened tonight, they would surely create a memory that would last a lifetime.
His heart raced as he envisioned the night unfolding, filled with laughter and whispered confessions. He imagined the warmth of their bodies, the intimacy of their shared breath, and the sweet promises that lingered in the air. Hashirama could almost feel the weight of the moment pressing upon him, a heady mix of nerves and longing that had built up over their years of camaraderie and friendship.
This night was meant to be a celebration of their love, a culmination of all they had fought for and endured together.
But just as he began to imagine the possibilities, a voice sliced through the charged atmosphere, disrupting the romantic spell that had enveloped them.
"Perfect." The tone was smooth yet unsettling, sending a chill down Hashirama's spine. He turned to see a shadowy figure standing in the doorway, their presence casting a pall over the intimate moment.