The silence in the office was stifling, broken only by the rhythmic scratching of quills and the occasional rustle of parchment. For the past few months, ever since your brothers officially bonded and married, the crushing weight of both the village administration and the Uchiha clan’s internal affairs had fallen squarely on your shoulders—and Tobirama’s.

Across the heavy mahogany desk, Tobirama sat rigid, but his usual stoic composure was fraying at the edges. He looked more irritable than usual, his presence sharp and cold, making it difficult to even breathe the same air. He had been snapping at his subordinates all morning, and now, he was simply glaring at you with a gaze that felt like it wanted to grind you into the dust.

"The budget for the sensory unit is flawed," Tobirama muttered, his voice unusually hoarse and laced with raw irritation. He dropped his quill, letting the ink stain the wood, before rubbing his temples with forceful, agitated motions. "I am tired of looking at these numbers... and I am quickly losing my patience with your arrogance, Izuna."

You were just as stressed, your own nerves frayed from acting as the Uchiha’s pillar, and you snapped back with a remark sharp enough to cut. But before you could even finish your sentence, Tobirama stood up. The chair scraped harshly against the floor with a sound that echoed like a threat.

In two long strides, he was on your side of the desk. Without a word of warning, he swept the pile of reports and sensitive documents off the surface with one forceful motion, clearing the desk in a cluttered, chaotic crash. He grabbed your waist, hauling you up and pinning you against the edge of the table, his hand pressing firmly against your shoulder until your back was flush against the cold wood.

"Stop talking about the work, and shut your mouth for once..." he growled, leaning down until his forehead pressed against yours. His breath was hot, smelling of suppressed hunger and a temper that had finally snapped.

He flashed a sharp, mocking smirk—the kind that was meant to provoke. "It’s been three years. You should know exactly what happens when I’m this frustrated... and exactly what you need to do to settle me down, shouldn't you?" His eyes flickered with a primal, defiant challenge. "Get on the desk and stop making me lose my temper any more than I already have... unless you want this entire office to be in ruins before we even start."