What A Lovely Headcanon! Exactly How I See Alucard Too! A Teasing, Protective Romantic Who Will Stick

Driven by instinct

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Cat and Mouse

Before you and Alucard became an item, you played a game of cat and mouse. At times you provoked to lead him on for a chase, at others he hotly pursued your retreating tail of his own volition.

Your sexual frustration built up over the year and was now boiling over, so you finally decided to do something about it because your restlessness was driving you to distraction, which was no longer sustainable in your field of work.

When you come home to the Hellsing manor one night smelling like sex with a human man, but the scent of your arousal still clung heavily to you, Alucard appears and mocks your lover for being unable to satisfy you. He offers you a good time if you'll follow him to the basement. The vampire king would love to have sloppy seconds if it meant he could show a lady like you the fine art of making love.

"Fraternizing with human men, little one? It appears you didn't have the fortune of finding one who knew what he was doing."

"Come with me, sweet, let me demonstrate to you how carnal pleasures should be experienced."

His face split into a shit-eating grin, crimson eyes glowing bright as he stared at you pinned under him, panting and leaking. "If you came to me to begin with, I wouldn't have left you wanting. You would have gotten it right the first time."

More genderfluid Alucard

From his wiki page:

"In regards to Alucard's many forms, Hirano had stated that he no longer cares about him being a woman or a man; to which, Alucard eventually said a line relating to this in Volume 9 of Hellsing. Continuing, Hirano said that Alucard took so many lives; and therefore, those lives eventually altered Alucard's personal identity. The "Control Art Restriction System" comes into play to help suppress this. His initial personality is male, so he took that as his basic form."

Do you think madara would have a sweet tooth and enjoy treats or not so much ? What would he fancy ?

What a cute ask! Thank you!

I'm sad to report that Madara probably doesn’t love sweets. He'll eat desserts, but it's not his preferred meal (no second stomach for desserts unlike some of us). In Madara's time, the Warring States Era, conflict and survival were the major preoccupations in everyday life. He simply didn't think about pointless luxuries such as desserts. Heck, he might have not even seen many of Japan's (the Uchiha's culture resembles traditional Japan) cute treats! However, since he's a practical and utilitarian man, he is opportunistic enough to consume whatever extra calories he can during times of war, including desserts that aren't to his tastes.

If he must choose, his preference is for desserts that aren't too rich or sweet, so probably not a heavy chocolate or cheese cake. Possibly a lighter, fluffier version of those though. He loves his green tea, so matcha is a flavour he'd pick for himself. If you enjoy sweets, he will buy you those mochi you were craving as a surprise when he gets home and share them with you (but he'll only eat the single piece to please you) just to see you smile.

I've been searching for this story for MONTHS!!

come the rain

domini album

#6 Madara Uchiha

summary: in which, with rain comes truth.

word count: 6,197

a/n: i...i honestly can't bring myself to apologize for the length of this one / inspired by the bottom-center concept of madara in this drawing

warnings: izuna being a little shit (how many times have i used this warning now??); indirect mention of d*nzo; partial nudity (madara)

Izuna wasn’t at the Head Household like he said he would be, which, in itself, wouldn’t have been all that irritating if it weren’t for the fact that you’d inconsequentially let yourself into a home where not you best friend was, but his older brother, of whom you were now caught in an unexpected stare down with from the entry hall.

You awkwardly cleared your throat, “Madara-sama.”

You weren’t unfamiliar with Izuna’s brother, and there’d been plenty of times you’d found yourself in conversation with him before, but it was always strained and tedious to navigate – more difficult to participate in than even conversations with Tobirama, the man of few words that he was – though you were never sure if it was on your part or his.

Probably yours.

Since the signing of peace and the foundation of Konohagakure, the Uchiha Clan had become less of a constant threat to your Senju-aligned clan, and you’d become friends with Izuna over many months of mutual exasperation over the meetings you were trapped in as your clans’ heirs, and your complainings had eventually sparked a debate that turned into a spar that had left you both laying on your backs on one of the training grounds, laughing breathlessly at his singed hair and your burnt clothes. Comradery had come easily after that, and Hashirama had taken to putting you on mission and patrol teams together which had only strengthened your friendship over the last two and a half years since the village’s founding.

Madara tilted his head slightly, regarding you from where he sat on a zabuton at the end of the chabudai. The shoji doors of the porch were opened, inviting the chill of the morning into the house, and you could see the greenery of the central garden beyond the deck, leaves gleaming in the overcast rain.

“Do you make it a habit of letting yourself in to other people’s houses?” Madara drawled, finally relaxing the hand he’d had suspended, chopsticks pinched between his fingers, and you realized that he was eating his breakfast, the smell of steamed rice and fish reaching you from across the room.

You were still holding onto the latch of the door, and your fingers fumbled to pull it open again. “Ah – my apologies, Madara-sama. Izuna said he would be here, but he’s not, so I’ll just –”

Madara let out a short huff and waved his hand lackadaisically, chopsticks swimming in the air with the gesture. “You’re inside already – there’s no use in waiting outside in the rain.”

You paused, the door partially pulled open, unsure that you’d heard the Clan Leader correctly.

You glanced back at him, and felt your face warm when you met his eyes again, one of his eyebrows raised expectantly. Damn it, Izuna.

Slowly, you shut the door and tugged off your boots, leaving them alongside the spot where Izuna’s were supposed to be as you silently crossed through the opened sitting area to the dining room Madara was in. You hesitantly lowered yourself onto the nearest zabuton at the square table, folding your hands in your lap as you forced yourself to sit comfortably.

Madara’s chopsticks clicked against his plate.

“You can help yourself,” he said, gesturing with his chin toward the place setting that was no doubt meant for Izuna, but was – for obvious reasons – left untouched.

“Ah, thank you, Madara-sama,” you replied, cringing inwardly as you added, “but I ate at home already.”

You could feel his gaze on the side of your face as you made faux purpose in tugging loose the fabric of your pants bunched around your knee. Kami, you could punch Izuna in his aristocrat nose for subjecting you to this awkwardness with his brother, before eight in the morning no less.

“What plans did you and my brother have this morning?” Madara asked after a moment.

You glanced up at him again, and then suddenly realized that while you were wearing in the becoming-standard jōnin uniform, Madara was dressed only in a loosely tied navy blue yukata that hung open around his torso, one sleeve nearly slipping off of his shoulder and showing the edge of raised scar tissue along his collarbone.

You felt your face heat instantaneously and you furtively looked away, locking your sights on one of the leafy ferns in the garden in front of you as you tried to force the image of the man next to you from your mind.

He was hardly dressed, and you’d barged into his house, and Kami – his chest; there had to be a god or two out there laughing at you right now, because there wasn’t a version of reality you could imagine Izuna not cracking up if he found out about this.

“We were going to visit the weapons shops in the Eastern Sector,” you answered, keeping your gaze in the garden. “Tobirama mentioned yesterday that a new merchant was approved to sell in the market, and we were going evaluate his quality.”

Madara released a quiet hum. “I doubt Tobirama would let anyone sell in the weapons market if their wares didn’t meet the regulation standard.”

His stare was still on the side of your face.

“Call it curiosity, Madara-sama,” you said, tapping the hilt of one of your own kunai strapped in its brace around your thigh. “Izuna needs to replace his shuriken stock since our last mission anyway.”

Madara snorted. “I hope he told you that at a distance from the compound, should any of the ninbyō overhear him and tell Nekobaa he intends to buy from another weapons dealer.”

You smiled, remembering a particular story Izuna had told you months ago when you’d gotten him decidedly drunk from shōchū and he’d told you about the childish fears that had plagued him for years on end about the Uchiha Clan’s infamous munitions keepers in Sora-ku. Apparently he’d done one ninbyō wrong in stepping on her paw and it was only the pact between their groups that kept the feline’s claws out of his eyes; didn’t save the rest of his face, however, which explained the thin scar that cut a line from the edge of his left eye. For over a decade you’d thought it was a mark left on him by Tobirama, but you’d been hysterical to find out it was from a cat, of all things.

“I think he’d plant a garden of catnip to appease your Nekobaa if it meant keeping the ninbyō away from his face,” you chuckled, glancing toward Madara again before you could think better of it. The sight of his smile caught you off guard, his lips pulling into the swell of his cheek as he shook his head slightly as he lifted rice to his mouth. The expression was uninhibited by any level of decorum that you usually saw him with in clan meetings and events, and it was different from the smiles he shared with both Izuna and Hashirama; it looked private, a glimpse behind the outward projection of Madara Uchiha, Leader of the Uchiha Clan that you knew and just Madara Uchiha, a man who ate fish and rice for breakfast. And somehow, conversation with this Madara was easier than any other conversation you’d had with him before.

“Ah, he told you the story of his abuse of poor Mimiko?” Madara asked, amusement clear in his voice as he ate his rice.

“‘His abuse of poor Mimiko’?” you parroted, giving a short laugh. “Izuna is the one still scared of cats to this day – isn’t he the abused one?”

Madara smiled that same, private smile. “He hasn’t stepped on any paws since then, has he?”

“No,” you laughed again, and shook your head, “I guess he hasn’t.”

Madara gave a soft hum of agreement and then silence blanketed the conversation, leaving you in another limbo. Madara had finished his rice and had picked up a cup of tea, propping his other elbow on his raised knee as he rested his head against the heel of his palm and stared out at the gentle downpour over the garden. The shift in his positioning had opened his yukata further and you snapped your eyes away before you followed the line of a newly revealed, particularly thick-looking scar that spanned down his chest into the folds of his robe, if only to keep your face from heating again the longer you stared unsolicited at him, and glanced at the opened Uchiha Main House.

You’d been in the house a dozen times at least over the years, but you’d never seen it opened up like this during the rainy season, especially when you knew Izuna hated how the smell of wet soil seemed to never leave his clothes no matter how often he washed them. Come to think of it, Izuna didn’t even like the rain – he’d blamed his Uchiha blood and said that no one in a clan with a predominant fire affinity liked the rain, but the way that Madara stared out at the rain made you wonder if Izuna had spoken too generally.

Your eyes trailed back to him, and you were careful to keep your gaze on his face as you studied him.

There was a difference in him now than from what you were usually familiar with. When you’d first met Madara, he was still jagged around the edges from the stress of the war and the stretch of his already thin patience it took to garner in peace with Hashirama while fending off his Elder Council with their combative conversative politics and traditions. Izuna was hardly any help, you knew, since he took to taunting Tobirama into arguments – “A passive aggressive way in which to get revenge,” he’d explained after showing you the scar that should’ve been a death blow over his heart from the other heir’s ninjatō – that you had the pleasure of interjecting upon by request of Hashirama and thus spurring the argument between you and Izuna that had spawned your friendship.

The man sitting beside you now held none of that tension in his shoulders, and there was a feeling of…serenity that seemed rest around him as you continued to watch him stare into the rain, dōjutsu disarmed and none of his usual weapons adorning his body at all. To anyone who didn’t know him, Madara could have been a handsome stranger, a man who was mysterious by the presence of his scars, but could be anyone or no one at all. A part of you had always wondered if he had wanted to be Madara Uchiha, Leader of the Uchiha Clan, or if he’d only accepted the role as it had fallen into his lap with the death of his older brother – another story from another time when the shōchū brought out Izuna’s darker nightmares instead of his laugher. Who might Madara have been then, if not the man he was now?

A rice farmer, Izuna had jested, but a really shitty one.

A cool breeze swept into the house, making you shiver slightly.

You glanced away from Madara’s face and toward the open shogi doors. “Aren’t you cold, Madara-sama?”

Madara looked at you, and then shrugged slightly. “Uchiha run hotter than other shinobi,” he replied.

Yeah, no kidding, you nearly muttered aloud, acutely aware of his opened yukata and the attractive tilt of his head as he regarded you, but bit into the flesh of your cheek to stop the words from taking shape.

Instead, you nodded, and asked, “Madara-sama, do you know when Izuna is supposed to come back?”

You glanced at the Clan Leader and tensed when you found yourself meeting his eyes full on for the first time since initially coming into the house. You could see it when he squinted slightly at you.

“Why do you use the honorific?” he asked, but it took you a moment to process his words. You’d obviously made eye contact with him before – it was impossible to not at times, when the whole world seemed to gravitate toward him, you yourself locked him his orbit whether he knew it or not – but this was not the version of him that you were familiar with; there were no pretenses in his expressions as spoke to you.

You swallowed. “I-I’m sorry?”

Madara tilted his head again slightly, a section of his hair falling off of his shoulder and showing more of his chest. “You address me with the honorific, but not when you talk to my brother, Hashirama, Tobirama, or the other clan heirs,” he explained. “We’ve known each other for just as long, have we not?”

Your brow furrowed as he spoke. You had always addressed him with the honorific of his title, even though you’d been friends with his brother for years now, and even familiar with most members of his clan. It’d never really been intentional, not until you realized that calling him by his name alone meant more to you than just being his friend. “I – yes,” you said, struggling to find a proper response. “It’s just – you’re a clan leader,” you tried, and then immediately winced at your own words. Hashirama was just as much a clan leader as Madara was, and you’d gotten away with calling him ‘Hashi’ by accident before while you’d been in a hurry.

One of Madara’s dark eyebrow rose again as he watched you try to parse out an answer.

“But it’s your name,” you tried, and chewed your lip at his blank look. You rubbed your temple. “We’ve never really spoken, Madara-sama, like I have with Izuna, or Hashirama and Tobirama, and the others,” you clarified. “It’s different from them.”

“We’ve spoken many times before,” he replied, dropping his knee, and crossing his arms over his chest. “How is it any different?”

You wondered where you’d found the shovel that you were currently digging your hole deeper with.

You chewed the inside of your cheek. “You’re not them,” you said, and watched Madara angle his chin. “I mean – that’s obvious, but I mean, you’re different. It’s just –” You blew an exasperated breath as his expression became more guarded, that ease he’d had slipping away with every word you spoke.

“You’re not like this, out there,” you blurted out, gesturing toward his sitting figure. Kami, you were glad the Uchiha didn’t have the same hearing abilities that the Inuzuka and Hatake did, else he’d no doubt hear your heart hammering against your ribcage. “This is different from when you’re out there, with them,” you kept talking. “You’re quieter, and…softer, I guess. It’s different, and not bad, at all,” you added, gauging the narrowing of his eyes again. Izuna would be rolling on the floor if he were here to witness this. “You’re just Madara right now,” you rubbed the side of your neck, ignoring the heat there, “not Mangekyō no Madara, the Uchiha Warlord. Just…Madara.”

A long moment of silence hung between the two of you, only the sound of the gentle downpour on the roof and in the garden to fill the air with a level of noise until Madara cleared his throat and his expression lost some of its hardness.

“Just Madara,” he said slowly, and then you felt the energy of the room shift as his dōjutsu activated suddenly, red bleeding through the hickory brown of his irises. The instinct to avert your eyes gripped you, but…you could feel the weight of his stare and there was something significant in it as you stared into the interlocking black tomoe. “Mangekyō no Madara, the Uchiha Warlord – how is he different from ‘Just Madara’?”

There was something incredibly beautiful about the Sharingan in a way that nothing else you had ever seen in your life compared. The dōjutsu was a weapon just as much as it was simply just another tool, and you’d seen plenty of patterns over the years you’d spent living alongside the Uchiha, but none of their eyes were quite as enthralling as their clan leader’s.

“Mangekyō no Madara, the Uchiha Warlord would rather me not drop the honorific,” you finally replied as you stared back at his kekkei genkai. Your heartbeat was thundering in your chest. “And he’d want me to be intimidated by his dōjutsu.”

Madara grunted. “And you think ‘Just Madara’ doesn’t want you to be as well?”

“I think if you wanted me to be intimidated, you would’ve put me in a genjutsu,” you answered evenly. His gaze narrowed again, and then you watched as he leaned onto the table, propping his cheek against his knuckles and exposing more of his chest to you. It was yet another effort to keep your eyes on his face and ignore just how much of him you could see around his robe.

“What if I’ve had you in a genjutsu since you entered the house and first looked at me?” he questioned, still staring at you. The intensity of his gaze was unwavering, but there was something different in the way that he gave you his undivided attention versus how you’d seen him trap other members of the leader council with his stare – there was no true intimidation in his eyes. “What if this ‘Just Madara’ lives only in a fictitious image I created?”

“You’d have to find inspiration for ‘Just Madara’ from somewhere then,” you replied easily, ignoring the urge in your gut to look away from him. By no means were you afraid of him, but he did slightly intimidate you at times, though for reasons unrelated to his rank or kekkei genkai. “And you don’t have a reason to put me in a genjutsu.”

“You broke into my home,” he replied.

You raised an eyebrow. “The door was unlocked and Izuna told me just come in last night when we’d made the plans.”

A short silence rose, punctuated by a distant roll of thunder, and then Madara spoke again.

“You’re not afraid at all of my Sharingan, are you?” he asked.

You frowned slightly. You’d never held his eye contact for this long before, especially not while his Sharingan were activated, but you could read no threat in his expression, only feel the weight of some unspoken significance between you.

“I’m not afraid of the man they belong to,” you softly corrected him.

Both of Madara’s eyebrows rose and his head righted just slightly. “You’re not afraid of me?”

You loosed a breathy laugh. “If I was ever your enemy again, then I very much would be, because now I know the man beyond Mangekyō no Madara, the Uchiha Warlord, and…” you chewed your lip again, “and I wouldn’t want to have to fight him.”

Madara’s gaze shifted over your face, tracing over your eyes, then down the side of your cheek, across mouth and then up over your nose and back to your eyes again, like he was memorizing face.

“I wouldn’t want to fight you either,” he finally replied.

You chuckled. “I’d be like a warm-up, and you’d kill me within ten minutes – we’re on two different levels of abilities.”

He lowered his propped arm so that his arms crossed on the table, and the way that he stared at you sobered the lighthearted humor in you.

“I wouldn’t raise a hand nor weapon against you,” he said.

You blinked, momentarily blindsided by the raw honesty in his voice.

“I suppose that makes sense, since we’re comrades now,” you said slowly, heartbeat somehow sluggish now in your chest.

Madara tilted his head at you. “Among other things.”

“‘Among other things’?” You parroted, your brow furrowing as you sat upright.

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you think I’d let just anyone see me in my nightclothes?”

Your lips parted and you glanced at his chest again despite your better judgement, and then jerked your line of sight away, toward the wall, though you could see the smirk on Madara’s face in your periphery.

“Hashirama?” you offered weakly, staring pointedly at the garden again.

He gave you a flat look. “Exempting the deified tree idiot from you and Izuna.”

You and Izuna.

If there was one thing that you knew foremost before any other thing about Madara Uchiha it was that his most treasured possession was his love for his brother, followed closely by his friendship with Hashirama and the responsibility he took seriously as the leader of his clan. Three pillars of his personality that you’d come to be familiar with very early on once coming to the village that had provided the foundation for the understanding of him.

He’d said, you and Izuna – what did that mean?

Your gaze slid back to him again.

“So, you’d of put more clothes on if I wasn’t the one breaking in, then?” you asked, trying to joke but lacking the tease in your voice.

One of Madara’s eyebrows rose. “With the way you’ve been stealing looks at me all morning, I thought you quite liked seeing me in little clothing.”

Your eyes widened and you felt your face burn as you ducked your head. This man – when had he become so…so–

Kami – this was not how you expected your morning to go.

“I –”

You shut your mouth as soon as you noticed the smile on Madara’s face, amusement clear in his expression. Yet another expression that you weren’t accustomed to, not without the standard pretense of him fulfilling some kind of social expectation of himself in meetings and village celebrations – and you liked it. That air of serenity seemed to only thicken around him as he smiled at you, his eyebrow rising again when you both realized you were staring at him.

Awkwardly, you cleared your throat. “I wasn’t looking at your chest,” you lied, “I – um…” Madara rested his chin against his knuckles again, expression expectant. You faltered, indignant. “You’re enjoying this.”

Tobirama had always compared the Uchiha to cats, but you couldn’t help but find more similarities between Madara and a tanuki right now.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Madara replied, the lilt of his tone making it clear that he knew exactly what it was you were talking about.

You cut the clan leader a look. “Madara-sama, has anyone ever told you before that you’re terribly overconfident?”

You saw him try to suppress a smirk before he replied, “Now, now, (Y/N), don’t you think if you’re going to insult me, you should at least drop the honorific so I know you’re only teasing?”

You bit into your cheek to stop yourself from smiling back at him as you said, “It’s not teasing if it’s true, Madara-sama.”

He raised his eyebrow again. “So you are trying to insult a clan leader, (Y/N)?” he asked, shifting his knuckles over his mouth in a weak attempt to hide his smirk.

You sniffed. “It’s said that the truth sometimes hurts, Madara-sama.”

He chuckled. “You know, I could order you to not address me with that honorific.”

You gave him another look. “I don’t have to listen to your orders, Madara-sama – you’re not the jōnin commander nor am I an Uchiha.”

He regarded you for a moment. “But I could make you one.”

You felt the blood drain from your face and your lips parted in shock –

Madara snorted and laughed at your expense, shaking his head. “That was teasing, (Y/N),” he chuckled.

Like a whiplash, your felt your face heat from sickening embarrassment, and you looked away from him, having to grit your teeth in the attempt to not scowl. Something in you felt wounded and annoyed with your own self for having fallen so easily into bantering with him that you’d entertained the idea of his teasing as being more than just that.

He was still chuckling at your reaction when you cleared your throat and made to stand.

“Since your brother isn’t here,” you spoke neutrally, “I’ll be leaving now, Uchiha-sama.” You saw his brow furrow in your periphery, but you ignored his expression as you unfolded your legs and shifted your balance.

“Eager to have Izuna make you an Uchiha then?” Madara asked as you began to cross the sitting room, back toward the door. You scoffed quietly at his question, irritation not only with yourself and your own foolishness growing, but also toward him, for pressing the wound.

You muttered under your breath and reached for your boots, but your hand was blocked in the same breath that Madara appeared in front of you, a surge of chakra from his shunshin the only warning you’d had to retract your arm.

“What did you say?” he questioned, tone flat and not unlike the voice he took in council meetings.

“Nothing, Uchiha-sama,” you said, making to move around him, but he blocked your path again with his body, making you bite your tongue to keep from forgoing your boots entirely and shunshinning onto the path outside the Uchiha Compound.

“Why are you calling me that?” he demanded, blocking you again when you tried to go around his left.

You clenched your jaw. “I’m not calling you anything, Uchiha-sama.”

The muscle in his jaw feathered, a telltale sign of his short patience. “I told you to drop the honorific, not tack on formalities.”

You let your eyes meet his again, trying to keep your expression flat and combined embarrassment and irritation concealed. “You’re a clan leader, Uchiha-sama,” you replied in a mechanical voice. “I shouldn’t insult you with less.”

His Sharingan gaze narrowed, not quite pinning you to the spot but making you wholly aware of him and just how close he stood to you, hardly more than an arm’s length between your chests.

“What did you say when you turned your back to me?” he demanded again.

“It’s of little importance, Uchiha-sama,” you answered, stare unwavering.

You went to step around him again, but his hand lashed and caught your wrist, making you instaneously stiffen.

“You are afraid of me,” Madara said, grip firm as he glanced between your rigid arm and your face.

You suddenly wanted, for all the world, Izuna to come back from wherever he’d gone, if only to rescue you from this conversation.

“Not for the reasons you think, Uchiha-sama,” you answered sharply, staring ahead at the door until Madara yanked you closer to him, filling your line of sight with his face.

You sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden proximity, but he didn’t grant you the opportunity to react before he asked again, “What did you say when you turned your back to me?”

This close to his face, you could see each of the long lashes that framed his Sharingan eyes, and the light smattering of tiny scars near his temple. This close, and the world narrowed down to a singular point in the shape of him as he filled your senses, drowning out the rain, the house, and all else. Your orbit finally brought you to the star itself.

You exhaled a slow breath through your nose and then let the tension bleed from your shoulders, out of your arms, and held his gaze as you replied, just loud enough to be heard, “I said, ‘Wrong brother.’”

Silence crept in through the house again as you stared at each other, his grip unwavering on your wrist that he’d tucked into his chest when he’d pulled you into him. Your hand was curled into a fist, but you could feel the warmth of his skin against your closed fingers, and beyond that –

His heart was racing.

The realization made your eyes drop from his to his chest, your brows pulling together as his fingers seemed to curl tighter around your wrist before they relaxed and his grip spread over your hand, pushing your palm flat over his chest, your fingers beneath the fabric of his robe.

“Why do you say my name with the honorific?” Madara asked again, his fingers slotted over yours, the scars on your knuckles making disjointed patterns with his.

You blinked, looking back up at him. “Because it means something else to me without it.”

He never looked away from you, not as he raised his other hand to the side of your face, touching his fingertips to your cheek.

“Say my name,” he said softly.

Your brow furrowed, just slightly, as his thumb touched the edge of your mouth, and you spoke softly, “Madara.”

You felt his heartbeat fasten beneath your hand, and then yours might as well of matched it when he slid his thumb beneath your chin and raised your face, and then –

Madara was kissing you.

You sucked in a sharp breath, but shock hardly lasted more than a moment as he slanted his mouth against yours, cradling your face with both his hands as your hands found a grip on his robe. Over and over, he kissed you, tracing your bottom lip with his tongue before one of your hands climbed up to his neck, fingers carding through the dark hair at his nape, and a soft noise like a grunt left him as he shifted closer to you. His kisses were consuming, all-encompassing and this was gravity, you realized, the effect of coming too close to a star and meeting it in a collision, the inevitable destruction of what was once two separate things and the formation of something else – something new and created in the combination of debris. This was a calamity, and you welcomed it, fully and completely, giving entirely into the forces that predetermined this gravitational impact.

A sharp whistle suddenly sounded from the central garden, and you sprang back from Madara as Izuna leapt down from one of the red maple trees onto the porch with all his usual flourish, damp from the rain but smirking all the same. “I must say, there’s nothing seeing my beloved brother finally kissing my dear friend to make my morning more interesting.”

You blinked as Madara scowled, one of your hands now tangled with his, though he stood slightly behind you.

“‘Finally?’” you questioned.

“Oh yes – finally,” Izuna snorted.

“Always purposeful with your timing, aren’t you, otōto?” Madara drawled, languidly. His posture had changed, but you could see a flush of pink over his face and neck, unconcealed by his tone.

Izuna made a show of sitting down on the porch and yanking off his boots, the smirk never leaving his face as he did so.

“Of course, aniki – I couldn’t risk leaving you unattended for very long, you know,” he replied airily. “Who knows what you two would’ve gotten up to if I hadn’t come back from that random errand you sent me on when I did.”

You cocked your head suspiciously at Madara. “You sent Izuna on an errand this morning?”

Izuna called from the porch, “Only after he found out you were supposed to be meeting me here.”

“Izuna,” Madara warned.

Izuna, the only heir to the mighty Uchiha Clan, stuck his tongue out at his brother as he crossed the room in bare feet. “Now that you’ve gotten a few good kisses in on my best friend, I think it’s fair time to embarrass you thoroughly.” He came up next to you, propping his arm on your shoulder as he asked you, “Don’t you think?”

“Izuna, I will demote you,” Madara warned again, glare cutting.

Izuna brightened, “Oh! I’m to be an uncle already?”

You jammed your elbow into Izuna’s ribs with little thought, cheeks burning with heat as you glared at your best friend and wholly ignored Madara’s startled expression.

“Traitor,” Izuna wheezed, holding his side with one hand and bending over with his opposite hand on your shoulder for balance.

“Me a traitor?” you demanded, rounding on the younger Uchiha. “You – you –!” You couldn’t stop the breath of laughter that escaped you, cutting off your tirade. You could see Madara smiling at you in his periphery, amusement clear on his face along with something like relief. “You’re impossible, Izuna,” you finally said, shaking your head.

“You’re the one kissing my brother!” Izuna puffed back, throwing his hand out at Madara, who had crossed his arms over his chest and raised an unimpressed eyebrow at the heir. “And here I thought one morning of your sheer awkwardness and his hate of being interrupted over breakfast would cancel out and I’d finally be relieved of hearing the blind pining you two do after each other constantly!”

Your face felt like it was burning – blind pining you two do after each other constantly.

Madara made faux work of picking at his index finger with his thumb, giving Izuna a look out of the corner of his eye. “You forget that I invite (Y/N)’s company whenever possible, otōto.”

And wasn’t that true – how many gatherings and meetings had you attended over the years where you eventually found yourself somehow at Madara’s side? You’d lost count. And now this morning, where he’d invited you to sit at the table with him, despite the early hour and him being hardly dressed.

Do you think I’d let just anyone see me in my nightclothes?

“Oh, excuse me, aniki,” Izuna rolled his eyes, a smirk growing along his lips, “I must’ve forgotten sometime between last year and this morning.”

You blinked. “Last year?”

“Oh, this obsession with you didn’t happen overnight, (Y/N)-chan,” Izuna cooed, and absolutely grinning at Madara’s scathing glare and your shocked expression. “My dear aniki decided to fall in love with you the moment you verbally filleted that Shimura heir over the dinner at Midsummer last year. What was it you said, Madara? Something like –”

“Izuna, I will banish you from the compound,” Madara ground out, wholly ignoring your widening eyes.

Fall in love?

It was only propriety that kept your jaw from dropping – Madara was in love with you?

Izuna waved him off, continuing, “You said, ‘She’s going to be my wife.’” A lick of flame darted towards Izuna’s pants, but he leapt back, snickering as he did. “Aniki! No need to get so heated! Save that for your future wife!”

“Izuna!” Madara shouted, while you bit down on your bottom lip, face hot and trying to not laugh as Izuna darted away.

“I’m going – I’m going! I can see that you need privacy!” he snickered, winking at you as he dodged another well-aimed katon jutsu spiraling for his face and then vanished into one of the hallways of the house.

A beat of silence, and then you couldn’t help the small laugh that left you. Madara’s attention immediately snapped back toward you, and he was still scowling, but when you laughed again, he gauged your expression with a guarded look.

“Somehow, I don’t think you planned on telling me this morning that you wanted to marry me,” you said neutrally, though still internally reeling from what Izuna had said.

She’s going to be my wife.

That was not just a simple thing to say, especially from a clan leader.

Madara crossed his arms over his chest, still looking irritated, though you knew it was more or less directed toward his brother. “No, not this morning,” he replied, jaw clenching like he was reluctant to give up more of his intentions than he’d expected to.

You stepped closer to him, watching him watch you back, Sharingan eyes fixed on your face. His arms slackened as you came close enough to touch a hand to the side of his face, as bold as you dared, and you felt his hands settle lightly over your hips. You leaned into him, holding again to the front of his robe with one hand as the other hand slipped into the hair at the nape of his neck, bringing his face closer to yours as you struggled to not outright grin at him, though his eyes flicked between your smile and your eyes. At your waist, his fingers tightened their grip, his focus never once leaving you as he tilted his head, and you whispered against his lips, “Tell me you love me this morning then.”

This close, you could see your reddened reflection in his Sharingan, and saw the last of his irritation toward his brother melt away as he raised a hand to your face, brushing his fingers over your cheek.

“I love you,” he said, hardly more than a breath against your lips.

You smiled, heart racing, and pressed your forehead against his. “I love you too.”

He pressed his lips to yours again, and you could feel him smiling even as he kissed you, one of his hands sliding to the small of your back and pulling you closer as the other one folded itself over yours on his chest. Again, he became the center of everything, all else fading as you lost yourself in him.

Though, you startled when Izuna suddenly shouted through the house, “I would like a niece to spoil first!”

None of Madara’s kisses could silence the laughter that burst from you.

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Captain

Predator (Yautja) by Michael Michera

Twin Flames- SFW Chapter Five (End)

“I was on that blasted site to find you…You are exactly who I’ve been searching for all these years. And there is nothing in this lifetime that keeps us apart.”

Warnings: romance, drama, conflict resolution, lots of dialogue

For readers who don’t do smut/are underage, the long sex scene can be skipped and the ending will make sense. Words: 4569

It was well over a month before you saw each other again. At first, Madara assumed both you and him needed time to decompress after the last encounter. Madara knew your shift schedule, which you previously provided to facilitate the planning of outings. You also mentioned another wave of school hitting. After weeks of radio silence from you, he figured you likely were very busy lately, but if your lack of contact was your playing of games with him, he wasn't engaging.

So he left for the conference in Japan for several weeks. The trip went well, all things considered.

His mood was foul for much of these last weeks, even while conducting business. The idiot Hashirama thought it was appropriate to venture a joking guess, asking if his ‘gloomy face’ was perhaps the result of the plague of romantic woes. The other brother, shrewd and opinionated, thankfully stayed quiet. Madara swore he would have stabbed Tobirama in the head if he was forced to endure prodding from another nosy Senju.

This was until Izuna decided he could comment on Madara’s life as well when they returned from Japan. Madara snapped back, rudely informing his little brother there was no issue, that his personal affairs were none of Izuna’s concern. The boorish boy dared to jeer at him, emphatically remarking that he should “just go see you again,” as if he made no attempts to contact you before the conference.

Staring daggers at nothing, he thought back on how you tried to return his keys that doomed night when he brought you home from your penthouse. As if he, Uchiha Madara, would take back an item he had gifted another. Your tears had finally ceased and you were disturbingly calm. When he wouldn’t accept repossessing the keys and attempted to reason with you again, your expression broke. You told him “money doesn’t solve everything.” Falling apart once more, you bid him goodbye while stuttering and left those keys on the passenger seat before easing the door shut behind you.

Stubborn woman. Similar to Izuna, there were times when you were childish in temperament. He already showed you who you were to him, yet you didn’t understand and left. Between you and him, someone had to be the adult.

Madara strode across his office, feeling thunderous as he recalled the memories he made with you. It seemed his thoughts were completely occupied by you lately. He thought back on your fingers tangled in his that treasured day when you searched together for Izuna’s gift, how you beamed at him in delight at your house, and your shocked expression during your first kiss with him. He remembered your juvenile jokes, the first time you approached him for a kiss and how you came to relax into his touch.

He relived your tears and self-deprecating words, how you shrank from him when he confronted you, and the way you offered yourself to him, as if that must have been all he wanted from you, before you walked out. Madara glowered bitterly as his mood darkened even further.

Despite everything that happened, time was the master of the heart. Even if he was surly during the initial days following that party and while abroad, after so long, Madara…missed you. He did not want to be apart any longer. Wishing for reconciliation and to bridge the distance that grew between you, he texted, asking if now was a good time to call. To his surprise, you agreed to speak with him.

---------------

You let the remaining seconds on the timer run out before absentmindedly fishing the udon from the broth. Ladling toppings into a bowl and spooning soup in, you poured piping hot liquid onto your other hand. You yelped in agony, hands flying up in shock and accidentally dumping more scalding soup over yourself and the stove.

You ground your teeth together and shouted in frustration. Mentally pushed beyond the limits, you whipped the damned ladle away, sending it crashing into a vase and knocking it over, fine crystal shattering in a flood of water and shards. Your fresh roses spilled onto the dining table. Roses for romance, now laying in a pool of broken glass. You snorted, the symbolism not lost on you.

Everything was a mess. Your home, your mind, your life. You were incredibly despondent these past weeks despite being swamped, consumed with writing several essays for your program. It was stupid BS. Did you really need to be in a Master’s program in anything to know it’s beneficial to be respectful when talking to someone? Okay, you were exaggerating if you said that was all your program was about, but there was so much fluff in comparison to the amount of material that was useful towards your future role as a Clinical Nurse Specialist or Nurse Practitioner.

You were also pushed to distraction by thoughts of a certain man. It was nearly impossible to focus. You cursed your stupidity for ever getting involved with him.

Your phone pinged, the cheerful sound grossly at odds with your turbulent mood.

It was him. He inquired if it was a suitable time to call now, informing again of how much he wished to hear from you.

Ready to turn that page in the final chapter involving him, you had been prepared to never see Madara again, convinced nothing can come out of staying associated except the promise of more pain.

…Clearly you also missed Madara dearly over the past weeks. It was as if the sun disappeared from your life and all that remained was a bleak landscape of dreariness, devoid of warmth and vibrancy. Longing compelled you to speak with him, to hear his lovely voice again.

Your ringtone sounded immediately.

“Hello? Madara?”

“Y/N?” You jolted at his voice from a single word, the part of your heart that was numb throbbing in pain.

“…How have you been, Madara?”

“Hn. I’ve experienced better days in my life. Y/N, you sound exhausted.” Madara’s voice was flat like he was also lacking sleep, yet it sounded as if he was holding back. Like he had much he wanted to tell you.

“Yeah, I had a bad shift today.”

“I thought you didn’t work today.”

“It wasn’t originally on the schedule I gave you, but I picked up. I needed the extra shift.”

Madara was quiet for a moment. Were you financially stressed? He frowned on his end, then spoke up. “I would like to see you again.” He had no desire to throw your relationship away. It must be mended, somehow.

He wanted to barrel back into your life again?! Just when you regained some measure of functionality by throwing yourself into school and work, drowning yourself in your professional life to prevent your personal demons an opportunity to revisit your thoughts, you hear from Madara again. For several weeks, you hadn’t been ready to see him before he went to Japan. By now, you were almost certain he must have gone on his trip and moved on as well.

Besides, what was there to say? After the fiasco that first and last time Madara brought you to a major event, you weren’t even sure how to face him anymore.

“Not tonight Madara. It was a disaster at work and I’m not emotionally sound right now. I don’t want to have another meltdown in front of you,” you told him and laughed in an attempt to make light of the conversation.

Madara wanted to tell you he did not mind if you broke down, that he was there to support you in times of weakness. He held his tongue, figuring that what not what you needed to hear and pushing harder at this time would only serve to drive you away again.

“How about another day? One when you are free and well-rested,” he suggested.

Part of you wanted to refuse him, but after all the care and kindness Madara showed you, how could you do that to this man? If nothing else, you both at least deserved closure.

“One chance, Y/N. Give me one more chance,” he continued. “Please.”

You were weak. With a lump in your throat, you found you couldn’t refuse your love’s heartfelt request.

“Give me a few more days to rest and unwind, then we can meet here.”

You ate your dinner udon in silence amongst the chaotic pile of broken dreams, surrounded by shattered glass, forgotten rose stems, and spilled tears.

---------------

Madara arrived at your house at your invitation, pausing outside to mentally rehearse what he wanted to tell you. He was determined to resolve your differences and reenter each other’s lives.

You opened the door for him. His frustration with the situation was ever-present, but his previous vexation at your actions dissolved upon laying eyes on you for the first time in so long. There you were, dressed comfortably in your pajamas, tiny in comparison to his size. You looked slightly tired and your eyes were mildly swollen, but your gaze was focused on him.

Your mind went blank the moment you heard the knock. Greeting him softly, you blinked at the large plant in his hand. It was a pot of phalaenopsis, or a moth orchid, the most common type of commercial orchid available because it can be tricked into flowering year-round. It was nothing special or exotic compared to your collection, but the gift Madara bore was white. White orchids were a symbol of sincerity. Madara was normally meticulous, but you wondered if he knew that or if the colour was merely a fluke. Your breath hitched when you caught a glimpse at the bundle in his other arm.

It was a dramatic bouquet filled with tulips, lilies of the valley, peonies, and carnations… all flowers of apology. Tulips were perennials that flowered year after year and represented new beginnings and peace, but these tulips were also in red to emphasize it was safe for you to trust Madara. White peonies represented shame for how he acted and a desire to right wrongs, and carnations not in pink, but red, expressed an aching heart and unyielding affection. There was a cut stem of giant cymbidium orchids within the bundle. Cymbidiums could mean many nice things, one of those being pure love.

This was no fluke. You stared at the bouquet to ensure you weren’t seeing things or getting your floral trivia incorrect. Madara was indeed expressing his great regret and a sincere desire to mend wrongs in a nonverbal way which was more natural to him. You swayed when you raised your shocked eyes to meet his. His expression was simultaneously grave, yet hopeful.

You invited Madara inside and closed the door behind him.

He stood by the entrance, not doing anything to remove his dress shoes or jacket. Instead, he watched you, waiting solemnly for you to take his offerings.

It was already late March and spring was quickly approaching, the biting chill of winter not nearly as harsh as the last time you met. Will this be a mistake? New beginnings. With a shaky breath, you accepted the white potted orchid and bouquet from Madara. The plant enthusiast in you wordlessly filled a spare vase with water and arranged the gorgeous bouquet. Once properly organized, it puffed up in a pretty display of red and white –delicate, bell-like lilies surrounded large fluffy flowers, the arrangement dotted with elegant tulips and a strip of pinkish-orange cymbidiums down the middle. Your chest clenched when you contemplated the deep meaning behind its beauty. What Madara wanted to tell you.

Madara continued to stand near the door as he silently observed you tread around your home. “Why are you apologizing so excessively?” You asked, gesturing at the array of quality blooms. “You are not at fault for anything.”

Madara hesitated, aware the minutes ahead will bring him to a position that will make him too vulnerable for comfort. He frowned. Your disposition was too polite, too formal with him. You wouldn’t even look at him. Neither did you truly invite him inside and offer him refreshments like the model hostess you were the last time he came over. It was like you were expecting him to state what he needed and leave.

He resented your aloofness and his part in bringing about this change in your demeanor around him. When it came to his emotions and those softer feelings you evoked, speaking candidly was difficult for Madara. He did not relish exposing himself, but this was a conversation that needed to happen. And if it would help you understand just how much you meant to him…

Madara had thought of what to say over the last two days, but upon seeing you, it was like his preparations vanished into nothingness. Not wanting you to ask him to leave, he needed to find his words again quickly.

“That is not true. There are many assertions I delivered poorly. I should never have been harsh to you, even if the sentiment was honest and that part I will not retract.” It was so like Madara to be painfully blunt even when he was trying to express remorse, it was almost comedic.

“Which part was that?” You asked wearily. Your heart seized, not ready to bear Madara’s gut-wrenching judgment again, but also knowing you and him needed to speak, that avoidance was no longer an option. You glanced again at Madara’s bouquet.

“That your sense of inferiority was unbecoming. I should never have spoken to you in such a way. For that, and the other words when I drove you home, I apologize. I…didn’t want to cause you pain. However, I maintain that that feeling of yours is misplaced and unnecessary. I would not have pursued if I thought you inadequate. We are equals if we are to be together.” He fixed you with a level stare which you returned with uncertainty.

You mulled over his words, remembering your realization at the end of the last confrontation with Madara at his penthouse, before he pulled you into his arms and let you weep. Madara wanted you for you.

You allowed Madara inside, bringing him to be seated at the same couch where he first realized the depth of his feelings for you. You awkwardly pulled out a chair from the adjacent dining table, but didn’t venture closer.

“Don’t you see we are from completely different worlds? Worlds that were never meant to collide if it wasn’t for the stupid dating site. What future is there for us? We aren’t meant to be together.”

Clenching his fists, Madara’s face stayed serene. He sighed, running a hand through his mane.

“Initially, it was Izuna’s bright idea to join that website on my behalf, but I only agreed to such an obscene plan because I saw you. There was no other woman I desired seeing. It was a coincidence that our paths crossed again after so many years, so even if I found the concept of that site distasteful, if there was the possibility to properly court you, I would utilize such a platform.” Madara paused, noting his tension and consciously ordering his hands to open.

“I was on that blasted site to find you. Our relationship was never of the sort suggested by the dating site that brought us back together.” He gritted out. He stood and came over, hand reaching for your face, the need to touch you again driving him to insanity. To his relief, you allowed his touch and made no attempts to stop him.

“Whatever future you desire, we can create together. I want to be with you,” he continued.

Madara stalled briefly, then kneeled before you and took your hands in his, the determination in his eyes unwavering.

“I am not a man of pretty silver-tongued words. You should know that.” Your eyes started to water as you acknowledged Madara’s statement. “Months ago, you said you liked me. Does that still hold true?” He asked.

A relationship took effort from both ends. You remembered every sweet moment you created together and the way Madara always tried for you. You recalled his fierce defence of you from that other woman. And his terrible words in the car as he drove you home, but also how he endeavored to make contact again to work things out while you fled.

You blinked at him to try stopping the tears that threatened to fall, trembling in his hands. Knowing he appreciated honesty, you replied, “Of course. I never stopped.”

Madara let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His expression completely transformed and a brilliant smile lit up his face. Looking at your hands, he stroked your palms. “Y/N, I will tell you this once: you are exactly who I’ve been searching for all these years. And there is nothing in this lifetime that keeps us apart.” He lifted his gaze back to yours, his face now closer. “I promise I will always take care of you, if you'll let me. You will want for nothing,” he vowed.

“I…trust you…” you rasped, still trying to wrap your head around how someone like Madara would want to be with a regular person like you.

Madara’s entire being rocked with your confession. How he needed to hear those words. “I won’t let you down.”

“Why are you so good to me?”

There was no need for Madara to reply. The answer was in his eyes. You knew. You must have known some time ago that he loved you. You merely didn’t know how to respond to the intensity of his devotion.

“I’m sorry too. I’m sorry for ignoring you all this time even when you tried to make amends before going on your trip,” you whispered.

He leaned in with his head angled up to press his lips to yours.

“Move in with me, Y/N. I'm serious. I was serious from the beginning. Share your life with me."

You made a pained noise and reached for him, hands entwining behind his neck to bring him closer. Your foreheads touched. You too will try harder with Madara. For him, you’ll be better than you are. Instead of giving up now, you will give yourselves another chance to speak each other’s language and understand one another.

“I like bouquets, but next time, don’t buy me cut orchids. Cutting their flowers is a travesty knowing how long it takes to nurture and grow them.” You sniffed, but smiled against his lips.

“Your wish is my command.” He glanced at your collection of exotic plants and tried to entice you with your hobby. “If you enjoy greenery this much, you can plant whatever you like if you move into my main residence with me and Izuna. We can have a lawn full of cherry blossom trees and build a greenhouse, hire gardeners to assist you. Whatever you want.”

“Madara? That might be the most attractive thing you said to me all day.”

---------------

“Stay the night?” Now that Madara was here, you didn’t want him to leave, as if you were afraid you would have to wait another lifetime to see him again.

Madara agreed readily, raising a sophisticated brow when you suggested he take your bedroom while you slept on the sofa bed in the other bedroom. “Just trying to be a good hostess,” you explained, grinning bashfully.

“I would feel your hospitality more deeply if my hostess didn’t disappear,” he teased. You giggled, grabbing his hand and leading him to your room, as relieved as Madara that your relationship remained intact. That not everything was lost and you both fell back into your prior dynamic without the strain with relative ease.

He settled next to you and pulled the sheets up. At first, you lay side by side with some distance remaining between you. Screw it. You missed Madara and he missed you. That much was clear after tonight.

You shimmied up to him and he wrapped an arm around your waist. Bringing his lips to yours, he nipped and prodded, entering your mouth as soon as access was granted.

You were breathless when you separated. “I missed you. I miss this,” you murmured against his ear sleepily.

“Hn,” he grunted in agreement.

Already back to his silent ways. You smiled broadly in the dark.

“Um…are you sweating?”

“Go to sleep,” came the gruff answer.

There was no ignoring the growing damp cold. Realization dawned on you –Madara was always warm. He must be broiling under your linens. Your mouth fell open. “D-do you normally sleep naked? If you’re hot, you…can take off your clothes if you want.” Your wording sounded horrible! Cringing in dismay, you thought about what else you could do for him.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“There’s no sense in having you suffer this way. You’ll make me a bad hostess.” He was much too conscientious. And in your mind, Madara was already adequately hot. No need to cause him to melt.

Fabric rustled and you felt a breeze touch your face as Madara discarded his clothing somewhere in your room before he returned to you.

His length pushed into your stomach. You knew Madara possessed an athletic muscular build, but being pressed against his bare body was an experience that made you heat up with desire and embarrassment. It wasn’t unpleasant at all.

The interesting, but welcome, turn of events leading to this moment tonight made Madara smile warmly and hold you closer.

Madara’s self-control was unworldly. You basked silently in each other’s presence, secure in the knowledge you still belonged to one another. Slowly, you relaxed into his embrace, your mind slipping into the realm of dreams. There was no funny business to be had tonight.

---------------

Madara invited you to his main house on a day Izuna was not in residence. He had plans for you today; plans he didn’t need his overzealous brother around for.

Gaping in wonder, you turned in a circle. Every new perspective granted ornate wonders. If you thought the ballroom and Madara’s penthouse were extravagant, this manor went well beyond what those venues offered. It was modern in style, but possessed an old world charm that was difficult to describe. Coffered ceilings dropped down to meet carved pillars and paneled walls. Antique Japanese wooden furniture and furs sat on luxury stone or hardwood floors. The choices were tasteful and nothing was overdone.

Madara brought you around the mansion for a tour. After multiple sitting rooms, waiting rooms, offices, guest rooms, saunas, and pools, your head spun as you were led down yet another corridor. Servants who came across you and Madara bowed in deference.

“I am going to get lost here,” you whined. Your entire condo was smaller than one of his closets.

“You will find your way around quickly, I’m sure.” You were sure you would as well if you didn’t want to be the subject of so many curious glances.

Madara made sure you were treated like a queen. You spent the rest of the day with him, curled against him on a velvet sofa while watching an assortment of movies in the home theater and gorging yourself on meals that must have been prepared by a Michelin star chef in the dining room. You washed and soaked in a scented bath that was fit for a goddess. You played foosball together, but of course he didn’t let you win easily.

The door shut and locked behind Madara. You knew why he brought you to his bedroom tonight. You felt nervous, but you too wanted to see this through. This was a long time coming.

---------------

“I love you Madara.”

He looked upon you lovingly, glad to finally be together. It must have been the potency of his love for you that had him undone.

He fixed you with his piercing gaze. “I love you more,” he confessed.

The sun crested the horizon in your life again.

You were enchanted by the intensity of his expression. Madara was fire. His body was warm as always, his love and grace living things that kept the fire bright.

Madara was like the burning sun that lit up the skies and illuminated the world. But for you, he was more akin to a warming fire than a searing bonfire. You did have another home.

Home was wherever Madara was.

Instead of cutting your story together short, you couldn’t wait to turn that page to continue onto the next chapter of your life with him.

---------------

Dance music sounded deafeningly as lights blared in the salsa bar. You were on another date with Madara, but this one was special. Izuna and Jasna joined you and Madara in this group date. When you mentioned you had never been to a salsa bar and Jasna also expressed her interest, Madara suggested she come along. Izuna invited himself. He was a natural, a social setting being Izuna’s innate habitat and Jasna was already at ease conversing with him. You both cackled and mocked Izuna for something he said before sashaying to the dance floor.

Izuna and Madara shared a look as they watched you and your friend dance with abandon, guffawing like hyenas while singing along to the song. The curve of your eyebrows furrowed at a comment Jasna made, then your cheeks pulled up and dimpled as you laughed at your own joke.

*“When marimba rhythms start to play Dance with me, make me sway Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore Hold me close, sway me more”

“Like a flower bending in the breeze Bend with me, sway with ease When we dance, you have a way with me Stay with me, sway with me”

Your rhythm was correct, even if your steps were wrong for the kinds of dance this song demanded. You and Jasna made up for it with childish enthusiasm. You twirled each other and Jasna dipped you down to the beat. You were so silly, so dazzling. Madara laughed in earnest with Izuna, your light blinding in the darkness of the room.

“Other dancers may be on the floor Dear, but my eyes will see only you Only you have that magic technique When we sway, I go weak”

“I can hear the sounds of violins Long before it begins Make me thrill as only you know how Sway me smooth, sway me now”

There was no one else he wanted to spend his life with. He would do anything it took to keep you happy. Madara sauntered up to you, the crowd parting before him. Your eyes met. The power behind his stare was like he had you hypnotized with his gaze, but that was of course impossible. Your heart filled with warmth at the sight of him. Others may not see him for who he truly was, but for you, loving Madara was as natural as breathing.

His next words would forever etch themselves into your soul.

"Dance with me."

~End~

---------------

Notes:

I am incredibly proud of myself for finishing this story! First fanfic I’ve written in well over a decade! I hope you found the ending believable and satisfactory. The premise of this story was simple from the beginning. One theme I wanted to highlight in this story was good relationships where the partners do not communicate their love the same way and the difficulties that can arise. When you were with Madara, whether that was cooking for him and lavishing him with attention, or spending quality time together, that was when he felt your affection most. Whereas for her, those things were important, but she was indeed feeling inferior with this man who was larger than life. She also needed the words to confirm Madara’s feelings at a time when she was ready for the conversation. As we know, Madara is more a man of action than words, until he is pushed to speak his deepest thoughts.

While there are many unhealthy relationships with glaring red flags that should be promptly cut off and discarded, I sincerely believe there are many people too willing to hastily throw away what they have before even attempting to fix what’s there. Getting into a relationship isn’t the destination, but only the beginning. Maintaining the relationship is the difficult journey requiring hard work from both sides and an ongoing process. “Journey before Destination,” my friends.

Yes Madara can be so petty (and a STUBBORN hypocrite) until his heart told him he couldn’t stay away any longer. His cold shoulder backfired hard on him 😆

Writing Madara in his different moods (the spectrum ranging from romantic, to awkward, silly, angry, frustrated, regretful, horny, and completely, utterly elated and in love) was challenging and I hope I did him justice. The goal was to have him still behave like Madara even when he was feeling fluffier.

I hope you enjoyed the journey between Madara and his nurse over the course of these past weeks! What a great month I had bringing them to life! 💖

*The lyrics at the end of the fic is of course from the legendary song “Sway.” The version in my mind is sung by Michael Buble.