Alucard X Reader, Maybe?

Some Alucard from Hellsing NSFW hcs, please? (He's one of my favorite vampires and I just love him 😍)

You asked, and you shall receive~

N.S.F.W. under the cut!

He’s dominant and takes the lead by definition - He’s so used to his ways as a Voivode that he can’t do things any other way.

He’s more traditional, but with a little speck of the modern world and vampirism - He enjoys a bit of bondage, but would prefer taking his time with you, going cruelly slow and sensual until he hears you begging for his mercy.

He doesn’t want getting rough with you unless you ask, in fear of hurting you, and even then, he would be very careful not to do something bad with his vampiric strength.

It takes a shit ton of composure out of him to not bite your neck when he kisses you, but even if you allow him to take a taste of your sweet blood, stopping would be the most difficult thing he’s ever done in his life.

Alucard prefers being on top, he loves looking down at you and taking in the sweet imagine of you and all the expressions you make while he’s hitting all the right spots, but if you ever want to have your fun riding him, he wouldn’t deny you.

Don’t be afraid during oral, he knows very well not to mistakenly scratch you with his long fangs... But he has a long tongue that does absolute miracles, and you don’t need any religious figure to reach Heaven anymore.

He doesn’t talk much, and most sounds would be low grunts, but he’ll check on you frequently and make sure you’re okay and that he’s not being too much for you.

Alucard lives only for your pleasure - He’s old and doesn’t care much for his anymore - But yours is absolutely the most important.

When you’re done, Alucard would bring you to his chest and stroke your hair lovingly, whispering a soft ‘I love you’, when he’s sure you’ve fallen asleep.

Do you think madara is considered attractive in canon universe by it's standards ?

I think Madara is, like all Uchiha, considered conventionally attractive, but that's only if people can get close enough (literally and figuratively) to see them. We see this most with Sasuke and Itachi. Though they were both exceptionally talented shinobi as children, their power level at that stage in their lives was still within human limits. Others could get close to them in a physical sense and know them somewhat on a personal level, even if they were emotionally closed. They were both seen as attractive Uchiha boys/men.

We don't know how others perceived Madara's physical appearance before he went off the rails, but Madara was for most of his adult life considered the strongest Uchiha in history, a god for lack of a better word.

The only interaction we ever see between Madara and anyone referring to anything about him as a man with a woman is when Mei (the 5th Mizukage) stated she'll pass on him. In my opinion, she saw him as attractive enough to be with if he was a 'normal' person, but he's just too destructive and dangerous to consider such an arrangement with. Madara's reputation was absolutely terrifying and preceeded him everywhere he went, even moreso after people met him in the flesh. Who would DARE think of him as anything other than a battle demon?

Wow amazing

Source

What most men don't understand is that "ruining you" means doing so for other men. Fucking and caring for you so very well that your expectations for how you are to be treated now exceed the abilities of any other who would even think to pursue you.

Madara's realistic headcanons

I wasn't sure if people are ready for my realistic headcanons, but finally I just did it. Just in case it's not for everyone.

trigger warning : Involve suicidal thoughts, depression, violence to women and children, panic attack, eroticization of pain, self-hate.

From the time Madara was born Uchiha clan was not anymore a wealthy family. Because of instability, farmers fled combat zone, The lands they owned had become wilderness. Yet they kept their prestige among population and their children still received an education similar to noble family.

He suffered from malnutrition in his childhood, and starved himself to give food to his brothers but thanks to his good stamina it didn't really affect his physical abilities during his youth.

His hair cut, short in front and longer in the back is a result of heavy use of katon which literally burning his locks. But it's part of his charm.

He wore gloves for the same reason, fire makes his skin getting softer and sensitive.

He always has this slightly burning smell on him and all his clothes. It doesn't matter the number of shower or washing machines.

His long mane was not originally for aesthetic purpose, but just carelessness, then an excuse to hide his face and emotions, and finally his trade mark. People were wondering how strong or/and crazy he was to keep such long hair while it was not suitable during a fight. it can be set on fire, wedge in his armour, catch by an opponent...

He was almost blind up to Izuna's death. He expanded greatly his sensorial skills because he needed to rely on it daily.

His insomnia came from overthinking and fear of failure. He rarely sleeps more than 3 hours per night, He occasionally does micro nap (10 min max) during the day.

During his insomnia phases, and if the moon is full to avoid using candles, he read a lot of ancient philosophy, history, military strategy from Uchihas library.

He never married, never had a serious relationship. He had romantic view on someone now and then, but he never pursued it actively. Wars, fear of loosing again someone dear. Plus, he was convinced that his life as shinobi will be short, out of question to leave behind him widow and orphans.

This being said, let's be honest a man with such level of testosterone won't stay virgin all his life. And it's a common knowledge next to any military camp there is always prostitutes. He did his business in total discretion, to the point his clan questioned his orientation. He was a loyal client but cold and distant, ruthless during act, even after years of visiting the same persons.

Like many shinobis, he occasionally was subject of panic attacks. When he felt the symptoms coming, palpitations, pain in his chest ect... he always found a way to isolate himself. His triggers were always fear of loosing people he loves, fear of loosing control of himself, fear of not reaching his objectives. He hated himself when it happens.

He can be very rude and harsh to people. But what he said to others is half as hard he criticise himself daily.

90% of his schedule out of missions or fights were training. His dedication is obsessional.

10% left, during days of celebration, he is pretty good at calligraphy and writing haiku. Because he's a shinobi, he is specialized in death poems that warriors write before going to an important battle. But he burns them as soon as he comes back home. Doesn't want anyone to know about his poetic side at least when he's still alive.

After so many years of receiving punches, his tolerance to pain was extremely high which could be a problem sometimes, while fighting and high by adrenaline he often didn't realise how serious were his wounds.

Considering the number of battles he has been involved his body is covered with scars more or less ugly. And I'm sorry to say it, but I'm sure his face has not been preserved intact. He was kind of reckless during fight and didn't care about his physical appearance.

Paradoxically while he genuinely want to cease war, he find an erotic attraction in fight to death. Like people attracts to extreme sport, he feels the more alive when risking his own.

The reason why there is almost no uchihas kunoichi is practical. They want to preserve their bloodline and a female dead in battlefield is a loss for the future of the clan since they don't married outside their clan. Men would in rare situation when there is no women available but never female uchihas.

They have a practice close to what did Rajput warrior caste in India called Jauhâr , if enemies attack uchihas basement and battle is definitely lost, women of honour are expected to do self-immolation with their children rather than being kidnap, rape or put into slavery.

Like Naruto /Sasuke fight, the valley of the End left him with irreversible wounds, like chronic pains. And probably as well for Hashirama too maybe a slow down to his regenerative cells.

After the valley of the end, it was symbolically the death of his previous life as an uchiha. But he partially lived in his cave. He might occasionally travel undercover to look for informations, and food. It's only after Hashirama's death. He entirely took an ascetic lifestyle, denied of any pleasure, reduce to minimal for surviving. There was nothing anymore who could attached him from this physical world aside his plan. He let the white zetsus doing the main job as spy.

Without Gedo statute he would probably have die before his 40 of general exhaustion. There is always a price to pay when someone burns with such feral intensity his vital energy, submit himself to extreme training since childhood, fighting, lack of sleep, stress, depression. (Itachi can talk about it !)

During his fifty years retreat in the cave when he was not studying for his Moon plan spend 50% of the time within his genjutsu, rewatching endlessly the same memories with Izuna, Hashirama, deceased people he missed from Uchiha clan. And the older he gets, the longer he spend into his illusion. Kind of like an opium addiction.

Mentally he stops ageing at the time Izuna died, around 25. Exactly the appearance he looks when he put Obito into his illusion.

After decades of not seeing Rinnegan appearing he was almost in the verge of giving up the plan of the moon. Black Zetsu was paradoxically the one who save his life many time and put him back in track.

He is not the type to consciously commit suicide, but rather putting himself in suicidal situations like attacking alone an army or neglecting his health. In the cave, he put himself so deeply into his genjutsu that many time he forgot to control his chakra and if black zetsu didn't wake him up he would had just die inside his dream.

And if you want to read more about my Madara's analysis follow me in my main page here

A Night for Hunting Ch. 19 -Valentine's

C/W: Alucard (Ultimate) x F!Reader, canon-typical violence, gore, Millennium, battle-thirsty vampire, some shadow writing, OVA2 @alastorhazbin Words: 5511

Another reminder that Hellsing is NOT a fluffy show, despite all the fluff I wrote between Alucard and the Reader.

An excerpt is under the cut

“Feeling sorry for yourself?” His voice slithered through the darkness, a soft rasp like a cat’s tongue, but it was oil on fire.

You bristled at his callousness, the false niceties rapidly forgotten here away from the prying outsiders. “You brought on all these problems of mine! All I wanted was a quiet life, not the spotlight on my face everywhere I go!”

He said nothing.

“It isn’t fair!”

His silence dominated like midnight frost, twin lights glinting as he opened his eyes, his pupils like pitch within an incandescent carnelian.

“Fair? ‘Fairness’ is but a pretty word, a reassuring concept for the weak of will who demand a seat at the table. The world simply is not fair, Dear.”

“The things they say about me! About you!”

“Should steel be bowed by the breeze? Or a boulder be moved by something as intangible as words? Their utterances are the mere rabble of the masses.”

“You make it sound derivative. Words can cut as deeply as physical wounds, Alucard.”

He laughed. “Only if you allow it.”

“You brought me here and that’s all you have to say?! You’ve never even defended me from their lies!”

“What would you have me do? Shall I present their heads on pikes? Or perhaps I shall still their tongues by commanding it so?” The blistering lights glowed with infernal power. “You will not find absolution from the rabble. Care not for their whispers.”

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

You whimpered at the racket. The coffin smelled like Alucard, which was good –the scent of safety was always comforting, but the thunderclaps of what seemed like a million shots destroyed that illusion. It was almost deafening even from your enclosed space in another room. How could it be so loud? Was the throne room caving in? Were you getting buried with the rubble? Thank goodness for the coffin.

It began to glow blood red. Alucard wasn’t speaking to you, but you heard him all the same.

Releasing control restriction system…

Level 3, level 2, level 1.

Recognizing approval of Situation A according to the Cromwell invocation.

Commencing limited lifting of ability to use restrictions until the enemy before me has been rendered completely silent.

What was happening outside?! The temperature was plunging as bursts of light speckled your vision through the darkness in tune with the explosive banging.

Depraved aggression smacked into you. The vagaries of a bone-deep bloodlust came to him naturally. How Alucard longed for a good fight and a satisfying end. He was gloating and deranged. The gargling of a man’s screams drifted through the wooden walls of the coffin, though it was getting more distant. 

Exactly what was happening out there, you couldn’t tell, but you didn’t like it. The scene of many of Alucard’s targets desperately begging him for mercy was something you were accustomed to. There would be none.

You recalled the warmth of his toothy smile earlier tonight.

More far-off screaming. 

Your skin crawled. The dark lord of legend felt as foreign to you as a stranger, his glee almost drowning out your bond. It was disturbing.

“Luke Valentine! Excellent! I have not had this much fun in too long.” Someone else’s fear scrambled your head as Alucard egged on his enemy to show him more.

You aren't a monster Alu. You felt so small and insignificant.

The bloodlust went away as your vampire snapped out of it.

~To be Continued~

Ch. 20- Millennium

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.

leave a comment?

TAGLIST:

@queer-naruto @cosmins @mad-girl-without-a-box @mykuronekome @kakashi-with-the-good-hair @shoyo-baby-sunflower @sup-zfam @tired-ninfa @bluehimeonigiri @mrmountainman @dramaticq @apricitobio @mercymccann @aaubin

Vlad by Naranbaatar Ganbold

Werewolves and vampires court with passion and zealousness once they find their mate, not that you knew what your company really was.

Contrast that with the Darling's sense of stranger danger –everything was moving too fast! Only the second date in, and he was trying to whisk you away...somewhere?! The man said he was bringing you to the countryside to watch the stars like he did in the days of old, to help ease your anxiety. His strange mannerisms didn't help. His words almost sent you into a panic and you thought of asking him to stop the car or jumping out.

The roads were getting darker. All you could think of as you passed empty meadows was how this was the sort of place where young women disappeared.

You told your best friend beforehand you were going on a date. Now that the plan derailed, you were discretely sending live feed of your location. If you weren't going to make it through the night, you hoped they'd at least find your body...

Fandom is a fantastic thing and it’s made my life better but it’s so hard to explain to Regular people what happened to my brain this past year like “there’s this old man…from a tv show….and i think he’s sexy….other ppl think he’s sexy too…..we are friends bc we like to sexualiZe him….” is not the kinda icebreaker you can say in social situations generally.