#this maayyy get a part 3

[kuraiamore]

MadaKaka ficlet, vigil for the night bloom, part 2

@madakaka

Err, yeah, so I wrote a part 2 of Madara+Kakashi’s forearms as well, partially out of procrastination, partially because Madara is surprisingly very fun to write, and partially because everyone was so welcoming and nice and just amazingly enthusiastic about this tiny flyaway thing I wrote, like wow. So yeah, in lieu of sending you all hugs, I am sending you more MadaKaka >.<

Hopefully it’s as good as the first part?

The moonlight makes the roofs of Konoha shimmer with a blue-grey tinge, long shadows stretching out a haphazard path for Madara as he leaps over the eclectic sprawl of buildings and infrastructure that make up the village’s thriving hive. Every vaulted step sends him cutting through the still night air, swift and sure as a kunai thrown by well-trained hands (and pale forearms taut with sinewy muscle. If Madara lands a few centimetres off his mark with only his shinobi skill to catch himself gracefully before an awkward trip, no one is there to tell.) At his speed, he stirs the wind and it whips about him in greeting, whistling in his ears and pressing cold palms and scratching nails into his cheeks. Yet despite its chilly touch, the roiling heat that had flared up when he had had Kakashi pinned against the fence continues to thrum through his blood, a maelstrom of agitation churning relentlessly beneath his skin.

A crow of laughter, raucous and warm-bellied, jars him, and he realises with a huff of annoyance that he’s approaching the village centre,  cool tones beginning to give way to dappled spots of muted gold and orange radiating from lampposts and restaurant lights and lanterns. Mid-leap, he flares out his senses, mapping out the tens of thousands dots of chakra flickering within the village radius around him, searching for a gap between the clusters…  and realises that he feels nothing of the usual electric tingle that comes from picking up Kakashi’s unique signature.

There is an odd, weightless second where he floats, hanging in the air; where bewilderment creeps up like a rising tide and extinguishes the heated itch running mad beneath his skin; where the feeling of lack aches as keen and devastating as he has only ever felt once before, the night Konohagakure was founded and he stole away into the deepest corner of the Uchiha compound, held a mirror to his eyes and whispered apologies to an unseeing ghost.

It hits him—really hits him—almost like a blow to the head: the sound of Kakashi’s weighted voice rasping out his name; the sensation of Kakashi’s tense body readying itself for combat; the sight of Kakashi looking at him with guarded apprehension and apathetic deliberation, and he lets himself feel the rush of the fall before skidding across concrete slabs to a stop, toeing the very edge of the rooftop he lands on.

Crude oil seeps thick and black where the heat once blazed and smouldered, and it’s not until his thoughts hiss viciously of absence, of no more, of stay away, that he recognises the feeling for what it is: a swirling cesspit of guilt and shame and regret bubbling away into angry misery.

Stupid, stupid, stupidstupidstupidstupid

Another burst of laughter rings out, riding the air to echo in his ears. Madara clenches his fists, closes his eyes, takes several deep breaths and tells himself that there is no way the plebeians below him could know of his presence unless he allowed it (for even with 99.98% of his chakra sealed away under rune and ink and blood—20 years, and though he had agreed of his own accord, the sentence for his crimes still chimes bitterly in his ears—Uchiha Madara is a force beyond nature, an artist wielding chakra for his paints and subduing the world to his woes and whims). Therefore, sure as the sky was blue and his name was Uchiha Madara, it was in no way possible for the laughter to be directed at him.

He tells himself this very firmly, repeatedly, and yet the urge to destroy whoever dared laugh in during his rare moment of introspection neither subsides nor changes. An involuntary growl emits from his throat. Almost comforted by the familiar flutter of irritation, Madara moves into a crouch, bending his knees in preparation to spring back into the skies when he feels it: the spark of Kakashi’s chakra signature, flickering approximately two kilometres from him and rapidly moving closer.

The intensity of the relief that wells up inside him at the knowledge that Kakashi is nearby stuns him; his breath comes out in a stutter and he finds himself simply staying in his awkward crouch, blinking like an idiot. It’s a long moment, in which he stands half bent, alternately perplexed and angry at himself, and then even more angry at the whole ordeal, before he hears the soft tap of a body landing behind him, Kakashi’s chakra flaring pure and bright before dwindling back to its usual low, almost imperceptible hum.

It’s nice of Kakashi, Madara thinks, slightly dazed, to give him such clear warning of his oncoming presence, and even the chance to escape if he so desired. Slowly, he straightens up and, against the screaming alarm bells that suddenly sound in his head, turns around.

Kakashi had taken the time to take off his Hokage robe, standing in his preferred armoured vest, jounin slacks, shirt and mask. The moonlight is still shining, bathing the village leader in an ethereal white glow and making the silver of his hair glint like polished blades. Madara’s eyes are drawn down the length of Kakashi’s long, willowy body, tracing the slightly shadowy outline of his shoulders, down his arms to where his hands are tucked casually into his pants pockets, hip cocked slightly to the side.

Those damnable forearms peek out, two tiny patches of skin between swathes of loose-fitting fabric.

There’s a reflexive swallow; Madara finds that his throat is dry, and something is tangled and writhing in his chest. He must be making some kind of terrific expression because Kakashi quirks an eyebrow and he suddenly has the inexplicable urge to rip off the stupid mask and smash Kakashi’s face with his own and—oh.

Ohhh.

That explains the heat, and the burn, and the warmth. That explains the way his mouth itches; the way his gut roils; the way his eyes insist on following after whenever he catches sight of silver-grey hair, of a long, indelible scar cutting through one of a pair of perceptive dark eyes, of a smooth, lean body whose every contour he has studied and committed to memory over the last four years, seven months since he returned to the place he now begrudgingly calls home.

(A home built between the towering piles of paper in the Hokage office; between the trees of the village training grounds where a certain shinobi steals away to take naps and play fetch with oddly indulgent ninken; between the cramped apartment walls that the very same shinobi refuses to give up despite getting the keys to the most prestigious building in the village.)

To think he had risked that in a moment of utter madness.

A whirl of dizziness washes over him.

Only half aware of what he’s doing, Madara takes slow steps towards the man standing before him, keeping his hands well apart and in clear view, until they’re back to almost where they started: standing too close, hardly a foot apart, his breath too hot and loud in his ears.

Loud enough to drown out the restless, clashing mix of anxiety and offence to his stubborn Uchiha pride, the clamour of alarms screaming in his head quietening in the face of Kakashi’s impassive stare.

He sinks to his knees.

“Woah-woah, hey!”

Kakashi hits the ground almost as soon as he does, arms extended as if to catch him, and suddenly those forearms that had started the whole mess are back in his reach, as mesmerising and infuriating as they had been before he had fled in a burst of possibly misplaced self-preservation.

He can’t name what compels him to stretch out his own hands and take hold of those lines of skin. There’s an intake of breath above him, but Kakashi holds still, just like before, and Madara takes it as permission to explore. He trails his fingertips lightly across the pale expanses, and Kakashi shivers, almost unnoticeable but for their proximity to each other.

Maddening, Madara thinks, and does it again, this time pressing harder so he can feel the raised wrinkle of old scars against the pads of his fingers.  

He keeps going, gliding up and down and back again, marvelling at the difference in texture between scar and skin, only half aware that his strokes could be considered caresses. He dips as far as he can under the cuff of Kakashi’s sleeves, until the tip of his middle finger hits the bend of Kakashi’s inner elbow, then slides back out with a gentle scratch. He thumbs over veins where he can see them, until he finds himself simply holding Kakashi’s wrists in his hands, the edges of his gloves digging slightly into his palms.

He doesn’t know how long they kneel there, his entire world narrowed down to two strips of luminous white.

Kakashi tugs softly with his right hand, and it is with some strangely forlorn helplessness that Madara loosens his fingers just enough to let Kakashi slip it out of his grip.

“Maa, I don’t really know what’s going on,” Kakashi says, and there’s a nervous chuckle in his voice, the hand that had escaped Madara’s grasp reaching up to ruffle the back of silver hair, “but have you calmed down now?”

It’s a second before his brain processes the words, and then Madara wants to scoff, to flick his hair in Kakashi’s face and tell him no, he is not calm, he is currently the furthest thing from calm and really, this is all Kakashi’s fault, because how dare he reduce Madara to this… this pathetically heated, wanting, mawkish thing of a man—except he realises that Kakashi hasn’t taken away his other arm, that it’s still resting in Madara’s grip.

He doesn’t want to let go.

So instead he nods and hopes that Kakashi will let him hold on, for just a little longer.

But Kakashi just lets out what sounds like a breath of relief, eyes curving in his trademark smile, and stands up, his hand sliding away with the motion. Madara’s fingers twitch.

“Well then!” Kakashi chirps, back to his usual blasé attitude as if Madara hadn’t been holding him by the throat not thirty minutes ago. “How about some sushi? I heard that they’ve added some new items to the menu at Hotaru’s, and I’ve been wanting to check it out.”

Madara is at a loss to Kakashi’s intentions; surely it couldn’t be that simple, whatever Kakashi’s personal carefree inclinations were. After all, Madara was still officially a criminal under patrol, who had outright attacked the most important man in the village regardless of his reasons and intentions. He had broken the one of the strictest conditions of his contract with the village, which was enough grounds of have a whole squad of ANBU  chasing after him and—Madara realises with a start that absolutely no one had approached them while he had Kaksahi pinned to the fence, and where the fuck had the ANBU guard been, the Hokage could have been hurt—

“Madara.”

Madara looks up to see Kakashi holding out an open palm, and Madara cannot tell if the softness he sees in grey eyes is real or some desperate imaginary hallucination.

That awful squirming in his gut is back, but he is Uchiha Madara, and he will lose to no one, not even himself.

Kakashi’s hand is warm.

A Rather, Very Long, Very Indulgent Author’s Note:

So I originally considered ending this with MadaKaka smut (because I love smut and I especially love smut with Kakashi, particularly a submissive/bottom!Kakashi (incidentally how I found myself interested in MadaKaka in the first place actually, cause I feel that there really aren’t that many characters who he would realistically let hold him down, also your MadaKaka headcanons were just A+)), but I just could not figure out a good segueway that didn’t seem entirely unnatural to either of the Madara and Kakashi I had pictured in my mind, so I relented to Madara’s emotional rollercoaster and started looking for other avenues to go down.

(That said, if you haven’t seen it already, I wrote the smut!)

My first thought was this: “If Madara’s already freaking out so much about Kakashi’s forearms, what if I let him be fixated on a slightly more intimate body part? Cause variety.” (because apparently I enjoy turning Kakashi into a Romantic-style Victoria maiden whose every patch of exposed skin is grounds to fall into a spiral of brain mush that can articulate nothing more than omg fuck hot hot omg this man *ahem, not projecting at all, I swear, it’s all Madara, ahem*).

Anyway, so with that thought in mind, I started on the idea of Madara getting even more worked up about Kakashi’s neck until I remembered that Kakashi’s mask covers his neck as well.

Me at this point: all good, we just need to think a little outside the box. How about somewhere a little lower that isn’t quite right below the belt?

So now we move on to Madara freaking out over Kakashi’s lower calves, the area between sandals and pants legs. But because I like to research for anything I write and ensure as much canon compliancy as possible, I decided to double check that Kakashi’s outfit/s really did expose a part of his legs.

…if you haven’t guessed it already, they do not. In his jounin outfit, there is a gap between shoes and pants, but the legs there are wrapped up in bandages, and in his Hokage day wear, he’s got these new knee-high sandals.

So now I’m getting just a little miffed, but thinking, “it’s okay, we can still work with this. Naruto-style ninja sandals are pretty exposed; there’s usually a cut at the back, so let’s have Madara be all stupid about Kakashi’s heels. I mean, I have no idea what position they’ll be in for Madara to be staring at Kakashi’s heels, but at least it’ll be something different.”

Kakashi’s new knee-high, Hokage boot-sandals do not have an exposed cut at the back of them.

(I was in half a mind to make Madara mildly obsessed with Kakashi’s toes, cause at least his toes are exposed, but then I was like, “yeah, nah, not really into that”).

So basically we were back to forearms, and maybe fingers, except fingers without a hand/palm is kinda weird (why don’t you just take his gloves you, you ask? (Or anything else for that matter? ;) ) Oh god I was tempted, but the flow just didn’t seem right, so I didn’t), and that’s how I ended up with what you read up there ^^^

This is all to say that Kakashi is actually a Romantic-style Victorian maiden—the type who would start a reading club in a secret parlour, delight in defying societal stereotypes and expectations, and use the system to absolutely destroy the fuck out of any idiot who would dare question his competence and ability for sure, but gosh, can you just imagine him demurely and breezily delivering underhanded insults to anyone who so much as looks at him the wrong way with a coquettish smirk and a tease of skin?

(I imagine maiden!Kakashi in a dark blue evening gown, either three-quarter sleeves and wrist gloves or off-the-shoulder and satin gloves running all the way up to the upper arm, and strings of pearls gleaming across their neck and collar, perhaps small fang-shaped earrings forged of some precious silver metal hanging just above the curve of their jawline. Their face is hidden behind either a delicate silk scarf or a lace fan, silver-white hair the colour of morning mist** flowing down their back in choppy waves (think long-hair Sakumo with hair unbound). The scar across their eye the souvenir of a fencing competition because the Hatake Household is on that shit and every Hatake lord and lady learns to fight to protect what they hold dear. I dunno how genderbent(?), Victorian maiden!Kakashi became a thing in my head but there you go xD )

(And Madara’s just fuming in the corner while anxiously trying to figure out a way to successfully court this exquisite creature, meanwhile promising to kill anyone with even the slightest of dishonourable intentions to his chosen desire.)

Honestly, what are you guys doing to me that I’m beginning to find this crack pairing actually adorable? xD

Aaaaand I think that is all I have to say.

Thanks for reading this stupidly long note til the end, and I hope you have an amazing day/night wherever you are<3

**I waste hours trying to decide what shade of grey I want to make Kakashi’s hair at any one particular time. Seriously, do a basic google image search of the man, and is it light grey? dark grey? silver tones? blue tones? lavender tones? should I go get my eyes checked? *throws hands up in frustration*

[belphieslilcow]

OHH WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON TRANS BELPHIE THO.

Godddd the thought of him on testosterone is good shit (for me at least)

oh im LOVE with trans belphie!!

i actually have this fun thing that i maayyy wanna write something about with belphie being trans and naturally ginger where mc (or cass if i wanna make it a part of his stuff) does the semi going back in time stuff in season 3 and seeing what seems to be a cute angel girl with long red hair, but when beel calls them belphie mc's just like HUH

and oh yeah abt the taking t!! i knowww logistically that since magic exists he'd probs just have that used on him to change to what he prefers BUT i like including human realism on them!!

belphie being lazy and asking you to to give him his shot and he's whiny about it cause the needle hurt so he does his baby brother routine to get snuggles =w=

i imagine beel did them for him for a long time, and probably still does if you don't want to/can't

i do imagine belphie having smaller boobs, so he's probs wouldn't bind often if at all, and honestly even is he was as milk blessed as beel is, he's smart enough to know not to sleep in a binder and would probably forgo it for comfort reasons, though even then i wouldn't be surprised with a whoops dysphoria moment in the middle of rad cause too real lol

i also love it for nsfw purposes, but since you didn't specify anything abt that i don't wanna throw that out there without asking lol ^^;