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kaladinkholins · 3 months

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"why would you ship mizu and taigen together they're sooooo toxic ugh taigen is AWFUL and mizu should be with ME instead!!!"

of course they're toxic they're both deranged and terrible and that's why they're perfect for each other.

cuz like omg you think mizu would treat you well? mizu would abandon you. look at how she left ringo multiple times. ringo who treats her so well and is nothing but patient and caring and loyal. if you are insecure she will laugh at you because she has no social tact. look at how mikio said "it's a stupid dream" talking about his ambitions of regaining his honour and mizu straight up chuckles and tells him he's right because it IS a stupid dream. and at this point their relationship was cordial and she was even warming up to him!

like. arguably, taigen would be a better romantic partner (per the ideals of his time and culture of course), or at least he would be on paper. cuz i mean as a husband, as he is now, i think he'd be awful. but i'm talking about if you and him were dating or courting or just seeing each other romantically, he would be good to you. like we saw how he behaved with akemi and he was nothing but sweet and gentle. the very reason akemi wanted to marry him so bad was because she KNOWS without a doubt that he respects women and would treat her well. "oh but he cheated on her with the prostitutes while celebrating his engagement!" yeah but per the norms of the time and place, it was not considered cheating and akemi (as well as any wife or romantic partner of that period) would not have minded or even cared.

and yes taigen IS an asshole and he IS obnoxious but come on. so is mizu, if she is allowed to act like herself around you. mizu will tease you and mock you and challenge you and even poke at your insecurities (see:her goading mikio on even though he clearly did not view her teasing as light-hearted banter and took it all very personally). she would tell you to your face if she thinks you're being annoying (see:mizu rolling her eyes and telling akemi to straight up just "shut up" when she'd believed mizu had killed taigen).

mizu is not merely a hot and talented badass with a sword and the insane hyperfocus on her desire for revenge which literally drives her to withstand like, extreme amounts of damage and survive it. mizu is also flawed and the show does a good job at showcasing this, and showing us that she's not merely a victim but also a multilayered person. we see throughout that mizu is blunt and sarcastic and prideful.

oh what's that? oh right, very similar to taigen, who is also hot and talented with a sword and with insane hyperfocus on his desire to duel mizu and regain his honour. taigen who is also flawed (though, arguably, more so) as he is blunt and sarcastic and prideful.

the only thing that sets mizu and taigen apart is the fact that taigen is a man and is not mixed race, which thus affects their positions in society and how people perceive them. these are external factors. taigen being a boy who is not blue-eyed allowed him to easily mingle with the other kids in the village, all of whom were similarly fed the same prejudiced values which led them to gang up against mizu and bully her.

but take all that away. strip them down to the bare essentials. suddenly it's like they are the same person copy and pasted.

and that's what makes them even more interesting. yes absolutely they would be toxic. whatever souls are made of, mizu's and taigen's are the same (derogatory). and we literally see them fight all the time!!!! but the thing is they are both deranged when it comes to this.

do you get me. they both literally get turned on by sparring. mizu's whole spar with mikio was her way of flirting. just look at how she smirked at him and said "unsheathe it" like it's clear that this is an innuendo of not just unsheathing his weapon but also what's in his pants. then during the chopsticks fight with taigen in the snow, despite mizu literally being injured and taigen trying to attack her, mizu gets attracted to him. meanwhile taigen got a boner after wrestling with her in the forge.

taigen goes around saying he wants to kill mizu to regain his honour but he still literally risks life and limb for her constantly. mizu gives ringo stomach ulcers by going around flinging herself into near-death situations 24/7. she ups and leaves her beloved swordfather with barely a goodbye twice to pursue her batshit far-fetched quest for revenge (against people she doesn't even KNOW btw because she literally starts off with practically No Leads and not even knowing the NAMES of the white men who are her maybe-fathers).

these bitches are crazy and you know what good for them. that shit needs to be contained and quarantined though and that's why in that sense they would be good together.

i want to put them both in a jar and shake it very hard and see what happens. personally i think they will argue and insult each other while working perfectly in sync with each other to break out of the jar and then proceed to kill me and make out sloppy style over my dead body while they're both covered in blood.

like that's it that's the dynamic. send post.

#this is written half in jest btw dont take it too seriously. ppl can dislike what they want and ship x reader if they like #what annoys me is just when ppl are being rude about other ppl's ships like. unprovoked. like girl....#taimizu #taigen x mizu #mizu x taigen #blue eye samurai #im active on twitter again and the algorithm keeps putting bad takes on my tl against my will !!!#also yes i am aware im saying all this while writinf a tender yearning-filled slowburn fic of them #bcs i DO want them to be gentle. definitely i do. but that comes muuuuuuch later after they both wear each other's edges down ykwim #bcs if they get together any time soon they will literally be a flaming hot mess #sexy hot mess tho #but a mess nonetheless #they have the range! love them for that #fandom.rtf #shut up haydar #wank.mp3 #kinda #might delete later

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guyfieriii · 2 months

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We’re going out in style, babe (I)

God, it’s been a WHILE. I really lost all zeal for writing for a little while, until recently I watched the tv series ‘Mr. & Mrs. Smith’ (it’s so so good, you guys!! everyone go watch it) and it got the ol’ wheels turning. This was supposed to be a one and done thing but I got carried away and I lack the stamina to write a big whole thing so this’ll be a two-parter.

Anyway. This is my little version of it with Price. Angst and some stuff. The usual business. Haven’t written anything in months so please read this with the lowest possible expectations. Ya girl’s rusty.

Pairing : John Price x F!reader

Trigger warning : Explicit Sexual Scenes

It’s almost romantic.

The sight of husband and wife lay bare, broken and bloody. Look closely enough to see past the gore, past the ugliness set in a halo of ichor to see a sense of deliverance. The gift of release knowing they’ve met their end, and they’ve met it together.

Well, almost.

You choke out a wretched cough seeped in blood. One you’d feel rip into you, bullet holes and all, if you just weren’t so tired. You can taste it, though — coppery and astringent.

Punctuating.

This is it, you think, feeling the curve of your spine slacken at the relief of what’s coming.

I’m sorry, John.

The words spume against your lips, the only sound making it past them is a wet gurgle.

You’re grateful, for once, for the tears mar your eyesight. They keep you from seeing the true extent of his pain. You can feel it though, his agitation, his helplessness simply in the feather-light brush of his fingertips against your own. It can’t be easy, watching his wife slowly bleed to death beside him while he does the same. Seeing the way your lips turn ashen under a cochineal film of blood, watching the space between each breath lengthen gradually until all that’s left is the in between.

It’s slow. Painful. Each passing second permeated in struggle.

But better him than you.

Let me be first to go, you think in your typical manner of self-service.

It’ll all have been worth it, if only you’re the first to go.

“Oh,” It’s the first thing you can think to say,

“You’re English.”

It’s not the first thing you notice about him, though. No the thing that catches your attention at once is his eyes. Clear, calm and oh so blue. The sheer depth of them, though. Stare into them much longer, and you might not be able to find your way back out.

“Disappointed?” The question is dipped in jovial cadence. Thank God. He’s not offended.

“No. Not disappointed. I was only expecting—.” You pause, uncertain on what expectations you had starting out. Whatever they were, you can’t really remember now.

“What were you expecting, love?” He asks, simply and you know without a shadow of a doubt that it’s sincere. It echoes in the resting timbre of his voice, in the sharpness of his gaze which is dulled only slightly by something you might confuse for affection if you didn’t know any better.

You can only stare in response. Wait for the punchline that never comes.

Jesus Christ. He really does wants to know.

It’s unfamiliar territory for you to be in. To hold someone’s concern in your grasp the way you do his. However, as hard as it is for you to accept, it seems just as easy for him to simply give it away.

The weight of it makes your heart beat faster. Harder. Suddenly your mouth is too dry and you fight the urge to blink and break the spell. If he notices your discomfort, he says nothing about it.

An odd thing, really. That the two of you were matched.

“I’d like for our first day of marriage to not be a complete disappointment.” He prompts, still expecting your answer.

“Listen, uh—”

“John.” He supplies with a tone that makes you think you’re missing out on a joke.

Yeah, it’s a fake name. Haha. I get it.

“Jane.” You reciprocate, awkwardly.

“I’m Jane. And you’re perfect — er, John.” You declare with a sharp inhale only to be met with the scent of him. A bonfire is the first thing that your mind puts up front and centre. A bonfire doused out by a the lightest drizzle, so the smell of smoke still lingers. Along with it, the wafting aroma of cinnamon. Chocolate. All things warm and inviting.

You decide, in that moment, that you really really like the way he smells.

“Starting off with perfection, am I? At least give me till our silver year to really nail it.” He states, yet again, with such utter sincerity you almost miss the joke entirely.

“Till our—? Oh. Right.” You glance away, sheepish.

“This is yours; I believe.” Through your peripherals, you see a ring dangling at the top knuckle of his little finger. A delicate gold band. Simple and suited to your style. You glance at the finger right beside and see that he’s already worn his.

Right. Fuck.

“Uh, yeah. Thank you.” You reach out to take it, but he curls his finger back into his palm.

“Oh no, darling. Let me.” With the utmost care he grabs hold of your wrist, his thumb closing around your pulse — which much to your dismay is racing. It looks so slight, enclosed in his grip — which is paradoxically unyielding and yet so unbearably soft. A cushioned cage you might not mind being held captive in. You can’t bear to meet his eyes, so you keep your gaze downcast, intently focused on the way he slips the ring on your finger.

It’s not supposed to mean anything. Just work. Practicality more than something romantic. You’re spies and being married only makes it less likely that one of you will defect.

But for some reason it doesn’t feel that way. A moment shrouded in solemn intimacy. A promise. It feels that you’re bound to him, a stranger , just with the simple decent of a golden band down your finger. A covenant not meant to be entered into lightly — it’s an undeclared forfeiture of your life into the hands of another. So no, it’s not exactly romantic.

It’s something so much more.

“It’s official, eh? Mr. And Mrs. Smith.” Your hand still rests against the back of his and he makes no movement to release it.

You don’t much seem to mind.

You sleep in different beds, of course.

A habit formed with some difficulty, you’ll admit. There are times when you’ve parted ways in the hall like two men on the opposite ends of a duel — fingers curled around the trigger, waiting on the impulse to pull it. You’ve never given in but you’ve come close.

That fading post mission adrenaline leaves you pliable to your baser instincts, and you find yourself imagining all the ways he could make it better.

All the ways you could.

One night, in a hotel room in Verona, you found yourself skirting the precipice of giving in, with nothing but a 6 inch wall between the two of you.

You pictured it. Some other version of you, ready to take the plunge. This other you having the privilege of indifference in a make-believe realm wherein consequences don’t matter, and you tried to swallow the envy that rose up your throat like bile.

Tried and failed.

Your hands seem to move on their own accord as they slip between your thighs, your mind fabricating the illusion of his own taking their place.

A practiced dance of your imagination and dexterity that takes place often. More than you’d ever admit, even to yourself. You’d brand yourself in shame the morning after, and yet at night, all alone, you come at the thought of all the ways he’d take you.

He’s big. You know it.

You’ve caught glimpses of the outline of his cock in the bugle of his briefs like a voyeuristic pervert. He seemed big enough when flaccid, and you quivered.

You imagine the girth of him, hard and throbbing, promising all the ways he’d make it fit.

You use three fingers, push them deeper still and try to mimic the ways he’d fill you. You’re certain you fall short. He’d stretch you till your cunt had no give left, and then he’d stay there. Let you mold yourself to him, so he’d never feel the need to go elsewhere.

Knowing he’s within an earshot, you’re louder than you normally are. Much to the dismay of the men you’ve slept in the past, you were never vocal in bed. You’d reach orgasm, nearly mute and theatrics for the sake of male ego was something you couldn’t spare the patience for.

Tepid — that’s what they called you, disappointment oozing from each syllable.

You just couldn’t bare to disappoint John.

You put on what can only be considered a barefaced performance for the pure interest of his attention, expressing desires aloud you wouldn’t even dare admit in the privacy of your own self-contemplation. It spurs you on to climax, a fortissimo of vulgarity spewing from your lips.

In the aftermath you lay there breathless, caught unawares by just how far you took this little experiment of yours. Granted, it was all for John’s benefit but somewhere in the middle of it the pretence washed off you to reveal a gleam of authenticity.

Reeling from it, you’re unable to sleep a wink.

“Sleep well, then?” He asks you, the morning after.

“Uh huh. Some of the best night’s sleep I’ve had in my life, John.”

He looks at you like he’s about to call you out on it. Never does.

You resume your compartmentalized way of living soon after. Other than a shared fake name, your home, and the covert particulars of your questionable line of work, you two don’t share much.

Until a mission calls for it, you’ve managed to keep to yourselves a fair amount. You usually cross paths at mealtimes, which you never complain about since he wordlessly took it upon himself to do all the cooking, only letting you help clean.

Quaint domesticity at its finest.

“Safe to assume you chose high risk work as well.” He’d said over breakfast on your first morning there. “Why?”

You’d entered the kitchen to already find him there frying some eggs over the stove. You notice the little dining table to the side already set for two, a glass of orange juice poured for the both of you and toast points standing in their rack in the center of the table.

He gestured for you to take a seat before serving you a duo of over easy eggs and cup of coffee before taking his seat across.

Well, then.

Maybe there were some perks to this life of married domesticity after all.

“I thought I could use a challenge.” You offered him a half answer, as close to the truth as you could.

“And what was it that you did before this?” He asked

“Should you really be asking me that?” You countered.

“I think so, given that you’re my wife.”

My wife.

Enjoying the bit a little too much, aren’t ya John?

So were you, if you were being honest. But honestly never was your strongest suit.

“And why did you—?” You questioned him back in an effort to evade, “Pick high risk, I mean.”

“I’m ex-military, love. Figured I’d choose what I’m used to.” He answered you almost immediately, with not a hint of discomfort or thought of reserve. Either he was a fabulous liar—

Or he trusted you already.

And you didn’t know what to do with that.

“I like my eggs scrambled, by the way.

“Glad to know you feel comfortable your preferences for eggs with me, Jane.”

“Small steps, John.”

Six months in, and aside from a few close calls, you and John seemed to make a good team.

You’ve found that while he’s quick to improvise. Almost always, there’s a wrench thrown in the works, and while you might grapple over a changed course of action, he’s already adjusted to the new circumstances.

You’ve also found that he hates being separated from you in the field. You used to think it to be a manifestation of suspicion, to constantly have an eye on you.

Not that you’d blame him if it was. You weren’t exactly a fountain of knowledge when it came to sharing things of a personal nature. It would only be natural for a little mistrust to brew between a set of spies.

Married, or not.

You were disabused of that theory all too soon.

“Status update?”

“Made it through. I lost them.” You wheeze out, just barely.

“You good? You okay?” The fear in his voice is palpable through your earpiece as you stumble through to an alleyway and try to catch your breath. With the adrenaline waning off you finally feel the bullet that grazed your shoulder.

Flesh wound. You’ll live.

“Jane, fucking answer me.” He rasps, urgent and desperate. Like his sanity depends on your well-being.

It pisses you off, sometimes. Just how deeply he cares. Would you dare call him out on it, though? Now that you’ve been fed on it for months till your belly was ready to burst, like a stray turned house cat. Would you survive without it?

“I’m fucking winded, John. Just need to catch my breath. I’ll be better if we could get the fuck out of here and go—”

Home.

“—back.” You say, instead. “Let’s rendezvous at—”

“I’m coming to get you. Just stay put, yeah?”

“Jesus C—” You hiss through clenched teeth, pressing down the base of your palm into your shoulder to help slow the bleeding down. The pain of it shoots down your arm like veins of lightning, only adding to your irritation. “I’m not a child, for fuck’s—”

“Jane.” The tone of his voice shuts you up. There’s not an ounce of anger or annoyance in it. Only supplication.

Well, shit.

You knew from the very first day you met him — John was a man rooted in conviction. Hard to sway, even harder to deny.

“Fine. I’m waiting.”

He finds you hunched against the wall not 10 minutes later and you can see him visibly sag in relief. The moment he turned the corner and his eyes fell upon your own, his contracted brow-line receded, the rigidity in his stance eased, and the look on his face—

If the deities could speak to a man’s worship, you thought, this is what they would talk about.

“How bad is it?” He offers you a hand to help you stand, the other immediately seeking to find the wound hidden under the crimson blotted front of your shirt, tugging slightly at the neck of it to get a better look.

“I’m sure you’ve seen worse.” You suddenly feel all too shy at the thought of a little exposed skin in front of the man who is your husband. When his thumb grazes the underside of the wound, an unsuppressed flinch jostles you in his hold and his grip tightens.

“You’ll need stitches.” He murmurs, his movements now zephyr-like, fingers mindlessly wandering across the span of your collar bone. You can’t help but imagine the way he’d help you undress, fingers caught at the bottom seam of your shirt being gently lifted. His thumb hooking underneath — maybe just to unassumingly graze against the skin of your abdomen. Maybe to see what the rest of you would feel like against the warmth of his touch.

You’ve caught him staring — whenever you’re dressed bare in nothing but a tank top and loose pair of shorts, the lace hem of which dances so gently across the smooth expanse of your thigh. You’ve witnessed him stop in his tracks, his gaze trained downward for a moment too long to not be considered improper and just then you find it. The effervescent unsheathing of his jealousy, towards a garment of all things. It doesn’t stay long; you could blink and miss it.

But you don’t miss much.

So, when he helps you undress, later that night, and tends to your wound—

Would he stop there, you wonder?

Would you maybe want to find out?

The first time he does fully undress you, is on the eve of your first-year anniversary.

You’re greeted with a gift — a bottle of Laphroaig, 40 and garment bags with a little something for the both of you. Enclosed within an envelope is the note:

Congratulations on a successful first year of marriage.

“Be a shame for rest of it to go to waste.” You say, when John immediately reaches for the bottle. His thumb swipes across the label in an appreciative caress while he tips the cap in your direction as a way of asking drink this with me?

“Keen to dress up for me, love?” He unzips your bag to reveal a hint of luminescent satin — deepened cerulean, to match his eyes.

“I—”

“Because I am.”

You see it unfold before you — the extent of his imagination. Unfurling like an iris in bloom. His eye-line coasting across the length of your silhouette, pausing at slight intervals — the slope of your neck, the curve of your breasts, the pliable swathe of your abdomen. His fists clench in a trice and you feel the pulse of it hammering in your core.

A building reservoir of desire you’ve held back behind a dam of logic that strains beneath the weight furthermore.

He makes you feel at a loss — seemingly unpulsed by this conspicuous display of obscene want. Hunger for what is continuously denied.

Either he takes it on the chin like too good of a sport, or he simply hides it better than you do.

Either way—

You might as well try to even out the playing field.

With a rapid maneuver fuelled only by provocation and guile, you crook a finger along the collar of his button down, the palm of your other hand placed securely over his chest.

“I will, if you will.”

This was it — the fracture in the levee holding back a year’s worth of self-deception. With the curtain drawn on every enciphered impulse, you could finally meet him on equal, honest footing. The kindling that lay bare now set alight and you can only hope you aren’t scorched by it.

And if you are—

You pray it consumes you quick.

The rest of the evening just kind of blends together — three finger pours, a little music, some dancing, if you could even call it that.

John’s generosity with the scotch turned you sloppy, with all your past attempts at decorum now semi-liquid — like a condensed pour of honey out the jar.

“Dance with me, Jane.”

“Just want to get your hands on m’, don’t ya? Clingy fucker.”

Pot, meet kettle, you think to yourself.

Drunk or not, at least you’re self-aware.

It’s in the middle of the night when you jostle awake, with a dry mouth and a hammering in your skull that you feel in your teeth. Somehow, you made it to bed. Still dressed.

You smooth a palm across the creased satin encasing your body, bunching the fabric into your fists absentmindedly.

“Couldn’t bare to take you out of it just yet.”

You’re caught off guard to find John lounging in the chair in the corner of your room, your dulled senses inhibiting the reflex to reach for your gun.

“Never sneak up on a spy, John. Could’a shot you dead if I wasn’t this fucking hungover.”

“Thank God for small mercies. You’d make an awful widow.” His tone bleeds irony but there’s an undertone to it. It’s one you don’t recognize.

He’s since rid himself of his jacket and cufflinks, with the first few buttons undone and his sleeves rolled up and his arms crossed over his chest that rises and falls with every deliberate breath he takes. The picture of nonchalant inertia to the unknowing eye.

Not you, though.

You see the simmering thirst in a man who has been parched for too long, the certainty set in his eyes in search of an oasis—

And something else. An offshoot growing from the root of brackish resentment you can’t quite place.

And maybe, just maybe you worry you’re about to have your heart broken.

Not that you’d ever tell him.

“Fuck you.” You mutter, indignantly, massaging the bridge of your nose in an effort to ease the ache.

With lithe and measured movements, John approaches you. Through your peripherals you watch his feet get closer and closer with every step, until he’s inches away. With a firm-handed pull at your chin, he forces your gaze towards him— that indescribable tincture yet staining his features.

His head tilts imperceptibly, eyes narrowing in determination while he decides….what?

Whether to fuck you? Whether to leave you be and maintain the suffocating, acetic undercurrent you’ve maintained for an entire year in keeping your hands to yourself?

Whether to—

You stop your deliberations straight in their tracks as his hold on you tightens ever so slightly, his thumb disengaging from the rest to glide across your bottom lip.

Pulsing headache aside, you feel your entire being throb in anticipation.

“John—”

“Hush,” He takes advantage of your parted lips, probing the seam of them a little deeper. “Let a man savour a moment, for fuck’s sake.”

Seconds dissolve into minutes, as you wait with bated breath. Each lungful heavier than the last under the stifling pressure of a singular moment being pulled taut beyond belief.

“Jane, darling?” His voice is a mere whisper.

“Hmm?”

“How badly do you want to be fucked right now?”

A sizzle of defiance erupts deep in your belly. The urge to impugn stings the tip of your tongue when you see it. That look. That look that pummels down any defence you could even hope to construct. It demands sincerity, even when you can barely muster it on a good day let alone hungover and painfully aroused.

So, in the place of a rejoinder that would leave you both sexually frustrated and teetering the edge of combustion, you say the truth.

“So fucking badly, John. For months. Possibly from the moment we met.”

What hits you in that moment is disconcerting mixture of emotions: part relief at the unburdening of long-held truths, part self-consciousness at the ease in which just you’ve confessed them.

The latter dissolves almost immediately when you watch the resulting smile that etches itself across his face. A smile that screams pride. Absolution. The kind you’d find on a man who finally reached the peak of his dreams.

You were his Everest. Finally conquered.

“That’s my girl.”

His words leave you breathless. It’s not the first time he’s called you his, so it isn’t the novelty of the statement that floors you. It’s the fact that for the first time in a year, you recognize it to be true.

You’re his — been his for some time now.

The epiphany goes to your head like strong drink — and right on the heels of your previous state of inebriety, it’s all too much to take.

“Fuck, John. Just—” Whatever you might’ve said next is devoured by him in an abrubt dive to kiss you. It’s fervent and messy, all tongue and teeth leaving the viscid traces of saliva across your lips, jaw, and neck.

It’s an unremitting onslaught of his lips and hands — him touching you, tasting you at a pace you couldn’t dream of outrunning. Sometime in the midst of it, he’s managed to strip you both down without missing a beat. I’ll take care of it, my darling, he’d said when you protested to the number of layers that still lay between the two of you.

That was the thing about John. He’d not let a single demand of yours go unsatisfied. A depraved part of you wondered how far you could draw it out, test his endurance. Find the limit and shame him for it.

Needless to say, you never did.

Not out of decency, a trait of which you were always found deficient. It was only out of the fear of having had something unattainable only to eventually lose it. Fact of the matter is, there would be no limit to what you could ask of him.

Onto to simpler requests, then.

“Fuckin’ need you inside of me.”

His cock fills you up just as you’d expected— stretched to capacity, the head of his cock grazing against your cervix with a couple of inches to spare. You hiss through your teeth, your nails digging into his back to recompense for the building pressure.

“Shit, John. Fu—uck—” You pant, lungs convulsing beneath the strain of his weight pressing down on you, skin meeting skin at every possible junction.

“Should’a let me work you out first, then.” He grunts, lips latching on to the shell of your ear.

He forced an arm between the two of you, his fingers find your clit, drawing gentle circles. A direct juxtaposition to the shallow quick paced thrusts, while his other arm snakes around to border the crown of your skull. A preemptive measure for a good and thorough fucking.

Eventually the burn at the rim of your cunt subsides and you take more of him than you could’ve ever imagined. Right to the hilt. He draws back out, just halfway and looks, as if to admire his handiwork before slamming back in with a reverberant so fuckin’ tight, so fuckin’ good or some variation of the praise over and over.

A year’s worth of raked up want comes cresting over this one night— he fucks you once more with the privilege of leisure the second time around. When you’re fucked out, slack-jawed with a raw cunt dripping cum, he croons with self-satisfaction and promises you’ll take him again.

You do, naturally. Drunk on the smell of sex which weighs down the air in the room, obedience comes easy.

He’s gentler this time, softer in the way he touches you. Fingers raking over flushed, sweaty skin. His tongue gliding over every inch of you, twice over, like he means to really savour it. Catalogue what every part of you tastes like should this be the only chance he gets. He fucks you slow and deep, a litany of indebtedness perpetuating every movement.

There are things about him you commit to memory, as well. The lingering taste of his last cigar that glides across your tongue when he kisses you. The flickering pulse in his brow when he’s close. The weight of his cock sheathed within you, the sting that comes with it.

When the haze of prolonged unfed lust unfurls with a yawn of satiety, you find all that remains is a sense of premonition.

Of a tragic and bitter end.

#john price x reader #John price #john price smut #john price fic #TECHNICALLY I could end it with this but how rude would that be??

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elizais · 2 months

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my good looking boy

tachihara michizou x reader headcanons reader is the same age as tachihara, reader's organisation is unspecified he won this poll which was SO CLOSE!! i put the hirotsu thing on as a joke and expected it not to get votes but i do have one rotting away in my drafts. and tecchou will come next, i will deff write him next but idk if i will post a draft before that.

tachihara michizou, a double spy but also your boyfriend. who tells you the drama from both organisations. who tells you about how freaky he finds gin but can't place who she looks awfully similar to.. when you suggest a resemblance between her and akutagawa he claims you are seeing things that aren't there.

tachihara michizou, who is the life of the party. and you get to go to both port mafia parties and hunting dog parties as long as you keep his secret! from jumping off of balconies into pools with you on his back, singing karaoke together and truly showing how young you both are.

tachihara michizou, who picks up scrap metal and manipulates it to make you intricate pieces of jewellery. speaking of manipulating metal, he will lift up your necklace when you least expect it.. entertain you by pulling tetcho's sword away from him.. anything for a smile.

tachihara michizou, who has you dye his hair. you tease him about willingly being a ginger (sorry to all the gingers) but you think it suits him so much!

tachihara michizou, who has a rebellious side that you enforce and you both cause chaos to whoever you work with. if you went to highschool together, god bless your teachers! but, he also shows his calmer side around you.

speaking of a calmer side, tachihara michizou, has a 10/10 cuddle game. you heard it here first! he has to see a lot of violence from the port mafia so getting to relax is his favourite time and he pushes his lively self away for when you two can have sleepovers.

tachihara michizou, who is great with kids. he doesn't need to babysit a lot but if you have younger siblings? he can entertain them for hours. whether it be an 8 year old or a 15 year old, he has stories to tell from his school days.

proof:

tachihara michizou, who tells you about shunzen. about what happened and how much he looked up to him. i like to think michizou also wears a dogtag like shunzen.

tachihara michizou, who plays with your hair. like in the screenshot above, when he hangs out with elise he probably talks about you so she tries to teach him how to do hair.

tachihara michizou, who wants to be as built as tetcho. i know they don't have any canon interactions but TRUST.

tachihara michizou, who matches earrings with you!

tachihara michizou, who is one of my many bsd bfs and i hope this post converted you to be a tachilover as well.

#MY BOYFRIEND #michizou tachihara #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #tachihara x reader #tachihara michizou #tachihara michizo x reader #michizou tachihara x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #marry me tachihara #or jouno #in conclusion i have a crush on everyone #my first tachihara post #i used to hate him for being rude to gin but hes a fav now?

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konigsblog · 5 months

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I just had an idea! Rude Konig! Like My man Konig is just kinda a prick. Bumping into people, ignoring them, glaring at them, giving them the evil eye, thinking theyre disgusting, but he likes us. He thinks we're cute n shit, but ofc, he's still a prick and he thinks he's entitled to our affection. He thinks we're just playing hard to get because we wouldn't want him?

ohh, you're corrupting me with this idea :(

rude!könig is such a horrible prick. he's an annoying, rude bastard — and maybe it stemmed from being bitter when he was a teenager, bitter than he was disliked for ‘no apparent reason’... though, truthfully, he was just a freak with no manners.

he'd glare at people if they bumped into them, even cursing them out if they didn't apologise. it's as if he expected others to have manners when talking to him, but he wasn't expected to have the same respect.

rude!könig hates all the new recruits, he thinks they're stupid for asking for help, or asking a question könig thought was just ‘common sense’... he doesn't realise that he's more experienced, that he's been in the industry for longer so of course he has more knowledge and understanding :(

but he's such a bastard that he doesn't even care...

he met you at a coffee shop, when you accidentally spilled black coffee all over his cargo jeans. he grumbled out something incoherent, hearing you apologise profusely. but, instead of cursing you out for being a stupid bitch, he rolled his eyes and demanded a towel to clean up his jeans, his voice intimidating.

and even though he made a bad first impression, he couldn't get you off of his mind. it was like könig expected you to come suck his dick... i mean, after all, you owe him something for ruining his jeans :( könig comes to the coffee shop everyday, waiting for you to offer to make it up to him, but you don't!

it just really pisses him off.. he guilt trips you into feeling bad -- like you're a dickhead for a total accident :( describing what you'd done to be worse than what it actually was. “why don't you make it up to me, hase? you owe me, don't you? ja?”

#orla speaks #rude könig #könig call of duty #könig x reader #könig mw2 #könig cod #konig #könig #cod konig #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig cod #konig x reader smut

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ghouljams · 10 months

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Well now I just wanna see Goose put her hat on Ghost

Hehehe

“What’s this?” Simon asks, tipping your hat back. You swat his fingers away and push your brim back down.

“It’s nothing.”

“Didn’t look like nothing.” He raises a brow, staring you down, you can tell he’s smiling under his mask.

“Shouldn’t you just be happy I’m not stealing your hat today?” You frown at him, swatting his hand away again when he reaches for your brim.

“I like when you steal my hat.” You really hate how many butterflies he conjures in you just saying that.

“Only because you know you’ll get lucky later,” You gripe, letting him hook his fingers in your belt loops and tug you closer.

“Maybe,” He says, “Maybe I just like seeing you wear it.”

More butterflies, you push at his face, cover his eyes so he doesn’t see you blush. It’s too early for him to be this smooth. What ever happened to him ignoring you where your dad could see?

“You don’t wanna see me with your claim?” Simon asks behind your hand.

“That’s different.” You tell him, it feels different at least. Feels less like a game and more like something… permanent. You wonder if he feels the same way about you stealing his hat these days.

“Doesn’t have to be.” Simon plucks your hat from your head, leaning down to let you swipe his.

You make an annoyed noise and grab his hat, watching him replace it with yours. It doesn’t really fit, but neither of you thought it would. You shove his hat onto your head and storm off to find a chore to do away from Simon’s too pleased smile.

He tips the brim of your hat down to check on the dark black he’d spotted against the chocolate felt. It’s his name. “Simon” spelled out in neat letters along the edge. He runs his thumb over the burnt felt, the brand you must’ve put on just for you, and now him, to see. That explains the attitude. You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed.

Ah, he’s gonna have to reward you for this later.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #cowboy!Ghost #oc: Goose #I picture Goose very tipsy shaping paperclips into letters and holding them over a candle #thinking: this is so smart now I can have him with me wherever I go #and immediately being so embarrassed about it in the morning but she's gotta wear her hat #she's got a pretty little chocolate stetson that she's had for years #also ghost is being very rude touching Goose's hat without permission #dont do that #shes well within her right to swat at him

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loveydovey-leviathan · 4 months

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reminder that a lot of people, usually those w/ darker skin, can't 'blush', 'flush' or turn red in embarrassment, shame or shyness. there's nothing wrong with using these words but it does help when you add a disclaimer at the top of your post. it doesn't mean that we don't feel our cheeks heating up or that we don't feel blood rushing into our face, so those are alternatives to blushing :]

#i hope i dont come off rude in this #because even as a dark-skinned writer i didnt know that blush meant turning red #i thought it meant ur face/cheeks heating up yknow #i only realised when someone else made a post about it #jjk x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #hq x reader #x reader #fanfic #haikyuu x reader #twst x reader #obey me x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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ooffmlsorry · 6 months

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One Piece Men Driving (you around)

monster trio

A/N: I don't know a lot about Kid but I thought I'd give a shot anyway :I I'm really sorry if he's OOC

LAW

Would make a great get away driver honestly, like he genuinely has a great understanding of driving/the road and hardly ever gets lost and he knows you think that's hot

He drives SO FAST like WHERE ARE YOU GOING??? This man actively considers the speed limit a challenge

For that reason he's either always early or on time to pick you up...but somehow suspiciously late getting you home 😉

8/10 times he's in charge of the music, it depends on your taste and his mood honestly. If you don't have the same music taste, he'll grin and bear it because he loves you, really you're torturing this man

Yeah he drives really fast but never in a school zone or neighborhood, he takes that really seriously

Acts like it's a big pain to drive you around but secretly loves it and always claims he was headed that way even if he wasn't

Loves late night drives with you that end in some empty parking lot to talk for hours or make out or both

The two of your are menaces to late night convenience store clerks

Loves holding your hand or keeping a hand on your thigh while driving

Keeps his car pretty clean except for all the coffee cups and energy drink cans on the floor in the backseat that he thinks you don't notice

KID

His car > you sorry not sorry

Drives a loud, obnoxious hot rod

Drives like a MANIAC and LOVES IT. Fuck it we ball, if y'all die then y'all die. This man is not afraid to take a risk and you know that

That being said he'd probably never put you in real danger

"Oh look, y/n there's some kids riding their bikes. LET'S HIT 'EM!!" does not actually hit the kids but definitely keeps a point score in his head as if he did. "You know I just missed 40 points for you, tricycles are worth more."

Doesn't let you drive it but thinks you look totally hot behind the wheel

Gets there when he gets there, babe, but wherever you're going you're going in style

Genuinely loves blasting the music when he's near you so you know he's on the way

The best part of driving with him is being obnoxiously loud and wild and free together

Acts like he's gonna crash just to mess with you a little

Drag races for sure

Secretly prefers your company over everyone else's while tinkering with the car y'all have definitely fucked on top of it like he just likes having you in presence while he works, it kind of puts him at peace

There's definitely some kind of detail that's an homage to you and any sort of decoration you buy that he can put in his car he will

ACE

I'm so serious DO NOT distract this man

It takes every last brain cell he has not to fuck up

Like when he's alone he's fine, but as soon as another person's in the car with him he gets so distracted especially with you

He can't help it he's just so happy to see you and talk to you and look at you and whoops! There was the exit he was supposed to take

He's either picking you up a half an hour early or twenty minutes late there's no in between

Y'all share the music but he can listen to just about anything just don't put on anything boring

You already know the deal, if y'all end up going out to eat you're driving home because he's absolutely asleep

Definitely prefers back roads and intentionally takes the "long way" so he can spend more time with you

Of course there's a 50/50 chance y'all are gonna get real lost anyway so either way he's spending more time with you

Gets really embarrassed anytime he fucks up so don't backseat drive because it'll only make it worse

King of Normalize Hitting the Curb™️

Loves a good snack run

#law x reader #trafalgar law #eustass kid x reader #eustass kid #portgas d ace #ace x reader #one piece x reader headcanon #ngl Ace is just me because he's so ADHD coded #and by menaces to store clerks i don't mean rude #you and law are just loud and ridiculous for whatever ungodly hour it is

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leviismybby · 17 days

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SIS IS THIS ABOUT YOU? 🤨

I DIDNT THINK IT WAS UNTIL THIS ASSHOLE SAID HWR STUFF ALWAYS DOES WELL

Lmaoo, I tried looking for their blog and I am blocked, so maybe?? I don't know, appreciate the fact that they gave me thier humble opinion tho lmao

#levi ackerman #attack on titan #levi x reader #levi x you #Klara's asks #Whoever this is about #its just rude

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okarawrites · 2 months

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Final Fantasy VII requests open!

Hey guys, it's been a long time since I did any writing.

I'm in the process of trying to write the next chapter of my ongoing Vincent Valentine fic, but want to get back to writing some more shorter pieces and generally get in the ff7 flow again.

Please feel free to submit your final fantasy 7!

I'm happy to do both sfw and nsfw, however I do have some categories I will not do such as anything involving underage characters and noncon situations.

While I tend to automatically write from a cis female pov, I'm happy to give other povs a try if requested :) also always welcome feedback on these pieces.

Characters I write for:

Vincent Valentine

Sephiroth

Reno

Rude

Cloud

However I'm happy for you to request others and if I feel comfortable I will try my best to give them a go :D.

#ff7 #vincent valentine #reno of the turks #sephiroth x reader #sephiroth #vincent valentine x reader #reno x reader #cloud strife x reader #rude x reader #ff7 x reader #okara asks #okarawrites

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kaylinelizabeth4004 · 8 months

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Young and Beautiful

Alec Hardy (Broadchurch) x Reader

Synopsis: DS Y/N Warner uses DI Alec Hardy’s flat for some late night work

Word Count: 4890

Tags: fem!reader, fluff, smut, praise, sweet, very sweet smut, if your name is Becca look away

She didn't even bother to knock, not knowing or caring if he was in, she just slid open his sliding glass door and let herself inside. Then she plopped the case files on his sofa, pushed his coffee table to the side, and laid them all out in front of in her. He'd come round about an hour later, when all the papers lie in their own stacks across his rug, Y/N in the middle eating a slice of toast with a wild look in her eyes.

"Warner, what're you doing here?"

"There's something we're missing, there has to be, and I'm so close to it!" She said, her baby hairs frizzing wildly as her hair came loose from her ponytail. She either didn't care or didn't notice as she stood up, a paper in hand. DI Alec Hardy stood in his own doorway, flabbergasted to his DS rambling in his room at half past 4am. "I think it has to do with Aaron, it's got to be. His alibi doesn't make sense, he won't tell us where he was, and he knew Sophia well enough. At least more than some of the other persons of interest. I've tracked down the local cab company and one of the drivers says he remembers giving a bloke a ride late that night, said the lad was proper out of breath and not exactly chatty. I've already got him lined up to come in tomorrow for more information. As for the trace amounts of DNA in the victims mouth we don't have a match yet but the lab did say it wasn't as disintegrated as they'd initially thought which gives me hope! I've got -"

"Warner!" Hardy shouted, interrupting her speech. "What the hell are you doing in my house half past 4?"

She gestured around her as though it should be obvious, "working."

"And you can't do that at your own flat?"

She giggled, and continued to ramble. When she was really tired, like proper one second away from passing out tired, like she was now, she couldn't shut up. It didn't matter if the person she was talking to didn't want to hear it or wasn't listening or couldn't hear it - having a deaf cousin worked to her favor in these instances - she would continue to prattle on about what she needed to, "no. My roommate's got her boyfriend over and they were proper loud. Could practically hear the bed rattling, and it wasn't doing me any good. You don't sleep anyway so I figured I could use the space to lay it out. I didn't think you'd not be home. Why're you dressed nice? Did you come from a date? Is that what this is? Is there some woman waiting outside?"

"No!" DI Hardy looked halfway offended at the suggestion. "I've just got back from work. Was gonna make a cuppa then keep going til you showed up."

She squealed and went for something on the floor, lifting it up then crawling to a different paper,"I take two sugars."

"I know your bloody order. Shouldn't you go and sleep?"

She waved a hand, "I'll sleep when I'm dead. What I really need is for the world to be open 24/7. If I could only call this bloke right now and half my questions could be answered. You know my order? That's sweet."

He scoffed, "it's not unique. Warner, when was the last time you slept?"

"Uhh, I slept a few hours on Tuesday. Why do you look all high and mighty? You don't sleep either, don't eat. You're practically a miserable little skeleton carting your life way through life."

"I am not -" he stopped taking. Partially because she hadn't stopped either, continuing to chatter about whatever her heart desired. And partly because he didn't know if he was going to refute the miserable part, the little part, or the skeleton part. Or if he even could refute it. He snorted, well he wasn't little. He was over 6 foot. And he could eat more, he knew that. But he often forgot about food until he had to.

"I know a fellow who took nine sugars. Can you imagine that! Nine sugars! You're drinking piss flavored juice at that point. Pardon mh French, sir. He was very strange... called himself Witchfinder as though you couldn't search on the web magic shops. Maybe we should start calling ourselves Crimefinders. Criminalfinders? That doesn't roll off the tongue, now does it?"

DI Hardy realized Y/N wasn't going to answer any of his questions in this state, so he shuffled over to the kitchen to make some tea. He took his coat off, tossing it on whatever available counter space there was with a yawn. He wanted to sleep, knew he probably had to, but he'd probably dream of something he didn't want to dream about. Lately it'd been odd mental pictures of his coworkers all hurt, Y/N choked, Ellie crying, hell even Brian made the scene with a glazed look in his eyes. He didn't know why he had these thoughts, he'd never considered himself a particularly caring individual over his coworkers. But it had haunted him off from sleep for the foreseeable future.

He made two cups of tea, disposing two sugars into Warner's as she said. Then he walked back over to his living room and sat down, elbows on his knees as he scanned her work.

"Thank you!" She said, grabbing her mug and take a large gulp of it. "What do you think of this, sir? He doesn't strike me right. Can't place it."

"The name is familiar," Hardy admitted. He went to his laptop and started typing away, trying to place the name. "Ah, he's been arrested for aggravated assault. Both charges dropped, looks like some brawls in the pubs."

"I s'pose that doesn't suggest he murdered a girl."

"Doesn't rule him out either, if he's willing to punch a stranger in a pub what would he do to someone he knows?"

She giggled and scrambled for her pencil, "I should write that down for my novel!"

"You're writing a novel?"

"Mmhmm, started it tonight. 'Adventures of Harner and Wardy.'"

Alec set his mug down, and took hers from her hand as well. "Alright, time for bed now."

"What? No! I've got more novel to write and crime to solve! We've not even started discussing the potential that Louise is lying about her husband's alibi. I mean really? She says he binged Big Bang Theory with her all night and I'm all for binging telly but of all the shows you choose that one? The laugh track is funnier than the actual show half the time - is this your bedroom?"

Hardy had helped Y/N to her feet and led her to his bedroom in the back. She was still rambling about the most irrelevant things when he guided her to sit on the edge of his bed. He didn't often make it, so he was glad to note that it was done up well. Warner hadn't slept in almost a full 48 hours and he knew that even with a brain as sharp as hers, it was dull as Katie's without sleep. He got on his knees before her, carefully untying her shoes and sliding them off her feet. He put them by the door and helped her out of her coat jacket.

"What're you doing?" She finally asked as he hung the jacket on the back of the door. "Are you hitting on me?"

"What? I -"

"Because if you are hitting on me that's totally okay, but I should warn you I'm getting sleepy so I might not be the best lay. But you are proper good looking so I wouldn't say no." She made a face, "my boss wouldn't like that would he? Noooo, can't call someone proper good looking. I'm not trying to be a knob, just communicating that you've got no problems in the looks department. None, like ever. Personality maybe but you took my shoes off for me so that gets you at least a few brownie points."

Alec felt like he was malfunctioning, his arm stuck out, frozen midair from her words. She just called him attractive. And not just good looking, but good looking enough she'd want to sleep with him! He'd never been used to such straight forward compliments and didn't quite know if he believed it. So he just worked on autopilot, helping tuck her into bed.

"Go to sleep, Warner." He flicked off the lights and closed the door. What the hell. What the hell. Alec blinked rapidly like that would make any of what just happened make any sense at all.

He stood awkwardly outside the door of the bedroom. Should he - is he- what's the proper procedure with this? He should know, he was married once, had enough sex to have a child! But it seemed all that knowledge left the moment Claire stole back the pendant, fizzling his marriage, his life, his career. Now he was left taking uneven breaths as the sun crept up, an employee who's attracted to him sleeping in his bed after 40+ hours of not sleeping.

He found himself back at his laptop, slowly typing out what to do when someone admits to fancying you. But the results were not his thing, videos of very forward men and women moving very quickly into other actions. Alec was not opposed to the action, sex. But he couldn't fathom how to get there. So he sat in his kitchen drinking old tea, and staring at his door.

An hour later he crept in to grab a different tie for work, and saw Y/N completely passed out. She was curled in a ball, cradling his pillow and lightly snoring. She looked content. It made him smile against his better judgment. He left her in there, scribbling a note on a piece of paper he taped to the bedroom door before he left for the station.

Y/N Warner woke up nearly 12 hours later. It was practically dark when she opened her eyes. She blinked away the sleep that threatened to creep in around the corners of her eyes, and propped herself up on her elbows to survey the scene around her. She didn't recognize the room she was in, blank walls and bland sheets. There was no personality to it. For a moment, she wondered if she'd gotten a hotel room and just had no memory of it.

Then she smelt a familiar, faint scent. She couldn't place it or really describe it other than she liked it, it was warm. Stupidly, she let her face fall into the pillow to inhale the scent. Oh my god.

She shot up quickly, realizing where she was. The memories of last night flooded her mind.

"Shit, shit, shit." A hand flew to her brow as she tried to process. She'd come here to work because her roommate was fucking her boyfriend into the oblivion. DI Hardy came back, made her a cuppa. She wouldn't shut up, kept rambling about the Big Bang Theory (why?) and Witchfinders (how?) before he guided her here. Then she - "no." She said audibly, she did not make a pass at DI Hardy in his bed, late at night and practically drunk on exhaustion. Her eyes flit around the room before landing on the one piece of decoration, a framed photo of Hardy and Daisy, his daughter. "No." She said again, as though it could stop her ramblings.

Y/N rushed out of the bed, scrambling to find her shoes before she saw them neatly lying next to the door. She was usually very professional, if not a little eccentric. But no one could fault you for being a lot when you were good at your job and solved cases. She brought justice to people, she knew she did. And she might have risked it all because she worked herself too far and hit on her boss. Regardless of how stupid attractive he was, that was still work place harassment.

She shoved her shoes on, forced her arms into the holes of her suit jacket and ambled out into his living space. There were papers everywhere. They covered the floor like a new rug, slouched over the chairs and clung to the walls by hall dead pieces of tape. She looked for her mobile, patting her pockets. Shit, she must have left it in the bedroom. When she turned she spotted a note on the door.

'At the office. Feel free to not come in.'

Oh she was dead. She'd lost her job forever, she would never work again. This stupid blasted career she'd worked so hard on gone.

She ran back and found her mobile among the sheets, shoved it into her pocket and ran to leave the home. Then DI Hardy stood awkwardly at the front door, bags of Chinese hanging from his hands and a weird not grimace not smile expression. He didn't look pleased to see her, but he didn't want to kill her. Good news, right?

"Sir, I am so sorry about last night-"

"Don't worry about it." He waved his hand, coming in to set the food on the counter. He got a lot of it.

"No, I can't not worry about it. I came into your home, made a mess, took your bed and propositioned you-"

"Warner, we've arrested a man for the murder of Sophia Garcia. It was Aaron Baker, his dad's golf clubs, just like you'd said."

Her mouth fell open, "shit, really?"

Alec gestured to the mess of papers while he spoke, "you'd mentioned something about the cabbie last night. When I went in I gave them a ring, and while there was a driver who picked up a grumpy lad it wasn't Aaron. Sounds like a Christie book but it was his twin. Aaron was cross town cleaning up the scene."

"Not good enough," Y/N said softly.

Alec nodded, "not good enough."

"I'm sorry, sir." She said again, her voice still quiet and meek.

He didn't answer her, just stared for a beat before gesturing to the food, "I didn't know what you liked so I bought two of everything."

"All this is for me?"

"You solved the case, Warner."

She shook her head, "I ... you let me sleep in your bed? I ransacked your house, I propositioned you, and you let me sleep and brought me food?"

Alec scratched the back of his neck. He did not like how often Y/N asked questions. It stressed him out, like he had to have an immediate answer to every single one when he figured his actions spoke. But she looked so confused. He just gestured to the food and went to grab plates.

She sat down in surprise, blinking quickly as she watched him come over. "Just a, uh, an egg roll and cho mein please."

He nodded and shoved two of both onto her plate before giving it to her. He didn't put anything on his plate. Y/N sighed and scraped off half of hers onto his.

"Eat, sir. Please."

He blinked, "wot?"

"I've known you for years and never seen you eat. Just eat the egg roll."

He stared at the greasy food. He can't eat that, he thought and was about to say as much when she shot him a dirty look. Tentatively, Alec took a bite of it. He cringed, he didn't quite love the taste but Y/N seemed pleased he was eating so he finished it off just for her.

When they both finished he cleaned up, and she stayed seated. Then he moved past her to the bedroom, undoing his tie and tossing it, along with his jacket, onto a chair in the corner. He started to roll his sleeves up round his elbows when Y/N waited by the door.

"Thank you, sir."

"No need-"

"Let me. Thank you, sir. For the food and the sleep and, uh, well thank you for everything."

"Of course, Warner. I take care of my people." Not typically this much care, but he didn't want to make her feel bad. He focused on sliding off his shoes, shoving them out of his sight.

Alec jumped - well, Alec never really jumped just blinked harshly and cocked the one eyebrow - in surprise. Y/N was now closer to him, her chest heaving as she stared up at him. She was shorter than he remembered.

"I-If I may, sir?" She asked, lifting a hand.

He had a feeling he knew what she was asking, but didn't know for certain. But all the same he nodded. He watched as her eyes fluttered shut as she leaned in, going onto her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

He hadn't been kissed in a long time, and the surprise of her initiating it made him stand there and accept her soft lips against his. When she broke, he could see the fear in her eyes as though she had done something wrong. Alec hadn't kissed in a while, and he felt the anxiety creep in that he didn't remember how. But the look in her eyes made it worth the fear.

He plunged forward, grabbing the back of her neck gently while his other hand came to cradle her jaw. Her skin was soft under his touch, melting as he held her. Y/N's hands came up to hold his jaw, scruffy and itchy in the most delightful way. Her mouth melded with his as his tongue licked along her bottom lip.

She cherished the way his jaw scratched against hers slightly, sighing when he broke to trail soft kisses down her jaw and the length of her neck. The scratch was enough to make her giggle like a schoolgirl, holding his shoulders. He shot back up, hair slightly wild but nothing compared to his eyes as he looked into hers deeply. He needed to be absolutely certain. There was no time for messing about and hurting anyone.

She smiled. He was so handsome to her, but in an understated way. She took the moment to run a finger on his sculpted jawline, along his freckled cheeks and down his crooked nose. No, not everyone might look at those features and call it handsome. But to her, he was everything. Smart, kind, and good-looking as sin. Her finger fell upon his lips, slightly open and let out harsh breaths as he searched her eyes desperately. Alec always wished he could read expressions better, he was terrified he'd make the wrong decision somewhere down the line.

But Y/N smiled, and nodded, pressing a soft kiss to his nose before taking a step back. Then she toed off her own shoes, shucked off her own jacket, and began to undress.

He followed her lead, removing his shirt and pants. Eventually, they both stood in front of one another naked. Y/N felt that pang of anxiety in her chest at being bare in front of a man. She'd made it very clear to Alec that she found him to be hotter than hell, but did he feel that way about her? She wasn't ugly, she knew that, but she wasn't a showstopper.

And yes, she could see the surprisingly length of him hardening before him. But didn't every man get hard when sex was on the table?

Alec came forward and placed his hands on her hips, pulling her forward as his eyes took in every inch of her. He ran a hand along her stomach - an insecure area for her - and up between her breasts, before settling it on the base of her neck. The simple action left her breathless.

His eyes were still on her body before he brought them up to hers. She was struck by how deep his were, how warm and brown, they seemed to go on forever.

"Look at you," he said hoarsely, his accent suddenly get thicker. "You're gorgeous."

"You think so?" She felt stupid asking it. She should be confident, she should pose seductively and tell him to strap in the way girls do on the telly. But this felt real and raw, and raw didn't shy away from the insecurities. Insecurities laced with cellulite and hair, parts that feel too pudgy there and too concave there. Never quite where it needs to be, never "ugly" enough for the world to tell you you have a right to complain.

"'Course. 'Course, look at you. You think I'm g-good too?" He asked back.

Y/N smiled, "thank you for saying that, most men don't."

"Don't they?" Alec asked in surprise, figuring that was just a part of the experience.

She shook her head and let her gaze trace along his body as well. He was lean and tall, with thin legs and arms wrapped in gentle muscle. His stomach was slightly pouchy and soft, beneath it his length was already hard at the sight of her. She ran a hand up from his stomach to his chest, mimicking his actions, and let it stay on his heart. Beneath her touch it thumped violently. Then she looked up to see his face, her favorite feature. His eyes were warm and gentle even when they didn't mean to be. "All of you is handsome to me, all of you."

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, "you're one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. And if it isn't too crass to say, I'd fuck every inch of you."

It was too crass to say, and even a little cheesy, but it made her blossom with a smile. She threw her arms around his neck and let herself fall into one of his all encompassing kisses she was starting to like the taste of too much. Alec's lips were firm but not overpowering as they engulfed her, setting a tingle from her toes all the way up to her head in a heady giggle. His hands held onto her waist, grasping the flesh there with a sweet intensity. His lips parted with a deep groan.

She walked backwards to the bed, leading Alec until he was over her. His arms were poised by her head, his neck brought down as he peppered open mouth kisses along her neck. She laughed lightly at his scruffy beard, moaning when his lips found the spot between her neck and shoulder that shot straight through her. Y/N writhed under his touch, heat searing her skin. His hands were everywhere, branding her, skating up her waist to grab a handful of her breast, down her back to cup her bum, and feather like fingers traveling over the top of her thighs to the place in between. She gasped as he ran a finger down her slit.

"So wet..." he murmured, not expecting her to be so aroused by him. He'd barely done anything for her, hadn't touched down there at all. Yet she was slick to the touch, heat and arousal. Alec loved the way her chest flushed, her eyes closed tightly as she savored his touch on her skin.

He ran his fingers down, keeping his touch light as he experimentally nudged around. When he found her clit she gasped, her whole body tensing and focusing on the nerves right there against his finger.

"So responsive," he murmured, starting to work gently against her clit as she took shaking, uneven breaths. Alec went to speak again, then stopped. Tess never liked when he spoke in bed, said it distracted her from her climax. So he'd learned to stay silent and focus on his partner's body, her mouth as she fought her body's reaction to grind violently against his fingers. He kissed her sternum, biting at the flesh gingerly. Despite himself, Alec growled into her as she bucked her hips to meet his ministrations.

"Keep talking," she said in a hoarse voice.

"Wot?" Alec asked, taken aback.

Y/N looked up at him, eyes heady with need, "your voice is hot. If it's okay to ask, please keep talking, sir."

Alec grinned his charming, crooked smile. He bent down to kiss along her stomach as he quickened his pace on his clit, driving her faster to a climax then she was used to. That deep Scottish voice rang our praises, some loud enough that she could hear them and clench her thighs, others murmurs against her flesh that made her head feel light and airy. She giggled at the thought of all the beard rash she'd have along her body from him. All the same he told her how well she was doing, how beautiful she was, how lovely she looked squirming underneath him.

Then, as her back began to arch and she could feel the orgasm just a hair's breadth away, he stilled. Y/N whined. Actually felt herself whine in protest. He chuckled, clearly meaning to edge her, using his large hands to keep her legs wide open.

"A-are you ready?" Alec asked, his usual confidence lost to the arousal he was trying to keep at bay for her. His hands were large and warm, holding onto the space between her hips and thighs with a firm yet gentle touch.

Y/N's eyes gazed down to his cock, hard and ready. It looked about ready to burst, but Alec squeezed her thighs to look up into his eyes. They were warm and kind. Asking for consent even in a position like this. It made her all the more sure of her answer.

She reached up for his face, grabbing his jaw and planting a warm kiss on his mouth as he started to guide himself inside of her. He was slow, letting her gasp and adjust to the length inch by inch until he was fully inside of her. Alec paused. She could feel her heartbeat everywhere, pulsing desperately for friction.

She nodded, kissing Alec again. She'd never had a kiss like that, so strong and comforting. Kisses were never her thing, she hadn't understood the fuss over them. Just two sets of lips pressed against one another, the taste of the day infecting it. But with Alec it was more than the cho mein or egg rolls, and it was more than chapped lips pressed against one another. It was full of desire, trying to communicate all that words couldn't. She drank it in fully, gasping against him as he started to move inside of her.

Alec was bigger than she expected and bigger than he was used to, and she wiggled her hips to the feeling of being stretched so full like that. He cherished the feeling of her gasps and moans, dipping to kiss every inch of skin near him.

"So beautiful, so gorgeous..." he thrusted in quickly this time and saw her body tense from surprise. "You're taking me beautifully, Angel."

Y/N could listen to his voice all day. Even before she realized he was far from an ugly bloke, she fancied the way his voice poured over her in sexy waves. Deep, guttural, it was honest and raw. He didn't lie, he didn't cover it with some pretense to be sexy. Even when his voice would break, small gasps from the sensations breaking up his sentences, she found it all the better.

Alec leaned back, not wanting to stop kissing her not wanting to miss the view. He'd pulled her hips down to the edge of the bed, him standing and her legs spread wide and resting on the small of his back. With a gentle pace that started to grow more desperate he thrust into her, watching her body flush and squirm beneath him. Y/N threw her arms up, arching her back to take him deeper. Alec was enamored with the way her breasts bounced with each thrust.

"So fucking beautiful," he grumbled, snaking a hand down to stroke her clit. He could feel that he wasn't going to last as long as he would have liked, but by the way Y/N let out little moans by his feather light touch, he figured she didn't mind all that much.

Y/N was in her own world, feeling his voice slide off her skin like oil as she chased her high. His denial of her orgasm earlier made this one all the more powerful. It seemed to slam into her, causing her to gasp wildly as Alec kept firm ministrations on her clit. Then he too reached his climax, grunting in a low voice before pouring out in a shocking spurt.

Then he pulled out, falling beside her as they both gasped for breath. Y/N quickly ambled out of the bed and used the restroom before she came back in, feeling like her limbs were absolute jelly. Alec brought her back to the bed, laying next to her. His hand held hers, thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand.

"That was incredible," he finally said.

"You could say that again."

"That was incredible." They both paused, turning to look at one another, before bursting into a fit of giggles.

#binging broadchurch #i’m happy the 12 of you who read broadchurch fics will enjoy this #broadchurch fanfiction #alec hardy #alec hardy fanfic #alec hardy x reader #in love with Alec Hardy #he needs love #sad detective boi #fanfiction #David tennant my love but also not sexualizing you cause rude #but I love you and love Alec #broadchurch #god bless Mother Nature for making Becca look away #I’m serious Becca no reading #you know too much about me

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star2fishmeg · 7 months

Note

Hi, how are you? How is your day? I hope you are having a good day.I read “Overseas” and I was wondering if you could do that for SWORD leaders and mighty warriors. If you have the time.

ᴀʙʀᴏᴀᴅ

Pairing: SWORD leaders x gn!reader (separate), Ice x gn!reader

Summary: SWORD leaders and having a foreign s/o they kept secret until they didn’t

Warnings: swearing

Authors note: Thank you for requesting! I’m glad you enjoyed ‘Overseas’!! I only included Ice for Mighty Warriors as he is the leader, I hope this is okay! This is my first time writing for him and Hyuga too, apologies for any ooc. In future I plan to include MW once I’ve grasped their characters more!

Request: above!

ʜɪɴᴏ 'ᴄᴏʙʀᴀ' ᴊᴜɴᴘᴇɪ

Most of this man’s life is a mystery, Yamato and Nobaru probably got a board of red strings and photos for him

How he met his s/o is a secret he’ll never tell, but knowing him, it was probably after a fight, probably casually grabbing a drink with dried blood painting his nose and upper lip

s/o likely cleaned him up on the spot, and he didn’t shoo them away bc a) he has manners believe it or not and b) he thought they were cute and why the hell would he say no?

He did smile though! Barely but from up close it was clear as day

From then on, he met up with them until they left, but s/o flies over to visit him whenever they can and the rendezvous continue

This guy is a texter, a rare caller. He’s texting them whenever he can, which is suspicious to the others bc he never answers their texts that quick

One time Yamato was in deep shit and Cobra aired him, but the moment they text? Mans like lightning

He leaked his s/o by pure accident and with the help of his friends snooping. His s/o sent him a package once a month of goodies from their country, with a letter and photos included and Sannoh just happened to get their hands on this before he did

Eyeing up the box, Yamato, Dan and Tettsu sheepishly gave each other looks. It wasn’t usual for Cobra to receive any sort of mail, let alone turn up at the diner. But the way the box was coated in cute stickers and little drawings of snakes piqued dire interest among the others. Their cold, mysterious leader, having an admirer?

“Think we should open it?” Tettsu asked, gently shaking the box to hear the rustling coming from inside.

“You’re fucking stupid, are you asking for a death wish?” Yamato hissed, snatching it off him and gently placing back on the back table where the man in question usually sat, “This is Cobra’s business, and we should stay out of it.”

“Or we can watch from afar, he’s here, act natural.” Dan grinned, him and Tettsu scurrying to the table in the centre of the diner, under the bottle chandelier and giggling like schoolgirls. Yamato rolled his eyes and sat at the bar. Cobra strolled in, eyes darting to the box in an almost panicked state. The boys pretended to not notice, but Cobra noticed Yamato taking a not-so-subtle glance his way as he ran his key through the tape.

Opening the cardboard shyly, he was met with a letter addressed to him, his real name, not his alias. Dan, Tettsu and Yamato snuck up behind him, looming over his shoulders for a peak. At that point his secret was out, Junpei gave up on trying to hide it as he rummaged through the tissue paper for the contents of the gift. Photos of s/o’s day trips and travels, one of those amusingly shitty tourist keyrings you find in the cities, handmade items they’d passionately told him about, a polaroid of the two of them they’d taken on their last visit to Japan and more. His favourite this time was the small Cobra figurine, with a note attached saying ‘punched a man for this like you taught me <3’. A smile graced his lips upon reading the letter, the other bewildered, practically hearing Cobra’s heart thump in his chest.

“Damn, not even we get Junpei privileges.” Yamato whistled; eyebrows raised in shock.

“And you never will.” Junpei scoffed, placing all the items back in the box and taking off.

ʀᴏᴄᴋʏ

Definitely met his s/o in his club

They were at the bar, probably fending off some creep when he came over, getting the guy removed and permanently banned

Rocky introduced himself and apologised and their story continued from there

Gives the vibes that s/o just moved to Japan and was getting to know the area when they found Club Heaven

Teaches Rocky new one-liners in their native language for sure, also telling him about their country in general and all the culture shocks

And he listens to all of it happily, fully intrigued with the way they carry themselves and speak

Oh this man always lends them his coats, and they playfully wear his glasses bc it makes him smile every single time. He finds when they impersonate him the cutest

White Rascals actually had no idea about them until they burst through the doors one evening, panicking about being late to open the club

“So uh…this a thing now or a new member? Companion?” Koo asked for the group, giving y/n a hesitant look. Rocky only pulled them into his lap, coat still wrapped around their shoulders.

“S’my angel. She’s gonna be stickin’ around now.” He threw their legs over his lap, thumb rubbing their thigh. Koo and the others only nodded, focusing on opening the club and worrying about asking the details later.

Despite running late, the club still held its lively state with flashing lights, crisp sound blaring through the speakers, bar busy, dancefloor packed and Rascals serving the people when needed. At the top of the balcony, the VIP area, Rocky leant back on the red sofa, cigar smoke floating from his lips as his s/o melted into his side, legs over his knee and hand on his chest. Kizzy and Kaito side-eyed each other, still unsure of how the situation came to be and where this person came from to start with. Sure, they’d seen them at the bar, how could they not? But what were their intentions with their leader? They agreed, silently, with a nod to each other that Koo would be the one to ask since he’d already opened that can of worms.

ᴍᴜʀᴀʏᴀᴍᴀ ʏᴏsʜɪᴋɪ

OH BOY this interaction did not go smoothly

In fact, Yoshiki most likely either made the most awkward meeting or the most embarrassing one

He’s still cute tho, and his s/o thought so from the start

His shower packed up and the plumber wouldn’t come until the morning, but he really stank and so what does this kid do?

Go next door to his new and incredibly gorgeous neighbour who just moved from overseas

Man is fumbling when they let him in, he can’t believe he’s folding so fast

And somehow, in broken English (because it’s the only other language he knows from middle school), this awkward encounter gets him their digits

And dates, and a label. And amongst all this time passing, not once did he remember to tell his friends at Oya

His stomach dropped at the knocking on his door, eyes frantically looking for Seki and Furuya’s. Both men, looking back at him like deer in headlights, motioning him to answer. Murayama stood up nodding, making his way to the front door, mind screaming at him for forgetting to say something sooner, they were going to freak out like usual.

Opening the door slowly, he peered back before looking at y/n’s bright smile.

“Hey ‘Shiki! You busy?” they chirped, Seki and Furuya’s heads snapping around towards the entrance way.

“Uh, yeah. My friends are over right now, but I’m free tonight.” Was all he could muster up with such a dry throat. Saying goodbye he closed the door again, shaking his head as he took his walk of doom back to the living room and flopping back onto the couch. The silence killed him, so he kept his head thrown back and eyes closed, counting down from five. Four. Three. Two. One.

Furuya and Seki yelled, confusion and banterous hurt in their tones.

sᴍᴏᴋᴇʏ

Pure accidental meeting but he was so sweet

s/o probably took a wrong turn and ended up lost in Nameless City, devastated by what they were seeing

Until they bumped into Smokey, expressing their sympathy as well as the situation

Smokey did help them tho, showing them the way to where they were actually intending to go but s/o claimed they’d remember the route to see him again

They sent letters back and forth since that day, and s/o would fly over to help out the people when they could

Definitely wanted to tell Rude Boys but was hesitant about their reaction and never got around to it

Until s/o visits the base asking for Smokey and the boys stand there, guard up asking why someone looking so out of place wants their Smokey

Drawing back one of the ragged fabrics used as a curtain, y/n poked their head through first before shuffling into the base completely. They kept their footsteps quiet, not wanting to disturb the boys who were gathered in the middle. Yet Smokey was nowhere to be seen. Nerves bundled in their stomach, they’d never properly met the boys before, only seen them on patrol.

“Excuse me,” they called, all their heads snapping around to face them, “Christ- is Smokey around?”

Takeshi stood up and approached her slowly, the rest watching ready for any kind or cue, “He’s not here right now, can I help you though?” Their shoulders relaxed, letting out a breath as they gave him a small smile. Takeshi lowered his guard in return, glancing behind him for the others to do the same.

“Ah, I’m y/n, Smokey told me to come visit him here. That’s all he said.”

“Sounds like Smokey, vague but to the point.” Takeshi chuckled. As if on cue, Smokey’s figure trudged in, a smile gracing his lips upon seeing y/n. He pulled them into his side and placed a kiss to their head, watching the boys’ faces scrunch up or eyebrows raise.

“Boys, meet y/n, my s/o. Y/n, mee the Rude Boys.” Was all he mumbled out before slipping his hand into y/n’s and leading her to their meeting circle.

P scratched his neck, “Okay, why didn’t you say anything before, Smokey?”

“Forgot.”

ʜʏᴜɢᴀ ɴᴏʀɪʜɪsᴀ

This man fully lost to them in Poker at a Daruma festival

But was he mad about it? Not really, he was more impressed at their wits over anything else. No one dared gamble against Hyuga

So when s/o placed their winning cards down, smirking at his face, mans had to know them better

Probably made them his companion for the night, asking them if they’d come back to see him and of course they said yes

They kept this little thing between them for a while actually, until Hyuga wanted them around often, feeling a lack of excitement without them

And that’s how his s/o met Daruma properly: beating them at Poker

“Hyuga, I dunno where you found this person, but this is just embarrassing for Daruma.” Ukyo groaned, accepting his defeat and dropping his cards.

“You guys are just really bad at this, I thought you had experience?” y/n mocked, watching another member stare at their cards intensely. Hyuga’s arm remained wrapped around y/n’s waist, firmly keeping them on his lap while they played.

“No, you’re cheating!” Sakyo hissed, pointing a finger at them. Y/n shrugged, taking their turn and hearing another guy wail.

“Bold statement to make about Norihisa’s s/o, don’t you think?”

“You’re a monster!” Sakyo watched another Daruma lackey lose, y/n taking the chips for themselves.

ɪᴄᴇ

This guy is a festival attendee and a chronic one at that

So, he met his s/o at one of those when chasing them around the world

Gives me the vibes that his personality with music and destroying SWORD are complete opposites so when s/o bumped into him in the crowd, he happily vibed with them

Ended up eating together and finding out they were also festival chasing and decided that they’d attend as many as they could together, talking in between until eventually calling themselves a couple

Ice didn’t tell y/n about Might Warriors until later, he wanted to surprise them with a club they could properly find refuge in

He also didn’t tell MW about s/o, bc it never came up mainly

Ice I’ll come find you y/n How will you do that? Ice Baby I can spot you in any crowd

With strobe lights flashing, bodies dancing in all directions and music so loud the floor vibrated, y/n’s head was in no other place but bliss. Ice’s pride and joy surged through their veins as they relished in his dream.

Their thoughts were pulled back to earth as the familiar sound of a beat Ice had shown them months prior blared through the speakers, swaying their hips shamelessly to the rhythm. Large hands caressed their hips, pulling them into a firm chest and hot breath making the hairs on their neck stand on end.

“Told you I could spot you in any crowd.” Ice mumbled and they felt his smirk through his words. Spinning around to face him, y/n’s arms wrapped around his neck.

“Never doubted that,” they smiled, eyes flickering between his and his lips, “I’m gonna be expecting VIP access.”

“You had it by default, baby.” He laughed, capturing them into a sweet kiss.

“Hate to ruin the moment, but who the fuck is this?” A voice yelled over the music, breaking the two apart.

“Jesse! This is my s/o, y/n! They're kinda one of us but also not.” Ice replied. Y/n didn’t care whether they were a Mighty Warrior or not, they were Ice’s and that’s all they needed. Jesse’s glare softened and morphed into a nod of approval before slipping through the crowd to the VIP lounge.

H&L harem (if you wanna be tagged/removed in future H&L content, comment or lemme know via ‘chat to me bbygorl’ :D);

@straysugzhpe @airbendertendou @strxwberrychocolate @rouzuchan @yuken-gf @rinwhore @simpforchuchu @thatpoindexterpixy @rainisawriter @cheshirecatuniverse @certainbananacollectionblr @tiredlittlewriter

[Masterlist]

[Requests CLOSED]

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ven7s · 2 years

Text

you & me, right here, right now.

— scaramouche x gn!reader ; wc. 1.1k; genre fluff, angst, hurt-comfort

notes. this is before scaramouche became a harbinger. personal headcanons mixed in 🤭. not proofread. i haven’t written in a while so sorry if this is rigid

contrary to popular belief, scaramouche is actually quite vulnerable.

yeah, scaramouche, ei's prototype and creation, is vulnerable.

the abandonment by his creator was caused by his cries at birth. he's always had an overwhelming amount of emotions flooding within him. and ever since the abandonment, his identity had been stolen.

he doesn't exactly know who he is or what his purpose is in this world.

he's terribly afraid, angry, and most of all, desolate.

and as he wanders around the land of inazuma, he finds himself a temporary home in tatarasuna.

while he walks through the region, he finds children laughing and running around without a care in the world. their grandparents watch them, some scold the kids to be careful while others sit on the front of their house, waving their grandchildren and their friends over to eat fruit. and he can't help the small smile that arises on his face as he watches them do so.

he wonders if he could have been one of those children if not for the fact he was born only to be discarded by ei, the almighty shogun.

then he remembers those foolish feelings are the reason for his misery. he hates the reminder of it and soon enough he finds himself repressing those feelings.

but then, only a month into settling in tatarasuna, he bumps into you, a common villager. the first encounter is a chance meeting, at the local supermarket when you had both reached for the same amakumo fruit.

you laugh an apology for the inconvenience and as he looks up, all he sees is the smile across your face and amused look in your eye.

he mumbles out an "it's okay" before reaching for the fruit next to the one he had just tried to take.

as he turns around to go to the vendor, you pause him, and he looks at you in confusion.

"wait, wait, you shouldn't take that one. it’s rotting," you say hurriedly, handing him the fruit that both of you had attempted to grab a minute ago, "here, this ones perfect!"

scaramouche looks at your outstretched hand, then to the fruit.

"how'd you know?" he asks, looking at your fruit then back to the one in his hand.

"hm?" you look confused for a moment before your face brightens up again, "oh! you must not be from around here!"

you go on to explain the difference between the two fruits and soon enough you realize that scaramouche doesn't really know.. anything.

when he gives a vague explanation about how he hasn't been in inazuma since he was born you offer to help him around. and soon enough the two of you are joined at the hip.

wherever you are, he's there. and wherever he is, you're there.

in no time, your relationship progresses from mere strangers to friends.

now, two years later, he finds himself growing shy from your presence. the fleeting touches of your body against his makes him rigid with embarrassment and he can't help the warmth that rises.

with the help of a local grandmother, he finally realizes those feelings to be love. and the first thought that comes to him is that it's about time for you to abandon him. it’s okay he thinks. he doesn’t truly have a heart anyways, it wouldn’t affect him in the very least.

that's what he repeats to himself everyday anyways.

but quite frankly, if he's being really honest, scaramouche knows he doesn't want you to leave, he doesn't know how he would handle it.

and the disbelief of how you've managed to stay by his side for so long is already always in the back of his mind.

it doesn't help how scaramouche feels guilt throb inside of him whenever he's with you. he feels like he’s been deceiving you, not sharing much about himself while you share the wonders of the world with him. he knows how frustrating it must be to be his friend, even more, a potential lover. he’s barely told you about his past, being vague about his family and himself, just alluding to certain things.

you know though. you know that he's had a difficult past, albeit never being told about it. but you understand, and he's grateful.

“is it okay for me to stay by your side?”

your eyes widen slightly, turning over to where scaramouche sits, but ,then, the loud noises of crackles interrupt. in the reflection of scaramouche’s eyes you see brilliant lights, flaring into the sky. they’re like giant, sparkling flowers that bloom in the air, lasting only a few seconds, and quickly being replaced by new surges of color.

you look over again and the wonder and curiosity that fills scaramouche’s eyes as he watches the fireworks has your heart drumming in your chest.

“i only want you,” you say without a thought and this time scaramouche’s eyes widen, “i’ve never regretted meeting you. and i never will.”

your whispered words makes him feel as if something is stirring inside of him, it feels as if his heart is aching, but that would be impossible.

again, the heartless scaramouche feels overwhelmed with feelings and he feels the tears trying to burst through the seams. for a second he thinks again about his birth and how these feelings are worthless, that they are the sole reason why his mother had rejected him.

then he feels your hand take his and the gentle way in which you pull him into your arms. you rub his back and whisper, “it’s okay. i'm here for you. i'll always be here for you kuni. you can let yourself feel, it’s okay.”

because you already know.

you’re a common villager in tararasuna, and you already know of scaramouche’s origin. you’ve heard the rumors circulating the town. that the almighty shogun had created a doll, one that resembled the shogun so similarly with fair skin, long indigo hair, and beauty so unimaginable that you couldn't fathom it. it wasn't hard to connect the dots, how your new friend was supposed to be the almighty shogun's puppet.

and although it’s quiet, you hear the gasp of inhale come out of scaramouche.

scaramouche has always felt like shielding himself from his feelings would compensate for the flood within him, but how can a person who is so humanly sensitive and constantly overflowing with emotions hold back for so long?

"thank you,” he whispers, and just like that he lets the tears fall.

his words are so simple and gentle. the state of his fragility in this moment is comparable to that of a wilting flower and you can't help but embrace him with all that you have.

it’s then that scaramouche, a meager vessel made to hold the gnosis of the almighty shogun, finally comes to the conclusion that he isn't as heartless as he thinks.

there are no words spoken between the two of you, just the sounds of fireworks crackling and chorus of crickets whistling through the night. and the moon that shines from above witnesses it all.

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