#takasugi reader

[lilac-5ky]

The Embodiment of a Dream, pt.2 (Takasugi x Courtesan Fem!Reader)

A/N: WELL, I said I'd finish this in February, but somehow it's April now?!?! Crazy, I know right .-. I'm so bad with deadlines, sue me or straight up murder me, I'll take either ;-; On another note, THIS AIN'T THE LAST PART OF THE FIC, there was a change in plans. The third part will be the final one, decided to break it into two pieces since I wanted the word count to stay in the 7k-8k words. Hoping this turned out good enough!

Plot: The continuation of the relationship between Takasugi and a Yoshiwara courtesan.

Warning: Similar to the first part, but this one actually includes smut.

Part 1

In the wake of Shinsuke’s injury, you found yourself running through the halls like a headless chicken, struggling your hardest to prevent an unprecedented situation from blowing up. The Shinsengumi were gone, but the hunt was far from over. If someone had seen him enter your room all bloodied up, someone who knew both his face and the name Takasugi Shinsuke put two and two together, then your heads wouldn’t be the only ones to roll. You sure didn’t hold the people of this house in high esteem, but you weren’t too keen on unnecessary bloodshed either.

Shinsuke’s coming occurred in secrecy, and a secret it shall remain until all conflict can be avoided.

Your first initiative was to weasel your way out of tonight’s workload. Fortunately, one look at your recolored kimono was enough to convince Boss to exempt you. Miscarriages were somewhat of a common trade feature, and judging by the sheer volume of red splattered across your skirt, yours must have been quite the excruciating one.

To say this was part of a bigger, elaborate plan would be a lie. But his false interpretation was most convenient when it came to limiting your quarter’s traffic and definitely earned you more time —three days off, to be precise— than any half-assed sniffling would.

He promised that a hearty dinner be delivered to your doorstep, and you graciously departed, leaving him to smoke through the contents of his hidden stash of Amanto-produced tobacco in peace.

You climbed the stairs back to your room, cradling your stomach and wincing in feigned anguish whenever one of the girls happened to pass you by. None offered help, and none dared make any inquiries. Under the guise of serving Yoshiwara’s much-treasured laws of privacy, they refused to admit their unwillingness to see past the ends of their noses. Not that you blamed them. You were all too familiar with the concept, and if it weren’t for a certain brooding patient confined within the four walls of your bedroom, then you could claim to abide by such rules yourself.

You caught Shinsuke sleeping a deep slumber, his breath quietly sizzling in his nostrils. The painkillers must have finally kicked in. Drowsiness was among the first side effects listed in the box’s endless list of instructions, though as far as you were concerned, the pills’ actual effect on him remained unknown.

What great irony, you sneered. To think that all this medicine that was once meant for you has now returned to him. Truly ironic.

Around him, torn pieces of cotton were sprinkled all over the floor like confetti; the kimono they composed no longer in existence. He wasn’t so provident as to carry extra dressings on him, and you weren’t about to go pharmacy scavenging in the middle of the night. And so, your precious customer’s precious gift ended in thin strips of amputated cranes and decomposing camellias, the first of which stared at you with an accusatory look that begged you to feel something other than the sickening delight you got from snipping them.

After successfully discarding them, you dragged your dresser upon that one stubborn bloodstain on the carpet, grimacing at every instance of shrill sound that threatened to wake him up, and once that was out of the way, you picked out a clean outfit and headed into the bathroom, finding him in the exact same spot you’d left him, with the only indication of his being alive that of his consistently sharp breathing.

There was little you could do at this point. All that was left was to participate in this dull game of wait-and-see until he could confirm his own condition himself.

But what if he didn’t wake up? What if it took him longer than three days to recover? What if he never woke up? Not after three days, not ever again?

Thoughts of equal concern festered in your mind all the while you watched after him, your fingers itching to drop the sewing kit and shake him awake. Unlike that time you’d mistook him for asleep, his current expression appeared thoroughly serene. His identically shut eyelids could very easily be home to a pair of identically green orbs, and as for his lips… his gaping lips were almost calling out to yours.

You sighed loudly and crossed the thread through another hole in his yukata. Without its owner wearing it, the fabric hung lifeless in your hands, creasing and crumpling at your needle’s disposal as you tended to each and every damaged butterfly wing. One would think these were a shogun’s or even an emperor’s garments, for such was your reverence, and yet the color of the patches regrettably turned out a shade too light.

Another sigh followed, joined by a deeper one that was certainly not yours.

“How are you feeling?”

His eye fluttered slowly enough to remind you of its singularity “Like I should be dead instead.”

“I’m glad you aren’t,” you grinned, feeling a weight dropping off your shoulders. “I’d hate to lose my favorite customer.”

“And here I thought you simply wanted to avoid getting jumped by a mob of samurai,” he said, his voice gruff from sleep. “So? Have you grown tired of playing nurse yet?”

“Not at all. If it pleases you, I can dress the part too.” You joked.

A dry chuckle scraped his throat. “Almost forgot we were in Yoshiwara.”

Securing the thread into a knot, you snapped the loose end with your teeth. The job was done, and while you wouldn’t call it as good as new, it seemed decent enough to carry him home— wherever that was.

“How about some water?” You proposed, but Shinsuke didn’t answer.

His interest was drawn past the window sill and the neon-light signs of the opposing building to the charcoal sky above. It was pitch black. No moon nor star dared peak beneath the clouds for fear of leading his pursuers back to him. All was shrouded in a veil of perfect stillness that fed into his gaze, creating a seemingly bottomless vortex at the center of his eye.

“Shinsuke…?”

As if an imaginary plug were pulled, the darkness began to dissipate, unclear whether it poured back out or further in. His shoulders rose up to his ears, although, no later than a second passed, a parched cough came to contradict his shrug.

You folded the yukata to the side and fetched him a flask of cold water. First, he groaned, and then his eye rolled in seeming disdain, but eventually his lips parted and let you tilt the sprout between, his hand forcing yours away once he’d had enough.

“You know, you try too hard to be insufferable.”

“And I’m not?” He smirked.

“Far from it,” you shook your head. “I happen to find your whims quite—”

Before you could finish your sentence, a knock against the door’s frame came to interrupt. Must be dinner, you instinctively thought and jumped up, motioning him to keep quiet, just in case.

Right outside the threshold, a tray that contained one steaming bowl of beef udon awaited, the rich aroma of its broth spiraling into your nostrils. Thick noodles, miso soup, shiitake mushrooms, freshly chopped scallions, and golden-brown sesame oil drizzled on top; the signature dish of the corner eatery. Boss didn’t kid when he dubbed this a “hearty dinner.” It almost pained you to part from it, but between the two of you, Shinsuke was the one who needed strength the most.

“Room service,” you declared, sliding through the door. “Please, quit being stubborn and have something to eat.”

He glanced your way apathetically, neither declining nor accepting your offer until a spoon was aimed at his mouth.

“That won’t be needed,” he propped himself onto his elbows.“I’d rather save myself some dignity.”

As he sat up, the sheets receded down his thighs, revealing a series of neatly wrapped dressings whose color gradiented to dark brown. Thank goodness, he must have stopped bleeding out.

You nodded in respect to his request and transferred the tray to his lap, watching each spoonful succeed over another and coughing loudly whenever your stomach dared act up. It felt so empty— your body, that was. Drool drained backward in your throat, your mouth gradually assuming the raw dryness of cotton. Was this the taste of abnegation, you mused.

Becoming aware of your indiscreet stare, he suggested that you split the noodles in half, but when he did, you found it much easier to ball your sleeve over your fist and wipe the corner of his mouth with a smile on yours, ushering him to eat more.

Soon, the bowl emptied and Shinsuke reclined back to his previous position, whilst you sat to his right like a watchful sentry. The minute his head hit the pillow, the light in his eye dimmed, suggesting his exhaustion. Again, he seemed so worn out, that your name barely echoed as a faint whisper past his sealed lips.

“Anything else you need?”

“Undress.” The clear spelling of the word left little room for interpretation. Still, your first instinct was to cower in your corner.

“Don’t get any weird ideas,” he smirked.“Even if I wanted to express my… profound gratitude, those pills you fed me would stand in the way.”

“Then—”

“I’ve already indebted myself borrowing your food and bedding. Least I can do is return one of the two,” he continued. “Take your clothes off, or keep them on, if that’s what suits you. Just come lie down beside me.”

Your eyes locked to affirm the certainty of his tone. He was dead serious about his intentions, though the prospect of sharing a bed was perhaps more tantalizing than he’d intended it to be. It gave reason for your heart to beat faster and for a certain familiar tingle to surge between your thighs, ushering you to acknowledge it— which you unwittingly did, as you shifted in your place and pressed your knees together.

Your habit of fidgeting with your clothes in stressful times resumed, except this once, your fingers were tugging at the obi to loosen it up, each layer uncoiling into a pile of huddled snakes for you to stomp on, as you rose to your feet and shed off your kimono. You had his attention. No, more than that, you had his eye entirely hooked on you, studying each curve of your body with unmistakable interest and fascination, as if it were an art piece for him to appraise. And when he looked at you like that, you realized just how much you longed to be seen.

A little smile stretched from the corners of your lips to his, as you circled around the futon and slipped beneath the covers. Even when he’d barely budged from bed, your side of the linen remained excruciatingly cold for your skin to handle. You tried shriveling in half, but in doing so you bumped your head against his arm. You spluttered an apology and turned the other way, only to conclude the position was equally discourteous.

And thus, you ended up with your arms crossed over your breasts, your conscience idly counting wooden tiles in the ceiling and praying that their numbers were great enough for you to doze off— they weren’t. They didn’t exceed the double digits, and when you finished counting each about five times, you understood that sleep was never an option. Not when you insisted on stealing furtive glances at him, one patch of skin at a time.

You didn’t have the chance to fully appreciate it earlier, but Gods, he looked even better without a darn thing on. His body was the perfect continuation of his beautiful face. Lean, but not actually scrawny. Toned, but not too brawny either. Arms that were tried in strenuous swordsmanship and delicate collarbones that framed his pecs. A thin sheen of sweat coated his abs to the point where you could see them. It made his skin subtly glisten in the dark, and it made you want to skim over him; first with your palms, and then with your lips— if he allowed.

The chilly air subdued to the kind of unsettling heat that had your breath hitching up your throat, restless exhales eventually shaping up into becoming his name.

“Why me?” At last, the question burned its fuse. “There are plenty of women in Yoshiwara— why me?”

“Because,” the sheets to your right rustled, “you were the only one not affiliated with some Bakufu dog.”

“Is that… all?”

“That’s the reason why I chose you,” he confirmed your disappointment, “but aren’t you more curious as to why I kept coming back?”

Your cheek tilted in a cushion of sudden warmth, his palm holding the weight of your gazes together. He leaned closer, so close that you could no longer see him, but feel him. The feathery touch of his purple strands over your forehead, the leftover tobacco essence in his breath, and the shared heartbeat as it pounded in your chests. He prevailed against all senses, common and uncommon, getting the better, if not the best, of you.

“Your eyes,” you heard him say, and popped them open. “A skilled courtesan knows to orchestrate the perfect lie with body, soul, and mind, and yet, your eyes refuse to coordinate. Your distaste, your distrust, and your hatred. The true colors you think the red lights hide,” the smile rang in his voice. “You really think those are hidden from me?”

The very object of his judgment must have betrayed your surprise, considering he was the one to answer his own question.

“Relax. I don’t see beyond what you choose to reveal.”

“And what do you see now?” A shaky voice asked.

“Myself.”

His next breath stole the oxygen from yours, with his lips deliberately ghosting over your jaw in a fleeting motion that escorted him back to his pillow. Was this seduction? If so, it felt an awful lot like frustration.

“This is the second time you question my skills.”

“Does it bother you?” Shinsuke asked. “In any case, what I’m questioning isn’t your skills as a courtesan, but your nature as one.”

“I wasn’t born into it,” you admitted, knitting your fingers over your stomach. “A prostitute, a terrorist, some…. ‘Bakufu dog.’ Nobody is born into nothing. We get assigned to these roles and are expected to play them up to the final round of applause. Some are just lucky enough to fit the part.”

“Turns out I was right, after all.”

“What do you mean?”

“Those who are interesting either have one screw too loose or have suffered a great deal.”

“And what makes you think I’ve suffered?”

You didn’t expect an answer—not truly, at least. And so, you skipped over to the next question, the one whose answer itched you the most to find. “Have you suffered a lot?”

“Kind of you to exempt me from the first category,” he jested, his light-hearted chuckle barely matching the solemn expression on his face. “Most would assume a man seeking to destroy the world is bat-shit crazy.”

“Because I’ve come to know a Shinsuke, most don’t. To tell you the truth, I…” you bit your lips into a straight line and rolled to face him. He was curious enough to return the gesture, his shoulders shifting in your direction as he balanced himself on his good side.

“I’ve seen you. Way before we were acquainted, I saw you walk those very same streets with people that accompany you no longer. You were admired, and you were praised, and you— I didn’t get the chance to see your face, back then, but I know you must’ve had at least one good reason to smile, didn’t you?

“I don’t mean to pry into your past, and I won’t ask what happened between the two versions of you. But the Shinsuke who brought a lowly courtesan medicine for her sickness; the Shinsuke who told me to live as a woman rather than a puppet; the Shinsuke who in the face of death sought my company instead of a doctor’s; the Shinsuke who gave me a reason to laugh, and sing, and a reason to get out of bed and to endure all the vileness of men, and taught me there’s kindness in the night— Those versions of you are far more precious to me than any war-general or world-class terrorist I could meet.

“And I don’t mean to repeat myself, but I’d like to ask a final time. Have you suffered on your way here? Has it been hard on you?”

A pained smile was all he could muster to reply.

You sighed for him, for the man he was and the man he’d become, and for the little girl whose face still gleamed in your memory between trawlers and rows of fishing poles in her father’s shed, free of tarnish. Someone had to mourn for those and the futures they’d lost, and seeing as he was there right now, you guessed he didn’t have anyone else to do that in his stead.

“If you keep at it, you might convince me that it’s real.” He quietly mumbled.

“Is it not?”

In no time, you’d crossed over to his side, your fingers palpitating between his neck and jawline. It was as if gravity pulled you down to him, a force of attraction so great that when your eyes settled on his lips, your tongue begged to tease them apart. And when they did part, all doubt and uncertainty were negated, for this was no matter of sentiment or intentions, but of bodies coming together.

His hands spanned from your shoulders to your waist and to your thighs below, the softness of your moan meeting with the hoarseness of his groan as wetness met with firmness. He was dragging you closer by any means possible, hips joining and then thrusting in futility of his clothed cock. You opened up for him, your knee coiling around his torso as your fingers slid across his stomach, reveling in how his muscles tightened and tensed up until they gave way to a violent jolt.

“Sh-Shinsuke-san!” You immediately unraveled, your eyes searching for signs of pain in his stiffened expression. “Are you okay?”

“I thought we moved past this.” His lips curled into a grimace as he followed your stare to his bandages. They were still intact, albeit slightly wrinkled. You lowered a hand over his wound and he gulped down hard, his shaky breath contradicting the “I’m fine” he was about to utter.

But when you pulled your fingers off and attempted to return to your pillow, he refused to separate from your waist and held you even tighter, pairing your chin with his shoulder and the small of your back with both his arms. You couldn’t object, or rather, you didn’t want to object. In his embrace, you felt so small that no reason seemed big enough to leave it.

“I couldn’t care less if it isn’t,” Shinsuke whispered, circling back to his previous question. “I don’t care if you are a Yoshiwara woman, and I don’t care how many men you’ve slept with or deceived either. From this moment onward, you can lie all you want. Lie and I’ll believe, because… you are mine.”

Before you knew it, tears began welling in your eyes for a reason you could hardly define. A woman who’d spend her entire life in possession of another, a woman whose body was hardly hers, to begin with, a woman that had nothing to her name— What could such a woman aspire to give? If all parts of you were bought out, what could he possibly hope to own?

However, his words had already seeped under your skin, traversing from one ear to the other, down your spine, and up your head again, as you hesitantly came to confirm his notion with the meekest of nods.

The last thing you made of that night was the shape of his lips against your skin, along with the oath that accompanied them: Even if no part of me belongs to me, whatever fragment of my heart remains is yours to keep. Because… I am yours.

He was gone the morning after.

And the morning after that.

And the morning after the morning after that.

You counted a total of 36 mornings where he didn’t give a single sign of life. Mornings that were succeeded by insufferable noons full of idle girl talk in the balcony, and evenings where the alcohol was nearly not enough to blur out the faces of those around you. But far more intolerable than hearing the same story about some silver-haired scoundrel trying to trade pachinko balls for cash, and pretending to find joy in the way some sleazy merchant plowed you on all four, was not knowing whether Shinsuke was alive or dead.

As much as you’d like to personally dig into it, snooping around when Shinsengumi’s investigation had just been put on hold was bound to turn all eyes on your back, and if he was to ever return, you didn’t want your lack of discretion to stand in the way. Yoshiwara was treacherous enough as it was. Besides, rumor had it that the cops’ failure in capturing a mere “phantom terrorist” forced the Commissioner to cut down on police funds, along with a few heads of his incompetent men. The latter part sounded mostly fictitious, though part of you did hope that the ill-mannered cop from the other day was among those headless corpses.

In any case, it was safe to assume neither Shinsuke nor his body had been found. Whether he’d made it back to his comrades in one piece or bled out in some dark alleyway, knowing he’d escaped their clutches gave you hope. And perhaps, it was hope that brought you to the aforementioned congregations, whose main gossip topic was your house’s love affairs.

It turned out that more than half of those money-depended relationships you previously mocked were built on a much deeper basis than one would imagine. Each girl had this one patron whose talk alone made their eyes shimmer. Some carried a strand of their hair around their pinky— a promise. Others scarcely held onto their correspondence beneath their undergarments until the paper thinned. One kept an entire box devoted to memorabilia of their beloved: a handkerchief they left behind, a jade ring that was their first gift, and pictures. Far too many pictures of them.

A few months back you would have sneered at their faces, but the longer you spent in their company, the more you began feeling some sort of kinship blossom between you. To have a preference escalate to something more, was a feeling you knew all too well.

It was inevitable that by the fifth time you attended their meetings, you’d be asked about your own affairs, and when that moment came, you chuckled politely and switched the topic back to the previous speaker’s flame. So far this tactic had worked 31 out of 31 times, and while neither side shared the information the other longed to hear —in your case, news about the one that got away,— listening to them read their letters out loud had given birth to a new idea.

Now, you weren’t proficient in literature by no means, and the only letters you’d ever exchanged were based on false attraction. But if you could somehow manage to get a letter delivered and answered, your mind would be put to rest.

Your first efforts were defined by a series of smudged-up writings of his name. “Shinsuke” felt too plain a salutation and “Shinsuke-san” was sure to earn you an earful. “Takasugi,” or “Takasugi-san” came off too formal, while “My beloved” was still a matter of contemplation. Eventually, you decided that “Dear Shinsuke” which your latest attempts featured, was the right amount of personal without sounding too pretentious or unnatural.

Once you’d gotten that down, your primary concern became the letter’s main body. What on earth would you write him? The letters of those girls were heavily dosed with words of eloquent sensibility that a mere “I miss you—I’m worried about you—Please come back” could never hope to compete with. Urgency aside, you didn’t want to come off as an illiterate idiot.

You tried your hardest, crumpling one ball of paper after the other and then cringing equally as hard at what came to be the final product among an abundance of discarded drafts that littered the floor.

Dear Shinsuke,

How strange it is to have written numerous letters for my pen to only tremble now. Ink does sentiment little justice, and yet my entire heart’s contents are summed in that first salutation. Dear’s what I’ve come to call you, for dear’s what you are to me.

And so I call you dear again, twice and then thrice, while watching the sunrise. I used to hate all dawns that led to our nights’ demise, but now each dawn brings me new hope. Hope that you’re safe and in good health, for I dare not imagine you unwell. They say patience is a virtue, but how many more suns need to rise before I become virtuous? How many hollow moons until my longing settles?

The ways to express my desire are as plentiful as the stars written in the skies, and I fear, that for as long as you evade my arms’ embrace they’ll insist to multiply.

Nevertheless, I must draw the line here and convey one final thought. I’ve been pondering on words you’ve said, and have concluded that a dream’s end lies between its fulfillment and the waking of its host. Because a dream completed is no different than a goal achieved, and a dreamer’s awakening shutters all that could have been.

Am I dreaming, my dear Shinsuke? Or will my dream begin when we’re no longer apart? If I’m asleep, don’t wake me up, but if I’m awake, please hurry back.

Faithfully yours,

Your improper courtesan.

You must have folded and unfolded that last piece of paper at least a dozen times, sighing at each interval in between. This is so embarrassing, you ruminated, forehead against the table, and hands thrown over the edge in indication of surrender. An entire day went by and this was the best you could come up with. How very embarrassing; words you must have said out loud for you got an actual response.

“Didn’t know Yoshiwara women were capable of embarrassment.” The voice of a man cooed in your ear, its tone so gentle that if you hadn’t been scared out of your wits, you would have leaned back to relish it.

However, the only thing you managed was to flinch in such rapidness that caused the ink bottle to fly straight into his palm. Wide-eyed, you traced the fingers back to their owner, well aware of whom they belonged to. He looked good. He always did, but what set him apart from the last time you saw him was the significant lack of bandages. Even his damaged eye was left bare on a rare occurrence.

“You’re back!” You gasped.

“I am,” Shinsuke nodded. “Although, I can’t say I remember this place looking like a pigsty.”

You glanced around in horror at what the place you used to call your “room” had become. There were more pages on the floor than there would’ve been if you’d shredded an entire collection of encyclopedias.

“How long have you been standing there?” You asked as you attempted to sweep the papers into one big pile away from his legs.

“Long enough to realize the cause of your embarrassment.” His eye wandered toward your makeshift desk and settled on the letter upon it.

Your arms urged to cover the words from his sight, but unfortunately, he was too fast for your own good.

“This isn’t-”

“A love letter?” He smirked, waving it in the air to unfold it.

“Meant for you!” You protested.

“It has my name on.” His forefinger pointed where the title should be.

“It’s nothing important-”

“If it wasn’t, then why waste all this paper?”

“Please,” you tugged at his yukata. “don’t.”

He lowered the letter for your eyes to meet— his narrowed green orb rotating a full circle. Perhaps it was your pleading tone, or maybe the pup-like stare you were giving him. No matter the cause, he was merciful enough to fold the letter inside his yukata and take a seat beside you, his interest soon drawn by the empty bottle of sake on the table’s corner.

Normally, a girl would’ve brought a refill before a guest arrived, but as fast as you were concerned your night wasn’t booked in advance.

“Should I bring you something to drink?” You tried to change the subject.

“No need,” he shrugged, shifting the bottle between his fingers.

“Have you eaten…?”

“I have.”

Was this his way of keeping a grudge, you wondered, spotting the creased paper corner that peaked from his chest.

“Aren’t you going to read that?”

He let go of the bottle at once, head tilting in your direction. “I don’t see why I should when you don’t want me to.”

“Then why are you keeping it?”

Your question brought forth a smile to his features— one that could be considered equal parts smug as it was coy.

“To commemorate the first love letter I receive,” Shinsuke answered.

“I find it hard to believe no one’s ever written you one before,” you said, adding a second part to your sentence in case he found the first too insolent. “You seem the kind of man who receives lots of letters, is all.”

“None I wasn’t allowed to read,” he retorted. “For that, I consider yours the first.”

Allow is a heavy word, you wished to object, though he wasn’t quite wrong either.

“How are you?” You asked in a cowardly voice and then repeated again.“That’s what the letter says. ‘How are you? I’m fine.’”

“Is that all?” he chuckled. “You wrote me a letter to ask how I’m doing?”

“…And I miss you,” you sighed. “‘I miss you, I’m worried about you, please come back alive.’”

The tone of your complexion was reflected on his cheeks, as an inconspicuous red hue spread upon them. You bet he didn’t blush too often, or else he’d know to hide it. Even his smile seemed mellower than before, lacking the usual cunning sharpness.

“You talk more like a courtesan now.”

“Isn’t it time I acted like one, too?” Your hand moved on top of his own and brought it to your lips, unlocking each of his fingers with a kiss. “I want you.”

He cupped your face in his palm and dragged his thumb over your bottom lip, eyes glinting at what was about to come. “Was this also in the letter?”

“No,” you smiled. “I wanted to say this in person. I want you-”

And suddenly, you understood what being his entailed, for your lips belonged to him, along with your tongue, your breath, and all you had to give. It was all his. The neck his eager palm steadied, the silky hair his fingers carefully untangled, the soft thighs straddling him, and the visceral sounds your mouths exchanged. It was all his to take. Every part of you that once was, no longer were. Only a fervent urge left burning in its place, augmented with every little jab across your velvet skin.

His lips withdrew to your neck, arms tightening around your waist for your chest to rise up against him. You tried to untie your obi, but Shinsuke acted first, sliding your kimono well past your cleavage and attaching himself to your breasts— one at a time. His wet tongue rolled around your nipples, sucking them into hardness, while his eye focused solely on your expressions.

You bit your agape mouth shut, gulping the heaviest of breathings down as his hand crossed between your legs to find the spot that begged for him the most. He circled his thumb over your clit in a way that was awfully similar to how he’d held your lips. He moved it languidly and continuously, again and then all over again until a needy moan was coaxed. And when that happened, he kept on going, ignoring the strain in his fundoshi, and persisting until his face was squeezed between your heaving breasts. He remained kissing them and kissing you down from your high, the final of his tender kisses landing upon your fiery cheeks.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

For a minute, you failed to register what he meant, though when you did, neither had the chance at a chuckle as you fell back onto each other. Insatiable fingers freed him from his obi, exposing his body to your touch. He laid back against his elbows, a hint of surprise widening his eye as you planted your lips on his chest and licked your way around his nipples. You sucked one of them in, gently pinching the other with your thumb and forefinger. Does it feel good, you meant to ask, but seeing as his head arched backward, it was safe to assume he savored this no less than you did.

Your mouth drifted to his stomach, hands pushing the fabric aside only to stop at the first of a series of mismatched patches. He could’ve gotten himself a new yukata, and yet he wore the one you’d fixed him with equal pride.

Fawning over the notion, you didn’t notice him turn the tables on you, just like he didn’t notice his knee nudging the table down, the ink bottle he’d tried so hard to salvage cracking into a pool of ebony black across the tatami your head laid upon. He brushed all hair off your face and stared at you for a good while, his gaze almost pious. You wondered what he thought of— if he thought about anything at all, and what he saw— if he saw anything worth seeing in that impressionable face of yours, though soon, you grew too preoccupied with his actions to care about his thoughts.

He claimed your hand and pushed it above your head, locking his fingers together with yours. His arm felt heavy; not as heavy as his hips and certainly not as heavy as the bundle of nerves in the pit of your stomach, but still, heavy enough to restrain you. It was time. Your knees bent back to your stomach, allowing him to align with your entrance. And when he pushed himself in, gods, he was still looking deep within your eyes, at the soul, you doubted existed. He watched it darken and twist in pleasure that you shared, and if someone asked what he did so differently from all others, you wouldn’t dare to voice that four-letter word at loud.

The difference was never in his thrusts or the way he kissed, so full of ecstasy and life. The difference lay in how he made everything burn brighter and blur murkier at the same time, in how he was capable of anchoring you, as he was in making you soar. Because the answer and the question were both him and if that imaginary, indiscreet stranger pried for more, you’d decided to name this your first time, too.

“If someone walked in right now, they wouldn’t be able to tell the courtesan and the guest apart.”

“If someone walked in right now, they’d be lucky if a courtesan and a guest were all they saw.”

One’s words accompanied a dull trail of smoke and the other’s a vibrant melody, with the first pouring out your lips and the second from his fingers. One sat with their knees apart, and the other lay on their back. One was naked from the waist up, and the other completely bare. One focused on the other, and the other focused on their song, both sharing the same complacent smile on their lips.

“You seem awfully fond of my pipe,” said Shinsuke, strumming one string after the other, while you drew short and frequent puffs.

“My father had a kiseru just like this one,” you exhaled, shifting the pipe between your knuckles. “He loved himself a good smoke after dinner. Called it ‘the last instance of affordable freedom in this shit world.’ Ma’ had different ideas. To put it short, she hated it. Opened all windows and fanned the smoke out as if the house was on fire.

“I remember how, once, sis stole the kiseru from his jacket and we took a puff each, not fully grasping what it was. It was horrible, that’s what it was,” a chuckle broke through your words. “But not as horrible as Mother’s shrieks when she found us puking our guts out on the kitchen floor. She’d made us swear we’d never touch tobacco again, and we took the oath without second-guessing.”

“And here you are breaking it,” he sneered.

“Madam’s the same way,” you went past his interruption. “She hates it when Boss smokes and nags him every chance she gets, even though she was the one who taught us how to handle it, should a guest ask us to indulge. One of the many must-knows of the job,” you explained, closing your fingers over the pipe’s neck. “You’re right. I really am fond of this. Maybe because it’s yours. Maybe because it tastes like you.”

His lips curved into a slight smile, his eye never stirring away from the instrument on his lap. “Keep it. I have no grand memories to back my habit up.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Take it,” he insisted. “See it as an addition to your stories, or just something to remember me by.”

“You talk as if you won’t be coming back…”

“‘Increased chances of sudden death’ and ‘low life expectancy’ are both in the job description,” he shrugged. “Who knows when my time to kick the bucket will come? We might not get a chance at goodbye then”

“That’s not fair,” you said in a quiet voice full of complaint, gaze lowering along with the music’s tempo. “Haven’t enough died already?” Haven’t I lost enough already? “Why should you die too?” Why should I lose you too?

“You aren’t wrong. Certainly, more than enough have died to incriminate the Bakufu, but not quite as many shoguns have perished to atone for that sin. I intend to force a draw on the scale. Ten shoguns for each of my fallen soldiers, until no man’s left to step in the ringleader’s shoes. That should be enough to justify their sacrifice, don’t you think? As for me,” his smile turned into a sinister grin while saying those words. “I don’t wish to die in a world where the last instance of affordable freedom is tobacco.”

The lump in your throat began to dissipate with your settling back against the pillow. You knew better than to trust a single word that came out of your guests’ mouths, but his determination convinced you to accept the pipe with a clear conscience.

The music resumed —not that it’d ever stopped—, a tune sweeter than those you were used to. With your chin balanced on your elbow, you found yourself humming in accordance with the notes, nodding along to the mellifluous rhythm he composed.

“This sounds nice,” you smiled once you had his attention. “What is it?”

“Who knows?” He humored you, knowingly triggering your favorite pastime of lyrical guesswork.

“Hmm, it’s soft— like affection, but,” you leaned closer “the way each chord lingers well before giving way to another, is almost like seduction.”

“Are you, now?” He rasped, fingers hesitating to pick the next harmony. “Seduced?”

You stole a playful peck from his lips as an answer, his eye barely given enough time to close.

“Who knows?” you mumbled, his mouth quick to welcome yours with ease. How many kisses had you shared to reach this point of familiarity; a fleeting thought crossed your mind. How many kisses did it take for this to feel like the most natural and right thing in the world?

Even as you straddled his lap, Shinsuke still held onto the shamisen, its tuning pegs sharply digging into your flesh. If this turned anything like the previous night —or the one before— did, he’d soon shove it in the corner and pick you up instead. He’d trail the entirety of your skin, from your neck down to your thighs, peppering little purple love bites wherever he saw fit. He’d throw your knees over his shoulders and he’d drink you up, his tongue prying where his eye couldn’t, and once he was sated, he’d lace your bodies together and pace slowly— slowly enough for your hips to melt together while he’d again be kissing your lips.

You knew exactly how it’d go, for you’d learned his preferences by heart, and yet your excitement refused to fizzle out. You shoved the instrument away from his reach, implementing an abrupt and rather rude ending to his concert. His hands slithered behind your back and firmly hugged your bum. It hadn’t been too long since he had his release, though you could very well feel the extent of his impatience.

“I can’t get enough of you,” one of you said, their voice obscured by the not-so-distant knocking on the door.

Cursing under your breath about how one of these days you’d have to rip it into paper shreds, you stumbled outside, your head peaking first over your naked body, in case you had company. All seemed clear, except for the unannounced visitor that awaited at your feet; a large rectangular wooden box.

“I see it finally arrived,” Shinsuke observed once you brought it to his sight. “About time.”

“Is it an explosive device of some sort?” you joked, lightly shaking the box.

“No,” he smirked. “Only a token of my gratitude. Go on, open it.”

A thin layer of wrapping paper covered what was a dark purple fabric. Silk, you realized as you ran your fingers across its length. A kimono, judging by the lighter-colored cuffs. An exquisite kimono, you added, its elegant pattern of pine, bamboo, and plum trees in gold taking you by surprise. An exquisite kimono in his colors, you concluded, comparing it to the yukata he donned.

“This…” you began, though your stupefied expression seemed to have spoken on its own.

“Save it,” he shook his head. “This is just compensation for your ruined dress and your hospitality. Was supposed to arrive weeks ago, but now that it’s here… turn around.”

He pulled the kimono out of the paper and you did as told, setting the box aside. You felt him get closer, his hot breath tingling your nape as the cold sensation of silk spread over your shoulders. His hands flattened it over your curves, sliding down your waist and hips, and then reaching to your front to fix the hem in place. You couldn’t tell if he was doing it on purpose, but when his knuckles ghosted over your nipples, you knew his objective involved more than dressing you up.

“Out of all the men to have stepped in here,” you said as he fished out a yellow obi from the box’s depths “you are the first to dress me rather than undress me.”

At first, he didn’t respond. He proceeded to wrap the obi around you, and once it was securely tied, his voice cooed in your ear “Since when were the two mutually exclusive?”

Your gaze met his briefly, as his lips fell on your own and his hands hiked up your dress. Two fingers slipped within your walls, massaging your insides gently while you brought each other to your knees, his palm carefully sinking your head onto the floor. Your heart beat louder than his voice telling you how well it suited you, though you didn’t need to hear it. His touch said all you need to know, sturdy hips lazily bucking against your own.

“Sh-Shinsuke?” you managed, removing his hand from your body. A darkened green orb peered at you curiously, lust not quite shaken from his stare.

“Have you ever been in love?” you regretted asking as soon as you did.

His curiosity turned into something else, something he can’t explain, just like he can’t give an answer to your question. He almost looked offended and you almost apologized, but then he hushed you with a heady kiss that had your head spinning.

“How does this feel?” he asked, well aware of the effect he had on you.

“G—good,” you panted.

He nodded, carefully dragging his open mouth along your jawline and neck where a second, far more fleeting kiss landed exactly where your breasts began.

“How does this feel?” he asked again.

“Good,” you answered, again with the same elementary term you used before.

His winsome smile hid underneath purple layers of hair, as he lowered his head down between your legs and spread them apart. He trailed a path from one thigh to the other, his lips not once closing to cover his warm breath. His fingers dug at your skin while he pulled you closer, the tip of his nose rubbing against your swollen clit that ached for him to touch it. But before he had the chance to either make contact or ask the final of his questions, you moaned the same word you did before.

It feels good. So, so, so damn good.

“Then,” Shinsuke climbed back up, “let’s call this love.”

[ziinesso]

Impatient. His lips betrayed an intense desire as they reached out for the gentle touch of yours.

"Kiss me."

Instead of responding to this request, you pulled back slightly. You created a distance, a deliberate pause. You needed to hear those three crucial words. Your heart needed him to chase away your doubts.

"Tell me you love me."

A mischievous smile played on his lips. A smile that hinted at the forthcoming response. A smile that prolonged your agony. His eyes sparkled with a mischievous gleam as he allowed himself a caress. His thumb brushing against your lips, he gazed at you.

"Do you want me to tell you how much I love you? How your mere sight fills me with joy? How much I cherish your greeting in the morning and bless your caresses at night?"

His hand slid to rest around your neck.

"Oh, sweetheart, if that's what you want, I can promise you my love as many times as it satisfies you," He offered. He brushed his lips against yours, demanding with a whisper, "But in return, I need you to kiss me. Kiss me, Y/N. Again and again. Kiss me until our souls become one."

- geto, nanami (jjk) ; madara (nt) ; wakasa (tr) ; corazon, mihawk (op) ; takasugi (gt)

[pfpanimes]

⌕ HAPPY B-DAY TAKASUGI!

like or reblog if you save/use.

[thithesandofferings]

The church is in agreement

∆Fandoms Presented: FF7. One Piece. Gintama. DBZ. Black Clover. Kengan.

∆ A/N: I will add fics if it suits me. The Masterlist is in progress! Dates will be added later!

::18+MDNI::: Dark themes ahead. Links will be in the title . Please be patient for October!

 FF7

-           “And We All Fall Down” Neibelheim!Sepiroth x Reader: He’s cocky enough that he thinks he needs a prize for his glorious, fiery achievement. And he has chosen you, a local villager, as such prize. It only makes sense if he fucks you on the ground he’s burned. Tags: Public Themes, Top!Seph Bottom!Reader, Dub-con, Dirty Talk, Knife play- uh sword play?, Choking, Capturing the flag- so to speak.

One Piece

-          “Stretched Thin” Luffy x Reader: Luffy is known to be one of the happiest guys on earth. He gets along with practically everyone. He just doesn’t understand why you don’t like him. You’re nothing anyways. Just a little nerd that’s going to do the whole project while he goes and fucks around with his friends. Though you are…pretty cute- for a nerd. Tags: Bully!Luffy, Nerd!Reader, Public themes- yes the library lol. Luffy is actually mean and we like it. Choking, Spitting, Degradation, Manhandling, Strength Kink

Bleach

-          “Strength Training” Ichigo x Reader x White Ichigo: Ichigo is known to be a little brass, but still very controlled. But sometimes, he just wants to let loose, he wants to see how far he can really go. Ichigo doesn’t know is own strength, but he’s very excited to experiment on you. Tags: Overstimulation, Rough Sex, Biting, Marking, Overall Possessiveness, Mating Press, Hollow..sex?

-          “Heads up Baby” Urahara x Reader: You’ve spent months picking out the perfect sperm donor for you, even consulting your trusted doctor, Dr. Urahara, all about how excited you are for the experience. What you’re not expecting is for him to take an interest in you…and your future child. Tags: Slight stalker themes, public themes, degradation, dubcon themes, kinda insane urahara…. “Just the tip”, Breeding Kink.

-           “Force Fed” Ulquiorra x Reader: You may be trapped, but its uncouth of you not to eat your food. So if you don’t want to eat, then Ulquiorra will find something to force down your throat, whether you like it or not. Tags: Throat fucking, Captivity, Degradation, Dom!Ulquiorra, Tying up, Dub-con.

Gintama

-          “The enemy of my enemy is my friend” Gintoki x Reader x Takasugi Shinsuke: ���The only way we’ll get rid of this feud is if we fuck her to see whos better” When Gin decides to bring you to his rivals property- you don’t expect that its you who’ll be the middle man. It doesn’t seem like its your choice either. Tags: Threesome, Dub con, Daddy Kink, Master Kink, Overstimulation, Dirty talk, Fuck you until you pass out, Somno themes because they keep going. Aftercare.

-          “My Mirror Staring Back At Me” Okita Sougo x Reader: It’s your birthday today, but that’s only because he told you. But he’s going to prove how much he loves you and appreciates your birth first thing. Tags: Stockholm Syndrome, Mirror Sex, Manipulative Sougo, Yandere Themes, Breeding kink. Master Kink, Collar, Dub Con themes.

Black Clover

-          “Oh Captain My Captain” Yami x Reader x Nacht: Being in between the Captain and the Vice Captain of the Black Bulls is not how you’d thought initiation would go. You think that maybe using your power would get you into the group but they seem only concerned with using your body. Tags: Threesome, Using your body as payment, Possessiveness, Spit-roasting, Oral M!Recieving. Nacht talks about killing you if you don’t comply. Demon sex- nacht.

Kengan

-          “Wanna Bet?” Ohma x Reader x Raian: You make a bet with both of them that they wont be able to win a tournament, had you thought smarter- you probably would’ve kept your mouth shut. Tags: Demon? Shapeshifting? Marking, Possessiveness, Strength Kink- more on their side because they like throwing you around. Blood play, just general nasty stuff

Dragon Ball

"Oh baby no..." Vegeta x Goku x Gohan x Trunks x Broly x Raditz x Reader: Mafia AU where your boyfriend who you thought loved and adored you, has run away and put all blame on you for crimes you didnt commit. When you wake up chained, drugged, and a little abused...how will you convince the men standing around you that you didnt do anything. Tags: Gangbang, Slapping, Creampie, Double- Triple penetration, Anal sex, Blow jobs, Choking, Praise, Aphrodisiac.

[sugisyakult]

A Date With Shinsuke

A/N: this is my very first fic, so please go easy on me! thank you to @lilac-5ky for helping me with some ideas and for giving me your honest opinion! i don't really have anything else to say except the lack of shinsuke fics is criminal!!

The warm air floating in through the window let you know it was a spring morning and you woke up to the lapping of the waves against the Kiheitai ship. You knew you were in Edo, for one reason or another. Probably so the infamous Takasugi Shinsuke could have a meeting with some high ranking official about supporting your cause. The Takasugi Shinsuke just so also happened to be your boyfriend. Although, what he meant to you could never fit that word. 

You wish the man would take a break from his hellbent ideas on revenge and just take a relaxing day to do something fun. 

When you awoke you already knew Shinsuke would be gone. He was always gone in the mornings because he was such an early riser, instilled in him from his Shoka Sonjuku days. You were the only one who he entrusted his past to and how he felt about his late mentor, Yoshida Shouyou.

You slowly made your way out of bed to get ready and find Shinsuke. He was probably still in a meeting with the other Kiheitai members, so there was no rush. You put on your favorite kimono that he bought you for your first birthday spent together. It was red with golden cherry blossoms cascading down it. Shinsuke always told you that you looked good in red and he would never admit it to anyone else, but when you wore the color it drove him wild. You pinned half of your hair back with a hairpin that he also bought for you and put your black boots on.

Making your way out into the main hall of the ship, you ran into Bansai leaving the meeting.

“Hey Bansai, where’s Shinsuke?” 

“Looking over some papers, I daresay.” 

“Of course he is. Thanks!”

Bansai waved you off as you made your way to Shinsuke’s room. 

You opened the door and immediately made your way over to where he was sitting at his desk. Wrapping your arms around him from behind, you whispered in his ear, “There’s my hard worker.” 

Shinsuke was used to your little antics so he just rolled his eyes, a little smile creeping onto his face. 

“There’s my lovely, yet bothersome Y/N.”

“Hey! I’m not bothersome, you just work too much.” You retorted back at him. 

He just hummed in return, not once looking up from his papers. Although, maybe it was better that way because then he wouldn’t see the look on your face currently. Shinsuke always told you, you had this certain look on your face when you were getting ready to ask a question, but were ultimately scared to. 

You needed a little bit of time to steel yourself before asking him if he wanted to attend Hanami that night — celebrating the beginning of the cherry tree season below a sky of vivid pink; who wouldn’t want that? But looking at the man in front of you, you already had your answer. You very well couldn’t ask Shinsuke if he was looking right at you, so it was better this way. 

“Soooo.. I was thinking…” 

“Lets see, you’re wearing your favorite kimono that I bought you for your birthday and it has cherry blossoms on it. It also happens to be the start of spring, which also happens to be the time when the cherry blossom trees are in bloom. I’m assuming this is your way of asking me if we can attend Hanami?” 

Damn, Shinsuke knew you way too well for your liking sometimes. 

Before he could start spouting off the many reasons as to why he couldn’t go or shouldn’t go, you cut him off.

“I know, I know. What if the people see you? What if the Shinsengumi find you? I get it, I do. But, I want you to have fun and take a break! We never go out anymore and I miss that. We’ll be careful. Please.” 

Shinsuke heaves out a sigh and turns around in his chair to face you, your puppy dog eyes and pouted lip at the ready. As soon as he took you in, he let out a little laugh. 

“I hate how you think giving me that look will work every time, but..” He drags his hands down his face in exhaustion.

“Buuuuut?”

“But it does.”

“So.. we’re going then?” Hope sparkles in your eyes as you sit down beside him on the floor, head resting comfortably on his lap. 

With a smirk on his face and his green eye boring into you from above, “I guess I don’t have a choice.”

The cool night air of the spring season bats against your bare legs as you walk along the streets of Edo, with Shinsuke following close beside you. He donned a sedge hat and a plain haori over his otherwise noticeable yukata. The streets are aligned with multiple vendors selling their wares, string lights hung, and of course the cherry blossoms in full bloom. Groups of people shuffle by the two of you as you make your way smoothly through the bustle. Each vendor pulls you in with something that you find interesting. The many smells of different foods floods your senses as you go from vendor to vendor. 

Shinsuke stops beside you at a vendor, his breath fanning against your neck as he whispers, “You had to pick the most popular Hanami spot, didn’t you?” 

“It was close by, and that way, if we need to make a run for it, we’re not far from the ship.” 

He sighs in agitation as someone accidentally bumps into him. You can clearly see his annoyance and let out a little giggle. 

“Shinsuke… its fine, I promise. Just take a deep breath and try to enjoy yourself.”

“Enjoy myself? I am a wanted terrorist, you know?” 

You turn away from him with a small smile on your face to receive the food and drinks that you ordered for the two of you. Struggling to hold both of your items, he gives in and helps you carry them. Walking side by side again you make your way through the crowd to find a spot to sit underneath the cherry blossoms. You find a secluded spot away from most of the other people and sit down underneath the shade. 

Shinsuke stops a few feet away from you, “I’ll be right back.” 

You look up at him with worry and curiousness in your eyes. 

“Is everything okay?”

“I just remembered something that I forgot about.” 

You side eye him as he starts to make the trek back to the vendors. What could he possibly be doing? He wouldn’t just leave you here by yourself to enjoy the cherry blossoms because he is afraid of getting caught, would he? Of course he wouldn’t and you knew better than that! Shinsuke is not the type to do that and he always longs to be by your side, the way you always long to be beside his. So what exactly was he doing? All you could do was wait for him to come back. 

The food you bought for yourself is nothing but trash now. Fireflies lazily flit around your vision as you stare aimlessly into the distance still waiting for Shinsuke to make his return. Its only been fifteen minutes at most, but it feels like an eternity. Your hazy vision slips over couples sharing loving whispers and soft smiles. Being alone makes your mind start to wander and you start to think about what it would be like if Shinsuke wasn’t a wanted terrorist. What it would be like if you two were just another normal couple able to bask in the daylight without potentially getting thrown in jail. Without having to hide in back alleys and making runs for it. 

Your ears perk up at one of the sickeningly loving couples making their loud laughter known. You start to think about the very first time you’ve ever heard Shinsuke genuinely laugh like that and softly smile. The way his right eye squeezed shut, crinkles forming in the crease, his pure white teeth showing, cheeks flushed with a bright shade of pink. Your earlier thought of being a normal couple fades when you realize that you don’t want or need anyone but Shinsuke. That’s enough for you. He’s enough for you. You wouldn’t trade all of the close calls that you’ve faced together for anything in the world. 

Light footsteps are picked up by your hearing and you know its Shinsuke. A warm, loving smile stretches your lips wide as you know his every move, every sound. 

“Welcome back.” 

A faint blush is detectable and he grows somewhat shy. 

“Sorry I took so long, I didn’t anticipate it.” 

Sitting down gently beside you, its obvious that he is hiding something behind his back. He takes a quick sip of the sake thats sitting precariously on the ground. Face still flushed he pushes a small black box towards you, “Here.”

“W-what’s this?” Eyes widening in semi shock, you poise your fingers to take the top off. 

The lid being fully removed, you find whatever is in the box is carefully protected inside of pretty pink tissue paper. Cherry blossom pink. Fingers move nimbly to reach the contents hidden inside. Out of the corner of your eye, Shinsuke eyes you albeit anxiously. The soft pads of your fingers reach a beautifully crafted kanzashi and you let out a soft gasp. The color is a light red, bordering on pink. Gently removing it from the box and holding it delicately in your hands, you realize there is a string of cherry blossoms hanging from a golden pin. There are golden accents throughout the kanzashi, from the pin down to the string that holds the cherry blossom flowers together. You can’t stop staring at the absolutely exquisite gift in your hands. Looking over at Shinsuke in awe and wonder, you try to speak a coherent sentence.

“Sh-Shinsuke… this is so beautiful! What.. why…?” 

You’re so flustered and touched by the gift that droplets of water form in the corners of your eyes. 

Shinsuke scoots closer and gently leans into you, a loving smile on his soft lips.

“I wanted you to remember this night. I wanted to get you something that you’d have to cherish from this night forever.” 

Your eyes shoot up to look into his green orb, “Oh…you didn’t.. you didn’t have to, really.” 

He shrugs in amusement, “I wanted to.” He tries to hide the soft shade of pink that starts to grace his cheeks as he looks away from you, taking the kanzashi out of your hands and whispers, “turn around.” You do as you’re told, turning around with a smile as you feel Shinsuke’s fingers nimbly fix the kanzashi in your hair. Taking your face gently in his hands and putting a finger under your chin to tilt your head up to look at him, he smiles.

“Beautiful…”

The chill spring air of the night helps cool your heated cheeks down. Hands fumbling for his own, you move closer to him and he places a piece of your hair behind your ear. 

You gather yourself and take a deep sigh, “I truly don’t know what to say.. I love it!” 

Shinsuke continues to gently play with your hair while staring into your eyes.

“You don’t have to say anything.” 

Shinsuke has almost never been one for public displays of affection, so you’re a bit taken aback when he passionately kisses you in front of the people gathered near you. You doubt they’re paying much attention, but your cheeks flame up just the same; the way his soft lips caress yours, your tongues dancing together. You can hear his breathing get heavier as he places his hand on your cheek to pull you in closer.

Breaking away, having a goofy smile on your face, “You kissed me..”

Shinsuke rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Yes.”

“In public!”

“Don’t go making a big deal out of it because its not going to be an all the time thing.” 

You fling your arms around his neck as you give him a warm embrace. Placing your lips beside his ear you whisper softly, “Its okay, I like keeping our intimate moments between the two of us, anyway… it makes them more special.” You place a quick peck on his cheek before leaning back to look at him. 

“I love you.”

Shinsuke doesn’t return it but you don’t need to hear him say it to know he feels the same about you. His actions make that clear enough as he smiles at you and pulls you into his side. His arms snake around your waist as he rests his chin gently atop your head.

“Happy Hanami..” Shinsuke whispers just loud enough for you to hear him as you both watch the cherry blossoms fall and welcome in spring and it’s new beginnings. 

A/N: i hope you guys liked it! let me know what you think! okay, i’m a little embarrassed now so i’m dipping, bye!

credit for dividers: @benkeibear

[doki-doki-imagines]

Hi, hope you're doing well. May I please request some angst headcanons for takasugi where he likes the reader but is too shy and embarrassed to admit it? Gintoki, katsura and everyone else can see that takasugi and reader has a thing for each other and teases him about it but takasugi gets super embarrassed and says smth like "who would even like someone like her?" . the reader hears him saying that and feels really bad and takasugi feels really bad and confesses? sorry if this is too confusing. have a great day!

Set just before the war

-Your mutual crush was evident to everyone, but thankfully Gintoki was too lazy to bother you and Katsura too formal to tease you.

-Shinsuke wasn’t as lucky as you. Gintoki teased him relentlessly “your strikes got so weak, too busy thinking of them, lover boy?” wood sword crushed on Gintoki’s head. Katsura coming up with the most absurd plans. Shinsuke thinks that retiring as a monk on a mountain doesn’t sound so bad.

-You interact as much as before, someone has to take care of his wounds, but it doesn’t mean they are painful to watch; you have become Gintoki’s fave cringe show.

-It’s all blushing and stuttering and Shinsuke looking at your lips, you at his green eyes, but nothing ever happens.

-It is during a stressful week that Shinsuke explodes after the umpteenth time Gin teases him.

"Who would even like someone like her?" Silence in the room, only broken by a sigh.

You are around the corner and Shinsuke feels his heart drop and his throat closed.

-You can’t even move, while Shinsuke’s feet are fast and run to you.

“I didn’t mean it, I swear-“

“Takasugi, you don’t have to lie to me, sorry if I bothered you-“

“Don’t!” He holds your arms “say something like that. It’s you never were and never are a bother to me.” He huffs, the air moving some of his purple hair out of his face “I actually like you” he looks at you straight in the eyes “it’s only those dumbass fault if I lied.”

“Real”

“True” his childhood friend answered from the other side of the room.

“Please forgive me, and let me take you out.”

-Your heart thrums crazily in your chest, tears fall down but with a whole other meaning.

“I’d gladly go out with you Takasugi.”

A smile graces his beautiful face, a spark in his deep green eyes.

“Call me Shinsuke from now on.”

[ginsakatoki]

hello! could you write headcanons for takasugi who's in love with a female samurai who happens to be katsura's little sister ? (she also loves him)

hope your blog will be successful :)

Thank you so much! Sorry for being late, I’ve been a bit busy. This request was adorable but I’m afraid I might have shifted my focus on “protective brother” Katsura instead than Takasugi’s feelings. I also apologize, this isn’t my best work. Writing Takasugi is extremely difficult. Anyway, hope you enjoy :)

When you told your brother Katsura that you wanted to become a samurai he was outraged. Not really because you’re a woman but because he wanted to protect you. You’re one of the most important people in his life and his only family left so, obviously, he didn’t want you to get hurt. 

He had to change his mind when he saw how stubbornly dedicated you were and at the end of the day he couldn’t help but admit that you were a better samurai than many others, both for your sword skills and moral code. 

You met the other members of the Joui 4 when you were fighting the Amanto and Gintoki and Sakamoto mistook you for Katsura.

"Oi Zura, on your left!" warned Gintoki “That’s not like you Zura, since when are you this distracted?” said Sakamoto with his obnoxious laugh.

You can imagine their surprise when Katsura popped out of nowhere to slash some Amanto that were going to attack them.

Sakamoto and Gintoki stared at the two of you like lost puppies.

Oi, Kintoki. Why are there two Zuras?

You obviously waited until the end of the fight to explain them that you were his sister and not some twisted clone. That’s when you met Takasugi. He heard all the ruckus and approached his group of misfit friends to understand what was going on.

He was very surprised to learn that you were Katsura’s sister. While you two looked similar, your personalities seemed very different: you were calmer and more serious than Katsura and weren’t nearly as chaotic as he could be. 

You bonded over being the quiet ones in a group of loud people.

You were always together, even in battle. It was like you two were in your own world covering each other’s back like a twisted dance of blood and ashes. 

That didn’t mean that you didn’t get along with the other Joui, you were actually everyone’s little sister.

If the first time you met Gintoki and Sakamoto they mistook you for Katsura, with time they started mistaking your brother for you which caused some pretty funny misunderstandings.

Y/N on your back!

I’m not Y/N, I’m Katsura! 

One time, however, they went to tease you about your crush for Takasugi (they might look stupid, but they can be surprisingly sharp when they want to)   only to find out they were speaking with Katsura.

Well, well Y/N-chan… where is your beloved Takasugi?

Yeah, when are you going to confess your undying eternal love for him?

Katsura had no idea you had those kind of feelings for his comrade so when he found out, he freaked out. Bad. How could he not understand it sooner? 

For a long time, he started following you and Takasugi around to see if what his friends said was true. 

It was. 

He noticed the way you looked at Takasugi but, also, the way he looked at you. Katsura knew Takasugi was a cold man, ruthless even, yet he couldn’t deny that the man cared about you. He noticed that his brother in arms’ eyes weren’t as sharp and menacing when he was around you, that he was unusually gentle and caring.

He tortured himself for a while, unsure what to do, until one day he couldn’t do it anymore So, much to your displeasure and embarassment, he acted.

Takasugi! I will not tolerate this anymore. You cannot see my sister anymore unless you take her as a bride. You have no idea how painful it is to see you two pine for each other like this, I want grandkids!

Katsura… You’re my brother not my father, you can’t have grandkids from me.

Then I want to be an aunt or an uncle!

At that very moment you didn’t know whether you wanted to kill your brother or yourself, but when Takasugi replied you were quite happy he spoke up.

I think I’ll hold you to that, Katsura.

[joelletwo]

"i know i have to face him sooner or later" takasugi to gintoki is THE falsest he would not fucking say that on the planet tho. its takasugi if u dont understand that takasugi has to intentionally build up his hunger for fighting gintoki again which he couldve done at any point by doing so much evil shit that gintoki (also building up his hunger for fighting takasugi which he couldve done at literally any point in his coup d'etat career) (doesn't give a shit abt politics) (isnt doing this to protect anything) has to come hunt him down personally (takasugi hunts him down) in the stupidest most destructive (edo) (themselves) (each other) foreplay in the universe (utsuro and umibozu didnt do foreplay)

[goldenlaquer]

How about s/o has been trying to convince him to stop his plans but they took a hit for Takasugi! The injury is severe but it's not fatal! As much as they disagree with him, they still love him dearly. He had trouble staying calm because he already lost his teacher so he doesn't want to lose them too! After they recovered, he promised to abort his plans & be with them! Sorry for making it cliche though XD What do you think about it?

I think that this hits the spot— thank you for responding to the call for angst prompt!

Takasugi Shinsuke Headcanons:

The truth that Takasugi knows: He has no one by his side. There is nothing left to love, Shouyou is gone. Gintoki killed him. Shouyou is gone, and so, the world is ending. The world is ending, and he will make sure of it. Nothing matters. Katsura is gone. Sakamoto is gone. And so is Gintoki. They are gone, they left him. He is alone. There is no one by his side. He is by no one's side. Shouyou's gone. There is nothing left to love, there is no one to love. Not even you. Especially not you.

And so, the world must end.

You don't understand him, this, that burning need in him, the terrible thirst; no matter how many times he had wrapped his hand around your throat and squeezed, you just don't understand. You don't understand that he is not by your side. You share his food, his drink, his conversation, his bed. You think you share his heart, but when in reality, that is impossible. You won't understand, you refuse to believe, that you are not by his side, that you won’t eventually leave him. But neither is Bansai. Nor Matako. Nor Henpeita. None of them are actually by his side because he won't let them. He won't let you be there either.

You, who can still smile with your soul. You, who can still look straight at him in the right eye, and then the left socket, and still unwittingly call it beautiful, him beautiful, and mean it. You, who can still see the world as whole, all the good, and the bad— and still, still see it worth something salvaging. You, who has peered into his empty chest, and found something that isn't there— you looked at nothing and still, still found it worth saving.

You don't understand.

You are not stupid, but you are foolish. Foolish enough to follow a man who can't love you back. Foolish to try and convince him that he isn't alone. Foolish to fall in front of Gintoki's sword, arms protectively spread wide, like some badly written hero. Like Shouyou.

But this time, Gintoki is not killing anybody. He reels back with a heavy curse, jerking his sword, but red still erupts. Red blooms on the ground and on your clothes, on his. Red is the color of the world ending. And the world is ending, and he was the reason for it.

Fool, fool, fool.

"Fool," he hisses, hand trembling so bad he can't control it from grasping your soft cheek. Limp in his arms, you're crying. The bitter tears wetting his digging thumb. The way you're looking at him, the terrible crimson soaking your chest, the way you're saying I'm sorry, I'm okay, I'm okay— he realizes that the tears aren't coming from you. It's him.

Fool, fool, fool.

What the truth actually is: Shouyou is gone. Gintoki killed him. Katsura is gone. Sakamoto is gone. And so is Gintoki. They are gone, but they never left him. Shouyou is dead. But he never left him either. He is not alone. He was never alone. Everyone that matters is all there, right by his side. Everything matters. It always did, too much. Everyone is by his side, and he will be besides theirs. He loves them. And you, especially you.

(He tells you so. In that hospital bed. His forehead pressed against yours, his wrappings in the dust bin. All of him for all of you. A promise to last lifetimes.)

The world is not ending, it moves on. And so will he.

Takasugi is one foolish dude, Mr. Know-It-All.

[dont-touch-the-flower-child]

Okay, I saw people claiming that Katsura and Takasugi are too stubborn to ever reach an understanding with each other and I wanna call out that BS.

I'm 100% sure that Katsura is supposed to understand Takasugi and mend his bonds with him at the end of Gintama.

Katsura's entire character arc is about how he's willing to befriend and understand people on the opposing side. He believes that the country can be changed without violence, and that would involve changing the minds of those currently in charge—but Katsura believes it can be done. He believes in people who think differently coming to a consensus.

And this belief of Katsura's, this goal he sets for himself, is precisely spurred by his breakup with Takasugi over a difference in their ideologies. For Katsura's arc to come full circle, it should naturally find closure in him finally understanding where Takasugi is coming from.

Katsura laments, in Benizakura Arc, that his mission seems nigh impossible when he can't even change the mind of a friend (Takasugi). But it must be noted that Katsura has tried to change Takasugi before he even understands him. After many episodes of befriending his enemies, Katsura is supposed to come away with better knowledge of how understanding works—and his final goal is supposed to be reconciling his differences with his own friend.

And before anyone tells me that Katsura is too strong or too firm to ever agree with the path Takasugi took—I'm telling you that's BS as well. Takasugi is not built any differently from the other people Katsura comes across. Katsura doesn't even necessarily need to agree with Takasugi—he just needs to understand him. Katsura is not stronger for failing his own objective, and if Katsura allows his own flaws get in the way of doing what's right to him, it would be his failure as a samurai.

[lilac-5ky]

The Embodiment of a Dream, pt.1 (Takasugi x Courtesan Fem!Reader)

A/N: Not me starting a new multi-part fic amidst another one and a pile of unwritten requests. But I've had this idea for a long while and the only reason it's multi-part is that I needed two parts to finish it. So, without any further ado, here's the first part, hope you'll enjoy it!

Plot: Struggling between the identity of the Kiheitai commander and his own, Takasugi starts visiting a Yoshiwara courtesan, hoping to find meaning, himself, and perhaps a bond that can't be bought.

Warning: First part doesn't include smut, but NSFW mentions are there. Also, mentions of blood, alcohol, and profanity? Idk what to warn against lmao just read and see for yourselves.

Part 2

(he's so soft and precious when he smiles i love him more than anything)

The first time you saw him, he was dressed in a long imposing coat with golden accents, an olive-green vest, and a white headband whose edges flew at every gust of wind. His expression hardened and stiff, the sole unreadable among his impressionable peers. A war general, the girls said, watching him and his company parade down the streets. And that was all they did. Fawn over his prideful posture and the sublime features of a face they hadn’t quite perceived, with the keen interest of a predator and the cowardice of a prey.

One would think that Yoshiwara was sated with beauty, and yet a pretty face rarely went unnoticed (especially when the vast majority of visitors consisted of middle-aged men with receding hairlines). But to you, all was fair game. A client was a client, and a wad of cash was a wad of cash, and for as long as you received the latter, you had no real preference for the former.

Unwilling to drown in the excessive drool that littered the second-floor balcony, you feigned an excuse regarding the stuffiness of the atmosphere and the suddenness of a client’s arrival and absented yourself to your room, the much-debated stranger soon fading from memory.

The second time you saw him came unexpectedly. The frigid man in the bright purple yukata and the contrasting haori who’d booked your company for an entire night was, unequivocally, him. An older version of him who had maintained his solemn expression and taste in golden hues and headpieces, if one considered the bandages over his left eye as such.

You didn’t speak a word of your one-sided acquaintance and led him to your quarters like you would with any other ordinary customer. Except he was unlike any other ordinary customer you had the honor of entertaining.

He was quiet. Skeptical. Withdrawn. He sat beside you and didn’t say a thing for hours. Didn’t even drink the drinks you served or give you more than a look’s attention as if this was his way of avenging your initial indifference. Perhaps that’s where he drew amusement from.

Mute stillness reigned in the room until the early rays of sunlight broke through the half-shut blinds, forcibly concluding your time together. He tossed in a few extra coins, thanked you, and left.

You’d kept company with more men than you could count, yet never in that sense. Some were cordial enough to engage in small talk and queries about your life. Others had no qualms about groping your breasts and forcing your legs open the minute you let them in. No matter how different each night began, it always ended in rustled sheets and a noticeable stain somewhere between your thighs. Such was the life of a Yoshiwara woman, and such was their sense of company.

But not his. He took pride in being the exception to that rule.

His visits were typically on nights when the moon shone brightest and the incoming tide of guests was great enough to conceal his traces. He ignored the various offers from rival houses and charged straight into yours, paying a steep price to the lady in command, who greedily seized the cash and sent him up to your room with a sardonic smile and a near-devilish “Have a good time!”

You pitied him, not because he was lacking in any way, but because he didn’t seem to be from these places. Because, if he were, then he certainly wouldn’t have spent a fortune on someone lesser than an oiran. And yet, in spite of his obliviousness, the man was determined to ask for one service, and one service only: a night with you. No distractions, no questions asked. Just you.

There was a time when you’d fallen sick during one of his visits. A vile flu had kept you (and many other girls) in bed for a week straight, leaving you so weak that you could barely move past the threshold to receive your meals. And with your days numbered and a regrettable lack of fulfillment plaguing you harder than the sickness itself, a rumor went around about a striking young man who’d turned down the house’s single most desirable girl in favor of a certain bedridden average-looking courtesan.

And while you thought this was the very end of your pitiful existence, you found spite in you to carry on and live a day longer, thinking you now owed him not only for his unfaltering loyalty but for putting that overconfident witch in her place. You got better, and no later than a day after color had returned to your cheeks, he too did, with a bag full of medicine in hand. Cough syrups, painkillers, and flavored antipyretics; everything a sick person could dream of asking for was in that bag.

Leaving you to figure out their purpose on your own, he reclined against the closest wall and indulged in his kiseru’s delight, his eye eventually falling shut. You took the chance and scooted closer, your intention to express your gratitude forsaken the second you looked at him. A well-defined jawline and a nicely curved nose. Lips that frowned and brows that furrowed even in his sleep. Soft skin, high cheekbones, and of course purple strands curtaining his signature bandages.

Whatever insight or intuition those girls on the balcony thought they had was wrong. Sublime was too small a word to describe him. His beauty was transcendent, and as much as you’d like to pretend otherwise, you physically couldn’t. Your fingers were already in his hair, gently parting it in half to reveal more of his face.

He was the first man who hadn’t made any advances whatsoever towards you, and that made you all the more ardent to touch him, though, as luck would have it, you came to realize that he was never asleep. Instead, he was staring at you in a baleful kind of way that would frighten even the gods, forcing you to jolt away and tumble on your knees.

“Are you feeling any better?”

Given your state, his question felt at best out of place and at worst a mockery. Your kimono’s layers were crumpled and your cheeks were burning with embarrassment. If you could dig a hole to escape his stare, you most definitely would, but then again, that wasn’t what he asked.

You answered him with a reluctant nod, which he acknowledged with a seemingly relieved sigh, and when he went back to his previous plane of tranquility, you knew better than to disturb him again. You waited out the dawn until harrowing shadows began to scatter across the paper-thin walls, and until he’d risen to his feet, his kiseru packed inside his yukata and his haori draped over his shoulders.

“My name is Y/N!” You declared.

His grip froze around the doorknob as he slowly turned around and did the one thing you’d never seen him do before.

“I know that.” He smiled.

“I— of course you do.” You replied stupefied. “But I wanted to properly introduce myself. You’ve spent a lot of money on me, and this,” you lifted the bag, “is a kindness I’ll never forget. Thank you!”

“Shinsuke.”

“What?”

“Isn’t this what you wanted to know?” He smirked. “I’m Shinsuke.”

You brought your hands down your thighs and bowed your head. “Thank you, Shinsuke-sama.”

“No need for formalities. Just Shinsuke is fine.”

“But you are a client! I could never-”

“You use honorifics for all men you sleep with?”

His comment stung as badly as that one time you’d pricked your pinky with a needle. Bad enough for you to whimper, though not badly enough to justify your reaction.

“No need to answer.” He shrugged. “After all, I’ll be seeing that for myself. Goodnight.”

“Good…night.”

A month went by without any of Shinsuke’s challenging visits, and even though your confidence still carried bruises, you found yourself hoping against an untimely termination of your relationship. He was a fascinating individual. A difficult man whose brooding demeanor, intractable attitude, and lack of subtlety worked to his advantage, underlining a well-disguised kindness. At least that was the image your brief encounters painted, up to the moment of his reappearance.

He stood outside the door as an inky silhouette, with his unlit kiseru dangling from his teeth and a wide sedge hat that barely fit through. You helped strip him off his outwear and accompanied him to the table, where freshly served alcohol awaited; sake of exquisite quality from Tosa, and two empty cups he wasted no time filling, before downing his share in one go.

You didn’t expect him to be a great drinker, or, really, a drinker at all. Not when he’d been this adamant on maintaining sobriety during the entire of your acquaintance. But once he brought the cup to his lips a second time without so much as wincing, you realized plenty was left untold between you.

“Are you gonna keep staring at me?”

Your chin nearly avalanched from your palm all the way to your elbow. A mistake this elementary was inexcusable for a courtesan more than halfway through her contract.

Unlike other, more profitable houses, yours had three simple rules to uphold: no looking unless you are looked first, for some clients are irritable and prefer to be in charge of the seduction. No drinking unless you are asked first, for one should be sober enough to perform their duty with poise. And finally, no forming personal attachments, for your job is to sell love, not fall prey to it.

So far, you’ve broken only one of those rules.

“Apologies, Shinsuke-san.” You averted your gaze to the floor.

“Better.” He commented, sliding one of the cups in your direction.

“I’m okay.” You shook your head, though the choice was already made on your account. “Thank you.”

The warmth of the chilled alcohol poured down your throat, and with it, much-needed liquid courage seeped inside your veins.

“You wanted to drink and yet,” Shinsuke pointed as he treated you to another shot, “you had none until I offered.”

“It’s impolite.” You said.

“Says who?” He asked.

“The rules”

“And who made the rules?”

“Lady did.”

“And where is that old hag now?”

You bit your tongue and that was all the answer he needed to corner you.

“Don’t bring up such lame excuses again. If you want something, ask for it, and if you don’t, deny it. I paid for a woman, not a puppet.”

“A courtesan’s life is more akin to that of a lifeless puppet than a woman,” you meant to object, though you couldn’t bring yourself to. This man looked you in the eye as if he meant his every word with utmost sincerity. As if to him, you really were a woman worth considering an equal, not one whose company he’d purchased with money, and for once, you found yourself eager to be worthy of the price.

“One more.” You gestured your cup and he obliged with an inconspicuous smirk.

“One more.”

Another rule broken.

The crescent moon waned past the murky clouds above, the bleakness of the skies identical to Yoshiwara’s once brazen hatch. Bustling were the streets to the uninterrupted traffic below, both newcomers and pleasure district connoisseurs moving side by side like a herd of mismatched sheep. And among the herd, the familiar presence of a man stood out, bringing about an indefinite end to your night’s dullness.

You rushed to your wardrobe’s mirror, ensuring that your garments —a dragonfly-patterned kimono of raspberry color and a lime-green obi tied to the front— were all in the right place, leaving only a fraction of your nape and ankles uncovered, before hurrying to the door.

A near-affable grin was plastered on his face from one ear to the other, making you wonder whether hell had frozen over, or something good had actually happened, a theory that confirmed itself as soon as he asked you to whip out the shamisen and entertain him. But when your fingers struck the first few chords of the song, his smile faded along with his amusement.

“Y/N.”

You raised your chin to face him, though there was no need. He was already beside you, dragging that shamisen away from your hands without even bothering to ask for permission. You didn’t mind. If anything, you were preoccupied with analyzing the brief imprint his fingers left upon yours.

What kind of occupation could a man with such delicate fingers have?

“In the right hands,” Shinsuke interrupted, “a shamisen can become an instrument of death.” He said, adjusting his grip over the instrument’s neck.

“Are you suggesting my playing could cause death?”

“On the contrary,” he smirked, “one should entrust you with neither music nor murder because you’d half-ass both.”

“That bad?”

He shook his head. “If you want your music to be worth listening to, then you should at least channel some emotion into it. A feeling, a memory, a thought, something.”

Slowly, he began strumming the strings in a seemingly unruly order, turning silence into sound, and sound into magic of the most captivating kind. This was sorrow, and this was regret, and this was a sonnet just as it was a requiem. A melody you’d never imagine a mere shamisen to produce.

“Remorse.” You concluded after he’d played the final note. “Your technique is masterful, but constricted. As if playing each chord to its full potential would break it.”

The corners of his mouth curved to a subtle smile that neither confirmed nor denied your suspicions.

“May I?” You asked.

Shinsuke dropped the instrument on your lap, while he sat back on his cushion and dragged his kiseru out of his yukata.

With one hand forming a loose grip around the shamisen’s neck, you plucked its strings with the bachi, trying your hardest to answer his tune with one of equal sentiment.

You drifted in your own memories, digging for a past where the sky was light blue instead of ebony black and the crystal waters of the ocean glimmered in the sunlight. Tiny boats stocked with fish sailed side by side, the fishermen calling out to the merchants to help unload the goods.

Somewhere between the crowd the faces of those you knew as family came to be, smiling and waving at you, as if they weren’t the faces of the parents who’d sold you off for less than wares, and as if the little sister you’d struggled to save hadn’t perished in the war with them.

And suddenly you realized you must have too been standing in the water, because you were rapidly sinking past neon lights and tea ceremonies, lovers who threw their greedy hands to have a piece of you, and envious women who wanted nothing more than to erase you. And you would have let yourself be erased, had it not been for the face of a man who listened to your song with compassion and intrigue, understanding all your tongue kept hidden.

“You are an interesting woman.” He mumbled, drawing his kiseru away. “Be it ‘hope in despair’, or ‘despair in hope’, you truly are interesting.”

“I’m humbled!” You bowed your head in acceptance of the compliment.

Rather than bringing the pipe back to his mouth, Shinsuke held it close to yours and ushered you to take a puff. You curled your lips around the tip, sucking the smoke in, and then twirled it around your tongue, secretly hoping that some of his taste was carried with. He watched you intently, his green eye refusing to look away even as he fell back to his seat.

Clouds of foggy smoke kept filling the room until he too became smoke that vanished.

“Only you are my heart’s master,” You beamed, nuzzling to the man’s arm while you walked him to the door.

Disgusting.

“Then what should I bring you from my travels? Some silk? Some gold? Perhaps some lace?” He asked, using your lacy undergarments as an excuse to grope your exposed skin.

Disgusting.

“Please, don’t!” You chuckled, not-so-jokingly pushing his hand off. “What will your wife say?”

“That old shrew doesn’t have half your charm, Y/N. She’d look no better than a bear in a bathing suit.” He sighed. “Come on, just one more for the road?” He awaited no answer before burying his head between your breasts and kissing them hard.

Disgusting.

“Please, stop, you’ll miss your boat!”

“You are so considerate of me.�� He pulled himself off you. “I’ll write you, Y/N.”

“Have a safe trip, master! I love you!” Your confession brought his lips to your cheek a final time, making you wish you’d never said that out loud.

Disgusting.

“You are the light of my life! Goodbye!” And with that, the door closed behind him.

Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting, dis-gus-ting!

Everything felt so damn dirty and disgusting that you wanted nothing more than to claw your way out of your own skin. Every man had the exact same desires. To be pampered and be pleased. To be convinced of affections you lacked, and to be affirmed that in this floating world a hint of realness was meant for them and them only.

But if they thought themselves this special, why did they all ask for the same things? Why did their touch feel identical and numb, and why was there no substance behind their hollow words? Why could they not be him?

Your fists balled around the loose layers of your kimono, viciously yanking them off your body until you were met with the bare reflection of a stranger in the mirror. Though that person had your hair and eyes, you couldn’t recognize it anymore. The little girl you knew to be you was long gone, giving way to this distraught young woman with smudged-up lipstick and mascara running down her face.

She reached into your closet and pulled out a silky robe with a pattern of red cranes on the back. It was a gift, you remembered once you saw her wrap it neatly around her waist. A gift from a client whose name you couldn’t recall, for a forgettable night, deleted from your memory. And while the woman appeared strikingly beautiful in it, all you thought about was how utterly filthy and repulsing the sight was.

Nothing in this room belonged to you. Not the fabrics, not the mirror, not even the reflection staring back at you. Everything served as a reminder of a dream that existed between the blurred lines of fiction and reality. A dream you could never wake up from, for that dream had become the very essence of your fragile existence.

You saw the woman leave and you had no choice other than to follow, taking step after step outside your room’s four walls and into the empty corridor that led to the house’s shared baths. Thankfully no other girl was around. Everyone was booked for the night and they shouldn’t be back any moment soon, sparing you from the intolerable idle chatter you despised.

You swapped your robe for a towel and quickly found all that was needed: a cloth, a stool, and a bucket that you filled up with fresh warm water. The woman was there too, her tired expression flickering between the swaying ripples of the bucket. You rolled the cloth between your fingers and dipped it in, thoroughly scrubbing your body inch by inch-especially the area of your thighs.

Hardly a trace of him remained, yet for as long as that woman’s complacent smile challenged you, the feeling of sheer disgust persisted with her. It wasn’t the man that was repulsive. It was her. The you that spewed pretty lies and batted her eyes in a horrifyingly coy way that had all convinced, but you.

You tossed the bucket as far away as possible, watching her idol evaporate into steam, reminiscent of his pipe’s smoke. Come think of it, he’d been an awful lot in your mind lately. You usually had no real opinion regarding your clientele, but there was no denying you’d grown fond of your time together.

Some nights you drank without exchanging a single word, and other nights you sat playing the shamisen in turns, each putting a name to the other’s undisclosed desires. You never touched, not once. But something in his eye was different than before. At times it was distinct sympathy, and at others, it was subtle ardor that made you wonder what it’d be like for him to act upon it.

Would his touch feel as indifferent? Would your fondness continue to grow even when there were no clothes left between? Would your moment of fleeting freedom last?

Whatever this strange feeling was, it was separate from disgust. In his presence, all was tolerable, and in his absence, nothing right. In his presence there was realness, and in his absence, where you thought was void, a nearly unnoticeable thud insisted on reminding you that dreams, too, have hearts.

Because that was the night you found out that even dreams are capable of having dreams and hoping in despair.

Three…Two…One…

Vibrant flowers of color blossomed across the skies. Grandiose roses, charming asters, and alluring spider lilies whose petals dissolved in brilliant rain of vivacious sparks. Chaotic cheers spilled everywhere around you, each balcony host to a different love story as ephemeral pecks sealed the ending of one year and the beginning of another.

New Year’s Eve in Yoshiwara was quite the event. Every house that respected itself -yours included- knew to toss extravagant parties rich in champagne and desire, the women flowing perhaps more freely than the glasses served. Only a few elite bidders afforded the fee of being there, and those who didn’t, or rather, those who wanted their darling’s embrace to be privy, followed them into the upper floor rooms for twice -if not thrice- the regular asking price.

No, the services provided were hardly any different, but the value of that first kiss of the year ended up skyrocketing as if the lips involved were made of pure gold, and naturally, no one raised objections to that. Not the clients, not the women who awaited them at home, and certainly not the girls who got extra coin out of their infatuation.

It was laughable, really, and perhaps you would have indulged in a chuckle if it weren’t for the man who kept you company.

You’d never spent more than two New Year’s Eves with the same man, and this time was no exception. Except, that it was the first time you got to spend it with someone whose presence alone didn’t nauseate you.

Admittedly you knew next to nothing about Shinsuke. His name and that excruciatingly handsome face of his were the only two things you were certain of, yet they were enough for you to question what a man like him was doing there. Did he not have a person more significant to him to share this night with? Could he not see the hypocrisy behind it all? Or could it be that his great wit was an excuse behind a bigger scheme?

And suddenly you expressed all these thoughts in a manner that was most insolent, with your eyes glued to this one revolting couple on the opposing building’s balcony that made your guts churn in revulsion.

“Why are you here?”

Shinsuke, who’d been twirling an empty champagne glass between his fingers, shot you a blank stare. “Am I unwelcome?”

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to express myself this poorly.” You apologized sincerely. After all, your wish wasn’t to target him but to find yourself an ally. “It’s just that,” you continued, “unlike the rest of our clients, you don’t seem interested in making the most of our services. Not to mention, you are more than capable of earning a proper woman’s affection without money.”

Fearing matters were unsalvageable, you turned your back on him, though if you hadn’t, then you would have seen that the expression on his face was one devoid of any true resentment and that the sly smirk he sported was product of a childish whim he chose to follow.

“Is this not part of your services?” Shinsuke asked as he enclosed your body in an audacious embrace, his one palm stopping right where your obi began, and the other seeking refuge upon your hip.

“It… is.”

“And do I still seem disinterested?” He breathed at your nape, each word teasing to leave a kiss on its stead.

“Of course n-not.”

“Tell me, Y/N. What makes a woman proper?”

“A woman that can bring you happiness and,” you gulped once you felt his lips near your ear, “and afford to be seen by your side without being pointed at.”

Your answer made him pull away.

“I can’t tell whether you think too highly of me or too lowly of yourself,” he sighed. “In any case, I’m not someone who can afford to be seen, with or without the proper woman you describe.”

“What does that mean?” You lifted your head enough to get a peek at his face. His eye keenly watched something on the horizon, likely that aforementioned display of affection.

“It means, I’m not as proper of a man myself.”

A pause let his words sink deeper within the hefty atmosphere. Even when the words “familiar strangers” could perfectly define your relationship, not once did you consider the possibility of Shinsuke being a man viler than those you despised. And even if the thought had crossed your mind, then you must have gotten rid of it at once, because you refused to believe that the one authentic person in your life was a fraud.

“Do you still wish to know what I’m doing here?”

You nodded almost instantly.

“I’m looking to test the limits of a dream. Does a dream end where another dream begins or is one created anew? Can a man named Shinsuke be just a man who pursues the company of an improper courtesan, and no more than that?”

Although the nature of his questions was highly rhetorical, he maintained enough silence for you to answer him. And when you did, your words referred to a life more akin to the one you’d lived and the troubles you’d faced, and in doing so you realized that perhaps the key to decoding this man was one you already possessed.

“The floating world sustains all sorts of dreams, Shinsuke-san. What’s a dream of exquisite beauty to some, can be a horrid nightmare to others. But for a dream to be defined and then refined, it needs to first be dreamt of by somebody else, or else it’s no more than an abstract, fleeting fantasy.

“The man you are in here is the man you are out there, as the sum of your thoughts, and actions, and even your own dreams, and the dreams of others. ‘A man who pursues the company of an improper courtesan’,” you repeated his words, “is that really the kind of man you wish to be, Shinsuke-san?”

“Not entirely, I’m afraid.” He said. “Right now, I wish to be the kind of man who makes the most of your services.”

His disarming smile had succeeded in its cause, both lowering your resistances and painting your cheeks with an alarming shade of feverish red.

“If that’s what you want, then you can go ahead.”You whispered.

“What about what you want?” He hummed in your ears. “What is it that you want me to do?”

You could think of many reasons to justify your next response. The champagne, the scenery, the sudden intimacy generated between you. Even the way that brunette had her tongue stuck down that flabby man’s throat for the past twenty minutes. But in the end, all those designated reasons were nothing more than excuses, aiming to debunk or simply downgrade the volume of your heart’s desires.

“I’d like you to kiss me.” You stated, looking into his one good eye. “No, I… I want to kiss you.”

And suddenly your lips collided, making it impossible to tell who’d been the one to initiate, for you were tilting your heads and sharing your breaths in such natural sync, that it felt as if this was a kiss shared countless times already. The smoke on his tongue and the restricted impatience, the hands that touched not where they were supposed to touch, but where they wanted to touch, and lastly the vague sentiment of those final fireworks that were extinguished in the night sky.

If Yoshiwara was deemed the floating world, then the voices you were hearing must belong to the most exalted angels of the skies, for you were soaring higher than the heavens themselves. Everything seemed brighter than it did a day, a week, a month, a lifetime ago. The boss’ soured face when you paid him last night’s fee was suddenly as sweet as anko. The girls’ dubious comments when you greeted them were as lyrical as poetry. Even bargaining with the local dressmaker over your patched kimono’s price was as pleasant as an exchange of pleasantries between old friends.

You were the happiest you’d ever been, and if Shinsuke was on your mind once before, he was now tenfold. Whenever you put your kimono together, the image of his reflection creeping up behind yours flashed within the mirror, prodding your body first with his eye and then with his lips, his hands working to untie and dishevel all you struggled to maintain. And whenever a man that wasn’t him showed up as a replacement, you endured it by picturing his touch and exaggerating the similarities, -such as the curves of their arms or the shared green in their eyes-, until you were convinced it’d always been him.

The further you delved into that kiss, the deeper you spiraled into the unknown territories of longing, your body experiencing something foreign to your heart. Even when you’d crossed lips with more men than you could count, none compared to a kiss of your own volition. It was your choice to kiss him, and given the chance, you’d kiss him again and again, until all others scattered like petals in the wind.

This is madness, you insisted on whispering through bashful smiles, your heart racing at a pace quicker than your legs. The sun had melted into a mellow pink before you, its final rays infiltrating the lonesome maple trees that flourished on each pavement while your shadow withdrew behind your shoulder. Soon it’d be nightfall.

Your bag bounced with each hurried step you took towards the house, the ever-increasing traffic forcing you to slow down. The streets were far busier than you’d left them, especially the ones that led to your destination. Colorful silken kimonos and achromatic cotton yukatas meddled together, the sandals of their wearers clicking in an unrhythmic song of wood and cork. Whispers filled in the instrumental as heads turned left and right, shooting curious glances at the nearby establishments.

Could an oiran procession take place this early, you asked yourself, but then again there seemed to be neither kamuro nor entourage of actual performers among the crowd. You closed in on them and tuned in for answers, quickly learning that an ounce’s worth of happiness in Yoshiwara was as ephemeral as a butterfly’s passing.

“Have you heard? Shinsengumi’s set off on a grand-scale manhunt!” A blonde in a company of three stated. Her back —in addition to the backs of her companions— was turned on you, withholding all details of her face, though judging by the lack of opulent accessories in her hairdo, she must have either been a tea house girl or a lower-ranked courtesan.

“…Rumor has it they are after a terrorist! One of those Kihentai guys!” A brown-haired woman picked up.

“Kiheitai, you moron!” The blonde retorted. “Those Takasugi goons Tsukuyo-sama warned us about.”

“Takasugi? As in the Takasugi Shinsuke?” The one in the middle asked with a shaky tone.

Takasugi… Shinsuke? your ears perked up at the name.

“Shh! Do you want them to call you in for questioning?” One of them hushed her. “Of course that Takasugi! He’s been seen loitering near these places lately.”

“Aww, you think terrorists get lonely too? I wonder what kind of woman a man like him fancies.”

“Careful, Hoshino!”

“Hm? Why should I?” The brunette, Hoshino, sneered. “Terrorist or not, I doubt a man resistant to my charms exists. Besides, if he’s pretty enough, I wouldn’t mind giving a special discount for him to,” her voice cut out, “my assets.”

Their crude commentary grew both cruder and fainter as the trio distanced themselves, solely their snide cackles persisting behind them. This… Takasugi they mentioned and the Shinsuke you knew. They couldn’t be the same, right? They weren’t, right?

Clenching the bag tight against your chest, you dragged your feet toward the entrance only for them to freeze right outside the threshold. A preview of that night began playing in your mind like a scene from a movie, the words that challenged the propriety of his character suddenly gaining a whole new meaning. He was a terrorist. A man who’d waged a war against the world. A man whose head alone weighed ten times the feeble sums he paid for your company. A terrorist.

No matter how many times you repeated the word, accepting it didn’t come any easier. Not because it was unreasonable so, but because you couldn’t accept that out of all the high and mighty men to have traversed your doorstep, the first man who hadn’t treated you as if you were a mere piece of meat for him to chew up and spit out was, as in matter of fact, a terrorist. What kind of sick cosmic joke was this? What kind of world dubbed a kind man a criminal?

“For the last time, our respectable business is no rebel lair, and under no circumstances will we give up our customers’ names! You can bring your Commissioner, the Shogun, or even Buddha himself, and the answer won’t change. Now leave, before you scare our clients away. Off to hell, you go!” The boss roared furiously as the door flew open, revealing two figures dressed in black from head to toe.

Shinsengumi, you gasped.

The first of the two —and consequently the one who’d opened the door— was a man of average stature with neck-length black hair and a rather forgettable face that did him no favor next to his partner’s taller physique and well-defined features. His sharp eyes held a wonderful shade of blue in them, capable of beguiling just about anyone willing to ignore the strictness behind them. Strictness akin to Shinsuke’s, you noted.

“Rowdy pimps.” The taller man cursed under his breath.

“Hijikata-san!” The shorter man nudged him, at last taking notice of your presence.

Coughing in his fist, the one you presumed to be Hijikata stepped out of the lobby and stood before you, his closed fingers revealing a tiny notebook and a slightly chewed pen. He reeked of tobacco and an odor you could have sworn belonged to a croquette sandwich, or more accurately, the condiment in it.

“Oi, miss,” he directed the pen at you, “you wouldn’t happen to have seen or heard any scum terrorists sauntering your quarters, would you?” He asked in a raspy voice.

“Pardon me.” You bowed. “Our house has no tolerance for criminals,” if the beginning of your sentence made him sulk in disappointment, then the incoming one was bound to deplete his patience, “other those your government produces.”

“You wench-”

“Hijikata-san, we should get going!” The unnamed man jumped in the middle, preventing him from lunging at you.

His azure-colored eyes burned with utter rage, digging holes in your skull even as he was quite literally dragged out of the way. His companion spelled a few meager apologies in his stead as they scrammed back into the crowd of people wondering what could have possibly gotten a high-ranking officer this agitated.

“Tax grabbing leaches.” You mumbled and entered the house.

Whether the Shinsengumi did the country any good or not, they remained one of the core bodies to secure and defend a government with less pride than that of a whore. They’d forsaken their honor and assumed fancy collars in exchange for getting to wave their swords at those who defied them. How’s that for public order?

Repulsive as their apathy was, you did your best to avoid them. However, there were times when you couldn’t help but wonder, what would have happened if they pointed their blades at the Bakufu and the Amanto instead. Perhaps then it wouldn’t have been all for nothing. The years spent in this hellhole. Your self-sacrifice. Her demise.

Cringing away from these painful thoughts, you made your way across the room, paying respect to the boss and the missus with a courteous bow of your head. Neither seemed overly eager to return the gesture. The woman was bent over her husband, continuously rubbing his shoulders in an attempt to soothe his frayed nerves, while he insisted to huff like a coal train. His ears had flared up in a comical shade of red that perfectly matched his flushed cheeks. Were you to stay a minute longer, and who knows, actual smoke could start coming out.

No one was fond of cops roaming Yoshiwara, let alone house owners whose business was disrupted by those pests.

You proceeded to the stairs, dreaming of the moment you’d be free to soak your feet in a basin full of warm water and rid yourself of today’s bitter aftertaste. To think minutes ago you were bouncing up and down in obliviousness— felt like a distant past.

“Took you long enough.” A somewhat familiar voice rang between the shadows of your unlit room, taking shape only after your fingers located the switch. “Thought I’d be a corpse before you made it back.”

“Sh-Shinsuke!” You dropped the honorifics along with your bag, nearly tripping over your own legs as you dashed to his side.

He’d dragged the table closer to the wall, balancing half his weight against the paper screen and half against his elbow. Blood stained his yukata all the way to its seams, the once glorious fabric torn into a rag of little value around his torso. There was no way of telling skin and fabric apart. All was red, and all was bleeding, your heart included.

And yet, he was smiling. A faint and effortless smile that could have been charming if it weren’t for the crimson drops streaming down the corners of his mouth.

“How,” you began saying, but you already knew. “Who,” but the answer was the same, and lastly, “Why,” but it was pointless to insist.

You shook your unfinished questions away and helped him find a grip around your neck, your hands then attempting to undo the knots of his obi. It was bad. Worse than you expected, and it was possible that your mediocre sewing skills wouldn’t cut it. He needed a doctor, a good one at that, but what kind of medical practitioner would put their life on the line for a terrorist’s life?

This was hopeless.

“Hold on,” your thumb pressed his fingers firmly against your shoulder, “I’ll take you to bed.”

Without raising objections, Shinsuke let himself be dragged to your futon. One by one, you peeled the garments off his body, leaving him in just his fundoshi and forcing him to lie on his back. A total of three gashes spanned from his abdomen to his outer thigh. Two were the result of a blade, while the last one could be traced back to a naginata or something of the sort.

“It’s not that bad.” You feigned a smile.

“It’s written all over your face how bad it is.” He tilted his head.

“I can fix it!” you said in an attempt to convince both him and yourself, though he didn’t seem to need guarantees. If anything, he was the only one composed, as if the matter didn’t concern him.

Briefly, you parted to scavenge through the room for your trusty sewing kit, finding it under a pile of fabric samples at the bottom of your closet and presenting it to him along with a near-empty bottle of sake. This was as far as proper medical equipment went.

You put the bottle beside him and fished out the sharpest needle you could find, one that was still blunt, though hopefully not overly blunt so as not to puncture his skin. The mere thought sent your lunch up your throat. You did not fare well with blood. Nevertheless, you picked the needle up and folded the edge of a white thread over its eye, slowly bringing the two together. You did that once, and then twice again, only to fail just as miserably. The needle refused to be threaded, and your fingers refused to quit squirming.

That is, until they did.

His hand scooped yours, the inside of his palm so soft that the way the needle’s end pricked your skin went unnoticed. You gazed up at him with eyes full of worry—worry that he mistook for fear—as his eye narrowed into a slit of green that averted in the opposite direction.

“You know.” He bitterly deduced.

“It doesn’t matter if I do. This changes nothing, I—”

“Then it’s not too late to give me up.” He continued as if he hadn’t heard you. “Won’t do your head any good if they find me in here.”

Your mouth popped open, your tongue struggling to put a sentence together. The courtesan in you thought it’d be best to stay clear of trouble, but the woman in you could only return his grip and pray he wouldn’t let go.

“A Yoshiwara woman doesn’t have much need for unnecessary thoughts.” Your voice made his head turn. “They’d be doing me a great service chopping it off.”

For what felt like an eternity, the two of you remained in agonizing silence that a wan chuckle came to interrupt. “A headless courtesan must be quite the sight,” he noted, “but for as long as your head is in its place, you have no right to be this stupid.”

“And you have no right to be this reckless,” you sighed, neglecting to add a filter to your words. “What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t.” He admitted. “I just didn’t intend for my men’s crude faces to be the last thing I see, and then next thing I knew, I was climbing up your window. Perhaps my aversion was that strong, or maybe the will to visit my improper courtesan one final time drowned all sense left in me. Who knows?”

“And you call me stupid.” An inconspicuous blush weakened the volume of your voice. “Nothing says you won’t die! The only experience I have with stitches comes from sewing dresses.”

He shrugged. “Alternatively, you can do nothing and let fate decide. Beats me.”

You set his hand down gently and continued your previous efforts as you pinched the needle between your fingers and successfully threaded it in one go. It didn’t matter what he said. You were going to save him, no matter what.

“Forgive me, but I have no intention of welcoming a horde of angry Joui rebels to my doorstep. If their faces are as horrid as you describe, then I’d much rather devote my attention to looking at your face instead.” You dipped the needle’s tip inside the sake to sanitize it. “Now hold still, this should sting.”

Shinsuke sat back against the futon, a complacent smile flickering underneath a pained expression he failed to hide. Any other ordinary man would be howling in agony, but not him. He didn’t budge in the slightest. He held still and refused to look away even as sake drenched his wounds and his skin was pierced by the cold needle’s edge.

“This calls for a larger tip.”

A/N: intercepting my own post to say that I hope to finish the rest sometime in February so I can resume my Bakufu fic and then actually commit myself to my requests. If anyone's wondering, yes, I still accept those, and ofc I read your messages and thank you all for your support!

[ziinesso]

He didn’t like the others. He didn’t care about them. Yet they were necessary. They needed to make a stop in your lives. Occasionaly, too often. To check his appeal. And then, shoo. Out of his sight. He needed affection, something tender now. He was charming, it had been confirmed. Now he wished to be vulnerable. He needed your kisses, to feel something deeper.

Fidelity is too strict of a term. Exclusive love suited him better. After all, you were the one he loved. The rest was just silly mistakes.

- shanks (op) ; gojo (jjk) ; hanma, ran (tr) ; takasugi (gt) ; hawks (bnha)

[sparks-joy-imagines]

Hi! Could you write about how Takasugi, Katsura and Sougo would confess their feelings to someone? Can be in a non direct way too just really curious to see how they’d express their love for someone.

hi anon, thanks for your request! (Sorry for not being active for a while!) -niob

Takasugi:

he is in denial that he has developed feelings for you for a while and then a while longer

he is neither good at articulating his feelings properly nor at showing them with gestures

he may try to tell you how he feels in a roundabout way or metaphor but ends up saying “you should know how I feel about you” half annoyed, half flustered if you don't get it

he’ll get annoyed if you still don't get what he means or if you persist on him saying it properly

sometimes the looks he gives you expose his feelings for you but you'll never see it because he only looks at you this way when you are busy with something else and pay him no mind

Katsura:

for some reason he is always close to you, pops up out of nowhere randomly and you never know where he comes from

he is always there when you need his help and always there to get on your nerves when you absolutely don’t need it

Katsura does not even know himself why he ends up around you so damn often

he does not show his feelings for you purposely but the signs are just obvious at some point

he takes interest in your hobbies, work, your favourite food and just everything related to you

Okita:

he is like a child, has no idea how to properly express his feelings, or maybe he does but his pride won’t let him

he annoys you to death, whenever he sees a chance to get on your nerves, or embarrass you (especially in public) he takes the chance without hesitation

unfortunately, he is not good at knowing when to stop, and he’ll reach the point where he does hurt your feelings and it makes him feel utterly sorry, but a genuine apology is also not something he can muster

after you seemed to have recovered from his bullying, he starts again

giving you a pretty collar with a matching leash and asking you to be his pet is the closest you’ll get to a confession

[thithesandofferings]

::Title:: “The enemy of my enemy is my friend”

::Pairing:: Gintoki x Reader x Takasugi Shinsuke:

::Synopsis::“The only way we’ll get rid of this feud is if we fuck her to see whos better” When Gin decides to bring you to his rivals property- you don’t expect that its you who’ll be the middle man. It doesn’t seem like its your choice either.

::Tags:: Threesome, Dub con, Daddy Kink, Master Kink, Overstimulation, Dirty talk, Fuck you until you pass out, Somno themes because they keep going. Aftercare

Kinktober Masterlist

"Arent you gonna show 'Master' how your mouth works?" You know that Gintoki is being a vindictive asshole. Especially since you seem to be enjoying yourself so much. He cant find it in him to be the least bit jealous, Takasugi (much as he hates to admit it), is the only he would ever trust with his precious baby. Gintoki also tries to feel like shit, because they've practically used you. Not only to make a bet and stop their rivalry, but come is gaping from every orifice of that pretty body...because theyve used you.

You're practically bone dead with how much they both have equally fucked you. Even down to the 'how many times can they make you come' schpill. But he has to prove a point, so when he grabs your fleshy hips and pulls you back unto his cock, you're barely gasping before Gintoki fucking himself into you. Such an smooth slide, especially when both his and takasugis come is making it so so easy. It makes his cock jerk at the thought of having his enemies come mixing inside with his and yours.

But you dont seem to be responding fast enough for Gintoki, having a hand crash down on your ass- quick and painful, gets your attention and has you whining "Daddy" so fast he almost comes. This isnt about him though, its about ruining takasugis life and making him wish he was Gintoki.

You're so pretty opening up for his long time friend. Doesnt help when takasugi holds you like youre made of glass before you mouth his cock with your tongue. Making sure his length is drenched before he brings your head down to swallow him whole. Takasugi would feel like less of a man if he was worried about you, but he knows you can take it- well you've taken it twice now. And he wants to see you full and sated with both their dicks. He's also trying not to look at Gintoki, he's a little wary that somehow- his enemy will see everything.

Like how much he likes this. Likes you. Doesnt mind the thought of sharing you with Gintoki, of eating out the residue that they left. Cleaning up the mess that he and Gintoki made. Hopes the other doesnt feel how his cock jumps when he moves Takasugi a certain way. manhandling him like he weighs nothing. Adores how you look up at him, grinning and proud when you take him all the way to the base. He knows he's in trouble, but takasugi thinks hes going to ride it out in the disguise of "being enemies".

[luv-gin]

𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆. sakata gintoki + takasugi shinsuke.

r. Hi! may I request for Gintoki (and if possible also Takasugi) making a flower crown with their fem. childhood friend? Thanks! ☺🌺

masterlist.

a/n : in honour of takasugi shinsuke (aka my other husband)’s bday! (it’s his bday still in my timezone)

you stare at the two frowning boys and smile to yourself "oh, come on." you grasp their arms in your hold and lead them outside of the dojo.

"hey, what are you doing?"

"leave me alone."

you ignore their remarks of resistance and continue pulling them until you stop under the shade of a large tree.

"you two need to learn how to get along," the two young boys stare at each other before scoffing and facing opposite directions.

"if you don't I'll get sad with the two of you." a pout forms on your lips and the boys find their eyes involuntarily checking on you.

"pfft, as if i care.” gintoki huffs as he picks his nose and you roll your eyes at him.

“fine. see if i care then, but don’t come crying to me when shoyou sensei scolds you two for fighting,”

“as if, besides he’s the one that cries not me.”

“you’re the once that complains the most, you perm-haired idiot.”

“wanna say that again, lousy rich boy?”

“and she left us.” takasugi turns to his right to find you already seated in side accompanied with the brains of the group.

“and she left us.” takasugi turns to his right to find you already seated in side accompanied with the brains of the group.

“and she left us.” takasugi turns to his right to find you already seated in side accompanied with the brains of the group.

“it’s your fault.” gintoki says with a slightly smug tone and takasugis face forms into one of utter disbelief.

“are you actually stupid? she left because you’re a condescending prick.” 

“take that back you piece of shi-”

“just what are you doing, my adorable students?” the eye-smile given to them by their beloved teacher sent shivers down their spines as they froze mid spot once he caught them in the act.

“nothing sensei.” 

“you two getting along now, aren’t you?” they gulp as they quickly place their arms around each others shoulders and give him quick thumbs up along with the fakest smile they could muster as cold sweat formed on their foreheads.

“good, keep it up.” and he left after ruffling their hairs.

“that was close.” gintoki exhaled in relief once the two jumped away from each other in a manner that alluded to the thought that one of them may have been infected with something dangerous and entirely contagious.

the two subconsciously averted their eyes to gaze at a laughing you with a flustered zura and felt frowns form on their faces.

“wanna spar?”

“sure.”

it was the next day and you had still yet to interact with shinsuke and gintoki, and as much as they would hate to admit it out loud, they missed your bubbly energy that was directed towards them along with your affection and attention.

“[name],” you look up to see shinsuke towering over your seated figure and you give him an uninterested hum.

“i’ll put up with the idiot for your sake.” he whispers and you look up at him with stars in yours eyes “really?”

“yes, you’re not that bad to be around and i don’t want you to be mad at me because of the perm-head.”

your little moment of admiration was soon cut short when gintokis voice made itself heard “what are you doing here.”

takasugi kept quiet for your sake as he said he would but you could see the irk mark form on his forehead.

“shut up, gin.” you quiet the boy in an instant as you raise a reprimanding finger at him and start wagging it “you’re not 5 years old so stop acting like you are and get along for the sake of everyone, the bickering gets old.”

gintoki raises an eyebrow at you and takasugi merely smirks from behind you “fine. i’ll be civil.” he eventually agrees with a roll of his eyes.

“good, now come with me,” you drag them with you to the tree once again and force them to sit down.

“now stay seated and don’t fight until i come back.” the two sit with their backs to the trunk of the tree, arms crossed and eyes closed as they enjoy the peace of nature that they’ve yet to fully experience due to their consistent arguments.

“okay, i’m back!” you announce taking a seat in between them and they stare at the object place on your lap.

“what are you doing?” you shush the two as you hand them a few flowers each “pluck out the big leaves and then give them back to me.”

the two boys gave you weird looks but complied nonetheless and the three of you quickly fell into a routine.

after a bit of adjusting here and there, you were finally done creating 2 flower crowns.

“here you go.” you placed each of them on their heads without much protest due to their shocked and flustered states.

“you know, you actually suit these flowers if only you’d keep your mouths shut.”

[doki-doki-imagines]

*slides into your inbox* Greetings. I hope you're having a good time. May I humbly request headcanons for Gintoki, Katsura, Takasugi and Kamui with an introverted S/O? They're usually shy and very quiet, spending their time on drawing or reading, altho they get flustered easily. May I add that they're also very short? (Like, 5'0) if not, no problem! Feel free to ignore this if it's not to your liking. *Slides out*

Strangely nothing came to my mind for Katsura and Kamui (and I always have something for him), so if you want you can resend the requests with them! It may take some time, but I'm sure I'll come up with something!

Gintoki Sakata: -A dream come true, finally a partner that won't ask him to go out -And spend his money -Jk what money, he has no money. -The real deal is when his partner starts to read or draw and their attention isn't 24/24h on him. -Why are you reading alone???? If you really want to read something read Jump with him! -Or for him, Gintoki can be this lazy. -And if they are drawing? A real tease. -"Oh, are you drawing me? While I was asleep? What a creep, but I suppose I am irresistible after all" -They feel like dying because Gintoki was actually right and the sketch was also pretty good. -If they feel too much embarrassed just tell Gintoki that he looks too handsome asleep, when he is unconscious and his mouth is shut, and he will be the one blushing from head to toe. Takasugi Shinsuke: -Obviously he would appreciate an introvert partner, as a fellow one too. -Maybe while they are reading he could play his shamisen. -But will be offended if they are not drawing him! Takasugi knows there is the entire universe if they look outside the window, but his self-esteem would crumble a little. -Please treat him well, baby boi -Also gonna tease them endlessly about their short height, be ready. -But they can give him with a taste of his own medicine, after all he isn't that tall. -"Still drinking Yakult, I see. Too bad I can't see any improvement, meanwhile I learnt to accept myself, maybe you should too?" -Didn't talk to them for 3 days, then fell for the puppy eyes. -Also he can be pretty soft! At times when they read he likes to lay on their laps and maybe also listen to them. -Takasugi's proud also swell up when they listen attentively when he plays his shamisen; the thought of being able to catch his partner attention is a good medicine to his scarred heart.