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revasserium · 1 year

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I'm being a rebel and requesting Ikesen Masamune and barefoot 💜

send me one and a character u__u

hurricane (prompt: barefoot)

masamune; 1,813; fluff and... that's it; @violettduchess is quite possibly one of the only ppl who can get me to write for a fandom that i had no plans in joining BUT HERE I AM FOLKS. here the fuCK i am.

he has always been a hurricane.

there are moments in a person’s life big enough for a single choice to put them on a completely different path, and then — there are those moments, much smaller moments, adding up to that one, bigger, monumental, life-changing moment. this is one of the latter.

the moon is heaven bright, swinging low in a full-bellied sky, and insomnia had plagued you till you’d come into the inner gardens for refuge. at least here, it felt like you were stuck between the pages of a waking dream. so… sleep-adjacent, right? right.

you swing your feet off the edge of the pristinely mopped wooden walkways, your sketchbook propped in your lap, a charcoal pencil gliding over the smooth, moon-bleached pages. you let your hand take the drawing where it wants, and these days, there’s only one place that your hand (and, subsequently the rest of your mind and body) seems to want to go.

masamune.

he appears as fish-tail flicks of your wrist bring him to life on the pages, each sketch fluid and overlapping with the next, almost like the depiction of dance — the crinkle at the edge of his eye, the curve of his hand as he rests it on the hilt of one of his blades, the strong, graceful slope of his shoulders and back, the crescent moon curve of his lips as he smiles, ever light, ever teasing, in your direction.

“ah… is that what i look like?”

his voice makes you jump, and even now after all this time, it sets your heart racing in your chest as you whirl around to find his nose inches from yours, that self-same smile hinged across his damnably gorgeous lips.

“w-wh — why aren’t you sleeping?” is your stumbling, cobbled together response to being jump-scared in the middle of his castle pagoda, but it’s the best you could come up with. he only leans back, chuckling, his arms tucked into the long thin sleeves of his kosode as he casts his eye up towards the full moon, his expression for once devoid if mischief or calculation. it’s strange, seeing him like this, so still and so quiet, and something about it makes you go still too, wondering if this is what its like to be caught in the eye of the storm, where the quiet is only ever momentary and destruction dances just beyond where your mind can reach.

“i could ask the same of you, kitten. so tell me… why aren’t you sleeping?” he grins as he joins you, propping one arm on a bent knee, watching as you gather yourself, palms pressing to the pages of your sketchbook.

“i… i couldn’t sleep.” you look down at your own knees, and it strikes you then that your feet are still bare. you can’t help glancing at masamune, and sure enough, his feet are bare too. no wonder i hadn’t heard him coming.

but something about this sets you off, the sight of his bare feet next to yours, and even though it shouldn’t be so tantalizing a thing — the flicker of bare flesh, the hint of skin unseen— you feel like one of those ancient victorian maidens, blushing at the sight of bare ankles.

you can’t help it; you start to laugh.

and masamune, sitting beside you, finds himself transfixed, held still by the sound of your laughter, pouring from you like rainwater from a stream. so clear and beautiful it sets his body arrack with shivers.

“what?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow, “is there something on my face?”

at this, you pause, stifling your giggles with a hand pressed to your lips, and you look at him. your eyes meet, and not for the first time, you feel yourself falling into them — into him. even like this, his one blue eye is something of a miracle, a thing of celestial majesty. it wasn’t until you’d met him that you’d realized what blue eyes look like up close — up close, they are the shattered light of a millions stars, fractured and reformed and singing through a universe of endless dark to end up here, shining out from him and landing on you, and god — he’s looking at you like all those million, billion years of starlight had traveled the expanse of every galaxy just to look at you.

just to see you like he does now.

“no… there isn’t,” you say, whisper, more like, reaching out a hand to trace your thumb over the lid of his closed eye. he doesn’t push you away. instead, he leans in closer.

“then, what’s so funny, kitten?”

you simply shake your head, trying to swallow down your belly-full of laughter, your mind showing you a strobe-quick flash-forward of you trying to explain the concept of foot kinks and websites that cater to such 500 years in the future before deciding — no. alas, tonight is not the night you try to educate one date masamune on the intricacies of body part kinks. though no doubt he’d take it in stride. no — that thought too, you tamp down before you’ve the mind to follow it down into a deep, dark rabbit hole from whence you might never recover or be recovered.

“tell me, please…” he grins, a grin that is simultaneously plea and pleasure, and in it, you can hear the knife-sharp promise of desire, “i’d like to know if something other than me has the power to make you laugh so much.”

“it’s just —” you bite your lips, fighting for the words, “we’re both barefoot.”

he blinks. and you can tell that whatever he was expecting the answer to be, this is clearly not it.

you track the flitter of emotions as they dance in quicksilver steps across the planes of his face — surprise, confusion, amusement, all painted porcelain perfect on the dark of his brows, the faint twitch of his lips. finally, he settles on a sorted of muted bemusement as he cocks his head at you.

“and… do people of your time tend to sleep with socks on?”

“no, it’s just…” you blush again, unable to help yourself.

“just what?” his voice is light, and he is still.

you swallow, hard,

“just… it’s weird — i mean — it’s not like i haven’t seen anyone else barefoot before just… this was — you’re just — and i —” you trip over your words in a hurry and end up tumbling through into incoherence so fast all you can do to styme the flood is to clamp your mouth shut and pray.

oh god please… tell me this is a bad dream.

but when you open your eyes, masamune is still there, watching you with that singular eye of his, expression inscrutable. and still, he doesn’t move.

“so…” and finally, finally, the stillness breaks — he cracks it open like an eggshell, stretching himself out as he leans back, propping himself up on his elbows, lengthening till he’s splayed out over the gleaming wooden boards of the walkway, his face bathed in ghostly moonlight.

“i’m not the first man you’ve seen barefoot, hm? that is a problem.”

your mouth drops open and for a moment, you gape at him wordless and fish-like, and he laughs as he turns to look at you.

“tell me his name — i’ll have his head in the morning,” he says, in a voice so casually serious that for a moment you think he might actually mean it.

“masamune!”

and then, he’s laughing too, a big, bright, uproarious thing that shakes his entire body like the foundations of the earth. it is deep and rich and lovely, warm and sweet as sun-kissed honey. you let yourself be swept up in his laughter, dropping into silent giggles, and then something louder, letting your shoulder bump into his, your bodies finally touching and then —

there’s a flurry of clothing, a shifting of weights. you find yourself pulled into him, tipping towards him like inevitability.

your sketchbook lays forgotten on the walkway next to you as masamune holds you close against his chest.

“ah… i really don’t like that…”

an entourage of tingles frissons through your body at his words.

“don’t like what?”

“the fact that you’ve seen someone else barefoot before. it bugs me.”

you peer up at him, lifting your head ever so slightly from his chest. he’s looking at you, and the sunrise-blue of his eyes are shadowed with something darker now, something decidedly less innocent than just the thought of bare feet.

“then… what will you do about it?” you ask, feeling the heat of his body, the solidness of him, the rightness of you between his arms.

“hm… are you teasing me, kitten?” his voice is gravel and earthquake and you’re emboldened by the sound, by the way his pupil dilates, the black hole at the center of every galaxy — gravity made solid, made real.

“yes,” you breathe, leaning up like a dare and he meets you gloriously, his lips hard and pressing and soft and pulling. there’s a fire unspooling at the base of your spine, stoked by the heat and truth of him, so close, too close — you break apart gasping. he grins, lynx-like and wolfish as he grazes his teeth along the column of your throat.

“good,” he says, sighing into your flesh as you arch up into him, your fingers curling into his hair as he flips the pair of you over. he pulls you beneath him and he is storm and thunder, he is rain and wonder — he is water to your desert skies, the sunlit days to all your moonless nights.

and as he makes to rend you into pleasure, into nothing more than ache and belonging, he pulls back with a bone-deep growl, a sliver of hesitation, of self-preservation.

“are… are you sure you want this?” that you want me? the echo is not lost on you.

and it’s not the first time he’s asked you the question, and you have a feeling that it wouldn’t be the last. but you reply as you had, once upon a time, in a distant, sun-drenched afternoon, when you’d been telling him about one of your favorite poems from your time.

you smile, tug him down for a kiss.

“yes,” you say, like you’d done on that long-ago afternoon, “i want you — i want this, masamune. because… I love you.”

“i will love you when you are a still day… i will love you when you are a hurricane.”

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikemen series #date masamune #ikemen sengoku x reader #ikesen masamune #date masamune x reader #ikemen sengoku imagines #ikemen sengoku headcanons #ikesen imagines #ikesen headcanons #floofy floof floof #OKAY but the feeling of tagging a REAL HISTORICAL FIGURE LFMAO #vi i blame u for all the bullshit im about to rain on this damn fandom LOL i havent played these games in YEARS i tell u #is this IC? IDK WHO KNO WHO CARE lol #i hope u liked it u_u #ALL CREDIT WHRE CREDIT IS DUE that last line comes from clementine von radics #i love her poetry pls go read it; this one comes from her collection called 'mouthful of forevers' its SO GOOD GO READ IT #doNT tease me with humans as metaphors for natural disasters man i will fucking GOBBLE that shit up #i love it almost as much as i love sky/star/sun/moon/ocean/general astronomy anaologies

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syneilesis · 1 year

Text

The air is tense between you and Nobunaga. You and he sit across each other in the council hall, the other warlords watching with apprehension in the background. There's no sound except breathing—even the twittering of birds can pierce through the artful walls of this quiet council.

Finally, Nobunaga speaks.

"This cannot continue."

You agree with him, a first in the recently bitingly sharp hours. "Yes, it cannot."

"This is truly a regret, but it must be done."

"So be it. Divorce it is."

There's a collective gasp among the warlords, sans Nobunaga, who's just looking at you steadily.

"M-My lord...!" Hideyoshi said, shocked.

He is ignored. Instead, Nobunaga addresses you. "How shall we settle this?"

You think for a moment, remembering modern family settlements, then say, "We split custody of our children."

"Children?" Ieyasu pipes up grumpily behind you. "Do you think we're chil—ugh, nevermind. I don't know why I'm here." He rises from his seat in a display of being done with everything when a hand shoots up to grab his shoulder and shoves him back down. Ieyasu squawks.

Masamune grins, his hand firmly staying on Ieyasu's shoulder.

"Fine," Nobunaga says. Then surveys his warlords, deliberating. "Who shall remain with me?"

Naturally, to the surprise of no one, Hideyoshi jumps to Nobunaga's side. "I will remain loyal to you, Lord Nobunaga! It pains me to see you end your relationship with—" He casts you a sad glance. You blink back, unimpressed. "But I will always stand by your side, my lord!"

Nobunaga only nods, but that is enough for Hideyoshi.

"My, such a heartfelt confession," Mitsuhide says with that foxlike grin that unfailingly causes Hideyoshi's blood pressure to rise astronomically. "Do you believe that Lord Nobunaga will fall for your unending fidelity?"

"Mitsuhide, you—"

"Mitsuhide," pronounces Nobunaga, and the man in question straightens, which still indicates the level of respect he has to his lord. "I take it that you will stay with her."

When Mitsuhide sidles up to you, he's smirking with such glee that Hideyoshi calls him out on it.

"You traitor! You snake! You—" and then Hideyoshi unleashes crunchy words that blight Mitsuhide's reputation and lineage. Mitsuhide just relishes that calculated entertainment.

Of course, where Hideyoshi goes, so does Mitsunari, who spares you an apologetic look and a bow before going to Nobunaga's side. Ieyasu, at first, reluctantly trots in your direction, but one word from Nobunaga and he pivots grudgingly, standing on the other side, far from Mitsunari, grumbling all the while.

Ranmaru, by virtue of him being Nobunaga's page, is stuck standing between Hideyoshi and Mitsunari.

"Five against two? You're outnumbered," Masamune tells you and Mitsuhide, his eye gleaming. Then he takes a step towards you. "The lass knows how to keep things exciting. Sorry, Lord Nobunaga, but I'm with them."

Hideyoshi is now vibrating in what seems to be stress.

"Five against three?" Keiji chimes in, that sunny grin ever-present. "Make that four!"

"Why does this sound like we're teaming up for a fight," Ieyasu despairs.

"It's not evenly split," Mitsunari comments. Ieyasu casts him a baleful look.

"Then I'll make it even," a voice cuts in. Everyone looks around to find Kicho next to you. He's giving Nobunaga an elegantly defiant frown, but the rest are stunned and aghast to see him.

Then the Azuchi warlords (except Nobunaga) draw their swords and point them at him.

"Kicho!" Hideyoshi snarls, Ichigo Hitofuri glinting under the menacing light. "How the hell did you get here?!"

"I was once a vassal of Nobunaga," Kicho responds calmly. Then he turns to you, his gaze softening. "So I'm here to even the odds."

Everybody screams their dissent, even the ones under your custody.

Finally, Ieyasu snaps. "Why are you even divorcing?!" he shouts over all the barking. "What happened between you two?"

At the question, you look away guiltily. Nobunaga zeroes in on that action like a hawk.

"I have found," he begins with great severity and gravitas, and the rest of the warlords pause to listen to him, "that the number of konpeito in my stash has decreased by three. I did not eat them."

The council hall stills. Everybody lies frozen facing Nobunaga and his grave countenance. For a few seconds, it seems as if time has stopped.

And then everything breaks into chaos.

"'By three'?" you cry, indignant, "I only ate two—and I already said sorry but you weren't listening!"

"My lord—where did you get that stash?! Is that different from the ones I'm keeping from you?!"

"Hideyoshi, was it you who ate the other konpeito?"

"What—"

"My, my, Hideyoshi. Who's the traitor now?"

"Shut up, you—! Lord Nobunaga, it wasn't me who ate that one konpeito! I swear I'll find the culprit for you, my lord! But you have to give me that stash for safekeeping—"

"Hey, Kicho—where are you taking the lass—"

"Ugh," Ieyasu says amidst the din, "I'm done. I'm so done with all of you."

And then he leaves the hall, away from all the crazy people, for peace of his mind, never looking back.

The end.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikesen fic #fic #my fic #crack fic #something silly #ficlet #i wrote this while listening to that ikesen bgm that plays whenever shenanigans happen #usually the ones sasuke cooks up during those collection event ensemble stories #i wrote this with that kind of mood in mind #just something cracky and silly

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