“WHATS ROLLING THROUGH THEM’ HEADPHONES SIRE?” ;; THE WEEKND. montell fish. deftones. ghost. bryson tiller. frank ocean. partynextdoor. drake. brent faiyaz. sonder. metro boomin. future. novulent. tyler, the creator. playboi carti. ken carson. jhené aiko. clara la san. faye webster. chris brown. travis scott. lana del rey. tame impala. kendrick lamar. tory lanez.
SO I HOPE YOU DONT THINK THIS SONG IS ABOUT YOU
Top “dom/sub” male reader inserts — occasionally gen neutral reader,,
AND ONLY I CAN KNOW HOW CLOSE YOU CAME
NAVIGATOR — masterlinks
paperwork ⋄ guest list ⋄ archive of our own ⋄ wattpad
BUT BABY, I'M A PRO AT LETTING GO, I LOVE IT WHEN THEY COME AND GO ..
CONTENT: while this is mainly plot build up and is completely safe for work, I still recommend 18+ sfw. slow burn.
author note — ive seen how much people liked that post i made a few months ago, that catered to writing for midas. so here it is.. well part of it at least.
word count : 402
"so, do you always talk to strangers like this?" his voice was low, even baritone, and as smooth as the rest of him. It wasn't accusatory, merely curious, a question posed with the casual confidence of someone used to being observed.
a slow smile tugged at your lips, a silent challenge thrown back at him. you met his gaze directly. "only when they interest me as much as you do."
he hummed, a deep sound, and a faint smile touched the corner of his lips, gone as quickly as it appeared. It was a silent acknowledgment, a subtle nod to your persistence. his eyes lingered on your face for a moment longer than necessary before he turned his head back to the sports game on the television.
the shift in his focus was a clear signal that the conversation, for now, was over. or at least he wanted it to be.
you shook your head slightly, a playful exasperation in your movement. you weren't about to let him off the hook that easily. "not even gonna tell me your name?" you said, your voice light and teasing. you tapped your fingers against the bar, a rhythmic counterpoint to the low murmur of the bar. "give me something to work with here." It was an invitation, a refusal to be dismissed so easily.
you wanted a hook, a thread to pull on, something to unravel the mystery of the man with the gold eyes and the perfectly tailored suit.
he didn't turn back, his attention seemingly fixed on the flickering images on the screen. he took another slow sip of his vodka, the ice clinking softly, the silence stretching between you, punctuated only by the distant shouts from the sports game and the clinking of glasses.
you took another slow sip of your whiskey, letting the warmth spread through you as you waited. then, just as you were beginning to think he wouldn't respond, his voice drifted over to you. It was almost a murmur, barely audible above the bar's din, as if he was speaking more to the glass in his hand than to you.
"midas."
the single word hung in the air for a moment, a strange, resonant sound in the noisy bar, then was swallowed by the surrounding noise. you raised an eyebrow, a silent question in your gaze. he didn't elaborate, didn't offer a last name or any further explanation.
summary: When a voiceless prince of the sea washes up on shore, the last thing you expect is to fall in love with him. But Suguru is nothing like the legends — sharp-eyed, wild-hearted, and hiding more pain than he lets on. As your world turns upside down with stolen glances and forbidden touches, you're both pulled into a storm of old magic, royal wrath, and the kind of love that changes everything.
In the end, the only thing stronger than the tide is the bond between you.
pairing: ariel! suguru geto x prince eric! male reader
content warnings: 18+, top male reader, the side characters are originally sea creatures but get turned into humans at the end (for the plot), shapeshifting, thoughts of suicide (implied).
word count: 8.0k
The coast was a living thing.
It breathed salt into the air, stirred the waves with invisible hands, whispered secrets through the sea grass curling around the rocks. You knew the shoreline better than you knew the royal gardens, better than the throne room where your future was supposed to be waiting. Here, at the ragged edge of the kingdom, you could pretend the world was yours alone.
Megumi barked at the foam licking the sand, then trotted back to nudge your knee with a wet nose. You smiled, absently scratching behind his ears as you watched the ships bobbing out on the horizon — pale ghosts against the setting sun.
Tomorrow there would be meetings. Talks of alliances, marriage contracts and duty. You had been reminded of it a hundred times this week alone. A prince's life is not his own, they told you. A prince lives for his people.
You tipped your head back and let the wind steal the breath from your lungs. Maybe that was true. Maybe that was why you spent so much time down here, pretending you could forget.
The first night you saw him, you thought he was a dream.
A figure cutting through the dark waves, black hair slicked back from his sharp, beautiful face, a flicker of something silvered and strange at his waist where legs should have been. He didn't speak. He only watched you from a distance, half-shielded by a jagged rock outcropping — until the tide rose too high and you had to retreat, pulse thundering like a drum.
You didn’t tell anyone. You weren’t even sure he was real.
But you came back the next night anyway. And the night after that.
⋆｡°✩
The sea above was never quiet.
It pressed against Geto's skin like a second heartbeat, a steady drum of currents and whispered storms. He learned long ago how to move with it, how to let the world pass around him without leaving a mark. Down here, nothing changed. Down here, he could be anything except free.
His father's court was endless: treaties with the southern pods, patrols against deepwater threats, lectures on duty and bloodlines. The weight of it wrapped around his ribs tighter with every passing year. One day, Gakuganji told him, the crown would be his. One day, he would lead their people. One day, one day, one day.
None of it ever felt like it belonged to him.
Only the surface did.
Only the wind-struck light dappling the upper currents, the forgotten shipwrecks rusting like bones, the songs carried down from the world above. Only the days he risked everything to rise to the rocky cliffs near the human harbour — to watch them, to imagine a life where he could breathe air and walk wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted, without permission or fear.
It was on one of those days that he saw you.
A boy standing barefoot on the rocks, hair tousled by the wind, face turned toward the horizon like he was searching for something he hadn't found yet. You looked out at the world the way Geto did from below — aching for it.
He should have swum away. Should have gone back to the safety of the deeps.
But he stayed.
And he watched.
And for the first time in a long time, the ocean around him didn’t feel like a cage.
⋆｡°✩
The night the storm hit, the harbour bells rang too late.
You had been aboard one of the trading ships by then, half-listening to the captain grumble about incoming weather and ignoring the pit twisting in your gut. The sky was already bruising purple when the first gust hit — tearing sails, snapping rigging. Men shouted, scrambling to reef lines and lower anchors, but the sea didn’t care for human hands.
It swallowed the ships one by one.
The deck pitched under your feet. You stumbled, slamming against the rail just as a wall of black water rose above the stern. Megumi barked once, sharp and terrified, before something wrenched you backwards — the mast, splintering free and crashing down.
You didn’t have time to scream.
The ocean yawned open and dragged you under.
⋆｡°✩
Geto felt it before he saw it.
The current shifted — sudden and wrong — churning with debris and panic. He surfaced just in time to see the human ships breaking apart like toys, to hear the distant wail of horns and voices swallowed by thunder.
And you.
Sinking.
He didn't think. He never thought, where you were concerned.
Geto dove, cutting through the wreckage, ignoring the jagged shards that scraped his arms. He found you drifting down like a broken-winged bird, limbs slack, hair fanning in the dark.
The ocean wanted you. It always wanted the beautiful ones.
Not this time.
He caught you around the waist and kicked hard for the surface.
You were heavy with soaked clothes and fading warmth. Every second dragged like chains. His lungs burned, his vision blurred, but he held onto you like you were the last real thing left in the world.
When they broke the surface, the storm was still raging. Waves tossed them like driftwood. He scanned the dark coastline — spotted the jutting rocks near the harbour mouth — and swam.
He didn’t know how long it took.
He didn’t care.
He hauled you up onto the slick stones, shielding your body with his own as the rain lashed down. You coughed weakly, choking on salt, and he exhaled a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.
Alive.
You were alive.
⋆｡°✩
The sound of human voices echoed from the cliffs — search parties, flashing lanterns between the rocks. Geto looked down at you, memorising the line of your jaw, the stubborn set of your mouth even in sleep.
He wanted — stupidly, selfishly — to stay.
Instead, he pressed his forehead briefly against yours, whispering something he would never have the chance to explain. Then he slid back into the water and vanished with the tide.
By the time the villagers found you, the only trace of him was the salt drying on your skin.
The throne room shimmered with trapped light — columns carved from coral and salt-stained marble, banners heavy with the weight of generations. Geto stood in the centre of it all, dripping seawater onto the polished floor, heart hammering against his ribs.
"You endangered the whole pod!" Gakuganji’s voice cracked through the hall like a whip. His crown tilted slightly with the force of his rage. "You think the humans would hesitate to capture you? To carve you open and mount you on a wall?"
Geto said nothing.
There was no point arguing. Not when his father’s anger was loud enough to drown the entire ocean.
Beside the dais, Nanami stood stiff-backed, arms crossed. He didn’t look triumphant about reporting Geto’s surfacing — just tired, like he hated this as much as everyone else. It almost made it worse.
"You're heir to the throne!" Gakuganji thundered. "You have responsibilities beyond your childish fascinations."
Geto's hands curled into fists. He could still feel the weight of you in his arms, the raw terror of losing you to the storm. "I saved him," he said quietly.
"What?" The king leaned forward, incredulous.
"I saved a human boy," Geto repeated. "He would have died."
"You risked us for one human?!" Gakuganji slammed his trident into the floor, the impact echoing up the columns. "You think they would show you the same mercy? You think they would not hunt you down the moment they saw what you are?"
"They’re not all the same," Geto said, teeth gritted. "He—"
"Enough." Gakuganji's voice dropped to a dangerous rumble. "You will not surface again. You will not approach the humans. You will remember who you are."
"And if I don't?" Geto asked, before he could stop himself.
For a moment — a long, dangerous heartbeat — the throne room went dead still.
"You are my son," Gakuganji said, low and cold. "You have no other path."
⋆｡°✩
Later, in the empty coral gardens, Gojo found him — lounging sideways across a crumbling pillar, grinning like he hadn't just been chased out of a war meeting.
"Yikes," Gojo said cheerfully. "You sure know how to make an exit."
Geto didn’t answer. He stared up at the distorted sunlight filtering through the water, aching all over in ways he didn’t have names for.
"You’re lucky," Gojo continued, drifting upside down just to be annoying. "If it were my old man, I’d already be gutted and grilled."
"You're not helping."
"You never let me," Gojo huffed. He floated closer, peering at Geto. "So. You gonna tell me what’s got you risking excommunication? Or do I have to guess?"
Geto stayed silent.
Gojo tilted his head. "It’s a boy, isn’t it?"
Geto groaned and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.
Gojo whooped. "I knew it! The brooding, the reckless endangerment, the classic tragic ocean prince move—"
"Shut up."
"Make me," Gojo said smugly. He poked Geto’s arm. "Come on, you big idiot. You’re already halfway to disaster. Might as well tell me the whole tragic love story before Nanami comes back and scolds you again."
⋆｡°✩
The sea grew colder as Geto swam downward.
Here, light barely touched the water — a place forgotten by even the boldest currents. The rocks twisted into cruel shapes, and whispers rode the tides like broken shells. If there was a place for mistakes to be made permanent, it was here.
He should have turned back.
He didn't.
The cavern loomed ahead, yawning wide, lit from within by a sickly green glow. Strange silhouettes moved against the walls — half-formed faces, reaching hands. Geto steeled himself and drifted closer.
"You’re a hard one to catch," a voice purred from the darkness.
Kenjaku.
The wizard drifted forward, robes flowing like smoke around his legs, face split by a smile too wide to be friendly.
"You want something, little prince," Kenjaku crooned. "I can smell it."
Two figures uncoiled from the shadows behind him — long, sinuous, sharp-toothed.
Mai and Maki, twinned and terrible, circled lazily around Geto, eyes glinting with amusement.
"Look at him," Mai said mockingly, twirling a lock of her hair. "So serious."
"So sad," Maki agreed, baring her teeth in a grin.
"So stupid," they said together, and laughed — a low, rippling sound that made Geto’s skin crawl.
⋆｡°✩
"I need legs," Geto said, forcing his voice steady.
Kenjaku’s smile sharpened. "Legs, hm? For what, I wonder? A human? A flash of bare skin and you’re ready to drown yourself in heartbreak?"
"Name your price," Geto said flatly.
The witch tsked, floating closer until their noses almost touched. "Such a waste. Such beautiful magic, all tangled up in something as stupid as hope."
Behind him, Mai and Maki snickered.
⋆｡°✩
Kenjaku raised one hand, tracing a circle in the water. A contract shimmered into view — ancient script twisting around its edges.
"The price is your voice," Kenjaku said sweetly. "Three days. If he falls in love with you — truly — and seals it with a kiss, you stay human. If not..." His smile grew wider. "You belong to me."
The eels spun around Geto, tightening the circle. Their laughter dripped like venom into the water.
Geto hesitated — just for a breath.
Long enough to remember your face, lit by stormlight. Long enough to remember the way you clutched his hand even unconscious.
He reached out and touched the glowing contract.
⋆｡°✩
Pain flared in his throat — white-hot and merciless — cutting off his cry halfway.
The magic stripped him clean, peeling his voice from his body like silk torn from skin.
He gasped silently, clutching his throat as the spell wrapped around him, crushing, reshaping, burning.
When it was done, he drifted there — smaller, heavier, different.
Legs where there had been fins.
Silence where there had been song.
Kenjaku smiled like a man who had just caught a very rare fish.
"Good luck, little prince," he said, voice syrup-thick.
"And do hurry."
Mai and Maki cackled as the currents carried Geto upward — toward the waiting world above.
⋆｡°✩
The morning broke soft and slow over the coastline, spilling gold across the restless sea. The world still smelled of the storm — salt-heavy, sharp with the tang of broken kelp — but the sky had cleared, vast and aching blue from horizon to horizon.
You stumbled barefoot across the sand, Megumi racing ahead, nose low to the ground. Every muscle in your body ached from the night before — the crash of the ship, the icy clutch of the water, the way your lungs had burned as you fought to surface. It blurred in your memory now, stitched together only by fragments: the cold, the fear — and something else. A hand, pulling you upward. A voice you couldn’t remember, except that it had made you feel safe even in the middle of drowning.
You had barely slept. You couldn't. Not when the memory of it kept clawing at you, whispering that there was more you were supposed to remember.
And then Megumi barked — sharp and urgent — and you saw him.
A body crumpled on the sand, half-buried in seafoam, black hair spilling in tangled waves across pale skin. He was naked — startlingly so — his skin marred only by the faint bruises of the storm, the faint shimmer of salt drying on him. There was nothing indecent about it; it felt more like finding something sacred, half-formed and left behind by the tide.
You ran before you even realised you were moving, dropping to your knees in the wet sand beside him. He wasn’t breathing — or if he was, it was shallow enough to terrify you.
"Hey," you gasped, pressing trembling fingers to his cheek. "Hey, wake up—"
He stirred faintly under your touch.
His lashes fluttered. His mouth parted in a soundless breath. Dark eyes blinked up at you, wide and dazed and afraid.
Relief crashed through you so fast it left you dizzy. "You're okay," you whispered, more to yourself than to him. "You're okay."
You sat back, heart hammering, and without thinking, yanked your jacket from your shoulders. You wrapped it hastily around his body, covering him, trying to shield him from the cold — from the world — from everything that had brought him here.
He flinched slightly at the contact, but didn't pull away.
"Can you speak?" you asked, softer now.
He shook his head.
Panic twisted low in your gut. You scanned the beach for any sign of help — villagers, healers — but there was only you, the boy, and the endless hiss of the tide.
"Alright," you said, forcing your voice steady. "Okay. You’re safe now. We'll get you help."
He looked at you then — really looked — and the vulnerability there, raw and unguarded, made your throat tighten.
You slid an arm under his shoulders, lifting him carefully. He was heavier than he looked, all wiry strength packed into his slender frame. Still, you managed to half-carry, half-drag him toward the path leading back to the village, Megumi trotting anxiously at your heels.
You didn’t even know his name.
But some part of you whispered — old and certain — that you would learn it.
Whatever it cost.
Sneaking an unconscious man into the palace was harder than it sounded.
You kept your head down, murmuring apologies to the few kitchen servants and gardeners you passed, trying to make it look like he was a drunken cousin you'd plucked off the docks rather than a half-drowned stranger you’d found lying naked on the beach. Thankfully, your reputation for odd charity cases preceded you, and nobody dared stop you outright.
Megumi pressed close to your leg, hackles raised, growling low at anyone who came too near.
The boy clung to you with what little strength he had, swaying on his feet, skin still clammy under your jacket. His eyes stayed downcast, wide and dark and unreadable, like he was waiting for the moment someone dragged him away.
You tightened your grip on his waist.
Not happening.
Not while you were breathing.
⋆｡°✩
You finally reached your wing of the castle — a small, sun-lit corner usually ignored by the court — and kicked the door open with your boot.
"Utahime’s gonna kill me," you muttered under your breath.
As if summoned by fate itself, Utahime appeared at the end of the hall, a stack of linens balanced precariously in her arms. She froze when she saw you — soaked, half-dragging a half-naked stranger through the corridor, dripping seawater onto the rug.
Her mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
You spoke first. "It’s not what it looks like."
She raised an eyebrow so sharp it could have cut glass.
"Really?" she said flatly. "Because it looks exactly like you smuggled a drowned courtesan into the guest quarters."
"Utahime," you begged, "please. Just... trust me."
Her gaze flickered from you to the boy — to Geto — noting the way he sagged against you, the bruises on his skin, the way he flinched from sudden movement. Something softened in her expression.
"Fine," she said, voice clipped. "But if the king finds out you brought another stray into the palace, you’re explaining it, not me."
"Thank you," you breathed, genuinely relieved.
She rolled her eyes so hard you thought she might sprain something, then spun on her heel. "Hot water. Dry clothes. Quietly, if you have any sense left at all."
You turned to Geto, offering the barest smile. "See? It’ll be fine."
He gave you a look that clearly said he wasn’t so sure.
You shifted him toward the washroom, only to hear a wet slap! behind you. Startled, you turned — and blinked at the sight of a bright blue fish flopping awkwardly across the tiles, tail flicking madly.
"...Okay," you muttered. "Guess the tide brought in a few extra things."
Megumi barked once, chasing after the fish with a delighted growl.
In the basin, a large lobster scuttled up the side, clacking its claws indignantly. You laughed under your breath, because what else could you do? First the storm, then the mysterious boy, now sea creatures invading your house. It figured.
You shook your head and nudged the boy toward the warm towels waiting near the fire. "Come on. Let’s get you dry before you catch something worse."
Behind you, the lobster snapped its claws in what might have been furious disapproval.
You chalked it up to a very weird day and got to work.
⋆｡°✩
The water in the copper basin steamed gently, carrying the soft scent of rosemary and soap into the air. You crouched beside it, wringing out a clean cloth with careful hands, trying not to startle the boy any more than he already was. He sat on a low stool wrapped in one of Utahime’s thick linen towels, the oversized fabric drowning his frame. His dark hair clung wetly to his cheeks, droplets carving slow trails down his throat and collarbone.
You worked in silence at first. He didn’t speak — couldn’t, you remembered with a pang — but he watched you with those dark, endless eyes, wary and unblinking. Like he expected you to change your mind. Like he was waiting to be thrown back into the sea.
You hated that look.
"You’re safe here," you said softly, dipping the cloth again and squeezing it out. "I swear it."
He blinked once, the smallest tremor of a nod, and let you gently wipe away the sand and salt crusted on his skin.
The bruises were worse up close. A constellation of them across his ribs and hips, angry purples fading into sickly greens. You swallowed hard, your fingers trembling slightly as you cleaned him, careful not to press too hard. He bore it in silence, though his hands fisted white-knuckled in the towel whenever you touched a particularly deep mark.
"You really went through hell, didn’t you?" you murmured, not expecting an answer.
He just tilted his head slightly, studying you like you were a puzzle he hadn’t decided to trust yet.
You couldn’t imagine what he must be thinking — waking up in a strange place, surrounded by people he couldn’t understand, without even his voice to defend himself.
Still, he didn’t pull away from you.
That had to mean something.
⋆｡°✩
You helped him stand — slowly, carefully — and guided him to the clothes Utahime had left out. Simple trousers and a linen shirt, soft from years of washing. Nothing that would bind or restrict him. You turned your back politely to give him privacy, but you caught glimpses of him fumbling with the strange fastenings, his hands clumsy and uncertain.
You hesitated for a heartbeat.
Then — cursing the blood already rushing traitorously to your face — you turned back and crouched in front of him.
"Here," you said, voice low. "Let me help."
His hands trembled as he held out the shirt. You took it from him, sliding it carefully over his arms, mindful of the bruises. Your fingers brushed the bare skin of his back — warm now from the fire — and he shivered under your touch.
Not from cold.
From something else.
You swallowed against the tightness rising in your throat and focused on fastening the buttons one by one, your hands slow and steady.
He smelled of salt and clean water, of something older and wilder than anything that had ever lived in the palace. Being this close to him felt like standing at the edge of a cliff and daring the wind to take you.
When you finally looked up, he was watching you again — close enough that you could see the fine droplets clinging to his lashes, the faint pink rising in his cheeks.
For a moment — just a moment — the world narrowed to this: your hands still resting lightly on his ribs, his breath ghosting warm across your mouth, the almost unbearable weight of the things you weren’t saying.
You cleared your throat roughly and stepped back.
"Better," you said, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.
He smiled — small and uncertain, but real.
It hit you like a sucker punch.
Gods help you.
You were so, so doomed.
The next few days blurred into something slow and strange and golden.
You weren’t sure when the man slipped into the rhythm of your life. It happened so naturally that even Utahime stopped giving you suspicious glares after a while, though she still huffed disapprovingly whenever she caught you teaching him how to balance a teacup properly or helping him pronounce simple words by mouthing them slowly across the breakfast table.
He learned fast.
He struggled with some things — forks, for instance, and the baffling concept of shoes — but he watched you intently whenever you demonstrated something, his brow furrowed in fierce concentration. You found yourself performing for him more and more, exaggerating small daily tasks just to hear the faint huff of laughter he tried to hide behind his hand.
He was different from anyone you had ever known.
He didn’t speak, but he listened.
He didn’t understand your world, but he treated every clumsy new experience like it was precious — sacred.
And gods help you, every day you spent with him carved deeper into your ribs.
It wasn’t just the way he looked — though that was its own kind of torture, the way his hair curled damply against his forehead in the mornings, the way his smiles bloomed shy and bright when you praised him. It was the way he made everything feel new. Like you were seeing the world for the first time through his eyes.
It terrified you.
And you never wanted it to end.
⋆｡°✩
One evening, Gojo hatched a plan.
The fish flopped dramatically into Geto’s washbasin, splattering water everywhere, and gurgled out something that sounded suspiciously like, "You need a romantic setting, dumbass."
Nanami snapped his claws sharply at Gojo, looking scandalised, but Geto tilted his head thoughtfully, considering.
Thus: the boat.
It was old — a battered rowboat the castle’s fishermen had abandoned months ago — but you managed to patch it up enough to float. The little inlet near the gardens shimmered under the late afternoon sun, warm and heavy with the scent of summer roses. It wasn’t much.
But Geto beamed when you led him to it, and that was enough.
⋆｡°✩
The boat rocked gently as you pushed off from the shore, settling into the lazy current. Megumi whined once, left behind on the dock, but Utahime had promised to watch him with strict warnings about muddy paws on clean linens.
You and Geto sat side by side, knees bumping occasionally as the boat drifted.
He leaned over the side once, trailing his fingers through the water, eyes wide in quiet wonder. You watched him, unable to look away. The way the sunlight caught in his hair, the way the breeze toyed with the loose laces of his shirt — he looked like something dreamed into existence, something too fragile for this world.
Your heart ached with it.
Gojo and Nanami lurked somewhere nearby — you caught glimpses of them in the water now and then, little splashes and flashes of colour as they tried (very badly) to be subtle.
At one point, Gojo bumped a lily pad under your boat in what could only be described as a "subtle nudge."
You laughed under your breath.
Geto looked up, curious, and you smiled at him, helpless against it.
The boat drifted into a patch of golden reeds. The world narrowed to just the two of you, the soft lapping of the water, the gentle hush of the wind.
You turned toward him.
He turned toward you.
The distance between you shrank — slow, inevitable.
You could feel the heat of him, the tentative hope in his gaze, the silent question trembling between you.
You leaned in. He leaned in. Closer. Closer. Your breath mingled. Your noses brushed.
And just as your lips were about to meet—
A massive wave crashed against the side of the boat, nearly capsizing it.
You yelped, scrambling to grab the edges as Geto flailed, soaking wet, clutching desperately at the seat. The boat rocked wildly, slamming back into the reeds.
You twisted, scanning the water. No wind. No passing ship. Just... a single ominous ripple fading into the distance.
Your heart pounded with more than just adrenaline. Geto looked at you, his mouth tight with frustration, his fingers curling white-knuckled around the wood.
Something was wrong. You could feel it.
⋆｡°✩
You sat on the damp seat of the rocking boat for a long time after the wave struck, breathing hard and blinking salt from your eyes. The boy — the stranger — hunched beside you, gripping the edge of the hull so tightly his knuckles had turned bloodless. Water dripped steadily from his hair, trailing down his throat, soaking the thin fabric of his borrowed shirt until it clung to the sharp lines of his body. His mouth was a tight line, his brow furrowed in frustration, but when he turned those dark, searching eyes on you, all you could feel was the echo of something unfinished.
You almost kissed him. Gods above, you almost kissed him.
Your skin still tingled from the near-touch of it. Your heart hammered an uneven beat, deafening in the quiet. You didn’t know what you would have done if the kiss had landed — you barely knew what you were doing now, sitting here, pretending that the whole world hadn't shifted around you in the space of a breath.
You laughed under your breath — short, self-mocking — and shook your head. What was happening to you?
The boy watched you with something complicated in his gaze. There was no fear there, no hesitation. Only a kind of raw, aching patience, like he would wait as long as it took for you to understand something he couldn’t say.
The boat rocked gently again, nudged by a smaller ripple. You glanced around — no sign of the flounder or the lobster now. The water stretched flat and empty in every direction, save for the faintest shimmer on the horizon. For a moment, you thought you caught a glimpse of something — a shape beneath the surface, too fast and sinuous to be natural — but when you blinked, it was gone.
You chalked it up to exhaustion. To nerves.
You rowed back to the dock in silence, your arms aching with each pull. He helped where he could, clumsy but determined, his strength returning with every passing hour. He steadied you when you nearly slipped on the wet stones, his hands warm and sure on your waist, and you laughed breathlessly despite yourself.
He smiled back — that small, fierce thing — and your heart nearly stumbled out of your chest.
⋆｡°✩
That night, the castle felt different.
Quieter, heavier.
The halls echoed strangely under your boots as you made your rounds, half-hoping to spot him tucked somewhere unexpected — curled in the library window seat, maybe, trying to puzzle out one of the battered old books you kept stacked there. Instead, you found Utahime in the kitchens, snapping orders at the scullery boys while Megumi chased a half-plucked chicken across the floor.
"You should be resting," she scolded, tossing a towel at your face without looking up. You caught it, laughing. "I’m fine. Just... restless." She gave you a knowing glance but didn’t push.
You slipped away again, heading out into the garden where the moon silvered the paths and the roses breathed heavily in the night air. You thought of the boy — of how the candlelight caught in his hair, how he tilted his head like he was listening to music no one else could hear. You thought of how close you had been on the boat, how your bodies had leaned together like they belonged in the same breath.
You thought — for the first time — that maybe the world was bigger than the walls you had been raised inside. Maybe it had always been bigger. You had just never seen it clearly until now.
You tipped your head back and let the stars blur overhead.
And somewhere, far below the still surface of the ocean, something watched. And smiled.
It began the next morning, without warning.
You barely noticed her at first — a new arrival to the court, travelling with a merchant caravan from the northern coast. She was beautiful in the way painted icons were beautiful: too polished, too deliberate. Skin like porcelain, hair so dark it seemed to swallow light, a smile that felt just a little too fixed when it landed on you.
She introduced herself as Kaori.
The name meant nothing. The smile meant even less. You nodded politely, offered the customary welcome, and forgot her almost immediately, distracted by the far more pressing task of slipping away to find the boy — your boy, you thought, and then hated yourself a little for the possessive curl of it.
You found him in the gardens again, his bare feet tucked into the sun-warmed grass, his eyes closed, face tilted to the sky like he was trying to drink the sunlight straight into his bones. You stopped in the doorway, momentarily robbed of breath by the simple, devastating sight of him.
He didn’t hear you approach. He never did. He always felt you instead — like a tide pulling at his skin.
He opened his eyes slowly, smiling that small, secret smile that made your heart ache. You crossed the distance without thinking, dropping onto the bench beside him, letting the silence settle between you like a familiar cloak.
You wanted to ask him about the wave. About the way the boat had nearly capsized at the exact wrong moment. About the way he had looked afterwards — hollow-eyed, trembling. You wanted to ask if he felt it too — the wrongness riding the air like a brewing storm.
But you didn’t.
Instead, you found yourself laughing about something trivial — the look on Utahime’s face when Megumi tracked mud all the way across the main hall — and he laughed too, breathless and soundless, clapping a hand over his mouth like it would help.
It didn’t. You caught a glimpse of it then — a boy trying so desperately to belong in a world that wasn't made for him.
And gods above, you wanted to give him that world if you could.
⋆｡°✩
You didn’t see Kaori again until the next evening, at the palace banquet.
She appeared at the foot of the great staircase, clothed in sea-green silk that shimmered like scales. Her smile caught the candlelight and bent it in strange ways. When your gaze slid over her, something in your gut twisted — sharp and cold — but you forced it down. Court life was full of oddities. Beautiful strangers were hardly rare.
Still, when she moved toward you, the crowd parting instinctively around her, your hands clenched at your sides without you meaning to.
She spoke little, but when she did, her voice was soft and lilting, curling around your thoughts like mist. Every word sounded somehow heavier than it should have — harder to resist, harder to ignore.
When she laughed — high and delicate — you smiled back without wanting to. When she touched your arm, you didn’t pull away. Not because you wanted her to. Because your body wouldn't listen.
In the corner of the hall, you caught a flash of movement — the boy standing stiff and small near the tapestry-lined walls, clutching a goblet like it was a shield. His face was pale, drawn tight with something you didn’t have words for yet.
You started toward him — almost managed to break free of the invisible weight sinking its claws into you — but Kaori’s hand slipped through the crook of your elbow, light as a breath.
"Stay," she murmured. And you stayed.
You stayed while the boy you had dragged from the sea turned away, his shoulders stiff with heartbreak. You stayed while Kaori's smile sharpened at the edges.
You stayed while, somewhere deep in the castle’s belly, something ancient and wrong grinned wider in the dark.
⋆｡°✩
The days after the banquet blurred into a haze you couldn't shake.
Kaori was everywhere.
Always at your side — during morning council, during the endless, glittering dinners, during the quiet walks you used to sneak alone along the cliffs. Her hand found yours without asking; her laughter brushed against your ear like a ghost. She said very little, and somehow that made it worse — like a dream half-remembered, slipping through your fingers no matter how hard you tried to hold onto the pieces.
The boy — the one you had pulled from the wreckage of your life — withdrew further with every sunrise.
He stopped meeting your gaze across the long banquet tables. Stopped smiling when you stumbled over your words trying to make him laugh. Stopped trailing after you like a shadow you had learned to need without noticing.
You told yourself it was fine. You told yourself he was settling in, finding his place, finding a way to live here without needing you to hold him up.
But when you passed him in the garden one afternoon and he didn’t even glance up from where he was hunched over a battered book, something in your chest cracked so hard you almost stumbled.
You almost turned back. Almost said his name — whatever it was. Almost begged him to look at you like he used to.
Instead, you let Kaori curl her arm around yours and lead you back inside.
The court whispered, as courts always did. About alliances. About bloodlines. About destiny.
The king, old and growing frail, watched you with something like approval warming the corners of his sharp mouth. His advisors began drawing up the paperwork without waiting for your consent.
The date was set. Three days from now. The engagement would be announced with all the pomp and ceremony a prince deserved.
You barely felt it happening. You smiled when you were meant to. You bowed and raised toasts and accepted the congratulations of men you hated.
You told yourself you were happy. You had to be happy.
Wasn’t this what you had always been raised for?
⋆｡°✩
That night, standing alone in your chamber, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror.
A stranger stared back at you — a boy dressed in a prince's clothes, weighed down by invisible chains.
You stripped the coat from your shoulders and let it fall unheeded to the floor. Your hands braced against the cold glass, and for a moment, you could have sworn you heard something — faint and broken — pressing against the edges of your mind.
A whisper. A cry. A name you had never been told, and yet somehow knew.
⋆｡°✩
Far across the castle, in the cramped little servants' room where he had been given a pallet and a worn blanket, the boy curled in on himself.
He clutched the locket around his throat — the one token of home he had been allowed to keep — and pressed his forehead to the rough mattress. Silent tears soaked into the fabric. His voice was gone, stolen by magic and bargain, and now the last thread tying him to you was slipping through his fingers like water.
He had almost kissed you. He had almost been enough.
Almost.
But almost didn't win. And the clock was running out.
The castle at night breathed differently.
Gone were the courtiers, the musicians, the easy laughter. The corridors stretched long and hollow, lined with flickering torchlight and the faint, restless whisper of the wind clawing against the stone. Somewhere in the kitchens, rats scrabbled unseen. Somewhere higher up, the great banners bearing your family crest sagged like forgotten memories.
And in a disused fountain tucked into a shadowed courtyard, two very angry sea creatures plotted treason.
Gojo flicked his tail in irritation, sending a ripple across the stagnant water. "I'm telling you," he hissed, voice low and urgent, "this is a full-blown, classic villain enchantment scenario. I’ve read about these things. You think princes just fall in love with creepy water-witch girls by accident?"
Nanami clacked his claws together in sharp agreement. "The signs are all there. Sudden behaviour shifts. Loss of free will. Proximity compulsion." His antennae twitched in frustration. "It's textbook dark magic."
"Exactly!" Gojo splashed dramatically. "And if we don’t snap Prince Broody out of it, he’s going to end up shackled to that creepy fake mermaid until death do they part."
Nanami adjusted his position with a weary sigh. "Do you have a plan, or are you just here to complain?"
"I always have a plan," Gojo said smugly. "Step one: cause chaos. Step two: expose the truth. Step three: make sure someone kisses Geto before the clock runs out."
Nanami paused, considering this. "You realise the 'chaos' part will get us executed if it fails."
Gojo grinned, showing far too many sharp little teeth for comfort. "Worth it."
⋆｡°✩
Meanwhile, across the castle, you paced your chamber like a caged animal.
Something was wrong. You could feel it — thick and choking in the back of your throat, wrapping around your ribs like iron bands. Every time Kaori touched you, your skin crawled. Every time you smiled at her, something inside you shrivelled smaller.
You had dreams now — strange, aching dreams where a boy with black hair reached for you through a wall of glass, his mouth open in a silent scream you couldn't hear.
You woke gasping, fists tangled in the sheets, heart battering itself bloody against your ribs.
And yet in the daylight, with the court watching, you went through the motions. Smiling. Nodding. Playing the part of the perfect prince. You told yourself it was a duty. You told yourself it was the expectation.
You lied so well, you almost believed it.
Until tonight. Tonight, something inside you snapped.
Standing before the mirror, dressed in the ceremonial clothes chosen for your engagement announcement, you caught sight of yourself — not as a prince, not as a puppet — but as a boy trapped in a cage of golden lies.
And somewhere deep in your bones, a voice you had never heard but always known whispered:
Find him.
⋆｡°✩
It began with a ripple.
A wrongness threading through the crowded ballroom — subtle at first, like a chill down your spine, like a pressure change before a storm. You stood at Kaori's side, the official proclamation clutched in your hand, the weight of duty coiling tighter and tighter around your throat. The court watched, expectant and smiling, their faces blurred at the edges of your vision.
And then the fountain at the centre of the hall exploded.
Water erupted sky-high, dousing nobles and chandeliers alike. Screams tore through the air. Plates crashed. Horses whinnied outside the gates. And in the chaos, two very familiar figures flailed onto the polished marble — one blue and flopping indignantly, the other red and clacking his claws with the frantic dignity of a man facing execution.
Gojo. Nanami.
You blinked, stunned.
Kaori gasped, stepping back from the spreading flood. Her hand brushed your sleeve—and for the first time, you felt it.
The illusion slipped.
The magic peeled away like rotted paint, revealing not a girl at all, but something older and hungrier. Her eyes flickered black for a heartbeat. Her mouth twisted, something wrong slithering just beneath the surface of her skin.
You staggered backwards, revulsion crashing over you like a tidal wave.The boy — your boy — caught your eye across the hall.
He stood frozen in the archway, soaked to the bone, clutching the locket at his throat like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth. His face was pale, his mouth trembling with words he couldn’t speak. His eyes — gods, his eyes — were wide and aching and full of so much hope you thought it might tear you in two.
You moved before you even realised it.
Across the ballroom, through the wreckage and screaming and magic unravelling at the seams, you ran. Kaori shrieked behind you, her voice warping into something guttural and wrong, but you didn’t look back. You tore past the courtiers, past the guards, past everything you had been trained your whole life to care about, and skidded to a halt in front of him.
He flinched — tiny, automatic — but didn’t run.
You reached out, cupping his face between your hands, feeling the tremor racing through him. He smelled like salt and sunlight and something sharp and ancient that had nothing to do with this world.
"You," you whispered, your voice breaking. "It was always you." His mouth opened — a gasp, a sob — but no words came.
He didn’t need them.
You surged forward and kissed him.
The world splintered.
The spell shattered with a soundless crack, like a mirror dropped from a great height. Light spilled from the locket at his throat, engulfing you both, washing the last of Kenjaku’s magic from the air. Somewhere in the distance, you heard a shriek — furious, inhuman — and then silence.
Only the two of you remained, tangled together, breathless and shaking.
He stared up at you like you had hung the stars.You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t want to.
You leaned in again, slower this time, pressing your forehead to his. His hands fisted in the front of your jacket, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him like you might still disappear.
"Stay," he mouthed.
You nodded, voice wrecked and raw. "Always."
And then you kissed him again — harder, desperate — and he melted into you like he had been waiting his whole life for this.
⋆｡°✩
You didn’t know how you got back to your room.
The storm had ended. The court was in chaos. Kaori — no, Kenjaku — had vanished with the tide. And yet, somehow, you were here, the boy in your arms, trembling like he couldn’t believe you were real.
The moonlight pooled across the floor in silver-blue waves. The bed creaked softly beneath your weight as you helped him sit, careful, reverent, like he might dissolve if you touched him too roughly.
His hair was still damp, sticking to his cheeks. His lips were red from your kisses. You didn’t know his name. You didn’t know his story. But you knew his eyes — you’d always known them — and that was enough.
He looked at you, chest rising and falling like he’d run miles just to be here. And when he reached out — hands clumsy, unsure — it was you who leaned in, pressing your mouth to his, slow and sure and deep enough to make him gasp.
Clothes slipped away like seafoam. Not rushed, not greedy — just... necessary. Like you’d both been waiting for this without even realising it. He was lean under your hands, sculpted by the current and salt and something softer underneath. He didn’t try to hide himself. There was no shame in the way he looked at you, only want. Trust.
You laid him back carefully, the way you’d handle something sacred. His legs framed your hips, his fingers tracing your jaw like he needed to memorise you. You kissed down his throat, over his collarbones, across his chest — pausing only when you felt the shiver run through him again.
"Okay?" you murmured, voice low.
He nodded, breathless.
You went slow.
You took your time with him — with your mouth, your hands, your everything. You kissed every inch you could reach. You made him fall apart with your tongue before you even pressed inside. And when he finally gasped and arched beneath you, eyes glassy with pleasure, it felt like the sea itself rose to meet you.
You held him through every thrust, every moan, every desperate whisper. And when he came — shaking, clinging, mouth open in a silent cry — you followed right after, burying your face in his shoulder, trying not to break in half from the way it felt to be wanted like that.
When it was over, you stayed tangled together in the sheets. Breathing. Listening to the ocean outside. Letting the quiet settle over you both like a promise.
His voice came at last — a hoarse whisper, barely a sound.
“...Suguru.”
You blinked. Looked down.
He gave you a tiny, tired smile. “My name. It’s Suguru.”
You swallowed hard. Nodded.
And in the silence that followed, you kissed him again.
Just because you could.
The sea had been quiet ever since Kenjaku vanished. No more sudden storms. No more secrets in the tide. Just warmth. Calm. Healing.
Suguru had never imagined he’d walk on legs — let alone walk down an aisle.
But there he was, dressed in white and gold, barefoot in the grass, arm linked with Gojo’s (who was somehow crying and smiling at the same time). The kingdom had gathered in the cliffside courtyard overlooking the ocean. Shells and petals lined the aisle. Musicians played softly. And at the altar, you waited — standing taller than you ever had, like the earth itself had been holding its breath for this moment.
When Suguru met your eyes, it was over. He laughed. You did too. Both of you lost to it — that stupid, breathless, aching kind of joy.
The ceremony was short. Sweet. Suguru’s father, still stiff with guilt, gave a reluctant blessing. Gojo (still sniffling) handed off the rings. And when you finally kissed him — husband and husband, above the sea, with the whole world watching — it didn’t feel like an ending.
It felt like the start of everything.
There was a party after, of course. Suguru twirled in his robes, kissed your cheek until you blushed, danced barefoot on the stone with his hair loose and his smile wild. Gojo sang an off-key love song while Nanami tried to shove cake into his face. Mai and Maki bickered over who got the bigger slice. You stood with Suguru’s hand in yours, watching them all, heart full in a way it had never been before.
And later — when the moon rose, and the guests had gone, and you carried Suguru into the bedroom like he weighed nothing at all — he whispered something against your chest that made you stop breathing entirely.
“I used to dream of being part of your world,” he said softly.
You kissed the words from his lips. “You are my world now.”
And outside, the sea sang softly to itself, content at last.
The arena was nothing but cold steel, bloodstains, and the constant fear of death looming over you. So, when you finally managed to find a hidden spot away from the cameras, you lit up a blunt that you had managed to somehow sneak in, inhaling deep, letting the tension in your body ease for the first time in days.
You didn't expect company, but then again, of course someone would show up.
"Tch, you’re really bold, huh?" a cocky voice piped up, and you turned to see him—Thanos, the purple-haired loudmouth rapper. His presence was unmistakable, as was that damn grin that screamed trouble.
He plopped down next to you without asking, nodding toward your blunt. "Pass it."
You considered telling him to piss off, but there was something almost amusing about his audacity. With a sigh, you handed him the blunt, watching as he inhaled like a pro.
"Damn," he exhaled, smirking at you. "Didn’t think a guy like you would have good taste."
"And what kind of guy am I?" you asked, raising a brow.
"Boring. Too serious. Probably one of those dudes who thinks he's got everything under control." He chuckled, flicking ash onto the ground. "Bet you're the type who likes to be in charge, huh?"
You side-eyed him. "And what about you?"
"Oh, me?" He grinned, leaning back on his elbows. "I like to piss people off. Keeps things interesting."
He kept running his mouth, going on about how he was the best rapper in Korea, how people worshipped him, and how, if the cameras weren’t watching, he’d probably be throwing the guards around like rag dolls.
You let him talk, dragging slowly on the blunt, waiting for the moment he'd slip up. And, sure enough—
"Bet you’ve never met someone like me, huh?" he teased, his gaze flicking to yours. "A guy who knows he’s hot shit and doesn’t take orders."
You let out a slow, deep breath and turned to face him completely. "You don’t take orders?"
"Nope," he said smugly.
"So what if I told you to shut up?"
His grin widened. "I’d probably talk even more."
You leaned in, closing the distance between you two. His breath hitched for just a second—not enough for anyone else to notice, but you did.
"You talk too much," you murmured, taking the blunt from his hand and pressing it to your lips. His eyes followed your movements, his usual cocky expression faltering just a little.
"And what, you gonna do something about it?" he taunted, but his voice was quieter now, his bravado teetering on the edge.
"Maybe," you mused, tilting your head. "But I don't think you’d last five seconds without running that mouth of yours."
That did it. His smirk twitched. "Tch. You wish."
"Prove it."
He went silent.
The air between you both got heavy. He wasn’t used to someone checking him like this. Every muscle in his body was tense, like he was waiting for you to make a move.
You leaned back slightly, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. "Yeah. That’s what I thought."
"Tch…" he scoffed, but you could tell—he’d lost the game. The brat had been tamed.
"Maybe I do like to be in charge," you admitted, standing up and stretching. "But it looks like someone likes being put in their place, too."
He huffed, looking away, but the slight flush at the tips of his ears didn’t go unnoticed.
"Shut up," he muttered, but he didn't move away as you stood over him, asserting every ounce of control you had.
"Make me," you challenged.
Without warning, he pulled you in by the front of your tracksuit, crashing his lips onto yours.
You were mildly surprise, but you reciprocated the kiss with a sense of eagerness, you hands gripping onto his waist.
Wary of any guard that might pop up from a corner, you pushed the purple-haired man further into the tight spot, pushing his pants down and lifting his legs up without prior warning.
He gasped– looking up to face you, but you were too busy with you fingers, spitting on your hand and letting it slid onto his naked hole- making him flinch.
Once you felt that your saliva had worked enough, you tugged down your own track pants, revealing your erection.
The other man's eyes widened, he had never seen a cock so– big before.
Without warning, you pressed the tip in his hole– making his head hit the wall with a loud moan– before which you covered his mouth with the hand that wasn't holding him up.
“Fucking brat– can't stay quite even when you're filled to the brim, hm?”
Unable to respond– he merely whimpered, pretty eyes rolling to the back of his head as you sheathed yourself in him all the way to the brim.
You buried your head in the crook of his neck and pulled out almost all the way before slamming back in, groaning at how tight he was.
Your repeated thrusts kept Thanos mumbling incoherently even with your hand covering his mouth. You merely rolled your eyes and pistoned into him even deeper– making his back arch against the wall.
Soon– you felt yourself at the brink of release and didn't bother to pull out, coating the other man's insides a pearly white.
Thanos hadn't come yet– but you slowed down your thrusts, making the man whine.
“You thought I would let you off that easy? Beg for it.”
You removed your hand from his mouth, and the other man immediately began blabbering and begging for you to let him cum.
After listening for a minute or two, you had grown hard again, and began to resume your thrusts– making him let out a loud moan.
Your other hand worked on his cock, slowly jerking him off as compared to the rapid pace you were fucking him at.
Soon, he felt his orgasm wash over him like a waterfall, and came all over your hand.
You kept him upright, and found the blunt discarded on the floor. Thankfully it was still lit.
You picked it up and placed it in Thanos’ mouth, to which he groaned– head falling back as he inhaled deep.
You slowly placed him down, cleaned him up with some cloth that was lying around and sat down next to him, taking the blunt from his mouth and inhaling the smoke.
The silence between you both lingered even after the blunt was long gone.
Thanos didn’t say much after that. For the first time since you met him, he seemed thoughtful—or maybe just trying to figure out why he let you get under his skin so damn easily.
"We're gonna pretend that didn’t just happen?" he finally asked, standing up beside you.
You smirked. "Nope."
He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets and muttered, "Next time, bring more. We’re not done."
You watched him walk away, his usual cocky stride slightly stiffer than before. You just chuckled, shaking your head.
ahahhh, yes. i’ve had a fixation on graves for the longest I can even remember being in the cod fandom, midas is nothing new either I just never got around to posting content on him.
might get to writing a midas drabble soon after a theme change.
literally banging at the walls of my enclosure at the thought of western au!141 + graves & makarov.
content: headcannons, western au, no proof read, sfw
barkeeper / saloon owner! kyle “gaz” garrick whom owns a tight end bar thats known for the best liquor out west. men travel yards just to taste the taut beers and whiskeys. its something hes truely proud of, owning a business in these days aren’t stable most of the times.
so when a group of bandits come storming in tryin’ to rob him of all of his worth and take his saloon girls, lets just say he ain’t happy. there was nothing he could do cause he’d never been robbed before. it was outright to even consider robbing in this town, so the sudden change had him on his toes.
gaz goes for his last resort and tells the townsmen to try and get reimbursement, but they wont do anything about it, says a man his “color” should be greatful to even own such a business in a town like this. and if that doesn’t get him going its what sparks it, cause the next day hes heading down to the sheriffs office to report the bandits.
the sheriffs man tells him he could be in useful hands to help track and find these bandits so gaz is the first to get recruited into the program/commitee.
cowboy! simon “ghost” riley who owns stable horses, cattle, bull, sheep and piglets. hes locally known for his ridgid nature and the deadly skull mask that makes up his face. some say its to warn off bandits, some say that he was a bandit, neither are confirmed to be true though.
when no one can come up with who he is behind the mask, they start calling him ghost cause’ there always seems to be mystery around him.
simon always keeps stock of his cattle but oddly lately they seem to be goin missing. when the news gets around that theres a group of bandits going around causing chaos, he’s relatively pissed. soon his horses start to go missing, some even killed. at first he dealt with the cattle going missing but now killing his horses? he wanted revenge.
no animal deserved to be harmed in such way. hell he had started to blame himself for not being there to stop the pesky rats.
so when the local sherrifs man price comes around talking all nonsense about getting affected locals to help him on course to find their leader, sure as hell he saddled up his horse and had an ol’ friend laswell to take care of his stables while he was away.
lawman / sheriff! john price who is above all petty crimes and laws. hes kept his town clean for decades, having been passed his job as lawman from his father and his father before that. its all normal until a banker has stolen funds and taken off. it must have been what tripped many wires in the squeaky town. cause bandit after bandit started rolling in stealing and causing utter disaster.
so when locals start to report havoc reeking on an even major scale its no doubt hes pissed. he finds out the bandits started to band together and has made a permanent group.
he cannot possibly track down all of these bandits by himself so he suggests collecting a few affected locals to the lawmakers to form a temporary committee in finding the bandits. and when kyle comes to him about being robbed hes offering him a deal to join him.
blacksmith! johnny “soap” mactavish whose a foreigner to the town, that first gets into making horseshoes for cowboy!simon. when he hears the news about the bandits stealing from businesses and harming locals the first thing he does is message simon to make sure his poor cattle are fine.
its reasonable hes mad once hes informed the bandits had attacked and stolen horses, even harmed them. he feels sympathetic for the animals just as much as simon and when the sheriff calls simon about the committee hes the first one to know.
and the third to join out of sake of sympathy for all and everyone in the town who had been affected. also feels as a foreigner he has to prove himself worthy of becoming known in the town for his hardships.
bounty hunter! phillip graves who runs a large underground outlaw organization. called shadow corp. him and his shadows capture and kill peoples who have bountys placed on them. they travel territories and districts collecting the cash. ultimately they decide to store the money in a bank, so no one knows what their scheming.
a local west district banker named of shepherd allows them to smuggle the money into the banks safe. not without a fee though as they have to commit to doing personal bountys for him along side thir work.
bandit! vladimir makarov whose morals drive him away from his job as a banker. hes caught stealing the savings from the bank, taking off before the lawman can question him. its 2 years later before he comes back, though not alone, having gathered a loyal pack of thieves which he called konni. they caused crime all around town. trampling businesses, stealing cattle, and harming the locals.
and when that wasnt enough they started branching out to other territories.
law man / sheriff! john price who gains attention from the lawmakers and eventually the sheriff, gathers locals who have been affected by these crime dwindles and temporarily has them help in search for bandits. allowing them to become lawmen. one of simons old stable horses had the number 141 etched into its skin, though it later died fighting off a group of bandits. which is the reasoning behind their lawmaker crews name 141.
along the search for the leader of the infamous konni group they travel other towns and even different districts to further stop the bandits. 141 comes in contact with a travelling bounty hunter who is in need of help tracking someone whom had recently had a bounty put out on them, says he’ll split the bounty cash, betrays them and before they know it, he takes off.
soon they’ll all meet the leader of konni, but not in the way their expecting.
AN: LOLOL WAS SUPPOSED TO POST THAT STUPID MAKAROV FIC BUT I DONT KNOW IF IM GOING TO FINISH IT.
fucking a well known superhero in their full suit while degrading them; knowing they can only sit n take what you give them >>> bonus points if you take pictures or videos of it ,, only to send it to them a few weeks later as a humiliating reminder.
thinking of ;; batman. superman. ironman. quicksilver. whom ever you please..
chattt the studio has been releasing new ideas had to get cooking 🙂↔️
I have question though LMK IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN LOL
should I finish the headcannons and then make a fic regarding one of the characters and their situations that is mentioned in the headcannons, or should I finish the headcannons and write the character with an entirely different prompt than the one that was left in the headcannons.
finish headcannons, write character with premade situation.
finish headcannons, write character with different situation.
hm felt like that was going to be picked, im already working on a makarov fic thats 2k + words and a few drabbles so ill start writing this in few days. key question is
omg i thought i was the only one to notice that so many blogs are deactivating, it makes me so sad when looking for their fics
yea its so sad cause i use to be an emoji anon for multiple deactivated accounts n’ those interactions literally made my day. there was this one persons blog I was looking for and it upset me a bit to see that they deactivated both of their accounts, I know its their choice but I use to read their fics religiously old and new.
One thing golden era Wattpad writers had going for them was that they knew the importance of a buildup. I'm of the opinion that the sexual tension is WAY more satisfying to read than the actual sex and quite frankly there is a serious lack of non smutty writing.
Like I really miss reading fics/ x readers that start from scratch. Meeting the characters, initial reactions getting to know them, the tension the jealousy the TENSION the freaking tension.
Looking and looking away when they get spotted, touches that feel like they linger but perhaps they didn't and they're both so hot for each other that they think it's wishful thinking. And I don't mean just sweet sunshine romances, darker works can have a buildup too but it seems like so much is just about getting to the smut instead of the psychological aspect.
imagine being makarovs personal assistant—although to him you’re more of a free use fuck buddy that he can go to whenever and wherever to get stretched out. its ironic to say the least, him throwing slurs at you in russian while hes riding your cock freely in his office.
or just before he meets with high-end stakeholders who are willing to provide him with any information that he might need,, hes pushing you into a small janitorial closet before grabbing the both of your dicks and equally sliding them together. creating a friction that almost has his eyes rolling back.
keyword almost, makarov will always refrain from permitting such intimacy. you on the other hand struggle to contain the low grunts and groans as you shift on your weight; placing your hand on his slightly smaller one to guide him into a much faster pace.
and maybe its all an act cause’ as fast as it began, it ends. with him releasing his load onto your hand to him zipping his pants up quickly, and leaving without saying a word.
its outrageous how my roster of favorite fanfiction writers has decreased by a great amount because they all deactivated their accounts or just are not active. this year encouraged a lot of them to deactivate and ive really noticed a drought in fics, especially under the top! male reader tags. (active 1 year ago makes me feel nostalgic.)
CONTENT: task f 141 + graves + makarov headcannons — gn! reader >> slight angst. nsfw kinda. main character death mentioned. gun kink. knife kink. marking kink. blood mentioned. internalized homophobia. wc: around 1000+
an ;; LMAO CAN YOU TELL WHO HALF THOSE TAGS ARE FOR
“HOW DO THEY LOVE? // HOW POSSESSIVE ARE THEY? // DO THEY SHARE?„
SIMON “GHOST” RILEY ✮
hes possessive alright. simon most likey has never had or felt real feelings for another person other than his familiarity with 141 and that wouldn’t attempt to change unless he’d met someone who is able to sneak into the gigantic walls he put up for himself.
that being said if you were to step into his life by chance and also happen to fit his personality enough for his walls to shift.. lets just say you’d be on his hook for life. simon takes pride in knowing he has finally has someone to go home to (like a real military man he thinks), he takes pride in knowing he can count on someone, he takes care of the ones he “loves”. you caring for him back is just bonus points in his fucked up book.
sum of it ghost is pretty possessive, although hes not the one to kill or be extreme with his measures for you ( he will break a bone or two ), he will always make sure to put himself first and while that’s selfish hes been through more than enough to know that love never sticks and his trauma filled heart wont let him stay too long—but if he thinks that you are a need in his life,, then you are his to keep.
hell asking if ghost shares could get you killed. while ghost is not the one to kill for you—he will kill for himself. you are now a necessity in ghosts life; in simons life. you’re in his routine and he doesn’t make room in his routine for just anybody, simon sees you as a part of his own as he now needs you for certain tasks. killing for himself is way easier and will happen if anyone even suggests sharing you to him.
CAPTAIN. JOHN PRICE
john is one hell of a lover, thats for sure. he takes his love life seriously; wants to date to marry type serious. its sure by his age he’s already been divorced or has been married and thats not something he takes lightly. hes all for one night stands but if your going to get him all cheesed up just expect to take him out to dinner the next day.
if the “date” goes well and you both start with something thats sort of a talking stage, its clear he wants something as he doesn’t let his guard down for just anybody. like simon he puts his work first, task force 141 coming before his own soul. hes a workaholic of course and would need someone who he could talk to about his paperwork; a person he could complain to for hours about how soap works on his nerves.
if you meet his standards you might as well be his even if you dont know it; he’s just as possessive as it gets. you’re civilian? hes treating you like one of his soldiers because he’s possessive over all of his men, price will kill for you knowing the danger he attracts. you’re military? hes backing you up if you need the extra assistance and will not hesitate to drop a body for you. cause thats how he loves; its all he knows.
sharing is a hard no for price, he finds it awkward to share with anyone and if you want someone else.. lets just say he’d rather leave you than see you be with another person while with him, again he will not share under no circumstance. he needs you and you only and if you cant except that then “best get to goin’. ” in his words.
JOHNNY “SOAP” MACTAVISH
soap doesnt love as hard as john or have walls as high as ghost, he has his own sense of self coordination. soap wants someone whose rough enough but can handle his jokes. someone who can love him for who he his, for all his scars, for his wellbeing.
I imagine johnny growing up being chastised for his sexuality. meeting you would solidify something in him as you would accept him and he would never forget that heavenly trait of yours. hes fallen for you already and theres not much more to do before he wants a ring from you.
I know I said he doesnt love as hard as john but soap can come to love just as hard and willingly as he wants to; all he needs is a push. soaps clingy nature is active once hes feeling comfortable around you, wants to be by you most of the time especially including when he has to do stacks of deskwork.
soap is one of the only ones who is willing to share, thinks its your choice compared to his. no matter what you do hes by your side; though, killing for you is his last resort. with johnny killing will not always be his first option especially since being discharged from the military he feels as though is a disgrace, he would only kill immediately if you were part of the military too and were harmed in combat. hes protective but not as possessive as the others.
KYLE "GAZ" GARRICK
kyle has relationship problems, falls for the wrong types of people. lets his guard down a bit too much than the others. makes him different in his heart; but too soft for the bunch. he crushes on people who give him even the tiniest bit of affection, must be because hes only dated around a few times. so guess its not absurd for the situation that was between you two.
It was weird for a bit; weird cant even be the word. you and kyle were bestfriends and kyle had liked you. it was awkward to say the least but he confessed and for the first time in a while someone had said yes to his confession. it already sparked so many feelings that you could probably have had him right there.
while gaz has relationship problems its safe to say hes just as possessive as the others, once hes got a hold of you its a while before he lets go. hes clingy like soap and loves hard like price. he’s different because he will kill for you if needed, whether you be civilian or military personnel no matter what’s happening kyle loves too much to let the person he cares about go.
he shares because, again, its your choice and hes into whatever your into. though his tolerance is low; hes only sharing because its what you want. he would never willingly share if you didn’t want to and would never ask you if you wanted relations with another person.
COM. PHILLIP GRAVES
phillip is a one night stand typa guy, only there to fuck and leave. wouldn’t want a serious relationship and surely wouldn’t want someone to love. so he slept around ,, his job as commander was stressful, its no doubt he needed a stress reliever every minute he could get; one night stands provided that and he was fine with it, fine with the circumstances.
ironically that is until he met you.. you were “different” he said. you pushed his buttons in all the right ways; made him want more of you. made him feel weird inside. said he couldn’t feel love onetime and you almost made him regret it. phillip loves rough though its soft around the edges.. he wants that same type of love reciprocated right back to him, its alright if you cant be soft to him he’ll still take it like the goodboy he is.
wants someone who will treat him horribly but at the end of the day love him harder than ever, not ideal but its what he wants, and he gets what he wants. never been one to quit either, will continue to try and get you even if you said no to his advances the first time.
safe to say he wont be sharing either, he has major problems with sharing when it comes to complete strangers. might share you with his shadows though; other times he wants you all to himself because he knows hes all you need. all your body needs atleast. your opinion is honestly irrelevant to him too. (he will drop anyone dead within a 5 feet radius of you.)
COM. VLADIMIR MAKAROV
vladimir, the one who is the toughest to break and even tougher to love. this is because unless you have a sign on your forehead that says “hey pick me”, makarov is not batting an eye for a civilian. under no circumstances will he let his emotions with a mere under role come in hand with his work.
so in every scenario your in some type of military work or even under him in command, cause then he might peak an eyelash towards your files and find out who you are. if prior to meeting eachother you idolize his work—you’ve already climbed towers that would take years to reach. makarov wants someone whose loyal, someone whose willing to put him first (he wants a dog whose willing to take their life for him).
and while many of his soldiers already happen to do that everyday for him, you stick out like a sore thumb so bad that it just so happens to confuse him. he questions whats so damn interesting about you and even comes to reason that its him being weak minded and ill thoughted. a leader does not think such thoughts about someone of your sexuality; sure as hell not a person whose so proud of it. later he comes to realize his thoughts were wrong.
after a hookup between the two of you during a stressful day, he sees more of whats to come. of course still he doesn’t support but he can get behind it just for you. makarov is VERY possessive, he would kill cities for you; countries even. would carve his name on your body so that everyone knows your his, make you get a tattoo atleast. (gets you guns with his name engraved into them, loves when you try to use them against him during sex; he has a major gun kink / knife kink and loves inflicting pain on you to the point where you’re bleeding.)
he for sure does not share. hes one of the ones thats obsessive over what you do enough to keep you locked up too, once your marked as his you stay his. he does not take well to his property being used by others and does not condone what you feel for that matter. if you disagree or betray his decisions,, no matter how much hes come to accept you, he can and will not hesitate to shoot you dead along with anyone whose ever tried to come in contact with you. he does not share.
bonus: WHOSE IN WHAT POSITION? (sub/dom) ✮
simon is a dom for sure while still not feeling that comfortable submitting, price also is a dom but not because he’s uncomfortable he just likes having a bit of power, johnny is a sub(literally no explanation), kyle is a switch sub/dom depending on what mood hes feeling, graves is a sub leaning dom as he doesn’t like to let you do everything by yourself, makarov is the most power in a dom ive ever seen because he can’t stand having someone being superior to him.
an :: maybeeew writing makarov smut fic in a few days maybeee 🙂↕️
