#I hate how there's no flexibility in most jobs around what hours you work. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sukirichi · 4 years ago

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— there’s always a price to pay when you get your hands on a work of art.

PAIRING: tattoo! artist megumi x reader

REQUEST. tattoo artist au + mutual pining + size kink, praise kink, thigh riding + reader is shorter than megumi and isn’t shy

WARNINGS: feral megumi, scratching, vaginal sex, size kink, praise kink, mature content, slight overstimulation, sexual tension lol, unedited story

NOTES: ah thank you so much for this request, I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Here is my third contribution for FERAL MEGUMI FRIDAYS! and oh wow tattoo artist megumi uh no thoughts head empty

WC: 5.4k+

The tattoo saloon loomed over you, the neon signs almost blinding in the darkness. You could feel your heart pick up its pace in your chest as you hitched your bag up higher, the excitement settling in your toes. Mustering up the brightest smile you could have, you cleared your throat and pushed the door open, the tiny bell on top jingling to signal your arrival.

Your eyes roamed around the walls covered with intricate drawings, the leather seats dark and kept in pristine. Now that was rare – your leather couches always wore out in just a few weeks.

Making your way inside, grip on your sling bag still tight, you bit your lip as you peaked behind the counter. Empty. No one was there, and the nearby opened rooms were empty as well. Scratching your head, you scrunched your nose in confusion. You were sure you got the right place.

With a heavy sigh, you turned to leave, then stopped in your tracks when a dark-haired man exited a door you hadn’t even noticed at first.

He was tall – taller than you; his arms stretched until the sleeves of his black hoodie were pulled down, revealing a sliver of black tattoos that marked his skin. Upon hearing your awed gasp, his cold blue eyes fluttered to yours, the man – who was absolutely handsome despite his frown – froze in his spot.

You waved a hand to him, your smile bigger than ever. “Hi!” So you would be working with this cute guy? Maybe job-hunting wasn’t such a bad experience, after all.

“Hey,” he drawled out hesitantly, approaching you with his ink stained fingers pointed at you. He was still frowning, which was a damn shame, since you were sure he’d look even hotter if he smiled. “So...you’re Y/N.”

“Yeah!”

“And you...” he tilted his head to the side, inquisitive eyes studying your form. You would’ve felt conscious with the way his brows furrowed, eyes unreadable and lips pressed into a thin line, but you were sure you dressed to impress on your first interview. You admitted, however, that maybe wearing a white collared shirt with a pink tennis skirt made you stand out like a sore thumb in the heaviness of the studio. “...want to be a front desk man here?”

“Yeah!”

“What makes you think you’re qualified for this?” he crossed his arms on his chest, and you didn’t miss the slight bite of his voice. So he was handsome – but cranky. Great. “You don’t look like you fit in here.”

“Judging someone’s appearance and inferring that it has any relation to their credentials isn’t such a professional thing to do, you know,” you raised your chin proudly, jutting a pointer finger to his chest. He clearly didn’t expect this because he scowled and took a step back, while you fought the grin that threatened to paint your face. “Would you like it if people told you that you’re not qualified to be a lawyer because of your tattoos and piercings?”

He scoffed, “I don’t want to be a lawyer. As you can see, I’m a tattoo artist. And to answer your question, no, I don’t give a fuck what people think about me.”

“I can tell,” you muttered to yourself before smiling back up at him. He was too easy to read; his brow quivering and lips firm at your faux enthusiasm. “But yes, I do believe I’m qualified! I’m a fast learner and I’m even quick on my feet! I’m really good at talking to people too so I believe I can help schedule client appointments really well and guide them with this whole process.”

“Being front desk man doesn’t mean serving the clients tea and biscuits.”

“I know.”

“You know?” he snorted with a roll of his eyes. He then gestured you to follow him all the way back to the front desk. You expected he’d teach you about how to handle the appointment books or pick up phone calls, but instead he plopped down on the leather couch of the waiting area, his legs crossed on top of the other.

Your eyes followed the patch of pale skin exposed from his ripped jeans before you looked away, not wanting him to see that you found him attractive despite his less than welcoming personality.

“What exactly do you know about this industry?”

“Nothing, to be honest, but I’m not here to be a tattoo artist or anything. I just really need a job and I assure you I’ve got plenty of experience and knowledge when it comes to manning front desks or counters,” you stated confidently, “I know I look out of place, but I really need this job.”

The man only narrowed his eyes at you. Contemplation was written all over his face, probably wondering why you couldn’t just work somewhere else. “Why come here, of all places?”

“Because it’s the only one that has a flexible schedule,” you sighed, “I can’t work shifts anymore because I’m too busy at university. From when I talked to your boss – Geto, was it? – he said that the salon was open 24/7 and I could work until before my classes start. He’s not really strict about that kind of thing.”

“So you mean to tell me,” he leaned forwards, looping his fingers with one another while his ice cold gaze slithered over your desperate ones. “You’ll be at university for half the day, sleep until midnight, and then come here to work and attend class a few hours later? Isn’t your schedule a little irregular?”

“Oh no, it’s not like that! I also have mock classes after uni and it lasts until late at night, then I help clean at the local shelter. They’re running out of volunteers and the dogs are really adorable and take my stress away so...I make sure to come by when I have time.”

“You are one odd creature,” he noted loudly, almost as if he wasn’t completely aware he vocalized his thoughts. Well, at least now you knew he wasn’t the type to think his words over, which either made him more entertaining – or insufferable the longer you worked with him – if you began working anyway. “You could’ve used your spare time to rest. Do you even eat?”

“Yeah, I have a granola bar right now with me! I actually brought two,” you pulled out the snack from your bag, “You want some? I only got the oats, though.”

“Keep it to yourself,” he rolled his eyes, slapping his hands over his knees before rummaging over something behind the counter. “Fine. If Geto said he’s okay with you, then you’re hired.”

“Really, that easy?” your eyes widened, but then you chuckled when this strange man glared at you in response. He sighed as he pulled out a piece of paper, a pen on top of it. The papers read something about application forms and credentials, and you beamed, happily writing your information away with a slight bounce in your toes.

Unable to keep your happiness to yourself, you looked back at the bored man, wiggling your eyebrows playfully. “Huh. I was kind of expecting you would grill me – you’ve got that scary look in your eye. Let me guess, you often scare clients off?”

It seemed he could never get tired of glaring at you, because his eyes fuelled with heat as he leaned against the wall.

You hated to admit that he looked ridiculously handsome like that – the guy wasn’t even doing anything remotely attractive in the first place!

“I’m the most booked artist here, and I ask that you don’t get too comfortable with me. You haven’t even started working here and you’re already riling up on my train,” he groaned when you merely laughed in response. He made quick work of signing something in your form before handing you a key. “Here’s for your locker. Come to work tomorrow. Geto won’t be around for a week so I’ll be the one judging your performance. If you fuck up in the slightest – I won’t hesitate to fire you, you understand? We always have Yuuji coming around anyway, you’re really not that needed for the front desk.”

“Oh,” you nodded at his harshness, unsure whether to feel threatened or amused. “O-okay. I’ll do my best then. I look forward to you – ah, wait, what’s your name?”

“Fushiguro Megumi.”

“Oh, that’s a pretty name,” you muttered to yourself, uttering his name over and over again until it rolled smoothly on your tongue. “Shame you have a shitty attitude along with that handsome face, though.”

“You trying to say something?”

You faced him, about to laugh when he scowled at your not-so-subtle comments. Waving your hands to him, you made your way out the door, your smile only irritating him further. “No, I wasn’t. I’ll be taking my leave then – see you tomorrow!”

Seems like working in a tattoo studio wouldn’t be so bad.

You came to work the next day early and pumped with adrenaline. The idea of meeting the moody tattoo artist caused you to be giggly and happy the whole day, not even feeling the exhaustion of a long day of hard work as you made your way inside the shop.

Clocking in at exactly two in the morning, you proudly tugged your name badge on top of your left breast, patting it for good luck.

The bells jingled, making you look away from your tag. “Good morning – oh, where’s Megumi?” The man standing in front of you was taller than Megumi, his head nearly knocking over the doorframe if it wasn’t for his poor, slouched lanky frame.

He had white hair that brushed atop his cerulean blue eyes, and your eyes widened because wow, he was beautiful.

“Hey, you must be Y/N! Megumi told me you came around yesterday but he didn’t tell me the counter girl was this pretty,” He was in front of you the next second, his nose nearly grazing over yours that had you leaning back into the wall for space. “Hmm...he didn’t tell me that at all.”

“Oh, thank you. You are...?”

“I’m Gojo Satoru, one of the senior artists here. Since Megumi isn’t here yet, let me give you a tour!” Before you could react, Satoru already had an arm wrapped around your shoulder, his other arm waving and pointing to all the hung paintings and labels on each door. You found it odd that he treated you like you were an old friend, but you weren’t going to complain. Nice co-workers were always welcomed.

“Here is the holding area where clients wait to get their session done. This is Geto’s studio and right next to that is his office where he does all the finances and all that jazz, while this is my studio. Cool, isn’t it?”

Your mouth fell ajar as Satoru led you inside his studio, the walls painted the same aquatic shade of his eyes, but what caught your attention was the galaxy themed tattoo designs he made. They came in different shapes – a volcano head, a dragon, a worm, a four-armed monster – but inside them were all galaxies with sparkling and burning stars. You could see everything and nothing all at the same time.

“Whoa, you made all this?!”

Satoru’s chest puffed out proudly, “Yeah, I did. I’m flattered by your reaction, I really am, but you haven’t seen Megumi’s yet. There’s a reason our salon boomed even though he’s only been working here for two years.”

At the mention of his name, your interest was piqued, all ears and curious smiles directed to Satoru. “Oh, can I see Megumi’s studio?”

“You can – if you book an appointment.”

“But I don’t plan on getting any tattoos,” you frowned.

“You’ll never get to see his work then,” he chuckled to himself, the sound growing louder when you visibly deflated. What was the point of getting your hopes up like that then? “Megumi doesn’t like letting others in his studio without permission or an appointment.”

“Why not?”

“He’s just iffy about it,” he shrugged, “Don’t bother trying to decode his personality anymore, Megumi’s very hard to understand. Though if I were to make sense of it...” he rubbed his chin, eyes looking out into the distance. “I guess you could say Megumi’s not the type to be showy when it comes to his work of art. Did that clear it up?”

You blinked back blankly. “No, not really. But it’s fine – I don’t plan on getting to know him anyway.”

That was the biggest lie of your life.

The moment Megumi came around a few minutes later, a loud groan upon your animated greeting over his arrival, your chest bloomed with a different kind of fluttery warmth. He rarely came out after that, clients swarming in to both his and Satoru’s studios, but each faint glimpse of his door cracking open that allowed you to see him focused as he worked, you could no longer deny the heat burning down your legs.

You crushed on the grumpy tattoo artist.

And the more you came around work, greeting him zealously and teasing him to no end that he’d look hotter if he smiled, your crush only intensified for him – completely unaware that he too, couldn’t get his thoughts off of you even with his door closed.

In fact, he kept his door closed all the time because your voice distracted him too much.

“Hey, Y/N, you free?”

You looked up from the textbook you were reviewing, slamming it shut when Satoru’s head peeked out from his studio. He was still wearing gloves with a pen between his fingers, most likely still in the middle of a session.

“Yep! We don’t have appointments yet and I’ve already closed it for non-appointees. Did you need me to get you something?”

“Yeah, could you get Megumi for me? He isn’t picking his phone up and one of our special clients are coming soon. I’m packed right now so I can’t fetch him. I’ll send you the address and you get him, yeah? Just open the counter if you need money for a cab.”

You blinked owlishly at him. On one side, you’d be more than glad to see Megumi again. He hadn’t arrived despite it being four in the morning already, and you were worried, but you also didn’t have his number to ask how he was doing. Progress with Megumi was...slow, to say the least.

He still holed himself up in his studio, coming out only for bathroom breaks, although you noticed a drastic improvement when he finally began to mutter an almost shy “good morning” under his breath for the past few weeks.

It wasn’t much, but you’d have to make do.

“Uhm, when is this client of his coming? Should I run...?”

“Yeah, you need to fucking run. They’re coming in an hour and a half!” Satoru exclaimed, flailing his hands around like a madman.

Even after working with him for some time, you still couldn’t believe the older man was practically a man child, even asking for head pats sometimes. He would lean down with a pout, using a squeaky voice to call your attention, which always succeeded in Megumi fake gagging before he locked himself inside his studio.

“Forwarded you his address. Really sorry for the inconvenience, Y/N!”

“It’s okay!” you jumped out of your seat in an instant, not bothering to take your name tag off anymore as you left the salon, hailing the nearest cab.

Megumi lived quite far from the salon, which had you wondering why he chose to work there when there were plenty of salons in his area too. His place looked shady, as well, his apartment in a high-rise building with endless graffiti and several drunk stragglers hooting for you.

You ignored them all, taking two steps at a time from his staircase, your hands on your knees as you panted for air. Why did he have to live on the tenth floor?

“Megumi! Megumi!” you banged your fist on the door, throat parched from your sudden cardio session. You were sure you burned ten calories just from that sprint, and you sighed in relief when Megumi swung the door open, still looking handsome – and sleep-deprived – as ever in his black shirt and black skinny jeans.

“What?” he demanded. After seeing that it was you, he quickly snatched a water bottle and passed it your way, closing his door behind him. “Y/N? What are you doing here? How’d you know where I live?”

“Satoru said you had a really important client. You weren’t picking your phone up so he sent me to come get you.”

“It’s my day off,” he grumbled, answering your silent questions, your worries dissipating into thin air. Once you’d satisfied yourself by basically dunking the entire bottle, Megumi rolled his eyes, his hands flat on the small of your back while he guided you downstairs. The sudden touch flamed your cheeks; a stupid smile on your face. You were shameless, though, leaning back closer to him in the darkness of the early morning. “Why does he send a girl out of all people?”

“Something wrong with that?”

“It’s unsafe. My neighbourhood isn’t the best and who knows what would’ve happened to you if some goons came out?” Megumi hailed for a back, surprising you when he let you get in first and paid for the fee despite your outstretched hand prepared with the bills. “I can’t believe Sukuna chose this day to come of all times. I can never get a damn break.”

“Sukuna?”

“A special client. He’s a really huge tipper and comes on odd schedules – I didn’t think he’d come now.”

“Yeah, I checked the papers and he wasn’t there,” you frowned to yourself.

Megumi pressed his head against the window, eyes closed as his chest heaved up and down rhythmically. With the sun slowly shining from behind you, the golden stretches of it outlined his sharp features you adored, and you rested your chin on your palms, eyelashes fluttering at his beauty. “You know, Megumi, you’re really pissy sometimes – but you’re quite nice, aren’t you? I’d say you were even worried for me.”

He cracked one eye open, those blue eyes still shining with irritation, but make no mistake since his ears were flushed red. “I’m not. I just don’t want to be involved in a police investigation if they find your body near here.”

“How sweet of you.”

“Shut up.”

You and Megumi were beginning to get closer. You couldn’t pinpoint where he started to grow more comfortable with you, but it was definitely there and it was painfully evident that even someone stupid like Satoru noticed the sexual between you two.

He would always sniff the air whenever you and Megumi sat next to each other during lunch breaks, a wide grin on your face while Megumi buried his face in his hands, groaning because he knew the moment Satoru opened his mouth, nothing but dumb comments would come out. And dumb comments they were; the white-haired man merciless as he teased Megumi for acting like a cute little kid around you.

You never took it to heart, though. It was Megumi you were talking about; he was hot and cold; sweet then distant from one moment then an entire person the next.

Not that you minded, it only added to your fuelling crush on him, but you couldn’t control the way your heart fluttered every time Satoru whispered that he did like you, excusing that Megumi just wasn’t the best with words. Apparently, Megumi had spent too much time holed up in his apartment and studio that he had zero to little knowledge on how to talk to pretty girls – especially one that was clearly attracted to him as well.

Satoru encouraged you to go for it – that you should confess or break the ice first otherwise Megumi would never do anything about his raging boner every time you came around.

You only flushed at his statement, but you couldn’t deny that you too felt the same way.

One morning where Satoru and Geto were out restocking supplies, you and Megumi were left alone in the salon. Of course, he still resorted in the comfort of his studio, muttering under his breath that he wanted to try some designs before disappearing. Only this time, he left the door slightly open, the lights peeking through the slight crack.

Walking up to him with muted footsteps, you leaned over his shoulder, glancing over a sketch of...you? “Are you drawing me?”

Megumi yelped at your voice right next to his ear, throwing the paper away on the other side of the room before glaring at you. You laughed at his reaction, because how was it possible he was both so criminally sexy yet adorable? He looked terribly gorgeous today, as well, wearing a short sleeved black hoodie and black sweatpants, looking so comfortable and boyfriend like – and you couldn’t even begin to express your appreciation over his new lip piercing.

“Why do you always sneak up on me?” he snapped, “Didn’t I tell you I wanted privacy?”

“Then why aren’t you pushing me away?”

Megumi sighed exasperatedly, turning back to organize his pencils before glaring at you. “What do you want? Got no one else to bother since Satoru isn’t around?”

“I just wanted to see your art,” you mentioned, but kept your eyes directed on him instead of the plethora of sketches and designs hanging from his wall as to not offend him. “Satoru told me to never come inside. He said you’re really...private when it comes to your works,” you furrowed your brows at the last part, feeling your heart beat pulse at your tongue.

It was now or never.

“Can I see your tattoos too?”

“Why do you want to see them?”

“A work of art on a canvas who’s also a work of art himself?” you finally gained confidence to tease him again, getting riled up further when Megumi stiffened at your curious hands travelling under his shirt. His breath sharpened as his glare only deepened, though he didn’t make a move to stop you. “Why wouldn’t I want to see that?”

“Being flirty doesn’t work on you. It’s not cute.”

“You’re blushing though,” you remarked. Megumi groaned and pushed your face away until your buttocks landed on his recliner. Satisfied with Megumi not completely kicking you out, you swung your legs back and forth, still staring at his hoodie as if it was an offensive material.

“Can I...see?” Megumi rolled his eyes before he lifted his shirt up, revealing to you intricate patches of black ink splattered over ripples of muscles. Your mouth salivated, and somewhere down there, you drooled too. Tentatively, your hands reached out to finger the image of canines, Megumi shuddering over your cold touch on his warm skin. “It’s beautiful. What does it mean?”

Megumi pursed his lips before whispering, “These are the dogs I had as a child. My father got me them so I wouldn’t be too lonely when he’s away from work.”

“They’re very pretty. They look like black and white wolves,” you smiled, elated that he was opening up in more ways than one. Your touch flitted over to a winged creature under his left collarbone, small letters beside the image. “And this bird? Nue? He’s so majestic,” Your hands never stopped in trailing over his skin like a lost wanderer, sweeping over ink ink until Megumi completely discarded his hoodie to the side, his back faced to you.

A white viper tattoo stood large on his broad back, crawling until over his shoulder with the fangs ending just above his pecs. Megumi swallowed at each slivering touch, your fingers dipping and caressing every dent and curve of his body.

You couldn’t get your eyes off of him, your breath hitching in your throat as one of your hands gripped his biceps subconsciously. “You’re so beautiful.”

Megumi stiffened when your thumbs grazed over his nipple right next to the viper’s fang. Almost as if a switch was triggered inside him, Megumi growled, ducking to capture your lips with his in a sloppy, heated kiss. His hands tugged at the ends of your hair to arch your neck to him, his knees slapping your legs open before he settled comfortably between you, his low groans mixing with your breath moans.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. From the moment I met you,” he nibbled your lips, hands trailing down to thumb at your hipbones. “I knew that innocent good girl look was nothing but an act.”

You smiled through the kiss, a tiny gasp falling from your lips when Megumi pulled you closer until your heat grinded against the hardness inside his pants. Laughing at his harsh movements, you let Megumi tilt your head back, his lips sucking and teeth gently nipping at the sensitive flesh of your neck.

“Innocent girl?” you echoed, legs now wrapped around his waist to pull him closer. “What makes you think I am?”

“White lace panties? Short tennis skirts and sunshine smiles?” Megumi clenched his teeth, his hands eager as he tugged the white lace down until it looped to your ankles. You gasped, back arching when he thrusted two fingers inside you, curling and fingering against your bumpy walls. “You’re not fooling anyone, baby, especially not me.”

“Took you long enough to understand I wanted you though,” you chuckled through broken moans, eyes shut tight while your legs opened wider, heels digging into the hard cushion of his seats. “I was wondering when I’d get to break you from that tough guy act of yours and have you fuck me good,” Megumi growled at your words. You leaned forward to scratch at his chest, your tongue licking the shell of your ear as you rasped, “And on a side note, I am a good girl – only to those who can make me feel good, of course.”

Megumi cupped his palm to collect your arousal dripping of his, finally shutting you up when his fingers grazed over your sweet spot that had you clenching around him. And those were just his fingers. “You’re something else, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I know,” you nodded smugly, hands coming up to tug harshly at his hair. Megumi hissed at the sharp pain, prompting him to fuck his fingers in and out of you faster until you leaked down to his chair, thighs trembling and your high-pitched moans coating the walls of his stupid. “Megumi, ah! Just shut up and fuck me already – been wanting you long enough.”

“Needy little girl,” He pressed you down on the reclining seat, settling between your legs before he spread your lips open with two thumbs. At the sight of your bare cunt clenching around nothing, Megumi groaned, teeth biting his lip because he could cum right then and there. “Fuck, look at you. So wet already,” he ran a hand over your slit to collect your arousal, eyes dark with lust as your juices webbed between his fingers. “All this for me? You’re so good.”

“Fuck – yeah, yeah I am,” you leaned back harder into the seat, groping at your own breasts while you nodded dumbly, too fucked out to even form a coherent response. “Going to be good for you, Megumi, gonna make you feel good.”

“Sorry, babe, maybe next time. I’m too impatient to not feel your pussy around me,” he pushed away at your hands that planned to pump his cock, his hand coming down to push you hard against the seat until his weight loomed over you.

You felt Megumi begin to align his tip at your center, dampening his mushroom head with your arousal first that had you both moaning left and right.

Hands scratching down his back as your teeth dug into your lips, Megumi pushed into you with one thrust, the sudden stretch making your legs shake and your body writhe underneath him. “Shit, why are you so tight? So fucking warm and perfect,” he rasped next to your ear, and you could hear how hard he was breathing as he thrusted into you, his cock hitting all the right places. “Could fuck this pretty pussy all day, baby, shit.”

“Me-Megumi – t-too big!”

“Shh, you’ll be fine. You’ll take it like a good girl, won’t you?” he cupped your cheek, grinning sinisterly as he watched the way your greedy walls sucked him in. “See how you take me so well? You’re so small and pretty wrapped around my cock. I could break you if I wanted you,” he growled, his hands gripping hard at your hips when you clenched around him, enticing the man above you to quicken his pace.

Megumi watched with a lust filled gaze as your breasts bounced at the relentless pace he started, his balls slapping at your ass. “Oh, you’d want that, wouldn’t you? You want to be stuffed with my fat cock in you? Fuck you until you’re a drooling mess? You’re so gorgeous when I fuck you stupid.”

“Yes, Megumi, agh. Keep going, keep going, I’m so close!”

“Oh, you feel like heaven around me,” he praised at your neck, his cock stretching you wide and pushing into you. Megumi groaned lowly at your ear as his palms flattened over your stomach that bulged every time he thrusted in, his balls tightening at the sight. “Look at how big I am for you, baby, but you’re doing so well. You were made for me – made to take my cock, shit, you’re so perfect around me. Gonna make you feel good, yeah? You’re such a good girl for me. Cum, baby, that’s right – I’m allowing you to cum.”

“Gumi, Gumi, fuckkk,” your legs tightened around him as Megumi panted with each harsh thrust, the black marks over his skin expanding and stretch when his forearm rested beside your head. His muscles clenched as he fucked into you deep, over and over again until he pushed you over the edge.

A silent sob left your lips when you came around him, your juices creaming around his cock. A few thrusts later, Megumi fell on top of you as you felt him spill his seed inside you.

He had too much that you felt both your cum dripping down your ass; Megumi pulling out with a slight wince from the oversensitivity. You struggled to catch your breath as you laid there, legs wide open and the cool air hitting your bare pussy. The door was still open, and Satoru and Geto could walk in on you both looking like this, but you couldn’t care, not when you could barely feel your legs.

You dropped your arm over your face, hearing Megumi pull his pants back up. “That was...”

“Intense?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, wincing as you sat up. Your hair stuck to your forehead in sweaty clumps, dawning on you now that you were still very much covered in your sticky cum. You recoiled from the seats as you realized Megumi hadn’t even put on a towel underneath.

“Shit. Is this chair even clean?”

“I sanitize it every after session. Don’t worry about it,” he rolled his eyes, his tattoos covered and hidden from your sight once more when he pulled his hoodie over his head. Megumi retrieved a clean towel from his drawers and wiped at your sensitive pussy, your legs immediately closing around his hands when the towel accidentally grazed your clit.

Megumi gripped your knees with a silent glare. “Stay still. I’m cleaning you up.”

“I didn’t peg you as an aftercare guy. Thought you would leave me hanging here,” you teased, but really, you were feeling warm all over again as you watched Megumi wipe you all the way down to your other hole, your legs still tensing up.

Once he left to wash his hands, you could relax, tugging your panties back up with immense struggle. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d fuck you good – you could barely feel your legs now.

“And have you make a mess by ruining my seat?” he sighed as he returned, helping you seady yourself while he snapped the slightly soaked panty back to your core. “No thanks.”

“You’re so mean, Megumi. I’m hurt.”

He rolled his eyes at your pout, leaning down to kiss you square on the lips. This time around, the kiss wasn’t rushed; it was slow and sensual, firm yet gentle, and his hands carefully massaged your sore hips that would soon bruise from his grip before.

“No, you’re not,” he mumbled through your lips, mimicking that lovesick smile on your face as he pulled away. “But babe, you know the rules. Now that you’ve seen my work of art – what tattoo would you like me to give you? My name on your inner thigh?”

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pastaimpact · 4 years ago

Note

Since ur a catboy and maid simp 👀👀👀👀

Catboy maid headcanons for xiao, scaramouche, zhongli, kaeya and diluc?

Like, they lost a bet and have to drink a potion from albedo that turns them into catboy maid or smth pls?

-mac bulli anon

if u see me rotting, no u didnt

Xiao’s displeased by the transformation, but he has better things to do than to get worked up by a small thorn in his side. He has evil spirits to get rid off, and archons be damned if he’s going to let a pair of furry ears and a tail get in the way of his duty. It’s an odd sight, seeing him swing around his jade spear with his mask on, only to be moe-fied by his ears.

He insists on carrying out his own duties, saying that your selfish desires to have him as your maid won’t overrule his original contract to Rex Lapis. Chances are, you won’t even get him into the maid outfit before he goes running off to dispel some spirits. It can’t be helped: Xiao is someone who values Liyue’s peace before he values anything else, although he does feel a bit fuzzy inside when he sees how ecstatic you are over how cute he looks.

If he does find a moment of reprieve, that’s your best chance to capitalize on his transformation. Xiao claims that he needs no attention or extra love from you, that he’s a yaksha who works alone out of fear of harming you, but he’s still someone who craves for the gentle touch of a fellow being. Tell him that he’s done a good job and that you’re proud of him while cupping his face, and next thing you know, he’ll have slotted himself against your body and tell you that this isn’t necessary, all while his tail wags around happily. Archons forbid that anyone tries to interrupt your cuddling session, because he’ll start hissing like an actual cat the moment your attention is turned away from him.

Xiao purred against your skin, his head resting on the area in between your shoulder and neck. He was always cat-like to begin with: coy, distance, but still gentle and affectionate at the right times. You fondled his ears the way he liked them, and his tail curled up in satisfaction.

“What a pretty kittycat you are,” you cooed, your voice low and calm, like the careful trills of a lullaby. “Always working so hard... Always caring for someone other than yourself... What a good boy.”

“...Keep going,” he murmured, scooting closer to you when you stopped petting him for a second. You let a smile grace your lips as you stroked his soft fur again, enjoying the way the catboy immediately relaxed against you.

How adorable.

Scaramouche is livid, to say the least, by this change. He’s a Fatui Harbinger, and someone who demands nothing short of utmost respect and authority from those around him. Being demoted to not only a servant, but not even a human one at that, is a stain against his spotless, untouchable command.

The entire time he’s placed under your care, he grumbles and snaps at everything that comes his way. He mutters that you should be grateful he’s even putting up with this, and he might just flat-out refuse to do the things you ask of him—until you tell him that you’ll ask someone else, like Signora or Childe. Only then does he come scrambling back to you with a pout on his face and his ears pressed against his head to scold you and say that he could do a better job than any of those sloppy Harbingers could.

He also threatens you, saying that you owe him for humiliating him like this, but he also forgets all about being mean to you the moment you start petting his ears and scratching behind them. Scaramouche swears on his life that he hates being treated like this, but the way he clings to you and purrs loudly clearly says otherwise. He’ll get huffy and frown if you stop petting him, so be prepared for him to completely monopolize your time.

“I hate you for this,” he hissed, practically bristling in your lap. You bit back a laugh, feeling the way he wrapped his arms tightly around your torso, pulling himself as close as he could to your chest. “You’re terrible.”

“It’s ‘You’re terrible, Master’ to you,” you teased, burying your fingers in his hair to tease his ears. The Harbinger opened his mouth as if to snap back at you with a haughty remark, but he immediately melted into your touch instead, giving soft mewls and twisting his head against your skin so that he could feel more of your touch.

“I-I still hate you,” he grumbled, forcing himself to frown at you and huff. He dug his nails into your clothes, settling his chin on your shoulder so that you couldn’t see the blush rising to his cheeks. “Master.”

Zhongli has seen his fair share of oddities, being an archon and all, so he’s grown to get used to whatever life throws at him all while honoring his own approach to life and any traditions he upholds. While being transformed into a cat and a maid, for that matter, is surprising, it’s probably nothing more than a mild inconvenience to a god that once held the ability to shift into a variety of different forms.

He’s a skilled and knowledgeable man, so he’s more than willing to assist you in a variety of topics. His one condition while being placed under your care is that you treat him with the same respect you would show him at any other time. While he may be relatively polite and mild-mannered, he still was a very potent and feared God of War at one point in his life. He doesn’t expect much from you; just drop any funny business around him, and he’ll entertain you for hours with his knowledge about politics, arts, and other fine subjects.

Zhongli is good about keeping his emotions in check, and even with cat ears and a tail, it’s still fairly difficult to gauge how he truly feels. Of course, his new body does betray him every now and then: a flick of his tail to signify intrigue, ears pressed against his head for annoyance, a twitch of his nose for interest. It’s best not to tease him or pry into how he feels whenever he does make an odd movement, but it wouldn’t hurt to present yourself appropriately depending on whatever mood he’s in based off of his little actions. Besides, it’s not everyday that you can see someone as respected and feared as Zhongli in a cute maid dress with his tail swishing excitedly behind him.

His entrance was quiet, and the only thing that even signaled his presence in the room was the rustle of fabric as he walked towards you. His tail was still, and his ears perked up like it had been for the day, ever since he downed the transformation potion. “I brought you tea.”

You looked up from your paperwork, smiling softly at the former archon. You pulled a stray chair close to where you were seated, inviting him to sit down as he set the teacup down in front of you. “You shouldn’t have!”

He shook his head, his ears twitching with the slightest hint of satisfaction as he sat down. “It was about time you took a break. I thought I would remind you not to push yourself too far by bringing you something to relax with. Do drink up; I brewed it myself with prized leaves.”

Kaeya’s all about staying a step ahead of the game, and the moment fluffy cat ears and a tail sprout up on his body, there’s a good chance that he’s already found loads of ways to capitalize on his features to get what he wants. The best way to get information from anyone is to get them to let their guard down, and it’s hard to be intimidated by someone who looks like a stuffed animal.

Which is exactly what he does. There’s a good chance that Kaeya’s been observing you for a while, for whatever reasons he might have (be it personal or for the Knights of Favonius), so he’ll definitely use his cat features to his advantage. He’ll snuggle up to you and let you relax by teasing you with his tail and his ears, and he’ll let his silvery tongue do the rest as he extracts bits and pieces of information from you like he was extracting honey from a beehive.

Kaeya rocks the whole maid concept better than anyone else. Flexibility and adaptability are just a few of his many strong suits, and he might even go along with playing pretend with you just out of the goodwill of his heart. He’s extorted you already for loads of intel, so the least he can do to get you to keep staying so lax around him is to humor you just a bit. It’s also a good chance to see you smiling and laughing as you bury your head into his hair, and it sure doesn’t hurt to hear you gush over how much of a majestic catboy he is.

You felt his fluffy tail slink against your arms, Kaeya splayed out across your lap with the most smug smile you’ve ever seen from him. “Awwww, your tail is so cute! I wish I could just hold it and fall asleep! It feels just like a cloud!”

“Does it now, Master?” Kaeya purred, batting his eyeslashes. It had only been about fifteen minutes since he barged into your room to show off his cat features, and he had already gotten enough info about you to entertain him for weeks. “You can pet me more, if you’d like.”

You lit up, completely oblivious to the fact that Kaeya had you wrapped around his little finger. You were far too innocent, too careless even, and Kaeya found it amusing. “Oh, Kaeya! You’re the best!”

Diluc’s also fairly annoyed by this mess, but he isn’t one to viciously fight against what’s already happened. It is rather irritating to have to put all of his responsibilities aside for another day, but he’s capable businessman who’s used to having to adapt to all sorts of situations. Being turned into the catmaid is by far not the worst of his problems, but it’s enough of a change to actually make him think about how he presents himself not only to you but the people of Mondstadt as well.

He has maids around his winery, so he mimics his ow behavior with what he wants of them. Of course, you don’t make him cook or clean or anything like that, and similarly to Zhongli, he makes sure to treat you with respect as long as you do the same. Diluc’s a very pragmatic man, and he simply takes his duty as a maid to keep you out of trouble, accompanying you whenever you need to head out to protect you from stray monsters or helping you with any finances that you might have to sort out.

His only request is that he doesn’t let anyone outside of his immediate circle know about his current affliction. The last thing he needs is his reputation as a respectable tycoon tarnished, and he sure as hell doesn’t need Kaeya strolling around to mess with him. If it incentivizes you to keep the whole temporary catmaid thing under wraps, he’ll tell you that it can be a little secret between the two of you. It’s best that you give him your word, lest you end up on the wrong side of his stoic mannerisms.

“Good work today,” you remarked, offering up a meek smile to the Dawn Winery owner. “It must have been a lot of work. You know, having to deal with the whole transformation thing while running a business.”

Diluc glanced momentarily you, his ears pressing against his head. You wasn’t sure if it was out of annoyance or shyness, but you decided that it was the latter, as Diluc hadn’t walked away from you just yet. “It’s fine. Albedo said it should wear off any day now.”

“Mmm. But still, if you ever need help from me, let me know, okay? I know I’m your ‘master’ temporarily, but we’re still friends,” You laughed. The corners of Diluc’s mouth twitched as he turned away.

“Goodnight then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #xiao #scaramouche #zhongli #kaeya #diluc #g/n reader #serving the macaroni

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purpureumwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Homelander x Reader | Sweetheart, I’m a gentleman

A/N: The request mentioned “trying to rape” but I left it in extremely innapropriate. Justifying how reader would get to the boys didn’t make too much sense without a little cameo here. Hope you’re happy with it, I’m a bit unsure about it? (This kind of has potential for a part 2 with mainly the boys now that I think about it)

Summary: Reader is not just a human from Earth, but Homelander has no idea what he’s up to.

Warnings: None. Uncomfortable situation.

Word count: 1.2k

Weeks ago you joined Vought. It was an easy administrative job, nine to five, that provided enough money for you to live simply. A normal job like any other where you could blend in with the rest of the ever growing company. Perfect for you. Perfect for someone hiding in plain sight, in a planet that wasn’t their own.

You had been working there for two or three months when you started feeling the observant eyes of a man watching you from afar. The building was full of people constantly, from supes to their neurotic marketing teams to the poor people cleaning after them. It crossed your mind that it might be just your imagination but yours instincts rarely failed you. Not that you were concerned.

The floor were you worked was practically empty. Most of the building was already in the dark and through the windows you could see the lights of the city. You often left late. Your schedule was pretty flexible, as long as the work was done when it should. So you woke up later in the morning and enjoyed the few quiet last hours, after most employees had already left. It was such a different place at that time of the day.

It was around 8pm when you were content with your progress for the day. You turned off your computer and made a quick trip for the bathroom before picking up your things and leave. While you walked back through the dark corridor to the huge, open plan office you saw a man that wasn’t there before. Definitely not sitting on your desk, definitely not wearing a blue suit and a red cape.

He smiled when you approached him, very sure of himself.

“I’ve been looking forward to meet you”, he said, standing up. “I’m Homelander”

“Yeah, everyone knows”, you shrugged.

Big, powerful man thinking it was appropriate to approach a lonely woman in a deserted floor at night? Repulsive.

As you had planned, you started tidying up your desk and setting your bag to leave. You saw his smile falter in the corner of your eye. Your colleagues had expressed their concerns about you leaving so late, when it was already dark and unsettling and they thought anything might happen to you. You shrugged it off. There wasn’t a man on Earth that could harm you.

Your lack of attention seemed to bother Homelander. He stood there for a few seconds, surprised by your reaction. He cleared his throat before recovering his composure. He took another step forward, approaching you from behind while you shuffled through the things on your bag, that was resting in your chair.

You could hear his heart beat with perfect clarity. It was pumping faster now, probably bothered by your apathy. He could probably count with his fingers how many people would ignore him so blatantly, specially without their knees shaking afterwards. Even if he wasn’t a extraordinarily powered, famous, big man, how many women wouldn’t be smiling and playing along out of pure survival instinct?

He put a hand on your waist, turning you around and pinning you against him.

“You are a very beautiful woman”, he smiled like a someone who hadn’t broken a plate in his life.

“If I were you, I would put away that hand”

“Sweetheart, I am a gentleman”, he answered towering over you.

Before he had time to react, you took his wrist and twisted it behind his back, pushing him face down to the table with your other hand. You felt him struggle and saw his eyes light up red.

“I did warn you”

Homelander blinked, astounded. He tried to rise up again, but you were far too strong. Stronger than Homelander? That wasn’t possible. If there was a supe that powerful, Vought would have taken advantage of it a long time ago. Not just that, you would have certainly joined The Seven at that point.

And now, in the most humilliating position he had ever found himself in, he was weighing his options and the huge risk you could mean for him. But you were just some office lady, why would you be keeping your powers a secret?

“I was just fooling around. But, I have to say, there are a few cameras around us. Not that anyone checks them in the regular, but if someone reminded them like, you know, Homelander himself, some people might be very curious about you”

He chuckled when he saw the panic in your eyes, looking around for them. The same way his overconfidence had betrayed him, your own had just betrayed you. The moment they did any kind of health check, they would realize there was something very out of the ordinary. You weren’t a human with crazy powers. You weren’t a supe. You weren’t a human at all. And it had taken a lot of effort hiding it from the world. The videos wouldn’t prove anything but they would certainly be too interesting and would draw very undesired and dangerous attention.

“You will not”

“What are you going to do? Kill me?”, he faked being deep in thought. “Not likely while we’re live. Though I’m very curious to see how you would manage that”

A soft voice spoke from the door.

"Everything okey?", asked a petite blond girl dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. Starlight.

***

You and the girl stood on the elevator. You had seen her before, from afar, and didn’t think much of her. Pretty, blond, awfully polite... boring. Without the suit, she still was your typical naive looking girl, but the change in her demeanor, the fact that she wasn’t trying to be anyone but herself, gave her a different character.

“You know he’s not gonna leave you alone, right?”, she asked looking straight forward.

“Really?”, you answered trying not to sound defeated.

She took her hand out of her pocket and spread it towards you. You took the small white piece of paper inside it. An address.

“Go there. Tell them you’ve got a… problem with Homelander and they will take you in. About being a supe… I would tread lightly, but they’re not bad guys, it should be okey. No one hates him more than they do and I think you might be able to help them”

“I’m not a… sure”, you backtracked. “I’ll keep that in mind”

***

You walked into the foul smelling back alley and found the door you supposed was the one. You knocked, not sure what to expect. The girl had walked in the opposite direction the moment you left the building. You knocked. After the voices inside quieted down, you heard heavy steps approaching. As the door opened, a tall man, with a grim face, looked you up and down.

“And who the fuck might you be… darling?”

#homelander #homelander x reader #homelander headcanons #the boys imagine #the boys x reader #the boys headcanons

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moonshotsx · 3 years ago

Note

the trope where character A accidentally gets locked out of their apartment and character B is there to save the day and lets them stay in for a while in their apartment across character A's until everything gets fixed?

this is for the jasco au btw 🤗 you can decide whether jasmine or bosco will get which character 👀

i just had to write this!! thank you for sending it in babes 🥰

—

“Fuck!”

Jasmine hissed out as she checked her bag, realizing she had forgotten her keys inside the apartment. She was already exhausted from dance rehearsal, she just wanted to hop in the shower and relax.

She knocked loudly on the door, hoping at least one of her roommates was home but the definitive silence from the other side of the door told her she was out of luck.

She whipped out her phone to call Camden who she knew was supposed to be somewhat close by.

“Hiya Jazzy,” Camden answered after two rings, “What do you need, love?”

“I’m locked out of the apartment,” she whined, pouting at the closed door, “Will you be home soon?”

“I’m so sorry, I’m stuck at practice for at least another hour,” she replied apologetically, “I suggest you find something to entertain yourself with in the meantime, love”

Jasmine sighed, rubbing her temples, “Okay, I’ll see if I manage something,” she replied, ready to prepare herself to go out in the rain to find a coffee shop to spend her afternoon at, “See you later, Cam”

She ended the call soon after, throwing her phone back into her purse.

“Well, well, well”

Jasmine recognized the voice immediately, she couldn’t help roll her eyes as she turned around to be met with Bosco leaning against the doorframe of their apartment, their arms crossed over their chest.

“Don’t you have classes to attend or a job to be at?”

The brunette shrugged their shoulders, “Let’s just say my… job gives me very flexible working hours,” they replied, tilting their head, “What’s all the noise you were making about?”

Jasmine scoffed, they had the audacity to complain about the noise?

“I got locked out of my apartment, and now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find somewhere to be while I wait for my roommate to get home”

Bosco furrowed their brows, “Why are you going outside when it’s raining?”

“It’s not like I have much choice”

“You can come and chill inside my apartment,” Bosco suggested like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What?”

“Oh, c’mon, I promise it will be fun,” they teased with a smile Jasmine hated how cute she found.

“I have a feeling you and I have very different definitions of fun”

They chose not to reply to that, but rather gestured her to the apartment behind them, “Offer still stands”

Jasmine hesitated for a moment, evaluating her choices. Despite her dislike for Bosco, she truly wasn’t keen on going back outside with the rain still pouring down.

There was something about them that just felt irresistible to her, she wasn’t sure if it was because she found them attractive or if she just needed wipe that smirk off their face.

“Alright, lead the way, then”

#fic prompt #jasco #neighbors au

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winter-fox-queen · 3 years ago

Text

We All Deserve a Fairy Tale Chapter 5

Warnings: Here be smut, my loves. Minors be gone, because it is explicit. First time writing smut, so I hope it works.

Frankie x female blank slate, use of first person. I think there is cursing.

Frankie ghosts you, then something happens to change it…

Thanks to @sharkbait77 and @hnt-escape If you want on my tag list, tell me. :)

I waited a week. A week and a half. And I broke down, finally, and texted.

Got the edits back for my next book. I hate this part.

After a moment, a reply. You got this.

Hope? Maybe? Or was he just being nice?

I responded anyway.

Maybe we can go out and see that movie tonight? Have dinner? A little fun before I chain myself to the computer?

No response.

I waited a day, but my stomach churned the whole time.

I texted again, after getting myself good and wound up. You don’t owe me any explanations. But please respect me enough not to ghost me. You’re not interested in me, that’s fine. But don’t leave me dangling. You’re better than that.

I hit send, regretted it immediately.

Your right. What’s your address?

“Shit. Shit. What have I done?” I whispered as I typed it to him.

About five away. K?

Yeah. Thanks.

I ran back inside the house and straightened myself up. Military minutes must be shorter than civilian minutes because I heard him pull up sooner than I was ready.

I went outside, to the back yard. I waved at him, half heartedly. He shoved his hands in his pockets and came over.

“Hey.” He gave me a soft smile. Everything about him was guarded. OK. Well, I asked him to come over and officially tell me to take a hike, so, I guess I deserved it.

“Frankie, I…”

“No. I, uh.” He looked at the ground between our feet. It was more dirt than grass. “Man, you weren’t kidding about this place being a wasteland.”

I laughed despite the rock in my gut.

He looked up at me, a little sideways. “Let me say my piece and go, OK?”

I hugged myself, and nodded.

“I like you.” He said so quietly that I had to lean closer to hear him. “Like you more than I’ve liked anyone for a long time. And I mean that. But wanting you in my life doesn’t mean I get to. I’ve killed — “

I started to object, say something about the army and of course he did and he did what he had to…

He saw it and said, firmly, “No.”

I closed my mouth and he nodded. “No. I’m talking about…less than a year ago. Some friends and I went on a mission. We said it was to help stop a major drug dealer but it was just…” He’s breathing a little heavier, now. Unable to look at me, rubbing the palms of his hands on his thighs.

“People died.” He looks at me, then, the anguish in his eyes, the guilt. “My own fucking actions lead to one of my best friends getting killed. If I hadn’t taken that shot. If I hadn’t wrecked the fucking chopper…”

He steps forward and takes my hands in his. They’re clammy, shaking. “The mail you saw, it was a reminder. My friend’s widow, she’s angry and looking for answers and she doesn’t want any of us to be happy. And she’s right.”

I try to find words. I feel like I’m in a cave in, trying to scramble over rocks and debris.

“I don’t deserve to be happy, and I don’t deserve you.” He touches my cheek for a second, a butterfly landing and running away. “I’m gonna go now, I’m gonna block your number.”

He kisses me. His lips are hot. When he steps back, I say, “So you’re not going to give me a choice?”

“Why would you want one?” His voice is incredulous. There’s an echo, under his words, I can see it in his eyes, in the frustrated way he throws his hands out. Why would you want me?

I shook my head. “You say you like me, but you want to close yourself off? Not give me a chance to get to know you, help you if I can?”

“It’s for the best. You see that, right?” There’s a desperate edge.

I shake my head. Everything that can possibly hurt does. I’m supposed to be so good at words, and I can’t find the right ones, the ones to reel him back in.

He adjusts his hat. “No, you don’t. I love your books, but they are fairy tales. You can’t make a good man out of a monster. It’s not how the world works.”

“You’re not a monster.”

He’s all twitchiness now, looking at his truck, desperate to get out of this situation. It makes me mad, how badly he wants to go. How I know I can’t fix this. “Don’t bother blocking my number.” I say, as I turn on my heel. “I won’t bother you again.”

He whispers my name and it is so pained that I almost turn around. But I don’t.

***

I don’t block his number. I can’t. I focus on work. My job that lets me eat work. My book. My hands shake on the keyboard, sometimes, as I try to make the story mine again. It’s hard to write a love story, even one with murder and mystery, when your own heart is broken.

It was ridiculous. I didn’t even know him that long, but the loss of him hurt. It made the story feel pointless. What right did I have to sell these lies? To make people believe in love and romance and happily ever after when you can meet someone so amazing and wonderful, and have to watch him walk away?

I kept working. I’d get over it. I had to. It’s not like I’d built anything with him. I was just aching for the possibilities — the things I tortured myself about. The things I imagined I m might have lost, with Frankie.

And damn it, I missed him.

But life continues. And sink faucets wear out, making you have to run to the local home improvement store, wandering the isles with an armload of new faucet, fittings, plumbers tape and everything else the YouTube videos I’d consulted said I would need.

The universe has decided that I have not suffered enough, because I can see him, Frankie Morales in the flesh, frowning at the back of a box like its his greatest enemy. He was in the home security section.

I could sneak by. He was way too interested in what he was holding in those lovely, large hands of his. I dashed by, head down, determined to just get past him, but some lady with a cart pushed past me at the same time, and my arm load of stuff got jostled. I was able to save the most expensive bit — the faucet in its box, the long flexible connection thingies — but the plumbers tape, in its plastic hard shell donut jumped out, fell onto the floor, and rolled right over to a well worn work boot. Spun like a top. Settled right against his toe. I looked up, too nervous to enjoy the view (much) and right into his eyes. His lips were parted, like he was a little surprised to see me.

“Hey.” I said, and then, because I didn’t know what else to do, I turned and fled back the way I came. I knew where the plumbers tape was, I could just go get another…

“Hey. Wait a second.”

I stopped, took a breath, smiled like everything was perfectly normal.

He held up the white plastic Judas. “Um…your faucet break?” And then he winced. “I mean, obviously. Um.” He placed the tape on top of my pile delicately. He was holding a box in both hands tight enough to warp the cardboard.

“It’s old. I thought I would try my hand at replacing it…can’t be that hard.”

“No, but plumbing can be really picky if you’ve never done it…”

“Don’t offer.” I whisper it desperately, before I can even think about it. I can tell he’s working himself up to it, and the thought of him in my house is like a punch ion the guts.

“It wouldn’t be a problem.” His dark eyes study my face. Sad. A little desperate. For a second I think, maybe he misses me, too.

“No. I got it.” I say softly, looking at the floor again.

“Do you still have my number? If you change your mind?”

I nod at the container. “Go back to your project, Frankie. I can handle this on my own.”

Did you know, plumbing is an utter bitch?

Throw in some more curse words in the last sentence. I certainly used every one I could.

Two hours later, I get a text.

Frankie: How did it go?

I want to sob. Instead, I put myself together and write a fairly moderate response:

Me: I have decided that I will now do my dishes in the bathroom sink. Who needs a sink in the kitchen? A total waste.

Frankie: The offer is still open?

Me: How did you know? Did you just look at me and think, she is too inept to be able to do this herself?

Frankie: No. I don’t think that at all.

Frankie: Let me help? Please?

Me: Since you said please, I guess I can allow you to come rescue me.

Frankie: OMW.

I looked at the time, and decided to order pizza. It was only fair.

Twenty minutes later he’s under the sink. “You did a good job. I think maybe you just cross threaded it…”

“Oh, no…did I ruin the threads?”

“It’s probably OK. I’ll just use a lot of tape…”

And he does some magical things with a wrench and the bright pink tape, which he wraps around the threads to make them more water tight. I try not to admire his long legs or the rest of him, spread out on my kitchen floor, as he half lays in the bottom of the sink.

The doorbell rings, and I go pay for the pizza, and when I come back he’s turned on the water, and he’s kneeing in front of the open sink bottom, using a paper towel to see if he can find any leaks.

“It looks OK?” I ask tentatively.

“Yep…you really did have it done mostly. Just that one spot.”

“Thanks,” I say awkwardly. “I bought us dinner?”

“You are awesome.” He does a quick but of clean up so he can shut the sink doors and washes his hands in the newly repaired sink. He tosses his hat onto the end of the island, and I want to run my fingers through his hair. He does it for me, absentmindedly pushing the hair off his forehead.

We sit on either side of my kitchen island, sharing pizza. I don’t know what to say.

“It’s a nice apartment.” He said quietly, picking up another slice.

“It’s cheap, not far from my day job. It works.” I shove a hunk of crust in my mouth to stop myself from saying anything else. I knew this would be bad. Here he is, sitting a few inches away. I could touch him, but I’m not allowed. It’s a rotten feeling, wanting something and not being allowed to have it. To feel his fingers wrap around mine. To have that easy, happy camaraderie again.

“What are you thinking?” I ask, when the silence gets too much.

He shakes his head. Wads up his napkin. Puts his plate in the sink. Locates the trash. Such a good guest.

“I shouldn’t have come. But I wanted to see you.” He said this quietly, as if he isn’t sure he should admit it.

“Well, if you hadn’t, I’d still be under the sink wondering why the damned fittings are still leaking.”

He gives me a gentle smile. “You would have been ok.”

“Lucky I didn’t block your number, huh?”

He smiles and kneels down, picking up tools and putting them back in the box. Sorting his from mine.

“It was nice of you to come help me? I might be a bit snarky, but I really am grateful for the help.”

“I was happy to. Where do you keep these?” I took my tools off him, put them and the plumber’s tape in my tool drawer.

“But why? Why were you happy to help? Why did you want to see me? You couldn’t leave here quickly enough the other day…” I smile to take the sting out. “Not that I blame you, the yard is a hot mess.”

He touches my face gently. “Hush.” I stop my babbling, lean into his touch.

“You asked me a question, awhile back.” I muzzle his hand. “I never got to answer it.”

“What was that?”

“You asked me if I wanted you. And I do. Very much.”

He made a huffing sound, as if he had been gut punched, and then, slowly, slowly, leaned in and kissed me. “I miss you,”. He whispers between kisses, his hands framing my face like I’m a delicate thing. “I miss you when I wake up. I miss you when I lay down to sleep. I miss you when I’m driving.” And each sentence he punctuates, gently, with a kiss, to my forehead, to my nose, to my mouth. “I barely know you, but you are already woven into my thoughts…”

I’m holding him tight, kissing him back. I bump my nose against his, sweetly, and I saw, “Then why? Why stay away?”

He pulls back as far as I’ll let him, sits down again. I see the ghosts in his eyes again, and I remember the lyrics from a song I used to love, “There’s ghosts in your eyes, they cry when you smile…”

“I shouldn’t have come…I’m a train wreck waiting to happen.”

“No, not if you’re just going to push me away again. That’s cruel. I never thought you’d be cruel, Francisco Morales.”

He winces like I punched him.

“If it’s too soon to tell me, that’s fine. Just push it aside until you trust me. Or until it matters. I don’t care about your past, what you’ve done. I know you well enough to know you did what you had to do at the time.” I give in to the longing to touch him, I run my fingers lightly through the curls at his temple before letting my hand drop. He’s watching me like a landmine he’s stepped on. His fingers ghost over my hips. Grip them gently. Pulls me between his thighs. Now it’s my turn to be wary, as he pulls me close. His dark, liquid eyes study my face, I can almost hear him weighing and sorting. Lay your secrets on me, beautiful man. I want to tell him. But I wait. I wait until his large hands encompass me, run over my waist, the softness over my ribs, glide up the sides of my breasts so softly I am not even sure he touched me, to cup my face.

“I want to be who you think I am,” he says, and I smile gently.

A decision is made, in those fathomless eyes. And he leans close, and he kisses me again. The last kisses were loving. This kiss is passionate. Deep. So full of longing I could cry. I let my lips part and his tongue traces, licks inside. I make a little sound and grab his wrists, pushing them aside so I can wrap my arms around him, if I could meld myself to him, I would have then, melted inside of him like gold, fixing his cracks.

He stands, the stool scraping against the floor. The sound is jarring, lifts me out of the lust sodden moment. “If you want me, baby, you have me,” he says in that rough honey voice of him. “Show me the way.”

I take one of his hands in both of mine, I kiss each knuckle. I’d been playing with the idea, and now here I was. I could still say no. I could slow things down, I could be sensible.

But I’d never wanted anything so deeply, so profoundly, as I wanted him. Every time I touched his skin, I felt like something lost had been returned to me.

I smiled a little at him, and backed away, pulling him with me. “This way, sweetheart.”

His lips are on mine the second we cross into my bedroom. Once Frankie Morales makes a decision, he is all in. His hand cups the back of my head, holding me so he can kiss me, his tounge sliding against mine as his other hand slips under my shirt. I pull back and tug at his shirt. “Off.” I command, and he grins and sheds it. My shirt and my bra join it on the floor. I press my breasts to the warm smoothness of his chest. I run my hands over his ribs, his stomach, as his mouth claims mine again. His skin is soft and warm, strong muscles flexing under my hands. I kiss along his jawline, I lick and kiss the constellation of freckles on the side of his neck. He moans softly in approval as I nip and kiss my way to his shoulder.

His own hands slip up to my breasts, weighing them in his hands, squeezing gently. He runs his thumb over one nipple, then bends to lick the other into his mouth, sucking gently, his tounge flicking at the hard peak. His freehand is splayed against the small of my back, holding me in place. Pleasure shoots through me, and all I can do is cling to him. He lets me go and pushes me gently. I fall back onto my bed, tearing at the button on my pants, needing to get everything off, needing to feel his skin, his warmth, his strength and softness.

“Condoms?” He asks, one knee on the bed. “I didn’t think…”

I shook my head. “I’m on the pill?”

His eyes darken further, and he asks, “Are you sure?”

I nod and hold out my arms, and he gives me the sweetest smile. He stands up again and undoes his pants, sliding them off, and he’s naked and beautiful and I just want him wrapped around me. He slips into my arms and kisses me again, his arms holding him over me. He gives me a little of his weight, grounding me. It feels so good, skin sliding against skin, warmth against warmth,

His slips a hand between us, and I clench at the thought of him touching me just as he slides two thick fingers between my folds, rubbing my clit gently, exploring me. “So wet.” He whispers, kissing my temple. “So soft.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “So hot.” And his takes my lips again, his fingers rubbing my clit, making me shake with building pleasure. “I want to taste you, sweetheart. I want to make you come on my tounge…can I, baby?”

I nod. I don’t know who can resist that voice, rough with lust and promise? He kisses his way down and I spread my legs wider, and he gently licks — a test lick, from my entrance to my clit. He licks my clit, hard, with short licks before drawing me into his mouth and sucking me. He is fervent, as he works, and I can’t think about anything but the heat of his mouth. As the pressure and pleasure builds, I’m making the most needy sounds, unable to control myself. His slips one finger in, then a second, exploring, touching, then another, stretching and reaching for that spot. The rippling explosion leaves me shamelessly arching into his mouth, crying out his name like a prayer.

“That’s it, baby,” he praises, kissing the inside of my thigh, rubbing his beard against the soft skin.

He comes up to kneel between by thighs. His eyes meet mine as I struggle to compose myself, and his hand gently comes up to very gently lay across my throat, his thumb tracing my chin.

“Are you sure? Where do you want me to come?”

I nod frantically. “Please, baby, I want you. Inside me, please…”

His hand slips away from my throat to rest on the bed above my shoulder, and I miss the warmth of it as he gently strokes my skin, settling his hand on my thigh. He takes his cock into his hand, stroking it before rubbing it against my clit, causing me to whimper. He runs the head of it up and down a few times, his eyes slipped closed, his jaw going slack, that lush lower lip parting. I wish I had a picture…he was beautiful. Skin made gold by the fading light, thighs splayed under mine. I felt the head of his cock in my entrance, and he pressed in, a slow hot stretch until he was sheathed completely.

“Oh, fuck.” He whispered. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”

He lowered himself back on top of me. “You feel so huge inside me, baby,” I whisper in his ear. “You feel like heaven. Please…fuck me, honey. Please…” And he started moving, slow at first, the changing the angle and speeding up. With every thrust he pressed against something that felt so good…I was seeing the proverbial stars as he gasped in my ear, making soft sounds of pleasure every time he slammed home. I nipped at his shoulder, and he was looking down at me, dark eyes studying me.

“Frankie, I…I can’t think, I don’t know what to do…”

“Don’t think. Just let me take care of you. It’s all I want to do…” He captures my mouth in a sloppy kiss. “Just let go.”

And I do. I cry out his name as he continues to move, the friction making my high last. He speeds up, and I cup his face in shaking hands.

“You’re so beautiful. I want to feel you come, Frankie, honey, come for me.”

He moved to kiss the palm of my hand, then his eyes squeeze shut as he finds his own release. I can feel it, spilling hot inside of me. I welcome him as he lowers himself down completely, unable to stay up on his forearms any longer. He tried to shift off, but I cling to him. I welcome his weight. His strength.

I don’t want to let go. I never want to let him go.

#frankie morales x reader #Frankie Morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #SMUT #My Fic

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traincat · 4 years ago

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if you dont mind i would love to hear your thoughts on how and why peter seems to be more fulfilled by lower paying jobs (i.e photography, teaching) rather than by high paying jobs in STEM

(Sorry for the wait, anon! I did get this first ask, as you can see, it’s just that sometimes I tend to hoard asks that I want to give long in-depth answers to and then they get buried.)

So I think to best answer this the first thing we have to do is look at Peter’s 616 employment history -- what jobs he’s had when and for approximately how long. So here we have a more or less definitive list -- I may have skipped over a few minor jobs that aren’t important in the long run of the character history, but for the most part this is accurate. For the sake of brevity I am not going to count things he’s done as Spider-Man that have earned him money, like a brief bodyguard stint or his occasional time with the Avengers, because this is really more about his identity as Peter Parker and how his civilian employment plays into his life as Spider-Man than about his life as Spider-Man.

Works for the Daily Bugle on and off, through a variety of positions from part time to salaried, from the age of 15 onwards. Primarily a photographer. How good of a photographer Peter actually is varies from writer to writer, but he remains unmatched in his ability to get certain shots ranging from ones of Spider-Man (duh) to particularly high risk environments (different duh). He also briefly worked for rival newspaper the Daily Globe, the Bugle’s main competitor. His position as a full time newspaper photographer is his most well known (and most consistent) job.

A TA in grad school at Empire State University. At this point in time he labeled himself as having “the wrong temperament” for teaching -- and I would personally say I think his stints teaching college are much less engaging than high school.

Published author. His book, Webs, a collection of his Spider-Man photography, was a major bestseller that sent him on a book tour around the country. I hesitated sticking this on here because it’s very tied into his work with the Bugle -- and he was still working for the Bugle when the book was published -- but I figured it was worth including for the novelty of the fact that Peter’s technically a best selling author/artist.

Peter worked as a scientist at Galannan Alternative Research for Immunization Development (GARID) in Portland after his clone Ben Reilly took over the identity of Spider-Man. Although often overlooked in discussions of Peter’s job history, I think his stint at GARID is important in part because it illustrates how much of Peter’s time being Spider-Man took up and how a job with flexible hours was necessary for that balancing act. When he was working at GARID, Peter wasn’t Spider-Man, so it wasn’t difficult for him to keep a position at a laboratory.

I mean granted the GARID job didn’t last long and there was sort of a whole big mutated monster case going on with it but you know. Anyway he pretty quickly moved back to New York and started working for the Bugle again.

Peter’s next major job at a lab comes in another period where he’s supposed to have quit being Spider-Man. (Which he did, very temporarily, and then he very much didn’t. Anyway, you’re seeing the pattern here.) He briefly worked at Tricorp, a private brain trust. This is a really short-lived position, even as Peter’s science gigs go, because -- Spider-Man.

At this point things get dicey employment-wise as Peter heads into a weird period of canon where Mary Jane was presumed dead. She wasn’t! But everyone thought she was. It was weird. When MJ came back (and promptly left for LA, not that I blame her), Peter exited this period of limbo by becoming a science teacher at his old school, Midtown High. This is the main career, beside news photography, that I think he really shines in.

Civil War/One More Day/Brand New Day hit and completely tank the direction of Spider-Man history. Peter’s marriage is erased by the devil and also he’s not a high school teacher anymore, for some reason, even though nobody remembers he’s Spider-Man anymore which is the reason he initially lost the Midtown High job. Make it make sense. Anyway, in Marvel’s desperate scramble to take Spider-Man back to the unmarried basics, as if they even got new readers that way, Peter returned to photography. When Dexter Bennett bought the Bugle out from under JJJ while JJJ was sick, Peter began working for the newly minted “DB” as a tabloid photographer. It wasn’t great.

He also briefly at some point in here worked at a comic book store for like five minutes. Mostly he complained about people who read comic books and made jokes about how he doesn’t get along with the X-Men.

Under Slott’s run, Peter began working at Horizon Labs. Slott had a pretty major problem with Peter’s genius not being “recognized enough” and constantly had him inventing new things, showing off, etc.

Horizon Lab became Parker Industries under Otto Octavius when he bodyjacked Peter during Superior Spider-Man and made himself CEO. When Peter got his body back, he was still CEO. It was bad but Peter did tank the company on purpose so that Otto and also nazis couldn’t get their hands on it, which was sort of fun.

Peter went back to work for the Bugle, but as their science editor, because Slott was still in charge and there was some weird commentary about photography not being an adult job. Which I think is pretty weird in a medium that’s very dependent on visual art. But okay.

Then Peter got fired because he was busted for plagiarism of Otto Octavius’ work... that Otto did himself... while he was in Peter’s body... and Peter couldn’t reveal this because then he’d have to explain... and maybe I hate comics.

In MC2 he becomes a forensic scientist! I really like this for him actually. I think it combines his interests and experiences in a very thoughtful way. But I do want to note it’s after a Spider-Man career ending injury, so again there’s not a real conflict there between his work as Spider-Man and a career.

Peter I think is an especially interesting case in how his character ties into his employment history because one of the first things he does in his story is figure out how to make money, and he does this because the Parkers don’t have any. If Ben and May were comfortable -- even comfortable enough that their teenaged nephew was unaware of financial pressures -- Spider-Man’s story would be completely different. But Peter immediately feels he pressure to use his new powers to earn money, at first with brute strength. And what he says he’s going to do with his earnings is that he’s going to take care of Ben and May:

(Amazing Fantasy #15) So the concept of Peter as someone who is very aware of financial pressure and who is pretty explicitly linking money to support is present from the absolute beginning. But at the same time, there’s a kind of selfishness presented in him here -- he’s only going to take care of Ben and May. They’re the only ones he cares about here, because as he’s stated they’re the only ones who have ever “been kind” to him. Peter at the beginning of his story is very rooted in his anger and his bitterness, and it takes him losing Uncle Ben -- because it wasn’t Peter’s “job” to stop the burglar -- to get him to the point where he starts to be able to see beyond that.

Ben’s death also heightens the Parker’s financial pressures -- Ben is the primary earner in the household. (Aunt May in the original context of the early 1960s was most likely a homemaker, and as an older woman especially she wouldn’t be expected to have a job. But even moving the timescale up to a point where she would be expected as a woman to hold down a job, it’s important to note that early in Spider-Man canon Aunt May is depicted as being in very poor physical health.) While it’s not clear in the initial Spider-Man stories what Ben did, it’s clear that with his death whatever income the Parkers had coming in abruptly stops:

(ASM #1) This sets in concrete one of the central conflicts Peter and May have -- both of them lie to protect the other. Peter feigns being an ordinary boy in order to protect May from the stress of his secret life as Spider-Man, worried that she wouldn’t be strong enough to handle the danger he regularly puts himself in. But this is a learned behavior, and here we see that he most likely learned it from May: she doesn’t want him to worry about the very deep financial troubles they’re obviously in, so she pawns her jewelry, and she stresses to him the importance of his education. Again I have to note that there are some pretty significant social differences between the 1960s and today in regards to this story -- Betty Brant, for example, notes that she had to drop out of school and become a secretary because of her own family’s financial problems, something she’s ashamed of. So early Spider-Man is very rooted in money, class, education, and how those things intersect. I think it should be noted that the only early Spider-Man characters who are financially well-off are Liz, Gwen, and Harry. (We don’t know anything about Flash’s financial situation in early Spider-Man comics but retroactively we know his family situation is not well-off.) In high school, Liz’s father is a bigshot who owns a dining club, but later on the Allans experience financial hardship with Liz quite literally being on the streets when Peter reunites with her when he’s in college. Harry’s father is a rich businessman, but from the beginning he’s depicted as emotionally negligent, caring more about money than spending time with his son:

(ASM #40) “After all... I had a business to care of! Money was the most important thing of all! I had to get rich! I needed wealth... for that was the key to power!” So right away you have this link between wealth, corruption, and negligence. Norman’s pursuit of wealth is his given reason for his neglect of Harry. Later on we’d learn that Norman’s father was also abusive and that that abuse formed Norman’s ideas about power and wealth. (Spider-Man! It’s about cycles of abuse!) There’s a very contrast between Norman’s attitudes here and the Parkers loving (but poor) household. Gwen is the only exception here -- she and her father are depicted as comfortable, most likely edging into wealthy, although on nowhere the level the Osborns have been elevated to. But compared to Peter, Flash, and Mary Jane especially -- all from poor households, with MJ and Flash’s fathers both being abusive -- Gwen’s home situation is the picture of stability, both in terms of economic status and in terms of her loving and very present father.

My goal in outlining all of this isn’t to say that Spider-Man’s message is definitively “money is bad” because I don’t think it is. I think as a series Spider-Man is very aware of the comfort that money can provide. But I think there is a frequent message about excess in Spider-Man -- excess power, excess wealth. As Norman says above, in his eyes, money is the key to power. With great power, comes great responsibility. In Norman hoarding and abusing his wealth, he abuses his power. If he provides for Harry, it is solely through money -- there is no love or devotion in Norman’s money-focused world. And I think that’s important when you look at where Peter starts in his story, before Uncle Ben’s death. He’s going to use his powers to make a lot of money and he’s going to provide for Ben and May but he’s not going to care about the world outside of that. I think one of the interesting things about Peter -- and this is where Slott’s run especially fails the character -- is that he’s not interesting in getting rich. He’d like to be comfortable, for sure -- he’d like to have enough money to not have worry about it, to not have the need to hustle impede what he can do as Spider-Man, to be able to take care of his family. (And there’s some machismo stuff linked in here for him too -- in the early days of their marriage the fact that Mary Jane earns much more than him is something he struggles with.) But he doesn’t care about being rich. He doesn’t care about the money; he cares about the support that the money would bring.

That feels like a simple statement but I think it’s actually a really big distinction, especially when you’re analyzing a character. And I think it’s because Peter understands that value that it makes him so empathetic to others who have financial struggles. One of my favorite short self-contained Spider-Man stories is called Windfall, from Marvel Fanfare #42, where a mixup with a check embroils Peter in the personal affairs of a bank teller, a young single mother who is fired from her job ultimately because she refused the advances of her boss. Peter gets her her job back -- through blackmailing the boss for his other sexual affairs, which some people might think is immoral of him, but I think really speaks to Peter’s understanding of how the greater world works, and what he’s prepared to do to get bigger justice. But more importantly he uses his own money to pay the young woman’s rent, and he does it in a way where she never even knows it’s him. Because he understands her situation, the way someone who had grown up comfortable never could. And that understanding I think puts him a place where it’s more important for him to both keep that understanding and maintain that ability to act relatively freely, in the way that bigger, more prestigious positions in scientific fields might restrict him. There’s a reason he keeps getting fired from these scientific positions and it’s not that he can’t get them, because we can see from his employment history very clearly that he can. It’s because the freedom to act as Spider-Man and what he can do as Spider-Man is ultimately more important to him.

And while high school teacher is my number one favorite profession Peter has ever had, I think that his position as a newspaper photographer is also very important to the character’s history, in part because the Bugle is such a big part of his life and the connections he’s made but also because the Daily Bugle itself is important. I think it’s interesting to note that two of the biggest superheroes of all time from both of the big companies -- Spider-Man from Marvel and Superman from DC -- have had long running journalism jobs, Peter as a photographer and Clark as a reporter. I don’t think I really have to go into a whole thing about how good journalists are so important and why it matters that we have these incredibly famous mythic figures that are positioned in the roll of journalists specifically. But I do think it is important to Peter that he’s put in that position as someone who cares about uncovering the truth. So ultimately I think what I mean when I say Peter is more fulfilled by his jobs as a photojournalist and as a high school teacher than by his comparatively more high paying stints working as a scientist in a lab is that Peter gets the most fulfillment out of careers where he can actively see, day by day, that what he’s doing is helping people, and that it’s a very direct line from him to the people he’s helping. His efforts can’t be twisted, they can’t be used for other purposes the way they can within a larger organization. He has a line of control in what he can do to help other people. It’s like how Spider-Man functions best as a street level hero: what he does best is saving and helping individual people, on a case by case basis. And you can turn around and demonstrate that in his civilian life best in jobs where he gets to directly interact with people. And ultimately to Peter making that difference is more important than a better salary.

(Marvel Knights Spider-Man #9)

#peter parker #marvel comics #traincat talks comics #long post/

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defectivehero · 4 years ago

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hey! i love your work! would you write one bout a villain brother who hates his slightly older hero brother for always being the perfect child, but when he and his brother are kidnapped by supervillain, he (villain bro) finds that he's the one protecting his older hero brother after something brings the hero so low that they're just broken? thanks!

Growing up, Jaden was placed under enormous pressure to be as successful as his brother. His older brother, Caleb, was perfect- at least, in their parents eyes. The perfect person, the perfect son, the perfect student, the perfect everything.

It shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise to Jaden when he later found that he was unable to surpass his parents’ incredibly high expectations of him. The gap between him and his brother was insurmountable. Jaden was so mind-numbingly average at everything he did. His parents constantly pushed him, telling him to “try harder”. What they didn’t understand was that he was trying. He trained and studied for hours every day. He even passed his hero license training course with flying colors- the instructor having said that he was one of the best trainees he had ever seen. Of course, that still didn’t satisfy his parents. They continued to push him harder and harder until, one day, he broke.

He remembered storming out of the house that day and feeling as if a huge weight had come off his shoulders. He also remembered the gruesome days that followed- the sleeping in the car, the stealing food to eat. Jaden learned a lot in those few days.

One day in particular, about a week after he left his parents’ house, he was approached by a man in a suit. The man claimed that he had a job offer for him, one that paid well and had flexible hours. Jaden was suspicious, naturally, and asked for more details. He thought back to their conversation.

“Hey, what’s a kid like you doing down here?”

“Why do you care?”

“Feisty, aren’t we? I’m just curious,”

“I.. I ran away from home,”

“Ah, I see. You don’t have a job, then?”

“No,”

“Do you want one?”

“What?”

“You can work for me. The pay is pretty good and the hours are flexible.”

“What do you do?”

“Some people would call me.. a villain.”

“Some people?”

“Others would call me a visionary, a bringer of justice to this corrupt society.. So, whaddya say, kid?”

“Sure, I guess,” Jaden had worked for the man ever since. The man taught him everything he knew about villainy. Ever since leaving home, Jaden had felt a bit of a gap in his heart. He needed someone to look up to, and Mr. Greene served as just that.

He stabbed, he killed... He did things he never thought he would do. The first time Jaden killed someone, he had immediately started dry heaving. The bloody corpse stared at him mockingly. He soon found that person haunting him in his nightmares.

As time went on, more people found their way into his nightmares, and he began to forget about his family. Jaden became immersed in his work, to the point where he didn’t do anything except eat, sleep, and kill.

It was rather ironic, he thought to himself one day as he was walking down the street, how much the city idolized Caleb. He was everywhere- television, billboards, newspapers.. even the grocery store! His stupidly perfect face was always smiling at him, mocking him.

As Jaden continued walking down the dimly-lit street, a flash of color caught his eye. He walked towards it, and, upon closer inspection, realized it was a poster of his brother. He looked at it skeptically. Caleb was depicted as a hero, obviously. What was more interesting, however, were the crosses etched into his eyes. It seemed that someone had walked by and decided to.. add their own detail. If the prospect weren’t so disturbing, Jaden might’ve laughed.

In hindsight, his distraction with the poster left him completely vulnerable to any sort of attack. He hadn’t noticed the figure raising their weapon behind him until he was falling to the ground.

------

Jaden woke up with a groan. Where was he? He tried to move his hands, only to find them cuffed together. He looked around the room, eyes widening when his gaze locked on the bars lining one side of the room. He seemed to be in some sort of... cell?

All of a sudden, he heard a loud clanging noise. His head whipped back around, only to find the cell door had been opened. Jaden shot up, ready to run out when he saw Supervillain stroll in.

“I see you’re finally awake,” Supervillain remarked casually. Jaden looked down at the figure in his arms, gasping when he recognized his brother's golden hair. Supervillain followed his gaze. “Ah, I see you have noticed my little friend here.” Supervillain grinned, glancing between the both of them. “Well, have fun with your family reunion,” He threw Caleb into the cell, and walked away, brushing his hands off in a showy fashion.

“Caleb?” Jaden asked hesitantly, watching as his brother curled up into a ball in the corner of the room. “You.. okay?” he continued. Caleb’s head was down, his hair matted and his skin slick with sweat.

“Caleb..?

No response. Jaden hesitantly scooted over to his brother, wrists straining against his cuffs. He eventually got within range of him, and tapped Caleb on the shoulder. He looked up, and Jaden couldn’t hold back a gasp.

Caleb’s face was tear-stained and bloody. Bruises popped out against his pale and sickly skin. His cheekbones protruded from his face in an unnatural manner. But what was most startling were his eyes. His normally bright and vivid eyes were dull and lifeless. Caleb seemed to be in a trance, staring into nothingness.

Jaden fought off the nausea building in his throat. Something about seeing his older brother so broken really made his stomach turn. Caleb was always the better brother. He certainly wasn’t in the condition to be of any use, though. And if Caleb couldn’t get them out of here...

Stop that, he mentally chastised himself. Jaden was perfectly capable of getting the both of them out of this cell. He glanced around the room, a plan forming in his head.

An hour later, and the bars in the cell were bent enough for them to squeeze through. Jaden tried getting through, and eventually made it outside. He looked back, contemplating just ditching his brother. No, he thought to himself. He should take Caleb with him.

Caleb coughed. “Go.”

“What?”

“Just leave me here,” Caleb elaborated, pointing down at his ankle. Jaden looked down, eyes widening when he realized how swollen his brother’s ankle was. There was no way he would be able to walk on that.

Jaden pondered for a second. “No,” he argued. “We’re getting out of here the both of us,”

He went back into the cell, grabbing his older brother and helping him walk to the bars. Jaden squeezed through, and watched as Caleb followed behind him.

“Jaden?”

“Yes?”

“Th-”

“You can thank me later,” Jaden interrupted.

“I was going to say... this is all my fault,” his brother coughed, leaning onto his shoulder. Jaden blinked, not comprehending what he said. When he registered what Caleb said, he stopped for a second.

“Apologizing really isn’t your forte, big bro,” Jaden joked, punching his brother lightly on the shoulder. Caleb hissed, and he winced. Probably shouldn’t have done that.

“Now, let’s get out of here,” Jaden announced, slinging his brother’s arm around his shoulders.

#NOT A PROMPT #writing #short fic #writeblr #hero and villain #heroes and villains #hero and villain are brothers #yuh #uuhh #idk what else to tag this so

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funkymbtifiction · 4 years ago

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How an EP “Plans”

I thought I’d write something up to illustrate what it’s like being an EFP, since some of you aren’t aware of how the functional dynamics / overall behavior aspect of an individual type works. This is highly ENFP but also characteristic of an extroverted perceiving dominant.

I host “high teas” in my home at least four times a year for my intimate friends. Thing is, while I love hosting teas… there’s also a certain amount of anxiety involved in having a ‘settled plan.’ The notion of planning things extensively in advance causes me stress, because there are so many decisions to be made. There are choices between types of mini sandwiches, on what kind of quiche to serve, which scones will best suit the rest of the options, on finalizing the desert options (and making sure not everything is the same color or all has dairy in it). Those things are fun, but also something you have to plan to ‘test run’ in advance, which means scheduling them in ahead of time with enough room to spare so if you hate one option, you can try another.

Whenever I am in the process of doing this, my lower Te feels “pressed for time.” I get it done in advance, but feel anxiety about an encroaching deadline looming ahead of me with “so many things to do to get ready!” I make a loose menu and look for options at the store a couple of days before the event. If I see something that would work better, I buy it. I wait until the last minute to do housework, to prepare the food, and to decide how to set the table, because… it just… works at the last minute. I’m a perceiving dominant. Adaptability, changing my mind, and ‘flying by the seat of my pants’ is how I roll. But the idea of setting a firm commitment, a date, and having it loom toward me gives me angst. And yet, it makes all my SJ guests feel safe, and gives them something to look forward to. I provide the necessities as my inferior Si dictates – pretty table, pretty food and plenty of it.

When I went to a Regency tea hosted by an ISFJ, she had planned it all down to the smallest detail with a spreadsheet where she crossed things off. She had chosen appropriate music and flowers for the occasion. She had specific ideas about how it should look, taste, feel, and be. And she was pretty chill about it, except at the last minute, because that’s when things can go wrong and J types can get more anxious, whereas an EP just goes “eh, it’s fine, we can use this other tablecloth. I didn’t want to iron the white one anyway. :P”

I’ve seen this extend into how I handle my days, as well. I like to have a loose plan that I came up with myself (“I want to get these things done”) and then wing it as I prefer, prioritizing the “most important thing” (which is often my writing / editing). I can be flexible and adapt to unexpected circumstances, but I do like to feel some measure of control over my schedule. And it needs to be loose. I will power through things at an incredible speed to get them done and crossed off my list. My ISTJ mother forced me to make a commitment yesterday in painting two walls in my room that I had been procrastinating about for months, because she wanted to help and only had a few hours to spare. So I had to make a commitment if I wanted assistance. Most people would dither around and take the weekend to paint a room. I got it done in 8 hours, all my furniture put back, and went to sleep in a normal, put-together space that kept me and my cats happy (my sinuses, not so much). I just decide on a whim to do something and power through it in little time. It’s a tert-Te super-power, like the time I decided at the last minute to make a friend a friendship album and got it done in 2 days.

I can frustrate other people, because I’m noncommittal, especially if it involves a long-term engagement. Always in the back of my mind is, “What if I get bored doing this for months on end?” If I join a Bible Study or a book club, I want to know when it’s going to end (6 weeks?) so I know where the escape hatch is. I can be “meh” if someone asks me to do something at the last minute, because I haven’t had time to mentally prepare for it, but I’m quite flexible in adapting when things go wrong. I just shrug and adjust my approach, the same as I would if I wrote myself into a corner in a novel and had to change everything two chapters back to make it work. I decided last week that chapter ten in my book was “dull.” I had one character with nothing to do, and not much of a preclimax, so I rewrote it. The character now accompanies another character on an ‘adventure’ that ties into the plot, but it rendered all that characters’ scenes in the next two chapters obsolete. It doesn’t bother me, though, because I can easily rewrite those two chapters to accommodate his absence, without hurting the overall structure of the story – it will be better as a result.

This is the strength of high Ne. Making it up as you go along, with confidence it will work, because it always does. It may not turn out how I planned it in the first place, but that’s fine because the plan was never fixed. I get things done in short energy bursts, but working on something too long bores me. Deadlines serve as catalysts for the final energy push needed to get me to finish something.

Being who I am also makes work easier. I have a job where it’s mostly doing just a few things here and there for days on end, and then a big ‘push’ right before an editorial deadline to get everything done. I do in 2 days what used to take an ISJ a week, because I work fast, I can rearrange an entire magazine as needed at the last minute, and work well right up against the deadline.

Hope that sheds a little insight into what it’s like to be an EP type.

#mod post #enfp

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willowistic22 · 3 years ago

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New jomike hc au!post college

I came up with this au in my head for awhile now some hc’s regarding this new au on a whim bcs i wanted to tell my friends abt it on a discord server. I thought it’s time it sees the light of day bcs i simply cannot keep it in me anymore. Also this is kind of inspired by the song Dorothea - Taylor Swift.

Everyone is graduating so que the sappy goodbyes as they’re all gonna be scattered not just all around the us but also all around the world

The couples made a truce whether to do long distance or they share the same dreams so they do it together

But mike and jojo didn’t make things work in the end so they broke up before graduation but still went to prom together

y’know those kinds of high school hearthache

Bcs Mike stayed in new york but jojo flew away (like england or sumn idk)

To some fancy elite school bcs he’s smart yknow

He wanted to from the start but he’s always been a bit torned bcs he knew from the start of the relationship mike was the one (call it stupid young love or whatever you want, i call it destiny:))

And mike never wanted to hold him down so he was the one that proposed the idea to him

For the most part it worked out

Jojo flew away to chase his dreams

Mike stayed and did the same thing

Both of them only kinda sorta moved on. Met new people but never fully stopped thinking abt the other. Wishing the other was by their side right now

And so they’ve gotten their degrees and gotten their dream jobs

Mike is a coder working in a video game company while jojo is in social media marketing after finishing business school (or whatever major required for that job field idk)

And they kinda hv their life together. Jojo living on his own in a studio apartment with a cat called Dorothea (see what i did there:)) money doesn’t concern him all that much bcs the job pays nicely and he’s good at handling his finances

Mike lives alongside with his brother ike in a nice apartment too. He manages to get a position that allows him to work flexibly at home yknow. He also has a new kitten he saved from the streets named Honey (bcs his fur is orange like honey) and since his older cat had died of old age

But mike lives with ike who also lives with hotshot. So he’s like always the third wheel. Even worse when ike and hotshot are hving the occasional double date with race and spot. Mike feels even more worse at those time

Decides to hide away in his room or go out with the excuse being work

And its even worse remembering he used to go on double dates with ike and hotshot when him and jojo were still a thing

So ike is like ‘yknow what? I hv enough of this shit’ and hv one good brother to brother talk

‘Dude. It’s been years already. How are you not over him?’

‘Bcs he’s jojo...’

‘Ok? So why don’t you call him?’

It’s not like mike has never thought of calling him. Very much possible. They still follow each other’s social media’s so if his old number had changed he cld always just ask from a simple dm since mike knows jojo is still active in his social media accs

But mike is like ‘i can’t. He cld be taken for all i know. Even if he weren’t, he seems to be doing fine on his own’

‘You can’t really get to know a person through instagram posts. Remember how you tried that the first time you wanted to ask him out? You thought he didn’t like guys and yet still went on a date with you anyways’

That was a real slap in the face type of sentence yknow so mike is working up a lot of courage and planned a lot on what he’s gonna do

He first wanted to message jojo. Seeing if it’s still okay to call and all. But he cldn’t figure out what to say so he procrastinated on that part

Ike got sick of it so he took the phone from mike and messaged ‘can we call? I miss you’

Mike was hovering in between i will murder you or thank you @ ike

Either way jojo texts back with his new number. It’s gonna add up on his usual phone bill but he thinks it’s worth it.

Ok so they talked for like soooo long

7?8?hours?

Basically the whole night for mike

It felt like high school all over again

They were just catching up with each other and talking abt absolute bullshit at the same time

Till they got to the point where they mentioned how they’re both single and the air kinda shifts

Deep down mike and jojo knows what this means

As far as jojo is concerned, mike was the one that messaged him that he misses him

It’s easy now for mike to word out come home without indirectly saying it out loud in case that’s not what jojo wants

Bcs after that catching up, he knows that as much as it’s a dream for jojo to work at a big well known fashion brand (he’s pretty fashionable lmao) and get free products that are usually hella expensive from the brand, he hates everyone he works with. Real snobs and ruthless when it comes to getting a higher position

The other things abt his new life is pretty interesting and he loves it. But he admits there’s always been something missing and mike so badly wants to be that something missing in jojo’s new life

So it comes out straight forward. Not like how mike had planned, but it works in the end. ‘Come home’

And jojo does exactly that. He agrees to come home for the weekend. He books a ticket to new york then back with only a carry on duffle bag filled with a few assortments of clothing and booked it out after telling dorothea he won’t be long.

He rushes to the airport bcs he kinda booked the flight that leaves for new york as soon as possible. Perhaps deep down jojo really does know what he’s been missing in his life?

He lands in new york on a friday night new york time

Mike tells him not to worry abt what he’s wearing bcs he just wants to meet jojo at a central park bench that has long became an important spot for them

Jojo insisted on meeting as soon as he lands which is tonight. So the whole time he’s in the cab, he’s like soooo shaky and nervous it kinda drove the cab driver anxious as well. Bcs like jojo’s not talking and didn’t like say anything abt why he’s going to central park this late at night and not to some fancy hotel as most travelers wld do when they first arrive at new york

The moment the cab stops, jojo basically threw him a wad of cash. Probably too much than the actual price of the ride but he just called out from the back of his shoulder saying it’s a huge tip. Secretly, he’s thanking the cab driver for not asking him why he’s in new york and why central park at this time. It’d most likely make him even more nervous

He’s running on the path. He doesn’t reach full speed bcs his duffle bag is weighing him down. He doesn’t even know why he’s going so fast. It’s not like mike has anything else planned

Picture jojo frantically looking around the area like he’s a lost little boy in the dark. Barely seeing anyone else in ten vicinity, so any figure out at this ungodly time rn cld only mean is mike.

But he’s growing worried bcs it doesn’t seem like he’s around

Until ofc ‘jojo!’

Jojo whips his head around and sees Mike walking up to the bench from a different direction

They didn’t really do anythign at the start. They just stared at each other while standing in the dark approximately 10 feet apart. Jojo waits for a sign from mike to do anything else, though mike was doing the same thing for jojo

Until mike decides to break the 1 minute long silence ‘jojo-‘

But he didn’t continue bcs jojo was already running up to him the moment his mouth moves and tackles him into the tightest hug ever

His duffle bag was dropped halfway from the run so there was no holding back. The hug very much pushed mike’s soul out of his figure as much as it did to his body

Thankfully, mike hugged back just as tight. If not, it was a sign for jojo that it wasn’t okay to go in for a hug just yet and he wld pull back really quick

In time, jojo did end up pulling back to look at mike’s face up close and whisper ‘i still love you’

Which is really out of nature for jojo bcs he’s never really known to be the risk taker between the two

And mike was so happy at that moment that he just pulls jojo in for a kiss.

And that folks, is how they got back together:)

So everyone has agreed that airplane food sucks ass (for the most part at least.

Jojo was forced to eat it on his plane back to new york but he didn’t like finish it

Probably bcs he was so nervous and it also didn’t look so appetizing

So after they’ve said their heartfelt ‘i still love you’s and etc mike took him back to his apartment after finding out he doesn’t hv a place to stay. He’d stay at his parents place but the de la guerra’s hv long moved out of new york. You can say the similarities between jojo and his parents are that they like to travel. They sold their house and ended up backpacking across the world to look for a place to retire inevitably. Last time he checked up on his mom, the old couple is driving to Netherlands.

So mike took him home and cooked him dinner. They hv the apartment all to themselves since hotshot and ike are out

Unknowingly, jojo had sat on honey’s favorite spot on the couch and earned a disapproving meow from the little cat

Not until mike had properly introduced them that honey started to be nicer to jojo. And so they eat dinne ron the couch and talked.

Mike admitted calling him has been on his mind for quite some time but was too scared to act up on it. And jojo said what he did just now was the most compulsive and adrenaline rush thing he’s ever done. The roles had reversed for the moment

But now they’re back where they’ve always belong. In each other’s grasp while looking out the balcony in the tiny living room to watch the sunrise and then getting surprised seeing ike and hotshot pile in the apartment

And so now they’re back. They make the most of the weekend to talk abt what they really want

Jojo wants to quit his old job. The firm is full of snobby and arrogant ppl

And it has him working almost 24/7. He doesn’t want that

Mike on the other hand wants to hv a period of his life where he’s traveling full time

So they took inspiration from ike and hotshot’s current plan : get a mini bus to convert it into a home

In conclusion jojo quits his job, moves back to new york along with his cat dorothea so he can live with mike to make that converted bus plan. After securing a proper job that let’s him work at home flexibly like mike’s, they get on with their plan and sets off to travel in their house on wheels with their two cats. They end up getting married ofc and lived happily ever after:)

Thank you and goodnight folks hsnsgsbssjshmshssmhs

#newsies #newsies headcanons #jomike #jomike newsies #jojo newsies #jojo de la guerra #mike newsies #tw animal death

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itamiiscribble · 3 years ago

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*HiSS* [Katsuki Bakugou/Reader fic]

Chapter 2: *Bite*

"Sensei...", Katsuki drawls out your teachers name in annoyance. Clearly not happy about being paired up with 𝘺𝘰𝘶 of all people to do the stretching exercises.

Aizawa sensei gives him his usual bored expression, informing him that he could gladly do some 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘳𝘢 stretching hours after school if he so wishes so.

Spiky boy grinds his teeths in anger and turns towards you. You tilt your head and greet him with a fake smile.

"Ready when you are.", you notify him, keeping up the false facade that you have no problems being his partner. This was Aizawa sensei after all. You don't dare to disappoint that genius of a man by acting like a spoiled child.

Without waiting for spiky boys next comment you begin the work; you start stretching your arms deliberately avoiding your partner in front of you who does the same with a sour expression on his face.

Absentmindedly you glance around the field, observing your class members. That's when you catch the sight of Momo and Mina doing the leg stretches together. You snort in amusement when you see that the pink haired girl had positioned her leg on Momo's shoulder. The black haired girl obviously a little flustered was trying her best to stand in position, scolding the giggling Mina.

"Stop getting distracted and do your fucking job, idiot."

Sigh.

Holding back the urge to roll your eyes, you ignore him.

Not five seconds pass when he-

"Concentration isn't one of your strengths is it, 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦?" he scoffs and continues stretching his arms as if he didn't just insult you.

Seriously? 'Stupid face'? What kind of idiotic nick name is that?!

Fuck.This.Dude.

You quickly calculate the situation, Aizawa sensei is standing estimated 25 meters away from you scolding Mineta (of course). Your class members are all concentrated on their tasks, not looking your way.

Good.

Swiftly you make your move, swinging your right leg laterally towards his spiky head.

Unfortunately Bakugo- as sharp as ever, catches your flying kick in the last moment with his right hand. Growling in annoyance he glares at you, holding onto your foot and lowering it slowly down beside his shoulder, not letting go of it.

Honestly, it should annoy you that you couldn't hit but the result is still satisfying; that venomous look in his eyes is definitely pleasant.

Shrugging, you give him a fake innocent smile and withdraw your leg-

That is what you want to do but apparently spiky boy had other plans; he is still holding onto your foot with an iron grip. Furrowing your brows in confusion you are about to snap at him.

But that's when you feel it and you gasp while your eyes widen in shock.

Katsuki is gently stroking along your calf, slowly letting his fingers wander along your leg all the while looking you straight into the eyes.

𝘏-𝘩𝘶𝘩?!

Mouth agape you look dumbfounded, too flustered and shocked to do or say anything. You look up to him with a baffled expression but Bakugo's gaze is not wavering, he is watching you unshrinking into the eyes.

And there it is again; those red eyes turning into a dark garnet tone.

And you are certain, this was the same countenance you've met last friday. The same eyes that have been hunting you for the rest of the weekend.

And once again, you can't tell what it means?!

All of a sudden using both of his hands Bakugou grabs onto your leg and drags you towards him.

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘐𝘴𝘏𝘦-

You let out a surprised shriek, trying to control your balance. Quickly you check your surroundings, making sure that no one is seeing this. Whatever this is?! What is he thinking?!

You can't tell.

Seeing that flustered expression on your face, Katsuki looks content, the ghost of a smirk emerging on his face.

Indignant, you want to yell at him tear away his hands from your leg, order him to let you go.

Do 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.

But when you realize how close you are to each other, your intention of freeing yourself is instantly postponed to the back of your mind.

Drops of sweat beaded his face, enlightened by the sun streaming through the droplets. Creating a shine not much unlike his own quirk. Like tiny sparks or mini explosions, outlining the features of his face. Drawing your attention down the length of his face causing him to look even more fiery than he normally did.

Wait.

Why is he sweating so much?! Just from a few minutes of stretching?! And what is this smell? It smells kind of... sweet?

Doing your best you try to look unabashed, raising up your chin you fake confidence. But those rubin red eyes watching your face so profoundly makes it hard for you to control your act. The smirk on his face becoming more visible each passing second.

And suddenly you are angry. How dare he put you in a situation like this?! You try yet again to withdraw your leg, but evil spiky boy doesn't move an inch, still holding onto your leg with both of his hands.

Giving him your most poisonous look you order him to let go.

He tilts his head slightly and looks at you. Really looks at you. Starting from your shoes his gaze wanders up your body in a slow pace, making a show of checking you out.

𝘌𝘹𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶?!

"Let go, or you'll regret it.", you warn him, ready to punch his face at this point if you have to. Right now you don't care about the consequences, you are angry and still bewildered. You can't make up these confusing feelings inside of you and it pisses you off immensely.

"What if i don't? Will you fucking 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘦 me this time?", he scoffs bluntly, his eyes looking like he was 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 you to exactly do that, inwardly challenging you.

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯?!

Not waiting for an answer, Katsuki drags you even closer to him, hoisting up your leg over his shoulder to the point that it hurts. Hissing in pain you try to hold your balance.

"K-katsuki!", you shriek indignantly and realize you have to hold onto something or you might fall. And that's what you do, without thinking you put your left hand on his shoulder grabbing it as if your life depends on it.

Katsuki let's out a snort. "This is the first time you called me by my name."

Promptly you raise your head, looking him vicious into the eyes.

𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺?!

You are standing here- 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘰 if you may add- your right leg stretched over his shoulder hurting like a bitch! And that's what he picked out of this situation to comment on?!

And did you really just call him by his name?

Your expression not affecting him in the slightest he stares right back at you, those rubin red eyes watching you intensely.

"You 𝘢𝘳𝘦 pretty flexible though...", he comments casually and let's his gaze outrageously wander down your body which is pressed against his own (tragically).

Spluttering incomprehensible you try yet again to free yourself from his grasp, but to no avail.

What was he trying to do?!

But most importantly, IS NO ONE SEEING THIS?!

Weak.

Suddenly you feel weak. You can't find anything to counter, the pain in your leg not allowing you to think straight. You can't believe he is making you feel this...this 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘭𝘦.

You want this to end ,whatever it is. You can't endure those eyes and this indecipherable tension any further.

Realizing that threatening didn't work the first time, you grind your teeth in anger and do the thing you never thought you'd do in your life; pleading Katsuki Bakugou.

You take a deep breath and ready yourself, this is not easy for you, how could it be?!

But is there another choice? The pain in your leg and your muddled mind is preventing you from finding another way out of this.

So, begging it is.

"Please..." It's barely above a whisper but Katsuki is so close, you are sure he heard it.

He raises a brow and grunts dull: "𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 what?"

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧-

"𝗣𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲, let go.", you answer, this time a little louder, your voice sounding pathetically weak. Licking your lips absentmindly you glance down, trying to hide your loathing towards him.

Katsuki catches on to the movement and his eyes take an even more darker tone. Cursing quietly he abruptly let's go of your leg.

Not realizing his intentions fast enough, you can't hold your balance any longer and land right onto your ass.

𝘖𝘶𝘤𝘩.

You look up to him from where you sit with such a venomous expression, people around you would think he is your most hated archfiend. (Which he probably already is, but still.)

He doesn't even look at you anymore, continuing his stretching as if nothing had happened!

Dumbfounded you sit there.

You had begged Katsuki Bakugou.

You let him win.

You let him win because you got weak and the pain had been overwhelming. Yes, it was the pain. You keep on persuading yourself exactly that.

You try to calm yourself.

Quickly standing up you look around. Surprisingly no one is looking your direction, your class members are all fully concentrated on doing their stretching, talking to each other while doing so.

Unbelievable.

You sigh in relief and dare to glance back at your partner. He was stretching his legs now, fully concentrated on his task.

How can he act as if nothing just happened?! What even happened just now?!

What kind of sociopath are you dealing here with?!

Realizing you are not feeling well and most importantly do not want to stand in front of Bakugou any longer, you walk up to Aizawa sensei and excuse yourself.

Yes, throwing cold water at your face will definitely help you gather your thoughts again. Oh yes, that's what you need right now!

These are the thoughts you have while walking towards the girls bathroom, not realizing spiky boy looking your way with a slightly satisfied smirk on his face.

Follow my work on AO3 (*´꒳`*):

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31462658/chapters/77824271#workskin

#bnha #mha #katsuki bakugou x female reader #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #boku no hero academia #my hero acadamy #fan fiction

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merakiaes · 5 years ago

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Best Friends Headcannon - Geralt Of Rivia

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x reader (platonic)

Requested: By @by-the-primes

Prompts: None.

Warnings/notes: This is my first time ever writing a headcannon and it turned out more of a one-shot hahaha xD I went a bit overboard and I’m not used to this kind of post at all so sorry if it sucks.

Wordcount: 3430

Summary: Headcannons of being best friends with Geralt.

You had first met Geralt of Rivia when you were merely twenty-four years of age.

Seeing as you were human and didn’t age the same way he did, you were quite a bit younger, even though he didn’t look to be a year older than thirty.

You were of noble blood and with your parents’ consent, you had headed out into the world to “find yourself”, but in reality, you just didn’t want to be stuck at home in tight, frilly dresses listening to your mother go on about potential suitors all day, every day.

So with only a bag containing some clothes, gold and other things needed to survive, you headed out on your own.

Having been locked up pretty much your entire life had made you quite the bratty smartass. You didn’t have a filter and rarely knew when to stop talking back to people, which was the first thing Geralt got to learn about you upon first meeting you.

Long story short, he had to save your ass in a tavern when you had picked a fight with the wrong person, severely having underestimated the amount of backup your new enemy had.

At this point, you had only been on your own for approximately a week and still had plenty of gold left, and offered to pay for his dinner and room as a thank you.

He accepted, but stared at you weirdly the entire time, sitting quietly until you told him to get on with it and speak his mind.

“Do you not know who I am?” “White hair, amber eyes, Witcher pendant hanging around your inhumanly muscular neck, yeah I think I have an idea. I just don’t care. Heroes and villains, we're all somewhere in between.”

You parted ways the same night as he stayed behind to care for a monster-problem, and you headed on to the next town.

It was already the next day that you met again.

He had come to the town you had landed yourself in and left into town for some business, and come back to the stables to find you petting and talking to Roach, feeding him apples from your bag.

“Hm, you again.” “Nice to see you, too, Witcher.”

You traveled to your next destination together, and Geralt quickly realized that you were in no way a noble lady, despite being raised so.

You were a big eater and completely terrible at singing. Your personality was gruff and grumpy, but at the same time, you never seemed to drop the sarcasm. Your humour was crude, your language vulgar, and your temper was a ticking bomb.

The latter forced Geralt to have to step in and prevent you from digging your own grave on more than one occasion.

“Be nice.” “I am.” “You threatened them with a knife.” “But did I stab them?”

He acted out of logic, and you acted out of your emotions.

“Learn how to sit back and observe. Not everything needs a reaction.” “That’s easy for someone who is incapable of feeling to say.”

You set camp together later that night, Geralt leaving you in charge of the campsite while he planned to go fetch some firewood.

“What if something creeps up on me?” “Trust your gut.” “I have anxiety. My gut is always telling me to abort mission.” “How have you survived on your own so far?” “Well, I’ve only been on my own for a week as of yet.” “Hm.”

You would think he would be the one snoring but he laid as quiet as a mouse throughout the night.

Instead, you turned out to be the one with the sinus problem, your snoring keeping him awake and leaving him aggravated to the point where he wanted to smother himself with a pillow the next morning.

“Good morning, sunshine.” “No.” “I believe the proper response is good morning.” “No.” “Yes, but-“ “No.”

You went on with your morning, and he handed you the map to which you were quick to shake your head.

“No, no, no. You do not want me navigating. I’ll accidentally navigate us off a cliff.” “Then we die. Now shut up and turn the map in the right direction.” “Alright, alright, I got it. I know where we’re going.”

Fast forward an hour and you’re standing at the edge of a mountain, looking out over the landscape of a town you had never before seen or intended to go to.

“I thought you said you knew where you were going.” “Yeah, I lied. But in my defense, I did tell you not to put me in charge of navigating.” “That you did.”

You were forced to turn around and go back to camp, and start the journey all over again.

But you didn’t reach it, instead being captured by a couple of elves along the way.

Despite barely knowing you, Geralt was instantly protective of you.

“I’m trying my best to be polite but if you move that knife a centimeter closer to her I will tear you apart.”

Unbeknownst to him, as he was taking punches behind you and trying to talk himself out of your difficult situation, you were taking your flexible wrists to advantage, being able to snap them on command, allowing you to get out of cuffs.

To say that he was terrified when he caught sight of your limp, deformed hands was an understatement. Luckily, however, it was enough to stun your captors and allow Geralt to knock them out.

You found Roach right where you had left him before you had been taken, and continued heading to your original destination.

After making it to the right town this time, you parted ways, but once again destiny brought you together the next morning and from then on you just kinda stuck together.

Being a Witcher was work enough, but now he also had to take on the responsibility of keeping you safe. Something that proved very hard when he was the one wanting to kill you most of the times.

You just never shut up, it was infuriating.

But it did work in his favor sometimes, too. More often than not, you would do all the talking for him whenever he was approached about a monster-problem so that he wouldn’t have to.

In most cases your vocabulary was cut down to “piss off”, “we don’t care” or “leave”, but on the rare occasion, you would switch it up with a “come to mama” if they flashed a bag of cold in front of your eyes, followed by a shameless order in the likes of “Geralt, go do your thing.”

When he would only stare at you in annoyance for selling him off, usually in the middle of his meals as most people approached you in the taverns you stayed at, you would only add “please” because you knew it would vex him further.

But still, he would get up with a gruff rumble of his chest and stomp off to do his job.

You frequently started calling him Sunshine, the irony of it just being so good.

He found the nickname irritating. As he did almost everything else you did.

You were a very restless person, almost always tapping your foot or bouncing your leg whenever you sat down.

“Stop that.” “The fact that you’re telling me to stop makes it so much more enjoyable.”

It got so annoying after a while he had to start putting his feet on top of yours underneath the table whenever you sat down in a tavern, or else he wouldn’t be able to eat in peace.

It became a tradition for you that he ordered chicken and you ordered pork whenever you would stop to eat, and then you would give each other half of your food so that you each got a little bit of both.

Much to his dismay, you also always switched his ale out for water if it was still light out, telling him it was unacceptable to start drinking before dark.

How you always managed to succeed with it he didn’t know, because his eyes would purposely follow the tavern worker the entire way from your table to the bar to see to it that nothing happened on the journey.

And still, he always received a boring mug of water.

Before he met you he could travel for days, only sleeping in the woods.

But you had a bad immune system, so now that you were moving together you could never move for too long at a time if the weather got bad. You needed to sleep under a proper roof in rain and storms to avoid you getting sick.

After a while, the clothes you had brought with you from home weren’t usable anymore and had to be replaced.

The only thing left from your original pack now was the blanket you had slept with every night for your entire life and four heavy books that you read over and over again.

When in danger and having to get away quickly, Geralt had insisted countless of times just to leave it behind, to which you had insisted to go get it even if it meant putting your life in danger.

After a while, he just got used to it and picked up the habit of reminding you of your bag every time you were starting to move somewhere else.

When traveling, you would force him to stop by a lake or stream once every day to let you clean up.

You might have left the safety of your home to travel the world but you still wanted to look decent. You had grown up noble, looking your best every day.

You hated being filthy.

And you hated messes, too.

You might have constantly been on the move, not staying in one place for too long, but because of the way you were brought up you still despised messes.

You usually stayed in the same room whenever you would seek refuge in a town for the night, and always scolded him and forced him to clean up his shit if he threw it on the floor.

When you got the time to stay a bit longer and didn’t have any danger hot on your trails, however, you took separate rooms so that he could occupy himself with a no-strings-attached shag.

Every morning after, you would casually burst into his room and wake him up, not caring in the slightest that he was naked with a woman, sometimes several, in bed.

“Suit up, whore. We’re leaving,” You would say, to which the whores would always gasp and exclaim something along the lines of: “I beg your pardon?” while trying to cover up their bare chests, and failing miserably.

Geralt would only grumble, wave them off and push himself up in bed.

“She’s talking to me.”

You constantly insulted each other and talked shit about the other behind their back.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a troublesome fobbing, clay-brained hugger-mugger, we could get some things done.”

But the insults didn’t stop with him.

“No one asked for your opinion you abominable shit gobbling.”

“Get out of my way you sorry excuse for a mammering, tickle-brained lewdster.”

“I fail to understand how you’ve become such a reprehensible fuck waffle.”

Those were only few of many insults you threw around at strangers every day, and although Geralt was amused by your big, unladylike mouth, it was worrying.

“You’re one insult away from starting a war.” “How fun.” “You say that now, but you can barely even hold your own in a weaponless brawl.” “Can too!”

But you couldn’t. So he taught you how to wield a sword.

Already during your first sparring session, he accidentally stabbed you in the side, and your automatic response to feeling the steel bury itself into your flesh was a mere “rude” before passing out on the spot form the pain.

But after that, you caught on quickly. And you started growing up quicker, too, taking after him and his antics.

Soon enough, you had gone from mocking his constant humming and grumbling, to humming in sync with him.

You always helped each other with tasks if needed, whether it be saddling Roach, setting up camp or gathering your stuff around the tavern rooms you would stay in every once in a while.

You just worked well together, and didn’t need words to do so.

You grew out of your overly spastic nature, but you still lacked a filter every time you opened your mouth so even years after first meeting, you would get into trouble.

And if someone chose to fight one of you, they chose to fight both of you.

Geralt always tried to avoid conflict and battle, but if someone as much as looked at you the wrong way, they better run.

He was obviously the more rational one, trying to keep you out of trouble, to which you always seem to have a talent of stirring shit up even more.

“I had a thought…” “No. Don’t make that face.”

But he always came along anyway, and it most often ended up with a stab wound or two because you talked back to the wrong person.

And you never got away without a scolding.

“Get off the horse so I can explain in painstaking detail how much of a dumbass you are.” “Do I have a choice?” “No.”

There was no shame or shyness between you.

You did things in the other’s presence that might have been considered romantic or intimate in the eyes of a spectator, but it was completely platonic.

When the time was scarce, you sometimes had to bathe together, back to back, to get it done as quick as possible.

You would shave his face and he would wordlessly put your hair up whenever he noticed it annoying you.

The habit had started when you had injured your arm and was unable to do so yourself and just stuck with him after that.

He couldn’t braid for shit, but he did do a decent bun.

You always tied your laces too loosely, so he often had to redo them to prevent you from tripping over your feet.

You would wear his shirts whenever you waited for yours to dry after a wash.

You would fall asleep with your head on his shoulder.

You would share beds and food. Rub each other’s shoulders to rid of the soreness after a beating or a fight.

You made fun of each other always, and you found it particularly fun whenever he lost or took major damage in battle.

“Nice blackeye, Sunshine.” “Shut your mouth.”

But still, you would always be there in his time of need to patch him up, and try to talk him into being more careful - exactly like he had been forced to do your reckless ass all those years ago.

“Look, I’m glad you’ve saved everyone and all that but it’s time someone told you to take care of you.” “I’m fine. “No, you’re not, and furthermore, if you don’t take care of yourself, think of all the people who need you in the future who won't have you. Think of Ciri.”

It was funny, how you had been the one to be driven by emotions to a start, unable to control your anger and putting yourself in harm’s way, and now it was usually the other way around.

You took care of him when it came to patching him up, and he took care of you in every other way.

“Why aren’t you eating?” “Take my cloak.” “I’ll get the firewood, sit down.” “You can have my half.” “Watch your step.”

Those were only a few of the ways he told you he cared for you, along with “I hate you.”

“I hate you” became your way to say “I love you”, and you said it several times throughout the day.

Even this long into your friendship, and countless of poems and songs later, people still got shocked when seeing you walk side by side down the streets.

Geralt was powerful, had a serious face. You did not want to get on his bad side, let’s just leave it there.

But you. You were cute, had a kind face and a contagious laugh. You were kind, despite your big mouth and usually vulgar attitude.

Still, he always warned people to never hurt you or else, but everyone always assumes he said this as a warning of what he would do to them, even though he was, in reality, warning them about you.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” “Why? What’s she gonna do? Woo me to death?” “Underestimate her. That will be fun.”

Then they would approach you and find out you’re actually badass as shit, getting beaten to a bloody pulp.

And all Geralt would say as he stepped over their body on the floor was: “I warned you.”

Six years into your friendship, you were a lot more mature than you had been at twenty-four, now thirty. But you were still a little shit, enjoying your companion’s displeasure.

While Geralt would always open doors for you, you would always purposely slam them shut in his face, just to give him that extra work.

You would slap him on the chest and say “language” every time he said “fuck” and then proceed to call him a cunt only minutes later.

You were an annoying piece of shit, but he got his revenge every blue moon.

Men who were attracted to you would usually approach him first and ask for his blessing and advice, knowing you were of noble blood and pretty much impossible to impress.

He would always play along, urge them on, encouraging them and telling them everything you didn’t like, and then stand by and await the show.

You weren’t dumb, always saw them speaking and always spotted the amused smirk on your partner’s face as he sent the men your way.

So you followed his example and played along, standing by and listening to their pathetic attempts silently, pretending to be interested.

Always thinking they had you hooked, they would touch you inappropriately and smirk.

“Shall we?”

And to this, you would simply smile, before headbutting them to the floor and stepping over them.

“Not even in your dreams.”

Walking back over to a snickering Geralt, you simply passed him, glaring into empty space.

“I hate you.” “I know you do.”

One day Geralt left for some monster-killing-business, while you stayed behind in the town you had been in the past few nights with a broken arm.

It was the first time in years that you split up, but you weren’t very worried.

More so than anything, you were annoyed, when he came back with a chatterbox bard trailing behind.

“Where are you from?” “Here and there.” “What do you do?” “This and that.” “You ever…?” “Now and then.” “Boy, you are just full of information, aren’t you?” “Or maybe your questions are just too boring to be worth an answer.” “I have NEVER been so insulted!” “You don’t listen much, do you?”

Finally, after so many years of it being only the two of you, karma had caught up to you.

You were now forced to experience first hand what it was like being followed by someone who couldn’t stop running their mouth.

“Come here.” “Why?” “Just come here.” “No, you’re going to hit me.” “She probably will.” “You guys realize how incredibly codependent you are, right?” “I fail to see your point, measel.” “Do you ever run out of insults?” “Only time will tell.” “She’s just a female version of you, isn’t she?” “She used to be a female version of you.” “That’s seriously hard to believe.”

It wasn’t long after that that you met Yennefer of Vengerberg.

You didn’t like her, at all. But you learned to tolerate her for the sake of Geralt, trusting his judgment.

But that didn’t stop you from keeping a watchful eye on her.

Jaskier teased you endlessly for it, claiming you were jealous and in love with him, yourself. But it was nothing like that.

You didn’t want romance. You wanted meaning and purpose and adventure and you found it all in him – a soulmate in the form of a best friend.

Legends and rumors claimed Witchers weren’t capable of feeling human emotions but after being on the move with him for so long, you knew there was absolutely no truth to those claims.

And if she hurt him, you would kill her yourself.

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt imagine #geralt oneshot #geralt fanfic #the witcher #the witcher imagine #the witcher x reader #witcher #jaskier #jaskier x reader #jaskier imagine #dandelion jaskier #yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg

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arysthaeniru · 4 years ago

Note

aAAA the joy of seeing an update on your current favorite fanfic is just aAAA

I always felt that kiwami 1s Nishiki was just a bit too,, I dont know how to describe it; but essentially he just felt off, granted yakuza 1 is a product of its time and therefore the plot is a bit dated and whack as all hell

The way you write Nishiki just feels so much better and realistic; in the original he just seems so uncaring towards Kiryu? which just feels kinda OOC? You'd think he still cares about Kiryu despite it all, especially when you take Yakuza 0 into consideration; and i feel like you portray Nishiki much more accurately

I never thought much about Yumi, because honestly, in the original she was kinda just, there? You actually made her a very interesting person! like I'm actually invested in her in your story! (side note you ever think about her clone who got tortued and died? yeah who WAS that???? thats never brought up is it??)

Theres so much more to talk about but in short; This is the best fix it/rewrite of a game plot I have read to date and it brings me joy in my current stressful school life. and no I will not stop praising it or the author, because this work has made me very happy. ;)

I just have a gift for picking favorites that end up dying,,aand another favorite of mine is Mine

imo theres a lack of soft, reassuring Minedai, i just feel like he'd need a reminder that people love him as a person and not just for the money he can provide, even if its obvious

I'd love to see how you'd write them, but I understand if theres more interesting/appealing drabble requests!

- Carp

CARP, thank you for this <3 this is so sweet!!!!! I’m so happy you enjoy my Nishiki! I had fun playing with what Yakuza 0/the Kiwami additions gave us about Nishiki’s personality and outlook on the world, and trying to reconcile that with the plot that Yakuza 1 initially had. Ultimately, I fell on the side that you did: even if Nishiki’s ambition took him down a monstrous path, I don’t think he’s the sort of person who neglects to pay back his debts. And he’s aware of the huge debt he owes Kiryu. Not to mention, their bonds of trust and love vanishing completely because of jealousy felt unreal to me. Their relationship becoming twisted or strange? Yes, but vanishing entirely felt unsatsifying to me.

And Yumi!! I had so much fun excavating her character from the clues we get of her in canon. I worry sometimes, that she’s unrecognizable, because you know, I’ve given her a college education, and a whole bunch of interests beyond hostessing alone, but people seem to like it and like her, which is great!! I hate fridging women characters, so keeping her and Reina alive was important to me, hahaha. (RE: fake!Mizuki, there’s this substory in Kiwami that actually addresses who she was, BUT IT’S EVEN MORE HORRIFYING. So that’s why Yumi in my fic is the one captured and tortured by Nishiki’s men, because the thought of this poor innocent woman getting dragged into the mess was just untenable to me.)

Anyway, thank you for your support and kind words, and I hope you’ll continue to read and that my fic can continue to relieve stress. I--tried to write this about Mine, but Daigo kind of stole the spotlight a little??? I hope you still like it--if not, I will try a ficlet from Mine’s perspective too. I enjoy minedai a lot, but I haven’t had room to think out their dynamic yet, so this took me a while.

Daigo’s no stranger to being desired. He’s attractive, he knows this—his mother’s beauty lives in his veins, and he’s always had the money to look after himself. Fancy soaps to wash his face, the invisible retainers to keep his teeth straight, fancy suits and skin-tight shirts to show off his frame. For all that Kiryu insists his charisma is something that comes from the soul, Daigo knows it wouldn’t be able to draw the sort of attention he does without being attractive.

Which is to say that Daigo’s not especially thrown off by the intensity of Mine’s gaze. It’s happened before, and it’ll happen again. The thing that surprises him is how much he relishes in being seen by Mine.

Maybe it’s because Mine’s an island in a stormy sea, one of the only yakuza his age who’s sensible and level-headed enough to make it big. Maybe it’s because Mine’s gaze is always so reserved, polite, never overly lusty or overstaying its welcome, and Daigo has so rarely been desired so quietly. Or maybe it’s because Majima and Kashiwagi so clearly disapprove of him—Daigo’s always been something of a rebel, and he hasn’t shaken that off, even now he’s in his thirties and is the arbiter of rules for the Tojo Clan.

Daigo can’t quite put a pin on why he’s so comfortable with Mine’s yearning looks, but he’s never been one to hold back when he wants to indulge in something good. Not exactly a hedonist, not by yakuza standards, but Daigo has never kept himself from enjoying life, in the name of some dubious ‘honour.’

Which is why, in an after-hours meeting with Mine, as they eat cheap takeout sushi together, Daigo takes his chance. A momentary slip, the slightest hint of wasabi left at the corners of Mine’s lips and Daigo swoops in, rubs a thumb over the corner of Mine’s lips. Mine stutters to a stop, mid-sentence through a rundown of the real-estate that the Hakuho Clan’s been purchasing up, and stares at Daigo, eyes bewildered.

“Sixth Chairman?” he asks, his voice still remarkably composed.

“Wasabi.” Daigo says, nonchalantly, as if it’s nothing, and sticks his thumb into his mouth, slowly licking it off with a lingering lave of his tongue. He feels a sharp stab of satisfaction as Mine’s eyes turn darker, and his gaze follows Daigo’s hand down.

Daigo straightens up, languidly, and cracks his neck, casually. At this point in the day, he’s untucked his shirt, and he knows that a slight strip of his stomach will be visible when he stretches out his arms towards the ceiling. And as predictably as clockwork, Mine’s gaze darts downwards, to that pale expanse, to catch that brief second of skin. Daigo can’t help but feel warm. Something about being watched by Mine is exhilarating.

“Smoke?” offers Daigo, but as usual, Mine refuses, with a polite shake of his head.

Daigo knows from hearsay that Mine’s something a health-freak, so he’s not entirely surprised. It’s already too late for Daigo to preserve his health—he knows that his liver’s already been pretty ruined from long nights of binge-drinking as a youth, and this job’s too stressful to withhold from vices like smoking and drinking, without an optimal end-goal. So he walks over to the window, cracks it open a little, and lights up.

The breath of nicotine curls over his body, a tender caress, and Daigo feels his shoulders drop, as the relaxation hits. He pulls off his cufflinks, tosses them into his pockets and rolls up his sleeves. He takes it slow, runs his fingers over his skin a little more than strictly necessary. Surreptitiously checking the reflection in the window, Daigo watches Mine watch him, and smirks at how intense that gaze is, how Mine’s mouth has opened, and Daigo can just see the soft pink of his tongue.

“Dojima’s just fine, you know. When it’s just us two.” Daigo says, turning over his shoulder. He smiles, one of those charming smiles that had always gotten him whatever he wanted as a child, “We’re same-aged friends, after all.”

“Dojima-san.” Mine acknowledges, after a brief pause.

Daigo turns around, to properly look at Mine and lifts an eyebrow. “Dojima. Or Daigo, preferably. Dojima-san’s always my father in my head.”

Mine nods, face impassive. Daigo can’t read him like this. Maybe that’s why he likes when Mine stares at him, filled with longing. At least then, Daigo feels like he knows him. In moments like these, his implacable gazes might as well be a brick wall. “Right. Your Father was also in the Tojo Clan.”

Daigo smiles, wryly, and blows out a puff of smoke. “One of the most horrible men I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting—and I had to call him Father. But damn if he wasn’t good at the job.” He sighs and stubs the cigarette out against the ashtray. “...sometimes feel like I’m competing with his dead spirit. Everybody’s looking at me and wondering if this is what my Father would do. Or what Kiryu-san would do.”

“You’re doing better than any of them.” Mine says, immediately, with a vicious ferocity that Daigo wasn’t expecting. He can’t quite stop his eyebrows rising in surprise, and Mine straightens upwards, looking self-conscious immediately. Daigo regrets his instinctual reaction, immediately. “That is to say, Dojima, that I think that you’ve pulled this Clan into somewhere far more respectable. From what I’ve heard of your Father, he didn’t have the temperament to do proper business on this level—too insistent on formal obeisance and unable to be flexible as the times require. And Kiryu-san might be very honourable, but we are yakuza. There are certain things you have to do as a Chairman, that he couldn’t bring himself to do. But you are practical and do what is necessary, while also not overstepping into excessive violence. You are uniquely suited for this job, Dojima.”

...he’s taken aback a little, he can’t deny it. Daigo wonders if his cheeks are colouring, wonders if his obvious shock is offputting, wonders if this is how Mine feels every time Daigo teases him lightly about his obvious attraction. A startling warmth spreads through his chest, and Daigo can’t stop the slight smile that touches his face. Has anybody ever said something so unreservedly kind and measured about Daigo before?

Maybe this is the difference between everybody else’s gazes on him, and Mine’s gaze. It’s based on something more than desire alone. Respect.

Daigo runs a hand over his slicked-back hair and ruffles it free, with a rueful smile, a smile that he couldn’t take away from his face, even if he tried. “I appreciate that. You know I couldn’t do it without you, right?”

He’d never really believed himself capable of attraction to a man like Mine. All of his previous childhood crushes had been on bright, cheerful conversational, pure-hearted people. Daigo had always figured they would balance out his sardonic cynicism. He’d never thought someone as reserved and principled as Mine would ever make his heart flutter. But then, there was something about that deep hunger and passion that Daigo craved. Perhaps it was because he was no longer the gloomy punk of his youth. Maybe his tastes have changed towards tall, dark and handsome. Maybe Mine’s just that special.

“Dojima—” Mine says, clearly trying to refute it, but Daigo cuts him off.

“I mean it. Everybody in this fucking Clan wants me to do something or be somebody else. Kashiwagi-san wants me to be my mother. Majima-san wants me to be Kiryu-san. Everybody else expects my Father. But not you. You deal with me honestly, and with candour, and never hold any expectations against me except success. I appreciate your faith in me.” Daigo takes a couple of steps forward, until his shoes almost brush up against Mine’s own. He leans down over Mine’s chair. “I could not do this without your backing and help. Truly. I don’t think I’ve ever had someone like you in my life. A true friend.”

Mine tilts his chin up to meet Daigo’s gaze, a hungry devotion in his eyes, and Daigo, for a moment, wonders if this is wrong. If he should hold back, like Kiryu would. But Daigo is Daigo, and Mine clearly wants him anyway, so he leans down and kisses him.

Mine’s mouth is velvety smooth and wet and hot and it is oh-so satisfying a feeling to put his hand against Mine’s broad neck and feel his warmth up against Daigo. He pulls back, with a satisfied sigh, and feels the burn of wasabi across his lips, a final parting kick.

#minedai #mine yoshitaka #dojima daigo #spiraling downhill fic tag #yakuza #rgg

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dzamie-oc · 3 years ago

Text

03 - Steampunk

I’ll admit, this is a bit reductionist for a punk story, but gimme a break, I wrote this in only a few hours :P

Length: 2200 words Rating: T (mild description of blood and death) Summary: A factory worker makes a dragon. They grow up together and eventually enact a little bit of class warfare and a little bit of revenge.

-----

Finn’s desk was half covered in a pile of assorted junk - gears, pipes,twisted bits of scrap metal, keys for long-dead springs, and so much more, almost all tarnished, covered in coal soot, or both. However, his attention was focused on the other half, a carefully cleared space with only a few mechanical pieces strewn about, all polished to perfection. Most importantly, in the middle, sat a small, mechanical device of his own creation. Its body was unfinished, exposing much of its inner workings to the naked eye - and the elements, if he let it get that far. A head like a mix of a lizard and a dog, a long, flexible neck, a body that one might mistake for a large, metallic rat’s, and a slender tail which ended in a thin, metal cone. The young teen, with a degree of care unusual to someone with such a rat’s nest of hair, delicately positioned his creation to lay on its back, curled its legs in, and gently inserted a brass key into a particular, well-shaped hole in its chest. Once, twice... three times he turned, for luck.

Through the background din of machinery, he suddenly heard the sound of footsteps and froze. Reflexively, his free hand flew to the ignored pile of scraps, then slowly dragged one over, taking just long enough for him to listen to the footsteps pass by and once more out of earshot. Finn let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, furtively glanced left and right, just in case, and removed the wound key.

Gears and wheels began to spin with a soft whirr, and a look of wonderment spread across Finn’s face as the mechanical legs twitched, then cycled in the air. Its head lifted, letting him stare into its dark eyes, no longer as lifeless as they’d always seemed to be.

“Hey, little guy,” the boy said, “welcome to the world. I’m Finn. I almost hate to dump this on you, but... look, in case I can’t, keep wound, and keep hidden. I wish I could show everyone how cool you clearly are, but-”

Suddenly, more footsteps. Footsteps he recognized, and recognized well. Finn hissed an apology to the dragon and quickly covered it with the nearby metal bowl he’d kept its parts in, then grabbed a part from the pile and set about rubbing it with a rag nearly as filthy as the part. A valve, he realized after his first pass of rubbing - after so many years, his hands knew how to move without thinking, or even realizing what was in them. The footsteps grew louder, closer, and Finn scrubbed at the metal. With a sigh, he wondered if he’d just gotten it dirtier. He went to pass it ahead into a bucket of valves, when-

“Finnegan Shine!” came the shrill voice of a woman who thought herself far more cultured than she knew she could even aspire to. “Just what are you doing with that thing?”

Finn’s “good afternoon, Ms. Springwarden” was cut off by her question, so he looked at the metal in his hand. “I’m... putting it with the other valves after cleaning it?”

Ms. Springwarden harrumphed. “Cleaning it! Just what HAS that first-shift supervisor been teaching you?” She looked at the valve - and at Finn - with a sneer. Finn always thought that, if disdain was an Olympic sport, Ms. Springwarden would have enough gold to live somewhere nice and stop tormenting him - although, he had to admit, perhaps she would still torment him for the fun of it. “Why, I can barely tell it apart from that filthy pile!”

The boy put on a puzzled expression. “Really? But I’ve been going at it with my cleanest rag for a solid minute,” he lied. Of all the people in Alma Vera, she was the last person he ever wanted to even consider the existence of his hidden project. Still, he held up three more well-used cloths, to show her that at least part of his claim had been true.

Another harrumph. “And not once did you think that, just maybe, you ought to trade them for washed cleaning equipment?”

“But Ms. Springwarden, I thought I wasn’t allowed to leave my chair during my shift?”

“Foolish child,” the woman replied, and brought her hand towards his forehead, finger primed to flick. At the last second, however, Finn saw a look of disgust, and she withdrew so as not to touch his, charitably, under-washed face. “Rise and follow me. But don’t let me catch you out of your seat without my permission!”

“Yes, Ms. Springwarden!” Finn said, and stood. The four dirty rags were exchanged for four clean ones, or at least as clean as would pass at his work. Thus equipped, Finn was returned to his seat - the bowl still overturned, to his relief.

Ms. Springwarden crossed her arms and said, “who knows how many valuable components you’ve ruined with your folly. You do remember our motto, do you not?”

Finn nodded. “Quality and quantity, Ms. Springwarden.”

The woman harrumphed yet again, and picked up two of the buckets he had sorted parts into, and dumped them into the assorted pile. “Well, let us now remedy your mistake. You will have to clean each of these now befouled pieces once again, and be quick about it!” She glared at him. “Your work ends when your pile is gone, and not a second, nor a part, sooner.”

“Yes, Ms. Springwarden.”

Finn returned to his task, and after a few seconds, he heard one last derisive snort, and then footsteps trailing away. The boy dramatically picked up his pace once she was gone, and before long, he had undone the damage to his progress she had inflicted on him. Another look left and right, and he placed his hands on the bowl, praying that the dragon truly was still there.

“Hey, it’s me,” he whispered, so the dragon wouldn’t try to hide. When he revealed the metallic creature, it had its forepaw in its chest, twisting the mechanism inside. Once finished, it looked up at him and swished its tail, accompanied by the soft, metallic whirring of gears. “That was Ms. Springwarden. They say that, somewhere out there, at least three people are unable to make that ‘hmph’ sound, because she’s using all of theirs.” The dragon leaned its head down, opened its jaws, and picked up a twisted bit of scrap metal, then shook it around a bit, which got a chuckle out of Finn. “It’s too bad you’re not as big as the dragons I’ve heard the people who live on airships have. You could just eat her, then. Although, I wouldn’t have been able to hide you while I built you.”

The clockwork creature flicked its head and sent the scrap flying through the air, to land in the discard bucket. “Fast learner,” Finn remarked. “So, you need a name. I think... Eve.” He paused. “It’s not weird to name you after an elementary school crush, is it?”

Eve responded by tossing another bit of scrap into the bucket, then wiping her mouth on his hand.

-----

Finn prowled through the dense pipework of the underground, eyes peeled for the rats he was supposed to exterminate. In one hand, he held a bag full of rodent corpses - his proof for payment. The other hand gripped what might charitably be called a tiny harpoon launcher. It looked similar to a certain toy gun, popular among the children of wealthy families, and that was no accident - although he would have the kid he stole it from think otherwise. With a bit of tinkering, a wire to save on ammunition, and a much better spring, Finn considered himself the second best at this sort of job, something that led people to avoid asking too much about the improvised tool.

A squeak cut short, then rapid metal-on-metal clanking heralded the arrival of the first best at this sort of job. Eve trotted up to him, two dead rats in her mechanical jaws. Over the past five years or so, Finn had found or fashioned bigger replacement parts for his dragon until she stood nearly at his waist. Long since unable to hide her under a bowl, of course, the story now was that she was a defective mechanical dog he had scored for a pittance. Regardless, Eve stood attentively next to him, waiting for him to open the bag for her. When he did, one rat fell into the pile of its brethren, and as for the other...

Eve tossed and flicked her head until the rodent’s body aligned with her jaws. A new whirring noise kicked in as sets of wheels dragged it down her metal throat, and then a sickening grinding sound bounced around the pipes and fixtures. The dragon opened her mouth again and wiped it on his pants leg, to his mild dismay.

“You’re gonna have to drop that habit, or I’ll put you back on winding-only.”

Eve went still for a few seconds, but the gentle whirring of her insides picked up. When she moved again, she brought one upturned forepaw in front of the other, then cycled them around each other, and finally tapped her throat.

“Break a habit for a voice?” Finn asked. “Eve, voices are hard to come by. You know I would’ve gotten you one by now if I could.”

The sound of a much smaller creature skittering along the metal ground caught both of their attentions. Finn spun, aimed, and pulled the trigger, and a barbed, pointed pole flew from the tip of his weapon, with metal wire following shortly after. The rat screamed a squeaky scream, then fell quiet, and Finn reeled in his shot and prize.

Eve pressed her paw against his leg for his attention. She pointed her muzzle at the gun, then curled back at her own chest, and then she once again tapped her paw to her neck with an insistent clank-clank-clank. Finn furrowed his brow. “I’m pretty sure voice boxes are in a league of their own...” he started, then smiled broadly at her. “Then again, so am I. Mind giving up more than half your rats from now on, so we can go shopping for anything we can’t find?”

The dragon’s metal plating rattled against itself as she wiggled in anticipation, then bounded off to massacre more vermin.

-----

It was a glorious ceremony. Everyone sported their most elaborate suits and dresses, all in a modest brown. Some of the more adventurous gentlemen had constantly-turning gears on the hats they politely kept in their laps, but no longer were they nor their headwear the center of attention. Ms. Springwarden, soon to lose that name, stood in a beautiful, ornate, white dress, and stared adoringly at the man standing in front of her, who-

BOOM!

A shout rose up from the crowd as what used to be a wall was replaced by a hole and a dragon. The elaborate mechanical creature’s outer plating was a mismatch of bronze, iron, and steel, as though it had been dressed in a junkyard. And perched on its back was a man with a daring grin, who Ms. Springwarden found strangely familiar...

“Well! Ms. Springwarden, aren’t you moving up! The big boss himself, I wonder if you’ll outlast his last four wives!” Finn shouted as he dismounted the dragon, landing with a roll and ending up right next to the bride-to-be.

Without opening her mouth, Eve spoke. “I am confident he will be her husband for the rest of his life,” she said. Her voice was unnatural, amateurish, and it sounded like it belonged in some sterile, form-over-function research lab, rather than a well-tuned dragon. Before anyone could react, she opened her jaws and snapped up the stunned man, soon feeding him to the wheels hidden behind her neck plating.

“Aw! Eve! I had planned this whole quip about how his factories have a great quantity of people and I’m about to increase the average quality!”

“So lie in your memoir.”

Many of the guests had fled the scene, with only a few hiding behind the benches, and Ms. Springwarden herself remained frozen to the spot. “Wh- who...?”

Finn swept into a deep bow, mockingly low. “Finnegan Shine, Ms. Springwarden. My friends call me Finn, but of course you never did. You may not remember me, and I sorely wish I could say the same. But now then...” He stepped backwards towards Eve, who lowered her head and opened her jaws. Finn leaned against her neck, feeling the whirr of the wheels making up her throat thrumming through her metal body. “They say marriage is for better or worse, right? What say you join your hubby in the ‘worse?’”

Eve’s distorted voice joined in once more, saying, “I remember you. That he is offering you a refusal is far more than I would have.”

The woman - having found a worse fate than being left at the altar - took a step back, shaking her head. “No... no. Please, no.”

To everyone’s surprise, the dragon snapped her mouth shut with a loud crash of metal, and Finn clambered back up onto her back. “Then it’s a damn lucky thing I’m not you, miss,” the man said, before the pair of them escaped through the dragon-sized hole in the wall.

Finn hugged Eve’s neck tight. One down, an unfortunate number to go. He just hoped his friends were having as much fun as he was.

#dragon #dragons #smaugust #smaugust 2021 #steampunk #writing #text

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