#what a fucking bit of characterisation
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WHAT???????
#i am. actually floored#the thing about the books. is that the characterisation is either a little too kid-friendly or just absolutely unhinged#why the hell is this boy carrying around two daggers and an axe. i feel insane#can anyone hear me#me so scared of writing jay ooc & in coke melissa with a steel chair#what a fucking bit of characterisation#now i need to rewatch descendants knowing that jay has two daggers and an axe on him at all times#descendants#descendants isle of the lost#jay son of jafar
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ao3 author: so they have to take part in this ancient pagan ritual. merlin is wearing bottoms made of fur and a pair of ram's horns. arthur chases him as he runs away and tackles him to the groun—
me: horns?
ao3 author: part of the ritual
me: of course
ao3 author: he tackles him to the ground. they are both drugged out of their minds, btw
me: yeah, go on
#yeah it's from that 870k words fic#listen. in the context of the fic it makes sense. kinda.#fvcking to save the crops or something idk#but no the fic is great actually tbh#i've only read bits of it so far because it's soooo long#but i think i had already read some of part 1 at some point? i half-remember some scenes#anyway. love the characterisation#love whatever is going on between these two#asexual x biromantic gay dynamic or something#but without the labels!!#complex messed up feelings and confusing messed up sɘx#love to see it. ticks so many of my boxes#forget the tropes be interesting!!#make readers go “idk what the fuck is going on here but I love the energy"#that's what fanfic is for tbh#merlin#merlin fanfic#merlin fanfiction#merthur#fandom#the hands of a hundred winters
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just finished the second season of black sails and i gotta say i understand why it makes queers go feral
#i’m frothing at the mouth#black sails#i watched the first season yesterday and didn’t really enjoy it much#the pacing is really weird the characterisation was shallow at best and the whole thing stank of game of thrones levels of forced edgyness#but man the second season slapped so hard full 180 turnaround#the flashbacks were expertly crafted all major characters have relatable motives and they pull through ruthlessly#their fatal flaws are right there and like a greek tradgedy it all happens exactly how it must#in revealing it’s nature as a character study of flint and of what broke him so utterly the pacing actually becomes so poignant and perfect#with each new bit of information we’re given we understand his urgency his ruthlessness his unwavering calm hatred#he’s turned himself into a proper fucking monster and it’s tragic because it could only have ever gone this way#there’s no way out and the show being a prequel we know he lives we know he can’t win#actually doomed by the narrative in the worst/best way#but by god i just want his to set the world aflame
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re: my seemingly fringe "I don't think we're meant to think Odin was a dreadful cunt" take, when was Thor 1 actually made? Like... 2010/2011? Because I think Odin is (presumably based on comics canon) meant to be "a bit distant but overall good as a parent" but 2010ish is well after the recent (historically recent, by which I mean since maybe the 1980s) shift in our culture's ideas about fatherhood and what make "a good dad" as well as similarly radical shifts in how we approach disciplining children. MCU!Odin is therefore odd because he's a couple of generations out if he's meant to convince the audience that he's A Good Dad or even an acceptable one. Even the people making the film can't have (all) thought he was any good so with this in mind I'm more open to the idea that Odin is meant to be fairly shit. (But not entirely, and certainly not to the point of him being evil - he's doing his best and arguably the issue isn't him but the culture they've all been born into.)
IDK how old the writer was but there could be an intentional generation-gap thing going on there? An "everyone thinks this is acceptable and even good parenting, but it isn't and everyone involved is getting messed up by it." You don't have to go that far back historically before failing to show regular affection to your kids wouldn't be seen as a significant flaw in a father (whereas it absolutely would be in a mother - v interesting that as the status of women in our society has increased our idea of a good dad has shifted significantly towards an ideal that would previously have been considered "maternal" and thus "unmanly." Oh hey, looks like patriarchy is bad for men too!)
I still think a lot of fanon and fanfic overstates it (which is fine until we're at the point of inventing obviously abusive behaviour and then seemingly forgetting that we made that up), and that Odin is at least meant to be 'doing his best' but yeah Them Thor Films must surely be aware that his best is nowhere near Actually Good, yeah? I mean unless they were written by a man who lives in the 1950s, which they probably weren't. (There is absolutely some generational variation in how far the social change has taken hold but you'd have to look for a long time before you'd find a man of any age who'd say "I really wish my father had been more reserved and had spent less quality time with me" rather than wistfully expressing the opposite of that.)
#mcu tag i guess#that said as recently discussed frigga's characterisation (such as it is) is also quite out-of-date and thus a bit weird#every single thing we know about her comes back to her being a mother to More Important Characters#and nobody seems to have considered this a flaw in the content that they made#anyway i got to this point by realising that there's a now conspicuous lack of childcare professionals in 90s Star Trek so well done me#(most childcare falls to Wife and if Wife is not available then Man may do some in an emergency. but if neither Wife nor Man is available#the alternative is “a friend who isn't working that day” rather than the excellent daycare facilities that don't exist on Deep Space Nine)#generation gap stuff can be fascinating - like how many Boomers will insist that their own parents weren't fucked up by WW2 in any way#“oh but my dad wasn't at all affected by his experiences during the war - i know this because he never talked about any of it”#whereas to my generation that silence on what exactly happened in those years is conspicuous and an obvious sign of trauma#and that sort of thing#thor movies
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I'll be fine and then I'll make any attempt at genuine connection and run headlong into a fucking wall
#just a ramble I needed to expel to get on with my evening take no note of this#I've lived under this roof with the same people all my life#they want to understand me and I want to make myself understood#and yet it never fucking works#cause I'm doing fine inside and the world is doing fine outside but I have no idea how to make the two meaningfully connect#I don't know anyone and no one knows me#I can barely hold a characterisation together while writing fic cause I don't know how to know someone!#and I'm fucking sick of it!#there.#coming out as queer is whatever to me#coming out as a friendless unworldly loser feels like putting a knife through my fucking chest#cause there is no established narrative for that process. people have no idea what that means or how to respond#me included#when I say I haven't aged socially since I was 14 and probably regressed a fair bit since then too I mean it#covid was a fucking relief cause finally the world at large was a little bit more like me#the void shrank by a fraction#but I'm falling behind again and I HATE it!!#but like. it's no one else's problem and by its very nature only I can solve it#at least I'm doing marginally better now than a year ago. so there's that#maddie debrief#and online I can pick my moments of existing and connecting#but real life is just relentless
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tw for supernatural apologism but i’ve been watching old episodes with my sister and like. I get it. I get why we all loved it so much. the show is such a bizarre product of its time, and it’s so goofy and cheesy and it created two protagonists with fascinating psyches maybe entirely on accident, and it doesn’t pass the bechdel test until like season 5 and all of the women are written and styled the same, it has a weird disdain for sex workers, it’s homophobic, and it’s garbage but it’s also a masterpiece. it takes the piss out of itself but it also takes itself so, so seriously, and somehow we all ended up taking it seriously too, this show with shitty cgi ghosts and slow dancing aliens. and it’s so derivative but also nothing is really like it. sam and dean are every toxic sibling trope you’ve ever seen but their dynamic is so convincing and unmatched. it’s so bad but it’s so charming. it’s funny. it’s cringe. it’s not a good show but also the first five seasons are perfect television. if you don’t understand i can’t explain it to you
#supernatural#if anybody was to ask me 'is supernatural bad or good' my answer would just be 'yes'#it's always kind of bad#but it's also really fucking good in a lot of ways. it's better than I remember to be honest#it's also worse than I remember#what a bizarre show it is#i do really think if they'd had to balls to end it at season 5 this show would be remembered so fondly#but like. compared to sherlock which definitely looked *worse* when I rewatched it (even tho I could still understand the appeal)#supernatural actually is....really engaging still??#it's so SO sexist and dated. but in terms of like the plot and characterisation??#it's really good#it's a show that understands what it is#sherlock took itself quite seriously but supernatural really knew how to send itself up and I think that helps a /lot/#anyway I'm a bit emotional about supernatural today#it's always nice when you revisit teenage fixations and you're like. you know what. I get it.#i understand why we loved this
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top/bottom discourse in the satosugu fandom is wild like why are yall so mad about someone else's preferred ship dynamic ???? 😭😭 just block the ppl you find annoying and move on GEEZ
#wank.mp3#jjk#fandom.rtf#shut up haydar#i like goge bcs i hate ppl characterising gojo as some uwu princess who did nothing wrong#i mean goge ppl also call geto a princess but it's mostly for fun and?? honestly he's more in character#cuz he's a murderous unhinged princess who started a cult!#but he raised two little girls like they're his own and is always prim and proper#gojo is RUDE and bratty and harsh towards his students INCLUDING MEGUMI!! he's not an uwu crybaby#but if ppl characterise him that way (in a way i dont like) i just block and rant a bit and move on...#so why are other folks doing whole callout posts and making it a social justice issue#'you're homophobic and problematic if you like goge' no i just like it when gojo fucks geto in the ass#yall are weird for making fandom BS into some queer in-fighting debate out of nowhere.... i just know these ppl have no jobs!#step your pussy up honey get a job own a business suck a dick#also like theres a reason why we tag shit...so its easier to curate what u see... if you dont like goge just mute it? weird behaviour
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two hundred pages of slow action was worth it for this chapter
#george eliot i love you#i have been enjoying the book for the most part#it's just the fact i need to have it read for 9am on monday is making me a little more inclined to skim over certain bits#but i have resisted the urge#anyway she's so fantastic with characterisation like this chapter introduces workmen attending night school#descriptions only are a few sentences but she paints them so vividly#and she's fucking funny too#like there's a stonemason there who is learning to read and write partially bc a guy he works with can#and she literally goes 'what could be done by a little fellow like sam phillips bill considered could be done by himself#seeing that he could pound sam into wet clay if circumstances required it'#just urgh#chef's kiss#and i will be raving about the humour in the seminar#like yeah i still have another 250 pages or something to go and secondary reading to do#but it's a good book#personal#lit talks#adam bede
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angel in the marble
after you fail to pickpocket him, the famous yet arrogant artist Jeon Jungkook takes you off the streets to make you his servant, and the more you know him, the more you realise he's not as detestable as everyone claims he is.
♔ PAIRING: michelangelo!jungkook x servant!reader
♔ GENRE: high renaissance au, angst, smut, humour
♔ WORD COUNT: 8k
♔ WARNINGS: homelessness, stealing, mild swearing/violence/drinking, 90% of this is bickering lmao, mentions of minor characters' death, jealousy and kinda possessiveness?, referenced unconsensual groping (not by jk), a bit of blasphemy, making out, groping, fingering, rough angry sexxx, choking, slapping
♔ AUTHOR'S NOTE: fun fact this is mostly historically accurate! jk's characterisation, the grocery list doodles, the sack of rome, the beef with his brother, the encounter with his rival (raphael)... are all taken from michelangelo's actual life, even some stuff is quoted from his letters lol. man was fanfic material.
1529, Rome
“How much for that one?”
“No, that one’s sold already.”
It was a lively morning. After days of heavy rainfall, those of high social class were eager to get out and meet under the gentle sun of spring, whose glare reflected on the precious stones of their jewellery; while those of low, out of necessity, couldn’t wait to reopen their businesses or set up their stalls and get back to work. You liked to eye them all as you strolled the streets of Rome.
“To whom?”
“Your friend Taehyung.”
“Agh… How much is that prick paying you?”
The point of the matter was that it was bustling, some colliding if they looked away from where they were going for more than a breath. It worked in your favour for it was then easier to make yourself scarce right after stealing bags of coins, such as those of the three men seemingly bargaining by a workshop’s entrance out of which a large block of marble was being dragged. Perfect.
“Three ducats.”
“Three?! He’s robbing you of two ducats. I’ll pay you the five it’s worth.”
You kept your head low as you approached the pair that seemed wealthier and with those stealthy hands of yours unfastened the bags tied to their belts. After all, pickpocketing was a skill you’d had under your own for some years now, so this was bound to go smoothly.
Because you didn’t realise there was a guardian with them, perhaps you’d grown arrogant.
“I’m sorry, maestro. It’s reserved.”
“But it’ll become a waste in his possession!”
As you slipped away into the crowd, mouth watering at the fresh-baked bread you were going to devour as soon as bought, this brown dog leaped up at you out of nowhere, ignoring your desperate efforts to shake him off. If anything, they caused him to bark.
No, no, no…
The three men turned to the scene playing out not so far, and thinking his dog was bothering you one of them shouted, “Bam, come here, boy!” but as he obediently ran to his owner, you were too slow to hide the bags in your hands. It only took the pair a second to make them out, check whether theirs still hung on their belts, find them not, work out you’d stolen them, look back up, and find you not either.
Of course, you’d made your escape by then, dived into the sea of people and swum through them as quickly as possible, only stopping when you reached an empty vaulted alley to catch your breath.
That was ridiculously close. If you weren’t more careful next–
Your train of thought was interrupted by someone grabbing you by the arm from behind and pushing you against the nearest wall. A grunt accompanied the thud, and a gasp followed at the sight of the two men from before—dog included. Pinned in place, it’d be a bad idea to fight back or attempt to run away again. Fuck’s sake.
“Do you know what happens to thieves?” the one cornering you asked so close that when the cold breeze rustled his hair, some strands grazed your face. You looked away to avoid the tickling rather than out of fear, or so you wanted to believe. “They have a hand cut off. Seems fair, doesn’t it, Jimin?”
By contrast, that Jimin didn’t look intimidating, otherwise still catching his breath from the chase, but he did snatch the coin bags from your hands. “It doesn’t have to be so, maestro. We got our money back. She’s… just a girl.”
“And that exempts her of crime?”
“Please, don’t report me,” you begged, humiliating as though it was.
“Why shouldn’t we?” the maestro scoffed. Maestro… You were being threatened by a damned craftsman, the other one probably his assistant.
“Because I don’t want to lose a hand?”
“Oh, but we wanted to lose money, did we?” You rolled your eyes, and he released his grip only to step away. “Take us to your father, brat. He’ll answer for you.”
It took you a moment to respond, “I don’t have a father, or anyone... Only I can answer for my actions.”
“You’re a beggar?” Jimin asked, taking pity as he studied your appearance for the first time. Dishevelled hair, tattered dress, unpleasant smell… Yes, they should’ve guessed.
“She doesn’t beg, though, does she? She steals.”
“Only from cunts.”
His head snapped to meet your glare, and Jimin laughed, “You seem to not know whom you speak to.” He could be Jesus for all you cared. Uninterested, you petted the dog, Bam, seeing as he’d leapt up at you again. “This is Jeon Jungkook.”
You froze. The Jeon Jungkook? The famous artist who painted and sculpted for the Pope? Whom faraway kings and even emperors commissioned? The one whose genius was said to be changing the world?
At the lack of attention, Bam returned to his master, and that snapped you out of your shock to ask, “Then why do you whine?” The two men frowned, having clearly expected an apology paired with the usual bootlicking. “As if you need that bag more than I!”
“What nerve,” he scoffed again, making you wince by grabbing your arm tighter than before and starting to drag you into the next street. “You’re going straight to the authorities!”
“Wait,” Jimin intervened, thank God. “Weren’t you in need of a servant, maestro?”
“So?”
Jimin pointed at you with his gaze as though it was obvious. “You’re in need of a servant, she’s in need of a roof.”
“I would rather have a hand cut off.”
“I would rather have her hand cut off too.”
Jungkook tried to resume dragging you, but Jimin blocked his way with a soft smile. “What’s your name?”
“Y/N…”
“Do you know how to take care of a household?” Slowly, you nodded, melancholy engulfing you at the memory of cooking or sweeping the floor with your mother once upon a time. Somehow, she always found a way to make chores fun... “Then you qualify for the job. You’ll have three meals a day and a bed to sleep on. And you, maestro, a servant who’ll work her hardest, lest you fire her and she ends up in the streets again.”
Both you and Jungkook reluctantly glanced at each other. Truth be told, you didn’t prefer losing a hand to living with him, you just didn’t like him. Despite being a celebrity, he was a stranger. It just wouldn’t work.
But then, why were you holding your breath, hoping he’d accept?
“We shouldn’t have left Namjoon’s workshop. The marble is about to be delivered,” he said walking away. The air left your lungs in disappointment. It seemed you were to remain a stray cat. Jimin pressed his plump lips apologetically as he gave you enough coins to buy that bread, and you nodded, grateful all the same for his trying. You watched him rush to Jungkook’s side but when this one saw him, he turned around. “Hurry up, brat. If Taehyung gets that block of marble, I’ll not take you in.”
Since the first day, you could attest to Jeon Jungkook’s nature being as rough and uncouth as the rumours claimed, and after living alone with him for two months still believed gossip such as that he’d got the scar on his left cheek in a tavern fight—in which, if you’d chanced to be present, you would’ve rooted for the other individual.
It appeared it wasn’t just others Jungkook was harsh to. However rich his talent had turned him, he behaved like a poor man, consuming food and drink sparingly and out of necessity instead of pleasure, spending only the money required to live decently, sleeping little in order to work on commissions from dawn to midnight…
Why he chose to take little care of himself was a mystery to someone who previously had not been allowed a choice, even if putting work before all was in order to thwart Kim Taehyung’s plans of ruining his career, as he claimed. You doubted his rival was obsessed with him so, but had learned to agree with whatever Jungkook grumbled to avoid disputes. Most times.
Deep down, you had a feeling your boldness amused him. Who else dared get on his nerves?
“I think all you artists fluttering around the Pope are no more than slaves to money,” you let drop once while making his bed. Bam was sleeping peacefully under the window, while Jungkook leaning against the door’s frame behind you, offended to the core. He could help, you thought, or at least loosen my corset a little…
“I, a slave? I’ll be damned… There is an angel inside every block of marble, and I’ll have you know I carve to set it free.”
“Is it the angel that charges the Pope, then, master?” You could feel him barely restraining the urge to throw you out the window, smiled as you finished smoothing out the blankets.
“You missed a wrinkle there.”
Hands on your hips and frown on your brows, you examined the neatly arranged coverings of his bed. “Where?”
“On your face,” he muttered before making his leave.
Not his finest jibe, but the metaphor did stay with you. An angel inside the marble… It perhaps applied to Jungkook himself, though you’d never tell him.
One instance it came to mind was recently, when his assistants and apprentices were invited over for dinner.
Usually, he’d tell you which meals he liked and you’d ask at the marketplace which ingredients to buy, but now that about ten meals were to be cooked a list was needed. So there he sat on his desk in his study, inking said list as you waited in front of him, fiddling with the undershirt that peeked out of your dress’ sleeves. Given that your eyes were fixed on it, you only learned Jungkook was done when the sound of his quill scratching the paper ceased.
“Be back no later than dusk,” he ordered, “I bet there are still Germans and Spaniards lurking about.”
A year had passed since the Sack of Rome, but the mention of it sent a shiver of fear down your spine. Whatever the political reasons for it, you hated everyone involved, for Hell itself would’ve been a more beautiful sight to behold those nine months when the Tiber’s waters remained painted red…
You were lucky to make it through. Your family wasn’t.
“Yes, master.”
“Here,” he said handing you the paper, then picked another letter from a pile of correspondence he’d been going through before your arrival. Jungkook was about to snap its wax seal when he looked up to realise you hadn’t moved an inch. “Why are you here? Away with you!” He saw the reason in the way you avoided eye contact. “You can’t read, can you?” Met with a silence charged with embarrassment, he leaned back in his chair and sighed, “Give me the list.”
Getting hold of the quill again, Jungkook began… doodling?
You tilted your head but couldn’t see well what he was drawing until he finished and returned the list to you. Then, your lips parted. Each item on the list was illustrated next to its name: ten loaves of bread, a jug of wine, tortellini, four anchovies, two fennel soups…
“I’ll teach you to read when I have time. This will do for now.”
“You’d do that?” For me?
Jungkook ignored you, before he went back to reading his letters complimenting the good gesture with an irritated, “Hurry up.”
That night his co-workers arrived one by one, Jimin the first. The sight of him when you opened the door brightened up your mood.
Unlike a certain someone he was always sweet to you, genuinely interested to know how you fared even if you were just a servant. He claimed that mattered not to him, that you were both commoners and thus equals.
“Look at this place, it’s spotless! And you know I’m furtive, so I won’t get in your way,” you told Jimin as you escorted him through a hallway, bright from the torches hung on the walls that you’d lit up earlier.
He laughed, “I cannot make you my servant, Y/N, you’re maestro’s.”
“But he’s going to drive me mad… To tell you one of many examples, he often falls asleep in his clothes, and who but I is to take his boots off so they don’t get the sheets dirty? If the chalk on his fingers or the dust from the chiseling on his hair won’t already. Bam is far cleaner…”
Jungkook had a workshop he barely set foot in, preferred his team made use of it instead to not be bothered by their idiocy. His words. So it was in a chamber on the ground floor of this house he gave way to artistic insanity. In your book, that meant constant cleaning.
Jimin looked at you fondly. “Sounds nightmarish.”
“It truly is!”
As soon as the two of you entered the dining hall, Bam ran from Jungkook’s side by the fireplace to Jimin, who was as excited to see him.
“Good night, maes–”
“Do you think I’m deaf, ungrateful brat?” Jungkook interrupted him to bark at you. “Rome is full of people begging to get a piece of me, so if you don’t like it here, I’ll just get someone else!”
“You say that and yet keep me like a prisoner!”
“As if you don’t have it better here than anywhere you’ve burdened with your presence before!”
“There, there…” Jimin interjected to de-escalate, kneeling to better stroke Bam. “Maestro, I’ve seen your latest sketch of the Virgin and Child. She resembles Y/N.”
Both you and Jungkook failed to fight off the embarrassment, gazes unable to find a place to settle. Sitting down on the large table, he explained, “It was just one time… I had used Yoongi as a model, but the Madonna looked too masculine... and rather than going through the trouble of finding some girl and hiring her, I had Y/N pose for me… So what! Why bring it up out of nowhere…”
“Because maybe you just need a bit of distance from time to time. With permission, I too would have Y/N pose for m–”
“Absolutely not.”
“Now, why the hell not?” you groaned stamping your foot, startling poor Bam. Hope had been born inside you in a second and cruelly crushed in the next.
“Because I say so. And watch your tone with me.” As usual, the mutual glaring would trick anyone into thinking the next step would be murder. Jimin, who knelt there awkwardly, certainly thought so, at least until the bell rang. “Now go answer the door!”
What happened later, though, rendered the fury Jungkook had evoked in your heart nonexistent and instead seized the thing in a clasp of distress.
In the morning, he walked in when you were sweeping the kitchen. At once you forced the sobs to stop and turned around so he wouldn’t see you wipe your tears.
“It’s past nine, where’s breakfast?” he asked in shock that you hadn’t even started making it, the table there empty.
You swore under your breath before leaving the broomstick leaning against the nearest wall, flushed face kept out of Jungkook’s sight, then in a haste fetched a plate, a knife, and a leftover bread loaf. “Apologies, master, I forgot. I’ll be upstairs in a minute.”
Sniffling betrayed you, at which Jungkook frowned. “Are you crying?”
Great, the question just about especially designed to make one well up. Not trusting your voice anymore, you shook your head. Jungkook approached, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from the task at hand, now cutting a few slices of the bread.
“Have you broken something?” You shook your head again, the suppressed sobs making your chin tremble. Jungkook took a deep breath before asking with a surprisingly soothing tone, “Then what’s wrong?”
“You won’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
Within an hour, he’d summoned a meeting consisting of all who’d attended dinner the previous night.
A seemingly calm Jungkook was sat at the head of the table, elbows sunk on it and fingers interlocked. You stood behind him, head still low out of shame. A tense silence had fallen in the chamber some time ago, and sick of it, Jimin shattered it.
“Have you anything to tell us, maestro?”
“I was waiting for Biagio to do so.”
The man was one of Jungkook’s favourite assistants who had worked with him for years, even longer than Jimin. And if it was possible for your position to be trickier, he belonged to some noble family.
“Me? But I’ve nothing to say, maestro.”
Jungkook leaned back in his chair. “My servant will, then. Y/N?”
Bastard. If you are going to fire me, why make me go through this?
“Last night, w-when I left this hall to go refill the wine jug… Messer Biagio followed me into the kitchen, and… h-he trapped me from behind, and started t-to touch me…” Your vision soon blurred, hence why you couldn’t see clearly how concerned Jimin was for you, or how Biagio jumped up in outrage. “I managed to push him away, and ran upst–”
“How dare you slander me, wench? Maestro, you do not believe this!”
“Do I not?”
“She’s lying! I caught her stealing sketches from your study, likely to sell them, so she’s trying to get rid of me!”
You almost scoffed. Only an idiot would choose the one occasion guests had come over and her absence would be noticed to carry out a theft.
Jungkook tilted his head. “I thought you had nothing to say. Why would you keep such a thing just now?”
Biagio gulped. “I deemed it best to mention it later, in private... You won’t believe a pickpocket before an old friend, will you?”
Silence returned, your breath still as you saw all the assistants and apprentices visibly take pity on him. The only one who didn’t was Jimin, but even on his face there was a hint of hesitation. Jungkook’s, you couldn’t see from behind, but after an eternity he stood up and walked over only to put a hand on the shoulder of Biagio, who smiled in relief.
A quiet sob broke through your lips, heart sinking. You’d needed Jungkook to believe you in this. Not because of the consequences his protection as your master could save you from, but because, like it or not… he was the closest thing to family you had.
It turned out he did believe you, judging by the punch landed on Biagio’s jaw out of nowhere. And the next one on his cheekbone, and on his nose. Before everyone around the table had barely stood up to stop Jungkook, he’d already thrown Biagio down and straddled him, pulling his doublet’s collar in a close, tight grip as he continued beating him up. Blood was drawn, but for once, you didn’t mind having to scrub it later.
Jungkook’s influence trumped a whole noble house’s, you learned in the course of the months Biagio tried his mightiest and failed most miserably to have him arrested. Perhaps because of the Pope sitting on his shoulder.
That he’d taken your side was still hard to believe, all he’d grumbled with a shrug when you thanked him while tending to his wounds from the fight being, “I’d been waiting for the chance. I always thought Biagio was a weasel.”
With the matter resolved, life returned to normal—well, whatever that meant in Jeon Jungkook’s household. Because calling for you at the top of his lungs like a madman was not normal. The first time he’d done it you’d raced downstairs, afraid something horrible had happened, only for him to have you close a window as it was getting chilly. Devil rot him. You rushed no longer after that, much to his complaints.
Today, he didn’t notice right away when you appeared under the cased opening, and good thing he didn’t, for he was polishing a bust with sandpaper… shirtless.
Product of hours carving stone into his desired shape or occasionally beating someone up, he could brag of having muscles, which the current task had covered in a layer of sweat and dust. The way they flexed with each movement had you compelled, wanting to reach out, feel if his skin was as hot as the blood pumping through your veins faster and faster. Then your gaze moved to the bust and whatever spell you were under broke.
Hardly an angel was that widowed noblewoman, whom you wished had stayed trapped inside a block of marble. Her name was Madonna Maddalena, and she’d come some weeks past to make a commission covered in pearls, gold, and boldness.
“My friends refused to accompany me today. You’re said to be… disagreeable, which I’m sure is untrue. However, all of them do want to know if you’re as fine-looking as is also rumoured, maestro” she told Jungkook within minutes of meeting him, still by the entrance!
Now you can tell them he’s not, you bit your tongue before it remarked, as this wasn’t Jimin but a patron not to be scared away by your bickering. It wouldn’t be true anyway. All your master lacked in manners, he made up for with looks… Which you’d never say out loud. You’d never say either that he looked even better when irked.
“I’ve heard many rumours about myself, most of them nonsense. My appearance was involved in none.”
She smiled seductively. “I suppose I’ll have to be the one to spread them.”
“The weather is pleasant today,” Jungkook changed the subject, flustered beneath the formal demeanour. “Shall we have wine in the garden?” You left to prepare it not before catching Maddalena raise her brow at you in disapproval. She must’ve been able to tell you thought she was a pompous cunt.
The beautiful flowers you cared for tried their best outside, but the air didn’t get any better.
Sat around a small table, Maddalena explained she wanted a bust of herself by his talented hand to decorate the main hall of her palazzo. You served them wine, not really listening until Jungkook started playing hard to get. The hundred times you’d told him it wasn’t a good tactic to make his labour out to be too prestigious had apparently fallen on deaf ears.
“Any other artist could carry this out, Madonna. I am working for the Pope these days…” he subtly scolded her, a mere mortal, for wasting his precious time. And he wondered why he had a reputation for being arrogant.
Maddalena put his thoughts into plain words, “So why should you stoop to taking commissions from an insignificant widow?”
“Correct,” you said under your breath, luckily heard by none from the background, where you stood holding a wine jug until the madonna raised her cup and you approached to refill it.
“It is then fortunate I’m to marry a nephew of the Pope’s.”
Swayed by her future influence, Jungkook smiled back. “So it is.”
“But not for another week. ‘Till then, I belong to no man.” The suggestion in her tone almost drove you to spill wine all over her. No, better yet: order Bam to sic on her. He’d do it.
Just, who did this woman think she was? And why did Jungkook not kick her out right afterwards? It made you wonder whether he’d enjoyed the flirtation. Whether he would’ve been the one to take things further had his inconvenient servant not been present. It was common for men to have affairs and lovers, but it didn’t sit well with you that Jungkook might. Not that you ever imagined him doing any of that, for goodness’ sake–
“What took you so long?”
Jungkook’s voice brought you back to the present, under the cased opening.
“I was lazing about, as always,” you quoted his favourite false reprimand, making him roll his eyes, your own dropping to the floor when he walked closer.
“In that case, prepare a bath for me.”
“Yes, master.”
You sighed at all the work ahead. That being a servant was worlds better than living in the streets didn’t mean you looked forward to collecting gallons of water from a well, carrying them back, heating them, transferring them to a tub, then washing Jungkook—because you did wash him.
Biagio had hurt his left shoulder bad and ever since, he’d needed assistance in certain activities. Curious how he could otherwise chisel a goddamned bust without problem.
Jungkook’s full nudity only made you blush if you stopped scrubbing, so knelt with tucked up sleeves before the wooden tub he was reclined on, scrubbing away the dirt on his skin with lavender-scented soap you were. Maybe all the stupid feelings you’d been suffering lately stemmed from there…
Head resting on the edge, he was exhausted from the long day of work, taking your rubbing as a relaxing massage. You, however, couldn’t ignore the stinging guilt, what with the scar on his shoulder right in front of your face. He probably felt your breathing on it.
“I’m sorry you got hurt…”
Jungkook fought heavy lids only to see you avoid him. Allowing yourself to be vulnerable in front of him was embarrassing, as when he’d caught you crying, but he didn’t take advantage of the fact to humiliate you. Jungkook may be an ogre, but he wasn’t cruel.
“I’ve received worse for less,” he assured you in a calm, low voice. It sounded soothing to your ears.
“That, I don’t doubt,” you scoffed, glancing at his other scar on the cheek. “Did you also get that one in defence of some lady?”
“You’re nowhere close to a lady.” It could be done, you mused. Drowning him. “This was courtesy of my brother.”
“You have a brother?” It dawned on you how little you knew of him. Surely, most had heard it all about the divine Jeon Jungkook, but you’d never cared enough to learn past the shell of gossip, even after months of living with him. In fairness, he’d never asked about you either. You preferred it that way.
“Brothers,” he corrected you. “The one who did this to me was a wayward fool. Had to teach him a lesson.”
“Looks like he taught one to you.”
“I left with a scratch, he with a limp.” The conception of two brothers hurting each other so harshly widened your eyes for a second, and Jungkook noticed, for he added, “He was whoring around, wasting the money I worked hard to send, bullying our other brothers as well.”
Much made sense about Jungkook all of a sudden. Not his personality, that was incomprehensible. But why he killed himself to earn money and yet barely spent it… He had a family to provide for. Once again, you were reminded of his metaphor. Could an angel be in there?
Carrying on washing Jungkook, you dragged the sponge over to his neck. Then his collarbones, his chest, his abs just peaking above the water... They did look like a sculpture’s, especially wet and soaped, reminiscent of polished marble when the light of the torches reflected on them. Swallowing hard, the back of your fingers gingerly graced Jungkook’s muscles, both soft and firm. Slippery. Whatever possessed you to keep feeling them, you lacked the will to expel from your body, and so without realising your grip on the sponge loosened until it fell to float away, fingertips now free to roam over his abs.
You were slowly trailing downwards, past the water’s surface, when your wrist was seized and held in the air in a warning manner, the startle almost making you scream.
Sat upright, Jungkook was glaring at you so fiercely you feared for your life. But he didn’t say anything and instead just breathed hard, jaw clenched… almost as if he was holding back. Your rising heartbeat was deafening in the silence waiting for something to happen, anything, but what did wasn’t what a side of you anticipated with excitement.
Jungkook just let go of your wrist and returned to his previous position, and you got hold of the sponge and finished washing him, albeit holding your breath the entire time.
Days later, you came dangerously close to being fired.
The Pope had summoned Jungkook—something about a portrait commission—and you were to carry his bag filled with sketches for him due to his shoulder injury. As you navigated the ever-busy streets of Rome with him, the cold autumn breeze made you regret not putting on an overgown. The cioppa you’d bought with your own salary and not stolen. It brought a smile to your lips that faded at the realisation your mother would’ve reminded you to put it on before going out.
The sorrow pestering you turned to confusion when Jungkook stopped walking and tsked, telling you loud enough to be heard by all, “Look at him, the chief of police, with such an assemblage.”
A well-dressed man and what appeared to be his entourage walked in your direction, halting near enough. You didn’t have to ask to know this was his rival, the renowned painter Kim Taehyung.
“Whereas you, like an executioner, walk alone,” he mocked Jungkook, then noticed you standing behind him like a timid child. “Not completely, my mistake. Maestro, where in your barren soil did you plant such a flower?” He walked over to you, intentionally bumping Jungkook’s wounded shoulder as he passed, causing him to grunt lowly. From up close one was bound to marvel at how handsome Taehyung was, but you didn’t need proximity to tell he was a prick. Miles away, you would’ve known. “Why don’t you come work for me, flower? I’ll make you my muse.”
Jungkook scoffed again, “What, for your horseshit paintings? She’d be a fool to.”
Taehyung turned around to face him, feigning confusion with a smile. “But, maestro, how could they be so if you were once heard saying that all I have in art, I got from you?”
"You naturally have to resort to plagiarising my master’s genius if all you do is horseshit,” you countered, earning surprised looks from every man present, some laughs too, you were proud to say. Jungkook was certainly smirking. Taehyung opened his mouth, but you walked past him uninterested before a response came out of it.
“Good girl,” Jungkook laughed while leaving the crime scene, and for some reason your cheeks burned hot.
The incident happened once inside the Vatican.
Its grandiose corridors alone made you feel small, too unimportant to walk them, whereas Jungkook did so with determination, knowing he belonged at the top of the world. What with your tempestuous relationship, it was easy to forget he was famous throughout Europe. His feet would still never be kissed by you. Someone had to humble the man, right?
At some point the two of you arrived at a door flanked by guards, and averse, you grabbed the sleeve of Jungkook’s doublet.
“Do I have to go in?”
“Too good for the Pope, are you?” He shook you off. “Come on.”
“Damn you…” you muttered.
“What did you just say to me?”
“After you, master.”
Telling himself he’d be late if he scolded you, Jungkook turned and nodded at the guards, who opened the door of a chamber whose walls were frescoed with angels and saints, likely by Taehyung, giving off the impression one was in Heaven. When you saw him sat on a golden chair, old and grey, enjoying the tune of a lute player, you felt as though you’d just entered Hell.
The audience lasted for ever. While you stood by the door, Jungkook showed the Pope some sketches of the portrait for him to choose his favourite and then they talked and talked of politics. All you could do was fix your gaze somewhere on the floor and sigh.
“Yes, Your Holiness, this is the servant I mentioned…” A frown proceeded your looking up to see Jungkook somewhat embarrassed, scratching his nose as if to hide his face. He talked of you to others? Doubtless to complain…
With a sweet voice as if he was talking to a little girl, the Pope asked you, “What is your name?”
“None of your business, Your Holiness.”
The musician’s tune ceased abruptly, allowing Jungkook’s faint gasp to be heard. Then fell a short silence spent by the Pope blinking, taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me.”
Jungkook was quick to fake a laugh, though sweat formed at his temples. “A jest! She meant no offence, Your Holiness, but to make you laugh.”
You held the Pope’s glare in defiance, indifferent to the fact he was the most powerful man in the whole of Christendom.
By some miracle, he let it go, and you left that chamber minutes later with your head as yet attached to your body. Your arm wouldn’t be for much longer, though, given Jungkook was forcibly dragging you all the way out to the streets, pushing you into the first alley he saw.
“Are you out of your mind?!” he shouted, towering over you menacingly. Unlike the day you’d met, you weren’t scared, rather furious as him as you stood your ground. “That was the Pope, you fool!”
“So?”
Jungkook was in utter disbelief. “He could’ve ordered your execution�� mine too!”
“Well, nothing happened!”
“Nothing?! I’m sure to fall out of favour!” He paced around, anxiety quickening his breath. “Years of pouring my soul into my craft, of grovelling before the right people, all thrown away! Good God, your attitude may cost me everything…”
“And what about me?! Everything lost to me does not matter?!”
Jungkook stopped to frown. “What the hell are you talking about?”
It was now you who walked up to him. “I didn’t have a job, or a reputation, or admirers. I had only a family, and I never wished for anything else! That monster you work for took them from me. When the foreigners’ armies came and everyone rushed to Castel Sant’Angelo, he gave the order to close the gates as soon as he was safe behind them! You must have been there with him, weren’t you? Well, we weren’t. We were left outside to be slaughtered. And I wish I had been, like my parents, so I didn’t have to suffer the likes of you any longer!”
Tears were streaming down your face by the end, Jungkook just staring back at you. It didn’t surprise him that your parents were dead or that they’d been killed during the Sack, but that it was so deep a wound left festering in your heart that you didn’t mind being put out of misery. He surmised your disrespectful behaviour towards him was also fruit of your pain, especially if you deemed him an ally of the one who caused it.
“The few things I own… They’re wasted on me. Throw them away or give them to your next servant,” you sobbed, taking for granted you were fired. Anyone with half a brain would indeed have you dismissed, and part of you knew it was bound to happen, that you would go back to breaking in fucking churches to spend the night.
So you turned around into the main street, set on wandering until your legs became too sore not to collapse. With any luck, a carriage would run over you. But warmth then surrounded your hand, and you looked down to see Jungkook’s holding it tight enough to force you to halt. Though still mad, a hint of compassion sparkled in his eyes.
“Let’s… Let us just go home.”
Home. His house had felt so for a while now, truth be told. Himself too.
After that, you non-verbally agreed on a ceasefire—avoiding quarrels, that is, which was quite the task for both.
Such as now that Jungkook had you inking down a letter in his name. First of all, did you look like a scribe? If you’d known in advance the lazy arse would teach you to read and write for this, you’d have chosen to remain illiterate. And second, this was your short break before making dinner, intended to be spent playing with Bam. The poor thing was also in the study, at least being stroked by his owner, who was sat beside you on the desk.
“… I send you my regards, may God keep you from all harm. Jeon Jungkook in Rome,” he finally finished dictating, and you recording. “Give it to me, I’ll seal it.”
He was melting the wax with which to do so when the bell rang, to his surprise. Sighing, you stood up and went to open the door to whom turned out to be Jimin. The sight of him brightened you up, and yours stretched his lips into a smile.
“Evening, Y/N.”
“Good evening! I didn’t know the master was expecting you.”
“He isn’t…” You welcomed him in, brows joining at how he continuously chewed on his aforementioned lip and breathed deep through his nose as he followed you. Had something happened…? A decision to eavesdrop was made en route to the study.
Though Jimin requested for you to stay once there, and nothing could have prepared you for the reason why.
“This actually concerns Y/N…” You and Jungkook exchanged confused looks, him leaning against the desk and crossing arms as though he didn’t like the sound of that. Jimin fixed his already perfect clothes before addressing him, “I’ve come to ask for her hand in marriage.” Your jaw dropped. “I know it’s sudden at the lack of previous courtship, but I thought I should ask for your permission before engaging in it, maestro. She’s a lovely girl… and I think she’d be happy as my wife. Worry not, I won’t ask for a dowry or for her to stop working… Although on second thought, fewer hours of service would be ideal.”
This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be happening.
Jungkook must be thinking the same, for he squinted to ask, “Are you drunk?”
“N-No, of course not.”
“Are you sure? You want to marry a servant with little to her name.” He had a point, so you weren’t offended. If politics weren’t the reason for a union, did this mean… Jimin had feelings for you?
“Maestro, you say it as if I were a lord,” he chuckled. “I don’t care about Y/N’s possessions, I’ll provide for her anyway. I’ve… always been fond of her. And I dare say she shares the sentiment.”
Betrayal hid safely behind a look that asked if there was any truth to that. Obviously not! There was no romance in your own fondness for Jimin. If anything, you had thought he saw you as a younger sister to look after, therefore as a protective older brother you saw him. But so shocked were you still that no words managed to come out, and Jungkook’s gaze shifted back to Jimin.
“I’ll think about it. You may go.”
A curt tone was the norm for Jungkook, it was not being granted his blessing that disappointed Jimin. He knew for a fact he was an honourable man, so why wouldn't he entrust you to him?
“Quite well… I’ll show myself out.” he uttered, before making his leave failing to hide his low spirit by giving you one last shy smile you hadn’t the heart to return.
An awkward silence filled the air that even Bam daren’t break. Only once the front door was heard shutting did you walk closer to Jungkook.
“You won’t agree to this, will you?”
“Why shouldn’t I? I have to get rid of you at some point.”
“Rid of me? Like I’m a burden?” you asked, voice rising. How a servant could be so was unknown to you until, like wooden ship toys did when you’d submerge them in a bucket of water as a child, certain guesses surfaced in your thoughts. Trying to pickpocket him, the constant clashing, Biagio, that bath, the Pope… Yes, you may perhaps be described as a burden. But you didn’t want to leave. With a calmer tone, you pleaded, “I’ll behave from now on. I won’t cause any more trouble, I swear.”
Jungkook didn’t deign to look your way as he left, followed by Bam. “You have to marry at some point, Y/N. Otherwise people will gossip.”
Since when did he care about what people said of him? And why should you?
Winter having dropped its anchor, nightfall arrived early. Not early enough, you brooded as you cooked dinner, longing for the day to end once and for all. With any hope, all of this was a nightmare and upon waking up in the morning life would go back to normal. You didn’t even know why you wanted to stay with Jungkook, as the occasions in which you’d begged Jimin to employ you to leave this house were countless. The only certain thing was that you were upset.
Later, after washing all plates and cups, you began to put off all torches lighting the house, finding out in the hall that Jungkook hadn’t moved from the seat he’d dined in. You considered carrying on with your job and leaving him in the dark, but he wouldn’t find it as funny. Instead, you stood before him.
“Will that be all, master?”
The coldness in your expression made him sigh, “Y/N–”
“I shall retire, then.” You turned to leave but were made to stop in your tracks.
“It’s an advantageous proposal for you,” he lectured to whom he must believe an idiot. “Jimin works for me, he’s wealthy. A better match than you could ever aspire to. And he asks for no dowry because he doesn’t want money, he wants you…” His words were tainted with resentment. “He’ll take good care of you.”
Skirt of your dress swirling along, you faked a smile. “If you think so, master, then it must be so.”
He shook his head as he leaned back in defeat. “Suit yourself, but I won’t be the one to reject Jimin. You crush his heart.”
A laugh escaped you. “If you genuinely cared about him, you wouldn’t let him marry a woman in love with–” Oh no. It only hit you as you were saying it.
Jungkook had appeared annoyed, but now he was mad. “Who?” He stood up abruptly—chair’s feet scratching against the floor making you wince—and walked so close you were backed against the wall, face forced to turn to a side. In a low, deep voice, he repeated, less as a question and more as an order this time, “Who.”
There was no way in the nine circles of Hell you’d say it, when you didn’t want to believe it in the first place. For fuck’s sake, why? Jungkook only ever made you want to get away from him. That was the case right now, but then… why were your feet frozen?
Some unreasonable part of you seemed to have prevailed upon the others, casting away all resistance from your body and allowing yourself to indulge in Jungkook’s proximity. You met his eyes without fear, held his dark gaze. It didn’t take him long to work it out, yet he kept close, so close your unsteady breaths mingled, the effect akin to intoxication. He was visibly trying to hold back, telling himself it’d be a bad idea, but you prayed he wouldn’t care.
By God or the Devil, your prayers were heard.
Jungkook finally smashed his lips into yours, devouring them with a hunger you shared and felt growing as he gripped your waist to press you against him. A minute ago, you wouldn’t have imagined his tongue belonged inside your mouth, swirling around your own, and now you wanted it all over your body. As if reading your mind, Jungkook broke the ardent kiss to move down to your neck, which he licked painfully slowly before sucking hard, making you hiss with pleasure. He knew that would leave a mark, the bastard. You wondered if it was meant for Jimin, so he’d see you were Jungkook’s, and in such case you didn’t mind, let your eyelids close to enjoy it.
Steered by the lust possessing you, one hand grabbed his soft hair in a fistful, keeping his head in place where he was sweetly abusing your neck, while the other travelled southwards until it reached his crotch and held it over the trousers, feeling his cock stiffen. Jungkook groaned—a vibration to your skin—in retaliation lifting your skirt. You’d thought he'd take his time, tease you, but after ensuring you were wet enough by gliding his middle finger along your core, he slid it inside and began making beckoning motions.
“Master…” you moaned, legs shaking. Jungkook forsook your neck to pull back, watch how you struggled to keep it together as he added another finger, curling and uncurling them both, hitting all the right places, and unwilling to give him that satisfaction without consequences you groped his erection with the same vigour. Although he was in good control of his expression, his breath quivered against your lips, so he kissed them again, biting hard into your lower one.
He exhaled, “You’re driving me to sin…”
Indeed, the same fingers that held the brushes when he painted religious artwork were buried deep inside your cunt, bringing you the most sinful ecstasy. It made you chuckle. Jungkook took that as the mockery it was and, crossed, pulled his fingers out of you to drag you by the arm to the edge of the table, where he had you sit. Without delay he lifted your skirt again, only this time he also pulled down his trousers to reveal his cock, thick and throbbing, which he pumped as he watched you spread your legs eagerly, ready to take all of him.
With his free hand Jungkook cupped your cheek, thumb caressing your lower lip, coated with saliva and reddened still from when he’d bit it. He could sense your desire, that you craved him inside, had for a while. Desperately. And however much tempted he was to make you beg for it, his own arousal led his cock to your entrance and eased it inside already, another groan hitting the back of his bared teeth. You didn’t have time to gasp, his thrusts so quick they earned only moans, so wonderful did it feel.
Jungkook’s hand on your cheek then wrapped around your neck. “Do you know how often I’ve fantasised strangling you?”
You chuckled again as you slapped him across the face. Jungkook halted his movements in shock, glared at you. “And I slapping you?”
It took him a moment, but he scoffed and pushed you back so that you were lying down, climbing next atop you, confident that the wooden table was sturdy enough to hold both. So legs hooked around his torso and arms around his neck, you welcomed his thrusts, rough enough to make your eyes water. But it felt heavenly, how he ravished you... The mutual irritation and tension building up for over half a year translated into indescribable pleasure.
He kissed you again, flicking his tongue against yours as he pounded into you without mercy. Overwhelmed by the sensation, all you could do to express you were nearing your limit was sink your nails into Jungkook’s biceps at each side of you, moan inside his mouth. He took the hint and fucked you as fast as his body would allow, within mere seconds your walls clenching tight around him. The sight of you collapsing under him, overcome with bliss, made him reach his own highest shortly, spurting his warm seed inside you.
As his movements gradually ceased, so did your panting. Before a complete silence fell, you asked, “Am I still to marry Jimin?”
Jungkook grabbed your face and growled against your pouted lips, “You’re not going anywhere.”
#bts au#jeon jungkook#jeon jungkook x reader#jungkook x reader#jungkook imagine#bts jungkook#jungkook angst#jungkook smut#bts#bts x reader#bts fanfiction#bts scenarios#bangtan imagine#bts smut#jeon jungkook scenarios#bts fic#jeongguk#bangtan#bts x you
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OKAY so what ive been thinking about for ages is ctommy and being soft vs quiet . because i feel like it's one of those things in his fandom characterisation that sparks the most debate and in my opinion theres a huge difference between the two but i keep seeing people mix them together.
ctommy is soft but he's not quiet, and to disregard either of those things is what makes him less believable in fanworks imo
because on one hand, of course he's not quiet, that's the most obvious and i think one of the most commonly accepted qualms that we have with general fan interpretations of him. he doesn't just lie down and take shit, he's always committed to being an annoying shit, he's straight up rude so often, and even just. vocally. man's loud as fuck. i think that's pretty easy to establish .
but then what i find is that sometimes we veer into the other opposite, by completely denying that ctommy is also very soft sometimes. and by this i don't mean he turns into strawberry shortcake or starts being polite or whatever, but it's the fact that he's not just crass and rude. he's very considerate a lot of the time, he just shows it. uh. in his Own Way let's say. he cares for animals so so much, he's always so apologetic when he thinks he's hurt one of them, for fuck's sake he sung to the FLOWERS. he's very soft with nature, with things he's attached to, with things he perceives as weaker than him and needing protection.
the complexity of ctommy and what makes him so hard to grasp is that he's loud, he's brash, he is NOT a perfect quiet victim who suffers in silence, he asks for help, he's rude, he steals stuff, he's annoying as shit; but he's also soft, and incredibly empathetic, and he has no shame in showing that softness for animals or nature or his friends.
ctommy, and this is very much because cctommy himself acts like that a lot, is constantly vacillating between someone with the maturity of a thirteen year old boy who shouts and swears and pretends not to give a shit, and a boy who will stop everything he's doing to look at the sky or a flower or an animal (which does contrast his stereotypical rude teenager persona, because lots of aforementioned thirteen year old boys Would be embarrassed or whatever to do that).
he does BOTH. he's not just quiet and nice and sad and lonely; but he's not just rude and loud and """uncaring""" (if there is one thing ctommy is not i think we can all agree its UNCARING).
and i think this is why a lot of debates around "woobifying" ctommy (who remembers the july 2021 trenches . the butterfly clips.) tend to point any ctommy design that portrays him as soft, cozy, or even leaning into his feminine side as the be-all end-all of reducing his character.
in reality i think that misses the mark a bit because while there IS something to be said for sure about people turning ctommy into Blonde Anime Child #249824 and stripping him of his Very Vibrant character, i don't think that putting him in butterfly clips and skirts erases him in the same way. i think he could very much lean into that kind of thing . as long as he's still flipping off the camera we're all good
TLDR : fans strip ctommy of his loud-and-annoying persona but in avoiding that some forget that he's a character who's not afraid to be soft
#this isn't like. angry or anything btw. there are lots of things that make me angry about fan characterisations but not this#this is more like a general discussion of what i find interesting PLEASE add on!!!#like this is not discourse Lets not get mad peace and love we are all subjects to mischaracterisation and me the first like everyone else❤️#tommyinnit#c!tommy#mcyt#alex.rambles.txt
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Hello my favorite bunnies. I won't let you relax for a minute.
These are my unholy thoughts
The Park twins were definitely something very special.
When you first met Seonghwa, it was hard to believe that he could be the twin brother of someone like Hwaseong, and vice versa.
They were the hottest topic in the office, and as the children of the CEO of the company you were working at, they were frequently spotted around the office.
Seonghwa was the cutest person on the planet. God, you could have sworn there was an angelic halo around his pretty head, and those big innocent eyes… Damn it, all you wanted to do was ruin him. There was something so sweet about him that it made your teeth ache with the desire to sink into that delicious caramel skin of his.
At the same time, Hwaseong was his complete opposite - brash, belligerent and vulgar to the point of disgusting, you couldn't be around him for more than a minute without your panties getting uncomfortably wet. And unlike Seonghwa, you were desperate for Hwaseong to destroy you.
You never thought that you would be in the middle of it when the boys started their internship at the company. Mr. Pak was personal request that you take care of them and help them in any way possible.
And as it turned out, "all their affairs" also included the satisfaction of their insatiable libido.
It was a bit of a push-pull for you three. The desire to push Seonghwa into a dark closet and show him what heavenly blowjob meant became stronger and stronger. Especially when he looked at you with those sparkling eyes and batted his long eyelashes.
At the same time, you wanted to smother that arrogant bitch face of Hwaseong with your own pussy. The whole situation made you feel as if you were between heaven and hell at the same time.
Neither of you dared to make the first move, despite the intense tension and the almost painful sexual desire between you.
Everything changed at a company dinner. Seonghwa was lightweight and quickly got drunk, getting clingy and overly tactile with you, while Hwaseong seemed to get even cockier, starting to touch you unprofessionally and not innocently.
You had to drive them home before Hwasung performed a striptease on the table. God, he was literally five minutes away from taking his clothes off. And Seonghwa started to whimper about how much he wanted to go home to his soft bed. The boy was literally the sweetest creature that could have ever existed in the world.
But you were a damn fool to fall for their blandishments and take them home. And you were an even bigger fool to think that they believed that their typical behaviour characterised them in the bedroom.
Things did not turn out as you had hoped when Seonghwa literally fucked the life out of you in the middle of the hallway of their luxurious penthouse and Hwaseong obediently sucked your fingers while waiting for his turn. The huge innocent eyes were black as night and full of lust, while the bold lips that had curved into a devilish grin had become soft and gentel.
The night was going to be long, exhausting and hot, judging by the eagerness with which they tried to get enough of you. Biting, licking, kissing, scratching and fucking you as if their lives depended on it. For you, the morning came just as suddenly as the change in their behaviour last night, but what drove you even crazier was how gentle Seonghwa was with you again, and the way that annoying arrogance once again coloured Hwaseong's beautiful features.
Anyway, you were right about one thing - the Park twins really were something special.
#ateez smut#kpop smut#atz smut#ateez hard hours#ateez unholy hours#smut#seonghwa x reader#seonghwa smut#park seonghwa smut#ateez scenarios#ateez au#ateez x reader
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not seeing enough nathan foad appreciation to be honest
the massive characterisation shift in lucuis we're seeing as a result of his new trauma and horrific experiences has really gut punched me
lucius was such a fucking ray of sunshine in season 1 - everything out of his mouth was the funniest shit you'd heard in your life and the character's outlook and general vibe was so *fun*!! I adore season 1 lucius with all my heart.
season 2 though??? aaaaaaaaa black pete get your kissing lips on!! this man needs so much LOVE
hats off to nathan foad for giving us such a different lucius, one that feels consistent and real and, through contrast to season 1, genuinely horrifying. I feel like even if the script hadn't told us what he'd been through explicitly, we're shown it already in the way he talks and moves. it's so damn sad and I hope he can start to recover a bit of his spark this season.
#ofmd#ofmd s2#our flag means death#ofmd season 2 spoilers#ofmd season 2#ofmd spoilers#ofmd s2 spoilers#lucius spriggs#nathan foad
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Something to prove: Frankie Morales x fem!reader blurb
Read the warnings.
Summary: you’re wrong. And Frankie wants to prove it.
Genre: steam / implied smut. Teasing / sexual tension. Brat /brat tamer or Dom / sub vibes.
A/n: okay, look. Frankie is cool, calm and collected. Expect when he’s not. And I just love finding the things that flip that switch on his composure and create, specifically, a Frankie of the u n h i n g e d and f e r a l variety. (That was my initial concept and then… this defo grew somewhat darker than I’d intended, so please do read the warnings! I dunno what happened but I guess I went a bit feral too don’t look at me 🙈)
Spoilery Warnings: there are definite dub-con elements here. Frankie is not checking-in thoroughly for consent and there’s one point where his thought-process /actions outright disregards consent (it’s Frankie’s POV). In my head, reader is enthusiastically on-board for everything which happens during the fic and for what is implied off-screen, but that’s definitely not made explicit in the text or even the internal monologue as it usually would be, and Frankie doesn’t know that for sure all the time. Consider yourself warned. As well, some dumbification here, reader called “stupid girl” etc. So… it’s a slightly darker!Frankie than I would usually write or characterise rather than aiming for canon so much! Also, implied threesome (or similar) off-screen, so a smidge of Santiago x reader which I opted not to tag as it isn’t the main focus. Some dub-con from Santi too. Daddy kink warning (once). (Light) Choking. Spitting (once). Dom / Sun, Brat / brat tamer vibes. Fingering. Definite theme in the language of “it’s for your own good / I know what’s best for you” which could be triggering, and could count as coercion. Explicit.
MINORS DNI. 18+ ONLY
Gif by @santigarcia
No, the voice in Frankie’s head blares, the word defeaning - although no sound passes his lips. No. No. No!
You’re wrong.
Even as Santiago smiles smugly. Says “you got that right, sweetie.”
No.
Frankie’s jaw writhes, his hand clawing into his own thigh even as a gentle titter spreads throughout the room, passed amiably from mirth-crinkled eye to slanted mouth.
He’s not angry at you. Not exactly.
When Benny had asked, as the juvenile truth or dare game progressed, who you thought would be best in the sack, you’d had to pick someone.
It’s just that you’re wrong.
It’s him.
In his head it’s him. In his head, no-one else can give it to you the way he’s imagined making you come undone. No-one else could have you unfurling the way he’s plotted so meticulously; late at night, as he’s bucked his straining length into his own fist, wishing it was the warm, enclosing wetness of you.
You’re wrong.
He feels his pulse drum in his throat. Feels his face pinch into something angular and hard.
He rips an abrupt swig of beer from the mouth of his bottle. Abrupt like the way he wants to tear a kiss from your mouth. Sudden and harsh, showing you your mistake.
He’s not angry at you. He’s not.
He’s angry at himself; for not showing you; that you’re wrong.
He stands. “Excuse me,” he mutters gruffly, pacing to the kitchen. Opening the fridge to give some passing pretence to his exit. His broad shoulders curl in towards the cold, seeking to calm his suddenly heat-pricked skin. His shirt pulls taut over the writhing muscles in his back.
You find him like this a moment later when you enter, your sweet voice preceding the sight of you. And fuck. The contrast of your softness to the way he’s growing rigid in his jeans has his eyes fluttering closed, lashes fanning to his cheek. Has the circle of his plush lips dropping open as a pulse of need zips along his aching shaft.
No. No. No.
You’re so wrong.
And, for some reason, the thought of correcting your mistake, by setting the record straight himself? It has him coming undone.
“The boys are so easy to please, huh?” you breeze, apparently completely unaware of his predicament. Of the blood rushing in his ears so hard he can barely even hear your voice. Unless… did he imagine that teasing, provocative edge in your tone?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
Frankie is fixed in place now. Rigid and imposing. Breaths mildly ragged; frayed at the edges. He hears you hop your ass up onto the counter with a breathy little - and seemingly deliberate - mmhmph. Knows that’s where you’re at, because that’s where you usually sit. That’s your spot when Santiago is cooking, all of the squad gathered around the kitchen island. That’s when Frankie usually leans his long frame against the wall right by you. Drinks in the way your thighs swell - full and soft- as they press into the counter. Imagines slipping his broad hands on to your knees. Sliding the flat of his palms up to part your warm, supple thighs. Slipping his fingers beneath the hem of your tantalising dress until they can spear your heat.
“Santiago’s” -Frankie juts his chin and curls his lip as you say his name- “so fucking needy.”
The word needy falling from your lips does something to him. Sends a throb of heat and dull ache to his length.
You have no idea how needy he is.
How needy he has been for you.
So… No.
Not Santiago’s name in your mouth instead of his. Not fantasies of Santiago fucking you bleeding into your dreams, keeping you up at night, making you slick between your legs.
You’re wrong.
In his head you’re wrong. In his head he’s had you coming apart on his cock a thousand different times. A thousand different ways. He never leaves you anything less than sated, breathless, boneless. He’s good for you. He’s the best. He’s what you need.
You’re wrong.
A low grunt rises in his throat.
Then, finally, with effort, Frankie delicately snaps the fridge closed. Turns towards you, his usually soft gaze intense and hard. Tongue curling around his plush upper lip. It makes the tentative smile you offer drop from your face.
Frankie watches your eyes skim down his taut, long body. Imagines that he sees your pupils blowing-out. A swallow sinking in your neck as he approach you like this. Harsh. Dominant. Maybe how he should have been with you all along. Maybe you would’ve liked that better.
At least, if he had, that way you’d already know.
His pulse beats a drum in his chest. Fuck. Those thighs of yours make his arousal swell painfully in his jeans.
“You believe it?” he grits, abrupt and forceful. Something dark in him activating. Something he isn’t proud of. Something that feels primal. Hungry, after so long caged away.
Your eyes widen like prey. “Believe what?”
Frankie looks at your mouth. You don’t even know. Don’t even know what’s good for you, do you? That he’s good for you. He’s going to show you. “Don’t play dumb. You know ‘what’.”
He crosses to you. Slots his hips between your thighs. Stands over you, muscles taut and rigid. Primed; yet contained. Reaches his thumb and forefinger out to grip and lift the point of your chin; deceptively soft.
Your mouth falls open. There is a sharp intake of breath, as though his touch is electricity on your skin. You writhe yourself into the counter. Arch your chest towards him, even as your eyes widen with slight apprehension. He’s never spoken to you like that before. Has only ever been soft with you. And look where that’s gotten him. Not buried balls-deep into your cunt, that’s for sure. “F-Frankie… I…”
No. No excuses.
“He was the obvious answer.”
No.
“I had to say someone.”
No.
“I couldn’t say… I c-couldn’t say you, could I?”
“Why not?” He shoves the pad of his thumb past your lips and into your mouth before you can even answer, sliding it over your tongue. Doesn’t even care in that moment if you want it. He wants it. Needs it. But he loves how instantly you pucker your lips to suck. Loves that the hot, wet glide of your tongue obediently greets him.
An awed smile drags over his mouth as you hum around him, already becoming putty. He imagines the wet spot he could make you leave on the counter, your slit all shined for him.
“Stupid girl,” he purrs, tone dripping with condescension, his voice honey over gravel. You moan as he withdraws from your mouth. Shifts his hands to clamp down on your thighs, snaking up. “I could give it to you so much better.”
You bat your eyes at him. Toying with him, like you always do - he sees it now. “H-How am I supposed to know that? I’ve…” you bite down on your pillowy lower lip. Looks like a nice place to rest his cock while he shoves into your warm throat, he thinks. “I’ve never fucked either of you.”
Still. You should already know. You should know it’s him.
You should know you’re wrong.
Frankie’s nostrils flare. He drags the pad of his thumb along the seam of his lips. Contains the anger pulsing in him. Has half a mind to unzip his pants right here. To shove you down on the floor and to fill up that pretty mouth of yours right here. Wants to.
“But you want it, don’t you, kitten?” He’s almost certain now. Certain that he hasn’t been imagining it, all these months. The teasing. The glances. The comments. These silly little outfits you wear around him. You’ve been trying to drive him to distraction, haven’t you? Playing him and Santiago off of one another. Riling them both up. Waiting for one of them - or maybe even both of them - to snap.
He drags you to him then, abrupt, your hands flying out to steady yourself against the counter. Your heat coming to rest over the clothed, straining mass of him as he bucks his hips up, grinding up against you. You yelp and it’s a pretty, pathetic little sound. “Don’t you?” he bites off, impatient for an answer now.
You want that. You want him to take it, don’t you?
All you can respond with is a loose, breathy affirmative as Frankie clamps his hand around your jaw and throat. He feels your heartbeat fluttering in your neck. It feels - to him - like want thrumming beneath your skin. Raw and red.
He dips his mouth towards the shell of your ear next, the scent of your perfume sending him into even more of a frenzy. “Did anyone ever tell you you should be careful what you wish for?”
He grips you harder, and your eyes flash with momentary apprehension as his grip closes over your throat. In the next moment however, your gaze is muddied by a glassy, blooming contentedness. A rising hunger. He jostles your head and you move with it, already pliant for him. It’s almost as though this is what you’ve been waiting for. Baiting him to snap. Baiting him to show you what he’s capable of.
Stupid girl.
How have you managed without him all this time? You need him. Need him just like he needs you. Need him to show you.
“Open your mouth.”
“What?”
“Open it.”
You oblige, showing him your pretty pink tongue, and a groan unspools from his chest at how pretty you look like this. Then, without warning, Frankie spits into your mouth.
You jump slightly from the suddenness of it, though once you realise what’s happened, you appear to relish it. Swallow it down and look at him with an altogether wolfish grin.
“Mmm. Thank you, Daddy.”
Such a fucking tease. His cock is so hard in his pants now, his arousal throbbing against the thick, constricting seam. In need of release. In need of that little wet cunt of yours, like he’s imagined a thousand times.
Well, thanks to your little games, he’s done imagining.
“Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
Frankie grabs your hand. Tugs you down from the counter and back through the house.
“We’re leaving,” he announces to the remaining squad, paying their confused and concerned enquiries little mind. Then, he directs his next words only to Santiago. “You are too.”
The other man blinks in confusion. “Whu-“
When he responds, Frankie’s tone and his demeanour leave zero room for argument - he makes sure of it, the sounds carved sharp on the knife edge of his clenched teeth. “-Now.”
Santiago obliges rightaway. “Uh huh.”
“Hey. Big fella. What are we doing?” he asks as Frankie leads you hurriedly towards his truck, stalking down the gravel drive.
“Her.”
Frankie glances at Santiago in time to catch his thick eyebrows raise in surprise; but to his credit he only skips one pace before falling right back in step with him. “Oh. We are, huh?” Santiago looks to you. He looks hungry too. “Did you know about this, Princess?”
Frankie answers for you. “She knows exactly what she’s doing. And now, thanks to her, I’ve got something to prove.”
“Oh oh, Princesa,” Santiago purrs, a smug smirk claiming his mouth.
“Oh oh?” you ask with trepidation, as Frankie bundles you into the passenger seat of the car, clipping your seatbelt for you like you can’t do it for yourself. His eyes are consumed with fire as they meet yours, his tongue darting out along his lips. God, he could have you right here. Certainly doesn’t relish the waiting.
“Yeah,” Santiago breezes, slotting into the back. Frankie exchanges a dark, conspiratorial glance with Santiago in the wing mirror, before watching his buddy lean around the shoulder of your seat. “Honey. You’ve got no idea what you’re in for, do you?”
You’re wrong.
You’re so wrong. And Frankie’s gonna show you. Over and over.
“Get her ready, would you?” Frankie pipes up, not even dragging his eyes away from the road for a second. Even so, he hears you gasp and then moan in pleasure as Santiago’s nimble fingers peel the hem of your dress away from your thighs.
“It’s for your own good, Princess. You’re gonna need it,” Santiago explains as his fingers travel, finding the wet spot between your legs. “Frankie’s big.”
“Hmm. Sure. I’ve heard that before,” you punch out, in between abortive moans of pleasure as Santiago’s fingers work their way inside you.
“Oh, it’s not a brag, honey,” Santiago snickers. Frankie joins him in laughter, like the two of them share a joke that you’re just not in on. He slides his mouth up your throat. “Trust me. It’s a kindness.”
Frankie smiles. Clamps his hands down tighter on the wheel. Can’t wait to get you home.
You’re wrong.
You’re so wrong. And he’s going to show you.
You shouldn’t push someone with a dark side if you can’t handle the consequences, he thinks.
He risks a glance as you throw your head back, mouth dropping open in a silent moan of pleasure.
You’re wrong; but he’s going to have a lot of fun proving it.
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OH MY GODDD THE NEW TRAILBLAZE MISSION IT’S SO GOOD BUT ALSO NONE OF MY THOUGHTS ARE COHERENT AAAAA
Major spoilers for 2.1 ahead!!!!
So first off to the people that voted for Aventurine and Sunday in this poll how does it feel to be right?
ANYWAY THAT WHOLE ENDING WAS FUCKING INSANEEEE, Aventurine walking INTO the Nihility????? And he might not ever come back???? Acheron showing off the true extent of her emanator powers?????? Gallagher being the twist villain and also somehow in control of Something Unto Death???? What the fuck?!
My brain is a mess right now I’m just rotating all of the story in my brain and a hundred miles a minute. The next stuff is just going to be me word vomiting my reaction to stuff in a vaguely chronological order.
First off I LOVEEE how Aventurine-focused the Trailblaze mission was. I was kind of assuming it would be a 50/50 split between focusing on Acheron and focusing on Aventurine but it seems like they’re saving Acheron’s backstory for 2.2 or 2.3.
The little appearance of Boothill??? And how he immediately threatens violence?????? Just a silly guy I can’t wait for him in 2.2 I wanna see them fight. Also I wonder if Constance is making empty promises because it’s possible.
Back to Aventurine, DAMNNN I knew his backstory would be tragic but it’s even more gut wrenching than I expected. The reference in his achievements too??? ‘What do you want Sibyl?’ ‘I want to die.’ THE PROGRESSION FROM AVENTURINE STICKING WITH THIS UNTIL THE END WHERE EVEN THOUGH HE COULD POSSIBLY DIE FOR REAL YET HE DECIDES FO CONTINUE FORWARD BECAUSE EVEN IF WE’RE BORN TO DIE THERE’S A POINT IN LIVING LIFE AND PREPARING FOR THAT INEVITABILITY???? OH MY GOD.
Sunday’s also a scary dude. Maybe being an emanator does that to people but when he did that Harmony mindfuckery on Aventurine I was almost certain that he was going to die because of that. I was also SO pissed at Ratio for selling Aventurine out only to learn they were actually double crossing SUNDAY was insane. I’m glad he finally got to be angry about Robin’s death towards the end though, most of the downtime between 2.0 and 2.1 has been me wondering ‘man his sister just died why doesn’t he feel more distressed.’
Ngl I’m probably gonna dedicate a whole post to Aventurine in this update because 90% of the time I was playing the quest I was either thirsting over him, internally sobbing for him, thinking he was gonna die, or waiting to get back to his POV.
Gallagher is one hell of an enigma because Sunday implies that he’s made up of different ‘aspects’ of each Family member who’s died over however long the dreamscape deaths have been happening, yet he has a past with Siobhan and apparently knew Mikhail??? Like what the fuck????? How long has this been going on????
(Edit: so the use of ‘enigma’ was NOT a pun, when I played the trailblaze quest someone goofed up and forgot to add the line where Sunday calls Gallagher a follower of The Enigmata. Yeah that’s a pretty big lore drop to forget to add.)
I do wish it was foreshadowed slightly better though because the most we get is him being very vaguely sad about his past and also like two people going ‘who the hell is Gallagher.’
One thing I didn’t expect to happen was for a ‘Sam is Firefly’ reveal. Like I had seen the leaks before (not out of my own will sadly) and kind of expected for it to be a 2.2 reveal. Either way yayyyy Firefly is alive!!!
I’m sad that we didn’t really have an Acheron and Welt team up, or at least that we didn’t see more of it. It was kind of hyped up to be a whole B-plot but turned out to only be a few scenes. I’m not complaining because we get a little teeny bit of Welt characterisation but I’m still sad.
I like how Sparkle kind of just shows up to either be a nuisance or a conveniently timed piece to move the plot forward. It’s very fitting with being a Masked Fool.
There’s a lot more I want to scream about but it’s all Aventurine related and I’m gonna save it for its own dedicated post.
2.1 is so fucking good 2.2 and 2.3 better stick the landing.
#honkai star rail#hsr#aventurine#hsr aventurine#aventurine hsr#Penacony#hsr spoilers#2.1 spoilers#Penacony spoilers#hsr gallagher#Gallagher hsr#sunday hsr#hsr sunday#Acheron hsr#hsr Acheron#boothill hsr#hsr boothill#firefly hsr#hsr firefly#sam hsr#hsr sam
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what you're willing to give (satoru gojo)
satoru gojo x reader, 1.3k, gender not mentioned
fwb!gojo + 'if we get caught kissing in a small, dark, kind of shady alleyway, it's on you.' from this prompt list, highly suggestive making out + fluff + humour (?)
summary - gojo wants more. you want more. the only difference is that he can admit it, but he likes you enough to wait until you can too.
minors do not interact!
i wrote this and i'm sooooooo at his characterisation here, this goes under fics-that-are-SO-well-set-up-for-a-sequel i'm a genius sometimes, fwb!gojo has not left my head since i read this incredible fic by @staryukis
mamani-bento's masterlist!
gojo doesn't understand why you're complaining, honestly.
okay, he sort of does, but he doesn't understand why you're still complaining.
"do you want to stop?"
your answer takes a bit longer to emerge, and gojo can't help the smug grin against the side of your neck. he continues to nip and lave at your skin, paying special attention to a slowly-forming bruise near your jugular as he waits for your response.
"stop–ah!–stop fucking smiling."
gojo does not stop smiling, but he does lay off your neck, moving his lips upwards and catching your swollen ones with a low chuckle instead.
"so mouthy," he mumbles into shared breath, delighting in the reactionary tightening of your clenched fists in his hair. he can't help the groan he lets out at the feeling, and his large palm grips harder at the plump flesh of your thigh hooked over his hip. his body presses further into your front, pushing you against the wall. his long fingers curl at your scalp and he can feel the scrape of uneven stone against the back of his hand.
sighing pants and moaned kissing fill the dark alley behind the pub. gojo loves his friends, he really does, but he can't possibly be expected to pay attention to them inside when you're wearing that.
"i didn't think this would do it for you," you airily breathe out as gojo lets your leg down, groping at the flesh of your ass instead.
he catches your bottom lip between his teeth, revelling in the gasp he's rewarded with. "liar," he mutters, no real heat behind his words. "you absolutely knew that this would do it for me."
he could die with the sound of your giggle in his ear and he'd be happy as a clam. he's been feeling like he could die a lot this evening, ever since you entered in that outfit and made him nearly choke on air at the sight.
you trace kisses down the long column of his neck, and his eyes flutter shut at the pleasure. he gives your ass one last squeeze, large palms smoothing over the thin fabric of your panties, before he finally moves his hand out of your tiny skirt.
you had come to the halloween party dressed as him and it makes his head spin every time he thinks about it. the only modification you've made is the pants, traded in for a similarly navy skirt that shows off the plush of your thighs, and sheer stockings that end just below the hemline. he's very thankful for that skirt, very grateful for the access it's giving him to feel you up as he pleases.
and maybe, maybe, he should be a little concerned at what this means for his narcissism, that the sight of you like this, like him, is having such a profound effect. but all he can really think about is your teeth scraping against the underside of his jaw, your hands now tugging at the collar of his blue button-up, your skin moulding under the greedy kneading of his palms as he moves to your hips.
"where's your tie?" you manage to ask as you pull away, as if just realising that he's missing an integral part of his outfit.
"at home," he says, opening his eyes to look at you looking at him. your costume blindfold rests on your forehead, messily bunched up from all the movement, giving him the full effect of your partly disappointed expression.
your fingers fiddle with his undone top button. "would've liked if you had a tie," you mumble, almost complainingly.
he knows you're lying, fully certain that this halfway nanami-cosplay he's got going on is also doing it for you if your enthusiastic participation is anything to go by. and maybe, maybe, he left the tie out just so he could have a reason to get you in his house. he likes to pretend sometimes that he still has to convince you to spend nights with him. likes to act as though he's perpetually on a quest to win your affections, despite all the evidence to the contrary.
"come over. help me put it on."
the streetlight from the main road filters into the alley and the music from the building you're both leaning against is muffled and you look so thoroughly debauched with your lips swollen and your face flushed and your chest heaving, and all gojo can really register is the feeling of your body against his.
this is the only way he can have you. too risky to be in a relationship but not to fall into bed with each other at every social gathering, to ignore your colleagues and make out in the alleyway like teenagers. he knows, he knows, that something will give. he's largely stopped trying to hide how much he cares for you behind this dance of 'come over' and 'are you awake?', but your walls are so high, every brick laid by the fear of both being with somebody and being somebody who might not make it back home after a mission. until he can break them down, he'll take what he can get, what you're willing to give him.
"you planned that line?" you scoff with a shocking perceptiveness. or not that shocking. for somebody who claims to not care, you pay an awful lot of attention to his mannerisms outside bed. he'll wait for you to admit it to yourself.
he moves closer, thick arm familiarly winding around your waist until he can feel the ghost of your deep breaths fanning over his already lonely lips. "don't tell me you wore that and expected this to not happen tonight."
the silence is deafening in the wake of his low accusation. you can't deny it, of course you can't deny it. you know that your cherry lip gloss drives him crazy, that the sight of your thighs moving in those translucent silky stockings is enough to wind him up, that he's got an ego for days and seeing you dressed like him is basically heaven. you could've gone as anybody. shoko's only rule was to dress up as another teacher, she didn't specify anything about your-fuckbuddy-that-you're-pretending-to-not-have-a-thing-for.
his gaze shoots to your mouth as your teeth worry your lower lip, and he'd really like you to say something now. preferably along the lines of 'you're absolutely right, i'm in this outfit because i want to sleep with you, let's go' , but he knows it'll never be that easy with you.
even as your body presses against his, even as your hands move to play with the hair on the nape of his neck, you ask, "what about the others?"
gojo laughs, a bright thing that pierces the heavy silence of the dark alley. "they should be used to it by now, no? we'll send shoko an apology card in the morning for bailing."
he doesn't mean to push, but you never do anything you don't want to, and past experience tells him that you really want to do him. despite your initial reluctance, you always end up in his bed at the end of the day. despite your stubborn insistence that 'this is the last time' and 'this isn't a thing', it's never the last time and it's definitely a thing. and predictably, he can see your resolve wavering now, like it always does.
"she also deserves flowers, i think."
"sure, we'll send some flowers too," gojo easily acquiesces with a shrug. he'll send shoko a damn car if you ask him to. but he can't say that yet, won't say that until you admit that whatever ineffable instinct keeps pulling you two together runs deeper than back alley make outs and sweaty nights that feel inevitable.
"this is–"
"the last time?" gojo interrupts, unable to stop himself.
he ignores your unimpressed expression in favour of pressing into your hips with his, satisfied with the way wide eyes and a small gasp replaces your flat look. he makes no attempt to hide what you've done to him, what you always seem to be doing to him. he's affected at the best of times, but in this outfit? he never stood a chance. "is that a yes?"
you seem equal parts annoyed and aroused.
just how he likes you.
"shut up," you grouse, tugging at his collar until you're fiercely kissing him again, everything becoming a frenzy that promises to end with your clothes on his floor and your nails running down his back.
if this is what you’re willing to give him for now, he’ll gladly take it. but he wants more, and he knows that you want more, and it’s only a matter of time before something finally gives.
#jujutsu kaisen#satoru gojo#jjk#gojo smut#gojo fluff#bento writes#satoru x reader#jjk x reader#gojo satoru smut#satoru gojo x reader#gojo satoru#jjk x reader smut#satoru smut#jjk fic#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk fanfic#jjk x you#jjk fluff#jjk gojo#gojo x reader#nanami kento#anime fluff#jujustu kaisen fluff#gojo fic#satoru x you#jujutsu gojo#gojo x you#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#jjk smut
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Ok so request thing it can be headcannons or one shot I don't really mind and feel free to ignore this up to you!
Husk x reader where the reader works at the bar with him
gn!reader, bartender!reader, fluff, mutual pining, talkative!reader, old people in love
Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and being drunk, obviously. Otherwise pure fluff.
Notes: Of course I can do it, anon! You're so polite, thank you for your consideration 🫶 I didn't know if you wanted it romantic or platonic, so I did romantic, since I love romance and unfortunately couldn't manage to do a Valentines special :( I added a few things, like reader characterisation, cause the request was kinda short and brief, I hope it's not a problem! And since you were nice I did both headcanons and a one-shot!
You and Husk worked together at the bar for a long time.
Or should I say, you were forced to, since you both made a deal with Alastor.
Including you, Husk and Niffty in his shenanigans was a norm, cause it's not like you could say no. What's worse was he took a bit of a liking for the three of you (maybe because of sheer amusement).
At some point, you just accepted your fate and rolled with it, trying to have fun while doing so.
Unlike Husk. He was a born pessimist and being happy was not something he was especially good at. Though with you, he seemed a bit more playful and sarcastic.
Mimzy often made fun of you two, because of your very different attitudes, but also similarities, like your love for alcohol (or rather drinking away your sorrows).
Every single resident of Hazbin Hotel (Alastor's new "investment") thought you were basically made for eachother, since you were perfectly making up for each others flaws.
Husk was more of a listener and you were more of a talker. When there weren't any customers to serve, he just listened to your yapping for hours, never getting bored.
When there was a customer though, they were certainly going to have fun talking to you. It was never boring when you were around. Husk's quiet presence was needed too, especially when someone just needed to vent.
What made you different from yourself as banterders, was your way of preparing drinks.
He focused more on the taste and if the liquor was strong or light enough for the person he was serving it for and you focused more on the presentation and the way of making the drink. You always had some tricks up your sleeve and amazed everyone.
If you fucked up with your little show, though, Husk always cleaned up after you, without saying a word.
After a long day, he often poured you two a drink. You sat on the other side of the counter in silence, enjoying each others presence. You didn't even need to tell him what you wanted. At this point, he just knew.
Husk also knew that he could trust you, mutually. Not only with making a nice drink, but also in everything else.
He and you knew one another's weaknesses, secrets and past, but there was a silent understanding between you, that when something like that was said, it was never mentioned again.
Past was in the past, the present is happening now. It was something you both agreed on.
Although what you haven't admitted to eachother, was that for decades you have been hiding a massive crush on one another.
Someone once said that opposites attract. Well, it was certainly the case for you two.
At first almost everyone thought you were dating. Your feelings are so obvious.
But not for you two...
It was the time of closing again.
You were spread out on the counter and tired as fuck. Your constant tricks and talkative behaviour were sometimes exhausting you a little too much. Husk knew it, that's why he didn't really feel the need to ask. He just quietly accepted your difference and tried to cheer you up, in his own way.
As a muffled groan of tiredness escaped your lips, you suddenly felt something cold against your forehead. Groggily opening your eyes, a sight of Husk holding two glasses of pure vodka was seen.
- Good work today, kid - he just said plainly, holding out one of them to you.
You didn't know why, but the bartender really liked to call you "kid", although you weren't that much younger than him. Well, you didn't exactly mind, since it made you feel young again. You just rolled your eyes at his weirdness, smiling a little and gladly took the drink.
- Thanks, old man. What would I do without you? - you played along and Husk smirked at the hint of sarcasm in your voice.
Then he looked down at the counter with a thoughtful look. You raised your eyebrow at that.
- You're thinking of something dumb again, aren't you?
The bartender just shrugged, not seeming to care about your opinion and proceeded to lift himself up on it.
- Oh, for fucks sake, I knew it - you shook your head, pretending to be irritated and moved away to give him space.
With a grunt, he managed to sit down on it. You fought the urge to clap for his achievement. But just as he took a sip of his vodka and was about to jump down, a loud groan escaped his lips.
"Oho. It's starting." You just thought to yourself, snorting.
The, as you stated correctly before, old man laid down on the counter, still holding the vodka, seemingly in pain.
A loud "UGH!" escaped his lips and you tried to hold back your laughter.
After some time of trying not to choke on your drink, you finally asked:
- You done?
- Yeah, I'm feeling perfectly fine, thank you for fucking asking - he just stated with his usual low voice, looking at you and pretending to be hurt by your lack of worry.
Typical Husk. Always trying a little too much to cheer you up, even at his expense. It was the usual.
But the thing is, he wouldn't act like that for just anyone. You knew. Yet, you still doubted.
Was it from your natural closeness? You've worked with him for years, always having a good relationship.
You were... Friends.
He had other friends too, but he wouldn't act that... Soft and playful with them. This... Touchy.
So the question is: did he want more?
Did you want more?
You shoke off the thoughts, realising you definitely got lost in them for much longer than expected. Your lips were hurting from nibbling on the glass too much.
Husk, who was still laying on the counter, although a little closer to you at this point, seemed worried about your behaviour.
- Huh. That bad? - he asked rhetorically, partially to you and to himself.
- No, it's... I've been just thinking... - you looked away, giving him a vague answer, so not fitting for you.
Usually, you would just help him get up, still smiling and in a better mood. Both your hand and his paw in direct contact, you would feel his soft fur... Sometimes he pulled you down with him on purpose, summing it up with an unapologetic "Whoops".
Maybe you just didn't experience physical touch for too long, but it made you feel...
Just like a teenager again.
Like you were still a human child, experiencing their first crush. The butterflies in your stomach, your soft, flustered smile; it hasn't changed. Maybe you lived your life once and fucked up. But these little moments after working your ass off and then being cheered up by someone you were truly content with, it was priceless.
It is pretty corny, isn't it?
Demon feeling like they still have a heart of a human or maybe some parts of it.
Well, it was certainly strange, but it felt good.
That good, in fact, that you needed to express it.
Without a second thought you leaned down, looking Husk in the eyes. He raised his brow, the worried expression dissapearing. Maybe you would just smile and play it off like a joke, like you always did?
But you didn't.
You didn't even talk. Your actions spoke.
- What're you... - Husk felt conflicted and suspicious of your silence, but he couldn't finish his thought.
Your hand was drawn to the bartender's cheek and your lips pecked his forehead. It was quick and almost felt like nothing. There was a small chance he wouldn't even notice it.
But he did.
When it came to you, he felt everything. Even the lightest touch, the softest smile.
But just as he was about to say something, you stood up, stretching, as if nothing had happened.
- Oh my. Look at the time. We sure did outdid ourselves. Hell of an alcohol break - you snorted at your little joke and just as you were to flee, as you always did, a hand grabbed you from behind.
It was Husk, standing. Huh. So he could get up by himself afterall.
- You must be shitting me. The night is still young, kid. - his unreadable expression quickly curled up into a smile - Care for another drink?
End notes: Hope you enjoyed this lil' thingy, anon! And I hope I did it right, since I haven't been writing Husk much. Old people in love is my favourite type of romance ever, so I needed to include it somehow hahaha If you wanted something else, please request again when the requests open, I will gladly oblige! Until next time. Stay tuned!
#hazbin hotel x reader#husk x reader#hazbin hotel husk#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x you#fluff#hazbin hotel fanfiction#hazbin hotel headcanon#hazbin hotel fluff#mutual pinning
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