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venusjeon · 2 years ago

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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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glambots · 3 months ago

Text

BUBBLE, BUBBLE, MOON'S IN TROUBLE

Moondrop/Reader

Rating: SFW

Wordcount: 5k

A commission for @semidemi-minigod !! In which you give Moon a bath. But from Moon's POV.

It was difficult to say when it all started.

When he’d allowed himself to become so complacent. So vulnerable.

It wasn’t an entirely pleasant feeling. But you made it easier. Somehow.

Even now, when all he wanted was to slink away into the dark, far away from your pleading eyes and pursed lips.

“Come on, Moon. Please? You can look at it all if you want to. I won’t stop you. It’s really good stuff. Like, expensive stuff.”

You moved around the cleaning cart, picking up and brandishing several different items in his direction, with all the nervous excitement of a salesman trying to land a deal.

His eyes moved over each object laid out, atop the cart’s surface. Towels, fluffy and white. Bottles of cleaning solutions. Metal polish. Different kinds of scrub brushes. A few toothbrushes…?

He didn’t recognize any of the brands, which meant that they came from outside the Pizzaplex.

“…You bought these?” Cautiously, he picked up one of the little canisters and held it between his thumb and forefinger, turning the balm canister round-and-round like it was an oversized coin.

Polish cream. The fancy aluminum tin flashed under the dim lights, like the spark of a distant star.

“Yeah, I got them all from a hardware place that was nearby.” You smiled, hands roving over the assortment to grasp one of the smaller hand towels. His head tilted a bit when you held it out to him, a lopsided smile gracing your flushed cheeks.

“Feel these! I swear, I have never felt towels as soft as these.”

Curiosity burning, Moon placed the polish back down and reached for the towel. He fingered the soft, fluffy fabric in a bit of awe. It was much nicer than the old, tattered rags they had stashed away in the Daycare. Cleaner, too.

“They’re Egyptian cotton.” Your grin grew wider. “I got you a couple of sets, so you can keep some in storage for when they each get worn out.”

“…Keep?”

“Well…yeah! I mean, they’re yours now.” You gestured at the whole of the collection. “All of this is. I mean, I can keep it if you don’t have any room. But this is all for you. You and Sun, I mean. Obviously.”

He looked back and forth between you and the cleaning cart, utterly bewildered.

And, more than that, suspicious.

“Why?”

He watched your expression twist into bemusement, before you sighed dramatically and rolled your eyes.

“Because I can.”

“What if we…don’t want it?” He couldn’t stop the hint of amusement that crept into his voice. Even if there was a little bit of truth to it. It felt…wrong to accept this.

You just pursed your lips, brows raising so high they nearly touched your hairline.

“Well, that’s too bad. Cause I already bought it, and the store won’t let me return it. Which means either you take it, or I’ll just throw it all away.”

He grunted, looking back over the collection.

“Liar-liar, pants on fire.”

“Nope!” You popped the “p,” giving him a little half-shrug. “I’ve got the receipt, and it says no refunds allowed. You wanna see it? I’ll show it to you.”

Moon grunted again, tapping his fingers rhythmically against his chin and cheek.

To take it…or not…

It would be a shame to let it all go to waste.

But! But. He had one more question to ask you.

“Why me? Why not Sun?”

He can’t help but spit the name with a bit of venom. Out of the two of them, wouldn’t Sun be the easier target? Easier to work with. Easier to talk to. A better fit.

Better…in every way.

The look you give him is hard to place. It’s not hurt, not pity…a little frustrated.

A little sad.

“Do you not…trust me?”

There it is again: that feeling of wanting to hide away. A little tickle of guilt burning through his wires and sliding between his gears. He didn’t like it when you looked at him like that.

“No.”

“No, you don’t trust me? Or no, you don’t not trust me?”

“…No.”

You sighed, pulling off the bear-eared cap on your head to run a hand through your already messy hair.

“Alright. Alright…I won’t force you to do it. I just…” You looked down at the cart, eyes misty and lip quivering a bit. Like you were trying not to cry. “I wanted to spend time with you.”

And like that, he feels something in him melt.

“Fine.” He folded his arms over his chest, as if they’d serve as any sort of defense. He hates the way his whole-body tickles with heat when the sadness on your face melts away into relief.

Because it’s unfamiliar. Different.

He knows for a fact that what he’s feeling is something that he’s not supposed to be able to feel.

And yet, you make him feel it.

And that frightens him.

“Make it fast.”

Guilt is there again, gnawing at his insides when you reach up to quickly wipe the rim of your eyes clear, a breathy laugh bubbling up from somewhere inside you. Just like that, you’re so happy.

“Alright! Okay. Okay. Um, I’ll start with the—I mean, what do you want me to start with? I’ve got all this stuff, and I didn’t even think about it. God, where do I start?”

Moon watches you flit around the cart, hands moving over each object in a frenzy. You finally look up after a moment, going still.

“Sorry. Just. Give me a second, I swear I know what I’m doing.” Your eyes move to the floor, like you’re searching for something. “Do you want to sit down?”

Silently, Moon reached behind him, grasping one of the small child-sized chairs, and pulled it out to sit on without breaking eye contact.

“Okay.” You chuckled, a rag in one hand, a bottle of cleaning solution in the other. He could feel the hesitancy in your movements as you approached, like you were afraid he’d bolt at any second. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

For a moment, you hesitated, as if trying to decide where and how to get started. Moon simply sat still, watching your hands and eyes shift from his face to his arms, to his chest, then back up.

“Hang on, I can’t do this kneeling—my back hurts too much for that.”

You grabbed an undersized chair and pulled it up across from him, gently taking one of his arms and spraying a light amount of the solution across it. Moon couldn’t detect any chemicals, but it did smell slightly…fresh?

“This is just water and soap,” you explained, gently running the rag across his forearm, rubbing it between his fingers and over his palm. “To get rid of the surface stains. After that, I’ll use the stronger stuff.”

For a moment, there was a silence that stretched between the two of you. He wasn’t sure if it was comfortable or not but was more than satisfied to simply watch your tiny hands work their way up and down his arm.

You swapped to the other arm, wiping it down gently from hand-to-shoulder, then paused.

“Do you want me to do your chest or back first?”

Your voice was soft, gentle and coaxing.

Moon looked down at his arms, flexing his fingers as he thought for a moment.

“…Back.”

“Alright.”

Carefully, you placed a hand on his shoulder for balance, running the washcloth over his broad back. Moon twitched, an odd tingle rushing through his wires at the sensation of your palm rubbing little circles around the spot where the hook to his line protruded. He tried to ignore it, but you stopped again, having noticed.

“Sorry, is that uncomfortable?”

“No.” He scrambled for an excuse. “…It tickles.”

“Oh.” From the corner of his eye, he could see a tiny smile cross over your face. “I didn’t know you were ticklish.”

“We’re not,” he replied, maybe a little too fast. “Just…sensitive.”

“Sure.” The tone in your voice betrayed that maybe you didn’t entirely believe him, but you didn’t push the issue. He was thankful for that.

The thought of your little hands coasting along his metal body, trying to find vulnerable spots to attack and manipulate—it made his head spin. That was the last thing he needed right now.

Things were quiet again, as you slid the rag over the thin pieces of metal that made up his hinged neck. Anxiety raced through his system as your hand moved dangerously close to the back of his face-plate—where the switch sat.

One wrong move (or maybe, one purposeful move) and he’d be forced into Rest Mode.

“Careful—” Before he could stop himself, his hand flew up, snatching your thin wrist. “Not there.”

“Oh! Sorry, sorry, sorry…” You quickly jerked back, panic flashing in your eyes. “D-Did I hurt you?”

He searched your face for any sign of wrongdoing. Something to latch onto.

He found nothing.

“…No.” Moon finally said after a moment, letting your wrist go. He felt a little bad as he watched you rub it, knowing that he’d probably held on a little too hard. “Just…not there.”

“Okay, I’m sorry.” You scooted around the edge of the chair, rag hovering just below the edge of his neck ruffles. “I’ll start on your chest now, okay?”

He didn’t say anything but leaned his head back to give you more room. That, and to keep from having to watch you run the cloth over the expanse of his chassis. Just the feeling of it was enough to have him balling his hands tight into fists at his sides.

There was so much intimacy in the action, as simple an action it was. Your face was so close, eyes squinted as you scrubbed at the stains splattered across his metal body. Sticky hands, paint, glue, dirt, grime—there was no telling what made up the mass of it all. But the feeling of it being wiped away was a very pleasant one.

He felt lighter, almost. Like the weight of the stains were being peeled off him.

You were extremely gentle when your hands moved down to his waist, one holding him slightly in place, the other moving the cloth down his sides and across his stomach.

Moon squirmed again. If he’d had a stomach, it would have been fluttering. Full of butterflies.

“Sorry, I’m almost done.” You breathed softly, looking up at him from beneath your lashes.

“It’s fine.” He lied.

A few more moments later, you finally leaned back, and Moon felt like he could breathe again. Not that he’d ever needed to in the first place. But whatever pressure had been hanging over his head was finally lifted away, if only momentarily.

You pulled out another bottle, gently drenching a small scrub brush across its surface with the oddly colored liquid. It smelled very strongly of disinfectant, and he flinched a little.

“This is the strong stuff.” You explained, offering him an apologetic smile. “It’ll get rid of the tougher stains—you don’t have a lot of them, so this part should be quick. I’ll try not to go too hard with it.”

“Do what you need to. We won’t run.”

This part of the cleaning process wasn’t quite as pleasant as the rag and soap. But you had been true to your word—your touch was gentle. Maybe too gentle.

“Harder.” He urged, after a while of watching you scrub at his arms. “We don’t have all night.”

You blew a few stray hairs out of your face. “I don’t know how you got this dirty. When was your last bath?”

He…couldn’t remember. So, he didn’t say anything at all.

You paused to glance up at him, but after it was apparent that you weren’t going to get a response, you turned back to scrubbing.

The bristles of the brush felt…strange, against his metal skin. Not painful. Just uncomfortable. It made him want to push your hand away, but he stopped short of doing so. You were just trying to help, and it wouldn’t do either of you good for him to make this difficult.

So, like a child sitting through a well-needed (but unwanted) haircut, he forced himself to simply sit there, squirming every so often.

“I really appreciate you letting me do this for you.” You finally said, your voice cutting through the silence. “I wish I could do something about the stains on your pants, but you probably wouldn’t want me to, uh…”

Your hands moved through the air, making vague gestures, before you just gave up and offered him a little half-shrug. “Mess with those.”

Moon had to think about it for a moment. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Once more, you paused, blinking rapidly. “What? Oh, uh—I was just joking!”

A spark of mischief fluttered in his chest. Your cheeks were flushing, the rosy color reaching all the way up to the tips of your ears. You couldn’t look at him suddenly, and his internals picked up a rapid jump in heart rate.

“Nervous?” A giggle bubbled up from somewhere deep inside him, and he clicked his invisible tongue, wagging a finger in your face. “Naughty thing.”

The color on your face deepened to a shade that rivaled the ruby glow of his eyes.

“No! I mean—that’s not what I meant. Just—I just—” Your lips set in a thin line, breath coming quick and heavy.

“Want me to take them off?”

“What?”

He giggled again, quite enjoying the way your voice cracked.

“My…” His hands hovered for a moment, just above the hem of his pants. Then, he flipped them upwards, as if offering you his wrists. “Ribbons.”

Your face was so red that he wondered if you could even breathe properly. Your heart was practically leaping out of your chest. Seeing you all flustered made that bouncy, electric feeling inside him tingle and spark.

For a moment, you just glared at him, shaking the scrub brush like you were considering smacking him with it. Then, you sucked in a breath, pinched the bridge of your nose, and slowly let it out again, lowering your would-be weapon.

“I hate you.”

He snickered again, reaching out a single finger to gently tap the tip of your nose. “Liar.”

You love me.

The words were caught in his nonexistent throat. He could say it, to push your buttons even further, but something held him back. Hesitation.

He wasn’t…quite ready to push it that far, yet.

You sighed dramatically, placing the scrub brush aside, only to reach for one of the toothbrushes he’d seen earlier.

“Are we playing dentist?”

“You’re half right.” Amusement sparkled in your eyes. “This is for, like, getting into the tiny places. The seams between your fingers and stuff. I’ll be using it on your face, too, so…”

“You came prepared.”

You grinned. “I told you I did.”

“All this for little old me?” He struck a bashful pose.

“Yes, you absolute goober. Now hold still…”

The feeling of the toothbrush sliding into his seams was much more pleasant than the scrub-brush. It still tickled, enough to make him twitch now and then, but it wasn’t overwhelming.

You were so gentle with the motions, making sure to get every nook and cranny that you could work the bristles into. Moon was a little shocked to see just how much grime the brush was picking up, but then again—it had been a very long time since they’d gotten any sort of attention in the “appearances” department.

Every time you swapped to a new area, you dip the brush into a small container of cleaner, swirling it around and wiping away the dirt from the surface of the bristles. But even with such meticulous attention to detail, it didn’t take long for it to become too dirty to keep using.

You ran through at least three brushes before you stopped to take a break.

“Seriously, how the hell did you guys get so dirty?”

Moon could only shrug. There were several components that contributed to their current state, but the biggest offender was plain out negligence.

You sighed and shook your head, grabbing a thermos from behind the stack of bottles and tipping it back. His eyes followed the movement of your throat every time you swallowed—a strange voyeuristic feeling.

A rivulet of water dripped from the corner of your mouth, rolling down your chin, then your throat, then over the dip of your clavicle and down beneath the collar of your shirt…he tore his gaze away. Focused on flexing his hands in his lap, then folded them together and squeezed, one foot tap-tap-tapping away, anxiously.

“Phew! God, I’m sweating like crazy. Is it okay if I take this off?” You fingered the neckline of your shirt with one hand, using the other to fan yourself with your hat.

He really wanted to say no. Because that would make him feel weirder.

But he couldn’t, when you looked at him like that. So earnest and innocent.

Moon nodded silently, looking away once more when you reached for the buttons. It felt…wrong, to watch you undo them. The sound of fabric rustling had his foot tapping just a bit faster.

“Okay! I’m good now.” You stretched your arms up above your head with a little moan. “God, that’s so much better.”

Moon found it hard to look at you directly, now that you were sitting there in a tank top. It wasn’t anything salacious, it was just. So intimate. There was so much more visible skin now, and his eyes kept moving over the muscles in your arms, across the curve of your abdomen…

The shape of your body was so much clearer now, and that made him feel…almost shy.

“Alright, last up is your face. I’m gonna have to get a little bit closer—is that okay?”

That was not okay. His system was on high alert.

But what was he supposed to say? You’d already gone this far, he couldn’t just say no. Despite really, really wanting to.

For a moment he felt the gears in his head grinding, a substitution for the teeth and jaw he lacked. The tension in his body felt like a rubber band pulled too tight, seconds away from snapping. It got worse when he forced himself to nod, only able to muster up a little grunt of affirmation.

“Alright. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you. He did.

This was just. Too close.

You slid off the children’s chair, half-kneeling with one of your legs on the ground, a knee between his legs to balance yourself.

Too close. It was too close.

You reached up, rag in hand. Your fingers gently cupped the side of his face, feather-light touch sending sparks through his body.

Too. Close.

He felt his whole body go stiff as you pressed the soapy rag to his cheek.

Carefully, you moved it up to his forehead, then down to his chin. Warmth trailed down the metal of his face, burning in the wake of your touch. So hot that he almost couldn’t stand it.

Your eyes moved over his face as you swapped sides, smoothing down the crescent curve of his nose so delicately that it tickled. If he’d had the ability to sneeze, he probably would have.

“Sorry.” Your teeth dug lightly into your lower lip. “I know this is a lot. You’re doing a great job, Moonie.”

That did not help his situation at all.

Your praise struck him like a bolt of lightning, and he clenched his fists so tightly in his lap that he felt his metal knuckles pop.

“I really appreciate you letting me do this for you. I really, really care about you.” You paused to suck in a little breath. “I mean that.”

He could barely hear what you were saying. It was like static was buzzing in his ears, growing louder by the moment. All he could do was focus on the shape of your lips as they formed around each word.

“I…” The words refused to come out, caught in his nonexistent throat.

“It’s alright.” You laughed a little, placing the rag aside and reaching for the final toothbrush. “You don’t have to force yourself. I’m almost done.”

That wasn’t it.

You were just so close. The warmth of your body, your smell, the shape of you…it was suffocating him. If he leaned in, just a little bit more, he’d be able to wrap his arms around you, to feel the softness of your skin against his—

The abrupt tickle of the toothbrush rubbing against the seam in his faceplate made him jerk back.

“Sorry! Sorry.” You scoot forward, the hand on his cheek holding him in place a bit more firmly. “I’m almost done.”

Your body heat is suddenly all around him, then. You’re leaning up in his lap, both knees on the chair, straddling his leg. He can catch the scent of shampoo on your hair, scented lotion on your skin. He could count every lash framing your eyes. Feel the heat of your breath on his teeth—

His hands hover in the air, fingers twitching sporadically, just inches away from gripping you by the waist.

He wants to tell you to back up. But his invisible tongue is tied in knots.

He can’t stop looking at your face. Staring at you, as you maneuver the brush into the little dots lining his crescent-sloped nose.

“You have the cutest freckles.” You say, your lips turning up at the corners.

His body makes a strange noise. A low, grinding metallic sound that could be as much a growl as it could a whine.

That’s all the warning you get before he leans in, gripping you tight by the shoulders, and all but mashes his face against yours in a pathetic facsimile of a kiss.

It lasts for only a few seconds, but those seconds feel like an eternity. The softness of your lips against his hard, unyielding smile has his processor running at full tilt, fans blasting at full force inside of his chest, trying to chase off a heat that threatens to melt his insides into a gooey mess.

He was brought back to reality, then, as his brain caught up to his body.

Moon leaned back, shame burning through him. He slowly unfurled his hands from your shoulders, bringing them up to cover his face.

Why had he done that?

“M-Moon, I—what—”

Your voice is so small, trembling, and that just makes it so much worse.

“No, no.” He rasped, clawing at his cheeks. You stumbled back as he scrambled out of the chair, knocking it over in his haste to put distance between the two of you. “Against the rules. It’s wrong. Shouldn’t have done that. No, no, no—”

“Moon, stop.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have done that. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid—” Everything was spiraling. The gears inside his head grind so hard that it hurts.

He had you. He had something good. And he ruined it.

Sun was right. He ruined everything.

He always ruined everything good.

“Moon, stop!” Your fingers twine through his own, trying to pry his hands from his face. He can hear the panic in your voice. “Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself!”

“This is bad. This is wrong. It’s wrong.” He wanted to hide. He wanted to crawl into the dark, curl up in the shadows, and stay there forever. Away from you. Away from the good thing that he ruined. His fingers try to find purchase on something, anything, to grab and pull and break. “Wrong, wrong, wrong—”

“Moon…!”

He feels your fingers curl in the thin fabric of his neck ruffles—and then you yank.

The kiss is clumsy, teeth clicking against teeth as your lips smash against his plastic smile.

Everything in him screeches to a violent, almost painful halt. You’re kissing him.

And you keep kissing him.

Every kiss is hard and passionate, lips moving across his face as far as you can get to, standing on your tiptoes. He feels you stumble a little as you lean up into him, and his hands instinctively land on your waist to help you keep your balance.

“Wait, we can’t—”

“Sit.” You command.

He sits, following your will like the loyal, obedient dog that he is. He can see the chair he knocked over in front of him, sitting in what was your seat, but that view is quickly blocked when you climb into his lap. Your hands are trembling as they cup the sides of his face.

For a moment, your mouth opens and closes. Your brow furrows. You look like you want to say something, but no words come out.

So instead, you lean in and kiss him again.

And he lets you. He holds your tiny waist in his hands and leans into your touch, allowing the chaos filling his mind to simply melt away as you pepper kisses across his face.

Cheeks, nose, forehead, smile, eyebrows, chin. Back and forth and up and down and over and over—every kiss has his head spinning.

One of his large, metal hands come up to cradle the back of your head, urging you even closer. His fingers thread tenderly through your hair. Amongst the chaos, your hat is knocked free, falling to the wayside.

The heat of your body burns so hot through the thin fabric of your tank-top, and with the other hand, he gently squeezes the flesh of your side. A part of him wants to slide his fingers lower, to dip his hand beneath the shirt to feel the soft skin beneath.

It’s hot, it’s hot, it’s so hot he can’t stand it—

But then he feels your tongue slide across the thin curve of his lower lip, and he jerks back in shock. The thin line of saliva connecting your lips to his snaps.

“I, uh—ha..ha-ha…” You laugh a little as you rush to stand, quickly reaching up to wipe the drool from your mouth. Your lips are bruised red and a little puffy, cheeks flushed a pretty pink color. “Sorry, I-I got a little…uh, carried away.”

“Naughty.” Moon purrs, wagging a finger at you playfully. “Naughty boy.”

He feels so light and…and happy. That’s the only way he can put the bubbly, buzzy, excited feeling running all through his body. He’s happy.

“Was that…was that okay? That I…did…that?”” You can hardly look at him, eyes darting back-and-forth. He can feel you starting to pull back slightly, and his fingers curl possessively over the curve of your hip, keeping you tethered.

“…Maybe.” He muses, head cocking to the side. “Maybe not.”

“Oh.” Your face falls.

“Maybe you should…do it again.” His head tilted to the other side. “To make sure.”

He can’t help but giggle when obvious relief washes over your face.

“You…” Again, your lips move, not quite forming around words, like whatever you’re trying to say won’t quite come out. You settle with an awkward, lopsided smile. “So, it is okay? That I kissed you?”

Moon nodded, swaying lightly in his seat. “Yes. It’s…okay.”

He really wishes you would do it again.

“Okay. Okay! Good. I-I’m…yeah.” You laugh nervously, your cheeks still stained pink. Your grin stretches from ear-to-ear. Then you look up at him, and your expression morphs into an apologetic smirk.

“Cause now I’ve gotta clean your face off again.”

He stops swaying.

“Ah….” Moon can’t stop the little unhappy grunt that escapes him. He can still feel the sensation of each kiss buzzing against his metal skin. “Do you have to?”

“Yes, Moon, I have to.” You chuckle again, once more reaching for the cleaning supplies. “You can’t walk around with drool all over your face.”

“I’ve done it before.”

You fix him with a look. “You can’t walk around with MY drool all over your face.”

“Boo.” He crossed his arms, slumping back in a dramatic pout. His hat slumped over his face, the bell jingling as it bounced off his nose. “You’re no fun.”

A little whistle of air escapes your nose as you settled the other chair in front of him, scooting forward until your knees were touching. You reach up, gently moving the bell back over the curve of his head and beckoned him forward.

Moon, of course, leans into your hand without hesitation.

And so, you resume where you’d left off, with you gently wiping away the remnants of your improvised make-out session.

“So. Um.” Your voice cracks a little. “Are we, like…I mean. Do you…like…me?”

“Yes.” He says simply.

“No, I mean. Uh.” You suck in a shaky breath, still struggling to look him in the eye. “Like…like-like. Do you like me. In “that” way? Like—like “that”?”

He’s not sure how he didn’t make that clear. He thought that he had.

But you look like you want to sink into the earth right now, so he can’t help but tease you a little bit.

“Maybe.” Moon crooned, daintily folding his hands between his knees and swaying side-to-side. “Do you like-like me?”

He can hear the breath catch in your throat, and you look away quickly, face flushing an even deeper shade of red.

So very cute.

“Y-Yeah. I do. A lot.” You inhale slowly, forcing your eyes to meet with his. “I-I care about you, a lot, Moon. You’re…you’re my best friend and I…I like you. A lot.”

He stops swaying (again).

“Hm. Good.”

Before you can react, he leans forward to gently bump his smile against your forehead. You, of course, stare at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape.

“I like you…too.”

For a second, you look like you’re thinking about saying something—and Moon simply giggles when you lean in to kiss him again.

Maybe, if he asks nicely, he can keep this one.

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aishangotome · 4 months ago

Text

Azel Radwan: Dramatic Ending Epilogue

Dramatic Ending Ch. 25 His Side Story

Thank you @passthechloroform for providing the video for this chapter!

Tanzanite, with its god gone, did not change overnight.

People still revered Azel, and the markets were lined with commemorative coins and statues of him.

But to say that nothing had changed would also be untrue.

Before, every three steps you took in the city would lead you to a divination shop, but now their numbers had dwindled.

Instead, you could stumble upon bookstores, which had been impossible to find before, no matter how much you wandered around.

(Just as the letter said…)

(Tanzanite now presents a golden opportunity for booksellers to expand their market.)

*flashback*

Akatsuki: You want to do business in Tanzanite?

Emma: Yes. I thought that if we open a sales channel now, we might be able to establish a Tanzanite branch eventually.

Emma: Wouldn’t it be easier for the Owner, who travels to every country on the continent, to operate with several bases?

Akatsuki: …That makes sense.

Emma: Right? Actually, it seems Tanzanite is making a national effort to attract booksellers…

Emma: I think it’s a good opportunity to make a lot of money.

Akatsuki: Do you want to go?

Emma: If you’ll allow it.

Akatsuki: I’ll allow the business.

Emma: …!

Akatsuki: But, I won’t allow any unhealthy relationships before marriage.

Emma: Wh-What do you mean?

Akatsuki: Your objective is the dead god.

Akatsuki: He even sends you letters every time. How unsightly.

Emma: …Then, would you allow a healthy relationship?

Akatsuki: …

Akatsuki: If anything happens to you, I’ll kill that god.

*flashback over*

(I can’t tell the Owner about that night, not even if my mouth is torn apart.)

Just remembering it made me blush, and I shook my head as if to dispel those thoughts.

My objective today was market research –– to assess the demand and see what kind of books were needed. That was my job.

(Huh? There’s a crowd over there.)

(It doesn’t seem to be related to bookstores, but this is also part of market research.)

(I might be able to learn about the current trends in Tanzanite, so let’s go.)

I never imagined that my casual decision to join the crowd out of curiosity would ––

––lead to a tragedy later on.

Azel: …And?

Emma: …It was a soap shop.

Emma: They sell soap made by a famous perfumer, and it seems to have a reputation for smelling very good.

Emma: I thought I’d like to try it too… so I reached for it.

Azel: There must have been other selling points besides it smelling good.

Emma: ………… That it can captivate the person you’re interested in.

Azel: Sigh… Why do you fall for such obvious traps?

Emma: Because I wouldn’t think something like that would be sold openly in the city!

(This sense of déjà vu… I remember this.)

When I used the soap I bought at the market in the bath, my body started to feel strange by the time I got out.

The enchantingly pleasant scent gradually induced a feverish heat, making my skin unbearably sensitive.

The mere rubbing of my negligee against my skin made my stomach tingle strangely, and my heart pounded like a drum.

I felt like I could faint from shame at any moment.

Azel: Listen, Tanzanite is famous for its songs, dances, and harem.

Azel: It’s not uncommon for people from the harem to sell shady goods in the city to earn some extra money.

Emma: …I didn’t know that.

Azel: Think of “captivating the person you’re interested in” as a catchphrase for aphrodisiacs. It was a good lesson, wasn’t it?

(I never thought I’d experience this feeling again.)

The effects of this aphrodisiac seemed to be even stronger than the perfume mixed with the aphrodisiac ingredients from last time, and if I let my guard down, indecent sounds would escape my lips.

(…I want to cry…)

Azel: Hey, don't make that face like you're about to cry.

Azel: The quickest way to get rid of an aphrodisiac is–

*flashback*

Azel: In reality, an aphrodisiac will naturally leave your system with time.

Azel: All you can do is sleep or distract yourself, those are your two options.

*flashback over*

(I’ll just hide in the kitchen like last time, that’s what I’ll do.)

(I can’t let Azel see my unsightly behavior.)

In the middle of his lecture, I turned my back on him and reached for the door as if to escape.

Azel: Where are you going?

Emma: To cook.

Azel: Huh?

Emma: I’m going to cool my head, so please don’t mind me and go to sleep, Prince Azel.

Emma: Good night!

Emma: …Why are you following me!?

Azel: …I’m not following you. I’m thirsty.

Azel, who had followed me to the kitchen without a care in the world, poured water into a ceramic cup, just as he had said.

Even after taking a sip and wetting his throat, he showed no sign of leaving.

Azel: Do you want some too?

Emma: …

(Last time, you confined me here and left on your own.)

(…Thinking about it now, that was probably an act of mercy to prevent anyone from seeing my embarrassing behavior.)

(I’d like you to show me the same mercy this time…)

Azel: What is it? You’ve been staring at me.

Emma: You know what I want to say, right?

Azel: Not at all.

Emma: Leave me alone.

Azel: This is my castle.

Emma: Are you okay with being attacked by me?

I tried to push Azel out of the kitchen, but–

(H-He won’t budge…!)

He looked at me with a mixture of amusement and pity.

Azel: What are you doing?

Emma: You wicked god– Ah, no, you’re not a god anymore.

Emma: Um… Wicked person!

Azel: Congratulations on increasing your debt through insults.

Emma: …I understand. You don’t want tomorrow’s meal, then. It was going to be a special dish with meat.

Azel: If that’s what you wish, I’ll obediently return to my room. Goodbye.

(This tactic was the most effective after all.)

Azel briskly headed for the exit, but he turned around before leaving the kitchen.

Azel: However, you should know what an aphrodisiac is.

Azel: It’s actually easier to let it out than to endure it.

(…I know.)

My body, forcibly heated by the aphrodisiac, was aching to the point that I wanted to scratch it, and I unconsciously followed Azel's hand with my eyes.

(If I could just have his hand touch me…)

I slapped my cheeks with both hands as if to resist the temptation and shook my head.

Emma: Thank you for your concern. But I’m fine.

Azel: Why are you so stubborn?

Azel: We’ve already crossed the line.

Emma: …That’s true, but…

Emma: If you touch me like that night, I’ll probably become a mess.

Azel: It might be a good lesson.

Emma: …If Prince Azel were to hate me, I wouldn’t be able to recover.

Azel: Why would that happen?

(Because…)

Emma: You don’t have good memories of aphrodisiacs, do you?

*flashback*

Emma: In the first place, I’ve never used or even seen an aphrodisiac, so I don’t know what it’s like…

Azel: Huh? You’ve never seen one in your life?

Emma: Of course not!

Azel: There are people like that?

*flashback over*

(Because of his position as God, people around Azel-sama tried every trick in the book to get him interested in women.)

(I’ve never asked for details, but I’m sure he’s been tormented by unwanted aphrodisiacs.)

Azel: …Indeed, as you said, I’ve been through a lot with aphrodisiacs.

Azel: I have nothing but unpleasant memories of being forced to watch women lose control in front of me.

Emma: Then–

Azel: But you’re not…

Azel: …

Emma: …Prince Azel?

Azel: ..............

Azel: I hate being attacked.

Emma: I think anyone would.

Azel: That’s right. So I came up with a great idea.

(Huh, the atmosphere suddenly became ominous.)

Even though he was supposed to be heading outside, Azel came back to me for some reason.

When I casually tried to move away, he wrapped his arms around my waist.

Emma: Ah…

An unfamiliar sensation set my entire body ablaze with shame, and I reflexively pushed back against his chest.

But instead of moving away, Azel brought his lips to my ear and breathed a sigh.

Azel: It’s fine to attack before you’re attacked, like this.

Emma: That’s not good, not good at all… Mm!

My ear was nibbled, and indecent gasps melted into the kitchen air.

Emma: No… This really… won’t end well… so… Ah.

The hand that had been resting on my waist slid down and slipped between my legs, along with my negligee.

With just a light touch, my vision went white, and my body trembled as my strength gave out.

Azel: How could you say you were fine in this state?

Azel lifted me up as I collapsed on the floor.

Emma: …I could… evaporate from embarrassment right now…

Azel: If you haven’t evaporated yet, you’ll be fine.

Azel carried me outside and headed for his room with quick steps.

Even the wind that enveloped my body brought me slight pleasure, and I felt a sensation of honey dripping from my lower abdomen.

Emma: ………… Prince Azel.

Azel: It’s not unpleasant or uncomfortable.

Azel: …You’re different from other women.

Just as he said, Azel didn’t seem uncomfortable at all. In fact, his slightly unfocused gaze seemed to reveal his true feelings.

Azel: I can stop if you’re seriously against it.

(Honestly, I’m scared… but…)

(…If… Azel… doesn’t mind…)

I grabbed Azel's clothes and exhaled as if to release the intense heat within me.

Emma: …Touch… me… please…

As soon as we returned to the room, Azel stripped me of my negligee and sat me on the bed, embracing me from behind.

Emma: Gasp... Ah...

The mere act of his palm cupping my breast sent a jolt through my core, and when he pressed against my hardened nipple, my vision blurred to white.

Each time his lips grazed my ear, a sweet nectar overflowed in response, and my whole body trembled as his finger, coated with it, slipped inside me.

Even after all this, the aphrodisiac still lingered in my body, and my hips moved involuntarily, matching the rhythm of his finger swirling within me.

Emma: Nn... ...Aah...

Azel effortlessly supported me as I slumped against him, limp.

Azel: Are you alive?

Emma: Barely... alive...

Azel: That's good to hear.

Azel: Learn from this and never touch those "captivate your beloved" concoctions again.

Azel: Besides, even without using such things––

Azel: ...

Emma: ...Even without?

Azel: Why are you so focused on that part?

Emma: Nn...! Don't touch me th-there... aaah!

He hooked a finger around the sensitive swell, now slick with nectar, and another burst of wicked pleasure exploded from my core.

My breath hitched, hot and ragged, and my consciousness almost drifted off into a dream.

Azel: You make that kind of face too, huh?

Azel: ...I feel like I'm the one who's been ravished, even though I'm the one who attacked you.

(I'm... too scared to ask what kind of face I'm making... but...)

Azel's expression as he gazed at me was so alluring it made my heart ache.

That unexpected, worldly expression, so far removed from his usual sanctity—

Our eyes met, and our lips found each other as if drawn together by an invisible force.

(I've had enough of aphrodisiacs... )

(But if it means I can see that look on your face when you desire me... maybe it's not all bad.)

---

(Suspicious Solicitation)

※ This letter has been sent to all booksellers ※

In Tanzanite, a city overflowing with tourist attractions, bookstores are opening one after another.

With the decline of divination, once a symbolic industry of the nation, the demand for knowledge is on the rise.

Furthermore, the nation is currently offering generous support to foreign booksellers, allowing you to start your business immediately.

Tanzanite is now a dreamland where anyone with the skills of a bookseller can easily become a business owner – an opportunity no one in the trade would want to miss.

So, what do you think? It's piqued your interest, hasn't it? It would be a shame to let this big-money chance slip away.

We are currently offering passage to Tanzanite at a special price.

If you are interested in visiting, please contact us at the address below.

P.S. This letter has been sent to all booksellers. Don't try to investigate this offer with your colleagues out of suspicion.

Also, we don't particularly need you to come quickly, nor do we necessarily want a reply.

Don't misunderstand... Absolutely do not misunderstand.

Azel Radwan

FIN

Both Endings Epilogue

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alienseasfanfics · 1 month ago

Text

Friction - Part 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: When you're targeted by a violent stalker, Sam Wilson hires Bucky Barnes to guard you in an isolated safe house. This causes tension as you both get on each others nerves in an increasingly dangerous situation. But, you slowly come to realize you're more alike than you thought. Will it be too late when you finally let yourself trust him?

Word Count (for Part 1): 2.3k

Tags: Slowburn, reluctant attraction, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, bodyguard, hired to protect, fluff and angst, nightmares and comfort, eventual smut, reluctant attraction.

T/W: Some non-graphic depictions of violence, guns, eventual smut.

A/N: Hello. This will be just a few parts. I'm envisioning 5. Who knows though. Will be posted on my AO3 as well (linked here). Also, feel free to send short one-shot requests. I may not answer them all but if one inspires me, I'll write. Enjoy!

“If you keep staring at me, I’m going to sprint down the hill into oncoming traffic.”

“There is no oncoming traffic.”

“I’ll keep running until I find some.”

“Good luck.”

“Shut up.” You mutter, taking another swig of your coffee. Bucky Dumbass Barnes leans against the porch railing, watching you. You flip him off and he rolls his eyes, looking instead at the dirt road ahead.

The day is calm and cicadas are buzzing loudly. You draw your knees up to your chest as you watch the wind play with the grass, making it flatten and swirl into ever-changing circles.

It’s so incredibly boring out here, away from the city. There’s no coffee shops, or long walks down busy streets, or movie theatres. The lack of movie theatres hurts the most. All you want to do is sit with people, too many people, anonymously sharing a laugh or a cry in a dark room. Free people don’t appreciate the amount of community that is shared within the walls of a theatre. The insight gleaned from hearing their murmurs to their friends about the attractiveness of the actors or the stupidity of the dialogue. You miss connecting with them and feeling, finally, like one of them. Anonymously. With the ability to leave afterwards, free to go about your business.

But now, all you do is watch the grass as Bucky watches you. Solely because of one stupid person with an obsession.

You chug the rest of your coffee and get up, limping past Bucky and letting the screen door slam behind you. He huffs, but you couldn’t care less.

The safe house has a rudimentary kitchen. Though, fancier than your own due to the coffee machine Sam brought as an apology for forcing you here. As you start another cup of coffee, you tap the counter with a finger. Sam said this would only be for a month. Just until they found out how He was tracking you. Then you could go back to your blissful anonymity in New York.

That is, if they could even find who He is.

That’s the flip side of the coin. You can disappear, until someone wants to find you. Then, it’s all that much easier for them to never appear to you at all, except when they want to. The little voice in the back of your head whispers his name to you, but you close your eyes and silence it. He’s gone. He must be.

The coffee drips from the machine. It’s been overworked the past two weeks, both from you trying to cling on to whatever sense of normalcy you’ve cultivated outside of this house, and from Bucky trying to stay awake.

How long did Bucky say he was going to stay here for? Couldn’t have been more than a month. He’s always been sick of you within the hour in past missions. It’s a miracle he’s still around two weeks in. Once he’s decided he’s done, you can go back. Or when whatever Sam bribed him with is gone. And then, who else does Sam trust enough to know where the safe house is? He barely let you know. You’ll be going back in no time.

Sure, there’s a homicidal maniac after you, leaving traps that have caught you twice already and broken your leg both times, but now that you know his M.O. you can catch him. You’ve handled yourself before, who’s to say you can’t again?

The coffee machine beeps, and you take a sip from the cup. Your bad leg twinges, angry at supporting you for this long, and you grit your teeth. Your own body doesn’t believe in you. That’s a tough pill to swallow.

The screen door slams again as Bucky comes inside.

“There’s no more coffee.” You mutter, and he reaches into the cupboard by the door and pulls out a bag. Opening it, he comes over to the machine to refill, and you move gingerly out of the way. He doesn’t notice, or care, and continues.

“This is the last bag, though. We’ll have to go into town to get more.” He says to the coffee machine.

“I don’t think it’ll answer you.” You say.

“You don’t want me looking at you. I’m happy to grant that request.”

“I don’t want you watching me. That’s very different.”

“You’ll have to get used to me doing that.”

“Not for much longer.”

“Thank god. You’re the most irritating woman I’ve ever met. I don’t know who’s stalking you, but it must be the only person in the world who could put up with your bullshit.”

“At least someone can put up with mine. I don’t think anyone can handle this long with you.”

“I’m okay with not having a psycho leaving bombs on my doorstep.”

“My balcony. He left them on my balcony.”

“Touchey. Or however the fuck you say it.”

“Touché.”

He rolls his eyes, not answering you and instead methodically glancing over the sparse living room. After two weeks you know what he looks at. The boarded up back door, the windows with trip-wires stretched across the sills, the cameras blinking red and pointed at every egress point. If he wasn’t such an ass, you’d be impressed by the level of care he’s putting into his job. You know it’s just about the money, though. Money that’s quickly running out.

“How much did Sam pay for?”

“Coffee? Two months supply. You’ve been drinking it like the damned Energizer bunny, though.”

“No, your money. For your ‘services’, or whatever you call the peeping tom bullshit.”

He closes his eyes and sets his jaw. His neck muscle flexes beneath his collar. You’d think it was attractive if it wasn’t his jaw.

“That was one time. I knocked, and you didn’t answer. I told you to always answer. I didn’t ‘peep’ at anything, anyway.” He finally says after a minute of counting.

“You’re not my keeper.”

“For the next two weeks, I am. And then it some other poor idiots job to watch you.”

That makes you freeze, putting your coffee down.

“What?” You say, and he glances over at you.

“What, you want me to stay now?”

“No! What do you mean someone else will be watching me?”

“Well, if Sam and them don’t find Him, you’ll still need to stay here.” He’s talking slowly, as if talking to a particularly dumb child.

“That wasn’t the agreement. Sam said a month.”

“You’ll have to take that up with Sam. Besides, you want to go back there? Back to your apartment, that He knows about? Hell, He knows the security camera blindspots. And you want to waltz back in like everything is fine?” Now, he’s looking at you. You really hate it when he does that. He seems to always be studying you, picking you apart with his ice-cold eyes. It makes your heart jump into your throat.

You break the eye contact by looking into your coffee.

“I just want to go home.” You finally say into its dregs. You swallow the rest of it, putting it on the counter harder than you meant to. “I’m taking a shower. Try not to come in, weirdo.”

“Easy enough.” He mutters as you walk up the stairs.

- - -

That night, you’re running.

You don’t need to look behind you to know He’s there. You’re barefoot again, running on the rough cement of the lab, scraping your bare skin against the walls as you round the corners of the never-ending basement prison. The burn from your wounds is nothing to the one in your head. It’s making your vision blurry and your eyes red-hot, and you know he’s closing in on you.

Sprinting now, the lights behind you close one by one with an electric thud, like a giants footsteps getting closer to stomping on you by the second.

Thud. You’re blinking back fire. Thud. Your heart is giving out.

Thud. You can feel his breath on the back of your neck, sending chills down your spine as he finally-

Crash. You startle awake, a scream still ripping through your throat. You grab the closest thing to you -another coffee cup- and throw it towards the door that just smashed open. It narrowly misses a barely clothed Bucky as he ducks backward.

“Fuck!” He shouts, “Don’t surprise the guy with a gun! Gun safety 101!”

You notice now that he is holding one, its metal nose glinting off the moonlight coming through the bent blinds. His steel fingers share the same gleam.

“Don’t break into a sleeping woman’s room!” Is the only thing you can manage to yell back, turning away from him to wipe hot tears from your face quickly.

“I think the fact you were screaming loud enough to wake the dead is reason enough to come in here! I told you to not lock this door, by the way, so the whole breaking and entering thing is your fault.” He barks.

“Shut up, Bucky.” You whisper.

“Is someone in here? Why were you screaming?” The floor creaks under him as he steps into the room, looking around the corners.

“No one is in here, just go back to bed.” You’re gripping the mattress now, trying to calm down. He’s not making it any easier as he stops to stand behind you. There’s a soft ting of a bullet hitting the ground as he uncocks the gun, but he doesn’t leave.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Yes I did.”

“There were two questions.”

“I’m glad you know how to count.” You need to breathe. 1, 2, 3- shit. 1, 2- shit! Do you know how to count?

He’s quiet for a moment, and you almost think he’s left until he speaks again.

“Why do you insist on being so difficult?”

“Because I need to be.” You say breathlessly. Running a hand through your hair you stand up shakily, moving around the bed and going to the door. He’s standing in front of the doorway, not moving. In the dim light of the moon, the only part of him not shrouded in shadow is his metal arm. You try to avoid looking at it, knowing somewhere deep down that he hides it from you for a reason, with long sleeves even in the harshest sunlight. But the only other place to look is his chest or his face, which makes your cheeks feel hot even now. You settle on looking down at the bullet on the ground between you both.

“I need some water.” You murmur after a moment of him staring down at you.

“You need to answer me.”

“Please, Bucky.” You plead. Your defences fall for just a moment, but your lungs are starting to collapse. The world is starting to swim, and you’re not sure if its panic, tears, or the pain in your leg screaming at you to sit back down. Whichever one, you really don’t want Bucky to see it.

“Go back in bed. I’ll get it for you.” His voice is calm now. Quieter. Exhausted, the only answer you can manage is a nod, doing as you’re told and laying back down. You stare at the crack in the blinds and try to blink away tears as you listen to him rummaging in the kitchen.

He comes back too soon. He sets the glass on the nightstand behind you, but you don’t hear him leave. Sighing, you turn around, and finally look at him in the face.

His eyebrows are knit together, and as he looks at you, you can feel him studying you again. This time your stomach flutters.

You break eye contact again, sitting up and sipping the water quietly.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

“Sorry for crashing in.”

“Sorry for screaming.”

“Not for the coffee mug?”

“I’ve been wanting to do that.”

You flick your eyes up at him, and you think for a moment you see a smile, but it quickly falls away once he looks in your eyes. You both look at each other for a second, two, three, before its his turn to break contact. He runs his metal hand through his tousled hair, glancing down at his gun, the bed, the window, anywhere but you.

“When I, hmm.” He takes a deep breath. “When I have a bad night, I have to ground myself.”

“Ground yourself? Like a naughty kid?”

“No.” He pinches the skin between his eyes. “My senses. Y’know. Five things I see, three things I hear, one thing I feel. Until I calm down.”

“Oh.”

“Are you still on edge?” He glances down at your free hand gripping the mattress. You loosen it.

“I guess.”

“Do you want me to stay in here?”

“What?”

“Do you want me to stay in here. To...watch over you.” He’s still looking away from you.

“Aren’t you already doing that? Hence the gun?”

He rolls his eyes.

“If you don’t want me to, I’ll just-”

“Yeah. If you can. Stay here, that is.” The permission comes from a part of you that you’ve shoved down. Or thought you shoved down. Now, it’s speaking from the middle of your throat, stealing any breath you have with it.

He finally looks at you again, then slowly nods.

“Okay. I can. Let me grab a blanket.” He walks out of the room, and you’re finally able to breathe again.

Laying back down, you try to ground yourself. You see the armchair across from the foot of your bed, the window, the bent blinds, the broken patch of ceiling above you, the barely touched glass of water on the nightstand. You hear the croon of an owl outside, the orchestra of a grasshopper, the creak of the floorboards as Bucky comes back in. Closing your eyes, you try to focus on sleep.

You feel Bucky’s warm hand brushing against your skin as he pulls your blanket up to cover you, leaving you cold when he moves away.

Your muscles relax as you hear him settle into the armchair. Inexcusably, your brain tells you, he calms you. Happily, your heart slows, letting you fall into a dreamless sleep.

#james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #enemies to lovers #nightmare and comfort #fluff and angst #james buchanan barnes #slow burn #fighting as flirting #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan #james bucky buchanan barnes #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x you #eventual smut #eventual romance #stalker #cute

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my-darling-boy · 19 days ago

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Hey bb, I am in need of costume help! I am searching for some long bloomers for a photoshoot. I'm gonna make my guy friend wear armor, bloomers and put on lipstick. It's gonna be great, I just don't know what the correct name of long bloomers would be? Or where to find them for men. He's a long boy (for context).

Hi! Sounds like a fun shoot! Undergarment terms are confusing but you’ve a few options to look up! (Note: I’m not sure if you’re looking for something medieval as per the armour or something around the time of bloomers so I’ll just yap and hopefully something helps)

“Bloomers” is a specifically Victorian-era coined word and garment but probably refers to the thing you have in mind, and probably the only thing Etsy or google will recognise to show you results. It’s complicated, but bloomers weren’t necessarily ladies “underpants” in the way we’d understand them. They were initially more akin to long, ballooned trousers and gathered at the ankle, meant to be visible below a dress or otherwise. As time went on, it started to refer to any ballooned trouser-like women’s garment that ended somewhere between the knee and ankle. Because of this, some drawers (rightmost photo) were referred to as bloomers no matter if plain or frilly/embroidered simply because they were puffy even if they weren’t worn exposed. The important difference is that Bloomers in the trouser sense were a fashion response in the fight for women’s rights, the term Bloomer came from their eventual association with the Victorian social advocate Amelia Bloomer.

They were different from pantaloons. Pantaloons were an early 19th c. men’s item, longer, and figure hugging ending at about the ankle and they replaced 18th c. breeches which fastened just below the knee (Left pic: breeches, right pic: pantaloons). Funnily enough, when searching images of “pantaloons” you’ll get a variety of women’s Victorian and Edwardian drawers, but pantaloons are the men’s garment, I’m not sure why it’s also used to refer to women’s underpants now.

Pantalettes were a type of women’s undergarment meant to be slightly seen and are generally slimmer and less balloony than bloomers (which didn’t technically exist yet) and were lightly frilled/embroidered and usually reached about the mid calf or ankle. Though their origins are quite old, they were most prevalent in the early-mid 19th century, stayed a bit longer for children’s fashion, then kinda fell out of fashion, not that any trouser-like underpants were popular and widely accepted with western women’s fashion to begin with. (Pantalettes below)

Then you have the word “drawers” which sort of refers to any period underpants in general. For women, drawers used to be just a fairly plain linen or cotton pair of short trousers starting somewhere in the 14th-15th c. but were also not widely adopted outside of specific regions, modesty occasions, or sport until the late 19th century, until they eventually became a staple for Edwardian women’s undergarments and became quite frilly in French designs. The term now loosely encompasses any women’s long underpants, so both bloomers and pantalettes and a variety of other underpants are all “drawers”. A lot of women’s drawers were also split-crotch, you didn’t tend to see them completely sewn closed as it made it easier to use the toilet.

I know I’ve referenced mainly women’s clothes here but there are some men’s clothing that has a slightly similar look to Victorian drawers. A basic pair of linen or cotton open leg drawers would suffice, you might look at 18th c. Western European underpants that looked very similar to drawstring linen breeches. If you want something more medieval to compliment the armour, I might also suggest Braies which were essentially just lower waisted breeches (Braies below)

Point is, because of the overlap and appearance, you’ll see bloomers that are technically pantalettes, pantalettes labelled as pantaloons, drawers that are bloomers, it’s all a bit confusing, but I hope that narrows down what you might be looking for.

As for where to find any of these for someone very tall, your best bet might be to get your hands on a pattern for Victorian drawers (I’ve seen some off Etsy or EBay) and see if it’s possible to attach the split legs if it has them and allow for some extra length in the legs for height as they may end more at the knees on a tall person rather than the mid calves. Or have a look about medieval reproduction sites for the Braies style. The good news is that because drawers are basically just plain pants made from white fabric, they’re quite a simple thing to cobble together and have it still be clear it’s old drawers.

Best of luck to your photoshoot!

#asks #historical clothing #costuming

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dixonsstinkysock · 1 month ago

Text

I was born to tell stories.

summary - you’ve had enough, it’s time your father opens his eyes…or atleast try to see things from your perspective. What will it take?

pairing - john shelby x eldestdaughter!reader

warnings - mention of sickness and death

notes - I want him but at the same time I want him to be my father…idk yall. I don’t know anything about sickness so don’t @ me

main masterlist | peaky blinders masterlist

Today was like the rest of them, if you didn’t fall asleep for a good three hours you would’ve never known it was the next day. They all seem to melt together. Taking care of four young children was no easy feat for a 17 year old, especially with them being your siblings. It’s like the bastards have some personal vendetta against you, except Katie. Like you she had to grow up as well, taking care of the other three if you were sick.

You’re 18th is coming up soon and you feel closer to 30 with the way you run the house. Your father is almost never seen, coming in at the later hours and leaving at the ass crack of dawn, before everyone else. You understand why he does what he does but sometimes you wish he would just stay and take care of all of you—or at least check in on how you’re doing—for one day.

Enough sulking. You have children to bathe, dress, and feed. Getting dressed and throwing your hair up, you make your way downstairs. Luckily no one else is up yet which gives you some alone time while making breakfast.

Eggs and…bread. Again. You’ll have to make a trip to the market soon, hopefully catch Dad sooner rather than later as well, your money stash is running low. Speaking of running low, there’s only enough for the younger four, you’ll have to eat their leftovers again. Either that or call your Great Aunt Polly…No way. You’ll be fine for a day, just stay up a bit later than usual, ask your Dad for some coin. One by one your siblings started making their way downstairs, sitting at their usual seat at the dining table and eating breakfast.

“It’s not much…I’ll have to make a trip to the market tomorrow. Is there anything special you all want?” You ask as you sit down with them, taking this chance to relax before everyone starts to get rowdy.

“Can we come with you this time?” The youngest of the five siblings ask, completely disregarding their fork and eating the eggs with their hands. “Uh…I don’t think so, not this time. You’ll have to stay with Aunt Polly”

“Can you buy an apple?”

“Can we get a cake this time?!”

“It better be Chocolate cake—“

“Ew! No way, Vanilla cake!”

Blocking out their arguments has gotten easier and easier recently, maybe because they bicker so much you have endless practice.

As the day passed and the moon rised, all the children were fed and in bed. Aunt Pol cooked dinner for you all earlier, not unusual but she only cooked if she felt in the mood…or guilty. Laying on the couch in the living room, you open your book and continue where you left off, needing to catch your father before you went to sleep tonight.

——————————

The soft click of the front door opening is heard throughout the first floor. Your father stepping in softly as to avoid waking anyone up.

“Dad?” You sit up from the couch, your book discarded as you stared into the fire, wondering how much longer this will go on. “Y/N? What are you still doing up, hm?” John says as he hangs his hat and coat by the front door, making his way into the living room where you were still sat. The small fire heating up the room, a contrast to the cold air nipping at your nose just outside these four walls. “I told you don’t bother waiting up for me—“

“I needed too…” You cut him off “I need to make a trip to the market and I don’t have enough money.”

He takes a coin pouch from his suit pocket, tossing it to you as he sits in his chair. “I’ll be gone early again tomorrow, a few more things for your Uncle Tom and then I’ll be free, alright?” He grabs the whiskey bottle from beside the chair, a clean glass waiting for him as well, a routine you’ve started knowing he likes to drink down here when he comes home. “Right…” a comforting and at the same time uncomfortable silence blankets the room. It’s nice being in the company of your father but should you say anything? Start a conversation or leave him be? He’s probably exhausted, he barely sleeps anymore—at home at least.

You get lucky when your dad comes home empty handed, baby-wise. With whores left and right you are surprised you don’t have more siblings to take care of. Your dad has been in a real relationship with only two women—your mother, and your siblings mother, Martha.

Martha was sweet. She took care of you like her own, especially after your uncles and father left for war. It was rough then, worse when Martha fell ill. She was the only mother you’d known, your own passing while in labor with you. It destroyed you, the day your father came home was the first time you’ve ever seen him cry, made it feel like the world stopped. If Dad’s crying then it must all be over.

Eventually you all moved on, it was hell, taking over all the duties and responsibilities in the home at the young age of 15. Aunt Polly and Ada were always busy with the betting shop, something you were too young to work in, which automatically made you the “housewife”.

“When are you gonna come home, Dad?”

“What do you mean? I’m home now, aren’t I?” He sits up in his chair, taking a drink of amber liquid swirling around in the crystal glass. “I—I mean you’re never home anymore. We never see you—“

“You know why I’m not home, I’m working for Tommy.” You move the blanket off of you that you covered yourself with earlier, fully sitting up. All he does is work. You didn’t understand it, why have so many children if you didn’t even want them? “It’s not fair, Dad, I miss you…we all miss you.” He sighs, his hand resting on the table next to him.

“Life isn’t fair, angel.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes and standing from the couch. “That bullshit! You just don’t want to deal with us. Did you even want us from the first place?”

“Watch your language and you know I’m busy. I can’t be here to coddle you all, all the fookin’ time, Grow up!”

“Grow up?! Fuck you! I’ve done nothing but grow up.”

“Oi! Don’t speak to me that way, I’m still your bloody father—“ He stands from his chair, glass still in his hand, now meeting your voice level. “I didn’t ask for this! I can’t just leave whenever I want and enjoy my life—I had no choice!”

“You should be grateful! The only reason why you’re able to take care of your siblings is because I’m out there everyday busting my arse to keep this roof over our heads. To keep everyone alive!” You roll your eyes, deciding its best to just shut your mouth and let him have his way. You love your father but he can be one whiny cunt sometimes. He sits back down a few minutes after you do, the conversation obviously over. It feels like hours before he finally moves again.

John taking the last sip of his whiskey, stands, holding his hand out for you to grab. His hand is rough, something to be expected after doing dangerous work all day everyday. He leads you up to your room, sitting on the edge of your bed as you slip under your blankets. Pulling the blanket up to your chin, he presses a soft kiss against your forehead. “Been a while since I’ve tucked you into bed…you’re all grown up now.”

“Yeah..It’d be a lie to say I don’t miss it.”

“Hey…” His hand comes up to brush your hair back, settling next to you on the bed “I promise you won’t have to do this much longer, I’ll find you a mother—“

You sigh, looking away from him “Dad, I’ve told you. I don’t need a new mum.” You sit up “I’ve taken care of me and my siblings since Martha passed…we’ll be fine.”

“…Right, well, We should get some rest, yeah?” He stands, bidding you goodnight as he closes your bedroom door behind him, heading towards his own room.

——————————

It’s been about 5 weeks since you had that little chat with your dad, not having seen him since. The exhaustion and stress is catching up with you again, leaving you sick and bed bound. Only able to get to the restroom every once in a while. As usual when you’re sick Katie has to take over your jobs, bathing, dressing, and feeding the children. Aunt Polly has been bringing the kids to school and dropping them off at home. Your father no where to be seen around the house.

Sometimes you wonder if he knows anything about you falling sick. It’s been getting worse and coming more often recently, but he’s never said anything about it. Then again he hasn’t been around to say anything about it.

Tonight, Aunt Pol has the kids spending the night with her, finally letting you rest in silence and peace knowing they are taken care of. This bed feels disgusting and you need a change of scenery. You muster up the strength to bring yourself downstairs, laying on the couch infront of the fire. Warmth slowly covers your body as your eyes droop closed. You didn’t even hear the front door open and close.

Unlike you, Your father is having a good time, at the Garrison with your uncles and two whores hanging off him. The whiskey now sliding down his throat easily, the burn long gone. Alarms were set off in the three older brothers heads as their youngest brother bursts in the snug. Trying to catch his breath as he relays the message his aunt sent to them. “John—…Aunt Polly…(Y/N)—..needs you.”

“Calm down, Finn. Take a breather, yeah?” The eldest of the four pats the seat next to him as Tommy dismisses the girls, them leaving the snug. “Now tell us, what did Pol want?”

“(Y/N) has a bad fever, Aunt Pol is with her now—says it’s only getting worse and to come get John and a doctor.”

——————————

“Same thing Martha had…” Polly states as she wrings out the wet cloth, bringing it to your head. Everyone is gathered around you, Ada back at Polly’s keeping an eye on the kids. “…What?” Your father speaks up, not sure if he heard his Aunt right.

“I recognized these symptoms from somewhere. Martha had them, right before she passed.”

John lets out a deep breath, putting his head into his hands. The doctor left a while ago, not able to give a cure, only a “She’ll be lucky if she makes it through the night”. Maybe this is the punishment John was expecting. He always knew someone would punish him and his brothers for their actions. Their gambling, fighting, killing. Never did he think would they come after his baby, his first born.

“And there’s nothing we can do—“ Arthur puts a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder. “John…”

John shrugs it off, standing from his seat. “No—No. There’s got to be something, Pol…What about all that fookin’ gypsy magic you talk of, ey? Or is that just a bunch of shit too?!”

——————————

How can someone’s health deteriorate that quick, that bad? It’s been a week. John remembers it like yesterday. Every little sound, every smell, it all haunts him. He knew he was a bad man, maybe he deserved this. John hadn’t moved from the couch, the same couch you were sat on during your last argument with him. It replays in his head, day and night. That was the last time you two had really spent any time together.

He’s stalling. John is supposed to be gathering some of your things for your funeral, Tommy should be here any moment now. He needs to step up. He needs to become a father—to find a mother for his children. What about that Lizzie Stark?

“I’ve bit the hand of god, now he won’t feed me either.”

I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I get all my quotes from pinterest…teehee…

C U L8TER 💚

word count: 2057

#john shelby #john shelby x reader #john shelby x daughter!reader #john shelby x eldestdaughter!reader #peaky blinders netflix #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders x reader #ayce is cooking 𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋

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sleepnowmychild · 2 months ago

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Categorising/coining sleep related aesthetics

Note: I personally find the constant ‘-core-ifying’ of micro aesthetics kinda annoying since so many of them are basically the exact same thing and people end up feeling the need to completely dedicate themselves to one particular aesthetic and overconsume to fit it. BUT I do like how giving micro aesthetics a name creates keywords that allow you to find exactly what you’re looking for. So don’t take this post as me trying to force categories and stop people from finding their true likes and dislikes. This is just me giving names to/ identifying pre-existing sleep related aesthetics as both a Hypnos devotional act and to make identifying exactly what you’re looking for easier.

Let’s get started!

General sleep/sleepycore

Anything to do with sleep. The wider over arching umbrella for sleep related aesthetics.

Motifs:

Stars and moons

Night lights/ string lights

Matching pyjama sets

Bed socks

Pillows

Quilts and throw blankets

Plush fabric

Sleep masks

Sleepovers

Stuffed animals

Teddy print

Cute characters (Sanrio, miffy, Care Bears etc)

Slippers

Bed canopies and ruffles

Lullabies

Tea/hot chocolate/warm milk

Celestial/whimigoth

Whimigoth is a whole aesthetic and subculture in and of itself, but it does include some sleepy themes. It’s more a witchy/space themed aesthetic but its imagery can give off sleepy vibes too.

Motifs:

Dark colours

Stars/moons/suns

Witchcraft

Tarot

Cats

Candles

Crystals

Zodiacs and constellations

Night time

Nursery decor

A very childlike subset of sleepycore inspired by kids nurseries and storybooks.

Motifs:

Teddies, lambs, bunnies etc

Storybooks

Frills and lace

Knitted/crochet quilts and blankets

Glow in the dark stars

Onesies

Kids characters (Care Bears, Pooh Bear, Sanrio, miffy)

Warm milk/hot chocolate

Vintage bedroom

The older sibling to nursery decor, with vintage themes and childlike (although older than nursery age) themes.

Motifs:

Filly night gowns

Stuffed animals

Bed canopies

Vintage bed frames

Wall stickers of cute animals

Fairy lights or a cute lamp

Matching bedding sets

Bed ruffles

Slippers

And just for fun, let’s make one Hypnos centric!

I guess I’ll call it Hypnos’ domain. A mix of sleepy aesthetics that portray a slightly more regal/godly flare devoted to Hypnos.

Motifs:

Hypnos obvi

Nighttime

Big fancy beds with canopies and ruffles

Matching pyjama sets and masks

Wings

Sleep inducing flowers/herbs

Stars

Candles

Clouds

Stuffed animals

Tea

Darkness

Stacks of quilts/blankets and pillows.

Related aesthetics:

Dreamcore

Cuddle party

Space related aesthetics

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starfilmz · 8 months ago

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i can’t write rn bc writer’s block, but i can’t help but imagine trust fund baby!reader who’s friends with sam when he was in stanford.

i don’t know if trust fund baby is the right label to use but just imagine very rich reader unintentionally (and intentionally) spoiling sam to no end especially when they’re hanging out.

sam would’ve probably preferred hanging out in parks, arcades, diners, etc just simple places where he doesn’t have to spend much money, and you’re not one to complain, but you would pay for almost half (80% if sam wasn’t paying attention) of everything yall buy.

he was used to eating just so he wouldn’t starve to death so he’d only spend money on one meal and a soda, but ever since befriending you, every meal ends with desserts— sometimes shared or not, but since sam can’t stop your sweet tooth and he continuously refuses to let you spend money on him, he’ll let you by one for yourself and you’d always share with him!

arcades are ya’lls favorite spot for sureee. whenever yall are too into a game, sam would fail to notice when you’d spend money on tokens. it would be his turn to play and he won’t realize you’re gone until he finished a round, then he’d just see you carrying a whole bag of tokens.

“if we don’t run out of coins then i’ll have more chances to win,” you proudly say. sam rolls his eyes and grabs a handful from your bag. “or just more times you’ll lose!”

for crane games, when you’d want a stuffed toy so badly, you’ll say:

“what if i just buy the teddy bear?” sam laughs at your words, but he’ll soon learn you weren’t kidding when you somehow managed to convince one of the attendants to let you buy with actual money.

sam walks beside you, staring down on the bear plushie in your arms. “how much did you pay the guy?” you only give him a grin as a response.

drinks are always on your tab unless offered otherwise. sam will always offer, after every night out with you, to buy the both of you greasy food to avoid hangovers though. friday night, usually past midnight, would be the time you’d see yourself eating whatever burger sam ordered for you, sitting on a curb in front of the diner with him.

a few weeks before his law school interview, you offered (forced) sam to let you buy him a suit. when sam first showed you the the suit he planned to wear (which were the ones he’d always use when he pretend to be fbi but you don’t know that) and despite his explanation that a quick wash in the laundry and some ironing it’ll look better, you simply refused and brought him to your usual spot to buy fancy clothes.

“since he’s a bit tall, you’ll need to do a lot of adjustments with the suits.” the saleswoman explained. sam immediately had a worried expression at the thought of you spending even more money, but before he could argue, you would’ve already handed your card to the lady.

“do what you need to do, just make sure we’ll get them back in a week,” you said. you turned to see sam and you could only gave him a reassuring smile at his face. “this is the least i can do for you, sam. don’t fight it.”

in group works, your “friends” would suggest doing the work at your house since you supposedly had the biggest. you don’t keep your upbringing a secret to anyone, but sam can see how uncomfortable you’d be when other people would boast your wealth on your behalf.

“i think doing it in the library is fine,” sam would intervene in the conversation you were already zoning out on. “it’s easier to plan meetings, too.”

“but y/n’s house—“

“—has other people living there. we don’t know if y/n’s parents would agree to every schedule we have so let’s just do the work in the library, or anywhere in the campus.” sam’s hand would be on the small on your back after, as if reassuring you and bringing you back into the conversation when everyone was expecting your response.

you could only nod, eyes on him. “yeah, sam’s right. sorry.” but you still gave him a small smile which was enough for him to know you’re thankful for what he did.

#sam winchester #supernatural #spn #sam winchester x reader #supernatural x reader #spn x reader #jared padalecki #headcanons #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester fic #sam winchester x gn!reader #sam winchester fanfic #stanford!sam

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yggdrasilhypno · 1 year ago

Text

Come here to gamble your days away, huh?

Not to say that I can blame ya much, seems like about everyone comes in here hoping to score big on somethin’.

Lucky day for you though, I’ve been needing a new volunteer for our newest attraction.

You see, ol’ hoss upstairs has been wanting new games out on the floor. You know, to get the ol’ folks all riled up.

They want the new fancy shmancy stuff, meanwhile we’re a bit more old fashioned.

We like our classics.

And what’s more classic than a good game of cards?

Though, we run things a bit differently here, of course.

Instead of the simple blackjacks or pokers, we prefer the game we dub “Eyeball.”

Never heard of it? It’s easy, I’ll show ya.

All you gotta do is keep your eyes on the cards in front of you and bet on the one in my hand, that’s all it is to it.

Sounds like a magic trick, huh? Kinda is, I gotta admit.

But, whatever gets people through the doors, you know?

So then, let’s start easy. Heck, I’ll give ya a freebie round, just to learn.

Four cards here on the table.

Simple ones too.

We got an Ace of Spades, Ace of Clubs, Ace of Hearts, and Ace of Diamonds.

All you gotta do is watch this Ace of Clubs for me, gotcha?

Keep those eyes on the card, because now it’s going in my deck.

All four cards bein’ shifted around in my hands, keeping those pretty eyes on my Ace of Clubs.

Just keep those eyes on me here, darlin’.

Each card moving around blurrin’ just a bit more in your eyes.

It gets hard to keep track of after a while anyways.

Maybe it’s best if you sit still and really focus on your card.

After all, you gotta win, right?

You want that big payout.

And so, those eyes are just glued to the card, shiftin’ all round now.

And, boom. Here we are.

Four cards on the table. All flipped over.

Which one’s that Ace of Clubs, darlin?

Hard to remember? Come on, you can throw out a guess for me.

Tell you what, guess right and you get some chips, on me.

Just don’t tell my ol’ boss about this, you hear?

Alright, go right on ahead and choose.

Hey hey, you got it right.

Feels amazing when you get it right on the money, huh?

Like you’ve been rocked with endless euphoria under the warmest of suns?

Yeah, that’s the hit of a gambler, alright.

Tell you what, I’ll give you another round here.

But, I throw in the full deck, just so that you get all my rules. Deal?

Good to hear, partner. Let’s hit this one on the head then.

You’ll be looking for this exact Ace of Hearts.

Got your eyes glued on tight onto it?

Keep those eyes on it now.

We don’t want you losing any money now, do we?

Of course, your brain could think about that right now, but it’s too caught up focusing on my cards shuffling and shifting around in my hands.

It’s way easier to worry about which card is gonna make you a winner here, you know.

Keep those eyes on it as my hands go faster and that Ace of Hearts gets thrown around more and more.

My careful hands, seemingly teasing you with the way I’m pulling and pushing the card around in front of you, almost giving away the answer.

Right before i stop, just like that brain of yours.

Right in its tracks.

And I set the cards all down.

And we wait now.

Tell me what card’s yours, hotshot.

Hard to tell, ain’t it?

You know what? I’m a nice guy, we’ll just slide this one as a win for me and you can keep enjoying that nice feeling of nothin’ in your head.

Don’t worry, I’ll just take a few chips here and there while you keep watchin’ the pretty cards a-movin’.

After all, it’s a way better feeling knowing those chips are going right back to the hands that keep shuffling that ol’ brain around, right?

Exactly.

Speaking of that brain, I’m guessing you can hear the casino slowing down around us, huh?

The roulette wheel spinnin, much like that brain o’ yours going around and around, each thought being spun outta control with each game.

Maybe you can hear the slots spinning round and round too, seemingly mixing up your thoughts one by one.

The pretty coins coming out of the machine, shiny and distracting as that pure metal creates that cha-ching you can’t help but love.

Those sounds all creating that perfect atmosphere for a jackpot.

Ah, you felt that? Very good.

Whenever people hear jackpot, they get all antsy.

They can’t help but get excited and overjoyed for obvious reasons.

That payout coupled with all the flashing lights and pleasure that comes with is euphoric.

That’s why whenever I say jackpot, I like to put an emphasis on it.

To really get you to understand how lucky you are.

How lucky you are to be at my table.

How lucky you are for me to handle your chips here.

How lucky you are to be doing so well right now.

You’re on a hot streak, after all.

So keep watching the cards in my hand, shuffling your brain all around.

Scrambling your mind as only I can.

Looking for the cards I tell you to.

Already forgot your card? No problem at all, darlin’.

Just keep those eyes on the cards and no doubt you’ll find one you like.

You do want the jackpot, right?

You wanna win that big burst of pleasure?

Then all you gotta do is give me aaaaall those chips of yours.

Every one of your thoughts, in every one of those chips.

No need to think anymore when you have nothing to think about, right?

Then you can get back to being happy n’ hollow, just the way you should be.

After all, having all those chips is so stressful.

So many numbers and things to keep up with.

It’s better when my words are tellin’ ya what cards you need and what thoughts you think.

It’s better when you’re just watching the cards shuffle your brain all around, like a twister of bliss.

It’s better when you don’t have a single thing to worry about.

It’s better when you’re all out of chips, darlin’.

So why don’t we make a wager then?

All in for the jackpot. What do you say?

That’s what I like to hear.

So then, let’s see if you can find the Ace of Spades here.

Keep your eyes on the card and keep your mind off the game.

All those noises in the background just letting you go deeper into this state of pure bliss.

All you want is that jackpot.

That explosion of euphoria and pleasure.

And you’ll get it soon enough.

Just find me the Ace of Spades when I…

Stop.

And put down one card on the table.

Wanna tell me what it is, darlin’?

Right-o, Ace of Spades.

Jackpot.

Ride it out, feel that high hit your brain and let aaaaaall those thoughts go away.

All those chips go to me.

All your thoughts are mine.

And finally, that mind is all on me right now.

So then, wanna play a few more rounds?

#hypnosis #hypnok1nk #brainwashing #hypnodomme #hypnosub #hypnotized #mind control #brainless #covert hypnosis #casino series

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the-chosen-fanfiction · 2 months ago

Text

Andrew | Enough | Platonic

You get harassed due to your lack of interest in romance as a whole. Luckily, Andrew has your back.

Requested by Finn

Your eyes alternate between two different onions as you try to select the perfect one for the stew tonight. The merchant watches you with something akin to annoyance when you take longer than he’d have wanted for the amount of money you’re about to pay him. “You can just take them both, you know?” he suggests with a huff, “One onion more or less doesn’t make a difference.” You look down at the five others you’ve put in your basket and shrug, putting the one of your choosing on top of them as you hand back the vegetable you had not selected. With a sigh, the salesman puts the onion back with his other wares. “Have it your way.”

As you take your purse, he raises an eyebrow as he sees how hefty it looks. “That’s a lot of coin you’ve got on you, miss. Is your husband alright with that?”

“I don’t have a husband,” you deadpan.

“Maybe you should smile more, that might help.”

Your eyes shoot up to the man providing poor customer service. “Excuse me?”

“All I’m trying to do is help you. Men might find you more attractive if you smile at them.”

With a huff, you put a handful of coins onto the man’s counter and shove them his way, not caring about the fact that they roll around and threaten to fall off the other side of the table. “You know what? Keep the change.”

Annoyed, you walk away without wishing the man a good day as he watches you march off, thinking of you as rude. “So much for well-intended advice,” he calls after you, but you roll your eyes in response. If it had been meant in a positive way, he could have been more tactful about his phrasing.

What men like him tend to forget is that not every woman is interested in finding herself a spouse to build a family with. The concept of romantic love is simply not attractive to you, so why would you try to adhere to the standards of a society that deems it a woman’s duty to be pretty and charming for potential spouses? It just doesn’t feel like you, so there is no way that you are going to force yourself to act the way they want you to.

“You look like you’ve seen Quintus,” Andrew mutters with a playful glint in his eyes as he walks up to you, carefully putting a few eggs into the basket you’re carrying. You sigh, letting your face relax when you realise you must have been frowning.

“Ah, I’m fine. Just an annoying encounter with the merchant back at the vegetable stand. Why do so many people feel the need to lecture me on what to do in order to find myself a husband? I don’t care.”

Andrew lets out a sigh, knowing your frustrations when it comes to this. More often than not, upon finding out your bachelorette status, people either tell you what to do differently in order to change that, as if that should happen. Or even worse, they try to make you confess your crush on whoever you’re running errands with at that moment, even though you don’t experience any feelings of the sort. It is maddening, he knows, and he feels bad for you that a single woman is viewed with so much more disdain than a single man.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Andrew says apologetically, putting a hand on your arm and giving it a gentle squeeze. You smile at him, appreciating his friendship.

“I’ll be fine. I always just refuse to pay too much attention to it.”

“I know, but it isn’t easy on you.”

A brief silence passes between you two.

You clear your throat. “Okay, so what do we have left to get from our list? We’ve got the vegetables, the bread, the eggs…”

“We still need some wine,” Andrew says, “Which you might be able to get, so that I can head over to the butcher and get some salted meat. Here, I will carry the basket for you, since it’s getting heavy.”

Finding it a good suggestion, you agree to it and set out to finish your shopping spree at the market. It is always easier whenever you split up, making the task always twice as fast, dividing the workload equally. You play with the cord of your satchel of money whilst you try to find the booth selling the drink you’re looking for.

Behind you, you can feel someone following you closer than necessary, but when you halt to stand still and look over your shoulder, you are only met with the sight of a bunch of people traversing the market. With a sigh, you turn back and continue your stroll. Still, the feeling that you’re being pursued doesn’t fade.

Once you find the stall of the local vintner, you buy three skins of red wine, paying the amount owed. About to head back to Andrew, you pull the wineskins into the crook of your elbow, on the leather straps attached to them, and you start walking down the street again.

Before you can turn the corner, however, a strange hand pulls you into an alleyway. As you are about to scream for help, a hand clasps itself over your mouth. “Easy, girl. Just having a friendly chat.” A male voice sounds, a few others cackling at the way your eyes widen in fear. “Relax, we aren’t going to hurt you.”

You step back out of instinct as soon as the stranger releases you and you turn in offence, glaring at four men and one woman giving you mocking smirks.

“Are you sure that’s her, Daniel?” one of them asks the man who had put his hand over your mouth.

“Yes, that’s the weirdo,” the woman with them verifies. You narrow your eyes at them.

“What do you want from me? You want money?”

The stranger referred to as Daniel snorts a laugh. “Money? You’ve got plenty of that, don’t you? Tell me, where does a single woman like yourself get all the funds from to get these premium wines, huh?” He reaches for one of the wineskins before you can keep them out of his reach and you flinch a little at how close he is standing. “Are these all for yourself?”

“Maybe that is why she’s still a bachelorette,” one of the other men taunts, “Because she secretly indulges in alcohol too much.”

“Nah, she’d be a whore otherwise,” taunts the woman, “Or maybe she is…?”

“Pretending to be so disinterested in everyone showing interest, but at the same time, you travel with a company of… How many men? Twelve? Thirteen?”

Your jaw tightens, nausea creeping up inside your chest at the mere suggestion. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Daniel grins. “I see we’ve hit a nerve… Interesting. Aren’t you afraid of what will come of you, hm? They are all talking about you in the village. Forever alone (Y/n), dying all alone in her house after falling down the stairs in her poor old age. No on there to help her, no friends, no family…” He looks at you in feigned pity.

“I’m more than a potential wife or a mother,” you mutter, stepping closer in a wave of sudden confidence. “I’m sorry that I don’t adhere to what you deem ‘normal’ and ‘ordinary’, because I find my joy in other aspects of life than romance.”

The woman amongst the five approaches you cautiously. “I don’t get it, you know? I’ve seen the men you travel with. Every single one of them is handsome and have certain charisma. I don’t believe you when you tell me that you aren’t in love with any of them.”

“Then I cannot help you,” you say, showing your palms in defence, “I’m just not interested, that’s all. I never was!” You give a theatrical bow. “Thank you for your concern, though. It is much appreciated.” There is sarcasm in your voice and once again, frustration bubbles inside your gut. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got things to do.”

“No, we aren’t done yet.” Daniel grabs your wrist and you sharply turn around, ready to strike him across the face if he doesn’t back off right away. He staggers back upon seeing the expression on your face. “Hey now, what’s with the angry look?”

“I’m so tired of people like you lot trying to dictate what is the right way to live my life! I don’t want to marry, so what? Does it hurt you in any way? No! Just let me be!”

The girl cackles mockingly. “Let you be?! Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

“What?” you exclaim.

“You aren’t fulfilling your purpose as a woman. Not only does that make you a burden to our society with your selfish choice to not care about a new generation, but you also disappoint your parents. Is that what you want?”

You look at her, dumbfounded. “My parents love me for who I am, not for the function of my womb.”

“I don’t get how your parents aren’t more strict with you. Love comes after marriage. They should wed you off to a man like me and I’ll change your mind about things—”

“—Back off!”

Right as Daniel is about to take your hand and intimidate you further, Andrew’s voice sounds behind you. This causes the five strangers harassing you to burst out into laughter.

“Well well, who do we have here? How interesting… Is this your boyfriend, (Y/n)? Why else is he so protective over you, huh? I bet he wants something from you.”

“I said— Back off!” Andrew comes to stand next to you and puts an arm between you and your harasser. It only now starts to dawn on you that the former fisherman has come to your rescue, but that the strangers still seem to think that they know what is happening. “Don’t you touch her!”

“What, jealous? It’s not like she’d be interested in you, either.”

Andrew glares at them. “So, what? Should I only protect my friend if I can gain something from it?”

One of the other men, who has shaggy hair and an unkempt beard, snickers. “Come on. Man to man, be honest with me. You can’t see a pretty thing like her and not feel anything for her, right?”

Andrew lets out a huff, a wave of confidence hitting him. “If that is the way you view friendships between men and women, and think that they cannot be solely based on a platonic bond and nothing else, then I feel very sorry for you. (Y/n) and I are good friends, nothing more, and that will never change.”

“Whatever, I still think it’s weird,” the shaggy-haired man finds, “A woman who doesn’t want to be cared for.”

“She is being cared for, just in a different way,” Andrew hisses, “(Y/n) doesn’t need a man to be safe and happy. Stop pretending that women are possessions to be won, lost without a male presence in their life.”

A feeling of gratitude sparks in your chest as you watch Andrew defend you so strongly. You smile a little, nodding as you cross your arms over your chest.

“That’s right,” you agree, “If I believed I needed a man to be complete in my life, if I otherwise had no purpose, maybe then I’d have to get a good look at myself in the mirror. I’m enough by myself. My own purposeful and important individual. I don’t need someone else to complete me.”

This leaves the harassers at a loss for words, their eyes finding one another in the hopes that someone else will speak up, but they all just shrug and exchange uncertain looks. “Psh. Have it your way,” one of the men tells you.

“You’re the second person who tells me that today,” you say with a smug grin, rising a challenging eyebrow. “And you know what? I will.”

With that, they stalk off like scolded puppies with their tails between their legs, giving you sidelong glances over their shoulders as they retreat. Andrew exhales only when the last of them has left the alleyway and he turns to you.

“Are you okay? I’m sorry I wasn’t around to prevent this from happening.”

You hum and smile a bit at him. “Thank you for coming to my aid back there. I mean, I was handling it pretty well, but I appreciate you, Andrew.”

He nods and puts a hand on your arm, offering you a smile. “You’re very welcome, (Y/n). You’re a very dear friend. I don’t understand how people still think that you are strange for not wanting romance in your life.”

“Perhaps that my words will stick with them,” you say with hope in your voice, a small smile playing over your lips as you adjust the wineskins around your arm. “And that it has taught them a lesson to leave people alone in their choices that do not affect them. It is not like I am hurting anyone with my decision, so there’s that.”

Andrew cannot deny that. Nodding towards the exit of the alleyway, he gestures to leave again. The two of you walk through the streets together, ignoring the curious glances being sent your way. “You’re a strong woman, (Y/n). You will make it on your own just fine.”

“Trust me, An, I know,” you quip with a smile, heading out of the city and back to camp.

You are more than enough on your own, and your preferences do not define you. What matters is your identity in Christ, you think to yourself, as the two of you walk under a beautiful sunset.

Being with Jesus is all the purpose you need.

#the chosen #reader insert #the chosen x reader #chosen x reader #platonic #andrew x reader #the chosen andrew x reader #the chosen andrew

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asordinaryppl · 7 months ago

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A3! Backstage Story Translation - Chikage Utsuki SR: Hide the REVERSE - Part 2

this is a request by taruchikas, who also provided a video of the story! tysm!

Chikage: —— Ah.

Izumi: Hm?

Chikage: Found it.

Kamekichi: Really!?

Sakuya: Thank goodness… You found it pretty easily.

Izumi: Oh, there’s a dog on this side.

Chikage: Yeah, this is a space dog named Laika…

Sakuya: …

Sakuya: Um… Is this really the coin you were using before?

Chikage: ——

Sakuya: I remember the coin you usually use having a scratch on it…

Chikage: … Nice memory.

Chikage: You’re right. This is just a spare.

Chikage: The other coin will be hard to find in the dark, and should the worst come to pass, I’ve got this one.

Chikage: There’s no point in dwelling on it now, so let’s call it a day.

Kamekichi: You sure…?

Sakuya: …

Chikage: You don’t need to worry about it. Really.

Chikage: Sakuya, Director, thank you both for helping me look for it. Kamekichi, reflect on your actions. Let’s break it up now.

Izumi: (Is he really okay with this…?)

Sakuya: I’ll look in the flower beds again. Kamekichi, you should go look on top of that tree.

Kamekichi: Roger! Leave it to me!

Chikage: …

Izumi: Good morning, Chikage-san.

Chikage: … Director-san, good morning.

Izumi: Sakuya-kun and Kamekichi have already started searching again.

Sakuya: Oh, Chikage-san, Director, good morning!

Chikage: There you are, even though I said you don’t need to worry about it.

Sakuya: You did, but you carry this coin with you all the time…

Sakuya: It may not be anything of importance, but I figured you might be attached to it.

Sakuya: And I’m attached to it too, because I’ve seen this coin almost every day ever since I met you.

Sakuya: Even if you’re not attached to it, it’s a special coin to me.

Chikage: Attached… That might be it.

Chikage: Then, can I ask you to help me look for it again?

Sakuya: Of course!

Izumi: It’s nowhere to be found…

Sakuya: Ah–

Sakuya: Or not…! Searching is easier now than it was last night, but it’s still hard to find it…

Kamekichi: — Ah! Something’s glittering over there!

Sakuya: Huh? Where?

Kamekichi: Over there! In the corner of the garden!

Sakuya: You mean there…?

Sakuya: …! There it is!

Izumi: Ah, you’re right, it has a scratch!

Chikage: Thanks. I didn’t think we’d find it.

Kamekichi: I’m so glad we found it! I had almost prepared myself to get grilled on a skewer!

Chikage: Now you’re just exaggerating.

Sakuya: Um… How did it get this scratch?

Chikage: … Do you want to know?

Sakuya: Yes!

Chikage: … When I was a kid, I wanted a commemorative medal from the museum so badly that I waited in line for hours to get one.

Chikage: But I was worried I’d drop it, so I asked the museum’s security guard at the entrance to hold on to it until the tour was over.

Chikage: Looking back, that was a pretty selfish request. But the security guard was happy to oblige.

Chikage: When I returned some time later, after the tour was over, there was a commotion at the entrance.

Chikage: The security guard I had spoken to was involved, and I jumped in to help without thinking.

Chikage: And that’s when I realized… he was confronting a robber.

Sakuya: A robber!?

Kamekichi: That’s not good!

Chikage: Before I could tell what was happening, the robber was in front of me. He started mercilessly coming at me with a knife.

Chikage: The security guard immediately got in front of me, and the robber stabbed him in the chest—!

Sakuya: Oh no…

Kamekichi: Dear god!

Chikage: … But he ended up alright, somehow.

Chikage: Why do you think?

Sakuya: Huh? Why did he…?

Kamekichi: Don’t tell me, he was actually immortal…!?

Chikage: He had the coin I entrusted to him in his uniform’s breast pocket.

Chikage: The knife’s tip hit the coin and got stuck there.

Chikage: The robber was then arrested by the police, who rushed to the scene, and the issue was resolved.

Chikage: Then, the security guard handed me the coin, smiled, and said…

Chikage: “I charged it with good luck for you.”

Sakuya: How cool…! Almost like it’s right out of a movie…!!

Kamekichi: I’m so moved!!

Izumi: (... I’m pretty sure only half of that story is real.)

Izumi: Ah, Chikage-san. Are you off to work?

Chikage: Yeah. I’ve been busy all morning.

Izumi: Fufu, we did have a pretty hectic morning.

Chikage: You can say that again.

Option 1: Still, I’m glad we could find it.

Izumi: Still, I’m glad we could find it.

Chikage: Yeah… Me too.

Chikage: I’ll take care not to misplace it again.

Izumi: You should. Or else Kamekichi will take it again.

Chikage: … I’ll grill him for real if he does it again.

Izumi: It doesn’t sound like a joke when you say it, Chikage-san, so please cut it out…

Option 2: By the way, was that story true?

Izumi: … By the way, was that story true?

Chikage: The story about the museum, you mean?

Izumi: Yes. I kind of doubt something so movie-like could happen…

Chikage: Sakuya and Kamekichi’s reactions were so interesting that I might have exaggerated a little.

Chikage: But well, it really is a meaningful coin… We can leave it at that.

Izumi: (Why does it feel like he’s trying to dodge the question…)

Izumi: (Well, I’m just glad he found the coin.)

Izumi: Oh. Can we have a coin battle?

Chikage: Now?

Izumi: Yes. Except this time, instead of guessing left and right, I’d like to try guessing whether it’s head or tails.

Chikage: … Alright.

[Chikage flips the coin]

Chikage: Here. Heads or tails?

Izumi: Hmm…

Izumi: (I tried to change the type of battle, but… I still have no idea…!)

Izumi: (... Uh, I don’t even know which is heads and which is tails for that coin…)

Izumi: (I suggested this, but I don’t even know that part…)

Chikage: —Sorry, It’s heads.

Izumi: (F-For now, I’ll—)

Izumi: … Tails!

Izumi: … I thought that was tails, though.

Izumi: Wouldn’t I be the winner then?

Izumi: (I-I’m sounding a little too desperate here…)

Chikage: … Pffft, hahaha.

Chikage: … Alright, you win.

part 1 | part 2

#a3!#translation #a3! translation #chikage utsuki #sakuya sakuma #izumi tachibana

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knowledge-from-the-abyss · 4 months ago

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Divination

What is divination?

Divination usually (but does not always) involves using tools as a way to communicate with deities, guides, spirits etc (any being that resides on the astral plane). Here are some common divination methods people use.

Pendulums (sometimes used alongside spirit boards)

Tarot cards

Oracle cards

Cartomancy

Shufflemancy (using music to do divination)

Osteomancy (bone throwing)

Dice

Coins

There are many many different forms of divination that you can research and utilize, however these are some of the common forms of divination that I see people using. I’ll also be covering some information about channeling and automatic writing later on in this post.

Questions about Tarot, Oracle, Cartomancy (divination using any type of cards)

Can I buy my own decks/divination tools?

Yes, you can absolutely buy your own decks or other divination tools. I know there is a lot of misinformation about this out there, some communities say that you aren’t allowed to buy your own decks (especially with tarot) but this is not true, you can and honestly should buy your own tools. You can always accept gifts as well, however in my experience with some of my friends getting me decks, I ended up getting rid of them because I didn’t vibe with their energies. When I buy my own decks, it's a lot easier for me to figure out if I’m going to like the energy of that deck and if we’ll get along. This goes for any divination tool as well!

A huge reason this question comes up a lot when it comes to divination is because hundreds of years ago, people were judged and scrutinized for practicing witchcraft (and divination is considered witchcraft). Divination and other forms of witchcraft had to be done in secret, so going out and buying a tarot deck was not something someone could openly do. Nowadays, of course, most of the world does not have these same views.

How do I shuffle my cards? How do I pick cards?

There are many different ways to shuffle your cards; this can also depend on how big or small your cards are. I definitely recommend looking up various ways to shuffle online (most of the tips online will show you different methods to shuffle a regular playing deck).

In regards to picking cards for a reading, there are also various ways to do this too. Some people will let the cards fall out and whatever cards fall out are meant for the reading. Some people shuffle until their intuition tells them to stop, and then they pull cards until their intuition tells them to stop (this is a method I use sometimes). Some people fan their cards out and pick the cards they are drawn to select. For me personally, I generally do the first method, but I only select cards that fall out with the card face up.

Do I need to use reversals? What is the use of reversals?

You do not have to use reversals if you do not want to, however they do come in handy. Especially when it comes to tarot, not all the upright versions of the cards are positive, for example the Four of Cups Upright actually has a more negative meaning than the reversal. My perspective is coming from someone who has always used reversals, however I understand especially for someone just starting out, it can be very hard to use both upright and reversals.

Can I still do tarot even if I can’t remember all the card meanings?

YES! I have been practicing tarot for over 15 years now, I’m a professional tarot reader, and I STILL don’t have all the card meanings memorized. I always use either this website or guidebooks that come with the decks to interpret, alongside my intuition and occasionally channeling as well to do my readings. You should not feel pressured or intimidated just because you don’t remember all the card meanings. I’ve honestly found (and others agree) that not always having the cards memorized and having to look up the meaning can help greatly with the interpretation; a lot of times reading what the guidebook says will give me intuition hits and allow my readings to be much more detailed.

Do I need to use spreads?

No, you do not need to use spreads if you don’t want to; I rarely ever use spreads in my practice, I just let the cards fall out and interpret it that way.

How do I interpret multiple cards for one question?

Generally, what I do when I am doing a reading is combine the meanings of each card together. I am actually going to use a real reading for myself to give an example of how to do this.

Question: How can I make this a good week?

Three of Cups Reversed- this card can often be about not being able to socialize or go out with friends. This shows that this week, there may be a lot going on in my life that will make me very busy; but that connecting back with my friends and family will be important. I know that I am a very social person, so having interactions with my friends and family will definitely help it to be a better week.

Five of Pentacles Reversed- this card is actually one of the ones where the reversal is more positive than the upright version. This card shows that right now there may be some changes within my life this week. This may be a slow progression toward the changes I’ve been wanting, but I will see progress toward those changes.

The Fool- this card is about new beginnings, there is always a sense of excitement that I get when I pull this card. This card shows that the changes the previous card talked about will be positive, new and exciting.

Overall, this is generally the way I interpret the cards. The message here tells me that this week is going to be a very busy week for me; I need to focus on my friends and family, the people I care about, and make sure that I make time during this business to connect with them. This reading also shows that in general, this week will already be a good week for me. I'll see progress being made on some of the changes and goals I’ve been trying to implement, and overall this should be a fairly exciting week for me in general.

Can I use tarot for yes/no questions? How?

Yes, tarot can be used for yes/no questions, there are a few ways to do this. Most of these will involve the use of reversals. An easy method to do this with is to take the card's meaning, determine if it's more ‘positive’ or ‘negative’ and interpret that way. So you’d ask a question, draw a card, and if the card is more positive, that means yes, if the card is more negative, that means no. I also see people use upright vs reversals for this; assigning all upright cards as ‘yes’ answers and all reversed cards as ‘no’ answers. I’ve also seen people do something similar to this with three cards. They will shuffle, draw three cards, and interpret any uprights as ‘yes’ and reversals as ‘no’. If they get two or three upright cards, that means yes, and vice versa. My personal favorite method for doing yes/no questions with tarot is to assign certain cards with ‘yes’ and ‘no’. For me, The Magician is my ‘yes’ card and The Fool is my ‘no’ card. I take my deck, shuffle it, and start drawing cards. Whichever card comes up first, that's my answer! I am sure there are more ways to do yes/no questions that I haven’t covered here, however these are the ones that I either use myself or have seen others using.

How do I cleanse my decks/divination tools?

Going back to my post on cleansing, there are various ways to cleanse a deck or other tools. Again, referring back to the post, especially with anything that is made of crystals or metal, make sure that they are safe to be put in salt or water if that is the method you chose. Smoke and sound cleansing are also very good options.

What is the Rider-Waite? Does it have to be my first deck?

The Rider-Waite is a very popular tarot deck that is widely used. There are many different versions of this deck as well. This does not have to be your first deck, you can pick whichever deck you want to use as your first deck!

Do I need to learn about all the symbolism, astrology, etc surrounding tarot?

While the symbolism, astrology and correspondences that tarot often have are important and can add more depth to your readings, this is definitely not a requirement. I am not very knowledgeable on astrology at all, and while I know some of the symbolism represented within tarot, again it is not something I am heavily knowledgeable on. When I read tarot, I use the symbology from the card art itself, my intuition and of course the card interpretations to help me interpret the message.

General Divination Questions

Do I need divination tools for each individual deity/entity/spirit I work with?

The short answer to this is no, you definitely do not need to buy each individual that you work with separate divination tools. You can absolutely do this if you want, but I know for me, with how many deities I work with, it would be crazy to try to get each and everyone one of them individual divination tools.

Do AI/digital divination apps work?

This question can be a bit complicated, and I do have my own opinions on it. At the end of the day, if this is what works for YOU, that's great, and you can definitely utilize it! Its definitely a method that can be useful if you are in the broom closet. For me personally though, I’ve always found that any forms of digital divination I try tend to be pretty inaccurate. Anything digital or programmed with AI is going to work off some type of algorithm, it may not be 100% authentic.

How do I know who is answering when I’m using divination?

This depends a lot on the individual practitioner; some people practice divination outside of any religious/spiritual lens. This post is generally more targeted toward people who are practicing divination within the scope of occult/witchcraft practices, so that’s what I’ll be focusing on.

You can ask the universe/Source to answer any questions you have, your general spirit team/spirit guides, or an individual deity, entity or spirit.

I also want to point out with this question that certain deities/entities/spirits may have a preference on divination tools; I’ve had encounters where the deity I’m trying to get a message from will refuse to use certain tools I have and will only give a message using specific methods. It's important to verify that the deity is ok using the method of communication you’ve chosen. Of course, if you have very limited options, the deity will absolutely accommodate you even if they have to use a tool they do not prefer.

Other Forms of Divination

How do I use dice/coins?

This (for dice at least) can depend on what type of dice you have. I know with regular numbered dice, I mainly use them for yes/no questions. I take one of my dice (I see other people use multiple dice for this method as well) and I assign even numbers to be ‘yes’ and odd numbers to be ‘no’. Then I roll three times. If I get two or three evens and one odd, that means yes and vice versa. With using multiple dice, you may only need to roll once as well, although I’ve also seen people roll multiple times as well. Some people also assign meanings to each individual number of dice; for instance, 1 means hard yes, 2 means yes, 3 means maybe, 4 means rephrase, 5 means no, and 6 means hard no.

For coin divination, the methods are similar. Generally for coin divination, you will not really be able to get ‘maybe’ answers, so keep that in mind. Most times, when people are using coins, they will use heads as ‘yes’ and tails as ‘no’ (you can do the opposite if you feel drawn to). They use one or more coins, and take the majority as the answer.

How do I use a pendulum?

Generally, I recommend bracing your arm against something (like a desk, or your knee even) to make sure that you are not accidentally moving while trying to ask questions. From there, you can either ask the pendulum to show you what means yes, no and maybe, or tell the pendulum how you want it to swing to indicate yes, no and maybe. From there, you would start asking questions and allow the pendulum to swing freely to get the answers!

You can also assign a certain movement to a deity; asking them to show you that they are there by moving the pendulum in a different way than the regular yes/no/maybe.

You can also make your own pendulum as well, even just using a necklace or anything with a weight on the end can be used as a pendulum, just make sure to cleanse it first!

What is channeling?

Channeling generally refers to the ability to allow deities, entities or spirits to enter your body and take some level of control in order to communicate. Channeling is an advanced practice, I don’t recommend trying to start channeling until you are very comfortable with doing the basics (cleansing, protections, banishing, vetting) and you have a deity, entity or spirit you are comfortable practicing with. Channeling takes a lot of trust and the willingness to give up control of your mind and body to someone else. There are different levels of channeling, sometimes the entity will only take over partially in order to communicate. Other times, they will be fully present and will essentially push the person to the ‘backseat’ of their body while the entity has full control.

What is automatic writing?

Automatic writing is a type of channeling although it is less of an advanced practice than actual channeling. With automatic writing, you are essentially entering a trance state and allowing either your subconscious or the deities, entities and spirits around you to write for you and give you messages. While it may not be as intense as channeling, it can still be difficult to do and difficult to get into the proper mindset to do.

Is the keyboard method a valid form of divination?

The answer to this may be a little controversial; I think the answer to this can be ‘sometimes’. This is a form of automatic writing which involves technology. However, as with automatic writing, you may need to be in a bit of a trance state for this method to really work. Using other divination tools alongside this method (to double check that you are getting an actual message and not just gibberish) is also something I would recommend.

There are other forms of communicating with deities, entities and spirits that have not been covered in this post, such as communicating with clairsenses or through meditation. I will be covering these in a later post.

I would again like to credit my friend @astralscraft for helping me with this post!

If you have additional questions that were not answered in this post, feel free to message or inbox me!

Here is the main website I use for tarot interpretation! Link

#pagan #pagan witch #paganism #witchcraft #witch #divination #tarot #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #oracle #pendulum

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