Asmodeus fast approached you while you were curled up in the corner of the couch.
"You are not going to believe this," he started in a tizzy.
You put your DDD down, expecting him to launch right into a high-powered vent. Instead, he insisted, "I need to sit down. You need to hear this."
There was plenty of space. Asmodeus plopped down with enough force to bounce you a little bit upwards. In the second it took for you and the cushion to fall back into place, he grabbed your arm and hoisted it to eye level.
You watched, too puzzled and surprised to say anything, as he pulled your feet out from under your legs and pushed them off the couch. Your ankle hit the floor at a painful angle. He pushed your shoulder back so your spine straightened up and nudged you a couple of centimeters closer to the armrest.
Asmodeus spent about a minute arranging you as he saw fit. He picked a loose thread off your shirt and smoothed down the fabric over your thighs before finally laying the back of his head right in your lap. Several seconds of adjusting his neck to find the perfect spot followed. At last, he set your hand down over his chest, the cherry on top of his preferred seating arrangement, where he held your fingers like a fidget toy.
Asmodeus stared up at you, a soothing sight for stress-filled eyes, while his body laid out across the entire rest of the couch. His high-end clothes started to wrinkle.
He began once more, "So, you are not going to believe what happened today..."
Could you please write the TFC cast with a grunge reader? I rarely ever see grunge representation in x reader fics, and I think it'd be such a fun contrast with the characters. I'd absolutely love to read your take on it!
Thank you, and have a great day! ā” But if its not smth u wont write plz ignore this!
Sure. I was a part of Grunge myself in past. It was a painful experience. The style is definitely not for everyone or not that hyper-forced as others.
Grunge MC x TFC
Pierrot
Pierrot's heart genuinely aches for you just for all the wrong (yet incredibly sweet) reasons. The moment he notices your ripped jeans, hems held together with safety pins, and an intentionally oversized, worn-out sweater, his eyes widen with deep concern. He sincerely believes you're struggling financially and simply can't afford proper clothes. He approaches you with his trademark gentle, anxious shyness, carefully offering you a sewing kit or insisting on buying you a new coat.
"My dear... aren't you cold in this night air? Please, let me mend those holes in your sleeves..."
When you patiently explain, "No, Pierrot, it's supposed to look like this. It's a style," he becomes terribly embarrassed. He doesn't entirely understand why anyone would pay for torn fabric, but the moment he realizes it's your way of expressing yourself, he treats it with the deepest respect. He'll start noticing the little aesthetic details like the way your silver chains catch the light and will secretly make sure no one at the circus accidentally throws away your favorite "ragged" jacket after mistaking it for an old cleaning rag.
Harlequin
Harlequin absolutely loves it. To him, your muted dark colors and heavy boots look like a walking rebellion against the rules and that's exactly his kind of thing. The second you walk by with headphones around your neck, thick black eyeliner, and a dark flannel tied around your waist, he's already circling you like an overexcited puppy.
"Well, well! Look at you! Did you just walk straight out of a '90s garage rock audition? I love it! Can I jump around in those giant combat boots of yours?!"
(You'll say yes, he's only asking out of courtesy.)
He'll constantly try to steal your oversized shirts to wear them like dramatic capes before eventually returning them smelling like cotton candy and circus makeup. He finds the contrast between his dazzling clown costume and your calm, gloomy grunge aesthetic absolutely hilarious. Prepare for him to dramatically flop all over you while you're quietly sitting there, determined to make you crack even the tiniest smile beneath your stoic expression. And if you listen to grunge or alternative rock, he'll absolutely demand one of your earbuds and enthusiastically headbang to bands he's hearing for the very first time.
Jester
Jester appreciates the quiet, rebellious energy you carry. While everyone else in the circus is covered in bright costumes, feathers, and glitter, you simply walk in looking completely unfazed, perfectly comfortable in your own skin. He'll perch somewhere high above, watching with an amused, knowing grin as you absentmindedly spin the pin of your favorite band on your jacket or adjust your heavy boots.
"Interesting... You manage to draw every eye in the tent without even trying, little shadow. Quite the unfocused trick."
He sees your style as a cleverly crafted mask, much like his own only yours is expressed through dark layers, silver accessories, and worn leather instead of theatrical makeup. He enjoys subtle games of wit with you. Every now and then, he might casually swipe one of your rings or jacket pins just to see your reaction, only to slip it back into your pocket with a wink a moment later. Your laid-back indifference feels like a breath of fresh air amid the circus's endless drama.
Though, to be honest, neither your style nor your demeanor is entirely his preference. He naturally gravitates toward brighter, flashier aesthetics, but anything new is bound to catch his attention.
Doctor
Pure, unfiltered clinical irritation followed by an intensely critical inspection. The Doctor takes one look at your ripped fishnet tights, frayed denim, and heavy leather boots, and his eye immediately starts twitching. His obsession with cleanliness is offended on both a psychological and aesthetic level. He marches over in pristine white gloves, pointing directly at your ragged hem with an expression of utter disgust.
"Unbelievable. The amount of dust and potential bacteria clinging to those frayed threads is a direct threat to sanitation! And why are your knees exposed?!"
He'll constantly lecture you about proper insulation, hygiene, and durable stitching. Over time, however, he'll secretly grow accustomed to your dark color palette. If the hole in your favorite grunge cardigan turns out to be accidental, he'll snatch it out of your hands with an irritated grumble and repair it with frightening surgical precision, insisting he's only doing it so you'll "stop looking like a biological hazard." He would never admit it, but your calm, grounded presence has an oddly soothing effect on his frayed nerves.
Truthfully, he simply doesn't like the style. You could even say it irritates him. To him, it's just too... dirty.
Ticket Taker
Complete mutual understanding without a single word. The Ticket Taker is a quiet giant, and the sight of someone who prefers dark, practical, durable clothing immediately earns his respect. He slowly gives an approving nod, his gaze lingering on your combat boots and layered dark outfit.
"Good boots. Practical. Mud doesn't cling."
The two of you make the perfect quiet duo. While the rest of the circus is shouting and running around, you're often found sitting beside his booth in comfortable silence. He especially appreciates that you don't wear eye-searing neon colors that give him headaches.Well... at first, he honestly mistook you for a surprisingly well-kept homeless person. He likes your color palette, sure, but most importantly, you don't make a mess.
Reader who has a real job and actual bills. Reader who prioritizes her own peace over his feelings. Reader who has hobbies that donāt revolve around a man. Reader who actually has a life outside of him. Reader who says ānoā and means it. Reader who isn't easily impressed. Reader whoās petty. Reader who has trust issues. Reader who chooses her girls every single time. Reader who has a body count and isn't ashamed of it. Reader who is exhausted by male fragility. Reader who holds grudges. Reader whoās a mess. Reader whoās mentally ill. Reader who makes mistakes. Reader whoās manipulative. Reader whoās selfish. Reader whoās morally gray. Reader whoās awful. Reader who genuinely doesnāt give a fuck.
Jester would love a pet witch he can control and use for every wicked idea he has.
Unfortunately that isn't the witch he got. While she is loyal and dose entertain some of his ideas. She is far from tame and is quick to threaten him if Jester comes anywhere near her with a collar and leash.
Daedra is far more wild that anything he could hope to control
Pierrot isn't the type to whine, except he kind of is.
Ever since you defended him he couldn't get enough of you and your bravery. He finds himself getting attracted by this ruthless agitated look on your face, especially trying to protect this at least two-head-taller monster performer.
He's been kindly looking after you through the window of your workplace and your walk home and through your balcony and....well any window that got him access to even a small view of you - if he didn't decide to break into your apartment of course.
It's romantic, isn't it? But he realized something might be wrong with him the moment a rude customer cursed his silent self out. He didn't say anything but boy oh boy, he didn't need to. He had you. The agitated twinkle in your eye, that murderous and ruthless look - oh god he could feel his pants tighten, his heart rate picked up faster than it ever did while hunting prey.
That night, when you were both cuddled up together in your bed, he said something he never thought he'd admit.
"Can you scream at me?"
"...excuse me, what?", you say taken back.
"...I ehm...nevermind..", so softly said, yet such a perverted request hanging in the air.
You raise your brow: " you want me to scream at you? I don't wanna scream at you. I like you, you know."
He smiles. You're so kind hearted. Your bravery comes from a place of love and it's beautiful to him how such hateful words can come from such a pretty mouth. Pierrot cups your face with his hand and squeezes your cheeks lightly.
"You tell others off all the time.", only now you realize that his tone sounds...begging?
"But those people deserve it. They're idiots!"
He looks almost pleased with himself to get your blood boiling - even if just for a second.
"Are they, my lady?"
"Don't irritate me now, Pierrot!", you say pushing his hand away from your face. His eyes widen.
"I've had it up to here with those idiots and my day has been far too long to tolerate this bullshit right now.", it's a clear demand. He's annoying you and you're on the verge of screaming at anyone with the stress that's been building up.
You look over to Pierrot to see he's...blushing?
"you're sick.", you mumble to yourself. It's more a reflex than a real reflection of your feelings towards this. He's smiling, blushing like a schoolgirl and god his eyes. It's like they're so ready for whatever you tell him to do. Pierrot pulls in closer to you and your hips can already feel how your degradation has got him riled up.
"..Are you okay with this?", he asks shyly, "I want to do whatever you want. If you're into something else, we can do that. We don't have to do anything at all. I love you. I love you so much, I swear just tell me-"
You kiss him.
"Just shut up and kiss me, Idiot"
Pierrot blushes, eyes wide before kissing you back.
//
Yeah so I'm not gonna finish this in any way, but that's basically a small non canon interaction with Pierrot I think would happen.
