#frankly too many photos of my face

[markscherz]

I salivate at the thought of giving you a neat hat

Oh good, I look great in hats!

#selfie #my face #that thing on the front of my skull #gpoyt #y'all asked for more selfies #so here we are #anon #anonymous #answers by Mark #frankly too many photos of my face #but here we are #I only own three of these hats today #and I don't think it's the ones you'd guess

[abramswife]

HALF OF ME (i)

SUMMARY: Despite appearances, you’d learnt Soldier Boy was, actually, capable of being a good man. Somehow, you’d wormed yourself into his good books, and had the rarest privilege of seeing him without the suit, the drugs, the ego, the everything. Just as things were going good, his heart somehow getting even warmer for you, the world separates you in the cruelest way.

PAIRING: Soldier Boy x Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT: 3573

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI. Sexism (set in the 1980’s), typical Soldier Boy behaviour, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, questionable morals (peer pressuring drug use), sexual content, eludes to smut, Soldier Boy may be a bit OOC at times, gore.

SERIES MASTERLIST / MAIN MASTERLIST

Becoming a world famous supe was never something you’d ever wanted. Sure, you’d grown up with their photos on your bedroom walls, your father telling you stories of when the first ever supe came to be, insisting he fought alongside the Soldier Boy in the war

The people around you seemed to idolise them. These… mostly regular people in tight suits, pretending to be better than everyone else.

You knew better. You knew enough. Enough to know supes were dirty, and corrupt, and definitely not the heroes they presented themselves to be. That their hands were more blood than they were skin anymore.

And, frankly, you wanted nothing to do with Vought or Payback — or whatever the fuck those shitty, useless superhero teams were called. (Seriously, what did they actually do? Except sit in their pretty tower and take the peoples’ taxes?)

Your father, however, had different ideas.

So, at 18, you woke up in the hospital, after an ugly head collision, with superpowers you’d never had before. A miracle, the doctors called it, a supe whose extraordinary powers had been hidden for her whole life. When you got home, you forced the truth out of your father. Compound V, he called it, a new chemical made by Vought.

No one was born a supe, he admitted, it all came from a liquid in a vial. The truth hurt you, as much as it didn’t really surprise you. Chosen by God, my ass.

This wasn’t supposed to be your life.

But it’s certainly what it turned out to be.

Payback were as shitty, if not more, than you’d originally thought. Each of them had… many flaws. Soldier Boy, obviously, was the worst. If the Devil reincarnated himself, he’d look and act like Soldier Boy.

Simply talking to the man made you want to shoot yourself.

Well… it did at one point.

Two years down the line, things had changed. Soldier Boy was still insufferable, sexist, arrogant, and a major asshole. But… he wasn’t so much a dick directly to you, as he used to be. In fact, if you didn’t know better, you’d say he was actually somewhat nice to you. As much as his macho heart could manage, anyway.

You noticed it the first time when he saved your life on a mission. He’d grabbed your waist when a grenade clinked at your feet, whirling you around and to the ground, squashing you against his firm chest, using his shield to protect you both from the hot blast. He’d shrugged it off as nothing; as something any leader would do for his team. Then you watched him hit Gunpowder about for not following his order to a T, and realised… maybe he did treat you different.

It was undeniable these days.

You were the only person on Payback that Soldier Boy could remotely tolerate.

“You need’a be more careful.” Despite the hard look on his face, Soldier Boy was staring down at you, as a Vought doctor wrapped clean bandages tightly around your midsection. It was a bullet to the wound; which, with being a supe, wouldn’t be too bad, but you didn’t heal inhumanely fast like he did. “You’re fuckin’ useless when you’re hurt.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks for your concern, Soldier Boy.”

His eyes narrowed into a harsh glare. “Ben.” He corrected you, for what was probably the 50th time. Each time he did, he got more annoyed with you. “How many times do I have to say it? Is there a brain in that pretty head’a’yours?“

You grunted, spinning on the bed and hanging your legs off the side of it. “Thanks for the compliment.” Ben rolled his eyes at your sarcasm, not offering a hand as you groaned in discomfort and got to your feet. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be healed up by the time we set off for Nicaragua, if that’s what you’re worried ‘bout.”

Ben just grunted, displeased. “Ain’t happenin’.” He immediately shot that idea down. “We leave for Nicaragua next week. You ain’t comin’. Sit this one out.”

You stared, expecting a joke. Clearly, he wasn’t. “Seriously?” You groaned, unhappy. What was it with this guy? “I’ll be fine. It’s a silly little bullet.”

“I was holdin’ your fuckin’ guts in your body.” He walked away, reminding you of just how bad your injury actually had been. He had, indeed, practically been keeping your guts inside of you as you bled out. “You ain’t going. You’re stayin’ here.” You chased after him, pulling your shirt on as you left the infirmary.

“Ben—“

He whirled around to face you. “I said, you’re fucking staying.” He growled, glaring down at you. God, were you glad you were on his side. This man was terrifying. Six feet of pure muscle, strength and violence. “You’re better off here, using that face of yours to get some PR.”

“And, what? The others will back you up?” You scoffed, grabbing his wrist as he went to walk away again. His expression went cold at your touch, but you didn’t flinch. As much as he tried to scare you, Ben wouldn’t raise a hand at you… probably. You had faith in the man. “They can’t fight for shit, Ben. Gunpowder hasn’t even discovered his own dick yet. You think you’re gonna have your back covered out there?”

He ripped his wrist away harshly. “I don’t need my back covered.”

“Everyone needs their back covered.” You argued. “Even you.”

He chuckled, sarcastic and dry. “You worried ‘bout me, princess?” You gave him a ‘seriously?’ look, as he took a step closer, mouth curled into that ever-infuriating smirk. “I’d perform better if you sent me off with a taste of that—“

“Ben.” You interrupted him, unimpressed. You rolled his eyes at his predictable behaviour. “I’m not gonna fuck morale into you.”

“Shame.” His eyes flicked up and down, tracing the curves of your body. “Bet you’d be a firecracker.” He walked away again, and you threw your hands up, groaning. Ben chuckled as he turned the corner. “Think it over, sweetheart.”

“You’ve got a hand.” You called back to him. “Use it!”

Conversations like that were very common with Ben.

It’d be a normal conversation (as normal as it gets with him) — and then he’d start talking about fucking you against the nearest surface, and all pleasantries went down the drain. Seriously, he thought 80% with his dick, and 20% with his actual brain.

And that was being kind.

But, beneath all of his macho assholery, was his genuine worry. You knew he wasn’t letting you accompany the rest of the team to Nicaragua because of your injury, despite how minor it was, and that he was worried you’d injure yourself further.

He was just… shit it showing it.

Poor bastard wouldn’t know emotion if it slapped him in the face.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

“I am not wearing this.”

Okay… scratch all of that. Maybe Ben was just a dickhead.

He lounged back in his chair, grinning lazily, legs spread like he owned the place. He probably thought he did. “Why not?” He took a sip of his whiskey, ice clinking against the sides, eyes never leaving you from over the rim of the glass.

You held up the fabric. “Seriously?”

It was basically a scrap of fabric, with how much it covered up. You didn’t shy away from showing skin. You quite liked short skirts and pushing the line. Because, as a supe, there was a line. Vought liked it when you showed skin — apparently it made your ratings go up with the male fans, no shocker. But, too much skin on display, the male fans started calling you a whore, and the ratings shot back down.

It was a bit like a balancing game, trying to find the perfect amount of skin to make the boys ogle but also respect you. An impossible feat, truthfully.

And this? This was definitely classed as too much.

“I don’t see the issue.” His smirk said otherwise.

“My tits are not gonna stay in this, Ben!”

His smirk just grew. “Again, I don’t see the issue.”

You groaned and put the dress down. “No. I’ll get my own dress. I am not wearing that.” You tell him, arms folding across your chest. You didn’t miss the way he checked out your tits, and the way the placement of your arms accentuated them.

He rolled his eyes, obviously not happy with your decision. Leaning towards, elbows on his knees, Ben’s eyes took you in. “Why?” His head cocked to the side. “You’d look hot. It’d make your ass look great.”

“That’s not a compliment.” You grumbled, pushing a hand through your hair. Ben made a small grunt of disagreement, but didn’t say anything otherwise. “Listen, there’s a certain line. Alright? If I wear that, every guy out there will be callin’ me a whore. Okay? Imma find something else.”

He hummed and sat back. “I think you should wear that one.” Sighing heavily, you just rolled your eyes at his persistence. “All those assholes will be blowin’ their pants just lookin’ at you, sweetheart.”

“Again, not a compliment.”

Ben stared at you, and silently took another sip of his whiskey. He always seemed to think these crude, rather sexist and inappropriate remarks were compliments. Like commenting on your body. Or saying you’d be a freak in bed. Which were obviously not actually compliments.

You rolled your eyes, rubbing your forehead. “I’ll find another dress, Ben.” You told him, definitive. There was no way he was going to convince you to wear that dress.

“What a disappointment.” He grinned, lopsided. “I was lookin’ forward to seein’ you in that dress.”

“Again,” you deadpanned as he checked you out once more, “you have a hand… use it.”

Ben just smirked, and sipped his whiskey again.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

You wore the fucking dress.

The asshole always won. Always.

He looked so fucking pleased, as you walked into his after-party, wearing the dress he’d picked out for you. His smugness was clear, brushing through the crowd with ease to come to you.

Ben hummed, eyes dilating as he stared you down. His eyes lingered on your tits, as they always did. “You look…” he hesitated, trying to think of a compliment that wasn’t degrading, and failed, “fuckin’ hot. If you weren’t such a bitch, I’d bend you over right here.”

Your face pulled together in disgust, looking at him with your lips pressed together “… gross.”

He chuckled. “Drink?” He offered. “I got your favourite.”

And there he goes again.

Being nice.

It did your damn head in.

Accepting his offer, you shivered as his large hand landed on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd. They all seemed to part like the Red Sea as he came through, a fact that amused you greatly.

Seriously. These women looked at him like he was Jesus reincarnated, when he’d totally call them in a whore in bed.

Ben silently reached out for your favourite alcoholic drink, pouring it into a glass. His eyes scanned over the room, smirking at a few of the women ogling, sending them rushing to their friends and squealing. He merely chuckled and handed you the full glass.

“Thanks.” You murmured, taking it from him. Your eyes stared up at him for a moment, curious, before looking away again.

What was it with him? How could be such an egotistical one minute, and then be nice and respectful the next? It was like a guessing game, trying to figure out what mood he was in.

He grabbed your wrist, his grip firm, but not enough to hurt you. “Come with me.” He guided you through the crowd once again, to the doors in the back. As he pushed through into the room, he flashed you a cocky grin over his shoulder. Dickhead.

This room was far quieter. You noticed, immediately, the only people present were supes and celebrities, not the random civilians that’d been granted a pity invite — or the women Ben thought were hot. This was the main party. There were drugs covering every table, with various big names passed out on the chairs, blazed.

Ben lead you to the corner, where he’d obviously already been busy, if the half-snorted lines of cocaine proved anything.

Silently, he offered you a line, which you gratefully accepted.

You didn’t do drugs before you joined Payback. In fact, you’d avoided them, promising yourself you’d never become that type of person. But it was the norm within Vought. Every supe spent their nights filling their bodies to the brim with various drugs, poisoning themselves. So, you started smoking weed to fit in.

Then Ben found out you only did weed, and decided it wasn’t enough. With enough pressure, he’d gotten you onto any other substance he could convince you to try.

It made you more attractive, in his eyes, as you spiralled into addiction like him.

In fact, it got him rock hard, to snort lines or share a joint with you. It was so fucking hot, watching your eyes glass over as you got higher with every hit, with every line. God, it turned him on so bad.

You snorted your third line of the night, when Ben suddenly pushed you back into your chair. Bewildered, you stared at him, as he snatched up a baggie of the white powder. Your heart leapt to your throat, the moment he moved aside the slit in your dress, revealing the bare skin of your thigh. All breath left your lungs, watching him pour some of the powder onto your thigh.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

He was about to do a line off you.

He glanced at you through his lashes, smirking at the shocked and flushed expression you wore. He used his pocket knife to cut the lines, mindful of the sharp blade against your soft skin.

God, this was hot. He found it hot. You found it hot. It’d be a damn miracle if you ended the night with your clothes on at this point.

Your skin tingled as he sniffed up the first line, of his hands roughly gripping the top of your thigh to steady you, his other holding a rolled up $100 bill. He groaned in pleasure, body physically shuddering, head shaking, as the drug made his body run hot.

He did the next line, the grip on your thigh becoming tighter as his pupils began to blow up.

Was it getting hot in here? Or was it just you?

Maybe it was the cocaine in your systems, maybe it was the fact Ben was just… so damn hot, but you couldn’t stop yourself from grabbing his hair and forcing his head up as he snorted the final line off your thigh.

He looked up at you, pupils blown, lips parted. Holy shit. This man was sculpted like a fucking God. Your body shivered. “You finally takin’ my offer, sweetheart?” He chuckled, shaking off the immediate effects of the cocaine, raising himself up to your level.

“Fuck me.” You whispered, breathless, practically begging him.

His eyes went dark, almost black, with lust. The smirk on his lips made you squeeze your legs together. “Don’t need to ask me twice.”

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

You understood the hype now. You understood why women bent their knees the moment Ben uttered a word to them.

Holy shit, did this man have talent.

Your legs were still twitching, the space in between your legs throbbing and tingling with how many times you’d come on his fingers, his tongue and cock. You’d counted four, before your vision had gone white.

Jesus, he had stamina. A glance at the clock on the wall confirmed it’d been just over five hours since you’d first fell into Ben’s bed. That super strength was better for more than just fighting, after all. This man should be advertised for his abilities. No shocker he was an American sex symbol.

He’d just fucked your brains out.

And now, he was staring at you with admiration, laid on his side, in the same bed he’d just railed you in. “You feelin’ okay?” He murmured, genuinely concerned.

“Yeah.” You rolled over to face him, a jolt of discomfort and pain in your hips and thighs. You might have to hold back on… doing anything for the next few days, however. “You didn’t break anything.” You joked, soft and breathy.

He chuckled quietly, hand sliding around your waist and dragging you closer to him. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waitin’ to do that.” He whispered, uncharacteristically soft and gentle.

“To fuck me senseless?”

He smirked. “Mm, I have dreamt of that.” Your eyes narrowed in mild disgust at the image of him having wet dreams about you, swatting his chest. He grinned and caught your hand. “No… I meant how long I’ve waited to have you. You’re fuckin’ perfect. Not just your body. Everything about you is so sexy.”

Your brows furrowed, squeezing his hand, and then worming your fingers out of his. “What do you mean?” You asked softly.

He seemed to struggle for a moment. He wet his tongue with his lips, making your body tingle again. Jesus. “Let’s get dinner.”

What.

“Me and you.” Ben smiled, tracing the curves of your body with a featherlight touch. “Real fancy. I’ll pay.” Was he… asking you on a date right now? The Soldier Boy, asking you on a date? Instead of fucking you and tossing you out?

“You’re serious?” You asked softly, surprised. When he nodded, you grinned, biting your lip to contain it. “Okay, Ben. Let’s get dinner.”

His eyes lit up. Ducking his head down, his lips touched yours, gentle and affectionate. His kiss spoke so many words; his hands gently cradling your body, as he kissed you like you were made of glass. The touch was intimate and loving, widely different to the one he’d used when he’d been on top of you.

No, this was completely different. This was him being vulnerable. This was him showing you just how he felt, without the words.

He smiled against your lips and pulled back, just enough to speak, but his words were still brushing yours. “Yeah?” He whispered, in response to your agreement.

“Yeah.” You stared at him with big eyes.

He grinned, almost boyish in its nature. He stared at you in adoration, seeming to be collecting the words on the tip of his tongue.

You giggled under his stare. You sat up, pulling him with you, grabbing the blanket that he had draped over his headboard. It was fluffy and warm, and smelt like his cologne, and you didn’t hesitate to wrap it around your shoulders, cocooning yourself.

If possible, his gaze softened even more. “You’re adorable.”

Quietly, you laughed. “You sure you wanna do this, Ben?” You stared back at him. Ben was nothing if not a womaniser. Settling down was nothing like him. “Get serious with me, I mean.”

“You’re the only one I’d ever want to.”

Your brows pulled together, confused. “Why?”

Ben soothed a hand through your hair, green eyes drinking in the perfections and imperfections on your face. “You’re the only one I trust.” His voice was gravelly, still heavy with the effects of your recent endeavours. His hand travelled through your hair, and then came down to cup your cheek.

Wrapped up in his fluffy blanket, your head rested on the wooden headboard. “I trust you, too.” You whispered, tilting your head into his palm. His skin was rough, painted with callouses and scars. Every scar on his body had a story. And you’d spend the rest of your life learning every single one.

Despite himself, he smiled at you, thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. “I’d kill for you. You know that?” His words made you shiver. Ben killing people wasn’t exactly new… or surprising. But doing it for you? God, it made your stomach heat up — and other parts. “These assholes don’t hold a candle to you, doll. Countess? That whore is— is repulsive compared to you.”

You laughed softly, rolling your eyes affectionately. “Ben.” You scolded quietly, though not with an ounce of anger.

The supe just smirked, chuckling deep in his throat. “You want me to drop that bullshit PR relationship I have with her? I’ll do it. In a fucking heartbeat. I’ll be with you, publicly, if you want me.”

“You’d ruin your reputation for me?” Now that — that meant something. Ben could say anything and everything; he was a master manipulator. He could get anything he wanted with that smile and his suave words. But, if there was one thing he would always prioritise, it was his reputation. He’d do anything to be the alpha male. Anything.

“I’d do anything for you.” He grabbed your hand within his much larger one, guiding it to his chest. He pressed your palm over his heart, allowing you to feel his heartbeat. “I’ll do anything for you, to be with you.” You felt the steady rhythm of his heart. He wasn’t lying. That, or he was a great fucking liar. “I’m never leaving your side. I’m yours.”

Your eyes searched deep within his. “Always?”

Ben smiled. “Always.” He leant forward, gently pressing his lips against yours in a tender kiss.

Three months later, Soldier Boy died in a nuclear meltdown.

A/N: jesus christ this took me so long to write 😭 but i’m so happy with how this first chap turned out. it’s gonna get so much more fun to write we get to the action 👀 pls lmk if there’s any mistakes, as i will go back n fix them !!! hope you enjoyed <3

banners by @cafekitsune

TAGLIST: @onlyangel-444 @deans-spinster-witch @fumolemon @anundyingfidelity

#soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys #the boys tv #the boys fanfic #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #half of me

[lcandothisallday]

Court Side Butterflies Part 1 - Jack Harlow x f!reader

this actually SUCKS but oh well. Might make a part 2

photo credit to @a-moment-captured !!

You walk under the tunnel with your best friend, making your way through the swarms of people to get your court side seat. Your best friend was dating a player on the Boston Celtics—Jaylen Brown to be exact, which warranted the both of you sitting court side to support her man.

With it being a game 7, you knew this game was going to be tense and you only hoped the Celtics would win so that your best friend could celebrate with her boyfriend. If it were up to you, you didn’t really care who wins—only wishing for an exciting game.

“I’m gonna go speak with Jaylen real quick,” your friend mused. “Wish him luck and all.” You nod and smirk at your love sick friend. “Wish him luck for me too!” you exclaim as she walks away.

There was still about 15 minutes until the game officially started so you decided to take your seat and chill on your phone in the meantime.

While you’re scrolling through Instagram, two quite large people walk in front of you—one of them nearly stepping on your toes.

“Oh sweetheart I’m sorry!” the man exclaimed. “Did I step on your toes?—”

You look up at the bald man and shake your head with a laugh. “No no you’re good,” you reassure. Your line of sight trails to see the man going to take a seat next to him, your eyes going slightly wide when you realize it was Jack Harlow.

Jack’s dad sits next you, prompting him to make small talk. “Routing for the Celtics?”

“Yeah,” you confirm with a nod. “Here with my best friend—she’s dating Jaylen so I guess I gotta be supportive of the both of them,” you joke.

“Oh—are you not a basketball fan?” he chuckled in question.

“I am! It’s just been a long day,” you laugh.

“Jeez Dad—leave the poor girl alone. Probably doesn’t wanna talk to you all night,” Jack teased, causing his Dad to scoff playfully and for you to giggle.

“Jack,” he introduced, extending his hand towards you. “Y/N. It’s nice to meet you…and your Dad ” you reply with a smile.

Jack’s Dad smiled at the interaction before he leaned in close to his son, his voice low. “Wanna sit next to her?” he whispered in question. “She’s pretty—maybe you could get her number,” he mused, playing wingman.

Jack’s face heated up, his cheeks blushing with a tint of red. “Uh…not now. It’ll be too obvious. Plus she’s a model…to many eyes on us,” he whispered back a bit bashfully. He couldn’t deny that you were indeed beautiful and he would’ve loved the opportunity to talk more and get to know you— but there were simply too many eyes and cameras around to risk any annoying rumours that frankly he didn’t wanna deal with.

Soon enough, your friend makes her way back to her seat, leaning in close with a knowing smirk. “Jayson asked about youuuu,” she hummed matter of factly which Jack couldn’t help but overhear. While he loved Jayson and considered him a friend, the jealousy still bubbled within him. He knew it wasn't warranted--after all he barely knew you but it didn't stop his feelings.

He was still intrigued to hear your response so he sat quietly, his dad also unknowingly doing the same.

You scoff at your friends remark. “He's too hot and cold with me...until he wants to commit then I'm not doing anything," you shrug.

You friend groaned, “oh come on y/n! He likes you—you like him—the sex is great apparently—”

“Oh my god!” you interrupt exclaiming. “Shut up! Just please shut up,” you groan, shaking your head in embarrassment. “That’s not something you can say in public with media and fans everywhere,” you mutter lowly.

Your friend shrugged. “I just want you to be happy.”

“How about I worry about that and you worry about cheering on your boyfriend,” you deadpan.

“Suite yourself.”

You sit quietly for the remainder of quarter, your arms crossed as you stared ahead with a stoic expression. You loved your friend but she can be a bit much at times.

When half time finally came around, your friend got up to comfort Jaylen for being down a couple points. “You coming?”she asked, more so wanting to know if you were going to talk to Jayson.

“Nah—I’m gonna stick here.” She simply nodded and headed off.

“Your friend seems like a handful,” Brian spoke to you with a chuckle, causing Jack’s eyes to widen. “Dad!” he scolded.

You however thought it was funny and began laughing. “She…she really is. I’m sorry you guys had to um…hear that,” you breath out shyly.

Jack licked his lips with a kind smile. “Don’t worry about it…my best friend Urban would’ve said worse,” he mused, trying to lighten the mood.

“Ok good to know it’s a universal experience,” you hum.

Brian smirked. “Hm—why don’t you two kiddos go grab us some drinks?” he suggested. Jack’s head snapped towards his dad, glaring at him while his cheeks turned red.

“Yeah why not,” you replied.

You and Jack walked side by side to the concession stand, him walking with his hands awkwardly in his pocket. “Your dad is very nice,” you began.

Jack scoffed playfully. “Nah—he’s tryna play matchmaker,” he laughed, shaking his head shamefully.

“Ohhhh I see,” you hum teasingly. “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t working,” you confess, your cheeks burning up.

Jack grinned. “Damn—might need to have him work his magic more often,” he hummed.

You scoff in feigned offence. “Only if it works in my favour. Wouldn’t want him helping you get other girls.”

“Oh so you’re territorial huh?”

“What if I am?” you taunt in question.

“Fuuuck,” he laughed, his dimple appearing as he ran his hand through his hair. “I cant lie—that’s hot.”

“So tell me…if I ask you out,” Jack began nervously as he scratching the back of his neck. “Am I gonna have to worry about Jayson and his ‘great sex?’”

“I’m not seeing him anymore.”

Jack shook his head. “That’s not what you implied back there…if he committed…are you gonna commit back?” he asked, reiterating what you said to your friend earlier.

You sighed. “I’m sure I could ask you the same thing—with all the girls around you,” you point out.

“Nahhh—don’t do that. Don’t gaslight me and twist it back on me,” Jack laughed while shaking his head. “When you figure it out—I really would love to take you out…maybe even show you what great sex really is,” he smirked.

“Deal.”

#jack harlow #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow blurb #jack harlow imagines #jack harlow x y/n #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow x you #jackharlow

[perseephoneee]

christmas tree farm (elijah mikaelson x f!reader)

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ happy day 2 of ficmas!

prompt: you like drawing one of the workers at the local Christmas tree farm

a/n: this took so long and i'm so sorry but also this is my dream. like, yes, let me find elijah at a Christmas tree farm. i love him your honor.

↳ masterlist  ↳ ship exchange ↳ join my taglist ↳ ficmas 2023

There’s never a great reason to go to a Christmas tree farm every day, yet you did it without reason.

Well, one reason.

The Mikaelson Tree Farm was only four blocks from your apartment, and initially you went to help your friend, Bonnie, pick out a tree. It was the day after Thanksgiving, but she was excited since it was her first time getting a tree alone. She convinced you with a promised cup of hot cocoa, and you found yourself at the expansive farm. What made it better than others was that an arborist owned it, so they understood the novelty of trees better than anyone.

You had brought your sketchbook along as well. As the quarter was close to ending, you were working hard on your animation final. Not that you were an art major by any means, but you liked to draw as a hobby, and when an opportunity arose to take an art class, you did so happily. Now, though, you had to do a short animation for your final, which meant lots and lots of panels. 

“Do you think this one is too dense?” Bonnie asked, taking careful steps around a Douglas Fir. You peered at it, continuing to shade out its leaves in your journal. 

“Depends on how many ornaments you want to shove in there,” you mumbled, adding a few people to the background of your illustration. 

“I’ve got a good amount that I inherited from Grams,” Bonnie sighed. 

“Then you might want some more space.”

“You’re probably right,” Bonnie looked around, hands on her hips and breath fogging before her. “Plus, this would shed a lot.”

“You’d probably want a Nordmann then,” a smooth voice said from behind you. Both you and Bonnie turned to the source of the voice, and you felt yourself freeze up as you took in the handsome man behind you. He wore a red flannel with a cargo jacket, and you wondered how he wasn’t cold. “Sorry for bothering you. My family owns the farm; I couldn’t help but overhear.”

“So, you know things about trees,” you said, holding your notebook close to your chest. 

“Yes…I know about trees,” he smiled.

“Like the Lorax,” you blurted out, feeling your eyes widen. You could almost hear the look of disappointment on Bonnie’s face. The man chuckled, though, albeit with little confusion. 

“I’m Elijah,” he said, shaking Bonnie’s hand and yours. 

“Nordmann, why would I want that?” Bonnie inquired, pivoting to your previous conversation. 

“Nordmanns don’t shed,” Elijah explained. “They have a blue tone underneath their leaves and are also pretty.”

“Very nice,” Bonnie nudged you, and you sent her a look of approval. “Show me a Nordmann.”

Bonnie ended up choosing a six-foot-tall Nordmann that she affectionately named “Norman the Nordmann.” Elijah and one of his brothers cut the tree down for her and carried it back to her car. Frankly, the level of attraction you felt watching a man carrying a tree over his shoulder was embarrassing, but you didn’t care. You just said thank you in a meek voice and left with Bonnie to decorate her tree. Still, you couldn’t get Elijah out of your mind. 

Plus, as you spent time working on your animation final, you realized that one of your characters started to look more and more like Elijah. 

Which is how you kept ending up at the Christmas tree farm. 

You couldn’t just show up and sit around waiting to see Elijah walk by. That would be incredibly humiliating for you. So, instead, after your third time going to the farm and lurking in the trees like a creeper, you decided to buy a wreath. The farm had a tiny little hut selling wreaths, ornaments, hot cocoa, and more. They even had a photo album full of pictures of their customers from over the years. One of the sisters always sat in the hut, reading a new book each day, and finally pointed out that you always came in but never bought anything, which is how you ended up with a beautiful wreath you hung up in your apartment. Feeling guilty, you came back the next day and bought another wreath. You always bought a wreath and free hot cocoa after you finished sketching the farm (and Elijah). You realized at some point you should probably buy a tree and move on from your infatuation, but that would involve confronting your wiles, which would simply be unacceptable. 

Today was week three, thirteen wreaths later. You curled up in the corner of the farm with your journal, burrowing into your scarf to fight off the chill. You already had several panels drawn of the day in and day out of the farm, but now you were debating tearing yourself away and drawing Freya (your hot cocoa provider and sister who reads inside the wreath hut) through the acts of reading. Something blocked your light though, as you were drawing, and you looked up to see Elijah hovering over you. Your eyes widened. 

“You have come in every day, you realize that?” he asked, hands in his pockets and a slight smirk on his lips. You likely looked like a deer in the headlights. 

“I like trees,” you answered, immediately looking down at your hands as your brain screamed WHAT ARE YOU DOING? 

“Like the Lorax?” Elijah smirked, and you felt your jaw drop as he recalled your first day. 

“I can go,” you said, starting to get up, but Elijah put a hand on your shoulder, stopping you. The heat from his hand spread throughout your arm like fire to a forest. 

“You don’t have to leave,” he dropped his hand, fiddling with the cuffs of his flannel. “I just noticed that you have never gotten a tree.”

“I haven’t.”

“Do you want one?” He gestured towards the plethora of Christmas trees around you, and you started feeling like a mouse cornered by a cat. A very attractive cat. 

“I could…get a tree,” you crossed your arms, hugging yourself. Putting your journal back in your bag, you gave Elijah your name and followed him deeper into the tree line. He showed you several different variants, explaining their pros and cons, but you stopped at a four-foot Noble that was more sparse on one side and slightly crooked. “I like him.”

Elijah looked at the tree you were pointing at and raised an eyebrow as if to ask seriously? You had a small smile as you circled your crooked, kind of terrible, tree. It was imperfect, and it’s why you liked it. Elijah sighed but agreed to give you the tree. He cut it down himself (it was small enough), and you checked out with Freya, who laughed at you finally buying a tree. 

“Where’s your car?” Elijah asked, tree propped up against him. 

“Oh, uh, I don’t have one,” you stammered. You realize you can’t get a tree home without a car. “I walked.”

“You walked,” Elijah said plainly. You were thinking that he probably thought you were an idiot. 

“I live four blocks away.”

“Alright… let's go,” Elijah sighed, hoisting the tree over his shoulder. 

“Uh, excuse me?” You held out your hands to stop him. 

“To take your tree home.”

“I can take my own tree home, thank you very much.” Elijah stared at you with a blank expression. He would’ve made an excellent diplomat if he wasn’t busy cutting down trees. You stared right back, trying your best to assert dominance. His eyes stared into yours deeply, and finally you relented. “Fine, you can take my tree home,” you mumbled, feeling frustrated as a smile broke across his face. 

“Lead the way,” he gestured. You stalk a guy for weeks, and now he’s coming to your apartment with a tree you didn’t intend to buy. You thought that Bonnie would’ve gotten a kick out of this. He follows you out of the lot and onto the street, keeping quiet as he carries the tree with no complaints. You wonder how much he could bench press if he lifted the tree like it was nothing. You got to your building, a little four-story brick apartment, and let him in. Immediately, his eyes were drawn to the plethora of wreaths lining the doors in the hall. “Are these all…?”

“Yes,” you answered quickly. “I’m the building manager, so I gave everyone a wreath.” Elijah still looked surprised but didn’t say anything else as he followed you to your apartment door tucked into the corner of the first floor. You wiggled your lock before slamming your shoulder into the door to open it. “It gets stuck sometimes,” you explained, opening the door further for Elijah to enter. 

With Elijah peering around your place, you suddenly felt very self-conscious. It was a small place. The layout was straightforward. Your front door opened into your small kitchen, with the bathroom to the right. Your living room was just a couch, a TV you got from your aunt, and a coffee table. You didn’t have a dining room, just a tiny breakfast nook you haggled off Facebook Marketplace. Your bedroom was off the living room, just a bed and a desk. The thing that sold you on the apartment, though was the beautiful circular window behind the couch and the fact you got cheap rent in a city as long as you acted as building manager. 

“Where would you like to put your tree?” Elijah inquired. 

“I guess over here is fine,” you walked over to the space between the wall and your couch, currently inhabited by your basket of yarn that you use for knit projects. 

“Do you have a tree stand?” He put the tree down against the wall. You kept your mouth shut as you watched realization flash across his face. “You bought a tree without a tree stand?”

“I didn’t intend to buy a tree,” you defend yourself. Elijah lets out a small sigh of exasperation, fidgeting with the tree so it can lean on its own. 

“I’ll be right back,” Elijah exits before you can say anything. You glare at the tree, internally blaming it for your current predicament. Keeping busy, you started a pot of coffee in your kitchen while you hunted around for something to decorate the tree with. You came back with a basket of crochet stars and some twine. Maybe you could make a garland and then harass Bonnie for some twinkle lights. You know she had them; she covered her entire place in them like it was Tinkerbell’s house. As you were stringing stars onto your twine, you heard a knock on your door before Elijah entered, box in hand. “Alright, I got you a tree stand, and Freya sent me with ornaments.”

“She’s a good egg,” you smiled, helping him with the box as he started fitting the tree into the stand. 

“That she is,” he laughed, sending you a grin that made your stomach perform cartwheels. You laid out the ornaments Freya sent on your counter, smiling at the cute little animals. She even sent along a glitter-covered mushroom. Your coffee machine dinged, and you moved to pour yourself a cup. 

“Do you want coffee? I got vanilla syrup,” you offered, holding up a reindeer mug. 

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Elijah smiled. You made him a small latte, as you enjoyed any chance to perfect your latte art. You went to a Korean cafe once and watched them craft a bear, and since then have forced yourself to learn how to do the same. You added a little heart, and handed the latte to Elijah who looked at it fondly. “You’re very creative.” He looked at the star garland you had discarded from earlier. “Did you make this?”

“Yeah…it’s the only decor I have,” you shrugged, taking a sip of your coffee and enjoying the warmth seeping into your bones. Elijah picked up the garland and started wrapping it around the tree, making sure each branch was evenly spaced and that the stars were visible. 

“Do all customers get you decorating their tree?” you asked, the corner of your mouth lifting up in a smile. 

“Just the ones I like,” Elijah responded, his back still towards you. You felt your cheeks flush at his comment. He was likely just flattering you. He stepped away from the tree when he was done, and your eyes lit up as you took in his careful work. 

“Well, thank you,” you coughed, putting your coffee down on the counter and shuffling on your feet. You expected Elijah to make a move to leave, but he stayed there, staring at you with thoughtful eyes. He really had very kind eyes, the type you felt at ease under. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Elijah’s brows furrowed, his fingers dancing over the buttons of his cuffs as he looked at you inquisitively. You nodded to let him continue. “Why did you come to the farm everyday?”

“Honestly?” you laughed, glancing away. “I liked to draw you.”

“Draw me?”

“Yeah…it’s silly, isn’t it?” you rubbed the back of your neck, your arms wrapping around to curl more into yourself. 

“May I see?”

“See what?”

“The drawings,” Elijah dared a step closer to you. He smelled like the trees he cultivated, rich and earthy. You felt that if someone were to be personified as a rainy forest, he would be that person. You walked over to your bag, nervously pulling out your sketchbook and handing it to him. His fingers brushed yours, but you quickly pulled away. You hated people looking at your work, so you kept yourself busy by cleaning up the kitchen. You could hear the flipping of the pages, and with each turn the coil in your stomach grew tighter. You were so nervous, you felt like you could break at any moment. What if he hated the drawings? You could never recover. When you heard the thud of the book closing, you dared turning towards Elijah and felt your heart clench as you met his gaze. 

“My brother would hate you,” Elijah said, putting your sketchbook carefully on the kitchen counter. “You’re a much better artist than him.”

“Oh,” you responded, some pressure alleviating in your chest. 

“You captured me very kindly,” Elijah smiled, stepping around the kitchen island to get closer to you. You instinctively took a step back. 

“I see you very kindly,” you whispered, your voice soft on his ears. “It was for a class animation, I…hope I didn’t offend you.”

“You couldn’t offend me,” Elijah reassured. “You make me feel appreciated.”

“Are you not?” 

“A family as large as mine,” Elijah sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s easy to lose sight of things.”

“Well, I see you…if that matters,” you said. Your heart was running a race with how fast it was beating. Elijah grabbed your hand, his thumb running over your knuckles like you were a precious artifact. 

“Y/N,” Elijah started, biting his lip in thought. “I’m glad that you kept coming back.” You noticed that his fingers were calloused and rough, likely from all the work of the farm. “I would like to take you out, if that’s alright.”

“Yes,” you answered quickly, earning a smile from the man in front of you. “I would like that a lot.” Elijah tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before glancing back at your sketchbook. 

“May I see the animation, when its done?”

“Of course.”

“Can I give you something?” Elijah questioned, turning back to look at you. You nodded slowly, unsure of what he was thinking. Elijah leaned down, pressing a soft kiss against your lips. His hands came up to cup your head, his fingers brushing through the strands of your hair. He was gentle, but firm, and you found yourself tugging him closer by the front of his shirt. Kissing him felt like first snowfall, or when you learned you had a day off from school. He pulled away, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth and the top of your head. 

“That was a good gift,” you whispered, enjoying the deep chuckle that emanated from Elijah. “Does this mean I can stop buying Christmas wreaths?” That earned an even bigger laugh. 

“You really are an enigma,” Elijah smiled, kissing you again on your lips. 

Oh yes, you guess there is a very good reason to go to a Christmas Tree Farm every day

#ficmas 2023 #12 days of ficmas #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson imagines #the vampire diaries #tvd #tvdu #the originals #my writing

[wariocompany]

Anyway I've been here for six days now (basically a naturalised citizen) so here is what I have to say about China

Shit is CHEAP. Worryingly cheap. Don't think about it too much.

Their hourly minimum wage is the equiv of about $5AUD but that's reasonably proportionate to how much a meal is. Rent seems a bit more difficult though so I don't know how people manage that (cheap as dirt places go for 4000yuan a month or so)

People are REALLY nice, even security guards and cops and other people you'd assume would kind of give you a hard time. They'll have a laugh with you about stuff.

The country kind of feels like it's encased in a giant metaphorical glass dome - everything functions using their own special apps, special ways of doing things, etc etc. Breaking into it is difficult, but once you're "in", so to speak, it's very easy.

Public spaces including trains and buses are a bit of an "every man for himself" vibe. People will play their phone videos out loud and no one even gives a shit. Once a security guard on shift was just sitting there playing his 抖音 videos out loud with little concern for anything or anyone. It's not mayhem, but it's certainly no polite affair.

Your phone loses battery very quickly and unless you're just going for a walk it's impossible to leave home without it as any purchase is via WeChat, Alipay et al. Many times I had considered going for a phone free outing before realising it just couldn't be done.

China is beautiful and just about every place has something to offer. There are streets that are clearly just a result of a LOT of urban development being done very quickly but in terms of actual sites, it's hard to find a city that doesn't have something incredible in it.

Their coffee is top notch. Seriously approaching Melbourne level. I'm flabbergasted and slightly concerned because frankly Australia is bullied by China on the daily and our coffee is the only thing I knew for certain we had over them. Now I don't know what the fuck we're meant to do

Trains tend to be in English, even if it's not particularly big with foreigners, though I haven't gone to any suuuuper remote locations so I don't know about those. They're very well maintained; they're more or less indistinguishable from those in Japan, Korea etc.

Bikes and motorbikes don't have to follow traffic lights which will make you shit yourself the first couple times they ride right past you as you cross the road.

There is not as much propaganda around as I was expecting. My uni has a big statue of Mao but as it happens that's just cuz he has a history with this particular university. I haven't seen any pictures of Mao anywhere else that's not, like, a dedicated Spot for that sort of thing (think Tiananmen square etc). I saw one pic of Xi in a museum. Most propaganda is just asking people to become soldiers and cops and stuff. I was expecting it to be like Vietnam or something but it's basically non-existent.

No the social credit memes are not true unless everyone else can see mine and is just not telling me

Those world statistics weren't lying that country really can heavily populayed

People love taking photos of themselves but selfies are not too popular, so dedicated individuals will bring whole stands with lights and shit like that, as though they were dedicated cosplayers. Yesterday we saw a middle aged woman doing a sort of VR anime idol stream (I can't remember what they're called but the one where your face is overlayed with an anime avatar) in the middle of the bridge haha

^ and people will take these sorts of photos in front of ANYTHING. Even if it's... Slightly inappropriate by some standards. It's kind of funny.

People are generally quite chill and don't take themselves too seriously

I'll add more if I think of more

[rrat-king]

I'm pretty sure I commented on your Kristen and Adaine baking brownies fic about how Kristen is always an older sister no matter what and you fucking get it so for the ask game do you possibly have any headcanons for the Applebees siblings (Kristen, Bucky, possibly Bricker and Cork but I get if they're not there since they've not really been shown). You can pick which questions because frankly, you wrote such a good fic

this is. so unbelievably kind thank you so much i am. crazy about the applebees siblings and kristen's incredibly bizarre but real older sister energy. i have. so many headcannons pls strap in (the fic is Old Habits if anyone is curious)

7. Age/height headcanon

ok. so there are two beautiful realities that i have created in my mind when it comes to the applebees age range.

option one: this is the closest to cannon and the age range i use in On the Nature of Healing, so it follows the cannon that bucky is 2 years younger than kristen with all of the siblings being two years apart. So like for junior year kristen is 16 (maybe 17?? she has a summer birthday which makes it a little confusing) so bucky is 14, bricker is 12 and cork is 10

option two: ok so this was the hc i was working off of pre-junior year and the age range i use for Something Found, that kristen is four years older than bucky and then the two years apart for the rest of the boys again. i did this based on the idea that kristen's parents waited till she was a little older to have more kids so that she would be able to help out more, parentifying her as a kid. so in something found kristen is 20, bucky is 15, bricker is 13, and cork is 10.

for height, i stick with cannon in that kristen is 5'9 and by the time bucky is in high school he is already taller than her. he levels out around 6'1 and everyone expects bricker to be tall too but he just. is not. bricker winds up just a little taller than kristen at 5'10. cork, in youngest child fashion, hits a growth spurt when he is 12 and just never seems to stop growing until he is like 6'3 and all of his siblings are upset about it. in height order from tallest to shortest: cork, bucky, bricker, and then kristen

also one more appearance thing, kristen and bricker take after their mom in looks and bucky takes more after his dad. cork doesn't look more like one parent than the other. also bricker and kristen have the exact same face. if you look at old photos of them when they were young you can only tell them apart cuz of the hair length but they look the exact same it's eerie

ask game here !!!!

#thank you so so muhc for the ask it means the world #i could literally talk about the applebees sibling forever #like i am not kidding i have so many thought on them and how they were raised #d20 #fhjy #fantasy high #dimension 20 #kristen applebees #bird answers

[jahayla-parker]

Hits Different : Freddy Carter x Reader

Description: 2.5k wc (including lyrics) set to the tone of If This Was a Movie by Taylor Swift. Part 2/Freddy's POV of Catastrophic Blues. Angst, breakup, heartbreak, post-breakup, longing, sadness, etc.

Warnings: I advise you re-read (or read) part 1/Catastrophic Blues first! Other warnings: drinking, Angst, breakup, heartbreak, post-breakup, longing, sadness, vomiting, crying, etc.

Part 1 - Y/n's POV - Catastrophic Blues

Last night I heard my own heart beating

Sounded like footsteps on my stairs

Six months gone and I'm still reaching

Even though I know you're not there

Freddy groaned as he ran his hands down his face. Tonight was going to be another sleepless night. He’d been having far too many of those lately. Ever since the night he and y/n had broken up.

Freddy had found himself constantly clinging to the faintest of sounds in ignorant hope that maybe it was her. There was no reason for it to be. In fact, he should’ve been adjusted to the lack of her presence by now. Instead, it was like this dark void that he found himself drowning in day in and day out.

Freddy missed y/n like mad. He knew she wasn’t going to be around anymore. But, he couldn’t stop wishing she was. He couldn’t stop the way his breath would hitch every time he thought he’d caught a glimpse of her around town. She may not have any physical presence in his life anymore, but her metaphorical presence was felt heavily by him nonetheless.

I was playing back a thousand memories, baby

Thinking 'bout everything we've been through

Maybe I've been going back too much lately

When time stood still and I had you

Freddy wiped his damp face as he shut the photo album. He carefully set the album on his coffee table as he threw his head back against the couch cushions. He wasn’t sure why he was torturing himself like this. It wasn’t like he even needed to look back at the photos to remember his time with her.

Freddy nevertheless found himself pulling out the photo album at least once a week. He found himself flicking through the pages of him and y/n as he nursed a beer. He still had the memories of each moment that was photographed in the album. But, they felt like just that, memories. Memories that felt so far gone now that he needed to be sure they were real. Whereas the photos were physical evidence that their love was real and genuine. So no matter how painful it was, he’d willingly sit on his sofa at night to pore over the photos.

Come back, come back, come back to me like

You would, you would if this was a movie

Stand in the rain outside 'til I came out

Come back, come back, come back to me like

You could, you could if you just said you're sorry

I know that we could work it out somehow

The role Freddy was cast in for his latest projects felt almost painfully derisive. He was playing the role of a man who had been reunited with the love of his life. It was a brutal contrast to Freddy’s own life at the moment.

Freddy had been certainly that y/n was the love of his life. Quite frankly, he still was certain of that. Only, there wasn’t anything he could to do repair the damage and close the distance between them. While he accepted the part he’d played in them having reached this predicament, the fact remained that the ball was in her court now. She had to be the one to decide she wanted a life with him. He wouldn’t force her nor beg her to choose him.

As painful as what she’d said had been, Freddy knew they could make it through all of that. If only she wanted to. If only she was as heartbroken as he was over their relationship ending. Then they could work together to make it through to the happy life he envisioned for them.

But if this was a movie, you'd be here by now

As optimistic as Freddy was over the notion that he and y/n could work things out, he couldn’t ignore the evidence that she clearly didn’t agree. Despite considerable time having passed since the initial rush of emotions that night, she hadn’t come to apologize and say she wanted to work through it. She wasn’t here fighting for their relationship, for their love. Unlike the romance film he was working on, this wasn’t the set or plot of a movie, this was just reality.

I know people change and these things happen

But I remember how it was back then

Wrapped up in your arms and our friends were laughin'

'Cause nothing like this ever happened to them

“Mate, it’ll be alright,” Max, Freddy’s friend mumbled softly. He knew his friend wouldn’t believe him, but he hated seeing him this heartbroken over his breakup. He carefully took the photo out of Freddy’s hands and set it upside down on the table. “You guys wanted different things, you weren’t on the same page anymore, it happens”.

Freddy nodded solemnly. Max was right about one thing. Freddy wasn’t sure when he and y/n changed in a way that drove them apart; but, they had. However, Max was wrong about it being okay. It wasn’t alright. Not now. Nor would it be; ever. Despite the pain he was suffering, Freddy still swore she was the one. In fact, he’d argue that his anguish was merely a testament to that. It wouldn’t be hurting this bad, for this long, if y/n wasn’t the one for him. If only he’d been the one for her as well.

Now I'm pacing down the hall, chasing down your street

Flashback to the night when you said to me

"Nothing's gonna change, not for me and you"

Not before I knew how much I had to lose

Freddy sighed to himself as he slowly dragged his feet in defeat on his way back to his apartment. He’d ventured out to take a walk and hopefully clear his head. Or at least that’s what he’d say if anyone asked. Truthfully, he’d been secretly hoping that he’d catch at least a glimpse of y/n somewhere between his flat and the outside of their apartment building. His mind kept telling him it wanted to see her just once more. But, he knew even if he had run into her, it wouldn’t have been enough.

Freddy often thought back to the night before he’d cluelessly asked y/n to move in with him. He had been so naively happy and content. Her wrapped up in his arms as they cuddled after their date earlier that night. He hadn’t even contemplated y/n saying no, much less things ending between them because of it. He had no idea how much he had to lose. And by the time that he did, it was already too late.

Come back, come back, come back to me like

You would, you would if this was a movie

Stand in the rain outside 'til I came out

Come back, come back, come back to me like

You could, you could if you just said you're sorry

I know that we could work it out somehow

But if this was a movie you'd be here by now

What Freddy wouldn’t give for a chance to fix this pain. For a chance to take y/n back. For a chance for happiness and love to once again be the focal point of his life. For a chance for him and y/n to be together again. But he refused to push her into anything; especially something she didn’t want. And she’d made it clear she did not want this life with him.

It was crushing to hear y/n say he was suffocating her by wanting to live together. It was singing he wished to never risk being out through again. That being said, Freddy knew he’d take y/n back in an instant if she knocked on his door and apologized. It was all he needed. It didn’t have to be anything dramatic, he just needed to know how she felt. Her apology would be the sign Freddy would need to hear to know he wouldn’t be forcing her to do something she didn’t want. But the apology never came. And neither did y/n.

If you're out there

If you're somewhere

If you're moving on

I've been waiting for you

Ever since you've been gone

“I want her happy,” Freddy mumbled drunkenly. He took another swig of his beer and sighed loudly. “No matter what,” he clarified. He leaned his heavy head on the pub table. “Jus’, would like it to be with me,” he added with a frown.

Freddy’s brother Tom sighed sympathetically. “We don’t even know it was her,” he pointed out. “She could be feeling the same way as you mate. You don’t know she moved on”.

Freddy pursed his lips as he tried to think through the haziness in his mind. Perhaps Tom was right. Maybe the woman Henry thought was y/n wasn’t her after all. Maybe it was her but the guy she was spotted with was just a friend. Like Freddy himself was now. Actually, that’s not true. Freddy scoffed out loud at the cruel realization his mind was forcing upon him despite his drunken state. He wasn’t her friend. Not anymore. So if it was y/n Henry had seen earlier today on the metro, even if the man she was with was just a friend, that was more than what Freddy could say. More than what Freddy now was to the woman he loved. The woman he had envisioned waking up next to. The woman he hoped he’d find himself spending his future with.

I just want it back the way it was before

And I just want to see you back at my front door

And I say

Come back, come back, come back to me like

Freddy groaned as his older brother exasperatedly shoved his drunken body back down to the sofa. He’d yet again tried to make his way to the door so he could exit and go to y/n’s apartment. Just to talk. He just wanted things back the way they were before.

When he woke the next morning, Freddy was sure to thank Tom for stopping him from going over to y/n’s. While sober Freddy too wanted things back to the way they’d been, he didn’t want it being done like that. He needed to give her the space she’d asked for, the space she said she needed. He couldn’t go to her. As much as he might want to. If only y/n felt the same way and would come back to him on her own.

You would before you said it's not that easy

Before the fight, before I locked you out

But I take it all back now

Freddy regretted that night. Not just because he lost her. But because he hadn’t truly listened. Perhaps if he had, they could’ve escaped with just an argument instead of a breakup. Instead, when she tried to express herself, he hadn’t been truly listening; too caught up in his disappointment and hurt at the time. He hadn’t seen the signals that would’ve normally clued him in to the fact she was flustered and needed time to process things. If he could go back in time, he’d take it all back. More than anything he’d take back the way he’d reacted so defensively. He’d undo the damage he caused. He’d take back the way he reflexively stated that he agreed with the notion of breaking up. That he too thought they needed space. It wasn’t true then and it still wasn’t true now. If only he could take it all back.

Come back, come back, come back to me like

You would, you would if this was a movie

Stand in the rain outside 'til I came out

-

Is that the kind of ending you wanna see now?

Baby, what about the ending?

Oh-oh, I thought you'd be here by now, whoa-oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh

Thought you'd be here by now

Freddy had given up hope. If y/n was going to come back to him, she’d have done it by now. But instead, he once again found himself alone in his flat as he laid in bed and stared at the ceiling.

Maybe it was naive optimism fueled by seeing or acting in one too many movies… but Freddy could’ve sworn she’d have been here by now. That they’d have figured it out by now. He truly thought y/n would come back to him saying she wanted to give them another shot and he’d eagerly take her back and promise her however much space she desired.

But, this wasn’t a movie. This was real life. His life. And y/n wasn’t here. It didn’t matter how deeply he believed she would’ve been. It had been a seemingly long time since their breakup. Surely if she wanted to be with him, she’d have been here by now. But she wasn’t.

Freddy Carter Taglist: @ell0ra-br3kk3r @missdreamofendless @nikfigueiredo @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r @alex-kazbrekkersimp @opheliaofficial07 @historynerd77 @el-de-phi @booklover2389 @whistle1whistle

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[pleasuretrade]

hi here's the very rough(!) first chapter of a fic that i'm not done with.

if anyone wants to beta or just offer feedback i would be grateful :') but i'm writing this very slowly and don't plan on seeing it done for at least a few more months

March x Healy

Summary: 1980. March and Healy take your classic "reunite me with my estranged adult child" case and may or may not wind up getting involved with a cult, irritating 80's toys, shady business, gardening, and drugs. Oh, and they're pretending to be boyfriends because that's totally a perfect cover??

Rating: 18+ for the eventual porn

Length: I'm gonna guess 30k? I'm at 15k rn and we're maybe halfway through. frankly i got no idea

Tags that aren't exhaustive and mostly aren't applicable to this first chapter, but just a sneak peek: pretending to be boyfriends and there's only one fucking bed anyway bitch, March wearing jeans

 The thing about kitsch dolls was that they were supposed to be cute. In abundance they became disturbing. An uncanny noise of soft pastel abstraction, dotted with innumerable eyes, staring at you from living room walls and display cabinets. It didn’t help that almost all of them were religious; angels with halos, praying children, robed biblical figures. March felt like he might combust if he made direct eye contact with the teeming mass of holy ceramic.

“March, did you write that down?”

 Holland whipped his head toward Healy, and then at their client, and then at his open, empty notepad. See, you shouldn’t have that many dolls in one room, it’s distracting. It’s weird. “Sorry, ma’am, could you repeat that?”

“Benjamin Larry Hooper. We called him Benny.”

“Bejamin….L… Hooper… Benny.” March mumbled, pen dashing across the page with a show of gumption.

 Mrs. Hooper nodded at him, all patterned dress and curled hair, hands placed politely on top of their respective thighs. “He was fifteen when he left, he’ll be twenty-six now. Tall for his age, I’m sure he’s giant by now.”

 Holland wrote in big block letters: DOB 1953 TALL

“This is my most recent picture of him, just a few months before he left.” Mrs. Hooper, Francis, reached across her doilied coffee table to hand Healy a framed photograph. It was obviously some kind of family reunion, the photo lined with folks like a tin of sardines. “That’s Benny.” she said, tapping a young man sitting cross legged in the very front row.

 Benny Hooper looked like any other fifteen year old at a family reunion, irritated or bored or both. He had a great mop of hair, a downright halo of pitch black curls reaching every direction. The slacks and short sleeved button-down were probably not his normal choice of attire, so that wouldn’t be helpful even if the kid had disappeared less than a decade ago. The shot was too wide to memorize the details of someone’s face on top of being old. The Benny in the photo hadn’t even finished puberty yet. Overall, the photo wasn’t great.

“Very helpful, thank you. We could use any other photographs you have, too.” Healy smiled pleasantly the way he did. It was freakish, the way the guy could go from deadpan bruiser to soft-eyed teddybear in an instant.

 Holland smiled along, ignoring the everpresent eyes of Mrs. Hooper's kitsch, even though he knew that there was no chance in hell they were finding Benny Hooper.

-

 “There’s no chance in hell, man.” March lit his cigarette in the passenger seat and donned his sunglasses.

 Healy tapped his fingers where he rested his arm in the open window. “We have a lead.”

“If you wanna call maybe seeing a glimpse of someone you haven’t seen in eleven years driving a truck a couple of times a lead, sure, we have a great lead. Can we stop at Hammy’s? Told Holly I’d bring home dinner.”

“Y’know, I bet I could count on two hands the number of times you’ve gone proper grocery shopping since I’ve known you.”

“That’s not true, you went grocery shopping with us like two weeks ago.”

“And you bought eggs, bread, a gallon of neon colored juice, a gallon of whiskey, and five frozen pizzas.”

“Are those not groceries? Is that not sustenance?” March waved his cigarette for emphasis.

“Anyway,” Healy redirected, taking the turn toward Hammy’s, “all we have to do is stake out the spot she saw the truck, right?”

“If everything worked out just that easy we’d be out of a job, Jack.” March took a drag from his cigarette, thanking the stars that loaded, aging ladies were willing to shill out for the most unfeasible asks imaginable time and time again. Healy let it sit because he knew it was true by now, well over two years down the line as a PI.

“Why do you think the kid really left?” Healy asked after a while, expertly flat when Holland had figured out eons ago that the guy really was invested in each case, even the small ones.

“I don’t know, too many doilies? An aversion to puce colored carpet? I wouldn’t stay long either.”

 Healy ignored him. “I find it hard to believe he just up and left for no reason.”

“Maybe Mrs. Hooper’s chicken is dry.” Healy purposefully hit the curb pulling into Hammy’s, jostling March’s cigarette nearly out of his hand. “I mean, it’s not like it matters. Even if we find the kid, he’s not comin’ back. Ten fuckin’ years. Remember that girl, Arrow or Rainbow or whatever she named herself?”

 Healy grunted in reluctant remembrance. They’d found her after a long, boring two months and by the end of it all she’d had to say was ‘thanks for letting me know my family's looking for me, you can go now.’ Not that it mattered much to Holland. They made out with enough money to take a couple of weeks off so they could take Holly to Catalina Island. She got food poisoning on the first day but still claims it was the best trip they’d been on in years (which wasn’t very meaningful considering they’d gone on maybe three of them since she was little).

“Guess you’re right.” Healy parked the car in the crowded parking lot. The line at Hammy’s was always so damn long. “Not getting paid to psychoanalyze the guy.” He sounded reluctant. Any time Healy couldn’t slip in one more act of Good it made him feel like a failure. It was something March secretly admired, however harebrained it was. He glanced a punch off Healy’s shoulder before getting out of the car. “That’s the spirit.”

-

“So why do you think he really left?” Holly asked through a mouthful of burger.

“Jesus, you two should become shrinks.” March grumbled.

 Healy sat comfortably sunken into the couch, a March sitting cross legged on the floor on either side of him. “It might be useful to know.” he added.

“Right. Like maybe you’ll be able to narrow down what kinds of places he’d go if you knew.” Holly agreed.

“Our only lead is a truck. Anyone can drive a truck. I don’t care why he’s driving it. All we have to do is follow.”

“So you admit, it’s a lead.” Healy pointed at him with a french fry.

“It’s a crumb of a lead. It’s the suggestion of a lead. It’s a lingering scent of maybe a lead.”

“Says the guy with no sense of smell.” Healy winked at Holly, who bit her lip to stop her smile from blooming. “A lead’s a lead.”

“Did you notice anything about Mrs. Hooper’s house? Like, anything that might make someone want to run away?” Holly was fifteen and already putting in more work than March.

“Yeah, puce carpet.”

 Healy nudged March with a socked foot. “She seemed nice. Boring, maybe. Said her husband died a few years ago and her other kid’s off at college somewhere, so the house was pretty quiet.”

“Boredom could drive someone away.” Holly said thoughtfully.

“And if it did that still gives us absolutely nothing to go on. Some kids just hate their parents, alright? Guy probably just hitchhiked to New York or something.” March said.

“Sounds nice.” Holly murmured under her breath. Healy nudged her with his other foot.

 March, begrudgingly, loved the gentle way Healy mediated. Fatherhood was something Holland hadn’t really been prepared for, much less being the single dad of a teenager. It didn’t help that he was a big time fuckup or that Holly was too smart for her own good. Having another person in their lives— having Healy in their lives— was a saving grace.

 Recently, Holly had started dating her first boyfriend. Or at least the first that she’d admitted to when she’d lost all plausible deniability after that time they’d picked her up from school and seen her drop some young punk’s hand like a hot iron. It was a point of contention now, between Holly and Holland. Boys were pigs, and Holland would know, he used to be one. It was one of the endless number of things Healy had become referee over, but also something Holly had adopted a near constant attitude because of.

“So when are you starting the stakeout?” Holly asked, fiddling with the cracked straw of her milkshake. March looked at Healy for an answer. He was always better at managing their schedule. Unlike March, he usually remembered what day of the week it was. Healy looked back at him and shrugged. Wasn't like they had another case on, much to the dismay of their wallets. “Tomorrow, I guess.”

 Holly got that look on her face. “Can I come?” Tomorrow was a Saturday.

 March shook his head. “Don’t you have normal teenage things to do? Shouldn’t you be like sneaking vodka out of someone’s mom’s cabinet on a Saturday?”

 Healy chimed in before she could argue. “It’s gonna be boring anyway, Holl. You’ll be sitting in the backseat twiddling your thumbs all day.” She knew that. She’d been on stakeouts with them before. But Healy’s say was more valuable to her than her dad’s, apparently, so she dropped it.

 It was late when Healy headed home, agreeing on the asscrack of dawn to reconvene and start their stakeout.

“Why doesn’t he just live here? You guys spend every day together anyway.”

 March wandered into the dimly lit kitchen for a glass of rye. Their (second) rental, real house unbuilt as ever, was always so still when Healy left. Another item on the laundry list of things March tried not to think about. “Because he’s a grown man, Holly, with his own house.”

“I wouldn’t call that dump a house, and anyway it’s an apartment. He should be sleeping here and not in an attic with a laughtrack that plays until two in the morning.”

“Well then you can invite him to stay for a sleepover next time. You guys can paint nails and read magazines.” Holland wasn’t stupid. He knew that wasn’t really what girls’ sleepovers were like. One time he’d walked in on Holly and her friend eating donuts and saying such depraved things about Joe Strummer that he’d vowed to not open the door without knocking ever again. He never looked at that Clash poster on her wall the same way.

 Holly scoffed in time with the ice tinkling into Holland’s tumbler.

-

 The sun shone way too brightly for Holland. When he’d woken up he’d still been a little drunk, but now out of the house and into Healy’s car a hangover had eagerly seeped in. They’d agreed to start the stakeout before the sun came up, but March had skillfully convinced Healy to take him through a drive-thru breakfast and they were running late. He now nursed a coffee as the sun rose into the perfectly wrong spot in the sky. They watched cars zip lazily by from the corner of a parking lot.

“I just think it would be good to have a dog around.” They’d had this discussion every other day for a month now. March wanted a dog in the house for the very logical reason of alerting them to intruders, Healy nay-sayed because he was a killjoy with no imagination.

“I’m telling you, March, putting in a doggy door just isn’t gonna be enough for a German Shepherd. And we all know you’re not gonna walk it.”

“Why do you even care so much, man? It would be my dog.” And more importantly, why did Healy even have a say in whether or not they got a dog?

“I care because I’d somehow get stuck taking it out half the time. And your sorry ass wouldn’t train it. We’d have an untrained, overpriced menace tearing around the house.” The house. Not Holland and Holly’s house, but The House.

“Well, whatever, even if that was true it’d make a good guard dog, right? No one’s getting past a pent up, feral German Shepherd. Might shit on the carpet but it’ll take a guy’s dick off. Balls too.”

“You should really consider a shrink. I think you’ve lost your damn mind.” Healy shook his head, but Holland caught his smile.

“You taking new patients, doc? I’ve been told by my teenager that I’m a headcase.”

“I could make some room in my busy schedule. Gonna cost you about the same as a purebred German Shepherd, though.”

 March smiled and leaned back into his seat. Absolutely nothing of interest was happening outside at all, which was just fine now but give March three or so more hours and he’d start going stir crazy and the headache wasn't helping.

 Mrs. Hooper had seen the truck twice, once in the morning and once in the early evening, which gave them an unfortunately broad window of time. She’d described it as a white, short cab semitruck, maybe a GMC, with a small trailer on it, which narrowed it down almost not at all. It sounded like every third short haul semi chugging around Los Angeles, of which there were many. Very many.

 The only thing they had to go off of was that the second time around she’d seen what she thought was some kind of blocky hand-lettering on the driver’s side door, done in “nearly illegible” multicolor. When Healy had asked what she meant by “multicolor” Mrs. Hooper had only elaborated as “horribly garish.” So at least there was that.

 The odds that the guy driving the bespoke truck was this Benny person were essentially zero. That was about half their cases these days, desperate longshots funded by desperate rich people. The other half was still taking photographs of idiots who fuck with the curtains open. It was wearing a little thin. Couldn't people invent more important problems to investigate? Whatever. A job’s a job’s a job.

 The coffee in March’s cup had gone cold just in time to meet the creeping heat from outside. He downed the tepid sludge before wrenching the little metal fan out of the back seat and plugging it in. It whirred to life gracelessly.

“Hey.” Healy tapped him on the arm, which startled and excited Holland enough that he flung his empty coffee cup onto the floorboards.

“What—what, you see something?”

 A short cab semi puttered toward them from a distance, aiming for a perfectly timed red light. Healy pulled up the binoculars and squinted through them, waiting for the cab to pull into view enough to see the driver’s door. March’s breathing was shallow in anticipation.

 The truck moved, and Healy tutted, and March could see the glaringly blank door even without the binoculars. “Driver’s blonde. Ginger beard.” Healy said, still staring through the eye pieces like the truck and driver might magically change. “False alarm.”

“They’re all gonna be false alarms. This is gonna be like finding a needle in a haystack, only the needle was never in the haystack to begin with.”

 Finally, Healy let the binoculars fall into his lap. “I ever told you how much I love your optimism?”

#the nice guys #the nice guys fanfiction #march x healy #healy x march #nice guys #holland march #jackson healy

[ggidolsmuts]

Special Treatment - Jang Yeeun

"Fucking health insurance..." you mutter under your breath. A physical is usually guaranteed to be covered, why is it so hard to find a doctor that's in-network?! The ones available are either too far away or completely booked. You scroll and scroll and scroll the portal, looking for available doctors in your area. The only one that fits your needs is an unrated one, seemingly fresh out of medical school. Well, you needed to get a physical done before your coverage rolls over, so you bite the bullet and book an appointment with Doctor Jang Yeeun.

3 months later you show up at her practice, which is thankfully very clean and in a nice part of town. The receptionist checks you in with a sweet smile, and a short while later you are waved in by the nurse. Nervously you confirm your name and date of birth while she takes your height and weight. You can't help but get a whiff of the nurse's perfume as she leans in to put the blood pressure cuff on you.

"Hmm, reading's a little high." The nurse frowns. “Let's try that again.” White coat syndrome is a real thing, but you had a higher pressure for other reasons—frankly, the nurse was hot, the perfect combination of pretty and cute. Another frown adorns her doll-like face when she takes the second reading.

"Any history of high blood pressure or heart disease in the family?"

"No."

"Do you smoke?"

"No."

"Drink?"

"Socially."

"Are you sexually active?"

"Sometimes."

She makes a note of your answers before turning to the computer.

"Okay, so you're just here for the physical?"

"Yes."

The nurse responds with a wordless note, guiding you to the examination chair. Her hand dances across your body.

"Do you feel this?" She presses a finger into your palm, and you nod.

"Close your eyes, how many fingers do I have on your back?"

"Three."

"Mmhmm, keep your knee relaxed." She taps it with a reflex hammer, and you body responds accordingly.

"Good, anything you want to bring up, anything feel off?"

"No. But umm, shouldn't the doctor be doing all of this?" you ask the nurse carefully.

"I am the doctor." You look at her previously flipped nametag, and indeed, it says Jang Yeeun on it. You looked her up on the clinic website, but wow, that photo does not do her justice.

"Ah, I'm sorry, I didn't see the coat, so I assumed—"

"Does this look better?" Yeeun laughs and throws the stereotypical doctor's coat over her petite frame.

"Yes, much like a doctor now, I'm so sorry."

"No problem, we're shorthanded, so I handle both the doctor and nurse duties here."

"I see, that's amazing. For such a pretty doctor to do all of this is really—" you blush and stop yourself, realizing what you said too late.

"A pretty doctor hmm?" Yeeun eyes you intently, a thousand mischievous thoughts running through her head. He's cute, should I...? The truth is, Yeeun has been running herself on fumes the past few months, managing and maintaining her own practice. It doesn't give her time for meeting people, and as a result she's been dry, for lack of a better word.

"Umm... Sorry, that slipped out."

"No, we should analyze, why did that slip out?"

"Sorry, I just thought you are really good looking, and—"

"Thank you. Now, just to clarify, you are sexually active yes? Are you seeing anyone at the moment?"

"No."

"Okay, I'm trying to figure out if you're sexually frustrated since you said that, which I might add, is highly inappropriate."

"I'm sorry, m-maybe, I'm trying to do no-nut November."

"Now why would you do that? It serves no purpose."

"Does it not?"

"Mmhmm, it's quite bad, you can't be going around spouting such comments at any pretty lady you see."

"Not just any, you're just really—" Yeeun interrupts you again.

"Ah ah ah, enough. You need special treatment, please come by my place as soon as possible."

"Um sure, yes of course. Will this be covered by my insurance?"

"Oh no need, we offer it free-of-charge, you will receive a message later today with the details."

Later that night Yeeun lounges in her recliner, debating on what message she should send you. If she didn't want to violate every professional rule about her job, the "place" she sends you to would just be her clinic again, and she'd do some simple placebo treatments for you. But the idle finger she traces between her legs does the thinking for her—she absolutely wanted you to violate her, and so she sends you a different location, the place she's in right now. She gathers her willpower and pulls her finger away from her body, typing out the message and sending it off to you. She breathes deeply and heavily as she tries to fall asleep—she is already looking forward to tomorrow.

Gulping, a few days later, you knock at the door, nervous about not being actually in a doctor's office for this "special treatment".

"Doctor Jang, I'm here."

"Welcome, please come in." Yeeun's dressed in her casual wear instead of looking like a medical professional, but your heart is beating rapidly anyways. Yeeun wears a simple but tightly fitted t-shirt and shorts, and the head below the belt thought that she looked simply delicious.

"Go through the door there, please strip to your underwear and put on the gown." You follow the doctor's instructions obediently.

"You can leave your clothes on the table, please, take a seat on the recliner and close your eyes, try to relax." Yeeun disappears from your view. "So, are you still doing no-nut November?"

"Umm yeah." You can't see Yeeun, but you can hear her step all around you.

"Have you failed? Did you masturbate since we last met?"

"What? No, it has only been a few days."

"Oh, that's no good, it is not good to be pent up." A finger traces your right forearm, and softly Yeeun mutters. "I can feel your muscles, makes me want to feel it working me over..."

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, I mean, you should be exercising, to work off that testosterone. Have you been doing more exercise then? At least masturbation works this arm muscle here."

"Oh, umm, no, no extra exercise."

"That's no good at all! That can be very harmful to you!" Yeeun claims with a mock scandalized tone. Your gown is pulled open.

"Doctor?"

"Shh, I need to examine you, make sure there are no symptoms from lack of masturbation." Her finger traces your jawline dangerously, and going by her actions so far you were willing to let her dictate how far things were going to go tonight—Yeeun would be a wonderful reason to fail your "goal". But as she glides her nail down your neck, a tiny part of you wonders if she brought you here to kill you instead of fuck you. With your eyes closed, you focus and hear Yeeun's self-muttering all the more clearly, and it eliminates all doubt.

"What a nice strong jaw, makes me want to sit on it..."

"Doctor?"

"Shhh." Her hair tickles your chest—she's very near you. Brazenly her hands travel down your chest and stomach, and you reflexively suck your tummy in, and in response she pokes you with a laugh.

"No need to put on airs, I'm your doctor, remember?" Her whisper is a little higher pitched, teasing you. "It's quite firm regardless, not a six-pack, but something I wouldn't mind grinding on either. Now for something to ride on..."

You were hard before, and as Yeeun's fingers reaches your boxers you get extra sensitive, suddenly noticing the friction of the fabric against your shaft. But all she does is pull on them briefly before moving on. You gasp and buck your hip in response.

"Patience, my patient, the examination needs to be finished." Both your thighs are squeezed, and her hair tickles them, indicating where exactly her head is. Tension floods your body as her warm breath is on your thighs, seeming to move inwards. With a giggle she defuses you, her hands moving down to your calves and feet instead.

Unbeknownst to you Yeeun is soaking wet, her face already red at the scent between your legs—gods she wanted it so bad! But she denies both of you immediate gratification, knowing that the end result will be utterly explosive if she does it. Her hands massaging your calves and lightly touching your feet are just delaying the inevitable, working herself up to cross the next line.

You choke on your breath, gripping the recliner tightly as you feel her fingers on your boxers again.

"Lift your hips please." You almost rocket off the cushion to obey her. In an instant she has pulled them past your knees, and you hurriedly kick them off. Her hair tickles your cheeks once more, and you can't help but moan when you feel her lips pull on your earlobe.

"So hard, so thick, makes me want to fuck you over and over again."

"P-Please, please doctor!"

"It is time for your treatment, keep your eyes closed." Your cock jumps as she drifts her hand down your body, almost touching it. "You should not be denying yourself during an arbitrary month, you should orgasm often, orgasm freely as your needs dictate."

Suddenly you feel her hair tickle your thighs.

"You should cum for me."

You shout loudly into the room when her mouth envelopes your shaft, and a single lick of her tongue is enough to make you spew your pent up load down her throat. With one hand planted on the recliner, the other hand finds her head, and your hips buck off the cushion, trying to stuff your cock straight through Yeeun's face as you shoot rope after rope of cum into her. Yeeun's buried in your crotch, her nose inhaling your arousal, and she is dizzy with heat, either from her own burning need, or from the hot liquid you just put into her. Her hand massages your balls, and Yeeun shudders as you continue throbbing and feeding her rich semen—it makes its way through her body quickly, and every drop of cum you give her makes her produce her own slick, soaking through her panties.

You rest on the recliner, euphorically drained, too tired to even react when she release you with a pop, some cum leaking out the side of her lips. Absentmindedly she feels herself up in front of you while she waits, a hand drifting all over her midriff.

"Do you want me to help you?" you ask when you've finally gotten your wits about you.

"We should focus on your treatment, please go to the bedroom for step two." Yeeun heads in first, disappearing into the bathroom. She splashes herself with water, looking in the mirror at her blushing face. The line had been crossed, she had touched you, put you in her mouth and let you blow—and yet she can't wait to put you in her elsewhere. Yeeun touches herself—her nipples were hard and swollen, and she's sopping wet between her legs, she needed to get off now. She exits the bathroom and finds you sitting on the bed, almost obedient, waiting for her instructions.

"Now then, with your first orgasm out of the way, I need to make sure your arm muscles haven't atrophied."

Your eyes widen as Yeeun unbuttons her shorts, revealing to you black panties with a large and darker wet spot. She sits next to you, placing your hand on a delicious thigh.

"Please touch me, work your arm out as much as you can." Yeeun gasps as you move it swiftly, but not in towards her dripping core, but up to the hem of her underwear.

"Are you sure?" you ask, reveling in how fit Yeeun kept herself—her tummy's flat and very toned, and it twitched slightly in response to your touch. Yeeun nods hastily, her hand covering yours, trying to push you down further.

"Yes, ah, ahh!" Airily Yeeun whines as you immediately slip underneath her underwear, her heat almost overwhelming as you place your palm between her legs. You run two fingers along her labia, and they are instantly coated in slick. Daringly you cup and lift her just like that, pulling her petite frame into your lap, your other arm wrapped around her midriff. Now she's situated between your legs, and Yeeun forces your thighs open as she spreads her legs for you.

"Please show me how to workout, doctor?" Yeeun obliges and places a hand over yours, tensing as she pushes two of your fingers into her. Her back arches in response, and your free hand grabs at her clothed chest, pinning her back against your chest. Your palm grinds against her nipple roughly, and Yeeun bites her lower lip to stifle her moan. You are treated to the sight of her tummy twitching and undulating against you as you follow Yeeun's fingers into her.

"J-Just like that." Yeeun makes to lift her hand and leave you to it, but you are faster.

"No, let's workout together."

"Fuck!" Yeeun cries out as she is stuffed with four fingers for the first time. Her own fingers feel long and thin inside her, a sensation not too foreign to her. But stacked on top of those are your fingers, each seemingly way thicker, firmly pressing her own fingers into her snug walls. In her high arousal she bucks mindlessly against your hands, fucking it like a dildo, except it is one that could separate and push her open, then twist and seemingly screw inside her. Her own fingers are touching places she never thought to touch, places that she pulled away from normally due to how sensitive just getting close to them made her feel. Except now, your fingers are manipulating her, giving both of you an arm workout as you fingerfuck Yeeun with both sets of fingers.

Wait! Too much! Yeeun shouts in her mind, but all that comes out is a low groan. Her free hand scrabbles for your arm, urging you to stop moving, but imperiously you keep going, pumping your arm up and down as you sought to find her g-spot. Yeeun's world begins to go white, her body growing numb as it concentrates on the bubbling cauldron boiling between her legs. You push Yeeun on, both your fingers and hers ever so close to where you wanted to touch, where she needed to be touched. Her entire body tenses involuntarily when her fingerpad brushes against it, and you go in for the kill.

"Ohhhh! Oh nngh— God, oh fuck! Ohhhhh yessss..." Yeeun releases her first unreserved and satisfied moan of the night as you push your fingers against her g-spot repeatedly, fingerblasting her. A jet of juice sprays against her own palm, and you force it to splash back onto herself as you pump fingers viciously into her, the sound getting lewder and sloppier by the second.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck!" Yeeun stays rigid as her body continues to produce more slick, as if your fingers are poking holes in the dam of pleasure she has built up over her dry spell, and all of it is leaking out uncontrollably. Loud moans accompany every burst of squirt, and she can feel her own palm getting splashed with every orgasmic flash of white in her head. Over and over she goes over the edge until it is finally dulled by overstimulation, her body only able to twitch, unable to squirt anymore. You pull your fingers out, and when you flick your hand droplets of her girlcum are flung on to the bed.

"Good?" you ask her, holding your shining fingers to her face. Yeeun nods and takes your fingers in her mouth. Her tongue cleans them before she pulls you in for a fevered kiss, sticking her tongue down your throat, making sure you can taste her want. You grab her own slick hand and draw it across your jaw and neck, much like she did earlier.

"What did you say before doctor, this makes you want to sit on it?"

"Yes, give me a moment though—" she tries to get off you, but you hold her still.

"No, I want to taste this—" you take her fingers and suck them clean, "straight from the source. Either you sit on me, or I am pinning you to the bed and devouring you right now."

"Fine, fine, lie down, I need to evaluate your neck and jaw muscles."

"Good excuse doctor." You lie down obediently. Yeeun turns around and crawls on top of you, her legs shaky on the mattress. She pushes herself up and down your stomach, smearing it in her juices, and she fires you a smile—right, she wanted to grind on you.

"Breathe in please." You suck your stomach in, and Yeeun moves a little higher, dragging herself over your ribs, the bumps sending shivers up her spine. She grates herself on you, shredding the last of her inhibitions, turning them into a light glean on your torso.

"What happened to not putting on airs in front of you?" you joke as you have to exhale and catch your breath. "There's another way you can feel good doctor, without me having to suck my stomach in."

"Good, I need this so bad tonight." You hook her knees and pull her up your body. The heat on your chest grows, and Yeeun pants heavily on top of you. With your hands on her ass you push her towards you, and she grabs your hair, pulling your head off the bed. Soon you are forced to breathe through your nose, taking in oxygen and her scent as she rides your face, your tongue slurping her like the last bit of soup in a bowl. The bowl is self-filling though, and over and again you drink from Yeeun, each lick on her slit ending with a flick on her clit—it makes her leak even more, coating your chin.

"Hrghk!" Yeeun ignore your grunts and pulls you further in between her legs. If the presidential jet is Air Force One, your face is her Cloud Nine as she bounces up and down, back and forth over your mouth. Your hands are large and grabby on her ass, and part of her wonders if she should let you take over for part of the night, have you pin her down and devour her like you mentioned... her eyes disappear into her head when your tongue wraps around her pearl of a clit. Maybe later.

"Ah fuck, yes! I'm going to cum, I'm going to cum on your face!" Her fingers tug even more urgently on your hair, and her grinding becomes frantic and wild. The resulting act is half her fucking your face, and half you tonguefucking her. You grab her ass almost painfully to try and control Yeeun, but it only serves to drive her arousal higher, and there is no stopping the pleasure shooting up her spine. With a loud cry Yeeun climaxes on top of you, her pussy desperately trying to grab at your tongue, lewd squelching noises filling your ears.

Yeeun falls off you, and you take a moment to take everything in—you are drenched in slick, you're sweating, your face is red, you're gasping for breath, and yet you haven't done a damn thing to your bombshell of a doctor. Yeeun has no plans of letting up though, and she clambers on top of you before you could get the upper hand.

"How about you take a rest doctor?"

"No, I want to ride this cock, need to feel this in me." She has already lined herself up with you, and her guiding hand is already grasping you.

"So fucking needy—" you grunt in pleasure as you slip into Yeeun for the first time. You thought you were drenched in her slick already, but your cock feels like it's submerged in a pool of her juices, and somehow it is the tightest pool you've ever been in. The pool grows and deepens inch by inch, until Yeeun is sitting on your waist. She takes off her t-shirt and bra, and you get a peek at her breasts before she leans on top of you, kissing your neck.

"Damn doctor, you're a little nympho aren't you?"

"You would be too if you haven't gotten laid in so long, now shut up and let me ride, you can take over later." The prospect of finally fucking Yeeun shuts you up, and you focus your energies on holding your orgasm back. It is relatively easy at first, but as Yeeun picks up the pace the warmth of her body on yours becomes hot and slick, just like her pussy wrapped around you. You shut your eyes tightly, wishing you could plug your ears from her erotic moans.

Yeeun smiles at your closed eyes, knowing that she was getting to you just as much as you were getting to her. She throws her head back, closing her own eyes and focusing on the pleasure she's taking from you. God I can’t stop riding him! Her body's taut and her pussy's tight, clenching down on you whenever she falls on your lap. Yeeun wants nothing more than to have your cock permanently in her, and she grinds down on your groin demandingly, trying to make the two of you joined at the cock and pussy. The heat between two of you grows with the friction, and Yeeun's fallen on top of you.

"Fuck I'm going to cum, I'm going to cum all over you!" she screeches, and when Yeeun orgasms, she really does cum all over you, giving your cock and crotch a fresh coat of slick. She gasps and groans into your neck, each contraction of her pussy around you forcing both air and juice out of her. You bite your lip and curl your toes, desperately trying to hold on and not blow in or with Yeeun.

"That was so good... Oh, you're bleeding, let me put some pressure on it." Yeeun leans in for a firm kiss, the light sting of your lip bite overpowered by the softness of her lips and the sweet taste of her lip gloss. She breaks the kiss with a smirk. "Haven't cum yet? Good, I'll keep my word then, you can do what you want, just don't cum in me."

Without a further word you roll Yeeun off you, and she's a little disappointed when you get on top of her in the missionary position. She's less disappointed where you put her legs on your shoulders, cooing in delight as you slide back into her. With the help of gravity you get even deeper and feel even bigger inside her, and she's already quickening to her next peak. You examine Yeeun's depths thoroughly with your cock, an invasive search that leaves her breathless in joy. Her body is pliable, bending to your weight, and no problems with her reflexes are observed—when you pull out, she lifts her hips best she can, yearning for the next thrust of your cock; when you push in, Yeeun tightens around you immediately, her ankles hooked around your neck.

"Yes!" Yeeun moans shamelessly—she was so right to let you do this to her! The pressure you're exerting on her entire body is nothing like she would get if she's the one in command. The bed creaks under your pounding, and Yeeun bounces powerlessly on the bed, sprung up by the bedsprings when you pull back, only to be slapped down at the hips by your next downward slam.

This feels so wrong but so good! She's violated all professional conduct tonight, and now you're taking her to task, punishing her with overwhelming pleasure. Yeeun screams in climax right before your own orgasm hits you, and your load splatters all over her twitching body as she thrashes about underneath. She threatens to pull the sheets off the bed in the throes of pleasure, but you grab her attention by leaning forward, pushing down on her legs. She looks up at you, eyes unfocused, still lost in ecstasy—a whimper escapes her as you lean even further on her, almost snapping her in two at the hips, but she inches her head up, and you reward her by gently pushing her legs off your shoulders and kissing the pain away.

"Oh fuck, it feels so warm..." Yeeun sneaks a hand down her body, smearing and spreading your cum all over her skin. Her tummy's now shining with your seed, and a second wind takes you.

"You admit you're a nympho doctor?" You're already flipping her on her front, and Yeeun reacts accordingly, pushing herself to her knees.

Fuck yes! "Only if the sex is good," she mumbles into the pillow, still catching her breath.

"And is the sex good?" Is he hard aga- nngh! You're already feeding her pussy with cock, and she pushes her hips even higher.

"Yes, fuck yes!" Yeeun cries into the pillow, her arms already tired from pulling on the sheets so much. She's sore, sensitive, and delirious, mostly fucked out of her mind. But she wanted more, wanted you to fuck her again, wanted you to fuck another orgasm into her. You give her just that, and with a sound that is as unintelligible as a doctor's handwriting she clenches around you again. The jolts of pleasure you give her as you fuck her through her orgasm become hammers on her nerves—her body reacts for her, spreading her knees and dropping her hips low on the bed, away from you.

But like an ambulance chaser your hips follow her down, and you easily drill Yeeun's prone form into the bed. One hand presses down on her back, and the other goes round to her face, and you hook her by the mouth with two fingers, twisting her head around to face you. Her tongue flicks against your fingers, and you pull them out to smear her cheeks with her own spit.

"Please, please cum for me already," Yeeun begs, drooling from where you had hooked her, it was too much, far beyond what she had expected! You are just about at your limit too, and with a few rapid ruts into her overfucked pussy you pull out, lodging your cock between her butt cheeks and thrusting forward, shooting your load all over her flawless back. Yeeun hisses, the thick white fluid scalding red hot lava on her skin. She moans in relief when it quickly cools, and when your cock throbs and slowly gets smaller on her lower back, indicating the end of the night. You knock the breath out of Yeeun when you collapse on top of her, kissing her sweaty neck.

"Too much for the nympho doctor?"

"Mmhmm, fuck that was too good."

"Are we done with treatment then?"

"Yes, no problems with your lack of masturbation. Might need you to come back in for another round of treatment sometime." Yeeun cranes her neck to look at you.

"I'd like that." You capture her lips passionately, two people thoroughly satisfied.

But the talk after you're all cleaned up is awkward.

"You know I can't be your doctor anymore right, this is a huge violation."

"Of course, I understand. You're losing my business then, I get sick very easily." Yeeun scoffs in response before walking you to the door.

"Please, my business will be fine. But I won't be, give me your number."

"You already have it no, from my records?"

"Yeah but it feels wrong to use that." You oblige and type your number in, and she calls you back. "Good, I'll contact you for your next treatment— Wait! Don’t save my number as that!” Yeeun winces as you save her number as "Doctor Jang". She takes your phone away from you before slipping it back into your hand with a kiss and a wink.

"I'll let you know when to come over, and bring some clothes to change into next time."

You look down at your phone on the way home. Her contact name says "Nympho Yeeun" instead—and already she's sending you a text for when you should come over next. An apple a day keeps the doctor away, but a lay a day keeps your balls drained, and your nympho doctor Jang Yeeun will make sure of that.

A/N: Took my time writing this one, Yeeun is gorgeous. It might read a little similar to the Woohee story, but hope it’s different enough. Anyways thanks for reading, hope you enjoy the medical references!

#smut #jang yeeun #CLC

[finniestoncrane]

Hi finnie! I hope you're having a good timezone ^^

I was wondering if you'd do a headcanons post for the riddlers reacting to a fem!reader they have a crush on accidentally sending them spicy photos (nudes or lingerie, chefs choice lol)? I was gonna ask for rogues reacting but that's just cause I also wanted to ask for scarecrow, mad hatter and daddy ozzie but I feel like that might be asking a lot ><

Feel free to ignore this or just do parts of it if you're feeling up to it!!♡

- E.F.

Accidental Nudes

Riddler Headcanons (with some Daddy Oz and others) ok but effy i just got off work for almost two weeks so i am in a perfect mood to do all the riddlers and the other little scruffs too! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw for nsfw stuff: suggestive stuff

gotham

*very cute pic of you standing up from behind*

he's not sure you meant that for him but he's double checking anyway

that you meant to send it! not the picture

although he has been staring at it without blinking since you sent it

cheeks red completely

sweat on his forehead

mouth suddenly very dry despite the fact that he's sure he's drooling out the corner of his open mouth

if you ask about it, he'll pretend he hasn't seen it

to save you both the embarrassment

arkham

*"how about this?"*

*lingerie set pic*

*"fuck. shit. please ignore and delete all messages ed"*

*"meant to send to a friend"*

*"ed seriously pls"*

buzz buzz buzz buzz buzz omg

he's told you about the multiple texting thing before just send it in one easy to ignore paragraph

and why are you texting him when he specifically said that he was busy working on- OH

ok less annoyed at you now

because this was worth the interruption

and fighting the temptation to tell you that it looks good

he kindly deletes the messages

but he has a photographic memory

and he'll be grinning like an idiot next time he sees you in the flesh

capullo

*tit pic*

*"oh shit, here we go"*

OH OH OH OK

so you said, and you were very clear

that unwarranted dick pics were not appropriate!!

so how come you get to send nudes???

i mean not that he's complaining

but uh... tit for tat you know

now if you're open to requests

how about taking one with a lower view... are you wearing anything on the bottom half?

or are you completely nude?

WHAT!? SO HE CAN'T EVEN ASK!?

unburied

*flirty just out the shower pic*

*"sorry, not meant for you, but enjoy!"*

well that's infuriating

because first of all maybe he was enjoying it

but he definitely will be trying not to now out of spite

then again... you do look wonderful

and it is a complete tease to send him a picture meant for someone else

although that might just be a clever trick

either way, saved to camera roll for later

but he won't be telling you that

telltale

*top half bare, bottom half in panties pic*

*"edward! please delete the last message, i am so sorry"*

disappointment immeasurable

you're the kind of person who sends pictures like that over messages?

he was right to think he shouldn't have given you his number

but also

if this was indeed an accident

that means you didn't intend to send it to him

which means this gratuitous display of your body was meant for someone else

and as soon as he finds out who you might find them uncontactable

dano

*exceptionally good butt pic with panties*

he doesn't get it...

OH! that's... you! oh my...

of course he'll delete it!

but... who did you mean to send it to?

you're just taking it for yourself? oh ok

that's nice! he's glad!

glad that you were... appreciating yourself, not glad that...

that you weren't sending it to someone else, because that would make him jealous and he's not jealous at all

because he doesn't... you don't like him like that so it's fine

it's whatever

he's going to go lie face down on the floor for a while now

with his phone on silent

twojar

*topless selfie*

*"ooooooh... sorry"*

don't be sorry, nothing he hasn't seen before

do you know how many women send him shirtless pics

he's inundated with them, frankly

it's a nuisance yes, but at least you didn't mean to send it

you... didn't mean to send it, right?

right! just an accident! of course!

why would you ever mean to send him those pictures

you're not interested in him in the slightest

and that... that doesn't drive him mad at all

that doesn't make you one of the few women to turn him down

which doesn't make him want you all the more

especially now that he's had a glimpse of what he's missing out on

young justice

*teasing selfie with your hands over your boobs*

*"oh gosh, ed! so sorry!!*"

he hasn't even seen the second message

because when he opened the first one, he threw his phone across the room

is it possible to get that hard that quick?

because he is and he did

he barely even got a look at you, and there was barely even anything to see

but it was enough to send him over the edge

genuinely close to tears over how hot you are

and how pathetically desperate he is for you

don't expect to get a reply

and he'll also be hiding from you for at least three weeks

AND THE BONUS BOYS <3

penguin

*showing off your new lingerie*

*"uh... sorry, mr cobblepot... finger slipped"*

hey you know what, that's ok, these things happen

but uh... your finger ever takes a fancy for slipping again

he wouldn't be complaining

also, it looks good on you kid, you should be sending that to everybody you know

looks good enough to sell the stuff

which speaking of, how much was it

maybe as a thank you for lifting his spirits up he can send you the cost, a treat

maybe you spend that money on something new

make sure to show him that as well

scarecrow

*nude selfie*

*"good god in heaven jon please don't look at that picture"*

you could have just found him and deleted it yourself in the time it took for him to see the message

his phone is always on silent and he never knows where it is

perhaps the cracks on the screen shielded most of you

either way, when you see him next, flustered and embarrassed, he can't help but revel in your nerves

he won't tell you he saw it

he won't even acknowledge it

but now he can finally pinpoint the reason he doesn't mind being around you

mad hatter

*sweetly posed picture of you topless and smiling

gosh golly, he almost dropped his phone into his cup

verbal and visual example of a keyboard smash

cheeks are bright pink, eyes are WIDE

should he send one back? express his apperciation?

surely you can't have meant this for him

perhaps it would be best, most polite, to delete the images

but now that he knows what's hiding under your shirt

and how sweet your smile can look even in the most...

intimate circumstances

it's going to be harder to hide his crush

#finnie writes #riddler #the riddler #gotham riddler #arkham riddler #young justice riddler #dano riddler #zero year riddler #batman unburied riddler #bu riddler #telltale riddler #twojar riddler #capullo riddler #jervis tetch #jonathan crane #oswald cobblepot #the penguin #scarecrow #mad hatter

[mauesartetc]

What is your opinion on Winx Club and it's art direction?

Honestly I never watched Winx Club growing up, so my frame of reference for it isn't particularly intimate. But just looking at the characters, it's clear there's a bit of Sameface and Samebody Syndrome going on.

The art style's certainly unique for a Western kids' show, and there's a nice variety of bright colors. But man, I hate to think what kinds of messages the show's young target audience took away from these designs. If all kids see in their media are tall, impossibly skinny bodies portrayed as desirable, they'll wonder why their own bodies don't match. And creators should be especially sensitive to this when they're making shows for girls, since media bombards them with a host of beauty standards to measure up to (and it's not like I'm any kind of expert in child psychology, but I'd wager the advent of social media hasn't helped matters). So it frankly didn't surprise me to learn that this show was created by a dude.

Look, I'm not saying men can't be mindful of the effects media can have on girls, nor am I saying men and boys never deal with their own body image issues. But if you're making a show with a majority-female cast, maybe consult some women about their designs-? In the credits of the first episode there are two feminine names listed as character designers (Michele Lilli and Andrea Pulito), but they appear to be outnumbered by twice as many men. (Though apparently those names can be masculine in Italian, so it's possible Michele and Andrea are men as well. Too bad their IMDB pages don't list pronouns for them.)

And according to Winx Club's Wikipedia page, after a pilot that was unsatisfying to the creator, the team hired fashion designers to revamp the characters. At first I thought this would explain the girls' proportions (it's common practice in fashion design to draw slim, taller-than-average figures with elongated legs), but the concept art from the pilot tells a different story. Even before the fashion designers came aboard, all the girls had the same tall, skinny physique.

Not that there's anything wrong with being tall and skinny- hell, I'm a beanpole myself! But when all your characters have the exact same body type, whatever that may be, it leaves out so much human variety and just looks repetitive as a result. It's boring. And on top of that, it creates a visual impression that these characters are interchangeable with little to no individuality. The girls do have their own distinct personalities in the show (I ended up watching the entirety of Season 1 for this post), but those personalities don't come across well in still images.

It'd help if they were posed in ways that showcased their individual traits rather than just... "feminine and vaguely playful" across the board. Where's Stella's cockiness, Flora's kindness, Musa's sarcasm, Techna's logic? I'm wondering if the fashion designers sketched out these poses as well, because they seem much better suited to displaying clothes than demonstrating character.

(To make matters worse, there's a point in the show where the girls look like literal clones. This screenshot where they're all wearing the same outfit really highlights just how little body diversity they have.)

And what's bonkers about the faces looking so extremely similar is that creator Iginio Straffi based these characters on real women-? Namely Britney Spears for Bloom, Cameron Diaz for Stella, Jennifer Lopez for Flora, Pink for Techna, Lucy Liu for Musa, and Beyonce for Aisha. Here's how they all looked around the time of Winx Club's development:

And here's how I'd use the photos as a starting point to make each character's face stand out more.

They seriously couldn't have just leaned in to what made each face unique rather than painting them all with the same brush?

I get it, drawing all the characters with the same base makes it easier to keep them on model (and I imagine it keeps things cost-effective when making toys of them). But good god, you couldn't have treated them as actual characters rather than paper dolls for the fashion of the week?

From what I saw of the show, it's fine. It's passable. I fully accept that I'm not the target audience for it, but it's not bad for what it is. Could use a ton more character development, though, both in the designs and the writing. In any case, I'm glad that present-day animated shows seem to be evolving past cookie-cutter character design.

To close this out, here's something that I absolutely should not be able to get away with:

Recognizing these poses from the DVD cover is a sign of knowledge.

Realizing I switched them around is a sign of wisdom.

#character design #winx club #critique #sameface syndrome #samebody syndrome #media #media criticism #long post #ask #phasedahmer

[siriannatan]

1920s mafia!Au with Flower Ranchers

Guess who watched Bernadette Banner and got inspired for some Mafia!au stuff?

I did. And I decided to delve into the Flower Ranchers pit.

Agreeing to infiltrate the Ranch - a high-profile club owned by a mysterious gangster known only as Canary- was probably Scott's biggest mistake in a while. Not that he had many other jobs to think about. Or an option to say 'no', You don't simply say 'no' to Grian. Not with a serial killer hunting him for some bizarre reason and Grian saying he can get her to stop. Scott had no idea how he was supposed to do it but meeting her would probably be better than his current situation.

The main and frankly only thing Grian wanted was Canary's real name. Scott had no idea why and what for he wanted it. But he managed to get into the bar despite not really fitting the usual guest list through an interview for a singer. A cute, blonde man in a pinstripe, three-piece suit made of dark navy fabric and a lighter blue undershirt was overseeing it all. The eyepatch over his left eye was curious. He guessed he was managing the club for Canary. By his side, with no break was a guard. Also blonde, dark ash grey shirt and deeply red trousers with black suspenders. Blonde. Red eyes. A meta-human judging by the flames dancing in his eyes whenever anyone got too close to blondie with the eyepatch.

After his turn Scott decided, in a flash of genius, to sneak about behind the scenes of the establishment. Not a good decision since the fire-eyed blonde was currently pressing a knife to his back. On the perfect spot where no ribs would stop him from stabbing Scott's heart before he could even think about fighting back. "Whatcha' doing' back here precious?" he asked, pushing the knife a bit harder.

"Looking for the toilets," Scott nervously chuckled out an excuse.

Red, as Scott decided to start calling the scary guard, huffed, clearly not believing Scott. "Yer' lucky boss likes your face and voice..." was the last Scott heard before being knocked out.

Scott woke up with an intense headache. And the voice he vaguely recognised as the blonde man with the eyepatch. "Calm down Tango, I'm the boss, I can do whatever I want," he didn't sound at all bothered by whatever 'Tango' was bothered by. With a groan, he absolutely was not able to not make Scott decided to open his eyes. Pinstripes and eyepatch was sat in an armchair in the club in Red's lap. "Looks like Scotty's waking up," he chuckled and Scott felt his already low body temperature drop even lower.

Just how much did he know already? Where in the frozen hells did Grian send him...

"I'm going to guess my lovely brother has something to do with your sneaking," pinstripes continued to grin as he presented Scott with a photo of him and Grian talking. "I like to keep an eye on my charming siblings, just so they don't get in the way too much, especially Grian," he chuckled as he tossed the photo away. 

"I had no idea who..." Scott tried to protest. He was a dead man if Grian heard he was caught. If not by Grian's goons then Pearl would hear just where she could find him.

"Shush, no need to panic, your face's pretty enough to make me want to not let Tango redecorate my club," he was stopped and blondie stood up. Red huffed and glared at Scott. It was probably best for Scott to listen to what eyepatch had to say. "I'm guessing he had to have something good to offer you, like keeping a certain sister of ours away from that pretty face of yours. Tango here also happens to know of your talents outside of singing..."

He definitely knew far too much. No one but Pearl and Grian knew what he was capable of outside his occasional performances at local clubs, bars and even rarer - the theatre. He could only hope pinstripes - he was more and more certain he's talking to the Canary - did not know about his meta-human abilities. Not even Pearl knew about that and they used to work together before it ended in an unfortunate circumstances and ended with her hunting him down... But if the sibling talk was real... Scott was sure there was frost forming on his skin but absolutely did not want to look at it.

"I say the abilities of someone who once managed to keep up with Pear's temper and work style could do much better than running Grian's useless errands. What did he even send you here for?" he asked with a tiny grin.

He no doubt already knew but what choice Scott had but to humour him. "Canary's real identity," he said and was totally stunned as the other started to laugh. "He said he'd get Pearl off my case, she was getting really hard to avoid," Scott mumbled and Tango's glare softened slightly. 

"She can be a bit much," pinstripe hummed. "Well, that's a surprise," he chuckled. "I suppose my acting's better than I thought. I thought he'd figure it out by now. No matter, I'll deal with my brother another time. As for you, little flower, how about working for me instead? Pearl avoids this place like fire, and you sing very nicely, so how about staying here? No grumpy faces Tango."

"As long as I can do some stuff of my own," Scott said before he could stop himself. Couldn't he just say no and look for a way to get as far from these accursed siblings as he possibly could?

"I don't see why not as long as it doesn't get in the way of my business and work for me takes priority," the Canary shockingly agreed. Red, or Tango did not complain in any way. "But when not performing or doing your own things, you'll be staying close to me and Tango. I'd hate for someone to bother my cute new singer," the Canary, or Jimmy as he introduced himself while giving Scott a tour of the backrooms. Red - Scott would only call him that since it seemed to annoy him slightly - was one step behind them the whole time.

Over the next few days, Scott followed Jimmy along with Red. He was very touchy but at least he was pretty and Tango was scary enough to keep most trouble away. And turned out to be a great pianist when the usual one was suddenly killed not too far from the club. It very much seemed like a Pearl kind of a kill so Scott was obviously a bit tense but still gave a great performance. Jimmy sitting in the audience with two guards replacing Tango certainly helped. She wouldn't do anything with him around, right?

Aside from Tango purposely making the usual set of songs harder the evening went well. Grian was among the guests but he was easy to ignore. Jimmy seemed to be enjoying himself. A very good evening he'd likely get very praised for. He was honestly getting used to being just Jimmy's favourite singer, even if other performers looked weird at him. So what if Jimmy also liked him as a pretty accessory? Tango was for being handsome and scary, and Scott was for being pretty and keeping Jimmy from being too angry at his problems.

"I'll grab a drink," Scott told Tango after their performance was over. Red just nodded and was off to rejoin Jimmy's side. Other guards instantly cleared out, a rather amusing sight considering Tango wasn't all that tall, he was quite a fireball when angry.

By the bar Scott made sure to also ask for Jimmy's favourite drink along with his water and was about to go to his new boss when a commotion started and suddenly very close to him was a barely held back by guards Pearl. If looks could kill Scott'd be a dead man. He didn't really see Pearl since the 'betrayal', at Cleo's funeral house but was still quite confident he'd be okay. As long as guards could hold her back long enough for him to reach Jimmy...

"You traitor!" Pearl called out along many mean words but Scott was not quite listening to her. He was never one for much conflict. Thievery? Lying? Even more theft? Yes, yes, yes. Bringing a big issue - one Jimmy knew about but still - over to a bar owned by a mob boss? Hell no and so he seized up. Chill climbed up his spine and frost formed on the glasses he was holding.

And then there was sudden heat and a Tango between him and Pearl and a hand on his back. "Sorry dear sister but I'll have to ask you to be nice to my performers, especially Scott, he's kind of my favourite alongside Tango," Jimmy's voice. Scott decided to ignore all that was happening and focus on the half-hug Jimmy had him in. Otherwise, he'd probably freeze the whole building.

He was so focused he totally missed Pearl leaving and being moved to Jimmy's office. Only Tango's freakishly warm hands on his face shook him out. "Sorry... open conflict's not my thing and..." Scott instantly jumped into apologising.

"It's all okay Scott, the boss knows, he's currently arguing with his siblings about that whole thing. Pearl had to find out somehow you're here... I'd be more worried about them than the boss," Tango gently explained as Scott slowly recovered. "He got really worried when you got all unresponsive, told me to make sure you're oka..." Tango rambled. He was clearly not used to having to explain himself in any way that did not include punching and burning. Not that Scott cared, he was warm so he just hugged him.

"Warm..." he offered as an explanation. Tango was really pleasantly warm. "Just a little while... My power is a bit hard to control..." he sighed while practically melting into Tango on Jimmy's office carpet.

And that's how Jimmy found them shortly after. His wings were no longer hidden by the illusion he usually kept up. "Scott? Oh my... I'll murder Grian one of those days... Bringing Pearl here when I said she's banned," he huffed as he joined the hug, completely ignoring Tango's hopeful look at a chance of no longer having to have emotions.

"Come on Red's it's just a hug, you're warm, I can give you a kiss later," Scott hummed even happier with Jimmy and his wings providing additional warmth and comfort.

"Boss..."

"What he said, Tango, but I say we move it somewhere more comfortable where idiots won't be looking for me," Jimmy made the final decision. "I'll leave revenge for later. NO one scares my favourite people and gets away with it. No one," he huffed as Tango carried Scott somewhere - Jimmy's room - that didn't matter at the moment. Being comfy and warm came over anything after losing control.

#my stuff #my stories #fanfiction #fanfic #empires smp #traffic smp #flower ranchers #flower husbands #team rancher #empires scott #scott smajor #tango tek #esmp jimmy #jimmy solidarity

[anika-ann]

Love on the Brain - part 6.1

Ch6: Floriography (1/2)

Type: MCU x Criminal Minds crossover series

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word Count: 5000

Summary: After the long night, you come back to the case with fresh eyes… and a new piece of evidence. You wished more evidence was good news. It’s not.

Series masterlist

Warnings: series includes criminal behaviour such as stalking or kidnapping; graphic violence, gun violence; (mentions of) death; allusions to dub-con; possible PTSD and flashbacks; sexual innuendos and foul language. Loads of fluff and teasing. I’m covering my bases here to make sure - probably sounds worse than it is. If you’re interested in specific warnings for individual chapters, let me know.

A/N: divider by @firefly-graphics​; I didn’t want to split this one, but it was getting really really long and no one wants like a 11k chapter. Enjoy 🥰

"If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever." — Alfred Tennyson

When you slipped out of Steve’s room, you were met with the smug face of Natasha, the bodyguard ready to walk Steve to the conference room; she assessed your appearance with a smirk on her face, but at least she didn’t dare to say a word beside a good morning.

You questioned whether it was a good one. You strode to your own room to take the world’s quickest shower, jeans and the A.I. t-shirt and hoodie on in a record time, bursting into the room not later than seven minutes after Jarvis alerted you.

Everyone was already in there indeed and they all snapped their gaze to you as you took long quick steps, examining the tables and the white board for new notes. There weren’t many.

“Morning,” you greeted them swiftly, noting that some of them were nursing a small breakfast consisting of fruit, yogurt or granola and fresh juice or a cup of the black coffee, the half-empty pot sitting in the middle of the central table. “What’s the word?”

“Good morning to you too. The word is eat at least a granola bar or a piece of fruit before you ask about work,” Emily hummed good-naturedly, earning an unimpressed look.

Who thought about food when there was clearly some news even if you hadn’t seen any traces of it? They all knew what it was already, you could tell.

But instead of sharing, Emily told to eat.

That could only mean it was not good news, you realized; and you’d be terrified of what it was, but Steve was here, so whatever happened couldn’t be worse than your worst fears.

“She’s right. Sit down and eat something. Drink, Bean,” Spencer supported her, a brief tense smile on his lips.

Grunting, you obeyed, blindly reaching into the bowl of snacks and grabbing a small bottle of water. You took a seat between Steve and Spencer, closer to the latter. Even with the hum of a case in progress, you could sense awkwardness in the air, the unfortunate but expected outcome of the stupid maybe you had told Steve.

Because that was just what you needed now, on top of everything.

Once seated, you moved onto staring Spence down, hoping at least he might spill the beans; the idea that anyone else would was frankly laughable. Natasha wouldn’t budge, neither would Hotch, Tony probably got off of knowing something you didn’t and Emily apparently wouldn’t say a word until you finished chewing.

To his credit, Reid drummed his fingers against his chin, eyeing the board to avoid your gaze. Traitor.

“You didn’t miss anything. As of now, the security team of the Tower is on the highest alert, because of a delivery. We just found out and Tony was about to call Mr. Hogan to give us more information once you’d arrive,” Hotch explained as you took two quick bites and chunked half a small bottle of water.

You nearly choked on it, eyes widening in shock.

Now the semi-ominous faces they all had when you arrived made perfect sense.

This was not good. That meant the unsub was escalating, making contact for the second time in two days and you had a feeling that this time, she wasn’t sending photos.

This was so so not good. It had to have something do with the women in the pictures. God, if it was a body part-

“What kind of a delivery-“

“We don’t know,” Natasha said, not even letting Steve finish the question you would have asked hadn’t you been trying to clear your airways. “Tony?”

“Jarvis, put me through to Happy,” Tony hummed, not even bothering to look up, knowing the artificial intelligence would catch it. “Put it on speaker.”

“Yes, boss.”

You and Reid laid your elbows on the table, leaning forward; he nudged you lightly to finish your excuse of a meal, making you roll your eyes.

You weren’t about to chew when you needed to hear the slightly goofy but most loyal head of the Tower security, one Happy Hogan.

“Hey Tony.”

“And company. Hey,” Tony greeted the voice, the rest of the team following his example. “Talk to us, Happy. What’s up?”

“8 o’clock sharp, there was a flower delivery at the reception desk,” Happy announced matter-of-factly, having you glance at your phone – it was 8:08. This really was relatively fresh news.

Flowers though?

That could mean a myriad of things; and it depended on many factors, starting from the number of flowers, the kind, the price, the type of shop chosen and the area it was stationed at… and most of all, the note if there was one to begin with.

“Okay…? It’s for Steve, I assume?”

“Yeah, unfortunately, that’s all we can do right now. Assume,” Happy replied with a sigh. “There’s no name – no addressee, no signature besides ‘Yours truly’.”

Your eyebrows shot up, heart skipping a beat. It was natural everyone was being cautious – and thank god for that, your mind was already racing, analysing what the signature could mean, the choice of words yours truly rather than more common and less formal secret admirer – but… this could actually be a false alarm.

You prayed it was.

“Oh-kay…?” Tony mumbled, looking just a fraction unsure as he glanced at Hotch and then you.

You exchanged a look with your former boss; a barely visible nod told you he was giving you a green light to take lead on this since Tony seemed a little lost at best.

Steve noted your silent exchange, his foot gently nudging yours in support; even two chairs away, his toes were long enough to reach your insole. Glancing at him with your face as straight as you could muster, you were rewarded with an encouraging smile, causing you to gulp.

Damn him and his stupidly beautiful face and stupidly kind heart.

“Hello Mr.Hogan, Happy, this is Jones. Is there anything else you can tell us about the flowers? Was there something that tipped you off? It’s weird timing for sure, but could it be that the flowers are just for the girl working the reception desk today?” you asked, slipping into the investigation mode and trying your best not to get your hopes up – or to show them.

You fooled no one.

“Not much I can tell. Two dozen of white roses. They’re sweeping them for bugs and prints right now. As for Jody having a secret admirer, well, I doubt that because of the note. It says, and I’m reading word-for-word, ‘I’m sorry I scared you into hiding. I could hurt people who are not worthy of you, if necessary, but I would never hurt you’,” he recited.

The words were like a punch straight to your solar plexus, knocking the wind out of you. You pressed your lips together, hands curling into fists automatically, as if to strike back – but there was nothing you could punch, nothing you could fight off.

Well, except for a stupid bouquet for Steve, no doubt from the unsub himself.

Fuck.

“…fair enough,” Tony said into the stunned silence of the room, causing your eyes to slip shut as you pressed your lips into a thin line. Fair? Nothing was fair about this. “Thanks, Happy, we’ll be in touch.”

You heard the call disconnect, the frozen room coming back to life judging by the shuffling. You looked to your right when you felt Steve’s large hand gently curling around your fist.

So you summoned a smile for him – albeit a lame one.

He needed your head in the game; he needed a supportive friend who’d have his back. Not a weepy shaking weakling. He needed this crazy-ass delusional stalker gone so he could go back to his normal life as soon as possible. He needed a professional BAU agent.

And you were going to give him exactly what he deserved; even if his deep blue eyes told you he would accept anything less than that too.

Loosening your fist, you squeezed his hand shortly before dropping it and rising to your feet.

“Let’s get moving. Spence-“ you turned to him, only to see him already making his way to the board to take notes of what you just learned. “Thanks.”

“What’s the game plan?” Emily asked no one in particular, but automatically turned to Hotch, the team leader. “This is a clear escalation. Two contacts in two days. Less personal touch, but more defined threat of violence towards the women and somehow… more protective of Steve too.”

“I agree. We need to get the NYPD on this, or your agents,” Hotch beckoned to Tony and Natasha, naturally leaving out Steve – the subject of the case – out of the action. Even if the subject appeared much less shell-shocked than you felt; and he probably was, because you were in love with a reckless idiot. “The women for questioning shouldn’t arrive alone.”

“On it,” Natasha confirmed, exchanging a look with Tony, ready to help him choose from the most trustworthy – hopefully trustworthy – agents.

Your heart hammered against your ribcage at the thought: hopefully trustworthy. The circle of truly trusted people became absurdly short after yesterday – in fact, the most trusted people were in this room.

And they needed to stay here.

You knew it made you the biggest asshole in the world but you were just fine with the Avengers and the BAU being exclusively around Steve. You wished no harm to anyone, but if it came down to Steve or some random woman… as much as you’d give everything to protect all, you had your priorities straight.

The person you cared about the most was here, safe, and it had to stay that way.

Momentarily lost in thought, you barely registered the dialling tone from the phone in Hotch’s hand. However, you certainly heard the voice on the other end.

“You called the hot line. Would you like to talk to someone special?”

For the second time that morning, all noise and movement in the room stopped, only the startled faces of the Avengers snapping to the source of the peculiar greeting that could only be a misdial.

Your gaze flickered between all of them – your former colleagues clearly stiffening a laugh, Hotch closing his eyes as he realized his mistake of putting the phone on speaker right away – and despite everything, you burst out laughing. It was incredibly liberating.

It did sound like a misdial; or the BAU’s technical analyst, queen of all things awesome, speaking.

“Garcia, you’re on spea-“ Hotch broke through your laughter, only to be interrupted by her astonished voice.

“Oh my god, is it my time to go to heaven already? It must be, because I’m hearing angels! Was I called by someone special?”

Chuckling still, cheeks hurting from smiling even wider when you saw Steve’s baffled expression, you greeted your favourite IT magician.

“I’m here, Penelope, it’s good to hear your voice. And please, never ever change,” you pleaded heartily, your companions gradually relaxing and returning to their previous tasks.

“Oh honey, I could never,” she promised. “It would break Derek’s heart if I as much as tried to dim my amazing sparkling self. What can I do you for?”

Your smile slipped despite the innuendo, words caught in your throat as your saw movement in your peripheral vision. Bruce was making his way to the conference room, the glass automatic door revealing the huge white bouquet in his hands; and the ominous expression on his face. Your stomach twisted, throat tightening.

“Well, the local tech genius is a little busy, so we wondered if you could track a flower delivery for us?” Emily stepped in, causing your attention to snap back to the call, stubbornly ignoring Bruce as he walked in and set the flowers on the table. “The order would be within the last 24 hours, over two dozen of white roses, and was delivered to the Avengers Tower… exactly 16 minutes ago.”  

A rapid staccato of Garcia’s fingers against the keyboard could be heard as the words spilled from her mouth just as fast.

“Who-oou, if I didn’t know we’re talking a stalker case I would have swooned. And they say chivalry is dead...” she contemplated. “Hello to the Avengers if there any, by the way. Is the Captain there? And Black Widow? Iron Man? It’s so cool that you got to work with them! And Thor, the actual god of thunder, not just my chocolate thunder? I’m so jealous…”

“Garcia, the flowers...?” Hotch reprimanded her, half-serious, half-resigned.

And secretly amused all as you all were.

Despite the horror Garcia tended to see on her screens, she was the literal bottle of sunshine that made all of your lives brighter, a force of nature and a ray of hope shining between the grim world of serial killers, stalkers and child abductors.

By right, she was thoroughly adored. By everyone.

“Please, sir Hotch, you know I can multitask,” she sassed him, sounding offended as the clicking in the background never ceased.

Even with your heart in your throat, you couldn’t but smile a fraction at her antics, giving her what she asked for – gladly.

“Steve, Natasha and Tony are here, now doctor Banner too. Clint’s around, but no Thor. And believe me, I know for a fact they should be excited as much as you are, working with a team as cool as the BAU.”

You caught Spencer smiling over his shoulder at you, still ready to write down any information Garcia was about to give you.

“Aww, honey! You just say that because it’s true!” Garcia cooed, causing the corners of your lips to twitch. You wished you had her cheerfulness – and her confidence, at least as a mask. “Alright, the delivery was executed by Bella Flora, pretty on the nose to be honest, a local shop owned by Julian Peters for eight years now. He’s clean besides doing dirty to his wife, aka cheating on her with his shop assistant, they divorced three years ago. Good for her if you ask me. The roses were paid from a credit card registered to… one Howard Fleming. I’m searching for—- oh.”

“What is it, Garcia?” Hotch questioned as everyone grew serious again.

You held your breath in anticipation; but you had a feeling that this was not a good kind of oh, even if you might be a little rusty on reading Garcia’s exclamations.

“Well, Mr. Fleming is 88 years old and lives in Idaho with his lovely wife and three adult children and way too many grandchildren. So I guess he’s probably not our unsub. Sorry, guys. I’m gonna dive into his kids’ background, but I’m afraid it’s more likely his card was stolen and not blocked properly. I’ll keep an eye on the activity on the card, keep digging and call you back.”

“We’ll be looking forward to it,” Spence assured her, not letting his disappointment show. “Thanks, Garcia.”

“Anything for you, Boy Genius. Hug Jones for me. Peace out.”

“He already did!” Tony called out, but the line was already dead. “I like her. Can I steal her for the A.I.?”

The response he got was overwhelming: Hotch, Reid, Emily, Natasha, Bruce, Steve and you managed to all to reply in unisono.

“No!”

“But-“

“Tony…” Steve warned him lowly, causing the man to lift his chin defiantly, a pout on his lips.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to deal with his child-like sulking.

“Let’s find each of the women an agent to bring her in, come on,” Natasha prompted him, her index finger poking Tony’s shoulder when he stared blankly ahead, still acting offended. “Your ego wouldn’t handle such competition in the house anyway.”

Considering everything you knew, you couldn’t argue; nor had the time for it anyway.

You had more important things at hand; to add to the profile since despite the new evidence surfacing, you had no names to add to the board.

“Okay. What do we know now?”

It could be barely an hour after the call and you were ready to scream in frustration: because you knew nothing anymore.

As nicely as you had wrapped it up yesterday, with a conclusion and a true sense of progress, the delivery made cracks in the very foundation of your investigation: the profile itself. You had planned to add to the profile after you regrouped in the morning, not to have it fall apart completely.

Too bad, it seemed.

And to add insult to the injury, you had nothing else either.

No useable fingerprints on the flowers or on the card.

No writing to analyse from the graphological point of view, because the card was typed and printed.

There was no residue of a chemical weapon to disguise an attack as a flower delivery.

There were no bugs.

Garcia had texted Hotch that the Flemings were coming off clean so far.

All you had was the photos and plain flowers with a crazy note, with a lot of questions attached to it rather than answers.

You were so fucked; back to square one if not on square zero or square minus one.  

“There’s something off about all this… I feel like we’re missing an important variable,” Reid muttered as he watched the board, arms crossed over his chest.

“There’s something off from the start if you ask me,” Natasha said dryly, eyeing him, Emily, Hotch and you. “Thoughts for us with less profiling experience, please?”

You glared at all the notes, refusing to answer. To say you were thoroughly displeased with the development would be an understatement. You were pissed. Because nothing was making sense anymore, which was saying something, since it didn’t seem to make any sense from the very start. You were one step from becoming a nihilist.

Luckily, Emily took initiative, sharing her thoughts.

“Well, at first, we profiled the unsub as narcistic. The not worthy meaning why don’t you notice me, I’m right here, I’m much better than them… but then these flowers, white roses of all things – not passion. White signifies purity or grief, roses are timeless classics, expensive. Even the I could hurt those who are not worthy of you. It’s like she’s saying I would hurt people for you if they hurt you. It’s… it’s almost protective.”

Protective my ass. You did agree with Emily wholeheartedly, but her words only fed your frustration.

The most puzzling thing for you now was the bullets; what kind of an unsub could think of stealing a means of ending the object of her affections in case he’d disappoint her or rejected her so long in advance? More so if she was the protective type? It didn’t make sense – most people would care about this after their target betrayed them, usually using a weapon of opportunity.

Or were the bullets only something to ensure Steve’s obedience? You, my beloved, will do as I say, or I’ll shoot you dead? How was that being protective?

You were no fan of using violence at any cost but you swore you could put one of those modified bullets straight between the unsub’s eyes at the moment. If you only got the change or had any clue about who she was to begin with.

“It’s true that if you look at the note linguistically, she chose different modal verbs,” Reid jumped in, gesturing wildly as he pointed at the note he rewrote on the board, red marker in hand. “I would never hurt you suggests an incredibly low probability, leaning towards epistemic modality. In contrast, I could hurt those who are not worthy of you suggests not only determination, but also the ability, leaning towards deontic modality. She says she is able to hurt, she has the means. I would think she’s talking about the bullets, but those are not any more harmless than a normal bullets to anyone except for Steve…”

You shuddered as you watched him from the other side of the table, hating the invested expression on his face. You adored your friend, truly, but it would be great if he could come down from his genius plane of existence and think about the fact this was not a puzzle to solve for fun, but to save a life.

What was he even talking about? What did it matter?

“What are the chances she didn’t know what she was taking?” Reid asked, turning to Tony, who only replied with a silent confused frown.

“What do you mean?” you scoffed, irritation rising by the minute.

Everything you had put together was falling apart. You weren’t sure of anything anymore; something just wasn’t adding up, the unsub brimming with contradictions.

Protectiveness and care were more likely to point at a female unsub, than again the emphasis on violence was considered typically male.

An apology – I’m sorry I scared you into hiding – was extremely untypical for a narcissist at best.

And now Reid was questioning the intelligence of the unsub and the level of organization she possessed by wondering whether she knew what she had taken? Get the fuck out of here.

“Could she have thought she was simply taking some special reinforced bullets, not knowing they were designed to hurt Steve specifically?” Reid pressed, causing you to grit your teeth.

You believed the chances of that were zero.

But what did you know? What did any of you know anymore? All you had was a bunch of agents and profilers going around in circles.

“I don’t know, G-man,” Tony hummed sceptically, shaking his head. “There are a lot of devices that could do much more damage to anyone. And some of them just as easy to carry. And you said she was… what do you call it, organized? She had to know what she was after, right?”

It was a testimony to how fucking messed up the situation was that for once, you agreed with Tony Stark, even if only on one thing. You could still smother him though, with your bare damn hands.

More damage? Bullshit.

This was bullshit. More damage? How was it possible that something more dangerous than a weapon to murder his friend wasn’t guarded better?

Tony really had the audacity to say that the unsub could have taken something that—that was insane.

How was the theft still an issue with no real suspects in the first place?

Why were you still dealing with this, questioning motivations, the level of how organized the unsub was?

This should have already been done. These were the Avengers and the BAU and an artificial intelligence joining forces for god’s sake!

And yet, you were a mile behind the unsub.

You weren’t working fast enough. You weren’t doing your damn job and someone was going to get hurt. And that someone was going to be the person you cared about the most and that was just so fucking maddening and downright impossible, because this was Steve. Steve had to be okay, he was always okay, even when he wasn’t, because he was Steve---- god-dammnit he was not going to end up like Meyers, he had to be okay and it was your damn responsibility to make sure he would and you WERE going to do exactly that.

‘She knew what she was after?’ Fuck that.

“Who, you mean,” you muttered darkly, unable to hold your irritation at bay anymore.

Six heads turned to you, some swift, others with reluctance. Only Tony voiced his confusion, as eloquent as ever.

“Huh?”

“You meant who she was after,” you corrected him again, realization dawning on his face as you looked him dead in the eye.

The sudden thickness of air was nearly palpable. Good, you thought. The same air felt just as heavy in your lungs for a while now. Your heart was speeding up gradually, blood boiling

No one moved. No one spoke. No one dared to as much as suck in a breath, feeling a storm brewing. You purposely avoided looking at Steve; your voice would break, the indignation would give into self-pity – and you did not want that.

“How the fuck do we still not have a suspect? How the fuck did we just get a flower delivery with a note that screams stalker and the shop just went with it, no fuss, no calling the police? Or you,” you hissed, nodded to Natasha and Tony’s direction. “They were sending an absurdly sketchy stalkerish note to the Avengers Tower and they what, they just didn’t care?”

Were people really so stupid these days or maybe desensitized? Or simply indifferent? Not giving shit about anything anymore?

Natasha took a breath, ready to react, but before she could, Emily stepped in.

“Well… they do care about business. You worked with the BAU, you studied human behaviour… you know what kind of kinky stuff people are into, this is probably far from the creepiest note that went through their hands,” she reasoned, her matter-of-fact tone only feeding your anger.

“I don’t give a damn about people’s kinks or their damn business! They should have known better-“

“Sparkles,” Steve interjected gently, your head whipping his direction on instinct.

You didn’t linger with your gaze long enough to have him shake you, extending your index finger in his direction to stop whatever excuse he had for the damn shop owner – or your poor ensemble of a team.

No, you were done with this shit.

“Don’t- we should all know better. We’re profilers, you’re the Avengers for god’s sake!” you exploded, hands flying in wild gesture to each and every one of them. “We have an artificial intelligence on our side! With so many clues and assets, we should have already made an arrest. Instead, we are comparing modality as if she didn’t choose it completely randomly-“

“That’s not very likely, she is highly organized-“ Reid argued, voice perfectly levelled in contrast to the rising volume of yours.

You almost laughed, the sound tasting sardonic and fake.

For real? Who the fuck was Reid kidding?

“Do we really know that, Reid? Or are we just playing psychic, spit-balling as we go? What if she is so organized that she chose the modality to throw us off? What if she knows everything about damn floriography and she’s playing with us? Huh? Not even with Steve anymore, us, because she knows he came here, she probably figured we have profilers involved because she clearly did her homework on me and Natasha-“

“Sparkles-“

You promptly ignored Steve’s attempt to speak, only raising your voice further to drown him out.

“WHAT do we actually know? We had a profile and now it’s fallen apart! We have more evidence, but instead of suspects, we have fucking ziltch! Some profilers we are, if we’re completely hopeless until a dead body drops, which is not a fucking option here! What are we even-”

“Jones.”

The new voice had your mind come to a screeching halt, an old instinct kicking in, breath hitching.

A fresh flood of emotion – guilt and shame above all – cut off the burst of outrage. It was like flipping a switch on you, your brain in particular.

That was how powerful Hotch’s authority was: a single uttered word, not menacing, but a kind warning; strict, but gentle. Fatherly.

You did not fall silent out of fear; but out of deeply ingrained respect.

“That’s enough,” Hotch added for a good measure, his calmness washing over you like a wave.

You took a deep breath, feeling tears burning in your eyes as you looked at every member of each team, purposely only skimming over Steve again, unable to face him.

It was obvious to anyone who bothered to look: everyone in the room was tired and frustrated too, but also determined. Concerned, because they all cared – about you, about Steve, and about the case.

They were all good people and they were here to help. The last thing they needed was your salty attitude and your inability to deal with stress and past trauma.

You knew that all along; but you needed to realize it again. Just as you had needed to voice your irritation – even if your friends deserved better.

And so did Steve. If you looked at him for longer than a second, you were sure you’d cry.

“Sorry. I’m sorry, everyone. I didn’t mean to yell and—I’m sorry,” you stumbled over your words, taking another calming breath. Jesus, you needed to get the hell out of here. Now. “Uhm. I need fresh air. And some actual non-healthy sugar and coffee. What can I get you, guys? Macchiato with one sugar for Steve, mocha with a double shot of espresso and four sugars for Spence, you guys…?”

The rest of the room obediently told you their preference, not even blinking, tuning down the obvious concern in their expressions for you.

No one protested against your plan. No one pointed out that Tony’s coffee machine was a thing from caffeine addicts’ dreams and could prepare virtually anything. No one offered to help you with the large number of cups and sweet treats you had mentioned, understanding that needing air meant needing some alone time too.

It seemed they could all be pretty smart cookies after all – you would crack this case before it was too late, right? There were no other options anyway.

You motioned an awkward ‘gotcha’ on Emily and Hotch, nodding to yourself.

“Should have remembered those orders – some things never change,” you said wistfully, grabbing your phone with a credit care in its case. “Coming right up, guys. It’s on me.”

“Thanks, Bean.”

You smiled tightly at Spence, all but escaping the room as you felt more and more embarrassed at your emotional outburst – something coffee could hardly make up for, especially since it wasn’t your first scene in the past 24 hours.

You were all over the place ever since this mess started and you really did need to get your head straight.

And since getting a good night sleep in Steve’s room – bless him – didn’t help, your morning slip-up only making for more nerves, it seemed that you needed to do it alone.

→ Next part

Series masterlist // Steve Rogers masterlist // Misc masterlist

Thank you for reading 🥰 We’re entering the second half of the series... and things are happening 👀

#fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #criminal minds #captain america #mcu x criminal minds #criminal minds x mcu #steve rogers imagine #former bau agent reader #bau agent reader #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers #love on the brain #anika ann

[iu-jjang]

[INTERVIEW] 230222 IU for Harper's Bazaar Korea March 2023 Issue

IU and LEE JI EUN,

This generation’s icon IU, who cannot be defined in a single word, and the bare-faced Lee Ji Eun.

Q1: Today’s photoshoot intended to capture the duplicity of your two sides, IU and Lee Jieun. You looked relaxed during the shoot, but once it was over, you confessed that today’s shoot was actually quite tough.

IU: Honestly, it’s always tough to work on Gucci projects. It’s probably because there are a lot of experimental outfits, scenes and messages. In particular, the goal for today was to visually represent my alter ego. When I saw the 2023 S/S collection in Milan, I thought it was really shocking and interesting. With those memories in mind, upon hearing that the motif of today’s photoshoot was based on the collection, I thought to myself ah, it’s not going to be easy. But it turned out to be really fun too. It’s my first time having such thick smoky makeup and I’m grateful for the chance to be part of this refreshing experience from the photoshoot composition to the props and the studio design.

Q2: The last cut was a scene of an IU with thick smoky makeup, standing in front of a wall filled with a picture of an almost makeup-free Lee Jieun. Honestly, I didn’t know the photo on the wall was taken today and thought it was a still cut taken from ‘Love Set’ in the film, ‘Persona’. I’m aware that you show many different faces of yourself, but I also realized that you show faces of different time periods too.

IU: My staff said something similar in the waiting room just now too. I have smoky makeup on right now, but just now, we had as little makeup on as possible and since it’s early in the morning, my face was swollen like I had baby fats (laughs) which seemed to go with the concept. Seeing the printed picture, I thought of the past too.

Q3: You’ve been in a partnership with Gucci for a while. I think judging from IU’s personality as an artist, it would not have been possible if you did not agree with the philosophy and values of the brand. In terms of artistic vision, how are Gucci and IU aligned?

IU: I think Gucci is a brand that places emphasis on diversity and finds aesthetic in things that are unrefined. If I were to pick a characteristic that is similar to myself, I think this would be it. When I write lyrics, I tend to infuse thoughts and emotions that have not reached a conclusion or that come to my mind during an incomplete process.

Q4: As you said earlier, you have always been honest about yourself at each moment, and that alone is brave. As an artist, aren’t you obsessed with the idea of displaying only your perfectly crafted side to the public?

IU: When I was young, I didn’t really know any of that. (laughs) I think I had no choice but to say, “This is what I think right now”, “I’m at this age now” due to my personality, that is having to say what’s on my mind. On the other hand, I have always known that I am not nearly as perfect (person) as a sculpture. And that isn’t something that I can simply achieve by imitating. As long as I chose this profession as my career, (I know) this was my own battle that I had to come out winning or losing, and there is also a side of me that wants to make no bones about showing myself. What started out like that has now established itself as one of the ways of expressing myself.

Q5: So the piecemeal activities you’ve done recently can be understood along those lines? You lent your voice to MIRAL School’s song sung by their teachers for the students. The composer of ‘Through the Night’, Kim Jehwi made the song based on what he felt while working at the school, and you participated in the song as a featuring artist.

IU: Musical talent aside, Jehwi is my precious friend too. Frankly speaking, when he first told me that he’d be teaching the students in school, I was worried about whether he could do well more than anything else. But being affable, he adapted well and eventually said, “Noona, I want to make a song as a gift for the school”, which made me so proud and want to cheer him on too. To be honest, I didn’t expect this to make such news, but I poured so much effort into recording the song that I somehow joked, “I think I work harder on this than I do for my album”. (I worked so hard on this) so that the students can gain strength, and go to school happily while listening to it.

Q6: The drama “You Have Worked Hard” (literal title) has created a buzz with the combination of IU, Park Bo Gum, and writer Im Sang Chun of ‘Fight for My Way’, and will soon begin its pre-production. What is your reason for choosing this work?

IU: I think everyone will think this way when the drama is released, “Ah, even I would have wanted to do it too.” I really enjoyed the previous works of writer Im Sang Chun, and this one seemed to carry a new story of its own so it was refreshing. It’s just words (writing), but they manage to make people feel such emotions, so much that as someone who likes to read and write, I was envious of the writer’s talent. The theme of the drama is good, but I especially liked that it’s a heavy story delivered in a way that’s not too heavy.

Q7: Your character, Ae Soon is a ‘young girl of literary interest who isn’t well off but remains positive and ambitious, and whose voice trembles like a goat whenever she rebels’. It is noteworthy that “You Have Worked Hard” will be your first korean drama comeback in four years since “Hotel Del Luna”, and that the character is the total opposite of your previous role, Jang Man Wol.

IU: Man Wol in “Hotel Del Luna” is certainly an unusual character. However, Ae Soon has a unique point too. Ae Soon may seem like the type of person you can easily see around you, but should I say that if you look closely, you’ll find her individuality as a human being stands out? I think I’m attracted to people of that sort (gyeol: personality, belief, preference, etc).

Q8: Some actors look for traces of themselves in the role they are assigned to in order to immerse themselves into their character. Are you one of them? How similar is IU with Ae Soon?

IU: There are definitely characters with gyeol (personality, belief, preference, etc) that I can never comprehend, but if that is the case, I won’t be able to bring myself to choose the work (willingly). It’s a matter of confidence. This also proves that all the characters I have played so far have been those that I could understand at some point. Among them, Ae Soon resembles me more than any other character I have portrayed. The writer has incredible observation skills. They said they wanted to incorporate the characteristics that I have that are not too obvious into the character. It was to the point where I said, “Oh my, how did you know that I have this side to me?” after reading the script.

Q9: From “My Mister” to “Hotel Del Luna”, and from “Shades of the Heart” to “Broker” and then “Dream”. Whether it’s a drama or film, should I say that your next step is always super bold? To the extent that one may think playing a different work and a different character from your previous work is your first and main criteria for selecting a project.

IU: Just like how when you have long hair for a long time, don’t you want to dye your hair or get a haircut at some point? It may not be my criteria, but I think once I have lived as a character for more than a few months, I’d unconsciously want to try out something different too.

Q10: There are many people who want to try a bob or short haircut, but they end up sticking to their long hair for the rest of their lives just in case the former doesn’t suit them.

IU: But if there’s something I want to do, I’m the type of person who must (and will) do it first (before I worry about it). It’s much easier for me to bear regretting doing something than regretting not doing it.

Q11: I suppose you are not the type of person that separates your actress’s ego from your singer’s. How similar or different are your state of mind the day before the concert and the day before crank-in (starting to shoot a drama/film)?

IU: If a concert stage is like a (one-off) live broadcast where you only get a chance to put out a (perfect) performance that stays forever in the audience’s memory, then the filming set has a different premise in that you can exchange opinions with the director or your co-stars on the spot, select the best outcome from several take opportunities, and subsequently share it with the audience. However, once the concert begins, the overwhelming moment of finally becoming one with the audience after feeling all alone under a lot of tension for some time is very similar to the moment I realize that I am truly working and keeping in tune with the crew after seeing these many people (including myself) gradually moving forward as a team with a shared goal on a new and unfamiliar set. Both fields are attractive in that they are things that I can never do alone. Whether I'm singing or acting, I'm just someone who puts in the best of my share (of work) at every moment.

Q12: At the 14th anniversary concert <The Golden Hour: Under The Orange Sun> last year, you said, “I thought this concert might be the final destination of the things I dreamt of and wanted to challenge myself to since my teenage years, but at this moment, I’m hopeful that this could be a new starting point, a new beginning (for me).” Normally, settling down is always the easier option wherever you are. And yet, you are still constantly trying to head somewhere else. Which direction are you headed? What lies at your ultimate destination?

IU: It is no exaggeration to say that I lived my twenties obsessing over the idea of ‘direction’. Should I say it was the subject that kept me ‘hot-blooded (passionate)’ at that time? Those ardent worries were enjoyable, but honestly draining too. After turning 30, I don’t have any particular direction in mind. It’s my first time being like this too.

Q13: Are you wandering around (floating/drifting) right now?

IU: That expression is accurate. I’m wandering around (floating/drifting). This itself could be my present direction now that I’m in my 30s. Throughout last year, I kept thinking, “I want to maintain this mindset” and “I enjoy living like this.” On the other hand, apart from feeling at peace, it was also a year where interesting events exploded. I used to cling to the idea that ‘If I miss something, the world will always give me something else in return’ throughout my 20s. But once I let go of the things I was clutching onto for dear life, the ‘other thing’ the world gave me was surprisingly such events. As I emptied my mind, the world filled it with fun stuff instead. Later when I look back as I get older, I will surely put a bookmark at my 30s (chapter).

Q14: Looking back, you were always doing something for the past 14 years, like singing, holding showcases, communicating with fans, etc. So what is rest for you?

IU: To be honest, I can’t quite grasp the concept of rest. I don’t feel particularly recharged just because my body is resting. In a broad sense, if getting rest is considered a means to de-stress and recharge one’s body, then ironically for me, the things (stress) that have piled up inside me are relieved in the most refreshing way when I’m working. (I feel relieved) when I have satisfactorily accomplished my work to the point where I get a good sense of pleasure. I feel much more refreshed during those times than when I’m just lying down at home for days. Otherwise, there should be something engrossing enough for me to not think about work at all. But in my case, there isn't much stuff that I’m into to that extent. Some of the (fun) stuff that I can recall now are: when I’m in a deep sleep, when I’m catching up with Yoo Inna, when I’m making silly jokes and laughing with my friends or lover who deeply understand me, when I’m rewatching my favorite movie, and when I’m having something really delicious. As I live, there are quite many people who do not need so much of that sort of mental relaxation like me. That said, stamina is another story, so as I enter my 30s, I try hard to take care of my body to make sure that it can keep up when I need to work harder. When I get to rest, I spend time lying down as much as I can. (laughs).

Q15: During the concert, you also said, “I’ll reflect on what I experienced today and go on for another 14 years.” Have you ever imagined yourself 14 years from now?

IU: Based on last year’s calculations, if I were to picture myself as a 44-year-old… I think I’d still be working by then. Other than that, I honestly have no idea too… that is, if we (were to imagine it) based on the premise that ‘I am a person who can change’. For instance, the mindset that constitutes me 14 years from now will be very different from my current mindset.

Q16: Maybe change can happen because people are flexible. But if I am to be honest, I’m the type of person who believes that people do not change until they die.

IU: I do agree with your statement to a certain extent. But I used to be someone who despised competition and (thus) kept myself from competing 14 years ago. Going through my diary back then, I wrote “I find this competitive society so exhausting. I’m worried (about myself) because I don’t have a desire to win, and I hate competition.” But looking back, I realized that I’ve been enjoying competitions throughout the last 14 years since my debut. To the point where I wondered, “maybe I’m actually crazy about competing (for victory/defeat)?” I thought perhaps I failed to notice that I was a competitive person or I just wanted to deny it on purpose.

Q17: Either way, I feel sorry for the young girl who had just debuted and scribbled “I hate competition” in her diary. Is there anything that IU, who(se mindset) has changed quite a bit, would like to say to the IU of that time?

IU: “You actually like yourself a lot.”

Q18: You once said, “Even if we’re sick of this world, I hope we will live on while loving each other.” In this harsh world, is love still the hope that you have faith in?

IU: It’s a bit embarrassing to say this, but nevertheless, I believe that love overcomes hatred. In the end, love wins. Even when I lose my balance and I’m swayed, I repeat to myself, “But love will win in the end though” and either try to put together my logic, build up my thinking muscle or control my mind like that. The proposition that love will win is something that I’ve experienced enough through living my life. I will continue to believe it moving forward.

Q19: Singer-songwriters are blessed in that they can turn their personal thoughts and emotions into the end-product that is music. In particular, we sort of know how important lyrics are in your music. What lyrics have been running through your mind these days?

IU: This may sound ridiculous but I happened to be writing about something we just talked about earlier. I was surprised deep down when I heard the word ‘wandering’. To wander around (float/ drift) without a destination. I think this will be the theme of my next album.

Q20: Back to today’s pictorial concept of ‘duality’, I feel that you are leading your life with both egos — icon IU and ordinary person Lee Jieun — faithfully. How do you maintain a balance between these two?

IU: Changing between slightly uncomfortable yet pretty clothes that make me shine and slightly average yet comfortable clothes I can freely move around in, and being moderately satisfied and moderately wary at every moment seem to be the way to balance… whilst naturally accepting the obvious fact that there are times I shine and times I’m just ordinary.

Q21: “I can’t take out all the words from my diary, but…” (lyrics from Through the Night) — What is the one sentence that can describe you right now?

IU: (I can’t take out all the words from my diary, but) that child / she has decided to live as a spore (홀씨), instead of a flower.

[*T/L note: Although IU didn’t specifically mention dandelion (민들레), ‘홀씨’ is often used when talking about ‘민들레’ (dandelion). Referring to what she said earlier about ‘wandering around (floating/drifting)’,‘홀씨’ can be interpreted as ‘민들레 홀씨’ (dandelion puffs) too.]

Source: https://www.harpersbazaar.co.kr/article/75198

Translated by IUteamstarcandy with love

#IU #interview #bazaar #March 2023

[bosskie]

Molluck Study Night

Man, I don't remember when was the last time I managed to draw this many sketches in a day... Last night I studied Molluck's anatomy, so the rest of the sketches here will be about naked Molluck. But this was the last one I did since I also wanted to just practice drawing his face. I had no idea how to draw him but then I just looked at those cutscenes and wanted to draw this one because he is just so cute when he is pondering after looking at the blimps in the first part of the good ending! This wasn't easy one to draw and I actually fixed this a bit digitally since I realized my mistakes while editing the photo of this... It just feels like I still have so much to learn how to draw this Gluk... I feel like I lack of something, making me unable to ever be professional in art, but maybe I just haven't been doing enough art, studies etc...

But currently, I do am trying to improve my art since I feel like I'm just stuck and haven't really improved in a decade... So, here's some random Molluck anatomy studies, being in order I made them:

These are actually quickly made sketches, so that's how I was actually able to draw this much in one night... Though, I finished that portrait after waking up since I become too sleepy to finish it. I personally feel like these sketches only show how poor my anatomy skills are, so I wasn't even sure if I post these or not but well, still wanted to be brave and show my poor skills bare naked, just like Molluck is... This is just how I feel about these sketches... They show my real skill level and I don't think that it's good... Well, gotta just keep drawing. Though, I do still sketch a lot poorer stuff when I try to figure out how to realize my drawing ideas... Well, I guess that I could give you a look at these actually awful sketches:

All of these are made for a sketch/drawing I have posted here. (Yes, I tend to sketch stuff using Paint.) Frankly, this is how I tend to see my skills, how I feel when I look at my stuff... I know that it's not nice to see an artist calling their art bad but I just wanna be honest, like brutally honest about how I see my stuff, so here's kinda like a visualisation of how I see my stuff, at least during my worst moments... There do are moments when I do feel like I can actually draw but they seem to be just little moments and I'm soon back to thinking about that I cannot draw a thing. It's depressing and it makes me feel kinda depressed when I look at the stuff on this post but well, this blog has also kinda been about the journey I have been doing with my Molluck art/stuff, in many ways.

I'm sorry but I just cannot pretend that I loved my art... I love Molluck so much but at the same time, I just hate myself so much... I don't even know why but I just feel like my life is already a failure... Just feel like how this stuff shows how I cannot truly draw... How me being skilled is just a lie... Man, I just have so bad impostor syndrome... I feel the best when I forget myself but when I think about myself, it only depresses me... I just tend to think that every energy/time/etc. spent on me is wasted...

Even looking at the stuff on this post makes me feel worse, I still wanna post this bad art. I just don't feel like that the portrait looks great either but I tried my best and that's the main thing. I just feel so bad about myself... It feels like I'm only able to practice self-love thru Molluck, making him being kind to me while I tell myself the worst possible things... This is one of the reasons why he is so important to me... He is the one that tells me inside my head not to do it, not to end it all... Frankly, like I said some time ago, it's actually like a mundane thing for me to think about suicidal things, just nothing special anymore, it's been so long like this, over a decade... This also kinda one reason why I'm so open about my own situation, I'm getting so tired of this... To describe how awful my mind is, I can say that it has just laughed at me when I have been reading about how seriously suicidal thoughts should be taken, said how I'm not worth saving but all the others are...

But I'm still trying to fight, even I have felt like life is pointless for over a decade... The cycle of life has just felt so odd: born, grow up, (breed,) die... Like, what's the point of this all? Why to live, why to survive... Thinking this stuff was the reason why I got depressed, just don't understand the point of living, doing anything in life... Maybe it's my personality that just makes me unable to enjoy life, stop caring about this... But like I have said, I do still feel like I'm a failure, so I'll never really be anything... This is how I just feel and I don't know how to stop feeling like this... Just everything I have 'achieved' feels like mere luck or 'lucky mistakes'... I just feel like I'm a living lie, my impostor syndrome is this bad...

I don't wanna depress anyone else but my blog has kinda become like this, that I also write how I'm doing with my mind since it affects my stuff a lot and Molluck kinda just keeps my mental health 'in place'. I really had some positive things in mind to write here but I just cannot when I feel like my 'art' looks so bad right now... Well, another time then. I'm sorry but I'm just fighting for my own life with my mind... Since I more like hate my creations, I'm only able to show my stuff related to Molluck since this Gluk is just the love of my life... This was also the reason why I didn't take part in that OWI's fan celebration thing they just held, just have no mood for making my stuff more visible, show it around but here. Like I have said many times, I felt like deleting my submission to that SoulStorm tattoo contest I won, it just looked so bad in my opinion... I only wish I was able to see what the people who enjoy my stuff see... Why is my mind just trying to kill me, but there somewhere I still know that I'm not so awful as my ill mind tells me, that I do have hope, that I shouldn't take my own life... Man, brains are so odd too...

I don't wish that I end this all because of all the bad things I tell myself. I more like wish that me being open about this can help the others like me. That's why I'm also working on a game related to mental health issues like mine. Thinking about publishing/showing it makes me feel nervous though but I'm trying my best with being able to show my stuff since my life kinda depends on it... Man, why it's so difficult to feel anything positive about myself... I seriously don't know why I hate myself so much... Why I have so high expectations for myself... Why I feel like I can do nothing in reality...

#molluck #oddworld molluck #molluck the glukkon #oddworld #art like a bosskie

[sevenpersona]

Man of many talents

Yoongi x reader

Requested! “May I request, Yoongi braiding his wife’s hair? Or him braiding his daughter’s hair” “Maybe it’s an arranged marriage and everything is super awkward at the beginning but y/n too is suprised how it ends up like ths”

Warnings: Not anything serious. Reader is a little spoiled. Heiress reader. Female reader. Dislike-to-somewhat-like. Arranged marriage. I use the word tugging/tug, grasp a LOT. I think thats it.

I really liked this ideaa!! I struggled a bit with the arranged marriage part and took some artistic liberties. It’s not so much awkward but.. you’ll see! I hope you enjoy!

It wasn’t as though you had hated Yoongi at first sight, it was more that you hated the situation you had been forced into. An arranged marriage was never a thought in your mind. Your mum always filling your thoughts with finding love, and the freedom your father afforded you had made this arrangement a shock to the system. You’re sure if you had met in different circumstances that he would be someone you could have fallen for naturally…but seeing as he picked you as his bride out of probably hundreds of people you were not above annoying him just for the sake of it.

Sometimes you wish that you weren’t the heiress to your family’s fortune, stuck in a loop of obligation to your own family. It wasn’t so bad at times. Your family now had the opportunity to increase their fortune as well as your own, due to your marriage. Yoongi often gave you the freedom to do whatever you wanted; he also strangely enough buys you gifts randomly just because he thought of you. Honestly the only time you saw him was at mealtimes. You could otherwise avoid your husband in your frankly massive house. The only other time you interacted with him was at the dreaded social events he stubbornly would not budge on not attending.

Which brought you to your current dilemma of getting ready for yet another social night of acting the doting dutiful wife. You had always prepared yourself for outings but at this moment your hair was not cooperating the way you wanted. You were frustrated, tired and not at all in the mood to try and pretend to be happy at an event you didn’t even want to go to. You bury your face in your hands, overwhelmed, and panicked at the time slipping away.

A soft knock is heard before the door creaks open. “Hey are you ready?”

You don’t respond. Maybe if you ignore him, he will leave. Who are you kidding? You aren’t that fortunate.

Footsteps echo throughout the room as he moves towards you. Your hands are pulled away from your face, resting gently in his own. “We need to leave in 40 minutes, why aren’t you ready?” His face is pulled into a frown.

“I can’t get my hair to sit right.”

“Is that all?” He stares at you for a moment before chuckling.

You scowl tugging your hands out of his grasp before moving to stand.

“Hey, sit back down.” He protests as you try and barge past him.

He blocks you, holding onto your forearms.

“I don’t appreciate being laughed at.” You try and shove past him again “Move!”

“Sit down.” He growls out fed up with you. You comply reluctantly seeing as you aren’t escaping anytime soon.

Gathering your hair in one hand he grabs your brush from the vanity before gently moving it through the roots of your hair and down towards the ends.

“Now what were you trying to do that got you so worked up?” Questioning you as he catches your eyes through the mirror of your vanity.

You mumble under your breath, looking away. He cups your chin, moving you to face the mirror once more.

“Talk to me.”

“I just wanted a stupid fancy French braid but forget it.” You huff. “Not like you’ll be able to help anyway.”

His eyes narrow at your tone but he lets it slide, noticing the tears gathering in your eyes.

“My Aunt owns a hair salon in Busan.” He reaches for your phone. “And I’m a man of many talents.” Setting his sights on the inspiration photo you attempted to replicate, he zooms in and out and trying to see it in different angles.

Brushing your hair once more, Yoongi sets the brush down satisfied with the direction he has it in. Running his fingers through your hair, you don’t have to tell him how nice it feels. You’re pretty sure he figured that out when a soft sigh escaped you.

Yoongi’s nimble fingers tug the pieces carefully into place as you watch the braid slowly come together. He pauses a few times to make sure you’re comfortable with how tight it is, assuring you he can do it again if it is too tight, but you confirm it was fine. Eventually he gets to the end, and you aren’t ashamed to admit (to yourself) it was much better than your attempt.

He holds his hand out, interrupting you admiration. “Hair tie.” While you don’t appreciate how he ‘asked’ you drop it into his awaiting hand anyway.

Finishing it off, he locks eyes with you. “Did I satisfy your expectations, Wife?”

You were tempted to ignore him, but he probably would have pulled it out to spite you. “It’s fine thank you.” Pouting as you speak reluctantly.

Lips drawing his attention, Yoongi misinterprets the reason for your pout. “If you don’t like it just say so.” Rolling his eyes as he moves to take it out.

Panicking you pull it out of his grasp. “No!”

“No?” His brows furrow.

“Don’t touch.” Your pout deepens, pink dusting your cheeks. “I like it.” You whine.

His gummy smile appears, and your blush turns into a glow. “Finish getting ready, ok?” squeezing your shoulder as he moves away. “I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

Yoongi’s at the door and you’re barely comprehending what your body is doing as you grasp his wrist. He turns startled and before you lose your nerve, you press your lips softly against his. Pulling away his lips chase yours and you let him take control. You know he chose you as his bride, but the passion emanating from him is shocking to you. Air is becoming sparse but breaking the kiss is the last thing you want to do, alas the choice is taken from you as your lips depart from each other’s.

Chest heaving you turn, your back facing Yoongi. “I’ll see you downstairs Yoongi.” Head turning to smirk at him as you sashay towards your wardrobe. “Wouldn’t want to be late now, would we?”

Although this marriage wasn’t of your own choice, you were beginning to see the benefits. As your husband said he is a man of many talents and you wanted to explore them a bit more.

#yoongi x reader #min yoongi #bts reader #request #drabble #arranged marriage #female reader