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botnasty · 10 months ago

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The Missing Link

Pornstar!Bucky Barnes X Director!Reader

Words: 2.2k words

Warnings: Smut (Duh), lill past trauma, but sweet ass bucky.

Note: I am getting rid of some of my draft and this was part of it.

Main Masterlist

“Where is she? She was the one who begged to do a shoot with him!” It was almost chaos in the house you rented. Everyone was ready for today; the cameras were set up, Bucky Barnes, aka The White Wolf as the porn industry calls him, was in the back getting ready with his fluffer. Everything was set and ready, except for his co-star. She was the one who approached you in the first place, Bucky’s manager, to do this shoot with him. She had begged you for months to be able to do a video with him, and the moment it was supposed to happen, she disappeared.

“Did you contact her manager?” asked one of the cameramen. You almost wanted to roll your eyes. “Of course I did, John. What do you think I’ve been doing all this time? He says he can’t contact her either. She is completely AWOL.” Your hands were almost shaking. You couldn’t just ask everyone who came; unfortunately, they weren’t needed... And Bucky, you made him come out here on his day off. You couldn’t just tell him it was all for nothing.

“Think, think.” You said to yourself as you kept on pacing in the white hallway that led to the bedroom where the shooting was supposed to happen – hopefully. What did your own manager do when you were a pornstar? You sighed and leaned against the wall. He would have done nothing, since he was a sack of shit who literally stole money from you, which was the reason you left being a porn star to become a manager yourself.

Years ago, being a pornstar was some of the worst times of your life. The lack of respect and regulation in the industry made it hard for anyone to truly enjoy what they did. It was a world where exploitation lurked behind the glamor, where your worth was often measured by your ability to perform on camera rather than your humanity.

But now, times have changed. The industry has evolved, becoming more professional and respectful of its performers. Your own experiences in the past have shaped the way you approach your current role as a manager. You left behind the world of adult entertainment, partly because of the exploitation you faced, but also because of a manager who took advantage of you, stealing money and betraying your trust.

Despite the challenges you faced, you've found a way to navigate the industry with integrity. Your decision to step back into a role you thought you had left behind speaks to your dedication to ensuring the success of this shoot. You're willing to do what it takes to make sure everything goes smoothly, even if it means revisiting a past you'd rather forget.

“Boss, you okay?” You jumped back to see Bucky out of the room that was assigned to his dressing room. He had no shirt on, only a pair of jeans, which was how he was supposed to be in the scene. “Yeah, all is good, but I think you heard about the problem.”

“She still hasn’t shown up?” He tossed his hair back with his hand. “Well, this complicates things… Maybe I could do a solo shoot? It could be a solution,” he grinned, "because I do not think any random co-star will pop out of nowhere.”

You walked closer to him and looked up into his eyes. “You could, but there is also another solution, only if you are comfortable with it…”

It’s like he knew exactly what you were talking about because his eyes widened. “You would do that? But wasn’t your experience in the past something you told me you never would’ve wanted to do again?”

You looked at the time on your phone. “I know, but it would be necessary. We are on contract, and the agency wants a full video, not just a solo one.” You tried your best to keep your voice steady. You trusted Bucky; you knew him ever since he was an amateur in the porn industry, and you knew how he was with all his co-stars. He always tried to make them comfortable, get to know them a little so that when the camera rolled, everything went smoothly.

“You would trust me with that?” He scratched his pec and leaned closer to you as you nodded. “Okay, and I am comfortable doing that with you too, but if at any time, it gets too much, we stop, and I do not care what the agency says. It’s not our fault she didn’t show up.” His eyes went back and forth between yours. “Are we clear?” You wanted to laugh. You were the manager here; you were supposed to be the one comforting and all that, but here he was doing that to you.

“Yeah, big guy, I guess it’s time for me to go get ready. I'll tell everyone it’s almost ‘go’ time. And you,” you pointed at him, “Go back to your fluffer and get ready.” You said with a smile.

He smiled back. “Oh, I do not think I’ll need one for this shoot.”

After the decision is made for you to step in as Bucky's co-star, the atmosphere on set shifts. The initial tension and uncertainty give way to a focused determination to make the best of the situation. As you both prepare for the scene, there's a sense of mutual respect and understanding between you and Bucky, forged through years of working in the industry.

As the cameras start rolling, the room falls into a hushed anticipation, a quiet reverence for the performance about to unfold. You and Bucky stand facing each other, the air thick with tension and unspoken words. The set fades away, and it's just the two of you, locked in a moment that feels both intimate and exhilarating.

Bucky's touch is like fire against your skin, igniting a passion that burns brightly between you. His eyes are intense, filled with a hunger that mirrors your own. Your head is all over the place as to what is about to unfold. You can feel the heat of his body radiating against yours, heightening every sensation, every touch.

"You ready?" Bucky's voice is a low growl, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. His fingers start stroking the skin on your arms.

You nodded, your voice barely a whisper. "More than ready."

He grins, “Well then, let’s start this.” He grabbed your head in his big hands and kissed you on the lips. Never in your life would you have ever thought of being on the receiving end of Bucky Barnes. You had always guiltily imagined it: being his co-star. Your arm traveled around his neck as your other hand explored his tone body. He was so firm at all the right places. You wanted to smirk when you heard him growl as you reached lower and lower.

Suddenly, before you could even reach his bulge, he let go of you. “Get on your knees, baby. Come on.” He let you slide down on your knee as he held to your hair. “Get in out for me.”

“I happily will.” You couldn’t help but say. You licked your lips when you saw a glimpse of the head poking out from the top of his boxer. He was so big, you were already salivating at the thought of having him in your mouth.

As you pulled down the boxers, his dick springs out, the tip so red it looked uncomfortable. You placed your hands on his thighs and let a drool of spit land on the tip. It’s so thick you couldn’t help but think. You wrapped your hand around the base and you heard his breath hitch. You looked up at him and saw his eyes were dark with desire. “Fuck my face, big guy.” Was the last thing you said before he took your head in his hands and pushed his dick deep inside your mouth, almost choking you. He must have realized his mistake because he asked you: “If it’s too much, tap my thigh twice.” You never did.

His dick was so heavy in your mouth, so hot. You had never liked sucking your co-star’s dick before, but his dick was now part of the exception. Hesitantly, he let out a low groan, shutting his eyes tightly as he gripped onto your hair even more tightly. His free hand went instinctively towards his chest- covering his heart that was now racing wildly.”Fucking hell, baby. You have such a wet mouth. It feels so good.”

His head fell back slightly, letting out a shaky exhale." Jesus fucking Christ." He muttered, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. A small smile appeared on his lips though as he opened them again.”Squeeze my balls, baby. Grab them in your hands.” As you did a loud groan left his mouth and he suddenly pulled out.

“I was about to cum, baby. Oh, fuck.” You smirked.

“Oh really? And here I thought the big bad wolf had more in him.” You taunted him. You saw a big smirk appear on his face. “Oh, you asked for it baby.” He grabbed you suddenly, a little gasp leaving your mouth, and threw you on the bed.

“Touch yourself. I want to see what you do when you think of my dick every night.” Slowly you brought your hands to your tits, your fingers twisting your nipples as you looked straight in his eyes. You saw him swallowed thickly, still staring at you with an unreadable expression. For a moment, it’s like he was simply watching you – taking in every detail of your appearance, committing it to memory.

With one last pinch you brought your hand to your clit, never in your life had you been this wet in a shoot. Always, before, the guy needed to use lube with you, but this time, you could feel some wetness dripping down your thighs and also down your ass. It had been such a long time since you’ve felt pleasure at all.

He got on top of you, hid dick in his hand. "I’m going to fuck you so hard, baby.” He said loud enough for the camera to pick it up, but in your ears he whispered: “You okay?" he asks, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort.

You smile, a mix of gratitude and admiration in your gaze. "I'm perfect. You're amazing."

He pecked your lips. “I’m gonna put it in…” He slapped his dick twice against your clip, making you jolt with a moan. The tip of his dick gently breached your opening and already you felt full. He was so big. You placed a hand on his lower back and bit on his neck as he went deeper. “OH, fuck. So fucking tight.”

Your hands grabbed whatever you could have he trusted deep inside of you. The wet sound of sex vibrating in the air, as he kept going. He growled. “I fucking love your pussy.” He grabbed your waist and pulled you closer as he went on his knees. “How come you hid this from me, huh?” You could feel all the ridges of his dick, how veiny it was and the tip always brushing your sweet spot inside in this position.

You grabbed one of his hands and tried to bring it to your clit. “Please, please, please.” Once he understood, he started rubbing your clit with his thumb as he forced his dic depper in you. Everything was too much.

You let out a moan and tossed your head back, your legs were shaking all over the place. “I can feel you tightening, baby. Are you gonna cum like a good slut on my dick? You are, aren't you.” You tried to nod, but to no avail. Your body was just completely shaking, before you let out a loud moan and you felt your pussy tighten around him. Somehow this was enough to make Bucky Barnes, the man you knew could last for hours, to cum in you. He groaned and moaned as he kept on doing little thrust in you, making all of his cum pooling inside of you just as he fell down on you. Both sweaty bodies against each other and heavy breath mingling.

The room seems to pulse with a shared energy, a connection between you and Bucky that transcends the physical. When the director finally calls "cut," there's a moment of stillness, as if everyone is caught in the spell you've woven.

"You were incredible," Bucky says, his voice filled with genuine admiration and he kissed your cheek. "I couldn't have asked for a better co-star. Maybe we should do this again sometime"

You smile, feeling a sense of pride wash over you, a sense of reborn. "You weren't so bad yourself.”

Thank you so much for reading! PLease do not hesitate to let me know what y'all think:)

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whataperfectwasteoftime · 1 year ago

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Spilled Ink

Pairing: Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike x f!reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: Uhhh Marcus Pike as the world's softest tattoo artist that's it that's the fic.

Warnings: Lots of tattoo talk, obviously, which includes needles, tattoo guns, pain, mention of bleeding, etc.; reader is explicitly coded as neurodivergent because I said so; yearning; lots of kissing; Marcus Pike being a goddamn menace and he fucking knows it

A/N: @kedsandtubesocks made a post about Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike (original post HERE) and then I wrote 7.5k words in 12 hours, as one does. All credit for the idea goes to the amazing Erika who entrusted me with this idea and THANK GOD SHE DID because I don't think I could have gotten it out of my stupid brain otherwise. Header pics credit go to Erin @perotovar, who made these with Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike in mind and I'm just WOOFWOOFBARKBARKBARKBARKHOWL. Thanks also to @littlebirdsbookshelf who suffers through HOURS of me sending screenshots every time I write anything. Love you <3

Additional Note on Canon: I am pretending that we never got to see Marcus Pike in short sleeves in the show despite it happening twice. He has full sleeves on both his arms in this fic that he covered up during his time working at the FBI. Because sleeves are hot and I said so.

Masterlist

It’s not unusual, these days, to wander down the sidewalk staring at your phone. Some people are texting. Some people are reading the news–because hey, this is D.C. Others, like you on this brisk morning, are watching the little blue dot on a tiny representation of the city streets, trying to find the address you had typed into the search bar.

A text box pops up, informing you of your arrival, and you finally look up.

No wonder it took you so long to find the place–it’s hardly what you expected at all. You always picture tacky neon signs, bars on the windows, undesirables milling about on the street, smoking cigarettes.

Okay, so you admittedly don’t actually know much about tattoos.

All you know is that you want one–a fact you confessed to a friend over lunch the other week: a conversation that led you here.

“Okay, so get one,” she had said bluntly.

“It’s not all that simple,” you had protested.

“Why?”

“It’s just… it seems like a lot. Mentally. Physically. I’m not sure I have what it takes.”

“They don’t hurt that bad,” your friend had insisted.

“I’m not just talking about that, I’m talking about… y’know, just everything. The noise. New people. Strangers touching me. It just doesn’t seem like something I’ll be able to do.”

“Oh. Ohhh. Because of the… yep. Actually I might have something for you,” she said, taking out her phone and scrolling through that app that drives you crazy–it’s overstimulation in a convenient package–full of noise, chaos, and flashing lights.

She must have seen you pull a face, because she held out her hand placatingly.

“Just finding the name of the place, hang on. It’s a shop right here in DC that went ‘viral’ for this video of a guy with autism who wanted a tattoo to commemorate his dad, but he was only comfortable lying on the floor–so the tattoo artist just… got on the floor with him! It was really cute, and anyway I guess he caters to all sorts of people, so… I dunno. Check it out.”

And here you are. Checking it out.

The words “Government-Issued Ink” are spelled out on large windows, and the punny name–apt for its location not far from the Capitol–makes you snort.

The shop is bright, warm, and inviting–tearing down your outdated preconceptions that tattoo places must always be run-down, dark, and dingy. It’s also empty this early in the morning, save for a lone figure in the back, seated at a well-worn desk, his head pitched forward over his work.

He’s so enveloped in whatever he’s sketching that he must not have heard the light ringing of the bell as you had entered. You watch him for a few moments–taking in the graceful movements of his hand and the way his fingers grasp the pen. He’s dressed in a plain blue button-down dress shirt, which also doesn’t fit your assumed archetype of ‘Tattoo Artist.’ You can’t see his face; his head is leaning forward too much and a few short locks of dark brown hair obscure your view.

Suddenly wondering if you’re being incredibly rude, staring at someone without announcing your presence, you open your mouth to introduce yourself.

“Um.”

While not exactly eloquent, it serves its purpose. The man startles and looks up in surprise.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, jumping to his feet and letting the pen clatter carelessly to the desk. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s okay,” you shake your head rapidly. “I was, um…” You blink a few times, your nerves getting the better of you as the man comes around his desk to approach the front of the store.

“Interested in a walk-in consultation?” he offers, holding out his hands in a gesture that could either be an open invitation or a shrug.

“I don’t know,” you confess quietly. “I was thinking about getting, uh, a tattoo, and I was told this shop was… good. With tattoos. And other stuff.”

“Other stuff?” he chuckles, smiling warmly.

“You know… with people who… might not be good at getting tattoos.”

“What makes you think you aren’t ‘good at getting tattoos?’”

“A hunch,” you shrug, expelling a little huff of laughter through your nose. “I was told to ask for a Marcus Pike?”

The man’s smile widens. “You’re looking at him.”

Oh. You aren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this. Marcus Pike is well-dressed and clean-cut, almost startlingly so. You scan up and down, looking for any sign that this man could possibly be a tattoo artist, but the only evidence you can find is a small black target inked between his thumb and forefinger on his right hand. Don’t… tattoo artists usually have more ink? Of course, with him almost completely covered from head to toe, you obviously can’t create a full picture of Marcus’s skin, but the fact that he wouldn’t look out of place in one of the nearby government buildings still takes you by surprise.

You realize you haven’t said anything in response, but Marcus doesn’t seem to be bothered by your deer-in-headlights stare. Instead, he grins again and steps sideways, extending his arm in a silent invitation to come deeper into the shop.

“Come on in. If you’d like, go ahead and sit wherever you want, and we can talk about it. No pressure,” he promises. “I’m not here to push ink on you like a used car salesman; I’m here to collaborate with you. Figure out what you really want. And, if what you want ends up being ‘nothing,’ I totally support that, too.”

There’s something innate and intrinsic about Marcus Pike that sets you completely at-ease. You cast your eyes around, taking in the eclectic seating in the shop–all mismatched, all different colors, styles, and shapes, but all looking incredibly comfortable and inviting. You settle on a giant turquoise beanbag that seems to swallow you whole when you sink down into it, and Marcus grins and sits down in the bright yellow saucer chair beside it.

“So at the very least, you’re thinking about a tattoo,” Marcus leads. “Can you tell me about that?”

You nod, feeling encouraged by his openness. “Yeah, so… my mom, she passed away a couple of years ago, and it just seemed like I should… memorialize her in some way. Like, in a way that leaves its mark on me like she left a mark on me, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of getting some kind of permanent art that commemorates her.”

“That’s a great idea,” Marcus says softly. “Lots of people choose to do that after losing a loved one.”

“Yeah, the only problem is that I’m not good with um… noise, or people touching me, or… pain, really,” you confess. “I’m like, the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.”

Marcus chuckles softly and shakes his head. “Personally, I don’t believe that. I think anyone can get a tattoo done if they want it, provided they get it done in a way that feels safe and comfortable.”

“My friend, she uh, recommended your shop because apparently you’ve done some stuff for people with autism and it went viral on TikTok…” you ramble, “and I thought maybe that meant you’d be a good fit for… for me.”

Understanding flickers in Marcus’s expression, and he nods, a small smile spreading across his face. “I hope so,” he says with quiet earnesty.

A beat passes–just a few seconds of silence–but something small and soft and warm settles down between the two of you, and the comforting feeling sinks down into the pit of your stomach and stays there, latent and waiting.

“So, let’s talk design,” Marcus announces. “Do you have anything in mind? Any images or ideas, however vague? I can do anything from replicating designs to building something completely from scratch for you.”

“I like the idea of it being a unique piece,” you tell him.

“I prefer original designs too,” he says. “Not to sound incredibly cheesy, but there’s no one like you, you know? In–In the general sense, of course.” He chuckles sheepishly, looking down at his hands. “I like knowing each person that comes in here leaves with something unique. Something all their own—I’m rambling,” he says quickly, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. “One thing about me is that I talk too much. Anyway–did you have any ideas you can share with me about what you’d like?”

“I don’t have a good image in my mind,” you confess anxiously. After all, how can he build a design based on the swirling, disjointed images in your brain? “I think I want it to be colorful, like she was. And… I keep getting thoughts about, I dunno, the cyclical nature of life, something corny like that.”

Marcus laughs. “Sometimes the corny stuff is what sticks with us. So, colorful and commenting on the cyclical nature of life,” he lists off on his fingers, still grinning. “Anything else?”

“I’ve looked through your galleries online,” you tell him. “You have a few that look like watercolor paintings, and I really love how they look.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’m gonna throw out an idea—Feel free to tell me ‘no,’ because I’m just brainstorming here, but I keep thinking about a tree of life. The leaves could easily be done in watercolor and could be any combination of colors you want.” His right hand twitches–as if reaching for a phantom pen–as he speaks, and his gaze seems to be fixed on a spot on the wall, his eyes glimmering with enthusiasm as he starts to speak faster.

“You could have the leaves and the roots connecting on the sides, making a circle, maybe even having her birth date and death date embedded in the roots…” He blinks rapidly a few times, as if dispelling the image from his head. “Anyway. That’s a possibility.”

“I think that’s amazing,” you say softly, watching Marcus with something like amazement in your expression. “Actually… I really like that idea. It sounds… perfect.”

“Oh,” he intones softly, looking at you in surprise as a bright, toothy smile breaks across his face. “Oh. Well then, let’s do it, huh? One final question: where do you envision getting it?”

“I was thinking on my shoulder. Here,” you indicate, pressing your hand to the skin of your upper arm. “That way it’s visible when I want it to be, but easily hidden if for some reason it needs to be.”

“That’s perfect,” Marcus says. “Plus, the circular design will go really well there. Okay. Great. Um, some things to know about the process. We’ll exchange emails, and you can contact me at any time with any questions, concerns, ideas, changes, anything. In the meantime, I’ll get started on a design for you, and I’ll share initial sketches that you can give feedback on before I move to the final stages of the design. It’ll take a couple of weeks, maximum, depending on any changes you ask for. My only request is that you’re always honest with your feedback–don’t tell me you like something when you don’t. I promise, it won’t hurt my feelings.” He grins widely. “After that, you book an appointment on a day that works best for you. I almost always book the whole day for the appointment to factor in time for copious breaks and making sure you feel comfortable. Does that work for you?”

You nod eagerly.

“Last question,” Marcus says. “Is it okay if I get a close-up picture of your upper arm? That way I can make sure it fits the curvature of your arm, it’s the right size, stuff like that.”

“Mhmm,” you nod again, pressing your lips together and trying not to look nervous. Thank god you wore a sleeveless top under your sweater.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he insists.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you say quickly, removing just the one arm from your outer layer and pulling it aside.

You watch as Marcus grabs a little ‘point-and-shoot’ digital camera from his desk and comes back to your side.

“This is just used for design purposes,” he promises. “I delete them after the design is done.”

“I trust you.”

His resulting expression could light an entire room. “Thank you,” he answers quietly. “Okay. Super close-up, just your arm. Cool?”

“Cool,” you confirm, and you hear the camera click several times.

“Actually,” Marcus says, still staring thoughtfully at your bare shoulder. “Would it be okay if I made a couple of little marks–washable marker, of course–to make sure the dimensions are how you want them?”

Oh. You normally don’t like it when people touch you. You knew it was going to happen eventually, obviously, because how else was he going to get the design onto your skin? But it was something you had planned on working yourself up to, not something you had to do today. On the other hand, something about Marcus’s entire bearing makes you inexplicably ache to be touched by him.

“‘No’ is an acceptable response,” he interrupts your dithering with a quiet reassurance.

And actually, that works to seal the deal for you, and your decision is made in an instant.

“Yes. You can. That’s fine.” And, to your surprise, you mean it.

Marcus seems just as surprised at your answer–his eyebrows shoot upward almost comically at your response.

“Okay,” he says softly. “That’s perfect. Hang on.” He jumps up again to retrieve a black marker–from what was clearly a children’s set of washable markers. He meets your eyes, and again you take in that sincere, earnest, patient look that endeared you to this man from the moment you entered the little shop.

“Is it okay if I touch your arm?” he asks quietly, still watching you carefully as you nod.

“Tell me if that changes,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze to your shoulder again. His touch, when you feel it, is just as warm as you’d imagined. He’s gentle, cautious, and when he speaks again, his voice remains at that same, soft volume and tone. “I’m envisioning being from about here–” he makes a little black dot, “–to here. What do you think?”

You nod. It’s the perfect size–large enough to cover your shoulder but stopping just above the point where the sleeve of a regular t-shirt would hit.

“That’s perfect.”

“Okay, so that’s–” he tsks softly, measuring the distance with his finger, “–about four inches, so that same distance across, and–” he makes two more marks on either side of your shoulder. “About like that. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you answer, smiling with enthusiasm.

“Great! Let me just…” Marcus draws a few short lines denoting the proposed boundary of your design, and you can’t help the soft giggle that escapes you at the cool tip of the marker on your skin.

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “One more picture?”

At your nod, the camera clicks one last time.

“Like I said, that’ll wash off with soap, no problem,” he promises with a smile. “Thanks for that, makes it easier to scale.” He grabs two business cards off his desk and hands them to you. “Can you write your email on this one for me? And you can keep the other one. Like I said, anything you need, just email me. And uh, barring that, you’ll be hearing from me in a week or so with a rough sketch. Okay?”

You scribble down your email and hand the card back to Marcus before pulling your sweater back over your bare arm. You slip the other card into your purse and rise to your feet. “Thanks,” you say, nodding to him.

“Hey, no–thank you,” Marcus returns. “Thanks for entrusting me with this. I mean it.”

Surprising yourself, you extend your hand toward him, and, when he takes it, you feel enveloped with warmth again.

“Thanks,” repeat, a little bit more breathlessly this time, before turning and hurrying out of the shop before you can embarrass yourself any further.

Your shoulder still tingles from his touch hours later.

Rather than it being a week before you hear from him, you receive an email from Marcus Pike just three days later.

Subject: Initial Sketch

Hello,

Please see attached. It’s just pencil for now, but I made a note of the general blocks of color I was thinking for the leaves. You’ll see what I mean when you open the file. Sorry, I know it’s a pretty rough sketch, I was just excited to get this to you. I look forward to your feedback!

Best regards,

Marcus :)

Eagerly, you open the attachment. First of all, there’s nothing “rough” about the sketch other than the fact that it’s just penciled in. The details are already so intricate, and you find yourself smiling in amazement as you take in the design.

It’s beautiful.

Brackets, each labeled with a different color in Marcus’s neat, tidy handwriting, surround the top of the tree. Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Violet.

At the bottom of the image is another handwritten note: *All the colors will blend together and the result should look like a rainbow.

Tears spring, unbidden, to your eyes, as you feverishly type out your response.

Subject: Re: Initial Sketch

Marcus,

I really don’t know what to say other than it’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect. Made me tear up. Look forward to seeing it in color.

Thanks again!

Not even five minutes go by before your phone vibrates with another email.

Subject: Re: Re: Initial Sketch

I’m sorry if I made you cry! Obviously wasn’t my intention but I’m glad the design evokes emotion :) I’ll move forward with the design as-is and you should hear from me soon with a full-color image.

Marcus :)

You can’t wait. The next week and a half stretches out excruciatingly, but finally, on a Wednesday evening, you receive another email.

Subject: Final Design

Hey there!

Hope you’ve been doing well. Thought you might like to see the final design of your tattoo ;) See attached and let me know if anything needs to be changed. Be critical! Don’t hold anything back! Once we agree on a final piece, we’ll get you on the calendar.

Best regards,

Marcus :)

Your mind skims over the fact that Marcus used a winking-face emoji in your email, because you honestly aren’t equipped to process that right now, and open the attachment instead. This time, you start crying in earnest. It’s perfect. The colors are so vibrant, and they make the tree look as though it’s in a constant state of movement. Your mom’s birth and death dates are entwined seamlessly into the roots themselves, in a way that makes them not readily apparent at first glance, but seeming to just appear out of nowhere upon further inspection.

Subject: Re: Final Design

Marcus,

If I had any critical feedback, I would share it, I promise. But I have nothing. This is everything I’d imagined and more, and it means the world to me.

Thank you so much.

After a few more messages back and forth, you settle on a date one month out.

You can’t wait.

As excited as you’ve been for the past month, when you step foot back into Marcus’s little tattoo parlor, the air of finality makes your body thrum with anxiety.

You’re really doing this.

Marcus is at the back of the shop, busying himself with setting up his workspace when you enter. Today, he’s wearing a dark green henley that looks just as soft as he is, and seems to complement his features even more. As soon as he hears the chimes, his head snaps up, and he grins widely.

“Hey!” he calls out excitedly. “Just getting everything ready. Do you want something to drink before we get started? I’ve got water, juice, soda…” he trails off, waving his hand in the direction of a mini-fridge in the corner.

“I’m okay for now.”

“Sounds good, but when we take a break, you should have some juice or something else with a bit of sugar in it, okay?” You nod, and he continues. “Okay! Where do you want to sit?”

“Don’t I have to sit in the chair over there?” you ask, gesturing to the traditional chair and bench near Marcus’s work table.

“Not at all,” he protests. “The table is mobile, I bring it to wherever you feel comfortable.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I’ll go ahead and sit in the chair, though.” Of all the options, it looks like the easiest–you aren’t entirely sure how Marcus would be able to comfortably tattoo you whilst sitting on a bean bag chair.

“Your choice,” he insists, spreading his hands out in an open and unguarded stance.

You settle in the chair and he sits down on a rolling stool beside you.

“Okay, so I’ve got a stencil of your design here,” Marcus says, holding up a paper with an outline of the tree for you to see. “It’ll transfer onto your skin exactly how you want it to go, and I’ll just trace it. Make sense?”

“Yep,” you nod.

“Before I do that, though, I have to make sure nothing interferes with the design, including tiny little hairs.” He holds up a pink safety razor. “Are you comfortable with me doing this for you?”

At your tentative nod of consent, Marcus leans forward and gently swipes the razor up and down your shoulder until he’s satisfied. His eyes dart between your skin and your face the entire time–making sure you’re still with him. After he’s done, he talks you through the stencil–confirming its location, gently applying it to your shoulder, and then holding up a mirror for you to approve.

“It’s great,” you whisper excitedly.

Marcus returns your smile and begins to absentmindedly roll up his sleeves in preparation to start working–-and the question about tattoos that you’d asked yourself upon first seeing the man is suddenly and unexpectedly answered.

You can’t help the soft sound of surprise that escapes from you when you catch the colorful patchwork of designs on both of his forearms, disappearing under the pushed-up henley and suggesting that they go all the way up.

Marcus catches you staring and grins, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

“I didn’t know,” you say softly. “You keep them covered up.”

“Force of habit,” Marcus shrugs. “I had a desk job for a long time.”

“Doing what?” you ask, curiously. You can’t see the man doing anything but this.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he jokes, winking in your direction.

Ignoring how the wink makes your heart stutter in your chest, you bark out a laugh at his answer. “What? Were you like a secret agent or something?” you tease.

“Special Agent,” he corrects, grinning.

“Get out,” you deadpan. “I can’t imagine you as a Fed.”

Marcus shrugs, giving you another one of his boyish, crooked smiles. “Would’ve been fifteen years this year had I not finally seen the writing on the wall and run for the hills a couple of years ago.”

“What made you leave?”

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “That’s a long story. How sensitive are you to noise?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject.

“Uh, I dunno. Kind of depends on the day and the situation,” you shrug.

“Fair. Well, I usually let newcomers listen to what the gun actually sounds like, so there are no surprises. If it’s too loud, I do have noise canceling headphones.”

And miss out on hearing Marcus’s soft-spoken reassurances? No matter how loud the tattoo gun is, you’d rather endure it just to be able to hear him talk.

Marcus turns the instrument on, and the room is filled with a mild buzzing sound. On your worst days, admittedly, it would probably grate upon your nerves, but you’re feeling relaxed, comfortable, and excited about your new tattoo.

“It’s not bad,” you tell him truthfully.

“Perfect,” he grins. “Are you all set to get started?”

Heart rate increasing with pleasant anticipation, you nod giddily.

“I’m obviously gonna be touching your arm a lot,” Marcus says, “so let me know if you need a break from that, the noise, the needle, anything.” Seeing your solemn nod, he continues. “I’m gonna do a little dot right here to let you see how it feels, okay?” He gently touches his index finger to your skin to indicate where.

“Okay.”

The gun turns on again, and Marcus presses it lightly against your skin for just a second before pulling back.

“...That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“I thought it would hurt more,” you confess.

Marcus laughs. “Well, the same feeling over and over again in a small area can start to be pretty uncomfortable. I’ll check in regularly to make sure you’re still doing fine. Good?”

You smile widely. “I’m really excited.”

His smile softens, his gaze becoming warmer and more tender. “I’m glad.”

His other hand gently cradles your arm as Marcus leans in, a look of intense concentration settling over his features as he begins the design. Engrossed in his work, you take the time to study his forearms. They’re a hodgepodge of designs, clearly done at different times and by different artists, but you can see themes throughout. He likes classic styles, you can tell, and in between some of the more traditional works you can see beautiful references to an assortment of famous paintings. A Dali melting clock here. A sunflower clearly inspired by Van Gogh there. On his opposite bicep, you can just barely make out the side of one design that looks like it might be of a Greek statue. Tilting your head, you realize it’s Nike alighting on the bow of a warship, and you inhale sharply. That’s one of your favorite sculptures.

“Still okay?” Marcus asks, glancing up at you with concern in his eyes.

“Sorry.” You shake your head quickly.

“Just checking,” he says softly. “Try to be just a little more still, okay?”

“Sorry,” you repeat, laughing sheepishly.

“Don’t be, you’re doing great.”

You try to fight the way your entire body seems to grow warm at Marcus’s praise, but you can’t stop the way the feeling stampedes through you. You’re being ridiculous, you chastise yourself. He’s doing his job, and you’re getting all moony-eyed.

In order to distract yourself, you continue playing ‘Spot the Famous Artwork’ on Marcus’s sleeves–although, as distractions go, it’s not your best work. You can’t help but focus in on the way his forearm cords with muscle as he holds the tattoo gun, controlling each movement so delicately and precisely, creating a beautiful, intricate design on your shoulder.

After finding a bit of yellow patchwork that's clearly a reference to Gustav Klimt's The Kiss near his right elbow, you break your silence.

“You like art, huh?”

It seems like a stupid thing to say to a fucking tattoo artist of all people, and you immediately kick yourself internally for saying something so obvious.

Marcus glances up, and, seeing how your eyes are focused on his own ink, smiles. “Always have,” he murmurs, returning his gaze to your shoulder. “Some of those are years-old.”

“Is that how you got into being a tattoo artist?” you ask.

“Sort of,” he answers, brow pinched in concentration as he continues working. “I uh, apprenticed for a shop in college to pay the bills before going to Quantico for training.”

“You’re really talented,” you tell him. “I was surprised to find out you haven’t been doing this your whole life.”

Marcus hums his appreciation as he carefully fills in a root.

“Can I ask what made you join the FBI instead of opening your own place after college?”

He huffs a little laugh through his nose. “Parents would have killed me, going to college and then doing nothing with it.”

“Running a small business isn’t exactly doing nothing,” you point out.

“Well, public opinion on tattoos wasn’t what it is now,” Marcus says. “They were scandalized by my apprenticeship, but it paid the bills, so they couldn’t complain too loudly.”

“Was it them who wanted you to join the FBI?”

“Mm, not so much,” he murmurs. “It was more like ‘whatever you want to do, so long as you can make a lucrative career out of it.’ Being an artist wasn’t one of those things, so in lieu of becoming one myself, I decided I wanted to protect them instead.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Protect them how?”

Marcus grins up at you and waggles his eyebrows playfully. “Art crimes,” he answers. “Being an art detective was kind of in the limelight in the early ‘nineties after the famous Gardner Museum theft, and I got swept up in the craze.”

“So you spent the last fifteen-ish years recovering stolen art,” you fill in for him.

“Stolen, forged, looted, illegally traded or smuggled…” Marcus offers, not breaking his concentration again. He wasn’t wrong–the repeated drag of the needle across what felt like the same square centimeter of your skin was starting to wear on you.

“Uh-huh,” you say, forcing the discomfort out of your tone.

Noticing the tightness in your voice immediately, Marcus’s movements stop. “Feeling okay?”

You shrug.

The gun switches off.

“You gotta be honest about how you’re feeling,” he reminds you. “I might be able to create designs based off of customers’ vague descriptions, but that doesn’t make me a mind-reader.”

“It’s a little uncomfortable, but I can endure it,” you insist.

“There’s no need to endure something that’s painful,” Marcus argues with an amused smile. “Even if it involves choosing to repeatedly jamming a needle into your skin.”

You can’t help but laugh, and your heart swells when he joins you.

“C’mere,” he says. “Let me show you something.”

You let him lead you to the other side of the shop, where he stops in front of a large storage cabinet that you'd assumed held various supplies. When he opens it, however, you find that isn’t the case at all.

No, the entire cabinet is filled to the brim with a collection of stuffed animals just as eclectic and varied as the furniture. There's also a couple of shoeboxes filled with every manner of fidget toy you could ever imagine.

"You can grab one, if you want. I know it might feel kind of goofy, but I promise they help with the pain."

"Okay," you breathe. Your gaze lingers first on the IKEA shark, then on a very soft-looking cactus with an adorable grumpy expression, but when your gaze lands on the largest and arguably oddest toy in the collection, your hands can't help but move toward it.

"The big guy, huh?" Marcus laughs, taking the giant squid off of the shelf and placing it in your arms. You have to laugh at how large and ungainly it is; its massive black eyes stare vacantly back at you, but the effect is dopey, rather than menacing.

"Where do you get all of these?" you ask in amazement.

"Most of them are gifts from past clients, including that one," Marcus says, indicating the squid. "But I think he originally came from the Smithsonian. I was told his name is 'Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.'"

"Thank you," you say in a small, appreciative voice.

"'S'fine," Marcus shrugs. "Feel up to continuing?"

You nod, looking down at your partially-inked shoulder. "Guess you didn't get very far before I had to stop," you remark, somewhat self-deprecatingly.

"It's not a race," your artist says earnestly. "We've got the whole day, and we go at your pace. You're paying me, after all." Another wink in your direction.

"Yeah," you nod, confidence growing again. "Yeah, okay." You plop down in your seat, with Cthulhu in your lap, and Marcus takes his place beside you.

“Gonna turn this back on again,” he announces as the now-familiar buzz fills the room, “and I’m gonna touch your arm–” his fingers wrap warmly and gently around your skin, “–annnd here we go.”

The needle scratches insistently against your skin, but it isn’t so bad–not really, not with the hilarious giant squid on your lap and Marcus’s gentle, soothing voice in your ear. He talks while he works, sometimes asking you questions about your own life–to which he listens intently and always seems to have follow-up questions–and sometimes telling you stories of his own. You discuss art, obviously, but also music, books, movies, and baseball of all things.

You find yourself wondering if he has this type of easy rapport with everyone who comes in, but you assume he must. He might be the most disarming person you’ve ever met, and it’s hardly a stretch to believe he’s like this with everyone. Still, there’s an ugly, jealous part of you that wishes the connection between you was unique, special. That he’s only this warm with you.

Marcus was right–squeezing the stuffed toy on your lap is a perfect distraction from the discomfort of the needle, and before long, the sensation fades into the background. As the time drags on, though, the persistent drone of the tattoo gun causes an ache to creep in and settle between your eyes. You take in a deep breath through your nose, count to three, and exhale slowly through your mouth.

Marcus glances up, watching you for a split-second before cutting power to the gun and stretching his back with a satisfied sigh.

“Break time,” he announces. “Hand’s getting a bit sore.” He shoots you a knowing glance and another one of those crooked smiles. “And you should probably have a little something to drink, maybe a snack.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you say gratefully as he walks over to the little fridge.

“Apple juice?” he asks, holding up a little juice box that looks slightly comical in his large hands. When you nod enthusiastically, he hands it to you.

His fingers brush yours.

If it were anyone else, you’d recoil, but it’s him. It might just be the forced proximity, but…

You’re developing quite the crush on Marcus Pike.

Shoving the thought aside for the moment, you stab the straw into the little hole and take a long sip. Marcus settles down beside you with his own choice–a little can of vegetable juice–and holds it up in a silent ‘cheers.’

Feeling emboldened, you ask the question that’s been burning in your mind since you started.

“So what made you leave the whole ‘helping other artists’ thing behind and start a tattoo business instead?”

Marcus presses his lips together, and for a moment, you fear you’ve crossed a boundary. Just before you’re about to apologize profusely, though, he speaks.

“Have you ever just… woken up one morning, and realized that everything you were working toward, everything you thought you wanted in life… was a lie?”

“I… I don’t know,” you confess quietly, surprised at the emotion behind his words.

“Happened to me,” he laughs softly. “I had moved to DC for what I thought was my dream job, with who I thought was–” he shakes his head, as though dispelling an unpleasant thought. “I had spent my entire life checking boxes: College degree? Check. Well-paying job? Check. House? Check. Check, check check. I spent so much time trying to get ahead, like life was some kind of game to be won. If I said all the right things, did all the right things, if I did everything right… I’d have the life I wanted.”

“What was the life you wanted?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“It was bullshit, is what it was. Saw one too many rom-coms as a kid, I suppose. I thought I was after the picket fence, the dog, the wife and two-point-five kids, that sort of thing. And one morning I woke up, realized that… that relentless pursuit of something I couldn’t even hold–it was all bullshit.”

“So you just… quit?”

“I quit. I wanted to create things again. I wanted to feel inspired. After a bit of uh… frantic soul-searching before I ran out of money entirely, I sold my stupid, too-big condo that I hated and bought this shop instead.”

“Did it work?”

“Well, I’m not bankrupt yet,” Marcus says dryly.

“No, I mean… did you feel inspired again?”

“I did. I do. So very much so,” he says, his voice soft and gentle. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and that comfortable warmth that had settled in between you the first time you had met him… grows. Mutates. Until the warm, tingling feeling feels a lot more like electricity.

An unspoken moment seems to pass through you, but then Marcus clears his throat roughly, setting the empty can aside and standing again, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Wanna keep going?”

Breathlessly, you nod.

In no time at all, you’re settled back in the chair with one of Marcus’s warm, strong, large hands cradling your arm as the other gently wields the tattoo gun. As he starts to fill in and blend the colors, the pain starts to increase, and you worry one of the fuzzy tentacles back and forth in your hand as you grit your teeth.

“I know, I know,” Marcus soothes quietly. “The color’s the worst part, but you’re being so good for me.”

It helps you to watch him work, so you do. He’s blending in the colors now, and you watch with interest as it starts to take shape. It’s so mesmerizing that you hardly even notice the buzz of the gun or the light sting of the needle anymore.

“And you said you ‘weren’t good at tattoos,’” he teases gently, noticing your obvious interest.

“Did I say that?” you laugh, teasing back.

“I believe your words were, ‘I’m like the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.’” he reminds you. “And look at you now, huh?”

You duck your head at his praise, unable to withstand the intensity and honesty in his gaze.

“Doing okay after all, I guess,” you say with a sheepish smile.

“You’re doing amazing,” Marcus corrects, smiling warmly. “The type of client any artist dreams of.”

You don’t know how to respond to the things this man says to you. Stunned and at a loss for words, you stare awkwardly at your hand where it still wraps around Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.

“I’m sorry.” The words are soft, concerned. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just meant that your enthusiasm and your curiosity is the stuff that makes me want to be an artist in the first place.”

“Are you saying I inspire you?” you try to tease, but it falls flat.

Just audibly, over the hum of the tattoo gun, you hear his whispered response.

“Yes.”

As Marcus wipes away the last of the stray ink on the purple bit of tree, the tattoo gun suddenly switches off. The silence is almost shocking, and you blink rapidly in confusion.

“Break time?” you ask.

Marcus chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “It’s all done.”

“It is?” you ask, although you can see the answer for yourself in the large mirrored wall to your right.

“How’s it feel?” he asks.

“My arm kind of aches,” you confess, “but oh my God, Marcus… it’s beautiful.”

It’s his turn to preen under your praise, the tips of his ears blushing pink as he grins back at you.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says softly. “Here, let me give you a little something for the pain.”

He squeezes a glob of light-green cooling gel and coats the angry skin with the barest of touches. “Still okay?” he asks, glancing up at you for confirmation.

After the harshness of the needle, the soft press of his fingers is more soothing than ever, and you have to resist the urge to sigh and melt into his touch.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“You’re going to want to keep this covered for a couple of hours, up to overnight,” Marcus says as he carefully applies a dressing to your shoulder–still softly, but more businesslike than before as he walks you through all of the instructions for care. “Once you take this off tomorrow, you’ll probably see some fluid leaking from it–that’s totally normal. It’s blood, plasma, and extra ink, and it should stop after a few days before it starts to scab over.

“You’ll want to keep it from drying out; I’d recommend scent-free, dye-free lotion if you don’t already have some,” he continues. “Wash it twice a day and put lotion on after. When it starts to scab, I can’t stress this enough: don’t pick the scabs.” He gives you a serious look. “Repeat that back to me.”

“Don’t pick the scabs.”

“If you do, you could cause it to scar, or even pull out the ink. One more time for me,” he prompts, and you get the feeling that this is always the sticking point in his speech.

“Don’t pick the scabs,” you repeat.

“It’ll take three to four months for the lower layers of skin to completely heal,” Marcus tells you. “During that time, keep it out of the sun, keep it hydrated, and you’re in the clear.”

“And don’t pick the scabs,” you say teasingly.

Marcus winks at you. “Exactly. Any other questions for me?”

“No, just… thank you. It’s amazing,” you tell him. “You did such an incredible job.”

“Hard not to, when I have such a beautiful canvas.”

Your eyes dart up, expecting to see a teasing glint in his eyes, but all you can see is heartfelt sincerity. You swallow thickly, and he tracks the movement, his eyes dropping down, then back up to meet your eyes. Is it… not just you? Does he feel it, too? Realization slams through you and threatens to overload all of your systems. Marcus’s lips are parted slightly, and the look in his eyes… it’s desire.

“Marcus…”

“Wait,�� he says urgently. “Hang on. Come… come over here for a minute, let me–” he dashes awkwardly over to the till on the counter and gives you your total. Frowning in confusion–he wants to do this now? Interrupting that electric moment that had passed between you?–you dutifully swipe your card and numbly take the receipt.

“Now you’re no longer my client,” Marcus explains softly. “I–sorry–I was about to throw caution to the wind and kiss you, and I didn’t… I didn’t want to be unethical, I–”

“Yes,” you say simply, giving your response to his un-asked question.

It’s all he needs to stride forward, gently take your face in his warm palms, and, seeing no hesitation in your eyes even as he searches your face desperately—presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is as soft and as tender as the man himself, which hardly surprises you. Your eyes slip closed as his lips move against you with aching caution. He’s careful in all things, including this–taking your cues, giving you the lead, letting you feel everything he’s giving you.

All too quickly, he pulls back–but his eyes only sweep your face again, a growing smile on his lips as he sees nothing but want reflected back at him.

When he lowers his lips to yours again, he’s less gentle. One large hand leaves your face too hook around your waist, pulling you closer, closer–and when the proximity causes you to gasp softly, Marcus is ready. His tongue gently slips between your parted lips and you practically melt into him. When your knees buckle, his strong arms are what keep you standing upright, and still–

He can’t seem to stop kissing you.

You break before he does–pulling back to suck in a few shaky, heaving breaths, and he smiles through his own labored breathing.

“I wanted–I–” he begins, before hastily pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as if he can’t help but do so.

“I’ve thought of you,” he tries again. “I thought of you like this for the last month,” the confession finally spills out. “I wanted to–wanted to kiss you so badly all day, but I couldn’t. Couldn’t let myself.” He kisses you again. “But now,” he promises, whispering the words against your mouth. “Now I’m gonna get my fill.”

To punctuate his statement with one of your own, you slant your head and deepen the kiss, wrapping one hand around Marcus’s neck and pulling him closer still. He makes a soft noise in his throat, and the grip on your waist tightens. You lose yourself completely to the feel of his tongue sliding slowly against yours, until he suddenly pulls back.

“I’m doing this all wrong,” he whispers–although he’s still smiling. “I wanted to ask you out to dinner, first.”

“So ask me,” you say with a giggle.

“Come have dinner with me,” Marcus murmurs, shaking his head in quiet amusement as he steals another gentle kiss. “Right now. Tonight.”

“You might have to open all the doors,” you tease. “My arm hurts.”

Another kiss.

“I’m wounded that you think I wouldn’t open every door regardless.”

“Are you always such a gentleman?” you remark with a wry smile.

Another.

“Well,” Marcus grins wolfishly. He places on last, lingering kiss on your lips and then makes a show of offering his arm. “Not always.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #pedro pascal

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pascallatte · 2 years ago

Text

Payback

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Actress!reader

Summary: a behind the scene moment, filmed by Pedro himself. A closer look at the chaos that happens in between takes.

Date: Nov 2016

Warning/s: none just pure old fluff

A/N: Yeahhhhh, why does it feel so long since I've posted something?? Also, Twitter fics will be posted a day after the main fic is posted (will post more info soon). Anyways, here I am again with a new fic, hope you enjoy this like you did with my past ones!! Happy reading.

The set of narcos on and off screen can be described as…chaotic. It may be because of the cast themselves. The teasing, between Pedro and you, is something that isn’t new. And with Pedro posting on Instagram another one of those videos you and him, while preparing for the second season, fans can think that their game still hasn’t been set straight. This leads us to this, to which fans say the Normalcy of the relationship between you and Pedro.

Caption

@yourusername, always gives me a hard time while shooting, it’s payback time.❤️ #NarcosSeason2 #Netflix

As soon as the video started, it blinded whoever was watching because of the intense light that was given by the sun that day. Pedro, who was recording, panned the phone around to catch a small behind-the-scenes look. Clearing his throat he flips the camera to show himself, fully clothed as the hardcore agent, Javier Pena.

“Hello, I was given the chance to go on break while they,” points to you and Boyd behind him, who was talking to one of the producers, “shoot some more things. While waiting, I’m just going to sit in this chair and eat what I can.” He gets comfortable on his designated make-up chair reaching for some snacks before popping them in his mouth.

“Why eat what I can? Its because-, “ flips the phone to you and zooms in on your red sweat-covered face, which actually still looked good despite being under the sun for almost the whole day,”-‘cause, ducky over there would come here, soon, and take all these-these snacks, especially these small cheese filled biscuits. She likes them.” He whispers to himself or rather the camera, during the last part.

The phone almost slips from his hands as he tries to zoom in for a closer view, which he gets. You and Boyd were seen smiling to the crew as you walked in his direction, presumably already given the signal for you to be able to take a break. Still far, he follows your move as you walk towards him looking straight past the camera at him, smiling and waving. Unconsciously he whispers to himself, “Ah tan bonita, bebe.” So pretty, baby.

You were stopped just a few feet away from him by a staff member, allowing him to hide the phone while still being able to record the whole thing. Placing it down in front of him and flips to see Pedro leaning on the armrest. Turning to look at you, with a look that tells that he's waiting for you to look at him as he gives an adoring look towards your direction.

“Hola Pedrito,” you said in a soft tired voice. Your voice was heard first receiving a smile from Pedro as you circle around his chair and hug him from behind, whispering to him as he looked at you nodding. The camera was then fixed to see the two of you, you hugging Pedro from behind, a small peck placed on his cheek. You were seen smiling at him before you take a sip from the drink that he has offered you.

Just noticing the camera, you turn your head to him, gesturing to the phone that he’d set up. As you stood straight, taking his drink with you. Raising a brow, giving him a questioning look, “¿qué estás haciendo?” what are you doing?

Grinning up at you, he subtlely reached for your hand, making sure it wasn’t seen on tape, “Te estoy grabando.” I'm recording you.

“¿Desde cuando?” a nervous chuckle escaped you, fighting the panicked look that was about to escape you, knowing what this was all about now. Since when?

He laughs at your expression, reaching up for his drink and responding with a “Desde antes de que llamaran a un descanso.” Making you raise the drink-filled cup away from him. Since before they called for a break.

Setting the cup somewhere out of the frame, you came back to look at him suddenly slapping his thighs and walking away mumbling, “Ayayay Pedro.”

An amused “Why?!” was heard from him before the video ended. And if that wasn't enough, it was followed by another one.

You were now sitting next to him, almost shoulder to shoulder, still enjoying the break given to you. In the entirety of the video, you were seen reaching into the same bags of chips or bowls of candies that he reaches for, getting the same thing he already has. And not only the food but also the drinks.

Besides you copying every bite or drink he does, you also copy his gestures. From the eyebrow-raising to adjusting himself in his seat, the hair flips, and the most iconic, as you call it, brushing-of-the-mustache.

It wasn’t that Pedro wasn’t aware of your antics, he just thought that it was a coincidence. So when he sees you do the gesture on your invisible moustache as well as drinking from a cup, he knows that you were on to something. And he’s going to stop it before it even happens.

Pedro calls your name out of the blue, unaware that he already knows, and calls out his name too.

“Y/n.”

“Pedro.”

He stares at you. Long enough to make you falter and tilt your head in confusion. Still making eye contact he takes a sip, in which you copy (obviously).

He grunts at what seems like a confirmation to him as he was seen nodding his head. Placing his cup down in front of the phone camera, he leans closer to you.

“Stop copying me.”

Letting out a soft laugh, “What? I’m not.” You feigned innocence backing up as he leans in closer. You look to your left at the camera, shaking your head.

You were only able to hear a short “Okay,” before you were pulled to the side as Pedro’s arm softly pulls you to him. Now laughing, you try to move away by hitting his torso and pulling his arm. But you just stayed in place, sadly for you.

“You can’t copy me now, can’t you?” He teases as he looks down at you, who was huffing out a breath hands on the forearm around your neck.

“Isn’t this abuse?” You lightly said, jabbing his chest. Causing him to loosen his hold a bit, allowing you to look at him. And to your surprise, you were closer than what you’d imagined, almost nose to nose.

“Nope,” he whispers before tightening his hold on now your shoulders, how it got there is something you don’t have a clue on. Squeezing you tightly, Pedro leans back on his chair making the two of you topple down, laughs and wheezes were heard before the phone was taken by Pedro to show you on the floor still laughing your hair covering your face.

The short video ended with a very…funny, or you'd like to say "a disgrace of a shot," close-up of your face all red from the laughing.

•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙��⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙

Taglist: @benonlinear @t-stark35 @heyitsme-2 @elleeeee21 @holmesstrange @tagakalat @flyestvenustrap @oldermenaremyreligion @cherryred444 @hobiismyhopeu @ilovehotdadsandshit @djarinsstuff @guacala @avengersheart @pukka-latte @lilvampirina @namgification @mmkkzz (bolded blog/s: I can't seem to find you guys' accounts but I'll still tag in case it works)

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x actress!reader

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thepeacecheesecakegives · 1 year ago

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Hi movies this is my first post ! I’m actually nervous writing this but I want my Blog to be one of poetry but also communication ! I want to teach and also learn , see things from different perspective this poem is one I wrote in the middle of the night after seeing a gruesome video of the genocide that is happening in the middle eastern right now. I can’t put into words what they are going through or what’s going to happen , but I can and will use my voice in efforts to speak up !

This piece is titled

RAINBOWS HAVE MEANINGS

By Kalia Walker

Rainbows have meanings

Like wounds have healing

Even if scars will have to take place

Maybe even despite the pain

we can still go into the healing stage

we know that healings possible

and so is recovery

Thats why I’m praying for youth and for answers and a little security

So I say if a rainbow comes only

after the rain has dried

Can I say everyone finds

comfort the moment the last tears dry ?

Is it safe to say even every storm maybe

there’s still a chance to be okay

It has to be ,right ?

like the Sun shining despite

knowing if has to reset every day

It’s like still being present each day

knowing when darkness hits

the sun is just at bay

It has to work in that sense

It’s having faith that rainbows come certain

after every storm and to this day

it’s still proven true

that’s why I still have faith

people have good heart even in the chaos of war

War which is a vicious cycle I hope one days gets replaced with peace ,

maybe there’s a way to see

even in ugliness there’s still beauty underneath

How can we change and how can we keep peace

Maybe we start by realizing

rainbows have meanings

And so does innocent lives

despite what land or territory you were born to even if we have to

March everyday and

equality isn’t the first time its being said

but we’ll repeat it

for years to come

until no life being under

another’s

gets through our heads

It’s hard seeing the full case

or sit through a lecture

it’s easy keeping our eyes on screens

until we see something that makes us look away Even when we do it doesn’t change that fact that bloodied bodies are on the concrete

doesn’t change the fact babies

aren’t spared in war or out of it

it makes you question what else do we take for granted that some desperately fight for

why must blood be on the ground

Where kids could’ve skipped on

why is blood on cement that

chalk should’ve been on

Why is justice a sacrifice innocents must make

Rainbow have meanings right ?

You promised no more floods

but look what state we drown in

God I’m scared

and lost and confused

despite never knowing what’s really going on

just Whats seen on the news

If we weather this storm

let us promise to be better

I might not understand the costs

that must be made

but I can’t sit here and act like fire starts

without someone first casting a flame

I feel scared and I feel I have no right to be

Not when Cindy is living in Palestine streets

Not when war is still a method of communication that each country serves not when …

It’s too much to say

How can we sit

when others

are crouched over dying

But like every storm in the midst of war

Justice will have to be planted in our own ways

Rainbows are for certain

just like the Lord’s return after all

rainbows always appear after each storm

I can’t voice the pain and first hand experience these people are going through , so I Won’t I’ll just use my human Emotions and Values knowing “what good is fighting for land with no one being alive to dwell in it “

prayers to everyone and I stand on the side of children mothers and all innocents ! I hope even tho this is more of poem I can’t wait till I can write some FF and also some original stories and make some mutual I love you guys , let’s be friends !!!

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lilithfilm · 2 years ago

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Film Review: ATHENA

I recall my first trip to Paris as an adult. I went by myself, determined to make it for one week on a budget of 100 euros. I'd managed the feat, but for the purpose of this review I recall one specific memory, which was my train ride in from DeGaulle into the 1st arrondissement. From my childhood I'd recalled the over-the-top beauty and refinement of Paris, but as an adult I saw the real Paris on that ride, the suburbs of the city made up of its various banlieu, the endless housing projects for those who could only dream of affording a hundred square feet in the heart of the city. As the train stopped at the various stations in the suburbs, the residents who hopped on and off were the furthest thing from what we in America popularly identified as being "French." There were no Paul Belmondo, Alain Delon, Anna Karina or Jean Seberg types, no chic clothes, loose cigarettes dangling or berets. This population was distinctively African and Arab of all shapes and sizes, old and young. Again, by virtue of cinema and my favorite film of all time, LA HAINE, I'd had some idea of these communities, but it was through the sheltered distance of a movie screen. To be in the thick of these communities of immigrants, colonial castoffs and refugees is to be immersed in a vibrant, profoundly intimidating energy and flow, a balance of survival and freedom from situations that could have been assumed to have been far worse. The banlieu were covered in graffiti, peppered with cornershops and connected by public works, and there was a sense of global chaos, of disparate people from all over the world trying to scratch out an existence in a country that couldn't be more different than their motherlands. I found it invigorating, scary and comforting, as they reminded me of so many of the young immigrant families that I grew up with, my own included.

It's these memories I carried into my viewing of ATHENA, puzzlingly categorized on Netflix as an "action thriller from France." Directed by music video enfant terrible Romain Gavras (son of legendary Greek filmmaker and rabblerouser Costa Gavras), ATHENA is a powderkeg of a movie that takes place over a single day in a banlieu of the same name. All is not well - in a scenario becoming all too familiar, a young Arab boy is killed by the police, and unrest is brewing in the central blocks of Athena as its residents are growing tired of the institutionalized violence against them. The felled boy has three brothers: Abdel, a French-Algerian soldier who pleas with his community to protest peacefully. There is Karim, the younger brother who despite Abdel's requests leads a violent insurrection against the police, demanding that the identities of his brother's killers be made public, and lastly there is eldest brother Moktar, a low-level drug dealer whose only interests are the preservation of his business and trade.

The film - shot in a series of about a dozen breathtaking single takes - weaves in and out of the banlieu as the brothers straddle between anarchy and civility. A cast of hundreds and hundreds scramble through the labyrinthine housing project seeking refuge from the onslaught of the French police cracking down on Karim's army. As this is France, there are little to no firearms, and the residents of Athena repel the police with firecrackers, household items and appliances thrown from rooftops, and molotov cocktails. As the war endures, Karim shifts his strategy to capture a single police officer, a young rookie by the name of Jerome. This strategy pushes Abdel to the breaking point, as his allegiance to his family, his community and his country as a soldier are tested.

First and foremost, ATHENA is not an action film in the American sense. There is plenty of heart-pounding action, but none of it - zero - is done for an adrenaline rush or amusement. This action is far too relatable and real - it's like being submerged in the countless riots that come in the aftermath of police shootings - and the uncut, fluid single shots put you headfirst into real time. There isn't any time to breathe in this film, and that's completely intentional. You're in the shit with these characters, and it's impossible to not connect with their struggles and conflicts. While one might argue the characters are somewhat one-note, there needs to be a reminder that the events of this film take place over one night, and so what we know of them is the same as we would in the chaos of that moment. Even with that, I felt there was enough development to generate genuine pathos, because we've all met these type of real people in our lives.

That said, the film carries with it a beautiful sense of surrealism, each frame a violent painting of concrete, smoke, flesh and fire. It plays out like a Greek tragedy of warriors and peasants, brothers and enemies, all against a backdrop of warfare so compellingly strange that it feels almost alien. The technical execution of ATHENA is an absolute marvel, and it contains zero CGI. Because of that I'd place it above AVATAR 2 in terms of its technical grandiose and ambition, and it is executed flawlessly. The cinematography (shot in IMAX), the haunting score, the choreography and the performances are all first rate. If we're willing to give James Cameron a billion dollar reward for his technical ambitions, then I think Romain Gavras and his crew deserve two billion. It really is that jaw-dropping of an achievement, and I don't think we'll see anything like it for quite some time. The only thing keeping this film from being an outright masterpiece is the inclusion of a harbored terrorist, a plot device that feels forced and completely unnecessary, whose existence in the film is solely to facilitate the literal explosive climax. Handled with more nuance it would have worked, but the third act renders the character to a horrible and unnecessary cliche. But because it is so unnecessary to the plot it doesn't pull anything away from the film's brutal and profound impact, especially with the incredibly unsettling twist ending. A minor quip in an otherwise powerhouse of a film that has divided film critics straight down the middle, some calling it an essential commentary on our times and others saying it is a blueprint for anarchists seeking to burn society to the ground with their unresolved rage. I agree with the former - ATHENA is a punch in the face, a commentary on anger, barbarism, civility and communal love. It is a tragedy on an epic scale, and it left me breathless. I give it a strong 8.75 out of 10, and 10 out of 10 for its technical audacity. A staggering achievement, and my only regret is not being able to see it on a big screen in the theater; the compression of streaming brutally strips the imagery of its nuance and power. It must be a magnificent experience projected in a theater with pro sound, especially this stunning one-shot sequence, one of the best I’ve ever seen. Ever. Wow.

youtube

#lilithfilm #film #review #good to be back #athena

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desistancejourney · 1 year ago

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Ok so this is really interesting to me. She makes some good points, and I think the "rock in your shoe" metaphor is really clever and resonated with me a lot. And it sounds like the "rock in her shoe" was in fact gender dysphoria, I mean I don't know her so I have no reason to question that. "You just kinda assume that everyone is a little uncomfortable all the time" until you realize that they are, in fact, NOT, that is so deeply relatable to me. But here's the thing that I and I would bet other detransitioners/desisters want people to understand. The feeling that there is something very very wrong but you can't quite put your finger on it, and you can't remember not feeling that way, and you assume everyone feels that way, is NOT AT ALL EXLUSIVE TO GENDER DYSPHORIA. Now, for the record, I'm not saying that this comedian is saying that it IS exclusive to gender dysphoria, she didn't say that and I genuinely think that she's just relating her experiences. But there are people who are watching the videos she references, seeing people say "I got the rock out of my shoe by transitioning! I feel so much better now!" And there is a profound relief that they have a solution in sight, and that they no longer have to pretend they're not constantly uncomfortable. One thing that I think was actually GOOD about my former trans identity is that I finally had a way to say "something is seriously not right with me and I don't have to pretend that it's not!" and while it was damaging in other ways, I think if the options were "being trans" or suppressing and shaming that discomfort in myself, being trans was better, at least at the time. Just to be clear, ultimately I think identifying as trans was bad for me in the long run, and I didn't transition medically and I am very lucky for that and I'm not here to talk over other detransitioners who have, I'm just sharing an experience and it's a nuanced thing. There was a combination of things that caused the "rock in my shoe", like a history of bullying, being fat my whole life and feeling uncomfortable in my body because of it, some autistic traits most likely, but the biggest one was the trauma I experienced from living with emotionally manipulative and abusive parents and a severely mentally ill brother that made my childhood full of constant chaos and fear. (I also suspect there was some sexual abuse involved but that's not something I feel comfortable digging too deeply into right now in the interest of maintaining my mental stability, but I do think it's worth noting but I'm not going to elaborate any further at this time because I think the things I'm saying are enough to make the point on its own.) It gets so complicated because I truly am not saying that it's "easy" to be trans, but there are some things that are harder to face than joining the loving and supportive and validating trans community (obviously it's not always that way but you know what I mean). When I got away from abuse for the first time in my life (at age 23) I also lost my entire family and financial support and I had to start my whole life over and even now I'm still really struggling and it was almost 4 years ago. It was genuinely easier to think that what was wrong with me was gender related and that it was something to be proud of, that it was something authentic and wonderful despite the hardship, instead of what it really was, which was just awful and painful and unfair. I was in therapy but I spent 90% of it talking about my gender identity to avoid talking about anything else that was too difficult to deal with, and while my therapist was a nice person, she didn't challenge me on any of it. I don't know how receptive I would have been at the time, but I needed help I wasn't getting. I understand why people say "nobody would choose to be trans" but there ARE reasons why someone would choose that (even unconsciously) because we thought it was better than the alternative. Detransitioners and desisted people are proof of this.

#gender critical #detransition #radical feminist #radical feminists do interact #desisted #gender ideology #radfem

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crochetyourway · 1 year ago

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My Story.

My journey with crochet started during the pandemic. I remember the day vividly when my school closed due to the pandemic, leaving me feeling lost and disconnected from the world I once knew. For the first time in years, I was at home for more than two months at a time. Studying in a boarding school was a new experience for me and I found myself maladjusted, I could not cope with days filled with aimless scrolling and watching TV for hours without a break with the uncertainty and fear looming outside, I found myself trapped within the four walls of my small house which was so unused to having all the children at home, it didn’t have enough rooms for all of us, we found ourselves, me and my two sisters sleeping on mattresses on the floor of our drawing room. Soon enough overwhelming loneliness and boredom and lack of privacy got to a point where it was unbearable. It was during those seemingly endless days that I discovered a lifeline – crochet.

One afternoon, as I aimlessly scrolled through social media, I stumbled upon a video tutorial on crochet. The delicate artistry of the craft caught my eye, and I thought, why not give it a try? Little did I know that this decision would become a turning point in my life during the pandemic. I called my grandmother, my Amma, who had always been an expert at crochet. We spoke on video call as she guided me through the process of selecting yarn and a crochet hook. Her voice, filled with warmth and wisdom, gave me hope that perhaps this new skill could bring some purpose to my life.

At first, my attempts were clumsy, and I struggled to grasp the technique. But as the days passed, I found myself becoming engrossed in the rhythmic motion of crocheting. Each stitch seemed to carry away a bit of the loneliness and boredom that had settled in my heart. As I persevered, the connection with my Amma deepened. Through our video calls, we talked about more than just crochet; we spoke about life, dreams, and our shared memories. It was during those conversations that I realized how much I had missed hearing her stories, her laughter, and the comfort of her presence.

Amma shared tales of her youth, she spoke of the joy she found in creating intricate patterns, and how each piece held a story within its stitches. As she shared her experiences, I felt a renewed sense of purpose in my own crochet journey. Each time I picked up the hook, I felt a connection not only with the craft but with the woman who had passed it down to me.

The more I crocheted, the more my confidence grew. I experimented with different patterns, colours, and projects. I made granny squares, hats, and even little amigurumi toys that my sisters loved and asked me to make specific things once I had learned enough to venture into more intricate patterns. Crocheting became my sanctuary, a safe space where I could lose myself in the creative process and escape from the worries that surrounded me.

Amid the darkness of the pandemic, crochet became a beacon of light in my life. It gave me something to look forward to each day, a reason to get out of bed, and a way to connect with my grandmother despite the physical distance that separated us. It brought me closer to my sisters and helped us bond after years of living in different schools. This was the first time since I was 7 and my sisters 3 and 1, that we had been in the same house for more than a week at a stretch.

As the world slowly began to heal, I carried my crochet journey with me into the future. It was more than just a skill; it was a reminder of the resilience that lay within me and the enduring bond I shared with my Amma. Crochet taught me that amidst the chaos of life, we can find solace in the simplest of things, and sometimes, the threads of love that connect us are stronger than any challenges we may face.

#writeblr #my story #crochet #covid 19 #relationship #sister love

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wuorija · 15 hours ago

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Revealing Hidden Clarity: The Magic Touch of iFoto's Video Enhancer

Once upon a time, in the world of pixels and frames, there was a silent struggle. Videos, despite their vibrant storytelling, suffered from the constraints of quality. Fuzzy images and lagging frames were the norm, and the dream of converting them into pristine high-resolution masterpieces seemed far-fetched. That's when iFoto's Video Enhancer entered the scene, turning the tide for videographers and casual creators alike.

Let me rewind to a phase when my videos were a chaotic mess of blurred memories. I captured a mesmerizing sunset, but when I played it back, the golden hues were lost in a fog of poor resolution. It was then I stumbled upon iFoto's Video Enhancer, a tool that promised to change my low-quality footage into something that could almost make you reach out and touch the colors. Skeptical yet hopeful, I decided to give it a shot.

The interface greeted me like an old friend, intuitive and comforting. With a few clicks, I uploaded myiffy video of the sunset. The magic began when I chose to upscale it to 4K resolution. The wait was worth it as the Video Enhancer worked its silent alchemy. When the video played, I was transported back to that moment. The sun's rays pierced through the digital fog, and the sky was awash with the vivid colors I had once seen but couldn't capture.

Why does this matter, you might ask? Well, it's not just about the visual appeal. It's about the stories we tell and the memories we preserve. With iFoto's Video Enhancer, every frame is a chance to relive moments with clarity. Imagine cherished memories not blurred by time but enhanced, almost as if they were captured yesterday. It's not merely an upgrade—it's a trip back to those moments with a fresh pair of eyes.

Now, I know what you're thinking. High-quality videos are meant for the pros with expensive gear, right? Not anymore. iFoto's Video Enhancer democratizes the process. It levels the playing field, so whether you're shooting on a smartphone or a high-end camera, your videos can shine. The power of AI is controled to improve, to refine, and to raise—without you needing a degree in filmography.

Let's talk about the nitty-gritty for a moment. Suppose you've got a video that's a precious gem but trapped in a low-resolution setting. With iFoto's Video Enhancer, you're not just upscaling; you're breathing life into pixels. The tool doesn't just make videos bigger; it makes them better. The enhanced sharpness, the smoothness of motion at 30FPS or beyond—it's like watching a different world, one that's rich and detailed, just like reality.

I remember sharing my enhanced sunset with friends, and their reactions were priceless. "Is that the same video?" they asked, astounded. It wasn't just a video; it was a window to an experience, preserved and polished. And that's the beauty of iFoto's Video Enhancer. It doesn't just convert; it reconnects us to those fleeting moments that we often let slip away in the chaos of everyday life.

So, as I sit here, reflecting on the trip from blurred footage to crystal-clear memories, I can't help but wonder: What other hidden gems are out there, waiting to be rediscovered and shared with the world? iFoto's Video Enhancer isn't just a tool; it's a companion, a bridge between the past and the future of visual storytelling.

In a world where every moment is documented, why not make those moments count? Whether it's a family gathering, a graduation ceremony, or a once-in-a-lifetime event, iFoto's Video Enhancer ensures that those memories are as sharp and vibrant as the day they were made. It's more than an upgrade; it's a new perspective on our digital memories, a way to see the world in a clearer, more vivid light.

#iFoto #VideoEnhancer #AIVideoEnhancer #FreeVideoEnhancer #VideoUpscaler #Hires

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cryptidko · 4 months ago

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Everything Stays - Memories Fade

(A vent-ish love letter to a friend that never was.)

Last night I had a dream about you, we were in your room, talking about whatever, having fun, so much fun.

It all felt so real, your voice, your smile, I could recognize your face, I could name your features if you asked me... So in a foolish attempt to make a joke, I checked if I was dreaming, it felt too good to be true.

And it was.

One two three four... Six seven fingers in my hand, my smile wavered, I was dreaming. I guess the disappointment was clear in my face, because you smiled sadly at me too.

"It's okay, at least you're here" I spoke, all my excitement had been drained from me, the cheery landscape of our dream stayed the same, but it was now bittersweet.

You hugged me, you would've never done that irl, you comforted me when I started to sob, you pulled me back into your arms when I tried pushing away, when I yelled at you that it was just a dream, as I felt my dream crumble around me, knowing that if I got agitated id wake up...

You did your best to calm me down, told me its okay, you knew it was a dream, that I should just enjoy it... You were so out of character, but i guess that's how I want to remember you, a good friend, or what I wish could be.

I just remembered sobbing into your arms for a good while, the day was so beautiful, you looked just like the last time I saw you, timeless in this faultering mind of mine, a constant in the chaos of life, of dreams and nightmares. Your face both blesses and haunts me every time I seem to get a grasp of you from the straws of my memory.

Every time I think I'm finally over you, that I've accepted that it was so so long ago, when I finally seem to understand that we were both kids, young and foolish, you come back, a painful ghost of the past, of one I can't remember.

Oh you who stand so timelessly in my dreams, you appear even more than my father, you who didn't hurt me, we were only kids, your beauty remains just how i last saw it, yet you've grown up as well.

Yet i can't seem to recall what you look like outside of them, no more than a snippet of a memory, a blurry face in a old polaroid you've most likely thrown away, my half of our locket remains untouched ever since you left...

Did you throw them away? Did you keep them? Do you remember my name with a sour taste in your mouth or with nostalgia? Did you try to get rid of all traces of me in your life? Did you avoid our shared interests like the plague like I did?

The end result dreams like these is always the same, despite how good it might've been, the sorrow, the longing, for a friendship that was over so long ago, yet I can't seem to let go, it all comes back.

It doesn't hit like a train, it's more like a calculated strike to the heart, a gentle unmending of the stitches I try to keep shut, a smile, a laugh, it spills blood all over your hands, ones I'll never hold again.

To say that I love you would be an understatement.

You were my best friend, the one I could confide everything in, the one I came to told my sorrows when no one else payed me mind. We were both hurting, so bad, I asked you for help, but I can't remember if you asked for mine.

Im scared that I was selfish, I'm scared that i cannot remember what drove our friendship away.

The only things I recall play like images in my head, a windows movie maker edit of the shards that I've managed to put together. A karaoke night sitting on the floor of the living room, a song I showed you that I liked, one which I never understood the lyrics until it was too late. I threw my phone at your wall and made a dent once when a video refused to load, I was so scared that you'd be mad, and you were. Playing Minecraft in your PS4... Petting your cat, walking around your neighborhood and sitting on one of the kids playgrounds, making cookies, staying up at night watching VR chat videos and laughing, playing truth or dare with the stupidest of questions, the distinct smell of the first copic markers I had ever touched when you let me use yours, the warm summer sun from your window, watching a movie with your younger brother, you saying you would never be my friend ever again.

A long long paragraph that took what felt like hours for you to send me, the panic attack that followed from my end, sitting on the hallway of school with tears in my eyes and a lost gaze, I cannot remember what it said, but it was the beginning of the end.

All of these small memories, no longer than a second each, they create this image of you in my head, one that I know it's wrong, but that I can't help but indulge in.

In my dreams I've tried to kill you, to get you to stop appearing in them, I've tried to be friendly, to just enjoy your company, to build new memories...

But what's the point, you're not here, and the ghost of you in my conscience seems to know as well. They're never mad at me, not like you used to be.

But you were hurting too weren't you? I've heard some stuff from my mom, stuff your mom has told her. They're still friends, but we're not, I haven't heard from you directly in... Almost 8 years.

We were just kids, but I can't seem to let go...

You were always so much better than me, I idolized you. You were my muse almost, a deity in comparison to me, you were good at everything you did, be it sports, grades, you were thinner, taller, you were a beacon of perfection in my eyes.

Only thing I felt I was better at was art, but I can't even be sure of that anymore, I don't know if you do art still, you liked to write, I think, you drew sometimes as well...

I wonder if you're still good at what you were, did you burn out like I did? Did you fall from grace like I did...? Well I wasn't ever perfect like you, but I tried, oh I tried so hard.

You were my God and I was Lucifer, or worse, you were humanity, and I was so so jealous, jealous of the perfection and attention your creators gave you while mine ignored my existence and tried to win be back with gifts when it was too late.

Did you go through that as well? Or am I projecting too hard into someone that's just living their best life without my knowledge.

You blocked me on everything... Good, I have moments where I obsessively try to find our anything I can about you, documents full of all the information that I can gather, that I delete immediately after, my hands are forever stained with blood, with anger and sadness, with my obession over you.

A childish desire to have you back, one that never went away.

I tried to act like nothing happened, I hated you, I tried to get you back, I missed you... And when I finally think ive accepted you're gone for good. The dreams come back.

A Sisyphean task of never really finishing the circle of the stages of grief, an open wound, ouroboros doesn't eat it's tail but it starts eating itself at the base of it.

There's no moral to this story.

It hasn't ended yet.

#cryptidko.txt #eng.srt #cryptidko.pdf #i dont actually expect anyone to read this. im just throwing my open heart and the void. maybe it will throw its heart back at me.#Spotify

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zoubissoux · 2 years ago

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party favours

summary: your best friend robin is in a bit of a pickle, and who else to help her out is there, but you? did she forget to mention eddie munson?

word count: 2.6k

warnings: mentions of drugs, drug use, FLUFFFFFFFF

“seriously, robin. if i wanted to be arrested for drug possession, i could think of a million other ways to do it.”

“really? you?”

you closed the lid on your flute, sitting snug as a bug in a rug within its case. “really. me.”

robin scoffed as she threw her trumpet with little care into its case, shutting its locks with a click. “for some unknown reason,” she eyeballed, looking you up and down, “you make that very hard to believe. besides, you’d really be doing me a favour here. you owe me, remember?”

“remind me?”

“last month when you skipped band practice to go to the mall? i had to tell mrs. blancher you came down with the craziest case of diahorrea?”

your fellow bandmates were slowly filing out of the music room, the blanket of chatter slowly leaving with them. hoping to escape this ploy you were very obviously being dragged into, you threw a handle of your backpack over your shoulder and grabbed your instrument off your chair. “you sure that was a favour?”

hurriedly grabbing her things and following close on your heels into the hallway, robin was growing desperate. “okay, okay, okay. i know it might not have been the best excuse, but i did it out of the goodness of my own heart! doesn’t that count for something?”

“okay, whatever. why can’t you just go get it yourself? i don’t understand why i have to go for you.”

“because i just so happen to have a shift at the video store with steve and won’t have time to do much else before the party.”

you rolled your eyes.

“pretty please? please, please, please do this eensie weensie little thing for me?” robin clutched her hand’s together so tightly that her knuckles were almost white, eyes scrunched closed in prayer.

despite not being friends for a very long time, you had to admit that your soft spot for robin ran pretty deep, as much as you liked to hide it. “alright! okay,” you sighed in admission. “i’ll go see munson.”

lunch was a sort of organised chaos - one that you never really had to think about beyond getting your food and walking to your usual table near the windows. if you really focused and examined your peers’ seating arrangements, you might be able to find some sort of hierarchy, but admittedly you were more interested in the food in front of you.

robin came into your field of consciousness with the grace of a baby deer, slamming her lunch tray onto the clear space of table next to you and making herself comfortable on the bench seat. “ah, how we meet again!” she laughed, nudging your shoulder.

“very funny, rob.” you laughed in response, nudging her back. “study period got you on the ritz again?”

“you know it. but something else has been nagging me even more, believe it or not.” she sighed into her meatloaf before downing a heaped spoonful. oh no, you think, i was hoping she forgot about that.

“i have.. almost this sixth sense.. that you’re avoiding the the task i so graciously handed off to you yesterday.” she raised her spoon at you, eyes reduced to slits. “am i right?”

you shrugged, quietly picking at the mystery meat in front of you. “i haven’t forgotten, don’t worry. just.. waiting for the right time.”

as if thinking the same thing, you both turn your heads to peer at the table a few from your own.

eddie munson was quite the character. ever since you started at hawkins’ high as a freshman and first seen him in the flesh, you had held a sort of fascination with him. you’ve always preferred keeping your head down and keeping to yourself, it’s always been easier to handle the lack of drama when you’d always been sort of… forgettable. the main character in a filler episode type of personality. but this boy never seemed to care what others thought of him - the mischevious smile that never failed to reach his eyes, that playful glint in his eye; it was enough to piss people off, but you found yourself a little jealous of his reckless abandon. your memory of him doesn’t pale in comparison to how he appears in front of you now, it only created a clearer picture.

although you couldn’t exactly tell what he and his friends were talking about, you could still hear the echoes of his voice travel across the cafeteria and see his arms wildly gesticulating something to the boys sitting around him. if you hadn’t known any better, from this angle he looked a bit like an excited kid (albeit, a kid two years older than you).

as if he could feel your gaze on him, he whipped his head around to look in your direction. he caught you staring long enough to throw you a questioning look. you continued to blankly stare at him before being ripped out of your reverie by a painful pinch from your neighbour. “eks-nay on the staring-ay, doofus.”

you quickly realised that you were basically staring all googly-eyed at eddie munson and were caught in the act by none other than the aforementioned party. “fuck. FUCK.” your hand flew to your brow to shield yourself from his view as you began to closely examine your meatloaf.

robin sounded exasperated, joining in on your stealth mission. “you better hope he doesn’t charge extra after that stunt you just pulled.”

“surely not? besides, its not like he’ll remember who i am.” you sneak a peek back at his table through your fingers to see if he was still looking your way. huh. “okay, coast is clear. he’s gone.” it seemed a bit strange that he had just disappeared, but you decided not to question it and count your blessings.

“i swear to god, it feels like the universe is throwing obstacle after obstacle at me in the revelation that i might have some fun tonight.” you let out a breathy laugh at robin’s epiphany, resting your head on her shoulder.

“god, you’re telling me. i never knew this would stress me out so much. i haven’t even asked munson to meet yet!” you let out another giggle, too slow to realise that your friend had gone stiff.

“what do you mean you haven’t asked munson to meet yet?” you lifted your head to meet robin’s raised eyebrow.

“well, i mean- i was going to do it later.. like at last period, or something? isn’t that how it works?” something tells you that no matter what you said here was the wrong answer.

“y/n…” robin shook her head. “at least give him some notice! i bet ten dollars we will not be his only customers today and his services will be in high demand. you have to ask him now. like as soon as possible.”

you found yourself at a loss for words. just as you were about retort back at robin for not giving you any sort of direction, an unfamiliar voice answered for you.

“ask me what?”

eddie was standing right behind you and robin. dear god.

robin was the first to turn around with a sheepish grin. “heeey, munson.. we were just talking about you.”

you gulped, hoping that the floor would just swallow you whole and you wouldn’t have to sit through this interaction any longer.

“yeah i figured. saw your friend checking me out all the way from my table,” he smirked, turning his attention toward you.

his indignance seemed to awaken a little fire within you, causing you to sit up straight and look at him dead in the eye. “i… was not.”

eddie let a small chuckle escape his lips. somehow your feigned confidence served as an invitation for him to make himself comfortable on the bench seat next you. turning his body toward you, he rested his chin in his hand and grinned maniacally at you. “so, what did you want to ask me?”

seeing the infamous troublemaker up close was a lot more pleasing to the eye than you originally thought. you didn’t exactly have the luxury of time to inspect his every feature, but you knew that roguish sparkle in his eye belonged to him. besides, his cocky act was enough to piss you off a little bit. “for weed, munson.” you decided to mimic his smile, resting your own chin in your hand. “were you hoping for something else?”

“honestly? yeah,” he moved closer, testing your resolve. your faces were nothing but a breath away from each other; it took everything in you not to shuffle backwards into the safety of robin. “but i can be patient.” his brown eyes flittled between your eyes and your lips so quickly you could have imagined it. he suddenly stood up and stepped away from the table to take a bow. “i shall be seeing you at the park bench in the woods at 4pm, m’lady.”

“oh.. okay.” you both sat there watching eddie, dumbfounded. it was as if what just happened was a hallucination - he shot you a wink over his shoulder as he left the cafeteria and disappeared into the hallway.

you turned to robin to get some look of reprieve, only to be met with a gaze that said i told you so. “could’ve been worse, right?”

there was a notable chill in the air; the leaves were yellow, orange and red and while some of them held on for dear life, most of their fellow leaves created a colourful palette on the forest floor.

counting the leaves one by one was the only thing holding you together right now. all that was running through your head - or rather, that you were trying to distract yourself from thinking about - was how you embarrassed yourself so collosally at lunch. what were you thinking? what was that whole thing? eddie is kinda weird.. isn’t he? well, it explains a lot of what you’ve heard and seen thus far.

oh man, who cares anyway? you think to yourself. it’s not i’m ever going to speak to him again. it’s not like he’ll remember me beyond whatever happened today.

you stretched your jumper sleeves over your hands and scrunched the material up in your palm, obscuring any lingering cold breeze that dared to slip through.

yeah, it’s fine. i’m so fine. i’m just going to do the deal, head to the party and forget any of this ever happened.

“hey-“

so enrapped in your own thoughts, you didn’t expect to hear a voice coming from behind you, sending you flying up from your seat with a yell.

“woah, sorry. didn’t mean to scare you.” eddie stepped back with his hands up, one still being occupied holding a small metal box.

you took a second to gather yourself before sitting back down. “it’s fine. sorry about that.” you were trying to push out the thought that you have just embarrassed yourself for the second (or was it third?) time in front of this guy and you weren’t sure if you could handle another stint of this.

the table seemed like an awfully interesting subject of focus instead of the drug dealer who was now circling back to sit across from you. from the corner of your eye, you could see eddie trying to hold back a grin, his lips pursed into a thin line. just my fucking luck. ugh.

“so-“

“well-“

you lifted your head to look up at him to find a familiar pair of brown eyes looking straight back at you. you couldn’t help but mirror the grin eddie projected, and before you knew it, you both burst into laughter.

“god, sorry! i’m a bit of a nervous mess, aren’t i?” you giggle sheepishly, scratching the back of your ear.

“understatement of the year,” eddie chuckled, playing with the latch on the little box. “we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. just say the word.”

the wall you created around yourself softened to clay at his comforting words. maybe he wasn’t so scary after all? or is that just what he wanted you to think?

“thanks, but i’m good.” you nodded to yourself. “how much does thirty dollars get me?”

“maybe enough for a small family of 4?” eddie answered back in disbelief. “didn’t peg you as the type.” he raised his eyebrows at his container, leisurely collecting the goods together.

you almost corrected him, but your curiousity got the best of you. “the type to what?”

“oh i don’t know,” he threw his hands up. “the type to buy a pound of weed out of the blue?”

“thought this was a ‘no questions asked’ kind of transaction?” you raised your brow, causing eddie to bite down his lip bashfully and continue to carefully scoop the leaves into a little bag for you. “but you’re right, munson. it’s not for me - it’s for robin and her other friends.”

“oh yeah?” he pressed the bag shut along the suction closure at the top. “big party tonight?”

“you haven’t heard? it’s at patrick’s house on cornwall.” eddie looked at you blankly. “patrick mckinney? on the basketball team?”

“ah, that explains it.” you and eddie exchange packages; three ten dollar bills for a medium sized ziploc bag filled with little balls of green. “you haven’t heard? those assholes are allergic to freaks. not that i care to get to know the monkey living in their empty skulls.” he looks down at the money in his hands for a beat, before shuffling it back into the box.

“well… i wouldn’t say you’re a freak.” you squeezed your lips together. as best as you tried to keep to yourself, it was definitely hard to ignore the bullying that went on. it wasn’t fair to the hellfire club to keep taking all the ignorant insults thrown their way. over a board game? and music? are you serious? you couldn’t believe people were so dense.

“really?” you had piqued eddie’s interest. maybe that moment in the cafeteria earlier wasn’t a one off occurence. “what would you call me?”

you looked at eddie. really looked at him. from his wild curly hair, brown eyes shimmering with curiousity, mischevious grin, all the way down to the chunky rings he adorned - he looked nothing like a freak. he was cute, you’d admit it to yourself, but never to him. “i would call you… interesting.”

“hm!” he smiled widely, nodding to himself. “well, you might be the only one who thinks so. thanks.”

without even touching them to check, you could tell your ears were burning bright red. “anytime, munson.”

sitting across from each other just smiling had you both fidgeting with nothing after a few minutes. “well, i guess i should be going.”

“oh. yeah. sure,” eddie seemed to be caught up in his own thoughts until you started getting up. following your lead, he awkwardly waited for you to gather your things before he joined you on the walk back down to the parking lot.

“is this not a violation of customer policy or something?” you joked, hiding a grin.

eddie looked over at you, metal box jingling in his arms as he walked beside you. “maybe,” he shrugged. “gotta say, our hr department sucks.”

you giggled, covering your mouth as you did. “i kinda wish you were coming tonight.”

“really?”

you have no idea where this sudden rush of confidence came from; it was a total 180 from earlier today. explaining this stir in your chest after such a brief interaction was bound to sound ridiculous once it left your mouth, so you decided against it. “really.”

eddie did little to hide the grin spreading across his face. “maybe i could make a quick stop on the way home.” he looked over at you, brown pools of hope clouding his eyes. “do you need a ride?”

#eddie munson #eddie #munson #stranger things #stranger things s4 #stranger things imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #joseph quinn

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bluwavez · 2 years ago

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🌊 || Indigo Waves is the EIGHTH mini album by DEEPDIVE, released by ANGELICO Entertainment on November 18th 2022. It’s available digitally and physically and has four tracks with “VIBE KILLA” being its title track. DeepDive promoted the track for FOUR weeks.

“VibeKilla” received 8 music show wins. They starred in their own reality show, held four virtual fansigns, two in person ones, and appeared on various variety shows, sometimes as a group or in pairs.

–– TRACKLIST :

THE ALBUM comes with a PHOTOBOOK of 68 PAGES, A CD, ONE out of SEVEN RANDOM PHOTOCARDS, 1 of 2 GROUP POSTERS, 1 out of 7 INDIVIDUAL MEMBER POSTERS, 1 out of 4 UNIT POSTCARDS, and a BEACH THEMED PEN. There are FOUR versions of INDIGO WAVES all with their own sets of photocards. You can drawn your OWN photocard HERE !

A LONG AWAITED COMEBACK ... Finally! The boys came back to much success though many fans were disappointed they came back with just a mini album. When asked why it took so long for the boys to come back, Finn said "Umm...Perfection takes time and so does Angelico I guess!" during a virtual fansign.

DESPITE THE WAIT ... DeepDive held the attention of the masses like they usually do! Their variety show appearances and reality show clips often went viral on social media. A pretty popular clip that went viral was a compilation of Cam and Finn giving each other a look whenever Blue would speak. Many Sirens used it as a reaction video and it later spread to local Twitter, gaining them more traction.

PHONE BILLS ... Went viral for it's name and the desperate way the boys sing the song, putting their whole backs into every stage of the song. "We all wrote phone bills. I made everyone write a line to the song so it would be a team effort," Finn spills in a separate fancall. "I named it phone bills because I thought it'd be funny, like, my phone bills are so high because I can't stop messaging that special person...and because our phone bills were overdue. I thought it was funny."

SUN&MOON ... Was very popular amongst fans due to Kiwoo revealing during their comeback showcase that he wrote it for Noah. "I wrote it a long time ago actually. I kept it to myself until I was ready to show it to Finn. I was scared I'd cry if we ever performed it but I won't cry." He told the crowd with a laugh. He later went on to cry during the performance and was comforted by his members.

THE MAMA AWARDS ... They attended this year and performed as well. Their stage was a collab stage with VENUS where the girls performed their latest comeback "ANTIFRAGIL" while DeepDive performed "VibeKilla" before coming together and performing a never before heard collab song "All Night." sending their fans into chaos.

ALL NIGHT ... Was later announced via Twitter to be an upcoming collaboration project between VENUS and DeepDive but only two members from each group would be participating. This angered fans but also intrigued them though the majority wished every member was involved. The line up has yet to be announced but the project is called DIVINITY.

OVERALL ... Amazing comeback! A majority of the fans were happy with it and just happy to see the boys active again. The boys are slated to be more of an active group in 2023 according to Angelico's 2023 roster but time will tell if Jinhwa is lying again!

#˗ ˋ 🌊 dive deeper ﹕ discography !#fictional idol community #aes!ocnet #kpop fanfic #kpop oc #idol oc #kpop addition #oc kpop group #kpop au #fictional idol oc #bts addition #fake kpop group

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jungkxook · 4 years ago

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—out of the blue. (m)

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ genre: youtuber/gamer!jungkook + fluff / smut

⟶ words: 5,204

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ summary: catching your boyfriend bleaching and dyeing his hair for a livestream is definitely not what you expected — but it certainly has its perks.

⟶ warnings: established relationship, some attempt at humour, .2 seconds of sort of sub jungkook (you just like seeing him on his knees), you call jungkook a good boy, shower sex, hair pulling, oral sex, face riding, standing sex, breast play, cum eating, doggy style, unprotected sex, creampie

⟶ note: because blue haired jungkook has me feeling all sorts of things. also dedicating this to the lovely ryen @kithtaehyung because blue haired jungkook is getting her too and i hope this helps!! and thank you to the wonderful @gamerkooks and @stanrandomthings for always giving me inspiration for gamer jungkook <3

“What the hell are you doing?”

Jungkook has less than a second to react when he hears you bursting through the door of his bedroom, a guilty expression plastered on his face as if you’ve caught him in the midst of a much worse act than what he’s already currently doing ━ but the flustered scowl deepening your countenance is enough for him to certainly feel that way, because how else is he supposed to casually explain why he’s currently sitting shirtless in front of a camera?

Admittedly, the sight is odd enough, and there’s a split moment where your incredulous look is enough to make him feel as if he’s wronged you, and your six month long relationship with him, entirely before he remembers that he didn’t actually do anything wrong like cheat on you, but is actually just trying to dye his hair.

He’s sat in his gaming chair, camera and lights set up around him, and the monitor of his desktop all recording his face to the hundreds of thousands of viewers currently watching his livestream. He had told you well in advance about his aim to do a twenty-four hour live broadcast for his subscribers to both raise money for a donation and to countdown to his next subscriber milestone with the help of his friends ━ and had even asked you to help him plan the event, discussing it animatedly with you for the past month on various occasions ━ but mainly just because Jungkook is crazy enough to sit through a twenty-four hour stream and call it fun.

You had known most of how the entirety of the day would go. Starting from noon the previous day to now, almost an hour before the stream ends, thus far he’s done various gameplays from Minecraft to Overwatch to Among Us simultaneously with his friends who had offered to marathon with him the twenty-four hour event; had a period of time in which Jimin and Taehyung were over and cramped in his room to answer questions and talk to viewers but mostly just to create absolute chaos. You had been there for most of it, though you’re still trying to figure out if it’s a blessing or a curse that you were suckered into paying rent for your three bedroom apartment by Taehyung more than a year ago, and subsequently falling madly in love with Jungkook and forcing you to aid in his antics. You’ve been in a handful of his videos before, appearing in Twitch and YouTube streams, and in the background of vlogs in his channel and the channels belonging to the other boys; and, on that day for Jungkook’s twenty-four hour event, you had joined him at the start before being dragged away for work and then tried to pull an all-nighter with him until you crashed on the couch in the living room, and checking in on him occasionally to give him food and water and to just generally make sure your boyfriend isn’t dead.

Now, with the remaining final hour dwindling down, you had been in your room trying to finish last minute essay writing for school, with your phone propped up on your desk and Jungkook’s livestream playing as background noise to your studying. One minute, he had been playing a round of Among Us, and the next, when you had glanced up, he had the bottle in hand and the detrimental blue dye coating his hair in slick globs. It wouldn’t have been so shocking, had you not seen Jungkook an hour ago when he had his natural dark hair still, and now he had somehow managed to sneak in bleaching his hair in the time you had left him. Maybe it was your fault for not catching it sooner, if only because you had sheepishly taken a small nap amidst your studying only to wake up to a nightmare.

Which is where that leaves you currently, dishevelled demeanour standing at the threshold of his door after chasing over to his room, watching as Taehyung helps Jungkook sufficiently ruin his beautiful hair which you love so much.

“Uh… Dyeing my hair?” Jungkook finally answers, dumbfounded. He’s fortunate he had pulled off his shirt to avoid getting hair dye on it, an old towel now draped around his shoulders to catch any excess mess. He adds brightly, “We asked for suggestions on how to end the stream and someone said I should dye my hair, so Tae got the stuff.”

“You bleached your own hair?” You retort, exasperated. “When the hell did all this happen? I’ve been next door to you the whole time! What if your hair falls out? You should’ve gotten a professional to do it, not Tae━”

Taehyung looks inexplicably offended by your slandering remarks on his (lack of) hair styling skills, retorting with, “Yo, what the━?”

Jungkook blinks, as if just being made aware of what he’s actually doing.

“My hair’s gonna fall out?” he gaps. “Guys, what the hell? Why’d no one tell me?”

He looks from you to Taehyung then over at the comments on his livestream which are currently flooding with the sole topic of you. His eyes snag the first few that appear to him in the frenzied influx of words:

uh oh jungkook’s sleeping on the floor tonight

oh shit run bro

f in the chat for jk’s hair

get him y/n!!!!

“Dude, she’s just being dramatic,” Taehyung waves you off. He ducks out of the way when you reach out to Jungkook’s bed for a pillow and chuck it at the older boy’s head.

“And when he’s bald, then what━”

“No!” A helpless Jungkook exclaims suddenly. He gestures wildly to the stream, “Don’t give them ideas. The edits are gonna start pouring in.”

“Jeon, look, it’s too late to go back now,” Taehyung says. “You’ve got half your head covered in dye and three minutes to go with the stream. How bad can it be?”

A groveling sigh eclipses your lips as you push yourself forward. “Then at least let me help before you ruin it completely.”

Jungkook’s fortunate, to say the least, though he’s left wondering if you’re truly upset with him.

He finishes the countdown to the end of his twenty-four hour stream with you and Taehyung putting the last remaining globs of dye on his hair, a heartfelt goodbye to his viewers who marathoned the stream with him, and a promise to update them on the status of his hair when he washes the dye out.

And, just as soon as he’s shut his camera off, the mundane world returns to him.

It’s no longer millions of anonymous and faceless viewers watching him from the other side of their screens in the tiny bubble that is his room, but just you and Taehyung and the older boy’s frisky little Pomeranian dog and the threat of a wallowing regret as Jungkook thinks to himself, what the hell did he truly just do to his hair?

At some point, Taehyung retreats to his girlfriend’s house taking Yeontan with him, leaving you alone with Jungkook and he basks in the sudden cozy quiet after twenty-four hours of madness as the adrenaline rush begins to fade and mellow out. Back aching, joints cracking and popping as he stretches and moves, and eyes burning in the similar way they do from having stared at a screen for too long, but tenfold, he craves nothing more than to find your sweet and comforting touch to end such a long day.

He finds you in the living room already scrolling through your phone and your Twitter feed to read and marvel at all the comments and memes made by his viewers during his stream and his heart threatens to burst through his chest because you’ve always been so supportive of him and his fans, and they’ve always adored you and your endless interactions with them. So, surely, you can’t be mad at him for bleaching and dyeing his hair. Right?

As his arms come to wrap around you from behind, face nuzzling in the crook of your neck, he hears you bemoan, “You look like a Smurf came on your head.”

Wrong.

Well, not entirely, he guesses. You do lean into his chest, practically melting against him. A sluggish grin tugs at his lips and, instead, he chooses to ask, “Shower with me?”

“Aren’t you tired, Koo?”

“Baby,” he deadpans, and your heart flutters just a little bit, “by this point, I’m running solely on Red Bull and coffee that I’m positive I could fight the gods with my bare hands and win. In fact, I’ve had so much caffeine that I’m fairly certain I’ve ascended to the astral plane. Besides, I need to wash this dye out, and I could use some help. Sleep can wait.”

“Help,” You snort. “You’re such a liar. I already know what you want.”

“To spend time with my beautiful girlfriend? You’re right.”

“I’m not sucking your dick.”

He pulls his head back to look at you. Though he tries to look offended, there’s the tiniest of smirks on his face. “Wasn’t gonna ask you!”

You turn to properly face him in his arms and shoot him a dubious glance. He leans down to press a chilling kiss to your jaw, then nudges his nose against you in the same spot so that you’ll move your head. You do so, despite your prior scolding, and let him kiss the underside of your jaw down to your neck.

“Okay, fine,” You huff finally.

You relent, miraculously, but Jungkook had already guessed you would the moment he had found you in the living room and he couldn’t be happier.

He cherishes the moments alone with you, has come to know them well as he falls into a comfortable routine with you away from prying eyes over the last few months. Because sometimes, as he comes to learn, it’s hard to establish a relationship when his job requires him to be in the spotlight often. What is authentic and what is simply fabricated for views is difficult to discern, and yet you’re patient with him. Not everything to him is money and views and numbers, or what his next big plan is, or how you could potentially help him in some way (despite knowing that any video featuring you seems to skyrocket his views and land his videos on the trending page of YouTube more often than not because he knows everyone loves you more than him). You know when he’s his online persona and when he’s simply just Jungkook, and while there’s hardly any difference between the two, his online personality surely has to maintain a level of privacy and happiness that may not always be true.

At least with you, he can just be himself. He can finally be at ease.

Showering together is just one of the many acts of normalcy he cherishes with you. So, he turns on the shower and lets the bathroom get all warm and balmy as you undress. He’s the first one inside, hissing in delight as he lets the water run over his sore muscles, washing out the dye in his hair firstly so as not to get it on you and fortunately not making too much of a mess of blue dye in the tub. You’ve joined him in an instant when he’s nearly done, squeezing into the space in front of him as you shut the glass door behind you, the pane already beginning to fog and slick with droplets of condensation. He pulls you into him once more, nestling his chin on your shoulder as his hands come to wrap around you. They slide across your front, all wet and soapy, briefly gliding across your breasts, palms brushing against your nipples before traveling down to your navel.

“Congrats, baby,” You coo gently. “Twenty-four hours.”

He murmurs into your hair, “Missed you loads though.”

You turn to look at him finally, and it’s hard not to stare. Your eyes land firstly on his abdomen and the toned muscles there, trailing up to his arm and the pretty tattoos that decorate every inch of his skin, to his soft pink lips and his big eyes. Then, there’s the matter of his hair. The water has done most of the work in washing out the dye from his hair, now falling across his forehead and into his eyes and cheekbones, and it’s only then that you fully register the dye has worked as you struggle to find any remnants of his once-ebony-then-blonde locks. The blue hair is an obvious stark contrast to his natural hair and, you think, it is pretty, accentuating his radiant skin and making his eyes pop.

“I didn’t think you were actually serious all those times you said you wanted to change your hair.” Your lips are pursed as you survey him now, your fingers twirling a strand of his tresses around and around as you inspect it.

He smiles, catching your hand and pressing a quick peck to your knuckles. “Neither did I,” he admits sheepishly. “It sort of just happened.”

You pout. “I’m gonna miss your natural hair.”

“Do you really hate it blue?”

“I don’t hate it. Was more scared you’d ruin your pretty hair and make it all fall out.”

At this, Jungkook flashes you a cheeky smile. He holds his head a little higher. “So you still think my hair is pretty?”

“I think you’re a dork,” You clarify. “And, aside from the fact you almost gave me a heart attack, I’d say the blue is so pretty. Beyond pretty. Kinda hot, if I’m being honest.”

Because you’re not really mad, but it’s fun just to tease Jungkook and see his reactions. At the very least, he can sense this, as it’s apparent with the way his smile stretches even wider on his face.

“Hot, huh?”

“Mhm. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

He feigns a look of mock hurt. “Oh no. You must be really mad. Want me to make it up to you?”

“How are you gonna do that?”

“Well, what do you want from me?”

You take a moment to think it over, but the answer is already obvious enough. It’s one that even he knows, and one that has won you over the moment Jungkook was freed from his stream. You hum aloud, “You, on your knees, head between my legs, like a good boy. Think I can get a better viewpoint of your hair from down there anyway before I judge it.”

“Like a good boy?” A dark smirk tugs at his face. “So now who’s the needy one?”

He lowers his head so that he’s leaving a trail of sloppy wet kisses down your neck to your collarbones. As you let yourself get carried away for a moment, you wrap your arm around his neck, pulling him backwards until you’re pressed up against the glass door. He ducks even lower, kissing just above your left breast and then catching your nipple between his teeth. You swallow thickly, rubbing your thighs together, reminding yourself to respond to him.

“It’s not my fault when you were busy for the past day,” You pout. “And the blue hair really is sexy.”

“Aha!” he straightens up in front of you suddenly, a crooked smug smile on his face. “So I’m not just hot. I’m sexy.”

“You’re literally always sexy. And beautiful too. It’s almost unfair.”

“That’s even better.”

You tug your fingers at his damp locks. When you speak, your voice is a mix between urgency and a whine. “Jungkook. I could’ve already gotten off with my hand at this point.”

“Ouch, feisty!” He pokes his fingers at your sides. Then, nipping a little more firmly on the soft skin of your breast, murmurs huskily, “Alright, alright. But only if you call me a good boy again.”

Part of him is taunting you, but there’s a small sliver of intrigue that makes the thought in his head and the pretty words on your tongue excite him to no end.

Still, you choose to entertain him, maybe a little drowsily and entirely consumed by him, “I will if you let me ride your face.”

A rumble of a chuckle resonates from him. You find him on his knees in the next moment, wedging himself between your thighs. He nudges one of your legs and you follow the wordless command, hitching one thigh over his shoulder as you settle back against the glass door of the shower. He kisses at your hips as he dips his head lower and lower to where you want him, before swiping his tongue at your cunt, tasting all of you at once.

“Mmm, Koo━” A soft whimper sounds from you, making his head swim.

He wastes no time in lapping at your folds, tongue delving into you deeper and deeper as he cranes his neck. The wetness that pools between your legs and on the tip of his tongue is a sticky mess that he basks in just a little longer.

“Fuck,” he groans into your pussy, “you taste so fucking good. Missed this so much.”

His hands are big as they come to hold you close, cradling your ass, your thighs, your hips, anything to pull you into him while simultaneously pushing your thighs further apart.

You manage to find your voice and quip weakly, “Missed me or having your head between my legs?”

“You, definitely,” he murmurs. He busies himself by reaching out with his thumb to press circles against your clit. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, hips rutting into his face. “All of you.”

“Jungkook━ Fuck━”

He burrows further into you, humming in response. His nose brushes against your clit, the muscle of his tongue a pleasant wet that makes you warm all over. You give another experimental swivel of your hips, grinding against his tongue just right. He pinches at your hips as if to probe you onward, and then you do it again, and again, desperately rocking your hips back and forth against him. Your fingers reach out to grab a fistful of his hair, clutching it so tightly he hisses. But you’re right. The blue locks look dazzling between your legs, being pulled by your hands as you push him further into you.

His eyes meet yours from below your waist, hooded and idle, enjoying the view as you squirm and writhe above him, shamelessly riding his face. Grinding against his chin, nose, and tongue, the slick wetness you leave behind glistens on his skin.

“Ah, Koo━” You cry out. “Fuck, I’m gonna━!”

Your orgasm hits you violently, sending you keeling. Your hips continue with reckless abandon, and Jungkook presses his finger against your clit a little harder, a little faster. The abrupt gushing warmth between your thighs sends your mind spinning, as the steam from the shower and your panting breaths begin to fog the bathroom. When your hips begin to slow, Jungkook laps at the rest of your leaking core before pulling away with a grin brandishing his shimmering face. He lets you pull him up eagerly, clumsy hands fumbling to hold either side of his face as you tug at him.

“God, you’re so hot, babe,” he sighs wistfully, smothering your lips with his for an all too chaste kiss, before leaning in once more to nibble at your lower lip.

“Wanna feel you, Koo,” You prompt urgently. “Want you in me.”

Jungkook hastens to comply, his hands falling to your waist. “Go on, then. Turn around for me.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You spin so that you’re facing the glass sliding door, your back to him. You watch him over your shoulder, momentarily admiring his well built stature, the tattoos that ink his body, and the water that shimmers on his skin. He has to push his wet hair up and away when it falls across his forehead and then he reaches down to grasp at his length, grip tight around his shaft so that he can pump himself sluggishly a few short times. It’s almost painful to watch him jerk himself off in front of you, the tip a burning red and glistening. He catches you staring and decides to catch you off guard when he grabs a hold of your hips with one hand. He yanks you towards him, your ass pressed firmly against his hips, making you jump from the startle, and grins when you look back at him.

Then, ever so slowly, he runs the length of his cock along your folds. Before you can brace yourself for the overwhelming rush of pleasure, he’s sliding his cock past your folds, burrowing into you deep. He curses behind you, his other hand flying out to steady himself by digging into your hip.

“Fffuck. Shit.” He dips his head so that his cheek is resting against your shoulder and sputters for air. “Jesus, fuck━ Been dying to feel you all day.”

He fits so snugly in you, so perfectly, just like always and you take him so well, coaxed by your own arousal. He ruts his hips forward into yours and you nearly fall forward before catching yourself by pressing your palms to the glass. Then, he’s grinding against you, small and precise thrusts that roll into your hips.

“Mmm, Jungkook,” you choke out. “You feel so━ So good.”

“Ah, shit,” he hisses. “Wanna wreck you so bad.”

He angles his chest a little more, pummels his dick into you in such a way that he’s hitting a different spot in you. His eyes stay fixated on the soft, round flesh of your ass and the way his cock slips so easily into you, brows screwed in concentration, jaw clenched. The slight bounce of your ass each time he rolls his hips firmly against you, the way you ricochet forward each time in tandem with his moves. You bow your head, pressing your temple against the glass door now tinted with condensation, only marked up by the imprints of your fingers grasping at anything. It’s almost sweltering hot in the shower now but you both pay no mind to it. He fucks into you with such languid, steady strides, cock beginning to throb and twitch in anticipation. You feel so wet, such a pitiless mess between your thighs already that it makes him growl.

“H-Harder,” You mewl. “Oh, Koo━”

He almost slips behind you in his eagerness to obey, awakening something animalistic in him, a yearning to just release all the tension in his core. This time, he adapts a measured pace, forceful thrusts that have you crying out in delight each time. One hand reaches up to grip at your shoulder to steady himself while his other slithers around your front to grasp at your breasts, all wet and supple, pinching at your nipples.

“So good,” he moans, pressing sloppy kisses just below your ear. His breath is hot as he pants behind you, sending tingles down your spine. “Fuck━”

His voice is cut off by a whine, hips bucking forward in an unsolicited manner as he feels his high drawing near. You lean your head onto his shoulder, stretching your arm out so that you can tug desperately at his hair. It’s a silent, simple command, but it’s one that he immediately understands even without you speaking.

“Wanna feel you━” You whimper. “Wanna see you.”

Jungkook nearly slips as he fumbles to pull out of you, hissing at the loss of warmth and friction. As soon as you’ve turned to face him, he wastes no time in closing the distance between you. He pushes his leaking cock past your folds once more and continues at the same pace as if he had never even stopped to begin with.

“Fuck,” he whines. “Not gonna last━”

You wrap your arms around his neck, drawing him even closer to you, as he presses you against the glass. He hitches one of your thighs around his waist, spreading your legs just wide enough to hit a certain spot that has both of you crying out. You’re clinging so tightly to him, fingers digging harshly into his skin in an attempt to alleviate the building pressure you feel. He knows you’ve almost reached your end when you resort to a gasping, moaning mess, writhing beneath his broad stature.

“Close, baby?” he hums.

You open your mouth to respond but can only muster a whimper. His pace treads over to heedlessly frantic, the sound of skin against skin and the lewd wetness filling the shower. Despite his hips pounding into yours so harshly, his fingers flutter so delicately under your chin, grasping it and moving your head just enough so that you’re facing him.

“Lemme see you,” he grunts. “Wanna watch you when you cum all over my cock. Always so pretty.”

“I━ I’m━ Fuck, Koo━”

But you can’t finish your thought.

You keep your gaze fixated on Jungkook’s, however exhausted and weary it may be. Your lashes flutter, brows knit together, and you suck your lower lip between your teeth, biting so hard Jungkook’s certain you’ll bruise it. Another few hard thrusts and then you’re reaching your high, overcome by such an intense burning that you can’t help but look away out of instinct. You cry his name, face contorting in pure pleasure, and chest arching to meet his. You’re clenching so tightly around him has him sputtering for air, nearly collapsing entirely against you. You’re near dripping around his cock which only means he almost slips from you with each draw of his hips that he makes. It’s why he sloppily rocks his hips into yours, desperate to reach his own high as well.

When you return to your senses, blinking away your blurry vision, you can make out Jungkook cooing into your ear, “That’s it, baby. Doing so well.”

You meet his gaze once more, only this time you’re perhaps even more tired. Hooded eyes watch him, silently probing him to his climax. He comes tumbling towards it, a few more short thrusts of his hips and, finally, he’s there. He slams his hips up into yours one final time, crying out, and then he’s releasing into you in an overwhelming abrupt gush. Only he can’t quite enjoy it because, out of genuine accident and driven by impatience to just get off, the last jerk of his hips hits you a little too hard.

It’s what causes you to slip backward and he, so lost in his own reverie, hardly has a proper grip on you or where he’s standing. When you lose your footing beneath you, slipping on the wet porcelain of the tub, and comes crashing down, he’s brought along with you. “Oh, fuck━!”

The both of you yelp from the surprise, your hands flailing out to brace yourself for the fall.

Fortunately, you land on him when you reach the bottom of the tub, courtesy of him grabbing onto you last second so that he can soften the blow upon impact.

Unfortunately, the breath is knocked out of him from the startle and from the sudden added weight of you on top of him with no warning.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he groans.

“In hindsight,” You wince as you shift your weight above him, “maybe having sex in the shower again wasn’t the greatest idea. Remember last time when we knocked the shower curtain down and I had to get stitches on my elbow? It’s why we got the glass door installed, and then we had to lie to Tae about it.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” He tilts his head back, rubbing a hand over his face. Then, he flashes you an all too charming smirk. “Was kinda worth it though.”

You giggle, sounding so sweet and angelic, even despite the way his cum still leaks from you. Somewhere in the fall, his dick had slipped from you and now lays softening on his stomach which, really, is probably the worst part of the accident to him. He already misses the warmth of you wrapped around him, your mingling cum a dirty mess around him. You prop yourself up on his chest with your palms, but before you can even think to respond, you notice something out of the corner of your eye.

A small mass of fur in the shape of little Yeontan has just poked his head through the crack in the door, oblivious to you and Jungkook’s compromising position. And then, shortly following behind him, is his equally oblivious owner who must have forgotten something in the apartment to bring him back so suddenly.

“Tannie, get back here━ We gotta go━ Oh, Jesus, what the fuck?” Taehyung appears at the door for a millisecond before noticing the situation he’s just stumbled upon. Thankfully, he acts fast, and clamps a hand over his tainted eyes, clumsily scooping up Yeontan in his other hand. “Can you guys please stop fucking all over this damn apartment? My son’s eyes are too pure for this!”

And then he’s retreating, but not before bumping blindly into the doorframe, grumbling along the way. It’s silent for a moment as you and Jungkook gawk at one another; then you hear Taehyung leave the apartment once more, and the both of you dissolve into a fit of unabashed laughter.

“Are you okay?” You ask once you’ve calmed down enough as he reaches out to shut the shower off. You plant a kiss in your boyfriend’s hair. “You hit your head coming down.”

Jungkook’s heart swells at your gentle touches and smiles. “I’m fine,” he promises brightly. “You?”

“Well, you did just thoroughly fuck me, so━” You shrug innocently. “I’m kinda still too giddy to even care.”

“I’m gonna make it up to you,” he says. “For almost giving you a heart attack with my hair and for almost putting you in the emergency room again just now.”

The mention of his hair draws your attention to it once more. It’s not as wet as before, damp azure waves falling into his eyes that you brush away gingerly.

“Yeah,” You snort, “but I’ve decided I like your hair. Like, really like it.”

“Yeah?” he grins wide. “What was the deciding factor?”

You pause, as if to think for a moment. Exhaustion riddles your body and you know sleeping curled up next to Jungkook is nearing your future, but for now you let yourself entertain the last remnants of whatever lewd thoughts are still on yours and his minds before they fizzle away completely. You can’t help yourself anyway. The blue really is nice.

“Definitely the view of you eating me out,” You say. “And can’t forget how pretty it looks when I’m pulling at your hair.”

“Say no more,” he beams. “Then I’ll make it up to you by making you cum on my tongue again and again and again.”

The last thing he hears before he grabs at your cheek to softly pull you down to him for one last kiss, slow and ardent, is a bubbly giggle from you that delights him to no end.

“That’s a good boy.”

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