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fuckyeahgoodomens · 6 months

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Oooh! A great Gavin Finney (Good Omens Director of Photography) interview with Helen Parkinson for the British Cinematographer! :)

HEAVEN SENT

Gifted a vast creative landscape from two of fantasy’s foremost authors to play with, Gavin Finney BSC reveals how he crafted the otherworldly visuals for Good Omens 2.

It started with a letter from beyond the grave. Following fantasy maestro Sir Terry Pratchett’s untimely death in 2015, Neil Gaiman decided he wouldn’t adapt their co-authored 1990 novel, Good Omens, without his collaborator. That was, until he was presented with a posthumous missive from Pratchett asking him to do just that.

For Gaiman, it was a request that proved impossible to decline: he brought Good Omens season one to the screen in 2019, a careful homage to its source material. His writing, complemented by some inspired casting – David Tennant plays the irrepressible demon Crowley, alongside Michael Sheen as angel-slash-bookseller Aziraphale – and award-nominated visuals from Gavin Finney BSC, proved a potent combination for Prime Video viewers.

Aziraphale’s bookshop was a set design triumph.

Season two departs from the faithful literary adaptation of its predecessor, instead imagining what comes next for Crowley and Aziraphale. Its storyline is built off a conversation that Pratchett and Gaiman shared during a jetlagged stay in Seattle for the 1989 World Fantasy Convention. Gaiman remembers: “The idea was always that we would tell the story that Terry and I came up with in 1989 in Seattle, but that we would do that in our own time and in our own way. So, once Good Omens (S1) was done, all I knew was that I really, really wanted to tell the rest of the story.”

Telling that story visually may sound daunting, but cinematographer Finney is no stranger to the wonderfully idiosyncratic world of Pratchett and co. As well as lensing Good Omens’ first outing, he’s also shot three other Pratchett stories – TV mini series Hogfather (2006), and TV mini-series The Colour of Magic (2008) and Going Postal (2010).

He relishes how the authors provide a vast creative landscape for him to riff off. “The great thing about Pratchett and Gaiman is that there’s no limit to what you can do creatively – everything is up for grabs,” he muses. “When we did the first Pratchett films and the first Good Omens, you couldn’t start by saying, ‘Okay, what should this look like?’, because nothing looks like Pratchett’s world. So, you’re starting from scratch, with no references, and that starting point can be anything you want it to be.”

Season two saw the introduction of inside-outside sets for key locations including Aziraphale’s bookshop.

From start to finish

The sole DP on the six-episode season, Finney was pleased to team up again with returning director Douglas Mackinnon for the “immensely complicated” shoot, and the pair began eight weeks of prep in summer 2021. A big change was the production shifting the main soho set from Bovington airfield, near London, up to Edinburgh’s Pyramids Studio. Much of the action in Good Omens takes place on the Soho street that’s home to Aziraphale’s bookshop, which was built as an exterior set on the former airfield for season one. Season two, however, saw the introduction of inside-outside sets for key locations including the bookshop, record store and pub, to minimise reliance on green screen.

Finney brought over many elements of his season one lensing, especially Mackinnon’s emphasis on keeping the camera moving, which involved lots of prep and testing. “We had a full-time Scorpio 45’ for the whole shoot (run by key grip Tim Critchell and his team), two Steadicam operators (A camera – Ed Clark and B camera Martin Newstead) all the way through, and in any one day we’d often go from Steadicam, to crane, to dolly and back again,” he says. “The camera is moving all the time, but it’s always driven by the story.”

One key difference for season two, however, was the move to large-format visuals. Finney tested three large-format cameras and the winner was the Alexa LF (assisted by the Mini LF where conditions required), thanks to its look and flexibility.

The minisodes were shot on Cooke anamorphics, giving Finney the ideal balance of anamorphic-style glares and characteristics without too much veiling flare.

A more complex decision was finding the right lenses for the job. “You hear about all these whizzy new lenses that are re-barrelled ancient Russian glass, but I needed at least two full sets for the main unit, then another set for the second unit, then maybe another set again for the VFX unit,” Finney explains. “If you only have one set of this exotic glass, it’s no good for the show.”

He tested a vast array of lenses before settling on Zeiss Supremes, supplied by rental house Media Dog. These ticked all the boxes for the project: “They had a really nice look – they’re a modern design but not over sharp, which can look a bit electronic and a bit much, especially with faces. When you’re dealing with a lot of wigs and prosthetics, we didn’t want to go that sharp. The Supremes had a very nice colour palette and nice roll-off. They’re also much smaller than a lot of large-format glass, so that made it easy for Steadicam and remote cranes. They also provided additional metadata, which was very useful for the VFX department (VFX services were provided by Milk VFX).”

The Supremes were paired with a selection of filters to characterise the show’s varied locations and characters. For example, Tiffen Bronze Glimmerglass were paired with bookshop scenes; Black Pro-Mist was used for Hell; and Black Diffusion FX for Crowley’s present-day storyline.

Finney worked closely with the show’s DIT, Donald MacSween, and colourist, Gareth Spensley, to develop the look for the minisode.

Maximising minisodes

Episodes two, three and four of season two each contain a ‘minisode’ – an extended flashback set in Biblical times, 1820s Edinburgh and wartime London respectively. “Douglas wanted the minisodes to have very strong identities and look as different from the present day as possible, so we’d instantly know we were in a minisode and not the present day,” Finney explains.

One way to shape their distinctive look was through using Cooke anamorphic lenses. As Finney notes: “The Cookes had the right balance of controllable, anamorphic-style flares and characteristics without having so much veiling flare that they would be hard to use on green screens. They just struck the right balance of aesthetics, VFX requirements and availability.” The show adopted the anamorphic aspect ratio (2:39.1), an unusual move for a comedy, but one which offered them more interesting framing opportunities.

Good Omens 2 was shot on the Alexa LF, paired with Zeiss Supremes for the present-day scenes.

The minisodes were also given various levels of film grain to set them apart from the present-day scenes. Finney first experimented with this with the show’s DIT Donald MacSween using the DaVinci Resolve plugin FilmConvert. Taking that as a starting point, the show’s colourist, Company 3’s Gareth Spensley, then crafted his own film emulation inspired by two-strip Technicolor. “There was a lot of testing in the grade to find the look for these minisodes, with different amounts of grain and different types of either Technicolor three-strip or two-strip,” Finney recalls. “Then we’d add grain and film weave on that, then on top we added film flares. In the Biblical scenes we added more dust and motes in the air.”

Establishing the show’s lighting was a key part of Finney’s testing process, working closely with gaffer Scott Napier and drawing upon PKE Lighting’s inventory. Good Omens’ new Scottish location posed an initial challenge: as the studio was in an old warehouse rather than being purpose-built for filming, its ceilings weren’t as high as one would normally expect. This meant Finney and Napier had to work out a low-profile way of putting in a lot of fixtures.

Inside Crowley’s treasured Bentley.

Their first task was to test various textiles, LED wash lights and different weight loadings, to establish what they were working with for the street exteriors. “We worked out that what was needed were 12 SkyPanels per 20’x20’ silk, so each one was a block of 20’x20’, then we scaled that up,” Finney recalls. “I wanted a very seamless sky, so I used full grid cloth which made it very, very smooth. That was important because we’ve got lots of cars constantly driving around the set and the sloped windscreens reflect the ceiling. So we had to have seamless textiles – PKE had to source around 12,000 feet of textiles so that we could put them together, so the reflections in the windscreens of the cars just showed white gridcloth rather than lots of stage lights. We then drove the car around the set to test it from different angles.”

On the floor, they mostly worked with LEDs, providing huge energy and cost savings for the production. Astera’s Titan Tubes came in handy for a fun flashback scene with John Hamm’s character Gabriel. The DP remembers: “[Gabriel] was travelling down a 30-foot feather tunnel. We built a feather tunnel on the stage and wrapped it in a ring of Astera tubes, which were then programmed by dimmer op Jon Towler to animate, pulse and change different colours. Each part of Gabriel’s journey through his consciousness has a different colour to it.”

Among the rigs built was a 20-strong Creamsource Vortex setup for the graveyard scene in the “Body Snatchers” minisode, shot in Stirling. “We took all the yokes off each light then put them on a custom-made aluminium rig so we could have them very close. We put them up on a big telehandler on a hill that gave me a soft mood light, which was very adjustable, windproof and rainproof.”

Shooting on the VP stage for the birth of the universe scenes in episode one.

Sky’s the limit

A lot of weather effects were done in camera – including lightning effects pulsed in that allowed both direct fork lightning and sheet lightning to spread down the streets. In the grade, colourist Spensley was also able to work his creative magic on the show’s skies. “Gareth is a very artistic colourist – he’s a genius at changing skies,” Finney says. “Often in the UK you get these very boring, flat skies, but he’s got a library of dramatic skies that you can drop in. That would usually be done by VFX, but he’s got the ability to do it in Baselight, so a flat sky suddenly becomes a glorious sunset.”

Finney emphasises that the grade is a very involved process for a series like Good Omens, especially with its VFX-heavy nature. “This means VFX sequences often need extra work when it comes back into the timeline,” says the DP. “So, we often add camera movement or camera shake to crank the image up a bit. Having a colourist like Gareth is central to a big show like Good Omens, to bring all the different visual elements together and to make it seamless. It’s quite a long grade process but it’s worth its weight in gold.”

Shooting in the VR cube for the blitz scenes .

Finney took advantage of virtual production (VP) technology for the driving scenes in Crowley’s classic Bentley. The volume was built on their Scottish set: a 4x7m cube with a roof that could go up and down on motorised winches as needed. “We pulled the cars in and out on skates – they went up on little jacks, which you could then rotate and move the car around within the volume,” he explains. “We had two floating screens that we could move around to fill in and use as additional source lighting. Then we had generated plates – either CGI or real location plates –projected 360º around the car. Sometimes we used the volume in-camera but if we needed to do more work downstream; we’d use a green screen frustum.” Universal Pixels collaborated with Finney to supply in-camera VFX expertise, crew and technical equipment for the in-vehicle driving sequences and rear projection for the crucial car shots.

John Hamm was suspended in the middle of this lighting rig and superimposed into the feather tunnel.

Interestingly, while shooting at a VP stage in Leith, the team also used the volume as a huge, animated light source in its own right – a new technique for Finney. “We had the camera pointing away from [the volume] so the screen provided this massive, IMAX-sized light effect for the actors. We had a simple animation of the expanding universe projected onto the screen so the actors could actually see it, and it gave me the animated light back on the actors.”

Bringing such esteemed authors’ imaginations to the screen is no small task, but Finney was proud to helped bring Crowley and Aziraphale’s adventures to life once again. He adds: “What’s nice about Good Omens, especially when there’s so much bad news in the world, is that it’s a good news show. It’s a very funny show. It’s also about good and evil, love and doing the right thing, people getting together irrespective of backgrounds. It’s a hopeful message, and I think that that’s what we all need.”

Finney is no stranger to the idiosyncratic world of Sir Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

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littlegirlinvisible · 6 months

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Hello, I'm Hong Hae-in. Like Chairman Yoon just said, he and I have been friends since university. And Mr. Yoon… He… threatened me. He threatened to falsely charge and put Mr. Baek Hyun-woo, my husband and former legal director, behind bars. I have a recording as proof. Furthermore, I can't return to my position as the CEO of my department store. Because… I was told… that I have little time left to live.

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zvaigzdelasas · 7 months

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President Joe Biden “willfully retained and disclosed classified materials after his vice presidency,” according to a final report released Thursday by a Department of Justice special counsel.

But special counsel Robert Hur said he was declining to prosecute Biden over his handling of that material.

The FBI found that material in the garage, offices, and basement den in Biden’s Wilmington, Delaware, home. It included documents about military and foreign policy in Afghanistan, and notebooks containing Biden’s entries about national security, the new report said.

“Our investigation uncovered evidence that President Biden willfully retained and disclosed classified materials after his vice presidency when he was a private citizen,” Hur wrote.

“He knew he kept classified information in notebooks stored in his house and he knew he was not allowed to do so.”

But that evidence “does not establish Mr. Biden’s guilt beyond a reasonable doubt,” the special counsel wrote.

Hur in his nearly 400-page report wrote, “We have also considered that, at trial, Mr. Biden would likely present himself to a jury, as he did during our interview of him, as a sympathetic, well-meaning, elderly man with a poor memory.”

“We conclude that no criminal charges are warranted in this matter,” the report said. [...]

Hur was blunt in detailing lapses in Biden’s memory when he was interviewed for the probe.

“He did not remember when he was vice president, forgetting on the first day of the interview when his term ended (‘if it was 2013 - when did I stop being Vice President?’), and forgetting on the second day of the interview when his term began (‘in 2009, am I still Vice President?’),” the report said.

“He did not remember, even within several years, when his son Beau died. And his memory appeared hazy when describing the Afghanistan debate that was once so important to him,” Hur wrote.

“In a case where the government must prove that Mr. Biden knew he had possession of the classified Afghanistan documents after the vice presidency and chose to keep those documents, knowing he was violating the law, we expect that at trial, his attorneys would emphasize these limitations in his recall,” the special counsel added.

Biden in a statement said, “I was pleased to see they reached the conclusion I believed all along they would reach – that there would be no charges brought in this case and the matter is now closed.”[...]

Trump was charged in June with 37 felonies, including willful retention of national defense information, a violation of the Espionage Act.

Trump had hundreds more classified documents in his possession than Biden did — more than 300 in total, including 102 that were seized during an FBI raid on Trump’s Palm Beach resort home in August 2022. Trump has pleaded not guilty to the charges.

Hur’s report Thursday said that the materials recovered from Biden spanned his career in national office from 1973 when he became a U.S. senator, and through his two terms as vice president under former President Barack Obama from 2009 through early 2017.

Biden during his career “has long seen himself as a historic figure,” and during that time collected papers and artifacts that were connected to “significant issues and events in his career,” the report said.

“He used these materials to write memoirs published in 2007 and 2017, to document his legacy, and to cite as evidence that he was a man of presidential timber,” Hur wrote.

Well we're officially never gonna hear the end of this one huh [8 Feb 24]

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wilwheaton · 7 months

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“Trump really cares only about retribution for himself, and it will consume much of a second term,” wrote former national security adviser John Bolton. Bolton went on to describe Trump’s fondness for humiliating people, and his unwillingness to consider anything that doesn’t offer a benefit for himself. This is all Trump is concerned about. Trump, and Trump alone, is all that remains of the Republican Party. Add on 91 felony counts, a recent loss in a huge fraud case, and a second round of losses to a woman he sexually assaulted in a department store, and the Republican Party is left bending the knee to a three-time loser who is going to spend most of 2024 in court and stands a very real chance of spending 2025 in jail. No platform. No plan. And a heavily damaged candidate who has already enjoyed a seven-year string of unbroken losses. Republicans have nothing to run on but chaos, and nothing to look forward to but the fear that they’ll be Trump’s next target.

Republicans see the writing on the wall, and it signals disaster for them

Everything Trump touches dies. Hopefully, the GOP is the last thing he ruins before he spends the rest of his life in prison.

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redflag304 · 23 days

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🔨Petak Island Prison where Artyom Anufriev is currently imprisoned for life🔨

Full name – Federal state institution "Correctional Colony No. 5 of the Department of the Federal Penitentiary Service for the Vologda region"

one of the special regime penal colonies for life prisoners in Russia; located in the former Kirillo-Novoezersk monastery on Lake Novy (Ognenny Island) near the city of Belozersk, in the Belozersk district of the Vologda region.

A little bit about this prison

The prisoner's day starts at 6:00 and ends at 22:00.While awake, they occupy TV, radio, books, work and walks. It is strictly forbidden to sit down or lie down on the bed during the day, a chair is provided for such purposes.

Prisoners walk for an hour and a half every day.

I'm going to write about their nutrition now:

• breakfast is porridge.Tea with sugar or compote

•lunch-soup with meat or fish, buckwheat or pearl barley porridge for the second course

• dinner-vegetables, porridge or pasta and tea.

In the colony, prisoners have the opportunity to work.They sew mittens, padded jackets and hats.They kill time - an hour and a half.They receive money for their work and transfer it to their personal account.They can buy food in a separate store especially for them.Those who have been sitting for 10 years or more have the opportunity to buy a larger thing, for example, a TV.

It is IMPOSSIBLE to escape from prison.5,000 rubles (approximately) are spent per prisoner per month.

Photo of A sign is attached to his clothes: "Anufriev ArtyomAlexandrovich. Squad number 2"

#artyom anoufriev #academy maniacs #tcc love #tc confessions #tcc edit #tcc art #tcc fandom #tcc columbine #tc community

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say-al0e · 5 months

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Casual

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18! Minors, DNI!

Summary: Steve Harrington has always been kind of an asshole and you've always been kind of in love with him. But a lifetime of friendship doesn't mean either of you are ready for something more than a casual fling because there's nothing scarier than vulnerability, even in Hawkins. [Set between seasons 2 and 3] Warnings: Car sex, requited unrequited love, unprotected PinV, mentions of cheating (parents, Carol; not Steve or Reader). Pairing: Steve Harrington x rich girl!Reader (briefly mentioned but important, off-screen Eddie Munson x rich girl!Reader) Word Count: 5.6k

Steve Harrington was kind of an asshole.

For as long as you’d known him, he’d been a bit of a dick. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, depending on who you asked, you’d known him your entire life. You grew up together, neighbors, with parents who, in their own way, were best friends - if either of your parents were capable of such a thing as friendship. And because of that, you saw a side of Steve that few others had ever witnessed.

There were moments where you saw the softness, the honeyed sweetness, that shimmered through the cracks in the facade he crafted for himself - beneath the hair and the smirk and the snarky quips. Moments where the real Steve, a tender-hearted, well-intentioned sweetheart who was always on the verge of getting it right but never quite managed to make it, lurked beneath the heavy crown he wore.

Just as there were moments when he saw beneath your own carefully crafted persona. He was the only only person who had ever seen the worry, the sadness, the deep-rooted yearning for something more that was buried beneath your walls of ice. He saw every impossibly strong, deeply felt emotion that lingered beneath your careful composure, your even stoicism. He saw the real you, not just the Ice Queen cloaked in department store dresses and expensive perfume.

Only, neither of you acknowledged those moments.

It was an unspoken pact, one you’ve honored since thirteen when you both realized that being popular meant more than being nice. You both pretended that you were still the same vapid rich kids you’d always been, unburdened by a world built to cater to you.

Even if that was no longer true. Even if it hadn’t been true in a very long time.

Either way, you didn’t mention his newfound soft spot for a strange, ragtag group of children and he didn’t mention the fact that he knew the hickey just beneath your jaw was from none other than Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson.

Just as you had nearly every weekend for the past six months, the pair of you sat in the backseat of his BMW after yet another party that neither of you particularly wanted to attend. It had long ago gotten old, pretending to enjoy the self-involved prattling of your former classmates - their bragging about taking on the family business or which colleges they’d be attending in the fall, snide remarks about Steve’s lack of direction while conveniently ignoring the fact that you were the only one with an Ivy acceptance - and you couldn’t help yourself as you huffed.

“Tommy and Carol are the worst. I swear, if I have to hear her bitch about his inability to make her come or him make another stupid fucking dick joke, I’m gonna scream.”

For as long as you could remember, you’d wanted to tell them both to fuck off, to disappear back into whatever hole they’d managed to claw their way out of, but Steve reveled in their following, once upon a time, anyway. Now, he looked almost resigned to their existence in your lives as he frowned.

“She told you that?”

“Won’t stop telling me that,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes as his hand fell to your thigh, fingers idly tracing the bare skin just beneath the hem of your skirt. “I would tell her to break up with him but, honestly, they totally deserve each other. May they spend the rest of their lives making each other completely fucking miserable.”

It was only in these moments, hidden away in the thick of the trees near Lover’s Lake, that any glimpse of your real selves began to emerge. Your annoyed huffing, directed at the awful people you found yourself surrounded by, and Steve’s tender touch as he shifted closer and carefully brushed a lock of hair from your neck. Neither of you mentioned it, too lost in your own little world, but it never escaped either of your notice.

Still, Steve hummed dutifully. “Totally,” he agreed, “told him she cheated on him with Billy but he called me a liar.” He paused for a moment, shifted just a touch closer - his jean covered leg pressing into yours, body warm even in the cool air conditioning - before he changed the subject by asking, “New perfume?”

“Everyone knows about her and Billy. But, like, who hasn’t Billy fucked at this point.” Steve leaned in, nosed at the curve of your jaw, and you hummed. “Mom brought it back from that last conference they went to. Said I needed something more mature before I leave for school.” You left out the part of the conversation where she went on for nearly an hour about how much of a waste it was for you to even consider college in the first place when you were meant to marry someone of status - someone like Steve - and tilted your head to allow him more room.

“Smells good,” he complimented. “Like oranges or something.”

“Or something,” you mumbled agreeably, shifting against the seat to make yourself more comfortable as he began to press his mouth to the sensitive skin of your throat. “What’re you doin’, Stevie?”

“Giving you the attention you deserve,” he answered, never missing a beat and only pausing to nip at the pulse point. “Can’t have you unfucked in this skirt. That’d be criminal.”

As if he sought to make a point, Steve’s hand began to drift higher up your thigh, fingers traveling a well-worn path and ghosting over bruises left in his wake after last Saturday’s party at his own home. Again, he decidedly avoided the few extra spots that lined your thighs - the bite mark he would see when you parted your legs, in the shape of a certain metalhead’s teeth, and the hickey you’d been left with at the juncture of your thighs - as you laughed.

“Should call Hawkins’s finest,” you teased, grinning when Steve huffed a laugh.

“They’d send Callahan,” he mused as his fingers dug into the plush of your thigh and pulled you closer, encouraging you to climb onto his lap. “Would love to see him try to figure out what to do with you.”

“And you know what to do with me?”

Steve’s smirk was obvious, clear even as he nipped at your skin. “‘Course I do,” he assured you, settling back against the plush of the seat as you shifted in the small space and settled on his lap. “I know exactly what to do with you.”

“Prove it.”

The challenge hung in the air for a moment, thick even in the cool interior of his car, and gave you the briefest respite to study him. Soft brown eyes were blown black with lust, a darkness that you sometimes found yourself grateful for the chance to witness, and his hair had begun falling in his eyes. His cheeks were tinged pink and you knew that his lips would follow soon.

Steve was beautiful, a work of art in the dim moonlight, and your heart beat just a touch too fast for something that was supposed to be casual as you waited for him to take the bait.

Before you could tease, attempt to bring some levity back into the moment that suddenly seemed too intense, Steve’s large hand found the back of your head. He pulled you in with a practiced ease, a touch that betrayed just how comfortable you were with one another, and pressed his mouth to yours.

Whereas Steve’s facade was all flash, easy confidence with nothing to prove, his kiss was almost desperate. There was the knowledge that he was good - he’d earned it, sought to learn exactly what you liked and adapted quickly - but beneath that, there was a desire to make the moment everything you could want. He kissed you with an urgency you could never quite understand, almost as if he wanted to savor the moment because he feared it may never happen again, but you knew that couldn’t be true.

As reticent as you both were to delve into your true selves - into your true feelings - you knew that this would happen time and again. It would happen until one of you inevitably broke the other’s heart, and maybe even after.

Still, Steve kissed your with more passion than you ever could’ve expected.

From your position on his lap, skirt bunched around your waist and hands falling into his hair, you could feel the growing bulge in his jeans. There was a slight rocking of his hips, something you might’ve dismissed as an attempt to get comfortable if you didn’t know him so well, and you still managed to find yourself surprised by just how much the little things turned him on.

“Girls like you,” he rasped, breaking the kiss before you could even think to, “just need to be fucked dumb. Be all pretty and cock drunk. Made into that pretty little trophy wife you swear you’d hate to be.”

The way he spoke was so casually condescending, a little mean in the way he’d discovered you liked, and you felt your cheeks heat as you squirmed on his lap. He knew - knew that your mother hated your ambition, swore you were purposely sabotaging her attempts to marry you off, including the few attempts she’d made with him - and smirked when you shot him a half-hearted glare.

“You can pout all you want, but that’s what you need, right?” His hands fell to your thighs, raking up the soft skin as your own tangled in his hair and tugged. “To be taken care of, to be fucked like you deserve.”

“Don’t think some hotshot husband would care enough to fuck me like that,” you countered, swallowing hard in an attempt to maintain your composure as his fingers trailed higher. “Would never come. He’d be too focused on fucking the secretary ‘cause she won’t be upset when he gets off and she doesn’t. But that’s why the trophy wives fuck the pool boys and tennis coaches, I guess.”

Steve hummed his understanding - had his own firsthand knowledge of both your father’s affairs, knew just what kind of men he was surrounded by now that he was old enough - before tipping his chin to glance up at you. “Guess you’ll have to look harder to find someone worth your time, then. ‘Cause this pussy’s too good to be wasted on some dickhead who won’t appreciate it.”

“Steve.” His name came out softer than you intended, a near breathless sort of whine that betrayed you - more than the growing patch of slick clearly visible against the light pink fabric of your panties - and he hummed.

“Don’t worry, babe. You know I’ll take care of you.” Though Steve could be an asshole when he wanted, he was nothing but a giver when he settled between your thighs. There were moments where you worried, secretly feared this might be the moment he decided to be selfish and leave you hanging, but more often than not, you were the one to tap out first. And any argument you could’ve formed died on your lips as he ordered, “Just shut up and sit pretty for me, yeah?”

Despite yourself - despite the part of your brain that wanted you to argue, to fight back and tell him to go fuck himself - you melted into his touch as his fingers ghosted over the fabric between your thighs. You heard him sigh, felt the warmth of his breath fanning over your mouth as he refused to put more space than necessary between you, as his gaze met yours.

“Next time, I’m fucking you in my bed,” he decided, gaze flicking back to where his fingers hooked into the soft material and dragged it to the side. “Can’t taste you the way I want in here.”

“Can’t keep saying shit like that,” you mumbled, nails biting into his skin as you gripped his shoulder to keep yourself upright. “Gonna make me think you actually like eating pussy.”

“I do,” he admitted, grinning when you rolled your eyes. “Like eating yours the best, though.”

With that, Steve’s fingers swiped through the slick gathered between your thighs. His thumb caught on the sensitive bundle of nerves and his mouth returned to yours, eagerly swallowing the soft noise of surprised pleasure you released.

Each swipe of his fingers was easy, almost lazy. There was a practiced ease there, a lover’s knowledge of your body - absent any of the almost nervous exploration of the first time - and you forced yourself not to think too hard about that fact as his tongue swiped at the seam of your lips.

The small space was cramped, not the easiest to maneuver, but it was familiar.

Though sometimes familiarity equated to boredom, routine, Steve’s touch was anything but. Every swipe of his fingers through your folds, every brush of his thumb over the aching bundle of nerves, was electrifying. He had you teetering on the verge of begging, eager for him in a way you’d never been for anyone else - almost anyone else - and you knew he could tell as he finally gave you something more.

Two thick fingers, skilled and steady, pressed into you. They stretched you - never quite enough to fully prepare you for the impressive length hidden beneath the denim you knew you were soaking through - in a way that had your breath catching in your throat and your heart hammering in your chest. Steve knew exactly where to press, fingers finding that one spot that made you see stars, and you could feel the twitch of his mouth as he refused to allow you to pull away from the kiss entirely.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, tone so smug it made you realize why so many were eager to brand him an asshole. “C’mon, babe, the sooner you let go, the sooner I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

Despite your conflicting emotions - the desire to hit him, to call him an asshole and tell him to just get on with it; the desire to kiss him, to tell him that you only wanted this, him for the rest of your life - you settled for the middle ground and allowed yourself to sink into his touch.

Those murmurs of encouragement, almost reverent in a way that you hoped no one else had ever heard, had your mind blanking and your chest heaving as you focused solely on the press of his fingers. His pace was perfect, steady and even and never too much - always too much, always enough to make you wonder how you ever thought you could be fine with losing this someday - and you would’ve told him as much if you were capable of speaking without admitting that you were afraid you could love him for the rest of your life.

Instead, you settled for sinking your nails into his shoulder, for tugging at the soft strands of his hair, as he nipped at your skin. He sucked a mark just beneath the one you knew he’d seen, despite your attempt at concealing it, and that was enough to throw you over the edge.

Steve once admitted to loving the noises you made, promised they turned him on rather than weirded him out - something you only admitted when he asked why you were so quiet, refused to let you come until you explained yourself - and you knew you wouldn’t have been able to quiet yourself even if you’d tried as his fingers worked you through the first orgasm of the night.

Knowing him, Steve wouldn’t stop until he had you desperate - he liked to see your tears, watery eyes and mascara running as you finally let down the walls he’d only glimpsed behind - and that seemed to be the case as he resumed his pace the moment your breathing began to even.

“Steve,” you huffed, your best attempt at something resembling normal, though you could hear the whining edge to your tone. “Fuck me,” you demanded, or at least attempted to. “Fill me up. So big, always feel so full when you’re inside.”

It was a low blow, an attempt to appeal to his ego - exaggerated, though it was true; he was the biggest you’d ever had - and he rolled his eyes as he nipped at your bottom lip.

“So fucking impatient,” he huffed, though he gave in, just as he always did. “Such a spoiled brat.”

With a tap to your thigh, you shifted. You held yourself upright, knees digging into the soft cushions of the seat, long enough for him to unbutton his jeans and shift his hips. As you had every time you found yourself in this situation, which was more often than not lately, you watched with wide eyes and bated breath as he freed himself from the confines of too-tight denim.

For years, you wondered why so many girls flocked to Steve when they knew how things would end. You wondered why anyone gave him a chance, why anyone came back when he forgot to call or blew them off for someone else, but you understood now. The look of him, the weight and feel of his cock in your hand as you reached out and swiped at the pearl of precum beading at the tip, was almost answer enough. The effort he put in to make you feel as if you were the only person that mattered, as if your pleasure were more important than his, quelled the rest of your doubt.

When you lifted your hand to your mouth, lapped the bead from your thumb and hummed, Steve groaned.

“Fucking tease.” There was no bite, no venom, to the words, but you still bit back your grin as he reached for your hip with one hand and held the base of his cock with the other. He dragged you closer, settled you firmly on his lap and swiped the tip of his cock through your folds, as he tipped his chin in a silent request for you to return your mouth to his.

As you pressed your lips to his, he used the grip on your hip to drag your hips down. It was swift, faster than he’d ever gone and almost desperate in the way he pulled you in, but you reveled in the slight pinch as he stretched you open.

There was something so overwhelming about feeling Steve so close, about having him in the way you dreamt of when you first realized how you felt about him, but you did your best to swallow the sudden lump in your throat as your eyes fell shut and your lips parted.

The pace always varied with Steve. Some nights were hard and fast, usually when you were both wound up after a particularly rough night; others were soft and slow, when the emotion began to overwhelm you, when the desperate need to be close outweighed the potential damage a confession might bring. And others still were somewhere in between, teasing and playful; an alternation between soft and hard, slow and quick - a way for him to make you beg, to bring you out of your head and into the moment.

Tonight was no different.

Though you sat atop him, Steve did all the work. His hips snapped, cock pressing into you with every movement, as his hands dragged you down. He controlled the pace, controlled the moment, and you allowed yourself to be fully present.

There was no facade in these moments, no pretending to be anything other than you were, and you imagined that was why you both returned time and again. This was Steve - giving, eager, desperate to be good enough. And you were just as present, just as honest; soft, pliant, warm and overjoyed that he still wanted you despite the surface ice that froze most others out.

Neither of you could pretend here, with nothing between you but a few pesky articles of clothing. Neither of you wanted to.

And you knew, as your mouth returned to his, that despite the rough snap of his hips and the bruising grip he held on your hip, that your kiss betrayed you. Each swipe of your tongue, each breathless gasp you allowed him to swallow, told him exactly what he needed to know.

When his hand fell between your thighs, thumb pressing to the aching bundle of nerves, your mind went blank and your thoughts revolved solely around the beautiful brunette beneath you.

The curve of his jaw, the warmth of his eyes, the slope of his nose, the plush of his lips; Steve, Steve, Steve, was all that existed in your mind. The drag of his cock, filling you so perfectly that it almost seemed as if he were a missing piece, designed especially for you, was all that existed. And just as he wanted, it left you pliant in his hands.

“There we go,” he groaned, voice softer than you imagined he intended, as a hand lifted to your cheek. “Look at that, givin’ you what you need, hm?” When you moaned your agreement, lips pursing in a silent request for him to kiss you, Steve smiled. “Look pretty like this. Soft and fucked out for me. I’m the only one that can make you feel like this, yeah?”

It was the first confirmation that he knew, that he cared more than you thought he might, about the other man in your life. And though you wanted to tease him, to poke and prod and be a bit of a bitch about it, you could only moan your agreement.

Eddie was good, was more than enough, but there was something about Steve.

“Prove it,” he demanded, voice only just beginning to show his exertion as his hips snapped a little harder. “Come for me, babe. Show me how good I make you feel.”

As was beginning to become a habit, you gave in to him without so much as an attempt otherwise. The press of his fingers to your aching clit, the rough snap of his hips, the warmth of his breath fanning over your sweat slick skin; all of it was too much, just enough, to send you barreling over the edge for a second time.

With a cry of his name, keening and louder than you intended, you came and Steve followed shortly after. You could feel the warmth of his spend, the twitch of his cock, as you settled for a long moment, and felt the tears stinging at the backs of your eyes.

Without so much as a second though, Steve lifted a hand to brush at your cheeks, careful not to press too hard, and swiped away the few that had fallen before he pressed a kiss to your cheek and shot you a teasing wink.

“Love it when you cry for me, babe,” he teased, though you wondered if he’d have the same reaction if he knew the tears were, at least in part, caused by the overwhelming flurry of emotion that had you questioning everything you knew. “Seeing the Ice Queen melt never gets old.”

“You’re such a dick, Stevie.” The huff was as playful as you could manage with your breath still coming in short pants and your stomach churning with emotion but he grinned just the same as he helped you off his lap.

“Think you mean, ‘you have such a great dick, Stevie’.” When you rolled your eyes, straightening out your clothes and attempting to smooth your hair, he laughed. “Oh, c’mon, not gonna say thank you for the incredible orgasms? Your parents raised you better than that, babe.”

“They raised me better than to fuck some rich asshole in the backseat of his car, but, here we are.” Steve followed your lead and began to straighten himself out, zipped his jeans and at least pretended not to stare as you settled your panties back into place, the fabric immediately darkening with his spend. “Speaking of, you should probably get me home, Romeo. It’s past curfew.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Steve simply tugged you back into his side, hand cradling your jaw as you both attempted to catch your breath.

The lie was obvious - your parents didn’t care very much how late you stayed out, even less when you were with Steve - and you knew that he knew who would be waiting for you to return home. However, you didn’t expect him to ask.

Steve’s touch was soft, though you could see the distaste in the set of his mouth as his fingers brushed the two marks beneath your jaw - one fresh and one fading. “What’re you doin’ with the freak, anyway?” He’d never asked, neither of you made it a habit to pry into the other’s personal life, but he seemed unable to help himself as he continued. “You know you could just buy weed, right? You don’t have to fuck him for it.”

“I don’t smoke,” you reminded him, rolling your eyes even as you leaned into his touch. “Dunno,” you shrugged, avoiding his gaze as your hands worried with the hem of your skirt. “He’s exciting. Well, not really,” you amended because he wasn’t, “but he’s different. He’s just… Eddie. Doesn’t try to be something he’s not.” The slight was unintentional but you caught Steve’s slight wince, even as you barreled on. “And, I mean, it totally pisses off my dad every time he sees Eddie sneaking out because the guy’s a total fucking klutz and can’t leave without waking up half the neighborhood.” Steve scoffed, though you weren’t sure you were meant to hear it as he quickly covered the sound with a clearing of his throat before you added, as an afterthought, “And he listens to me. Not, like, pretends to.”

“I listen to you.”

While it wasn’t a lie - Steve listened, retained whatever you told him - neither of you were ever particularly honest with one another. Your conversations were never as serious as the ones you shared with Eddie, never as deep. For someone you considered your best friend, Steve barely knew anything about the real you. Though, that was as much your fault as it was his.

There was always a fear, deep and unfounded, that he might not like the real you. That if you were honest, that if you allowed him to see you for who you really were, that he might hate you. That he might leave. With Eddie, that didn’t matter very much. He was fun, a distraction, a taste of something forbidden and a glimpse into another life, but he was temporary. He could leave at any time, decide he didn’t like the real you and it might hurt for a moment but you would get over it quick.

With Steve, it was your biggest fear.

Thinking that he might not like the real you, that he might suddenly change his mind and decide the real you wasn’t worth his time, was a fear that felt almost paralyzing. Steve’s opinion mattered, more than anyone else’s, so you held tight to the person you’d always been - the one he’d always at least tolerated - and never breathed so much as a word to the contrary.

Regardless, you humored him. “You do,” you agreed, lifting a hand to brush a strand of hair from his eyes. “But you kinda have to. And you also moaned Nancy’s name the first time we fucked so, like, that sorta cancels out some of the good stuff.” Steve flustered, cheeks flashing neon pink as he recalled the moment - a drunken hookup soon after his breakup, the first of what would become a regular occurrence - but before he could defend himself, you asked, “How’s that going, by the way? You figure out how to get her back from the creep?”

Steve shook his head, then, and sighed as he admitted, “Don’t think I even want to, anymore. Think I was just… She was right, maybe. We were kind of bullshit.”

The resigned misery in his voice was obvious, still upset by the hurtful declaration of a girl you knew he’d loved - in his own way, anyway - and you sighed as you rested your head against the seat cushion. “All of this is bullshit,” you shrugged. “High school, Hawkins, Indiana; none of it means anything.”

“We don’t mean anything?” Despite his best attempt at nonchalance, Steve sounded almost heartbroken - devastated to hear yet another person who meant something to him declare that he meant nothing - and you sighed as you grabbed the hand that rested on your thigh.

“You know I hate sentimentality,” you mumbled, unable to look him in the eye, “but you’re the only thing worth anything in my whole life. You could never be bullshit. Annoying, totally, but not bullshit. Never bullshit.”

There was a brief pause, a moment in which you both felt the weight of you admission pressing on your chests - stealing what little air seemed to remain in the car, windows still fogged and radio still playing too softly to really hear - before Steve swallowed. “You know I…” He cut himself off, paused and seemed to think better of voicing the thought aloud, before he asked, “You know, right?”

‘I love you,’ went unspoken, as it always had. It lingered, just beneath the surface, waiting for one of you to crack the ice and set it free. You knew, just as Steve did, that you were in something like love. Maybe not a love that would last forever, maybe not even a love that was ever meant to be, but it was there.

Warm, shiny and bright, and just waiting for you to stop pretending that things between you had ever been casual.

So, you nodded.

“Yeah,” you assured him, reaching for his hand to squeeze it gently. “I know. Me, too.”

Silence fell, then, thick and suffocating. It filled the interior of his car with a bitter chill and it struck you just how new that feeling was. It made you wonder what a future might be like, if you had one at all, and you found yourself mildly horrified at the idea that you could end up as either set of your parents. There was no world in which you could see a future without Steve at least somewhere in your life but there was no happiness in a world in which you both continued to pretend.

Either way, you were both stuck - caught up in a never-ending performance, an act for an audience that only existed in your minds.

What began as something effortless, something casual, had become so complicated that you no longer felt certain of much beyond the understanding that you loved Steve. How - if you could love the real him, if you only loved the idea of him, if you loved the safety of him - was a question you had no answer to but before you could begin to even fathom it, the moment ended.

Steve pressed a final kiss to your mouth, bruising in a way that made your chest ache and your eyes sting with unshod tears, before he made his way to the driver’s seat.

And then, just as he had every night since he got his license, Steve drove you home. He pulled up to the door to let you out and didn’t mention the van he saw parked down the street. He squeezed your hand before you could step out into the night, three times in rapid succession, and lit a cigarette the moment you stepped out of the car.

King Steve wasn’t one to fall in love easily, neither was the Ice Queen. But Steve Harrington wore his heart on his sleeve and that heart beat for you. Despite the distractions, the desperate attempts at finding something so disconnected from the cushioned prison of his gilded cage, he knew that it had been you all along. And just as neither of you mentioned the real people beneath the personas, neither of you mentioned just how real the love you shared had grown.

Loving one another, allowing yourselves to be vulnerable - to reveal the deepest, darkest secrets - was terrifying. Both of you feared what the other might think of the truth that lay beneath the crown so you agreed, silently, that to pretend was better than to face rejection.

So, Steve drove the few streets that separated your neighborhood from his and let himself into the empty house that meant nothing when his true home was likely sliding open a window to allow the only person he’d ever seen as true competition inside. And he wondered when the love of his life became a casual fling, when you both resigned yourselves to pretending that neither of you deserved something real - something true, something happy. He wondered why he carried on with it, knowing that in a few short weeks you would be in Boston, knee-deep in a life you hated, while he was stuck in Hawkins, wishing he’d had the courage to be himself and that he’d asked for something more than casual.

There was no satisfactory answer, not if he really thought about it, so he decided not to.

The rest of the summer would be spent in the same way the last six months had. Steve would pretend to enjoy the parties and the attention of girls who only wanted him for his reputation. You would continue pretending that nothing fazed you, not even him. And things between you would remain casual.

And he supposed that was just the way it was meant to be.

_________________________________________________

Author's Note: Did you know there's a chance black beans will catch on fire in the microwave? 'Cause I didn't. Anyway. This was my first time writing 'King Steve' and I had so much fun. This was loosely inspired by Chappell Roan's Casual. And my love of both Steve and Eddie. :)

Taglist: @x-avantgarde-x, @thisisparadisemylove, @eddiesprincess, @slvdsjjk, @munsonlover, @tasmbestspdrman, @urofficial-cyberslut, @jxngwhore, @hopelesslylosttheway, @meaganjm, @lazuli-leenabride, @deiondraaa, @piscesmesss, @glowyskiess, @kiszkathecook, @missryerye, @solarrexplosion, @ofherscarlettwitchways, @lovedandleft-haunted, @trappedinlimbo15, @sweetiekitten, @bookfrog242, @gwendolynmary, @sage-bun, @zealouslibrariesparadiselight, @castiels-lilass, @tojis-little-brat, @emmah787, @theworldsendxx, @asuperconfusedgirl, @flores-and-sunshine, @passi0np1t, @laurathefahrradsattel, @hellf1reclub, @slut4yourmom, @niko-04, @hannirose-loves-you, @mrs-eddie-munson, @screambabe, @vllowe, @ryswritingrecord, @cheriebondy, @ryswritingrecord, @thewitchofthewilds140, @bootlegmothman420, @maruushkka, @honeymoonpython, @keenesbeans, @jess-bonn, @sammysinger04, @khaoticken21, @denkis-slut, @spiderman-berries, @lotus-es, @amortiff, @stardust-galaxies, @ure-a-sunflower, @1-800-ch3rry, @ladybeewritethings, @ynbutbetter, @hunnybunimdun, @breathinfive, @s-u-t, @s4ntacarlal0stk1d, @rae-iin, @pennamesgame, @stefans-wife, @voldieshorts, @frankie-mercury, @bbymochi1, @serendiipty, @saturnsworld01, @eddiemunson1sstuff, @valthevalkyrie-main, @crying-caro, @inglourious-imagines

#stranger things smut #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #steve harrington fic #stranger things fic #v's fics

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architectureofdoom · 4 months

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Partial demolition/strip-out of the former Vroom & Dreesmann department store, Amstelveen, Zanstra, Gmelig Meyling, de Clercq Zubli, 1971

#netherlands #department store #demolition #reuse

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lyekisses · 2 years

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sometimes u think it’s going to be a normal day and then u find a dvd porn stash behind the walls at work

#meticulously organized….signed dvds…..#honestly this WOULD happen to me and my bestie on her last week #I JUST WANTED TO EXPLORE THE ABANDONED BACKROOMS OF A FORMER DEPARTMENT STORE!!!!

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ghostofhyuck · 7 months

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Taguan ng Anak series 1

CEO! Mark x former secretary! Reader

Summary: Years after you resigned as his secretary, Mark bumps into you once again, not knowing that something bloomed from your secret office love affair.

cw: mentions of pregnancy.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s seldom for Mark to make time for himself.

Well to start, Mark excused himself that he’s in the mall to buy a gift, which is a surprising excuse for a CEO who’s such a workaholic. But in his defense, he wanted to buy a gift for his parent’s wedding anniversary and Mark wanted to make sure that he’ll be the one who’ll pick the gift personally.

That is why he’s in a well-known mall, wearing his casual clothes on a Saturday afternoon. The mall was pretty crowded given that it was a Saturday. Mark has been walking around thinking what to buy for his parents. It’s not like they’re hard to give presents, but Mark wanted to give them something special.

His feet dragged him to the mall’s department store, heading to the accessories section. Maybe his parents would like new sets of watches — that’s a bit common, Mark thinks. He had bought them watches many times. Mark ponders about it as he walks around the selections.

He didn’t notice that he’s in the jewellery section when a saleslady called his attention, offering him promos for a certain brand.

“You can be engraved in the ring! Are you going to buy it for someone special?” the saleslady asked.

As he stared at the display, Mark thought that it’ll be nice to buy his parents a new set of wedding rings, maybe they can even renew their vows. Thinking that it was a bright idea, Mark immediately asked for help from the saleslady who happily offered assistance for him.

Watching the jeweller engraved on his parent’s wedding anniversary date on the right, Mark couldn’t help but ponder at the thought of getting married. Seeing how happy his parents are and how their love created a strong and loving family, Mark wonders when it will be his turn.

But perhaps he’s passed his prime, all he can think about right now is the paperworks he left to his staff just because he decided to have a day-off.

“Thank you,” Mark mumbles as he grabs the paperbag from the saleslady. The paperbag felt light but Mark couldn’t help but feel lightened as he swayed the paperbag, excited for his parent’s reaction to his gift.

But just as he was about to walk away, a small figure bumped into him. It didn’t bother him a bit but the kid fell on the floor.

“Careful there!” he shouts. Helping the kid stand up. Mark then kneels down to check if the kid got any scratches but it seems like she wasn’t hurt at all.

“Sorry mister,” the kid apologises.

Mark looked at her and for a second, he felt something weird. The little girl looks eerily familiar that he can’t pinpoint it. For a minute, Mark thinks that he’s just seeing things so he gives her a smile, “it’s no worries, don’t run around okay? It’s dangerous.”

Looking left and right, it seems like the kid ran off from her parents. He stands up and offers his hand to the kid who immediately accepts it.

“What’s your name by the way? And where are your parents —”

“Minah!”

Mark wasn’t able to process everything when he heard a familiar voice and as he turned around, a familiar face welcomed him.

“It’s you,” Mark mumbled.

You stopped on your tracks, frozen to see your daughter with your former boss. You immediately bowed as an apology and snatched your daughter away from him.

“I’m really really sorry sir! I hope she didn’t disturb you,” you quickly said.

“Oh it’s nothing, and please, can we drop the sir? You’re no longer my secretary too,” he calmly said.

You only nod and as you felt that your daughter is now right beside you, you tried to walk away from the scene when Mark held your arms.

“It’s been a long time since I saw you,” Mark said quietly, as if he was trying to collect his words. “Can we talk?”

“What?” you asked.

His eyes landed on the child beside you, then as he looked at you, he gave you a meaningful smile. “I just wanna know how you have been.”

You thought that you could endure it. You thought that you could run away from everything — even from Minah’s father. From the very start, you always knew that it was forbidden. You were his secretary and he’s the head of the company. Everything was hidden, behind closed doors, and only hushed words that can be exchanged with you two alone together.

And damn it. It was Mark Lee. Mark Lee who’s loved by everyone, praised by his skills and nice personality. Mark Lee who Korea considers as one of their hottest bachelors. He was everything and then, there’s just you. His competent secretary who has to survive living in this world. Yet, you were willing to enter this kind of relationship. You were a fool to think that your romance with Mark will turn out right like the movies.

“So, how have you been?”

But it wasn’t. One day, you just woke up with an unexplained morning sickness and a trip to the hospital made you realise that your daydreams may not only ruin yours but also Mark’s future.

“I’m doing great, I found a better job with a better salary, I moved to a bigger apartment, and Kiwi’s still alive, still a grumpy cat you know?” you smiled, trying to brush off any topic that may land on the child next to you.

“I see,” Mark bitterly said. Grabbing the cup of coffee on his table. “So, who’s the little girl beside you?”

Your smile faded. You glanced at your daughter who innocently stared at you and your eyes wandered to the man in front of you.

“You know that there’s a possibility right?” Mark taunted, and you could only look at him with a guilty look. He still can read you after all.

“There’s no possibility Mark,” you told him. “She’s yours…I never entered a relationship after I gave birth.”

A beat of silence swallowed you too. You could only lower your head in shame.

“So why hide her from me? You think that I won’t take responsibility?” Mark’s tone turned full of anger and disappointment.

“No! It’s not like that, I just…I don’t want this to get into your way.”

You saw how Mark’s forehead creased, “what are you talking about?”

“Mark, we were young okay!? You have a long way to go as the head of the company, I don’t want a kid to get in your way.”

“And what, let you raise her without knowing her father?”

“You think it was an easy choice for me!?” you saw how surprised he was when you raised your tone. “You were my boss, you’re a CEO and I’m what!? I’m just your secretary Mark!”

“Don’t say that,” Mark calmly said, trying to reach out for you. “You know what we had was real.”

“Of course it was, but we’re just too different,” you mumbled.

Mark didn’t say a word. You could only lower your head out of guilt. It didn’t occur to you that Minah was trying to reach for your hand. Her small hands brushing to your arms making you look at her.

“Mama, are you crying?”

“What?” and before you could even touch your face, Mark already has wiped your tears away.

“You don’t know how much I was devastated when you left the company,” Mark confesses, gently wiping your tears away.

“It’s all my fault, I let our relationship be a secret, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No Mark, it was okay for me.”

“I know, but it was better that I fought for you. Years of not seeing each other…I don’t even know what you’ve been through when you’re raising our child alone.”

You could only smile bitterly, “it’s okay Mark, I’m over it.”

“Maybe, you’ve always been brave and I’m…I’m just me. I’m sorry for everything and I just want to make it up for the years I wasn’t there,” he holds onto your hand even tighter. “Can we start all over again? I want to be there for both of you.”

His eyes were pleading, desperate to meet yours. Mark was begging to be part of your life again and although there were things that you two haven’t talked about, you couldn’t help but glance at your daughter who cluelessly watched the scene unfold.

Remembering her drawing in her daycare where she draws a complete family, maybe it was time for you to grant her wish.

And as you glance back at Mark, you could only give him a smile as you muttered, “yes.”

#nct #nct dream #nct fic #nct imagines #nct dream fic #nct fluff #nct x reader #nct dream imagine #nct scenarios #nct dream fluff #nct mark #nct mark fic #nct mark fluff #nct mark imagines #nct dream mark imagines #nct dream mark #nct 127 mark

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grimesgirll · 6 months

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you like to match.

maybe it’s a remnant of the old world, back when your biggest problem was how well your outfit was received.

most of the time, you had to dress practically. whenever your group came across an untouched clothing store or cache of quality clothing, the priority was typically finding seasonally appropriate clothing and weather gear, fresh undergarments, new shoes, socks, etcetera. you rarely had the opportunity to put together a real outfit. it was all layering and just taking whatever you could carry. practicality had you collecting cargoes in every color.

rick enjoyed your style; you made an effort to look put together when you could and post-apocalypse, all it took was you finding a pair of jeans that actually fit to propel him from checking you out to tearing them off and bending you over the nearest surface.

daryl thought you were a mall rat. he takes the opportunity to make fun of you and your fashion sense while you’re out on a run.

“this is an abandoned kohl’s, not mooningdale’a or wherever the bitch from ‘friends’ worked.”

you giggle at him. “you mean bloomingdale’s?”

“whatever.”

the two of you are scavenging the former shopping center in search of any edible food, water, tools, anything for judith, just anything that could come in handy. winter coats and appropriate weather gear were pretty large priorities as well.

you thumb through racks of clothing, estimating if it suit fit the person from the group who you were mentally fitting. from flannels for carl, onesies for judith, and boxers for rick, you’re tossing your finds over your arm like an associate was about to come up and offer you a basket.

the pile you’ve accumulated is ditched on an ottoman in the shoe department when a pair of boots catches your eye.

“fuck,” you whisper low enough for daryl not to hear. the brown leather boots have you salivating at the mouth. god, you have nowhere to wear those but if you did…

you’re forced to pick your jaw up off the floor when daryl comes around.

“find anything worth bringin’ back?” his arms are full with everything from tool kits to batteries.

you shake your head. “nope, not much. i’m gonna grab a cart though,” you mention, gesturing to the haul in his arms.

“just don’t get a squeaky one in case there are any walkers lyin’ round.”

“of course!” you chirp, hand wrapping around the metal handlebar as you pry it from a line of other shopping carts.

daryl dumps his finds in and while his back is turned, you toss in the pair of boots. a layer of two of tissue paper on top seems like a good enough disguise.

then the two of you are back to walking the sales floor. you can’t help but watch daryl as he walks in front of you. your breath hitches when you notice how tightly that shirt clings to him - to his rather large arms specifically. you’re so engrossed in how he pushes the cart that you almost miss the gadget out of the corner of your eye.

suddenly you’re doing a double take and walking yourself back to the electronics section.

“you makin’ a documentary or somethin’?”

you turn over the camcorder in your hands. “maybe.” you smile at your traveling companion. “you can take me on one of your hunts and i can get some footage.”

“spook all the deer while you’re at it.”

laughing at him, you flip the screen fully open and put the recording device up to your eye. “maybe i’ll make a survival documentary. video diary or something.”

daryl is walking up to you and flipping the camera shut as soon as he notices the viewfinder trained on his groin.

“what?” you cry, immediately putting on a fake pout. “you don’t wanna make a porn with me?”

“baby, this is a kohl’s.”

you shrug. “what’s it matter? i’m sure people made porn in kohl’s before. wanna go to the dressing room?”

“i don’t think we have time for all that-,”

“ah, i think we do.”

despite his protests, you tug him away from the electronics section - camcorder in your back pocket - and make a beeline for the dressing room.

rick and daryl didn’t like you leaving alexandria without them.

most of the time they made you write them a list as opposed to letting you window shop in the wasteland yourself. so something so mundane as using a dressing room is kind of exciting to you.

the man with a hand in yours rolls the cart up to the dressing room attendant’s desk.

daryl frowns when he notices the boots under the tissue paper. “baby, the fuck’ are these?” he holds up the most gorgeous pair of boots you’ve ever seen.

your lip quivers. “the best pair of shoes i’ve seen since atlanta.”

“how the fuck are you gonna run from walkers in these?”

“uh, i won’t.” you spit.

“you mouthin’ off?”

“never.” you promise with a chuckle.

daryl just shakes his head. “put ‘em back.”

“i think i’ll keep them.”

“really?” he pushes the cart aside to stand in front of you, close enough so that you can feel his body heat radiating towards you.

you offer a playful smile. “i think you just need to see me in them first. then you’ll be convinced.”

with that, the two of you are darting into a dim dressing room - boots in hand.

it doesn’t take long for you to hear the fitting room door swinging open, announcing that rick has found you two.

“we were just discussin’ the merit of her wearing underwear.”

you’re glad the three of you are confined to the handicap dressing room. you wouldn’t want anyone to see your blush when rick gets a cocky grin on his face.

he takes in the sight of you with your jeans pushed down and his best friend next to you, another finger toying at your underwear.

“well, you know my answer.”

you don’t need to ask the constable; he’d make it law for you to go commando at all times if he could.

“yeah, i don’t think you need ‘em.” the younger man agrees.

“why is me wearing underwear such a debate?” you question with a wistful smile. “you two spend awfully more time talking about it than it off.”

“why don’t you show him your boots first?”

you lift an eyebrow, and a leg and do a little kick, still mindful of the intimate dressing room. the light falls on the posh leather boots in such a fashion that you’re forgetting you snatched them off of a shelf at kohl’s.

rick whistles. “you look great in them, darlin’. i’m curious where you think you’ll be wearin’ then though.”

shrugging, you settle back down onto the seat and begin freeing yourself from the leather brown boots. “not sure. they’re pretty to look at though.

“that they are.” rick agrees.

“why don’t you keep ‘em on?”

you raise an eyebrow. “i thought they were,” you make air quotations with your fingers, “shit boots.”

rick sniggers. “so mean to her, dare.’”

you nod, zipping a boot back up. “really.”

“i think you should apologize to the pretty lady. tell her you like her boots.”

you teeter a boot a foot above the ground invitingly. daryl falls to his feet in front of you with a frown that you know is a front. as soon as he’s faced with your inner thighs, his hands are laid out on top of them, and he’s iterating beneath you,”

“i’m sorry ‘bout your boots, baby.” he states, eager fingers inching closer to your waistband again. “i think you look fuckin’ fantastic in ‘em. but where are you gonna wear em’?”

you have an answer but as he peels back your panties and leans in to face a mere few inches from your dripping core, your response is stuck in your throat. it takes a sharp inhale to regain your thoughts when his finger and tongue begin tempting you at the same time. rick leans against the wooden paneled wall, crossing his arms at you.

“you know they’re gonna be hard to match with all your other clothes. not that you don’t have enough.” rick sighs, running a hand through his hair like he’s thinking about storage and reveling in spectating daryl touch and tease you. “you already filled up the closet last time you came out with us. you’re gonna have to call rosita over to take some of it off your hands.”

you roll your eyes. they’re telling you that you need to get rid of clothing like every other month. when it comes time for them to make you bag up anything you’re willing to part with, you typically found some way to end up on your knees or with them bending you over something. that usually gives you another month.

“i thought daryl was saying sorry.” you grumble, smooth legs kicking playfully in protest until daryl has them pinned against the seat, his tongue licking furious stripes from the top of your clit down to your aching little hole.

“baby, you’re so wet.” daryl comments, lips smacking with your slick.

“as always.” rick jeers, walking over to sit next to you. “hey, doll,” he greets into your mouth.

needy and bucking into daryl’s soft mouth, you return the kiss with a fervor that rick’s not expecting. he groans at the bruising brush of your pillowy smooth lips against his.

you’re reaching your hand to the side to grasp at him when you instead find your camcorder. remembering your original plan, you pull it forward onto rick’s lap.

he only chuckles into your mouth when you open the video camera and aim the lens on the man going to town between your legs.

“you forgive me, baby?” daryl inquires with the addition of a finger.

you nod up and down. “fuck, i forgive you, dare’. you’re so good with your mouth.”

rick’s smile turns upside down when he notices how shaky your hand is getting as daryl brings you closer to your first p.m. orgasm. he brings a steady hand up to relieve you of your cameraman duties.

the opportunity presents itself to fall back into rick so you take it. his chest is pressed snugly against your backside now as he angles the camcorder to catch the downright debaucherous scene occurring in this kohl’s dressing room.

your legs are quivering and you’re chanting daryl’s name when he removes his fingers and goes all in on your pussy.

rick clasps a hand on your mouth. “shh, honey. don’t want the others to think somethin’s wrong.”

“mhmmm,” you shudder against his hand.

the pleasure daryl’s been doling out to you comes in the form of a mind numbing orgasm that washes over your tensed form from head to toe. daryl doesn’t slow down either as you cost his face in your sweet slick. he’s licking patterns into you and you swear he’s trying to paint the alphabet across your cunt as you ride out the delicious pressure your boyfriend is treating you to.

“how are you gonna walk back to the car?” rick asks you, pulling your face gently towards his to cup your chin and engross you in another kiss. he only separates from you to pass the camcorder off to daryl and lift your thighs.

“might have to carry you.” daryl muses and begins undoing his belt.

“rick, you’re gonna fuck me, right?” you crane your neck to lock eyes with the man entering you right then and there.

“fuck, give me a moment, darlin’.” rick shakes his head as you grind against him, unable to think straight.

you’re catching your breath when you look up and notice the blue eyed man behind the somehow closed camcorder. bless him.

“i think you have the cover on,” you giggle and stretch using your tippy toes to flip it back for him.

once the red light is on your face, rick yanking your tank top off and attacking your bare chest with open mouthed kisses. the nipple he pops into his mouth pebbles even more at his touch. his mouth coupled with the all encompassing stretch you’re enduring is drawing every moan you can muster.

he cements a grip on your hips to raise you up and down on his cock in his lap. the plushnsss of your ass is making him feral as he’s met with that same pillowy softness upon every meeting with his pelvis.

daryl keeps the camera on you, rick, and the mess you’re creating in your laps. he shuffles to stand next to the seat and offers you his now nude cock which you happily take into your mouth, earning him a better angle in the process.

the camcorder captures you oohing and aahing around daryl as rick fucks the past few hours of tension out of you. nothing like justifying fucking your brains out in a dressing room on stress and performance.

the girthy man in your mouth is thinking the same thing. daryl hisses when he hits the back of your throat and you gag. he’s fucking your throat even faster once he catches sight of his dick disappearing in and out of your pretty pink lips on the screen.

like a seesaw, you rock up and down on rick. the way rick is thrusting upwards into you has you moaning pornographicly around his best friend’s length. it’s only so long before you have to give in. you’re rolling your hips frantically and making the most debauched noises around daryl.

that’s all it takes for the archer to twitch in your throat. you’re prepared to swallow but before you know it, he’s backing his cock out of your mouth and holding it directly in your face, pumping with one hand and recording in the other.

“watch out, rick,” he warns.

and just like that his cock is in front of you, spurting and coating your face.

“does that go with your outfit?”

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