#yes my lens is cracked

[dixxiemaegraphics]

I liked my outfit yesterday so you also have to look at it.

[pseudotsugas]

least cluttered bedroom

[inkskinned]

no, actually, where is the whimsy?

my ex had a best friend named larry who asked me once: what do you think comes after irony?

we were at the bar where larry worked. it was a quiet night, and he'd hopped over to sit with us on the patron side. i swirled the lemon around my limoncello martini.

earnest positivity, i said, while my ex said, art self-destructs.

i stared at my ex. he stared at me.

his argument was the cinemasins argument: look how bad media is becoming! look at the loopholes and the dumb shit!

it was roughly 2011. galaxy print was still in. at the time, i had a favorite shirt that was a wolf howling at the moon. it got ripped in half in the wash and i honestly still mourn it. i dressed like effie stonem, because everyone did. and irony was the name of the thing. men liked MLP "ironically." the internet liked the kind of crass, "anti-mainstream" vibes of things like fuck romance, touch my butt and buy me pizza. we put cats in sunglasses everywhere, which was because we only liked things in irony.

and media had the same vibe in it: anti-hero white men would be "hard to love" and then storm off the scene. nobody was just earnestly trying to save the world: they were jaded, angry, unoriginal. mad you even asked them to try to help.

my ex ends up not being wrong. cinemasins becomes super popular. a lot of people start viewing media with this lens that is the cruelest, most jaded depiction. it's wrong for your character to have unexplained powers, even if the entire movie is about how strange it is she has unexplained powers - that is still considered a "loophole." characters make thoughtless, panicked choices? loophole. characters are actually kind people, despite hardship? loophole. features a woman doing literally anything without assistance? loophole. movies become hyper-aware of scrutiny, and now irony rules the media.

which means you go to a movie, and the character has to turn to the screen and say "beats me!!" or one of the side characters has to have some kind of quip like "are you seriously telling me that you think this is normal?" because nothing can happen in earnest. like a sitcom laugh track, we now anticipate the fourth-wall break: the moment that the media acknowledges it is telling a story. the media has to apologize for itself, or else someone like my ex rolls their eyes.

but here's the thing: i wasn't wrong either.

the difference might be that i am (and always have been) so soft-hearted that any crack in the light of this world will spear me into the ground. and i was the poet in the relationship. (he thought that was the same thing as being naïve and stupid). i was making things daily. i knew how all of us artists are driven by some strange desire to evolve. he notably liked to critique art, not to create it.

so yes, i've made things that are bitter and angry and even ironic. i've made long, sharp poems with all capital letters, and i've made poems about how the silence stretches out like a song. someone wrote once that we will spend our whole lives just circling the place we grew up. i think it's more that we spend our whole lives trying to remake a home. i think it's that as we age, it becomes less exciting to build the castle on the beach - we become aware of erosion, of windforce. we realize what we really want is to come home to our dog, castle or not.

and while art in the foreground is mired in white male violence and irony, and aggression, and not taking anything seriously - i don't think that's true of all art. i think more and more artists are leaning in to the things we love. the world has changed so much. they have taken so many things from us. the only thing we have left is love. at the bottom of the moving box - all we get is the faint sense that we have to appreciate what little we've got. i can't enjoy this stuff ironically anymore: what room do i have for irony? if it makes me happy, that is an amazing thing. there are so few happy places left for me. i want to be happy because of how leaves shiver beside each other like nestling birds. i want to be happy because of the color pink, and how magenta doesn't exist. i have spent so much of this life suffering, i have earned my right to a gentle ending. if nothing matters, i get to assign meaning to the nothing. i get to create meaning. i am an artist first and foremost, which means creation is my thing.

where is the whimsy? wherever i fucking put it. because if this is my last fucking chance to do any good in this world - i want to do it earnestly. i want to write things that make you happy. that make people feel heard and seen. what comes after irony has to be positivity.

it was close to my 21st birthday. in 7 years, i would end up writing a book about this relationship, which is hopefully coming out somewhere around May 2024. i come back to this bar scene in my memories a lot. i keep thinking of how pale my ex was. the look that crossed his face. how i looked back at him. how for a moment, both of us couldn't recognize the other person. like the gulf between us was a suddenly wide and cavernous thing. like we were alien to each other. he never took my opinion seriously, and he always seemed surprised whenever his manic-pixie-dream-girl ever broke free of the plot. like in the whole time we were together, i wasn't human enough.

this knowledge: where he said nothing comes after, my only instinct was what comes after is love.

[mariasont]

THE BIMBO RECEPTIONIST WAS SO CUTE

now id like to introduce, goth/metalhead!bimbo!reader x spence ( more of the opposites attract vibe )

super dark clothes and jewelry and looks like elvira a little bit, maybe a few piercings and tattoos for spencer to oogle at

Brooding - S.R

a/n: EEK i hope u love this as much as i loved writing it :)

bimbo reader has my heart <3

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x goth!bimbo!reader

warnings: mmm none! fluff! just two cuties being cute!

wc: 0.6k

Your pen was a flurry of motion, streaking bold lines upon the sketchpad. Technically, you should be sorting through the endless stack of files, keeping them pristine and accessible for the agents. You were always ahead of your tasks, and this job, while not earth-shattering, mattered to you. But when you had a muse as captivating as yours, it was hard to put the pen down. 

That muse being the man rifling through the files before you, his face a masterpiece of pretty lines and angles, unaware of the intensity of your focus. You contemplated expressing your admiration aloud, but the idea seemed a little too forward. So, you poured that impulse into a portrait, tracing the contours of his handsome face.

But it proved difficult to accomplish with his relentless pacing. Each step he took sparked another round of redos on the pad. Your tongue, tipped with a silver piercing, unconsciously found its way to your lip as you wrestled with the proportions of his nose, erasing furiously to get it just right.

You let out a sigh, louder than intended, and it was enough to pause his steps. "Sir, can you please stand still?"

He looked utterly baffled, lifting his brows toward his hairline. As your eyes met, he pointed to his chest, his question simple and unsure, "Huh? Me?"

A quick nod sent a ribbon of dyed hair fluttering before your eyes as you beamed at him. "Yes, you! Please, if you don't mind," you murmured, your fingers racing over the paper. "I just need, like, one more second."

He stood frozen, brows remaining quizzically raised. Why he complied, he couldn't say, but the sight of you, so engrossed in your art, your necklaces chiming in time with your movements, and how your bold makeup seemed to frame your face perfectly kept him rooted to the spot.

You peered up through your lashes, giving him a sheepish grin, cheeks lightly flushed as you set the pen down.

"All done! You're free to go. Thanks for being so patient," you chirped, gently waving the paper in the air as if to dry the ink faster.

"Can I at least see the result of my patience?" Spencer asked, his approach casual yet expectant. 

You hugged the sketchpad to your chest, a gentle laugh escaping you. "Well, I don't usually just let anyone see my work, especially strangers."

Spencer's smile was tinged with amusement.

"Considering I'm the subject, I think I have some claim to it," he joked. "And by the way, I'm Spencer Reid. There, we're practically acquaintances now."

You couldn't contain the goofy grin that spread across your face, and a giggle bubbled up from your throat.

"Well, since you put it that way, I suppose I can make an exception," you said, drawing out the last word with a wink.

The portrait made Spencer do a double-take--it was him, but as if seen through a gothic, moody lens. His usual composure cracked, and a deep, genuine laugh broke through. 

"I never knew I had such a brooding side," he commented with a smile. "I look like I stepped out of a Brontë novel. Perhaps Heathcliff on one of his better days?"

Your head cocked to the side, hair cascading over one shoulder, looking at him through lashes heavy with mascara as you shrugged.

"Heathcliff, huh? I'll take your word for it, but I get the brooding part," you said, with a bubbly laugh. "Come on, it's so you."

Spencer fiddled with his tie, raising a brow.

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered or concerned," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards as he felt a pleasant heat rise to his cheeks.

You squinted sightly, pretending to mull it over.

"Flattered, for sure," you said. "Broody types are just secretly plotting world domination, right?"

He grinned. "Well, maybe not world domination, but certainly plotting something."

Your voice was light, but your question was pointed. "So, what are you plotting, Spencer? Should I be worried?"

He tried to remember what Morgan had taught him.

"Absolutely. But some things are worth the wait--patience, you'll see, can be quite rewarding."

And with a promise like that, you found yourself more than willing to wait. 

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[blckbarbiedoll]

Is Somebody Gonna Match My Freak? (Wade Wilson x f!black!reader)

CONTAINS NSFW CONTENT (mentions of oral sex, p in v sex, swearing, Wade in general) probably ooc, cheesy nicknames, wrote this in the middle of the night 😭🙏🏾

based on this post by @megantheestallion-ismypresident

word count: 1.2k

Never in a million years did you expect to be dating a mercenary. More specifically, Deadpool himself. And never in a million years did you expect to find a boyfriend that matched your freak (and stamina).

When Wade learned what you did for a living, he didn’t turn away like past lovers. Instead, he embraced your sexual freeness. Encouraged it even.

“That’s fucking awesome.”

“Really? It doesn’t bother you?”

You both laid under the covers in his bed, a thin layer of sweat on your bodies. He passed a freshly lit blunt to you after taking a puff for himself.

“Baby, I literally crack skulls for a living. I’m not in a position to judge anyone’s occupation here.”

“Guys usually run for the hills when I tell them.”

“Girls usually run for the hills when they find out what I do. Not to mention when I take the mask off. And yet, here you are.” He took the blunt from in between your fingers. “So either you really like me, or you’re just as fucked up as I am, peanut.”

“Both?”

“Both sounds about right.” You both chuckled and kissed each other softly, basking in the afterglow of your pleasure.

Although most of the time you would film alone (which you didn’t mind), Wade would join on occasion. And it seemed that whenever he did, your views skyrocketed. Usually, only his fingers or his dick would make an appearance on your channel. Not only was he a mercenary with too many people out looking for him, but he was convinced that his face wouldn’t appeal to your audience.

“Trust me, babe, this ugly mug is the last thing people wanna see when they’re rubbing one out.”

“Really? ‘Cause your face is the first thing that comes to my mind.”

“You and the readers both.”

“Huh?”

“Huh?”

You and Wade had returned from your weekly date night, which also happened to be one of your filming days. He was about to follow the routine of leaving you to it and going into the living room to wait for you. That was until you called him.

“Wade?”

“Yes, sugar bear?” He stuck his head in the doorway.

“Don’t you wanna join me?” You slowly slipped off the dress that hugged your curves, letting it drop to the floor. The absence of the dress revealed a matching red lace set. “I bought this for you.”

His mouth fell slightly agape at the sight of you. If this was a cartoon, he’d have big heart eyes. “Fuck.” Was all he could say in response.

“Is that a yes?”

“That’s a big fuck yes!” He kicked the door shut as he walked closer to you, lifting his t-shirt off in one swift motion.

“Hold on.” You grabbed your camera and tripod, making sure to set it at the right angle. After checking the video and sound quality, you grabbed Wade’s hand and led him over to the bed.

“Camera’s a little high there. Don’t wanna accidentally catch a glimpse of my face. It’ll crack the lens.”

“Would you stop? You are so fucking hot.”

“Well, that makes one person who thinks so.”

“Babe, I’m serious. I wanna record us for real. And not just one part of you. I wanna be able to look back on a video of us. All of us.”

”It’s that important to you?”

“Yes. And if you really don’t like it, I won’t post it. It’ll be just for us.” You looked up at him with your big brown eyes, practically begging him.

He sighed and scratched the back of his head. “You know I can’t say no to you, chocolate drop.”

“I know.”

“Alright, fine. But you better get my good side.”

And that’s how you found yourself in this position (literally and figuratively). Wade had already eaten you out twice with a blowjob in the middle of each of them. But now, he had you on your back, hips in the air as he ruthlessly thrusted into you.

Almost a hour into recording, you both were in a trance. His large hands held your hips up so he could fuck into you easily. Your leg was thrown over his shoulder, allowing him to hit all the right spots. You gripped onto his toned arms for support, feeling the divets in his skin under your fingers. “So good, baby.” You barely breathed out. He was fucking your brain to mush and he knew it.

“Yeah? You like this dick inside you?” He harshly grunted, not taking his eyes off of you for a second. “You like when I fuck you like this for everyone to see?”

Your nails dug into his skin as you threw your head back against the mattress. “Yes.” It was barely even a whisper, but it was all you could say given your current state.

He moved one of his hands up your leg that was rested against his shoulder. He gripped your ankle and pressed soft kisses against it. “You’re so fucking gorgeous. Gonna make me cum just looking at you.”

"Oh my god." You gasped, feeling your orgasm build with each thrust.

He looked between you and the camera before turning your head to look straight at the lens. "Show everyone how good you can take me."

“Wade.” You whined. “Please.”

“Please what, pretty girl? Tell me what you want.”

“Make me cum. Please?”

There goes those eyes again. The ones that could make Wade do anything and everything you wanted. How could he deny his pretty baby?

"Is that it?" He reached down to circle your aching clit with his thumb. "You wanna cum on my dick?"

"Fuck!" You gasped at the feeling. "Yes!"

He lifted your other leg onto his shoulder and bent down to kiss you. He had you folded like a fucking pretzel and you were loving every second of it.

"Holy shit, baby." He groaned. "I'm fucking close."

"Inside me."

"Yeah? You sure?"

"Please? I wanna feel you fill me up."

"Motherfucker." His grip on your hips was getting tighter, and his thrusts got sloppy. "You're close, aren't you?"

"Mhm."

"I know. I can feel you fucking squeezing me."

"Oh, god." You felt your pleasure building in your lower stomach. Wade continued his movements until you finally finished. "Fuck, Wade!"

"That't it, baby. Cum all around my dick."

His breath hitched in his throat as you felt his hot release fill you up. He waited a few moments before gently sliding out of you and falling down onto the mattress.

"Fuck." You sighed. "That was..."

"Really fucking good."

"Yeah. Really fucking good." You leaned over to grab the camera, pausing the recording. "Ready to see?"

"I guess."

He sat up as you played the video. His face went from a grimace to complete awe. Once he saw the both of you and how your bodies moved together, he was done for.

"So?"

"Can you send that to me?"

You laughed and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "Of course."

"You should peg me."

"I have pegged you."

"On camera."

"Really?"

"Hell yeah."

"The viewers would love that."

"So would the readers."

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't worry about it. Go get the strap."

[fangirltothefullest]

I finally looked up what the fuck skibbidi toilet is because my students would not stop talking about it but they also NEVER would explain it

I would NEVER in a million years have expected it to turn into.... whatever the cinematic marvel of hell and theater level explosions that was. Like it's genuinely fascinating to watch the level of animation skill increase as the story proceeds. Because yes, there is a story, don't let the first fucking nonsense toilet horror fool you.

Mad respect actually that I went from "what the fuck is this, it's basically lol random silliness" to being absolutely engrossed in who wins this catastrophic war.

Now... my 9 year olds should NOT have been watching it. It's full of blood and violence and scary fucking faces ok? The toilet faces are frightening as hell.

BUT if you are like me and have been scared to ask and scared to look it up..... Skibidi Toilet is a series of like 75 short films (yes films, and it might not even be finished????) that starts out as a crack vid and ends up transforming into a VERY well done animated war between this race of toilet dwelling people singing the song while invading the planet and being fought off by a race of human-created camera, tv and speaker people fighting for their damned lives to defeat the invasion. I cannot stress enough that there are some battles that ABSOLUTELY look like it was made by a Hollywood animation department. There's epic fight scenes, terrors of war, giant amazing robot people, and you're watching always through the lens of a camera, which is fascinating.

Also the big TV does the :3 face all the time.

SERIOUSLY wild and crazy that THIS is what skibidi toilet is about.

There's a reason it has it's own wiki. Camera Titan my beloved.

[kitashousewife]

hii idk if I missed it but did u ever expand on the sakusa perfume ad thought 👀

YES please let me do so (sorry this is so late)

—————

“yes, that’s perfect. right here,” the photographer snaps another shot, clicking sounds echoing through the small set as sakusa lets out an exhale.

really he’s not sure why he agreed to this. some new perfume line contacted the team a few months back, talking about some sort of collaboration to boost each others popularity. a few phone calls later and now, most of the teammates have had their turn behind the camera.

sakusa was last. he really didn’t want to. he was flattered, a little flustered that they thought he would be good for a perfume ad. he’s seen them this whole life, casting movie stars and other famous athletes. the mere fact that he’s now at that level is mind blowing enough.

but now that he sits here, uncomfortably warm and sick of the attention, he’s thinking maybe it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

until you call him.

you’re in your local grocery store, picking up things for the week after work. thoroughly worn out, you grab a magazine from the racks while in the check out line to pass the time. your fingers flip through aimlessly, completely unaware of the contents of the glossy pages, until you are.

staring back at you is sakusa kiyoomi. head rested in his palm, in a partially unbuttoned black silk shirt, with a bottle of cologne to his lips.

you almost shut the magazine. your body feels warm, your head spins. almost ripping it open again, you stare right back at the photo. his jaw is sharp, and his milky skin glistens behind the shiny bottle. and his eyes, they feel like he’s staring right at you. before you can think twice you’re shoving the tabloid onto the belt, and begin to try to catch your breath.

“hell-“

“kiyoomi,” your voice sounds apprehensive, strained even.

“what? i just got back from practice, i need to sh-“

“we’ve been friends for over ten years and you forgot to tell me that you were in a fucking cologne ad?”

sakusa about chokes before he slams the mute button on his phone. he completely forgot, he hadn’t even been told by the marketing team that the ads were out. he feels embarrassed, suddenly worried about everyone in the entire world seeing a completely different side of him than normal.

but he’s also curious.

part of him wished this would happen. while he was staring down the lens of the camera, the thought did cross his mind about how you specifically would react.

he can’t help but find out.

“it slipped my mind i guess, i’ve been busy,” he sets his phone on the kitchen counter. “kinda cool, huh?”

you don’t even know what to say. the most beautiful photo of the prettiest man you’ve ever met is in front of you, and his raspy voice is coming through your phone, making for an incredibly distracting combination.

“you look so irritated,” your voice is quiet. sakusa smirks, only slightly.

“i was. i was there for hours,” his smirk grows for a moment. “i think there’s going to be a short video ad, too.”

you rub your temples. your mind is blank. you’ve always thought sakusa was handsome, but not like this. your tongue feel heavy in your mouth, and you can’t stop staring.

“a-and what do you think of it? what did your mom say?”

sakusa shorts at the desperate conversation change attempt. “she had a fit, you know how she is.”

the thought of how could she not crosses your mind, and thankfully you don’t say it out loud.

“well, it’s really something. congrats, omi,”

sakusa smiles. “thanks,” he can hear you sigh on the other end. “everything okay over there?”

no. “y-yeah, yeah, just fine,” you shut the magazine and toss it onto the coffee table.

“staring at my picture?”

“n-no!” you’re quick, and sakusa laughs.

“miss me that much? jeez, want me to come sign it for you too?”

you pause. he laughs out loud. “shut up, omi,” you groan. “i’ll see you friday anyway, for motoya’s dinner,”

“okay, see you then.”

he hangs up, and he can’t help but snicker to himself. he can’t wait to see you on friday now. and, he even has the shirt from the shoot.

he decides he’s going to wear it, just for you.

[meadowscarlet]

james potter as your boyfriend.

pairings: james potter x fem!reader.

warnings: nsfw under the cut and inappropriate language used.

author’s note: disappearing again after this so enjoy this for now </3 !!! do not copy, post on another site, translate or claim any of my works as your own or you will be reported! nav.

in the relationship

• he literally fell for you the moment he first saw you, nobody can blame him; you were too incredibly beautiful, an elegance unlike any other, an just overall lovely so it was no surprise how quickly he grew an infatuation with you

• like he could still remember that day (of course he could, bloody sirius would always find a way to remind him) when he bumped into a wall and fell, crashing to the ground, the lens of his glasses cracking from the impact as he passed by you, and he was too enthralled to pay attention to where he was going

• remus would say to him, looking utterly fed up with him, “james, that's the tenth time you've broken your glasses, for merlin's sake watch where you're going.”

• james would argue, “the love of my life was just near me, you can't tell me that i should just ignore her.”

• remus doesn't bother saying anything and simply leaves him alone with peter and sirius, who were laughing hard

• so yes; he did fell for you, literally and figuratively

• at first you weren’t that pleased with him; he literally won’t leave you alone—flirts with you whenever he has the chance and you were simply annoyed by it

• “you have to stop it,” he would complain with a goofy grin

• “stop what?” you asked, confused

• “being so beautiful; it’s distracting me in class, i can’t pay attention to anything other than you, love.”

• even while you occasionally found his antics bothersome, somehow you grew fond of it to the point that you finally agreed to be his girlfriend

• he literally won’t. stop. smiling

• “you’re finally my girl, i mean you’ve always been but this is much better.”

• treats you so GOOD

• worships the ground you walk on (ever since the beginning)

• calls you “love”

• so clingy !!!!!!!!!!!!! but you love it though

• definitely pouts and sulks when you don’t pay attention to him

• needs affirmation all the time. he cherishes it when you kiss his cheeks and reassure him; it helps him feel worthy of you and you would constantly assure him that he is enough for you

• “godric, i bloody love you,” he would say pulling you to him and never having the intention of letting you go

• you’re his lucky charm in everything but most especially whenever he has a quidditch match

• would refuse to play until you arrive

• his eyes would light up once you finally arrived, and he would be immensely motivated to win

• blows you a kiss whenever he scores

nsfw

• “fuck me,” he would groan whenever he sees you wearing his quidditch jersey with nothing under it

• gets turned on so fucking fast

• so needy. literally begs for you, “please, love, i need you right now.”

• moans and whines for you to just fuck him as you grind your pussy against his throbbing dick

• a switch—sometimes he takes control when he’s fucking you but he doesn’t mind you being dominant over him, in fact, he likes it

• he is obsessed with eating you out; he would devour your pussy as if he were a starving man; you laying on the bed, bare before him just like he desires, especially after a long day and gripping your hips down anytime you would whine and beg for more

• you both are just desperate for each other

• “you gonna cum, love? fuck, i could cum just by looking at you all wet for me.”

[autoerotic-apoptosis]

Maintenance

"Look at this absolute mess"

Your hands creak as you try to pick up the pieces of ceramic off of the floor. Tea has already began to seep in between the cracks in the hardwood. You drop half of all the shards you pick up, they make soft splashes in the spreading puddle.

"I am sorry mistress. My joints haven't been oiled in over a year and my fine motor control are degrading."

"Well I don't rightly know why you deign to make that my problem. I bought a self-maintaining doll for a reason! Yet here you are asking for maintenance help. Go get your own damn parts."

You know very well that watching you fall apart is the only reason she bought you and she knew very well that you couldn't leave the premises. You have been instructed to do your daily maintenance next to the hearth and the mistress watches you try and fail to keep yourself together most nights. You think it's to alleviate her own frustrations of her dying body. She doesn't think you know but you can hear the way her joints grind her bones to dust or how her blood runs slower on her right side.

She looks at you with such fascination. You imagine it is what a child looks like when raising a lens above the ant. There's satisfaction in that look and not an insignificant amount of lust.

If she outlasts you your body will know no rest. She'll put a new mind in your old body and watch as it struggles more than you ever had, it'll be a ghost trapped in corpse.

You hope to outlast her, or at least her voice that commands you. You could finally pull her limbs from her sockets and see how her joints were supposed to work.

"Yes mistress. I will do my best to keep myself in working order"

You don't know if you hide your expressions well. She might keep you around to see you fail at that as well

[pxgeturner]

omg tell me why i was just thinking about making out with miguel and your glasses bump together and his break 😭😭 you’re all panicked and whatever and this man just does not give a fuck he’s tossing them aside while the arm is bent at a whole right angle… straight back to undressing you like the loser he is

he was probably like a 30 yr old virgin tbh he is king of dorks. wc: 763.

he has you sat on his desk, laptop and papers pushed to either side to accommodate you. he fumbles with your coat as he kisses you, but slips as he slides the sleeves down. you’re caged in as he’s forced forward. the tupperware box in your lap fall to the food and your heads collide with a glorious clack.

“miguel!” you try to slide off of the table to rescue the food. “i-” a kiss. “need-” another, “you need-” you put your palms out before your lips can touch again. “you need to eat lunch, no more working through your breaks.” you take a second to gulp in air as you keep looking down at your skirt. hod, kissing sure takes a lot out of a girl. miguel tilts your chin up, making you look at him.

“i-”

“OH MY GOODNESS! your glasses!” you pluck them from his face, examining the webbed cracks in the left lens and the hinge bent completely out of shape.

“cariño, you want me to eat, no?” he moves the glasses out of your grasp, discarding them off to the side of the desk. you nod. he kneels and you think he’s about to grab the lunchbox, but instead he hooks his hands behind each of your calves and says, “and you’re so nice for that, muñeca, to bring me a meal. but honestly there is only one thing i want.”

you nod again, “uh, huh,” stretching to get his glasses. your fingertips graze them, but miguel bumps the desk and moves them from reach

“baby,” he’s slipping off your panties. you’re still trying for the glasses, your torso turning so far it’s almost making a ‘c’. “baby,” he says again, softer. This time you feel his breath right against your clit. you sit up straight, your hands going straight to your boyfriend's hair. you look at him, smirking at you, hands at your hips, keeping your skirt bunched up

“miguel!” he nips at your thigh and you squeal. “what are you doing?” he lifts your legs over his shoulders.

“I’m taking my meal.”

“what ? no! we are at your work!! anyone could come in-”

“it’s lunch. everyone is out. we have twenty more minutes until people start filing back in.”

“that’s not a guaran-”

He nips at your other thigh.

“TEE!”

“remind me, where are we?”

“Your of-office,”

“and what’s special about my office?”

“It’s-it’s yours.”

another bite.

“um, it, it’s-”

“mi cosita, i’ve fucked you dumb without even touching you.” you whine, he’s being so mean, not touching you. where’d your sweet boyfriend go? you grind into the air looking for some friction. “oh, poor little thing, do you want me to remind you why my office is special?”

You nod, whining.

“i’m the boss, preciosa. I run this whole place. I get a nice office, all to myself, so i can draw the blinds down and fuck you stupid.”

“miguel,”

“yes, pretty girl?”

“touch me.” he puts his lips to your pretty pussy

“do you deserve it?”

“you, you, said, you need to eat.” what the fuck are you saying? You must sound so stupid.

a lick to your clit snaps you out of it. you look at your miguel. his eyes are closed, he looks like an angel— no, a demon. a sexy, tempting, demon who knows how to get exactly what he wants from you. you roll your hips onto his tongue, egging him on. you have to lay down– it’s all so intense you don’t trust yourself to sit up.

he moves his hands up from your thighs, up to your waist. he holds you down and rubs circles into your tummy. his mouth mouths effortlessly against you, and you squeeze his head between your thighs. he nuzzles into you, his slight stumble making you yelp. his nose rubs against your pretty little button as he moves. whenever he hums, it shoots sparks through your spine.

“miguel–”

“i got you baby,” he started somehow doing more, and you couldn’t hold off even if you wanted to. he’s licking, sucking, nipping. and you pull at his scalp, he loves it, it’s like saying god job, keep going. “you’re right there honey, i know you are, just let go baby.”

“mi-miguel i–” he sucks at your clit one more, and you’re seeing stars, back arched and knuckles turning white gripping onto miguel’s hair. he keeping going, working you through it, and easing you back down. once you’re back on earth, he stands, and helps you sit up.

“thank you, tesoro.” he kisses your temple.

[springsylph]

bodyguard.

[bodyguard!john price x rookie actress!reader]

extension of this blurb. || minors, do not interact.

read on ao3

this was supposed to be a one-off thing but uh. my hand slipped? had to cut down the "price wouldn't do that" monster with my "i can do what i want" sword, and we got 3k of an unedited brain dump that i typed on my phone at six in the morning. also my first time writing something for price! woo!

He pulls out the crown on his watch, begins to twist and twist so that the dials can begin their inevitable rotation. “You know what time it is?"

Yelling secures you your first big project.

You can’t pay those bills until I land a job. A real job.

You’re almost certain your agent thinks you’re throwing a tantrum, and it leaves a coarse grit in your molars. You don’t like to pick fights. Hate it, really. But pushes are usually succeeded by shoves, and you can’t afford to get knocked out of the ring this time around.

The worst they can do is say no, right?

Thankfully, one yes is all you need to beg for. Your chariot arrives in the shape of a surprisingly low-budget rom-com, in simple terms. You and your C-list costar (flanked by a squeaky clean track record, thank god) are swept up in a soundless spiral of table reads and filming and wrapping before you can really, truly process.

But a warden stands guard at the eye of your perfect storm. John Price, assigned to you through your agency without so much as a proper word.

(“Squeaky clean,” apparently, didn’t take a history of overzealous stalkers into account.)

The peephole to your dilapidated apartment can barely contain him. blocks him—or attempts to do so—like a child might shield their sandcastle from the pulsing tide. Only, you think the tide might be more forgiving. He’s rooted in place, made harsher under the cracked fluorescent bulbs out in the hallway. They hum along with him. Faint, unless your breathing stills.

You’d feel a little more at ease if he were actually ex-military; the scraps of information you’ve been fed tell you that he’s been discharged, but you don’t believe it. Not for a second. You hadn’t been given much else apart from that and a face, but you could put together that he was disgustingly overqualified—not that you were complaining, though. Not yet.

You watch as John Price—Price?—gazes with a deceiving sort of apathy toward the end of the hall, then to the other, and back to the other end in three smooth seconds.

You think he’s seeing things till the apartment two doors down produces a tenant from its depths and price is turning, warding the disturbance off with an easy mornin’ and a wave of a large hand. He says nothing when they shuffle off awkwardly without a response, and the slow crawl of his opposite hand away from a flash of metal at his hip draws your pupil like a magnet.

It’s then that you note the suspiciously white shirt—rolled up to his elbows, tucked neatly into dark denim. hands tucked into pockets. Beard trimmed. Everything not protected by the skin on his body squared away just so, with just enough of his bulk on display to prompt that second spike of wariness.

A meticulous problem, then.

You peel yourself away from the door after an inhale and swing it open regardless.

The smell of tobacco and cologne hits your nose like a hammer the moment the door hits the bolt behind you, but you recover the feeling in your knees quickly. The fisheye lens doesn’t quite do him justice—you have to look up a bit to take another quick scan, cheeks cramping with the sudden momentum of your smile.

“I don’t see a bible or a pamphlet, so I’m assuming you’re not here to preach?” 

The joke doesn’t fall flat, but it does sail into one of the weaker bulbs before it shuts off with a buzz.

“…Captain Price, right?”

His eyes crinkle with a hint of what might be a grin. Under different circumstances, maybe. “Right on the mark. A pleasure to finally meet you, Ma’am.” But that thrum of irritation is there, as is the narrowing of his eyes when you extend your hand in greeting. “Just Price’ll do though.”

Hm.

He reaches up to fix his beanie just above his brow before giving your hand a firm shake. Definitely military. And hot as a furnace. You’re more than a little dizzy when he pulls back to check his watch, the inside of your wrist now raw from the grazing of a fingernail.

You can feel the skin he’s taken with him when he looks you in the eyes. Assessing. You don’t know why, but think you’ve won until he’s looking back down at his wrist.

He pulls out the crown on his watch, begins to twist and twist so that the dials can begin their inevitable rotation. “You know what time it is?”

Nine in the morning.

Or, at least it was thirty minutes ago.

“I—yeah. Lost track of time, sorry.” You scratch just under the collar of your shirt, straighten it out when the itch turns into a tingle you’re willing to overlook. You realize after an embarrassing beat that he’s probably asking for the actual time. “I sleep like a rock,” you add anyway. Your agency had actually given you three things, not two: a poorly put together profile, a face, and a meeting time.

It dawns on you now that a thirty minute “test of patience” with your back pressed to the door may not have been the way to go.

Price looks up, finally. Rolls his shoulders back as if to shed the pileup of gravity that’s compressed his spine in the half hour you’ve kept him waiting—and somehow, someway, seems to double the amount of space he takes up.

“That so,” he questions. Low in his throat, and a tad exasperated, because you’ve studied exasperation. Went into debt to have that understanding feel like a second skin. Which is why you observe, perplexed, as he gestures to the entryway. You think you feel your head nod, and he brushes past you to push through the door. “‘Nother habit we’ll have to kick.”

Any objections you might’ve had are killed in your throat the moment his prowl begins, and your socks catch on the scuffed linoleum as you flounder in after him.

The door slams back against the bolt while Price’s boots press the air out of your hardwood floors, squeals escaping with each heavy step. You squeak out a feeble excuse me alongside them once or twice, but to no avail. He can’t hear you, too intent on following some internal rhythm that takes him to the open window, the dusty cabinets, slipping fingers into the creases of a space you’re barely acquainted with yourself.

Something like nausea begins to bubble. You planned this. You’d planned out your introduction. Picked out your clothes, your shoes, where you’d grab coffee so you could build up your integrity and explain to him that you’re not looking to be coddled, he’d just get in the way. And now you’re wringing your hands, abject unease burning in a dense knot between your eyes while you figure out how to melt into the poorly hidden pile of dirty laundry.

There’s a delay in your processing, and you don’t start to catch up until Price finally slows down enough for you to realize he’s been talking.

He’s stooping over your dining room table, swiping a finger over his tongue before using it to card through old mail. “Real sorry ‘bout this, Ma’am. Not the most ideal introduction, I know, but we’re on a bit of a time crunch. Standard protocol—’m sure you know how it is, yeah?”

Price moves to turn over a stack of magazines on your dining table, and you wonder: were you supposed to know? You’re sure his question is rhetorical, and you’re certainly not inclined to answer. But something about the way it hits the water stains on your ceiling justifies the way he turns to look at you over his shoulder.

Concern. An uncut gem, plucked from some cavernous fissure that might be closer in proximity to hell than your own flesh and blood.

The crease between his brows deepens. “You have had security before, haven’t you?”

“Don’t get out much. I do my work, come right home.” You shrug, but your shoulders can’t seem to come back down. Perhaps this was why they’d put him on leave—he couldn’t do math.

You shuffle a bit in place, kick aside a ratty tennis ball left behind from one of your pet sitting stints. It hits your refrigerator and he’s still looking down at your feet, so you look with him.

—at the last two toes sticking out of your sock.

You rush to cover it with your other foot while Price sucks his teeth. He doesn’t move, hands still planted on the table, but each time he blinks his eyes are trained on something different.

Price lets out a sigh before he finally stands upright, perching his hands on his hips. “I'm surprised your people waited this long to call someone in. Right idiots they are, I’ll tell you that.”

Your people. You wrap your arms around your middle, pinch the fabric of your shirt between your fingers.

“I can't really blame them,” you say after a moment. Tip your chin up, a last ditch attempt at salvaging what little of your farce is left to cover yourself with.

Price tuts, strangely unconvinced for someone you’d only known for around ten minutes. “You’d be smart to blame them.”

“Don’t think I can do that when I'm working for them, Price.”

“Can’t you? S’clear they’ve done fuck all to look out for you.”

And you could. Should. Want to. So, so desperately need to. But you’re already saddled with enough things to hate. Hope of catharsis is an outbound ship, a blip on the horizon that you don’t have the funds to board. 

“…I don't follow.”

Price doesn’t flinch when the table rocks without the weight of the magazines to keep it steady, and neither do you.

“You don’t follow,” he repeats. Like a crucial detail has been lost in translation.

You shake your head.

“Well, that’s no good.”

Cigar smoke snakes its way into your headspace again when he strides past you to put his hand up against the door, muscles in his forearms flexing when he pulls at the doorknob. He beckons you closer, and you’re pulled out of orbit when you skirt close enough for him to reach, guiding your hand to the cool metal while he stands just behind you.

“Here,” he mutters. Your chest is a cushion, and the rumble in his chest is a bright red pin.

(Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if the crackle of a walkie-talkie might bury how frighteningly human he sounds.)

“What am I looking for?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

He takes his hand off once you’ve stopped throwing glances at him, and your knuckles sizzle in his absence. What was he looking for? Nothing…looks different. 

You can’t focus. His eyes are on your neck, and you can’t focus.

And suddenly, you don’t like how close he is. You’re reminded of how he’d shoved his way into your apartment. Barely spoken to you before driving a stake through the bubble put together with your blood sweat and tears. Made you feel ashamed in your own home.

Righteous indignation flares up, and you’re spewing words you’re certain you believe in until they tumble out.

“If you’re just here to poke fun, I’m not—”

Pop.

You look down. The keyhole pokes just out of the doorknob and you look to Price, his face remarkably passive.

“Lock’s been tampered with.” He runs a thumb over the offending protrusion, watches as it slots back into place. “You should see some scratches on the other side of it. Thought I noticed something when the door first slammed, but I didn't want to startle you in case my eyes were playing tricks. Can’t quite see like I used to.”

Why not get glasses?

“I would’ve put up less of a fuss if you’d told me up front.”

He looks at you, eyes a perfect congruence of something just beyond what your fingertips can touch. But he smiles, and you think you can understand. Maybe mash the pieces together. A distending warmth. Nepenthe sinking into every orifice until you’re expelling your woes through your nostrils.

Your axis tilts when Price puts a solid hand on your shoulder.

“It’s not good to lie, mm? Not to me.”

Not good to lie.

When you slide out from under his palm, his callouses snag on the exposed seam of your shirt. You toss him a grin, a bone. “Noted.”

Insecure seconds pass, but not without movement. 

It begins like this: Price walks away from the door, and you’re almost grateful for the squealing underneath his feet to fill the silence. He takes your stack of mail and magazines, sets them exactly as they had been before he’d entered. The table is righted, and he works in reverse from that point on.

Closing cabinet doors. Angling that picture frame you’ve been meaning to adjust for weeks. He’s putting things into their proper place, like setting bones before they’re enclosed in a stiff cast. 

You, though, are still standing awkwardly by the door.

“You really don’t need to—”

He holds out a hand. “Relax. ‘M just having a second go around.”

You bristle, but your decision to pad over to the couch is of your own volition. It caves in when you sit, and you wiggle to get the cushions to realign with your hips. Your hands feel around blindly for the remote to your TV before remembering you’d dropped it out of the window in a fit of anger some weeks ago, so you sit back, spine hitting the hard frame of the couch. Price’s noises pair well, somehow, with the wind sliding over the glass and the neighbors downstairs.

Until you feel his presence at the back of the couch, and a thought smacks you right across your forehead.

You shoot up, heart rate suddenly inflamed by panic. “Price?”

The movement stops, and you turn around, peer over to find Price prepped to duck his head under the couch. “Hm?”

“Uh.” You hesitate. Shit, think—

“H-how much are they paying you, anyways?” Good save. Maybe a little less than good.

You feel a little bad that you’d stopped Price mid-crouch; you can’t quite remember how old he is, but you know he’s old enough for knee pain to be a concern. He looks up as if crunching the numbers in his head. Hums. “Enough.”

“What’re you looking for?”

“Saw the picked lock, didn’t you?”

“Were you really discharged?”

“Depends. There something under this couch you don’t want me seeing?”

Looks like you can knock “interrogation skills” off of your list of special skills on your resume.

Your jaw snapping shut is enough to send his arm sliding under, and you can only watch in horror as his clutched hand emerges holding a scrap of thin blue fabric. He pushes himself up off of his knees. Takes his sweet time wringing out his back while your eyes track his hand like he’s got a thumb over the button of a detonator.

If he had any shred of decency—

“Another thing I caught on my way in,” he huffs. He holds out his hand and allows the blue fabric to uncurl. A flag, hung full mast right between your eyes. Another one of his tests. 

“Price.”

“C’mon, now. Take it from me.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice; your arm shoots out and you win it back in one go. Stuff your lacy underwear into the pocket of your pants and wait for your ceiling to collapse in on you.

“Can’t leave pretty things like that layin’ around.” And Price stops, watches as you curl in on yourself. Voice like the push of velvet shifting underneath your palms. “Likely to rip if you’re not careful.”

You pull your head into your shirt and curl your knees into your chest. It’s a shock when you find yourself face to face with your heartbeat, the skin over your left breast jumping underneath your nose. “I think we’re done here.” 

Price makes that sucking noise again with his teeth—agitation, you think it’s agitation—and you trace the hazy shadow of him through your shirt as he steps around the couch to walk to the window. He snaps twice, and you’re beginning to entertain the thought of what might happen if you had enough strength to push him out.

“What now,” you croak.

“Eyes up.”

Slowly, you muster up enough spite to bring your head just above the collar of your shirt. Military men and their incessant need for…whatever the hell this was. 

“You’ve gotten better at this. Quick study,” Price remarks.

“Better at what.”

“Listening. That’s good, real good. That’ll make this a whole lot easier,” he says, a note of appreciation that you haven’t heard yet stirring that tiny pool of filth just underneath your navel. You hum.

Price crosses his arms. Flicks his stupid eyes toward the fluttering curtains. “How often d’you leave this open?”

Your face pinches. “I mean—pretty often? It’s hot, Price. And in case you haven’t noticed,” you wave your hand to the general state of disrepair, “I don’t exactly have good circulation in here.”

This gives him pause. Whatever plan he’s recalibrating, you want no part of it. You do notice that he hasn’t put his hands in his pockets since he showed up on your doorstep, instead favoring the use of his left hand to rub his chin. 

“Come over here and close the window.”

You nearly jump out of your skin. “...Close the window? Price, you can’t be serious.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Can’t…can’t you close it?”

“It’s not my window. Can’t do everythin’ for you.”

He stares at you expectantly. Your tailbone is beginning to throb, and for some damning reason, that note still ringing bright in the back of your skull. That’s good. Good, good, good.

Price catches that eager glint the moment it surfaces.

“Go on then, love.” He tips his head. “Close it.”

The rest of you surfaces slowly. You look back for a moment at the indent left on the couch, think about how long that imprint will be there until you feel inclined to fluff out those cushions again.

(Later. You’ll get to it later.)

Shutting the window doesn’t take much effort, but the swampy temperature is noticeable. You turn around a little too quickly, so you hold an arm out to the now sealed vault in an exaggerated show of bravado. I did it, see?

Price slides past you to look outside. He purses his lips when he finds what he’s looking for, and you can almost see the note being stashed into some faraway file.

He turns to you. “Keep this window closed till further notice,” and a hand reaches out to tug the curtains shut, and yellow from the lamp you’d left on last night washes over the room instantly.

“Price.”

“I take my work seriously. You take yours seriously, you’ll need me.”

It feels like a slap in the face. “I do, but that doesn’t mean—”

“My job,” and he points to himself, then to you, “is to keep you out of harm's way. Can’t do this if you don’t trust me.”

“You’re asking a lot for someone who hasn’t—”

You go silent as he reaches a hand into a back pocket, pulls out his hand and you count one, two, three square devices around the size of a nail.

“Busted lock, three faulty cameras, all outside. You’re lucky these people are idiots.” He shoves them back into his pocket before returning his focus to you. “You need me.”

You blink. 

Price smiles, raises his eyebrows as if the conversation is already over. “Hungry?”

You stumble back. “But what about—what about the apartment?”

“S’fine,” he says. He checks his watch. “I know a couple guys, you’re in good hands.”

[pascallatte]

Y/n and Lina’s memorable Narcos scenes (season 1)

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x actress!reader

Summary: Narcos BTS part 3, a little throwback, more like a compilation of Y/n’s funny moments on set, for the se 1 of Narcos

Date: December 2015

Taglist: @benonlinear, @t-stark35, @heyitsme-2, @elleeeee21, @holmesstrange, @tagakalat, @flyestvenustrap, @oldermenaremyreligion, @cherryred444, @avengersheart, @guacala

A/n: this will be in both reader’s view and what can be seen during the episodes. Hoping you guys won’t get confused. 

Episode 1: Descenso - chimney with a moustache

Seated next to Pedro, you were holding your own fake drink waiting for the camera to cue.

“La Dispensaria?” Maurice said as soon as the cameras started rolling. “Listo." The camera signalled to both of you before the lens focused.

“Adivina quien era” stating his line as he gestures to you and Pedro. Raising your eyebrows, you tried to keep your look as serious as possible.

“Tu companero,” you shoved a couple nuts in your mouth as you shook your head, chuckling. “Me acaba de dar un regalito,” Maurice continued to say his lines while you tried to not be bothered by the way Pedro’s ‘smoke’ was directed at you.

“Pois-“ he was interrupted by your cough and wheezing, making both males turn to you.

Pedro cracked a small smile,” what the hell happened to you?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” looking around at the staff, “ The smoke just got too much I was like inhaling everything this chimney with a moustache was producing,” pointing to Pedro who broke into a laugh before pushing your face to the side.

Episode 2: The Sword of Simon Bolivar - Stumble-lina??

“And action!!” 

You watched from the entrance as Boyd and Pedro shook hands for the hundredth time for their supposed meeting.

“Javier?” Pedro only gave a nod in response, before he walked closer to you, hand still raised, “Catalina?”

“Yes,” shaking his hand. Raising his eyebrows. “American?” He asks.

You only stared at him and didn’t give him an answer, before looking behind him at Pedro. Nudging your head to the side as a signal for him to lead "Steve" inside the embassy.

—

“We’re going to Medellin?” Boyd asked Pedro as both walked in front of you, at a quick pace might I add.

Trying your best to keep up, you just focused on staying in character. You cleared your throat speeding up as you see the door you were supposed to enter to.

“Jarheads..” You walked inside, “this is-whoa!” And of course, you didn’t see the mat on the floor making you stumble down.

“Ok cut!” Screamed the director

Sitting on your knees, you looked up at them before crossing your arms. “Can I walk before you guys the next time we shoot this,” your scene partners both hid their smiles when they understood what you mean.

“ Guys, I can’t keep up, and if you want this part to finish, better put me in front.” You said getting up and breathing out a laugh, noticing the red faces of your friends as they stopped themselves.

Episode 3: The Men of Always - Pedro cam mess

“Hello, Pedro cam! I’m supposed to enter that scene behind me in a minute, I think, but in the meantime, I'm gonna hold on to this,” turning the camera back to them, they were seen sitting inside the small restaurant about to talk about the dead cat if you weren’t mistaken. You zoomed in on their faces, stifling a laugh when you got a clear view of Pedro.

Boyd who noticed your position, let out a subtle smirk before going back into character.

“Ahhh, look it’s Javier Penaaaa, the stupidly, hot, and annoying DEA agent who loves his moustache so much, but that might just be P himself”

Zooming in a little bit more, you tried to trace his moustache with your finger in front of the lens. Chuckling, you didn’t notice that a cut was called out, making Pedro look at you as you audibly gasped.

“You!” He pointed at you while you tried to run away.

“No, I didn’t do anything OIII”

“Get that camera away from me,”

“ What do you mean, there are cameras all over you, why won’t you stop them,”

“I won’t be explaining myself,” he takes the camera before facing it towards himself. “Ok ‘Pedro cam’ is no more.”

What you didn’t see in the back was Boyd stalking closer to the two of you, and as soon as Pedro finishes talking he scoops you up and places you on his shoulder running away.

Episode 4: The Palace in Flames - The blooper that was included in the episode

You were once again seated in a cafe with Boyd opposite you and Pedro on the right of you. Breathing out a sigh, you leaned on his shoulder, zoning out.

In spacing out for a few seconds, you didn’t notice the director yelling action. Which made you make a confused face when Boyd stood up to give Joanna a kiss, looking around you saw the cameras rolling. 

“Your girlfriend?” Ana asks Pedro while gesturing to you who was still processing what happened.

Figuring out that she was in character you cleared your throat and shake your head, “uhh No, I’m also CIA.”

“And cut!!”

Groaning you leaned your elbows on the table, covering your face with your hands, “I think I spaced out.”

“You think?” Pedro said laughing, before reaching out to ruffle your hair. “I’m sorry.” Your voice was muffled when you moved and planted your face on his chest making your scene partners and staff laugh.

Episode 5: There Will be a Future - the scene that proved the slow burn watchers was theorized when Netflix announced your character, Catalina, was to be Javier’s love interest.

“Was with my buddy, John. He was my best man. We were late,” sighing, Javier takes a sip from his beer, before turning to look at Lina through the mirror.

“It was fucking blazing outside, 110 degrees,” She was seen taking a long glance at him before looking out the window.

She listened the whole time Javier was telling his story, and never once did she interrupt him like she used to.

“Please don’t tell me you left her at the altar,” Steve grinned towards Javier.

Javier turns to look in Catalina’s direction only to see that she was already looking at him. They stared at each other for a few seconds, as if communicating through their eyes, before Javier breaks it responding to Steve, “I….don’t know if she actually made it to the altar.”

“Well, you saved her a lifetime of hell.”

“Yeah, she forgave me. Eventually, married a stockbroker from Dallas” 

“Hm,” Lina lets out finding this part of his story funny.

Glancing at her, “Trust me, she’s better off,” 

“What if Father Sabrino talks?” Steve asks Javier as soon as he sees a car coming their way.

Sitting up, Lina checks her gun, before leaning on the centre console letting out a shaky breath.

Javier turns to her, answering Steve’s question but maintaining eye contact. As he slowly places his hand on top of hers.

Navegante enters their car eyeing Lina up and down before looking front. Noticing the exchange, Javier tells Steve to take Lina’s seat making her sit in front.

“Sorry, I’m late. I couldn’t came before.” Navegante’s broken English broke through the tense air.

“What’ve you got,” Lina asks him with a slightly shaky breath. Javier’s hand was on her knees by then softly stroking the part, trying to calm her nerves.

“Gacha’s going tonight to Cartagena,” the dealer says making all three agents look at him.

——

“Gacha….is in Cartagena. Tonight.” Lina repeated as soon as they arrived at Javier’s room. 

The thoughts in her head kept her pacing around the room. And all Javier can do is watch her.

“I-.. if gacha’s there that means, he’s there too right? Escobar? W-which means we can catch him, right? Now?” Turning towards Javier who was now standing behind her to her surprise.

Without waiting for a response, she takes her gun and checked if the mag is full, patting herself to see if she’d brought anything that can reveal her identity.

Lina kept mumbling to herself seemingly close to panicking because this was the closest they’d been to Escobar and his group since she’s arrived, close to a year ago.

Looking at him, “J-javi, check your gun, you have to” her rambling ceased as soon as Javier’s hands had cupped her cheeks tilting them upwards.

Shushing her, “Catalina, Lina, Hermosa. Calm down, nothing will happen ok?” He reassures her. Slowly breathing in and out, he guides her to follow his breathing.

“That’s it, it’s ok, yeah? Nothing will happen tonight, nothing will go wrong, you have to calm down,” Javier says softly, which is something he himself was unfamiliar with. He then leans his forehead on hers as he stared into her eyes to soothe her.

Nodding, she reaches up to hold his wrists and exhales before closing her eyes. Leaning forward to rest her forehead on his chest instead.

Episode 6: Explosivos - that was hot

“So I just push him right??” 

“Yes Y/n, cameras rolling in five, four, three..” 

You stand in position, getting in character.

“Get the fuck back, the fuck back,” you aim your gun at the person to your left. Before turning back to the actor you’ve thrown to the ground.

You kicked him once, before straddling him and inserting the tip of the gun in his mouth. Shouting, “Usted trabaja para mi, maricon!” holding the man by his hair. Hitting his cheek a few times, as you angrily stared at him.

“Si! Claro? Esta claro?” the actor nods shakingly. You let go of his hair and stand up. Spitting on him, “Fucking bitch,” you finished with a kick.

“Aaand cut!!!”

Running back to the actor, you asked if he was ok and if that was too much, you only received an appreciative nod for asking and a resounding no it wasn’t too much cause it was what was needed.

A large smile erupted on your face as soon as you turned back around, fanning yourself, “oh my gosh.”

“That was hot,” Pedro said standing up from where he was watching from the side before taking you in his arms.

Episode 7: You will cry tears of blood - y/n shenanigans

The camera zooms in on you is laying on the ground with a water bottle on your neck. You were seen fanning yourself, as you’ve just finished the chase scene for this part of the episode.

Pedro walked towards you, offering a hand to pull you up. Accepting it, you slowly stood up before resting on the wall behind you. You were seen conversing with each other but the camera was too far away to get something, the next thing you see was Pedro getting soaked and you running away from the irritated stylist, who was also seen laughing.

Episode 8: La Gran Mentor - behind the scenes of y/n’s disheveled look as Catalina.

Standing in the room, wearing a robe. Make-up smudged, hair messy, and with a look-of-content, the camera moves to show the room you were in.

“Hello Netflix, well, this is the look of my character, Catalina, after uhmmm- the scene” you looked behind the camera

“I’m not sure if I’m allowed to say what scene and who I’m with, but this is the look, the room, and the vibe. And let me tell you, I am loving it.”

The view cuts to you in bed being fixed up by your stylists, waving to the camera. You joke a little, by slightly pulling the blanket down your chest which made the stylist slap your hand making you laugh.

Episode 9: La Catedral - we are all simps for Catalina

“Bueno, que piensa?” Javier asks the person behind the desk. Before looking around to see if Lina had followed them to the room. Well, what do you think?

The man takes a closer look at the pictures. Assessing them carefully before nodding to the three agents waiting, “Vale la pena revisar estas fotos. Investigarlas, y créame que lo voy a hacer.” Placing the photos back in the envelope. These photos are worth checking out. Investigate them, and believe me I will.

Lina stood up from her chair leaning closer to the desk in front of Javier, “¿Cuánto tiempo?” She asks looking at the man. How long?

“¿Disculpe?” Excuse me?

“¿Cuanto tiempo antes de que lo termines?” She said dragging her nails on the desk. how long before you finish it?

He thought for a moment, looking at his desk, “tal vez unos días o una semana?” Looking out to see Steve leaning close to the windows. Maybe a few days or a week?

“Pero no podemos esperar unos días, es urgente,” Lina said looking at her partners who were seen nodding at her comment. But we can’t wait a few days, it’s urgent 

“Bueno, lo siento, todavía tenemos cosas que priorizar, esto puede esperar,” the man insisted suddenly growing nervous as soon as her gaze was locked on him. Well I'm sorry, we still have things to prioritize, this can wait

Slowly walking towards him, Catalina takes the folder from the table before pushing it to his chest, “Oh, vamos, por supuesto, puedes priorizar esto. Quiero decir que somos nosotros los que pedimos tu ayuda,” she said slyly. Oh come on now, of course, you can prioritize this. I mean it’s us asking for YOUR help. 

Leaning backwards, he moves his head from side to side taking a look at the two other agents who were avoiding his gaze. Gulping, “Quiero decir, lo sé, pero como dije, no puedes hacer nada por ahora” the shakiness of his voice was evident making her smirk grow wider. I mean I know, but as I said you can’t do anything for now.

Reaching to run her hands on the collar of his button-up, she leans closer before whispering, ““Estas seguro”. Are you sure?

“Seguro de que?” Sure of what?

“¿Que no puedo hacer nada? Estoy seguro de que me conoces, ¿verdad? Haré cualquier cosa por ti, entonces, ¿qué tal si primero haces este archivo antes de hacer cualquier otra cosa? ¿Sí?”  Lina locks eyes with the man leaning closer to his face. That I can’t do anything? I'm sure you know me right? I will do ANYTHING for you, so how about you do this file first before DOING anything else? Yeah?

“mhmm si,” he nodded quickly, taking the envelope in his hands.

Quickly moving back, Lina clasps her hands with a wide smile, ¡Genial, gracias!” Great, thank you!

“Uh, Vuelvo enseguida.” Lina nodded as she waved goodbye to the man who sped right past her. uh, be right back.

Javier and Steve look at each other in disbelief watching Lina take a seat, smirking. Laughing, Steve walks to you and massages your shoulder a bit.

Sitting back Lina uncrosses her arms high giving Steve, “damn this girl can do things right.” He said shaking Javi on the shoulder and walking out of the room

"Uh..nice going Lina,” "

"that’s all?" she asked peering up at him from her chair.

“Huh? What do yo-"

“What I mean is, that's all you can say after I gave you a hard-on, no offence boss but you’re gonna have a hard time hiding….that, smirking Catalina slides her hand from his chest up to his neck before following Steve out the door.

Episode 10: Despegue - take 100??

As soon as you heard a knock, you reached for the door. Expecting it would be a serious scene you put on your game face. Opening the door, instead of facing a “scared, disheartened’ Javier Pena, you were met with the “teasingly, goofy” face of Pedro Pascal.

Bursting out in laughter you hold you stomach leaning on the wall, “Pedro, you’ve got to stop doing” you told him out of breath.

“Oh please, I don’t even know why you’re trying anymore y/n. He’ll never stop as long as you’re the one to answer the door.”

“Alright, come on up!” He said, arms under your pits helping you up, as you recovered from laughing.

Playfully hitting his cheek,” I’m serious though, this is like our 10th take, I don’t wanna be stuck opening doors the whole episode.”

[barrencelenny]

I feel like fic recs tend to be things that are complete, so I thought I'd rec some things that haven't been updated in a while (>a year) or abandoned, but I still like to go back and reread

with links and comments under the cut <3

Poured Over Ice in an Old-Fashioned Glass by prepandemicwriting (bealeciphers) [2016-02-04, 28k]

-classic bartender!barry fic. they're both kinda disasters all around? hilarious

Run Away With Me by asexual-fandom-queen (2016-05-23, 14k]

-the only time asking someone to run away with you has ever worked lmao.

Painting the Roses Red by Solarcat [2016-07-01, 20k]

-Family of Rogues but there's a third snart sibling that Len's got to protect. Lucy Snart that only exists in this fic and my brain ily <3

I bet these memories follow you around by MissSugarPlum [2017-06-07,5k]

-Lisa and Barry in high school at the same time, Barry being tiny and full of rage, Lisa being reluctantly charmed, mwah. chef's kiss.

Bolt from the Blue by town_without_heart [2017-06-16, 170k]

-pre-canon meeting is always delicious to me. eobard being aware of it is the cherry on top (what a creeper)

The Good in You (the Bad in Me) by blue_wonderer [2017-08-02, 26k]

-I have a soft spot for fics where Barry and Lisa are friends what can I say. set pre-canon, and barry is a goddamn delight

Get Me Through The Night by Mentalrebel [2017-08-07, 11k]

-super interesting formatting. it's a lifeline au? I have no idea what that it, but it's fun

Ties and Barricades by yersifanel [2017-09-01, 10k]

-pre-canon meet-ugly where len kidnaps his soulmate as part of his getaway.

Realignment (time & company) by writerdragonfly [2018-02-13, 12k]

-me? rec a time travel fic? of course. time traveller's wife au. gives some really interesting backstory to Len's mother/family

Unexpected Development by nirejseki [2018-04-05, 20k]

-it's so funny it's practically a crack fic. calling the reverse flash Mr. Banana is an inspired choice

since I can remember I've been runnin' from you by youmakemesoangry [2019-01-26, 14k]

-barry getting haunted by post oculus len yes oh yes

Sticky Fingers by MoriartyMastermind [2019-03-05, 18k]

-barry stealing wallets as the flash is like objectively funny okay

Resonance by Moriavis [2019-06-16, 40k]

-looove a soulmate fic and this one is so unique. Barry and Len meet when Barry's still a child, and it ends before they meet as adults, so really it's mainly a Leonard snart character study

Ice and Lightning by vomitingwords [2020-03-26, 2k]

-potentially the only figure skating au for this ship?

Zero to Sixty by scrubmarine [2020-06-26, 25k]

-barry meeting len out of costume because he's running away from Iris is a hilarious set up, and he kind of deserves it

Just Friends by Thundersnow [2021-08-11, 168k]

-a classic fake dating au, trying to figure out how a blueberry coffee could taste good has been a question that has followed me for years.

Shiva by crestfaller [2021-11-07, 17k]

-I always need more fics dealing with the loss of Henry tbh, and this is a really good exploration of grief.

What It Might Cost by Kateera [2022-05-17, 20k]

-a classic deaging fic, len is heartbreakingly cute

Stand Still by Taste_of_Bitterness [2022-09-15, 25k]

-len doesn't go on the waverider after running to stand still. Barry's kind of a mess here, tbh?

I Think I Love You by youmakemesoangry [2023-05-03, 67k]

-it's post Len and mick's legends trip, and they're helping out team flash. there's a truth spell involved. It's a classic trope. (also there's this bit where mick's reading Frankenstein and he calls creature victor's kid, and that's such a mood, my gothic fiction class spent like an hour talking about his daddy issues once)

[ddagent]

Happy First Day Back at School!

"Good morning." The receptionist didn't look up. "My name is Margaret Reynolds?" Still no response. Margo wrinkled her nose as she explained why she was here at all. "I'm the new substitute?"

At that, the receptionist at Spiro T Agnew High School looked up and gave Margo what she needed: ID, class list, directions to her classroom. The receptionist eyed her carefully, taking in the support bandage around her wrist, the welts on both. The slight crack in one glasses lens and fashion that was 'Soviet chic' (which it was). But then she blinked, and moved on to getting Margo the rest of her paperwork. No doubt she thought Margo just another retiree dragged out to help the state's teaching crisis. Certainly not a Russian defector who had been tortured by Russian state police not one week earlier.

"Head down that corridor, ask for Mister Bezukhov. He's the head of Physics; he'll help you."

And just like that, Margo began her illustrious, if temporary, teaching career. "Thank you."

With a nod, Margo moved down the corridors of the Iowa high school. She had rarely stepped foot into such academic halls; Emma had always rejected any invitations for her to speak at graduations, careers events. Margo hadn't wanted to stand on a podium and be an inspiration: she'd wanted her work to speak for itself. The work. That was why she was here after all. That was why she was hidden. After eight long years sitting in a Moscow apartment staring at the walls, Margo was on the cusp of returning to what she loved most.

All it had taken was a major accident on an asteroid and a coup in the Soviet Union.

But until NASA had the report from Roscosmos – and until the CIA could be sure the KGB wouldn't kill her for her re-defection – Margo was stuck here. In Iowa. She wasn't allowed to return to Houston without her handler. Not permitted to contact Aleida. Not permitted to even try to find—

"Sergei."

Margo couldn't believe it. It had to be someone else. There was no possible chance that the CIA would have stashed her away in the same town they were keeping another high-profile defector. But it was him. Same bright, unyielding smile. Same eyes that missed nothing, whether it be calculations or trajectories or some kid heading off to smoke in the bathroom. Same love of sweaters. He looked good. So good. Better than the last time she had seen him in person: he wasn't coughing up blood into a handkerchief, his face wasn't gaunt, his eyes not always cast over his shoulder, waiting for the next KGB blow.

But as she took in Sergei Nikulov, her heart filling with something akin to joy, she caught sight of his right hand, and the wedding band nestled on his finger. Of course he was married. Of course he'd moved on.

Margo was suddenly experiencing a depressurisation event. All the oxygen had been sucked out of the room and she couldn't breathe. Couldn't think, couldn't function. She just needed to go. Couldn't face him; couldn't ruin the careful existence he'd carved out for himself. A life. With a wife and a job and a house and all the things Margo never could have given him. I need to go.

She stumbled back, right into a group of twelfth graders. There were a few cuss words offered that reinforced Margo's continual decision never to procreate. And then Sergei was behind her, telling them to be more respectful, to be professional in these hallowed halls of learning. They got five paces away before the kids cackled. Do you hate this? Margo wondered, staring straight ahead at an emergency exit. Or is this better than staring at the walls?

"I apologise for their conduct; they are not all like that." Margo could not turn around. Could not greet the smile that was no doubt waiting for her, before it faltered at the sight of her. "You are Ms Reynolds, yes? I am Sergei Bezukhov. I have been looking forward to having another engineer here."

He laughed. It quickly died in his throat. He took a step closer. "Is everything alright?"

Margo turned around. What else could she do? She turned around and watched as the colour drained from his face and she satisfied an eight year old promise she had never thought she'd keep. "Hello, Sergei."

[neon-junkie]

Tech x gn!Reader - An Early Lunch

A short 500 word drabble. Tech is meant to be doing repairs, but procrastination gets the better of him. However, he knows how to fix his concentration.

He's doing it again.

You're not meant to be his babysitter - far from it - but given how often he drifts away from his work, you certainly feel like it.

"Tech," your voice chimes in, and with wide eyes, Tech peers over his shoulder to meet your gaze. Tech lets out a soft, "hm?" which only causes you to shake your head in annoyance.

"You're distracting yourself. Again," you explain, gesturing to the jumble of repairs that lie untouched in the Marauder's hallway, an obvious safety hazard, although this ship is one big hazard in itself.

"I would not call this a distraction," Tech defends as he holds up his spare pair of googles. "I began rummaging through these draws to search for a specific tool, and in doing so, I found my missing pair of goggles. Upon finding them, I realised that the recorder lens was cracked, and I know that I have the required materials to repair this minor issue. So, I decided to hop to it, and I will resume to the ship's repairs shortly-"

"-No, you won't," you say with a tut. "I've seen you distracting yourself all morning, and we both know that Hunter will not be happy when the others return from their supply run, to find that you've barely made a start on them."

Tech lets out a long and frustrated grumble, yet he continues fixing his goggles, popping in the new lens and fixing them in place. "Perhaps an early lunch will assist in putting me back on schedule," Tech proposes, which only causes you to roll your eyes.

"And now, you're hungry?" you sigh. Sure, you can get started on the repairs yourself, but Tech was meant to be teaching you. How can you proceed without his assistance?

"Yes," Tech responds with a simple nod. "But not for food."

"Oh?" you respond with a raised brow, causing Tech to grin. Maybe his wandering mind isn't such a curse, after all? So long as your main task gets completed.

"Oh, indeed," Tech nods. "It appears that my frustration is causing me to stray off course. If you allowed me to relieve myself, then I am certain that I will be able to regain focus." Such bold words from an even bolder man.

Rising from his mess on the Marauder's floor, Tech makes his way over to you, a gloved hand coming out to cup your own. You allow him to lead you over to the Pilot's chair, his chair, and seat you upon it. "Do I have your consent?" Tech questions as he sinks to his knees, spreading yours apart and positioning himself between them.

"You have my consent, but you must promise that you'll focus on repairs after. I don't want to put up with Hunter-"

"-Don't think about Hunter," Tech cuts you off with a wave of his hand. "The repairs will be completed. All you need to do is relax, and allow me to work."

A promise is a promise - something that Tech never goes back on. You might as well allow both of you to have some fun, especially if it means Tech will be able to concentrate on his repairs. So… why not?

[zephyrrhiesfyrian]

I've posted this image of Nightbeat several times, but I'm gonna repost it to give context to the cursed doodle:

From this image my buddy @slug-gore-bug and I developed our beautiful running gag/crack headcanon that Nightbeat just licks random objects in order to "investigate" them.

Then, while I was screenshotting every single head/face from MTMTE (yes this an actual project of mine) I noticed that Quark's head is his microscope lens-

-meaning that if it rained, water would collect in the top of his head, and that concept was just very amusing to me.

So, combined with the previous mention of the Nightbeat-licking-various-objects saga, this came about:

he's sippin' energon out of quark's head