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ms-starflower · 3 years

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Young Survivors — Maribat

It’s almost four am here, I just finished writing this and am just tired enough to actually go through and post it. And this title is the only thing my tired brain could come up with. Anyway. I haven't posted something I wrote in years, but all the Maribat I’ve read recently made me want to write something for it.

I don’t know if I’m ever going to write a 2 part, but if I do it’s definitely going to be Timari and contain a couple of typical Maribat tropes. And a pinch of salt.

Also, disclaimer: I haven't watched Miraculous in years and most of my DC knowlege come from fanfic or tumblr so... sorry not sorry.

Now with a part 2!

Next >

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mei Leyton’s oldest memories were of her mother, dolled up in pretty dresses and elegant makeup. In her daughter‘s eyes, Margaret Leyton was the most beautiful woman on earth.

For as long as she could remember, Mei would sit on the bed and watch as her mom would get ready to head to work. She had always loved those moments with her mom.

(How do I look, my little flower,” she said, twirling around Mei with a grin, making her laugh. It was Margaret’s favorite dress, a vintage halter blue dress with white accents and a white bow around the waist.

“Like a princess, mommy! The prettiest princess ever!”

“Oh no, no no no. You are the prettiest princess ever, my little flower.”)

She was four when her mother let her help for the first time, letting her pass along brushes and products. It’s then that she understood what were the purple marks on her mother that she covered with her makeup.

(“Life is not fair to us, my little flower,” she had said when Mei asked about it for the first time. “Being an orphan and pretty little girl in Gotham isn’t safe, and it doesn’t give much choice when it comes to survival.”

Mei didn’t understand then, but it didn’t matter anyway, life would make her understand soon enough.)

When Mei was seven, the GCPD found her mother’s body.

When she didn’t see her that morning, Mei hadn’t been worried; it wasn’t the first time. Mom would be home by noon, she always was. Until that day.

(The investigation wouldn’t get very far, it was just another prostitute of Camellia street, nobody cared about them. They were just there until they weren’t anymore.

Another girl would take her place in a couple of days. It was how those kinds of things worked in Gotham.)

That day was kind of blurry in her memory. She remembers being pulled out of class in the morning, and that the cop that told her about her mother’s death was very rude.

(“Your mom is dead, kid. A lad found her body in a dumpster this morning,” the guy had said as soon as she had sat down in the headmistress’ office. “Do you know who she worked for? Or on what side of the Camellia she stayed?” He had asked, halfheartedly.

Mei had shaken her head, even though she did; you don’t talk to cops in Gotham, mom always says said that it was the easiest way to get yourself killed, for people like them.

“Alright,” he had said, not surprised. “A social worker is going to pick you up in a bit to take you to your new home, kid.”

With that he had walked out of the office, not looking back. As if where she would end up was going to be home.)

She remembers that the social worker from CPS was a brunette with tan skin, and looked really overworked, but had a kind smile.

By the end of the day, she was taken to Elliot's Hall for Children, an overcrowded, understaffed orphanage with more kids than they could realistically care for.

(They don’t care for the children, they just put them there for a while and act as they do. Most children leave after a couple of days, and if they don’t, they get taken anyway.

Some come back with a police escort, some manage to survive in the streets, and nobody talks about the ones that are never seen again.

You don’t work there because you love children, and if you do, you don’t last for very long.)

Mei wasn’t stupid, her mother told her stories about those kinds of places. She came from those kinds of places, and Mei saw how the man in charge here had looked at her when the social worker dropped her off.

She wasn’t going to just stand here and wait for him to sell her back in Camellia street. Or worse, to the Candy Dealers.

Taking with her what she absolutely couldn’t leave behind, Mei made a choice her mother hadn’t been able to and took her chance with the streets.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mei was a Camellia kid and, as such, took to the streets easier than most newcomers. She had picked up a few tricks from her aunties and her mom, and it helped her to survive out here.

The only (glaring) differences were the absence of her mother, the lack of a permanent roof above her head, and the fact that she had to provide food and money herself now.

(One of her favorite places to pick up wallets was Gotham Academy, where Gotham’s rich send their children. The kids always had money on them, and it’s not like they would miss it.

Though she couldn’t go too many times in a row, not without risking being spotted and remembered.)

She had been on the streets for two months when she met Jason Todd; the boy who would become her family.

She heard him before she saw him, to be honest. It was an awful crashing noise coming from around the corner, and it made her look.

He was running like the devil was after him, and judging by how the cops running behind him were clutching their batons, she wasn’t that far from the truth.

The noises were because of a couple of trash cans the boy had spilled in their way to slow them down.

And he was coming her way.

Against her better judgment, she grabbed his arm when he passed in front of her, and pulled him behind her into her hideout. Quickly getting the plank of wood back in place, she put her hand on his mouth before he could say anything. With the dumpster in the alley, the entry was almost invisible from outside.

They stayed there as they heard the men pass in front of their hiding place, listening as they argued about where the boy could have disappeared before their voices faded completely.

They waited another couple of minutes before he removed the hand she still had on his mouth and crawled out of there.

“Thanks,” he muttered with a scowl. “I woulda’ve been just fine without help but… yeah, anyway.” Then he had started to walk in the direction he came from.

“Hey! Wait!” She said before she could think about it. “Are ya just gonna, like, go? Just like that?”

“Huh, yeah? What do ya want me to do?” He asked, looking back at her from above his shoulder without stopping his walk. “Stay to drink a cup of tea and talk about the weather?”

“Well.. no. But I just… I just wanna talk a bit, ya know?” She couldn’t really explain why she didn’t want him to leave yet, it’s not like he was the first street kid she had helped out. He just felt different, and somehow she knew he could become important to her.

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed before turning his head back to look forward. “The streets are not some daycare for princesses who want to make friends, kid.”

“Kid— hey, dumbass, you’re, like, ten years old! You’re a kid too! And I’m not a princess, I can survive alone just fine!” Before she knew it, she was walking behind him, the weird feeling forgotten for the offence his comment created. He looked back at her with a frown, before choosing to ignore her. Not letting that deter her, she rambled at him about all the ways why she wasn’t a kid any more than him.

“I thought you could survive alone?” He said, talking over her, when he realized that she wasn’t going to let him be.

“I can.”

“So why are ya following me? Tryin’ to drive me crazy?”

“Well, no. It’s just... that I can do it doesn't mean I want to.”

“Look, kid,” he said, ignoring her protest and talking over her, again. “You should just go back to whatever orphanage you came from, there is probably some nice little family who's gonna pick you up. Then you could make all the friends you want.”

“Like people actually adopt kids in this city. This is Gotham, you dummy, not ‘Annie’. Some rich white guy isn’t going to come and pick up children from the streets to make them live the Grand life.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” he growled out without pausing in his steps. “Still, you’re pretty enough, I’m sure some nice people would adopt you in a second if you let them.”

“Yeah, sure. Mom thought the same when she was a kid, and guess what? She started working on Camellia street when she was fourteen, but nobody asked her if she wanted to. Because she was pretty enough,” the little seven years old spat with venom, her eyes narrowed. The boy stopped walking, turning toward her with eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights. “Her best friend wasn’t, but mom said that she had the prettiest green eyes ever. When they found her body, she didn’t have eyes anymore, because some rich person paid to have pretty green eyes.”

“I— I didn’t—” he stuttered, eyes wide. With his scowl gone he looked so much younger, and Mei’s anger subdued. He wasn’t that much older than her, just a couple of years, maybe three or four, after all.

“It’s… okay, I guess. It’s Gotham. I just thought we both would have more chances to survive if we helped each other out. And, ya know, the company wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled, but when they resumed walking he slowed down enough to let her walk beside him without almost-running.

“Great! So, Annie, where are we going now?” She said with a beaming smile, bursting into laughter at his indignation and protest against the nickname.

(“Can’t you stop calling me Annie already?! I told you my name’s Jason!”

“Nope, Annie.”

“Well, then, that makes you Sandy, doesn't it? Ya do follow me around like a stray puppy.”

“I’m not a dog— wait, hold on a minute! I knew you saw the movie! You liar!”)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was ten when her life was put upside down once again, in the worst of ways.

It took practically no time before Jason “Annie” Todd became her brother in all but blood, it took longer for Jason to admit it, and they spend almost three years surviving together, barring the occasional trip back to the Children's Houses.

Though, they always found each other a couple of days after they escaped from those places.

Sometimes, Jason would plan something that he needed to do alone. Because of course, he did.

(“It’s the best job, my plan is perfect. Don’t worry, it’s gonna be great Sandy!”

“Yeah, and why can’t I come?”

“It’s too dangerous! Plus, you need to stay here and keep our things safe!”

“Yeah, if you say so, Annie.”)

That day was one of those days.

He was gone for less than an hour when they found her.

The Candy Dealers.

Mei paled when she saw them, wearing their nice suits and overly sweet smile. They told her they were social workers, specializing in homeless children, and offered her a lollipop. Social workers in Gotham don’t give candy to the kids, even the nice ones, and she knew from her time in Camellia street that the lollipop was drugged.

(“Never, ever, take candy from a Candy Dealer, Mei. Do you understand me? Never,” her mother told her gravely. “They put bad stuff in them, and if you put it in your mouth, they will take you away from me. I couldn’t live without you in my life, my little flower.”)

She tried to run, even before the first one got his hand totally outstretched toward her. But her panic made her stumble, and she was no match for them.

She tried to kick, and scream, and bite, but soon she felt a pinch in her neck, and everything was black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next period of her life was one she tried very hard to forget. For months she was moved, her and dozens of other people, from containers to containers, warehouse to warehouse. Twice they were put in a boat, the containers staying closed for so long, the next time she saw the moonlight, it burned her eyes.

She quickly learned that it was pointless to try to escape (and that Jason wouldn’t come and save her).

Then, one night, the place they were at was illuminated with blue and red lights and the police sirens were so loud, they drowned everything else.

She didn’t let herself hope, though. (She did, she hoped so hard her chest hurt.)

They (probably) weren’t in Gotham anymore, but her childhood didn’t instill her much trust in the police.

They did get them out. And she learned that they were in Paris now. In France. (That was a long way from Gotham.)

There were twenty-seven other people with her in the container. Four of which were kids, and only one other was also an orphan. They weren’t placed together, though. Because the kid had family back where he came from. Unlike her. (She had Jason. He was her family, but they didn’t listen.)

The French social workers took a while to know what to do with her exactly, but they didn’t want to send her back to Gotham (why not? She wanted to go back and find Jason!). So, in the meantime, they placed her in a foster family—one without any other kid, as per her therapist's advice. (The therapist didn’t know anything. She said Gotham wasn’t good for her, but Jason was in Gotham.)

Funnily enough, it ended up being a more permanent solution than previously considered, because the foster parents, Tom and Sabine, quickly fell in love with the little girl.

Not before long, Mei Leyton became Marinette Dupain-Cheng. (They changed her name to give her a ‘new beginning’ because her therapist thought it would be good for her. She didn’t want to have a ‘new beginning', she wanted to go back, to find Jason, to be the Sandy to his Annie. She was Mei, the Camellia’s kid, Sandy, the street’s kid and it was enough for her. She didn’t want to be Marinette, the bakers’ kid.)

So, when Mei was first put into the care of the Dupain-Cheng household, she regularly tried to run away. It was unsurprisingly harder than in Gotham, though. Tom and Sabine were way more attentive than Elliot Hall’s staff ever was, and more than a third of her tentatives were folded even before she was past the front door.

It took her three months (and forty-three unsuccessful tentatives) before she finally accepted that there would be no way for her to go back to Gotham. (Not that she had known how she would manage to do that before, her plan never got that far.) It took another six months before Tom and Sabine trusted her enough to let her wander the neighborhood alone.

The first thing she did the day her ‘new parents’ let her go to the library alone was to get to a public computer, and look Jason up. She didn’t really think she would find anything when she typed Jason Todd and Gotham in Google that day (maybe an obituary). She definitely didn't think she would find her best friend (brother) on the covers of so many tabloids declaring that he was Bruce Wayne’s ward.

She didn’t know how she should feel about the fact that he proved her wrong and became some real-life Annie. She wanted to feel angry, or hurt. Even more so when she realised that Wayne adopted him not even a full week after her (kidnapping) departure from Gotham, but…

But seeing Jason in the pictures… He looked so angry. Angrier than she ever saw him. And hurt. There was hurt hidden in his expression. It was well hidden but she could see it. (She did that, she was the one that hurted him. He probably thought she left him. That she wasn’t any better than his deadbeat of a father and abandoned him. What if he hates her now, because she was gone for so long?)

She needed to go back to Gotham, find him, and explain everything. She needed to tell him she didn’t want to leave him behind, that he was her family, and that it would never change. But Tom and Sabine didn’t want to take her back there, not before she was older, because she wasn’t ready yet, they said.

She didn’t care, though. No matter how long it would take her, she was going to go back. So, she slowly started to act like the perfect little girl. She didn’t really change, she just stopped bringing up Gotham so much, started to help more often in the house and at the bakery, and started to call Tom and Sabine Papa and Maman. (It wasn’t real, at first. But then, they just crawled into her heart against her will and became family. They didn’t replace her Mom or Jason, though. Nobody ever will.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

She started to heal. Slowly, without even realising. She opened up to a couple of children at her school, made friends with Nino, and sort of Frenemies (more enemy than friend, though) with Chloé Bourgeois. She picked up hobbies like sewing and designing, baking with Tom, or learning various martial arts with Sabine.

But she didn’t forget, going back to Gotham was still her ultimate goal. Until the news reached her, when she was twelve.

Jason Todd was dead.

Her best friend, her brother in everything but blood, her Annie. Dead. Jason was dead.

She felt like a part of her died with him, reading the words but not really processing. She let herself drown in her grief, closing up to everyone around her. Surprisingly, Chloé was the one that made her react. Literally slapping her to make her come back from the dead. (Not entirely, though. Mei, the Gothamite part of her, stayed dead with Jason. Only Marinette, the nice little parisian, came back.)

“I don’t really know what’s up with you, Dupain-Cheng,” she had said while Marinette cradled her sore cheek, her faux-contempt badly hiding her worry. “But you need to put yourself together. Tormenting you is no fun if you don’t react to it, and people are too worried for you to be afraid of me. Don’t make me call daddy on you.”

“I…” She had started, only to stop herself. She had looked back at Nino and Kim, both of whom were looking at her with poorly concealed worry. “Yeah, sorry Chloé.”

She pulled herself out of the worst of it after that, at the obvious relief of the people around her. None of which even knew why she was in this state. She still cried herself to sleep most nights, and sometimes felt like someone gouged out her heart with their bare hands, but she also started to let herself think of the good times. Started to let herself feel the good things happening around her, in the present.

Then, she saved the life of an old man, found magic earrings and a bug-mouse-kwami in her room that told her that she needed to become a hero and save Paris.

She thought of her big brother, of how he would always protect her when someone tried to rob them. Hide her, before even thinking of himself, when the cops would chase them down, trying to bring them back to Elliot's Hall. Give her all the food when they couldn’t get enough for the both of them. How he was a hero. Her Hero. And, really, there was only one thing she could say to that.

“Tikki, spots on!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

So. That's it. That was fun. I'm going to sleep now, goodnight.

Btw, Jason's super plan that day was totaly to steal the Batmobile's tires.

#maribat #mlb x dc #gothamite marinette #street kid marinette #platonic jasonette #probably a timari btw #timinette if that's how you call it #4am me decided to post it #2pm me could decide to delete it tho

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xgryffinwhore · 3 years

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Hey! Can I request a jaeden martell x reader where basically their charters are dating on a tv show and they are really really good best friends in real life and they they both go on the Jimmy fallon show and he keeps on asking if they’re dating because everyone thinks they are and when they say no he obvi doesn’t let it go lol and it ends up slipping up that jaeden did/ does have a crush on reader and they maybe end up sharing a kiss in front is Jimmy & audience & stuff😶just an idea i had 😂:)

i love this idea wow, thinking i’m going to put my own little twist on it but i think you’ll still be pleased ;)

just friends

warnings!: suggestive topics, fluff

word count: 2.1k

five

your face was being touched up with powder, the cotton pad dabbing at your nose as the white powder absorbed into any oil your face may have had.

four

you look over at jimmy, this wasn’t your first talk show, but it had been the biggest one with the most following. it was intimidating, you bounced your foot up and down and played with your hands.

three

behavior jaeden had grown to recognize. he knew you better then you knew yourself, your anxiety was worse then you put it out to be. “you ok?” he questioned, “fine, i’m fine” you painted a small smile on your face. but he wasn’t easily fooled.

two

he grabbed one of your hands and rubbed circles into your palm, this sent vibrations of relaxation down your spine.

one

his eyes locked with yours, you swore they were a different color each time you saw them. sometimes more blue, sometimes more green, sometimes dark with mystery, sometimes light and playful.

‘aaand where on air’

you wiped the hand that was interlocked with his off on your dress, it was clammy. the curtain came up fast, and your vision was soon flooded with bright lights and silhouettes of bodies.

making out the faces in the sea of people was impossible, but you knew your friends were out there. they had flown out to see you, a) they could go see new york and b) you were on national television, and they wouldn’t miss it for the world.

jimmy was talking, you knew that much, but your nerves took over and honestly you weren’t registering a damn thing he was saying. the crowd cheered, you snapped out of your daze.

“and here tonight, we have jaeden martell and y/n l/n from the new HBO tv series: turning tables”

he turned to both of us, and gave everyone time to clap. he tired to speak over the loud hands, moving on with his show, but the crowd made that difficult. eventually the clapping died out and he could continue.

“now, i’ve watched all of the episodes but, for the people who haven’t seen: can you explain what the show is about?” he looked a jaeden, you let go of a breathe you had held in.

“s-sure” jaeden turned to face the audience more, he was soft spoken and shy, so it was important he projected as much as he could.

“turning tables is a teen drama. it’s about families of poverty in the seattle washington area and how they struggle to go to school and work. my character, jennings cooper, is the main protagonist. the show is mainly from his point of view, and how he struggle to support his family.”

jimmy nods and smiles, he looks pleased with his explanation. i’m truth the show wasn’t that simple, he knew that. but, it would take so long to explain.

“and y/n, who do you play?” he knew the answer to this obviously, but you were becoming a crowd favorite. everyone loved your personality, and you were an up-and-coming a list celebrity.

“i play parker marlow, jennings girlfriend” you blushed at this statement, the crowd giggled and ‘ouuu’ed. jimmy rubbed his hands together, getting excited at the upcoming topic of discussion.

“so, your romance on season one was steamy” you thought back to the scenes you did together. all of the kissing, which felt normal at this point. he wasn’t a bad kisser, in fact- you didn’t mind it at all. your romance through the season built up to a sex scene, your mind flashed through the memories of filming it.

filming those scenes isnt half as steamy as you think it is. it’s awkward, you laugh a lot. you had never felt that exposed in your life! however watching it was different, it looked so real, so perfect.

you blurred out your thoughts, mr. fallon still speaking on the subject. “can we expect more -“ jimmy searched for your ship name, it was on the tip of his tongue. the combination of your first names on the show didn’t make an attractive combo. it was either jarker or pennings. your last names matched a little better.

“-carlow” jaeden finished for him. jimmy nodded and smiled “yes- carlow- can we expect more carlow next season?” you both looked at each other and smiled. the writers for the show already had the next four seasons laid out. you knew that carlow was a continuing relationship on the show.

“yes, you should expect more of that sort of content from us” you stated. the people in the crowd had a positive responce to this, the applause lapping until it died out once again.

“right, your characters have so much chemistry in the show. two struggling teens just trying to break even.” jaeden agreed “yes, our characters balance each other out, and being from the same background helps them associate. jennings is kind of a bad boy-as the ladies say- he’s a felon, he steels cars and sells them to counterfeit manufacturers and dealers for money. parker, y/n’s character, has a job at a diner. she shows him the light at the end of the tunnel if he chooses to go down a good path.”

“yes, parker gets jennings a job at the diner with her, and he falls for her sweet disposition even after everything she’s been through” you add.

jimmy licks his lips and pops another question: “so id imagine the chemistry in the show heightens the real life thing?” he cocked an eye brow, the group gasping at the intrusiveness.

“jaeden and i are just friends” you blurt out, your nerves working up again. it was hard, you liked jaeden ever since you had your first kiss with him.

“y-yeah” he stutters, he obviously wasn’t expecting this either “friends” jimmy shakes his head and puts his finger on his lip “recently, you both have been showing a lot of pictures of you two together on social media.”

the audience ‘awwwed’ at the photos that displayed behind you. on the screen, there were pictures of you and him that were on both of your instagrams. you two at gardens, getting food, even watching movies at each other’s houses.

“for just friends, these photos looks intimate , wouldn’t you say” a bunch of ‘yes’’s and ‘mhm’’s came from the crowd as both of your faces became red.

“we’re just best friends, honestly” jaeden laughed nervously, he fixed his hair with his hand has he always does.

“right right- can you tell me when this photo is from?” jimmy asked, the last picture flashing on the screen. it was of you both, you had just filmed your first scene together.

the first scene you filmed together was episode two, he saved you after you fell into ice cold water. it was how the characters met, and it was filmed at a cove on a windy august day.

the picture was a little blurry, but it added character. he had his arm around you, both of your hair soaked, and you share a huge towel. you remember how cold you were, your teeth chattered so rapidly. his hair was stuck to his forehead and more small pieces went up. and your lips were almost purple, half from the makeup, half because you swore that was the coldest water you had ever went in.

“that’s from when we first started filming, it was the first time we met in the show” you recited, re living the memory in your head. you remember jaeden pulling your head into his chest when the wind began blowing. you remember his thumb trying to create friction on your back to make you just a little warm.

“yes yes- you two look so adorable!” jimmy squealed, he was the most teenage-girl-grown-man you had ever met. his hand opened one of the drawers in the faux desk he sat behind, pulling out a small blue camcorder.

the camcorder.

you know how on tv shows, there is special footage? sometimes it’s just behind the scene specials but sometimes- sometimes - it’s footage the actors document when they were just having fun? yeah it was one of those camcorders.

the camcorder was brought in by the two other co hosts wyatt oleff and finn wolfhard (i know this cast is sooo original not really) they played jaedens two best friends on the show. while they weren’t filming, they’d dick around and talk about stupid stuff. you’d never seen what they filmed, but you had been featured quite a few times; their by them pranking you, or invading your personal space.

you looked over at jaeden, you watched his adam’s apple bob and a thin layer of sweat flush over his face. he bounced his leg slightly, a habit he had picked up from you.

“let’s just review our material here” jimmy teased, his tongue darting out between his teeth. the video began to play, the sound was loud; assumingely for jaeden quiet voice in the tape.

the video started with wyatts unsteady hand, him and finn were running around set, they stopped at jaeden, he was playing on his phone in his trailer.

“jaeden wesley we have come for you” finn yelled. you could see jaeden shoot up from his chair. “hey guys” he waved. they talked for around a minute, jokes and all. then finn started to giggle, wyatt zoomed in on jaedens face.

“so jaeden, how’s y/n?” he chuckled, jaeden blushed “she’s ok i guess dunno.” wyatt stopped zooming in when the only thing in frame was jaedens head. “the kiss was good hm?” wyatt asked. jaeden continued to play on his phone, he nodded. “yeah, she’s pretty cute too.”

the video cut to another segment, this was filmed after the sex scene. you knew because jaeden laid on the bed you, in the same underwear that he wore during the scene. the boys were jumping on the bed, and jaeden took the camera and talked to it.

“this is for memory and memory ONLY! h-hey y/nnn” he was talking to the camera like it was you “you’re amazing and cool” you could hear finn explode into laughter as he stole the camera back and started running “yeah! and he wants your babies and loves you so much-“ “SHUT UP FINN!!!” and jaeden chased him around.

the video was taken off the screen. your face had become close to ghostly white. it was weird, it was almost like he was dumb enough to think finn wouldn’t give jimmy this blackmail goldmine. you looked at jaeden, he hit his bottom lip until it was red, he itches his neck and laughed it off.

“yeah ok-ok jimmy, maybe i liked her back in the day” jaeden tried so hard to be casual, but jimmy hit him with a heart stopper: “but mr martell, the last clip was filmed less then a month ago!”

your mind flickered with memories and ideas of him.

your first time meeting, how good his hand felt in yours. when you wiped icecream off his chin, and him dotting icecream on to the top of your nose. the way his hair always fell perfectly above his eye brow. and SHIT how he always smelt so fucking good. how he let you fall asleep in his arms and how he never complained when you put on some stupid romcom and-

“y/n?” jimmy questioned. “huh?” you spaced, come on y/n you gotta stop doing that. “i asked how you felt about all of this.” “well, there isn’t a right word i can use.”

jaeden took this has a bad reaction, he did a small wave to the crowd and stood up to get off the stage.

you stood up, grabbed his hand, and laid one right on him. kissing him felt normal, but now that there was emotion behind it, it just felt so right.

you both stopped for air, the crowd went wild. jimmy was clapping too, you could barley hear them, your heart was pumping throughout your whole body. you swore jaeden could hear it.

after the show, you sat in your dressing room for a bit, contemplating the events of tonight, and how they were all broadcasted for your embarrassment. but it was only the beginning. only the beginning of what was to come for mr. and mrs. jaeden martell.

#jaeden martell #jaeden martell fic #jaeden martell x reader #jaeden martell fluff #jaeden wesley #jaeden lieberher #jaeden #jaeden fic #bill denbrough #bill denbrough x you #bill denbrough fanfic #it move #imagine #it fanfiction #aged up

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persephone-is-here-omg · 3 years

Text

Part of the Job.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Reader.

Warnings: Smut. Oral, female receiving, slight choking, fingering, teasing. Alcohol.

Word Count: 4059.

Rating: 18+.

Masterlist.

More Bruce Wayne bullshit, hoes. And watch your backs, because if I give into the idea I have there’s gonna be a Bucky Barnes/Bruce Wayne/Reader fic coming your way and you won’t know what hit you.

"Bruce Wayne" The gruff voice at the other end of the line says as you examine the boutique box that had just been delivered at your door.

"Hey... Uhm... I think you sent a dress or something by mistake to my place" You say prodding him for information, but you know is not a mistake.

"Not by mistake, we have something to do tonight and I need you to wear that dress" Bruce informs you of your plans and you can't help but nod slowly, even though he can not see you do it.

"So, what if I have plans tonight?" You tease, hardly containing the glee in your voice "Maybe dinner or something, probably with a guy you wouldn't like"

If you had Bruce in front of you, you know you'd see him frown for a moment, just a short little second, then he'd look at you with those clear blue eyes of his, face completely neutral "I know you don't have any plans"

"You know, is kinda rude of you to just dispose of my time like this" You keep teasing, just pushing a little more.

"You knew what you were getting into and it didn't stop you. I'll be there at nine tonight" He says and hangs up.

You giggle and bite your lip, staring at the box still closed on your bed. You haven't even opened it yet, not that you don't trust Bruce's taste, you just wanted to give him shit about it first. You tell yourself he probably knows the sizes of every person that's ever come into his proximity, but still a part of you preens with pride at the idea of having so much of his atention. Not that you would ever admit it to him.

You open the box and look at the dress, is nice. Is a really nice dress, black with delicate beading details that make a swirling pattern on the sides, a deep v in the front that shows quite a bit of cleavage is kept together by a sheer mesh panel. When you turn it around you can see the low back and how the skirt is slightly longer at the back.

You jump, a few hours later, as you come out of the bathroom wrapped in a fluffy black towel and find Bruce seated on the armchair in your room “God damn it” You mutter “What are you doing here so early?”

“Does the dress fit?” He asks, his intense gaze fixed on you.

Holding the towel tight around you and narrowing your eyes “You know it does and that is weird”

Bruce raises an eyebrow at you, the corner of his mouth raised just the tiniest bit “Is it?” The rest of the sentence is left unsaid, but you know what he's thinking about.

You roll your eyes “Where are we going, anyway? That you need me to dress like a showgirl”

“Remember that arms dealer I had been trailing?”

You nod.

“He frequents a clandestine casino, here, in Gotham. We are going there tonight” Bruce explains, fixing his tie.

“Oh, so we're wasting money tonight?”

“Mainly. There's some illegal fighting, too but I’ll only fight if I have to. They have a strict dress code, hence, the dress” He looks at you intently, then adds “You should wear that black coat over it. Is cold outside”

“Okay, daddy” You answer in a sarcastic tone “Now… Can you give me some space?”

The corner of his mouth lifts almost imperceptibly in amusement and you can almost hear his thoughts, then he stands and walks pass you and out of the room “Don’t take too long”

The door closes after Bruce and you walk towards your dresser, pull on a pair of panties and then sit down and start to get your makeup done, then your hair. Finally you put on the dress, paired with black, high heeled shoes and the coat Bruce suggested.

Bruce’s back is to you as you come out and clear your throat “I’m ready” You stand there as he turns around, his eyes moving slowly down your body, taking you in.

"Perfect" He says and walks over to you "Let's go"

Bruce opens the passenger side door for you and you look at him with a tilted head as he gets on the opposite side "I thought Alfred would be driving"

"Alfred's busy tonight"

"Busy, huh?" You nod and watch as he starts the car with calculated moves "And what did he say about my stitches?"

"He said you did a marvelous job" You beam at the praise "Thinks you should patch me up more often"

"He does?"

"Is what he said" Bruce counters and then starts driving.

Silence extends between the two of you as your eyes watch the city lights pass you by, then you turn your head and look at Bruce, see his eyes dart from the road to you, see his hand tighten on the gear shift. You realize you are going out of the city.

"So, B" You start and he turns his face again towards you, you know he wants to tell you not to call him 'B' he also knows you're not going to stop "What made you pick this dress? But, more importantly, can I keep it?"

"Is a nice dress and is yours" He answers, simply, to the point.

"I know is a nice dress, Bruce" You tilt your head and lean closer to him "But why did you pick it for me?"

Bruce drives out of the road and looks at you, one hand on the steering wheel and another on the gear shift "I knew it would look good on you and would fit into the place we're going" His knuckles are white, as if he's holding back from something, he lets go of the gear shift and places his hand around your neck loosely "And I like how you look in it, very much" He lets go of your neck and starts driving again, you squirm in your seat, bite your lip and take a deep, shaky breath, let your head rest against the seat.

You cross and then uncross your legs and Bruce grips your thigh firmly "Stop" He kneads your thigh but doesn't add anything else, his hand moves slowly up your thigh and stops right under the hem of your dress.

Bruce moves his hand back onto the gear shift and you turn your face to look at him, watch the tick in his jaw, think about telling him to park somewhere and just fuck you already, is what you both want. But you know Bruce and know he won't do it, he'd tell you to focus on tonight's mission and that you should take this as an exercise in delayed gratification.

About twenty minutes later, he parks outside a rather inconspicous building, a man you assume works security approaches the car as Bruce rolls down the window on his side. He hands the man a small, black card and then the man steps back, Bruce gets out of the car and walks over to your side, opens the door for you and offers his hand for you take as you step out of the car. His hand finds the small of your back and you can feel how his thumb moves in a slow motion over your coat as he hands the keys of the car and guides you towards the door.

Once inside a very young girl takes your coats and Bruce's hand is back on your back, his skin is warm on yours, his hand is rough and calloused, and he guides you towards a poker table. When Bruce sits down you lean over his shoulder and kiss the corner of his mouth, it's a show after all and in this show, that's your part to play "I'll go get a drink, do you want something?"

He nods takes a moment to think and then says "Scotch, no ice, please"

You walk away towards the bar, order red wine for you and scotch for Bruce, then head back to the table. You hand the glass to Bruce and stand right behind his chair, a hand casually draped over his shoulder as the game unfolds in front of you. Your fingers find their way into the hair at the nape of Bruce's neck, you start to play with it distractedly as you keep your eyes open, roaming around the room, locating possible way outs and security personel. You lean in again and whisper in Bruce's ear, pointing out all the possible exits, a flirty smile on your face as you explain to him. Your lips brushing against the shell of his ear. Bruce smiles, that cocky self-satisfied smile, the one from the tabloids and magazines. After a while, and after loosing a considerable amount of money and gaining some back, Bruce stands up and wraps his arms tightly around your waist, lips brushing against the corner of your jaw, you smile and caress his hair.

"Lets go to the bar" Bruce directs "That's our guy" He has his arm around a girl that doesn't quite look of legal age and you turn to Bruce, almost as if he can read your mind he adds "I know. All these girls are way too young. We'll deal with it"

You make your way to the bar and sit on a stool, Bruce stands behind you, arms caging you in with your front to the bar, his lips meet your skin right at the point where your neck and shoulder meet, one of his hands moves down to your thigh and again the calloused pads of his fingers move up, stopping at the hem of your dress making your breath hitch "Focus" He whispers, but you know that he knows it is impossible for you to do that when he's touching you like that, it almost feels like this isn't part of facade. The bartender comes and Bruce orders the same two drinks. The guy sitting a couple of stools away turns to look at Bruce.

"Are you betting only?" He says and you follow Bruce's gaze toward him.

"So far, but I've heard about the fights" He sounds exactly as he should, too much money, too much time.

The guy smirks "You don't look like you need the money"

"I don't need the money" Bruce confirms "But I would enjoy a fight, work some stress off"

You know he can perfectly handle the kind of fighting that takes place here, but you still play up your part " Are you sure?"

He nods, starts walking and takes the jacket and tie off, handing them to you, then rolls the sleeves of his shirt up to the elbows and steps into the circle of people. He stands in the middle for a while and your gazes cross, then his oppenent walks in and the fight starts. Bruce dodges some hits and lets others land, if he wanted to this fight would be over already, but he's supposed to be playing the bored billionaire in search of some adrenaline. So he allows it to continue, even crashing against the onlookers a few times. It comes a point, though, where you can tell he's done with the game. There's a bruise blooming around one of his eyes and a small cut on his lower lip, he manages to make it look like something completely fortitous, but you know better, when he knocks his opponent out and gives you the smallest of smirks.

Bruce takes his tie and places untied around his neck, the jacket is drapped over his arm as he steers you towards the door "Lets get out of here" His hand rests just above your ass, his fingers spread wide, it reminds of just how big his hands are. The same girl that took your coats gives them back and as you step out the door the car stops right in front of you.

The drive back into the city is not really going back into the city, is towards Wayne Manor you realize. You don't say anything, instead let the anticipation course through your body, fill you with a buzzing energy that almost makes you shiver and your skin breaks out in goosebumps. Bruce steers right into the tunnel that leads to the cave, he drives as if he's in the other car, takes his curves really close and if it was anyone else you might get nervous but not with him. He parks seamlessly and perfectly and your door is open even before the car is fully parked. Your heel touches the ground and you're out as soon as it stops moving, you push the door closed without looking behind you, trying to give you time to get a hold of yourself.

You can hear Bruce's steps behind you, he's purposely keeping his distance, you stop in front of the computer, roll your neck and feel him cage you against the desk. He says nothing, he doesn't touch you, just stands there waiting until you turn around to face him. The space between you feels electric, buzzing with that undefinable energy right before something happens. Is in these moments that you realize just how tall he is, how big he is, you look up at him and he hauls you onto the desktop, sets you down on it and kisses you right away, his hand cups your jaw, it does it in that way that leaves no doubt who's the one in charge here. You like it. He uses his other hand to push your coat down, you pull your arms free and wrap them around his neck, move down his chest and undo the buttons of his shirt, pull it free from his slacks and place them on the broad span of his chest.

Bruce pushes the straps of your dress down your arms, until your breasts are exposed and your nipples harden against the chilly air of the cave, his hands move towards your chest and cup your boobs. His thumbs circle your nipples and your back arches in response, you want to be closer to him with as little space possible between you, but he keeps his distance, watches your face intently.

"What?" You say, trying to hide the vulnerability in your voice. How exposed you feel when he looks at you like that.

Bruce moves one hand back to your jaw, makes sure you hold his gaze as he says "I like watching you. I like that little crease between your brows when you try to guess what I’m thinking" Then he's kissing you again, hard and hungry, teeth grazing your lower lip, his tongue slips inside your mouth and it feels all consuming. The kisses move to your jaw, down your neck, to your chest, his lips close around your nipple and Bruce sucks on it until it’s hard and aching, making your back arch, your nails dig on the exposed skin of his arms. He moves to the other side and this time bites the underside of your breast, moving in tandem as he tugs the skirt of your dress up, over your hips.

He uses both hands to rip your panties off, first one side then the other the sound reverberates through the cave and, after he's done, Bruce pulls them away and stuffs them inside the pocket of his pants. You feel exposed, vulnerable in a way that drives you wild, as you watch Bruce come down in front of you, between your thighs, your skin prickles with anticipation.

You shiver under the intensity of Bruce's gaze, unwavering as he looks at your face for a few seconds. Then his lips graze your thigh, is feather light at first, goosebumps break on your skin and you bring your hands to the edge of the desk, gripping it tightly. He sinks his teeth on the inside of your thigh and you hiss, it stings enough for you to know that it will leave a mark that will in time turn into a bruise. You bury one of your hands in his hair "B-Bruce" You stutter, feeling him move closer to your core "Oh, my God. You're enjoting this too much" You can't hear him, but you see his shoulders shake and narrow your eyes, open your mouth to give him some witty, smartass response but it dies before it even forms as his lips come into contact with your sex. A gasp comes out of you instead.

"Fuck" You breath. Bruce grasps your thighs and pulls you forward, to the edge of the desk. His tongue darts between your folds, following the edges of your slit, swirling around your clit. You close your hand around Bruce's dark hair and moan, long and drawn. His tongue delves inside you, then his lips close around your clit and suck. You toss your head back "Fuck" You repeat, he's reduced your vocabulary to one word and you can't form a complete thought, not when he is between your legs, face buried in you, lips pressed against your most intimate parts. You feel it start on your toes, that warm coil that tightens the more he works on you, feel it start to tug and tug, slowly at first, then all of a sudden until it releases and you cry out, thighs trembling, hands both pushing him away and holding him in place. Bruce works you through it, doesn't stop when you're coming down, he lets go of your thighs and stands up, brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them.

You follow his hand with your eyes, barely register when he says "I didn't even had to wet my finger, you're so slick" His fingers circle your clit and make you jump, still reeling from your previous orgasm. The way he says it is almost mocking, it really just makes you want to slap him.

"G-god I hate you" You groan as he thrusts two of his fingers inside you and his shoulders shake almost silently again, moving in and out, scissoring and hooking. You move your hand to his sides and dig your nails in Bruce's skin, making him hiss, but it only makes him focus more on making you cum again, not that is going to take long. Your skin prickles with anticipation and you can feel how the orgasm builds deep in your belly. He curls his fingers once more, flicks your clit with his thumb again and you're cumming hard, letting your head fall into his shoulder, eyes closed tight and toes curling. He kisses the side of your head and you turn your face to kiss him, move your arms around his neck again, then drag them down his chest and drag your nails over his absm leaving red, angry marks in your wake.

You undo the button on his slacks, pull the zipper down and push your hand inside his boxers, wrap it warm and soft around his cock, keep your eyes fixed on his face, the way Bruce's mouth twitches as he groans your name, and pushes his pants and underwear down, just past his ass, leaving with more than enough space to move your hand up and down his cock. He groans your name again.

Bruce grasps your thighs once more, lowers his gaze and looks at your hand around his cock for a moment, until he decides it's been enough. He lets go of your thigh and instead wraps that hand around your neck firmly "Go on, guide me inside you" He orders, always in control.

You do as he says and drag the tip of Bruce's cock inside you, your mouth agape as he fills you inch by inch. You cling to his sides again as he makes you hold his gaze, he pulls back halfway in, then starts thrusting inside once again, until he’s buried deep inside you. Bruce stays like that, then grinds against you, making you gasp against his lips.

Bruce's hand is still firm around your throat when he starts moving, is a pace right in the middle, not too slow and not too fast, just in control. Always in control. He grinds into you every time he bottoms out, makes you gasp and dig your nails deeper on his sides. He doesn't let go of your neck, keeps you looking at his face. You move your hands down and grab Bruce's ass tightly, moan against his lips as he kisses your lips and thrusts harder. He reaches so deep into you it is hard to breath. Bruce leans over you as you let go of his ass and hold your weight on your elbows as he takes a nipple into his mouth, your walls clench around him and a moan of his name tumbles through your lips, you cross your ankles behind his back and whine "Please, please" That voice is almost unrecognizable to you, its small and pleading, makes your cheeks burn.

Bruce envelopes you with his arms, tightly secured around your waist and lifts you from the desk, there is a squeal and then a moan when he thrust hard, then he's sitting down on the chair and his hands are gripping your hips, encouraging you to move and ride him. You oblige, there's no way you could say no, not when you're on edge and he refuses to look at anything else but you.

One of your hands is on his shoulder and the other grips the back of the chair so tight, somewhere in the back of your mind you think your nails will tear the leather, but your hips move above him, you ride Bruce fast and hard, chasing after your third orgasm of the night, the sound of your skin against his resonates through the cave and comes back to both of you, filling the space between his growls and your moans, his grunts and your whines. He wraps his arms around your waist again and for a moment you think he will stand up again, but instead he holds you in place and kisses your shoulder, your neck, bites your skin the feeling of his teeth marking you makes you shiver in his arms, makes your hips buck wildly of their own accord and as he chases and catches your lips, Bruce thrusts up into you, holding in you in place with his arms around you, he kisses you deep and thoroughly, all tongue, teeth and wild need. You're so close to each other his pelvic bone drags against your clit every time he moves, heightening every sensation and when he buries a hand in your hair and tugs the fire consumes, it wreaks havoc through your entire body as you cum, arching your back and eyes watering as your walls tighten around his cock velvet fist like. The look on your face, the goosebumps on your skin are enough to trigger Bruce's own orgasm. His name tumbles from his lips in a raspy, deep tone, you tremble in his arms but he holds you tight in place, balls deep inside you, his cum warm inside you.

You both pant as you get your breaths back, Bruce rests his forehead against your chest and you play with the hairs at the nape of his neck. You can feel his semen starting to leak out of you and believe he will pull out of you and let you stand. He does pull out of you, but he keeps you there, watches as his cum drips out slowly, then gathers some of it on his fingers and brings it to your mouth. You open obediently and suck on his fingers, moaning around his fingers, until they're clean, then he kisses your lips, a growl deep within his chest as he tastes both of you in your mouth.

"Fuck" He curses looking at you "I can't keep you out of my head, I can't keep my hands off of you"

He always says this, it almost sounds as if he is chiding himself for it, for not keeping it 'professional' but the truth is you don't want him to.

And you say as much "Then don't. I don't want you to"

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #batman x reader #batman x you #my big bad furry #batman fic #bruce wayne fic #batman imagine #bruce wayne imagine #don't judge me #i have no self control when it comes to bruce wayne #and i won't even try

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regrettablewritings · 3 years

Note

I'm feeling a Nevada Ramirez mood (love that damn asshole) but if you aren't feeling writing for him then I give this up to authors choice. But from the current ships numbers perhaps: 3 (because I wanna get fucked up), 9 (because I have to), 10 (because I would like to know your thoughts) and 11 (because I am wildly curious)

("I'm feeling a Nevada Ramirez mood" Translation: "I want a daddy to spit in my fuckgng mouth" Sorry, I don't make the rules about language translation.🤷🏽‍♀️)

3. Which one outlives the other, and how they cope:

You'd always kind of sort of lived in a fairytale. In hindsight, though, you probably had to: It's what probably made being with his stupid ass a bit easier. Kind of like you were living in one of those stories where a monster that terrorized some bucolic tiny town could be brought down to size by a soul of pure heart. Maybe even regain his human form.

If only your story had had a happy ending.

In a way, Nevada felt he was to blame for that; clearly, sticking with you had really only encouraged that type of behavior, or so he thought.

And now look where that ended you: All that gross-ass makeup to make you look like your last moments hadn't been agonizing (the coroner insisted it had been quick, but Nevada called bullshit); those stiff clothes that you never would've worn unless you had to (Nevada never would've put you in them if he had more of a choice); eyes closed, never to see the telltale signs of the one you left behind coming undone (actually, in a sick way, Nevada didn't necessarily mind this; it spared him the humiliation).

There wasn't even necessarily any sign that you had been targeted; the general theory really was that you'd been taken out by a stray bullet. But in some part of him, Nevada couldn't believe that. He didn't want to. It just made so much perfect sense in his mind: You were just minding your own damn business, walking home after a shift ended a little later than expected. You were the very picture of innocent and unsuspecting, all vulnerable and without him. In short: That was the perfect time for some rival gang or some shit to take a shot at you.

And the thought made Nevada's blood boil to the point that it evaporated into the air, further polluting these fucking New York skies with his inner toxicity being exposed. He'd make whoever did this to you choke. But not before roughing them up a lil bit. Maybe cut off some fingers. Some toes . . . Maybe a pound of flesh as payment if there was any time left, who knows.

But first, his men had to find them.

To say that Nevada does not take your passing well would be an understatement. He's somehow more violent. Somehow a lot less tolerant of bullshit (and he already wasn't before). If anyone so much as blinks wrong, they run the risk of having a nearly feral fuck jump at them and attempt to rip their face off.

His men, who already feared and respected him, dare not occupy the same room as him any longer than they have to. They miss you as a person, of course, but they never knew just how much of a hold you had on their boss until that hand was gone.

Sure, he goes through the usual motions seen in others, like sitting in his chair, downing copious amounts of whatever was left in his liquor cabinet. And, of course, there's the stages of grieving: He's eternally stuck oscillating between guilt and anger.

He was supposed to be the one that got killed out here, him! Not you: Sweet, kind, patient, hard-headed, stupid-assed you! He got that, why couldn't God get with the program on that!? He was the dealer, the gang leader putting himself into all kinds of problems with others; you were just some innocent bystander who happened to get caught in his web, decide they liked it there, and inexplicably stuck around.

And now you're dead. He was being selfish, you were being stupid, and now you were dead.

He stares blankly at nothing before humming with a sip of whatever the hell is in his glass now, he doesn't fucking remember. Can't taste it anyway; his sense of taste disappeared, floated away with your spirit the moment he learned of your passing.

The pure-hearted soul that kept the village safe was gone; all that remained was the carnivorous beast, ready to rampage and raze the town to the ground.

9. Which one swears more?:

Just in time for the 20210 Summer Olympics, we have a new category to observe: Fucking Goddamn Cussing Up a Shitstorm! Representing Washington Heights, we have a cussing prodigy, Nevada Ramirez! Also representing Washington Heights by way of duel citizenship between the apartments, we have . . . You!

Okay but in all seriousness, Nevada is definitely the gold medal-winner here. Science indicates that cussing helps to relieve stress and for as collected as Nevada likes to appear in front of others, 5'9" is not a lot of space for stress to go. He's constantly bottling up that shit! What's worse, though, is that the fucker makes it sound elegant.

How does he make "fuck" sound so gentle when it leaves his lips with a cold-eyed glower!? Who the hell knows!

Erstwhile, you're a pretty good runner-up. Even if you were a big cusser before getting with Nevada, you could never catch up with him -- he's just had way too many experiences where he felt the need to pepper the ambience with some cursing. And if you weren't as into it before . . . I'm sorry, boo, but you'll be picking up that nasty habit of his like you were picking up the torch for the Cussing Olympics. Bon chance!

10. What TV shows they watch together, and which ones they hide from the other:

Noah . . . How did you know I was planning to do a preference on what characters watch with their S/Os? Not that I can confirm or deny that Nevada was in that one but --

Nevada didn't really watch TV a whole lot before you two got together. It was a mix of him not having a lot of time and him not having a lot of care to keep up with anything. Everything is so goddamn serialized, what's even the point?

Really, the only reason he bought subscriptions to streaming services was to keep you entertained for when he had to be out the house or some junk. But there were a few too many times where he'd come home late and find you curled up on the couch.

". . . The hell're you still doing up --"

"Ssh!"

". . . Did you just --"

"Yes, now sshhh! I'm about to see who this chick picks to go to bed with."

Of course, 'Vada is pissed; people don't shush him, he shushes them! What the fuck could be so interesting that you'd do that!? He takes his glare from you to the screen . . . and about thirty minutes in, he gets it. He'd never say it out loud, but deep down, he knows why you like Love Island. It's stupid, it's trashy, he hates these dumbass twenty-somethings making drama out of nothing, and for fuck's sake will somebody talk to the girl with the dark skin and short hair she's the hottest one there --

Of course, he tries hard not to show his interest, taking seats next to you when you're watching "because he's tired", adding his own commentary "because these pendejos need to know better", etc. And, of course, it doesn't fool you in the slightest. As amused as you are, though, you don't tease him about it; you're afraid that if you do, your stubborn boyfriend would put up a fight in the form of leaving you to watch your silly little show by yourself. And you really don't mind sharing the show with him . . . No, solitary watching is reserved for your cartoons.

Nevada may let things with you slip to a point but the moment he learns you like to watch anything animated, he's on your ass with the ruthless taunting. Which is like the pot calling the kettle black because 'Vada's secret pleasure is even worse: daytime soap operas. Admittedly, there's some sentimentality connected to them (he remembers being at his Abuela's house and seeing her get really into some telenovelas), but the fact of the matter is really more that he's invested in the drama and bullshit going on between all this lunatics who we're supposed to buy as being doctors or CEOs or whatever over-glamorized positions they're supposed to have.

He doesn't actually get to watch them often but . . . hey, that's what he pays certain grunts to do for him.

Okay I had way too much fun writing these so lemme just cut myself off now. Thanks for asking!!!

#nevada ramirez #nevada ramirez x reader #law and order svu fanfiction #nevada ramirez imagines #trouble in the heights #character x reader #chubby reader #fem reader #regrettablewritings #fun fact: the losing your sense of taste thing due to shock is real #only in my instance it was far less traumatic . . .#thought it'd be a nice touch for Nevada #since i headcanon him as having a silver palate and thus relies heavily on his sense of taste to enjoy himself

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blushnote · 5 years

Text

rich girl | m.

⟡ word count: 6,708. ⟡ genre: smut, a bit of angst if you squint. ⟡ contains: a blowjob, facefucking, overstimulation, squirting, dirty talk, shower sex, copious use of petnames, just a whole lot of sin.

summary: wonwoo likes to call you a rich girl, and you hate it because it’s true. in fact, you hate a lot of things: your friends, your parent’s attitude, the way your life is supposed to be perfect even though you’re miserable. not much makes you happy, except for a punk boy who you can’t even be with.

a/n: this is a reupload because for some reason tumblr wasn’t showing me my own posts? anyways, sorry for the wait!! enjoy hehe.

your parents don’t like wonwoo.

even better – they don’t like the fact that you like him.

wonwoo isn’t supposed to be someone you like. he’s kind of foul-mouthed, awfully conceited, and he probably makes deals with the devil in his spare time. he likes to hang around those dimly lit corners at night, just outside the local shops, puffing from a cigarette beneath the dusty street light and chuckling amongst his friends. they all hang out together. they’re very tightknit in the way that they only meet on the corner to smoke and laugh and then head their separate ways when it gets late enough.

honestly, you didn’t think you were going to like wonwoo either. most friday nights you go out for drinks with the daughters of your mom’s friends. she’s a business lady, very professional, makes good money, and has the politeness and etiquette of a true monarch. her friends mirror her every quality, and so do their daughters. you like them, even when they snap at you to sit straighter or give you unnecessarily stern glances while you swallow your alcohol in inhumane gulps. they’re great, but they give you a headache.

also, they’re the only friends you have, even if they’re not very good ones. they once left you to get home by yourself when you got too “drunk” for their liking. not wanting to soil their sophisticated reputations, they literally abandoned you after your wobbly trip to the bathroom to fix your makeup. you came back to an empty table. when you left the bar, this unknown man tried to take you by the arm, promising that there was a telephone just around the corner for you to make a call. your cellphone was dead anyways.

“what the fuck are you doing?”

there was a deep, displeased voice that echoed from the street corner as the mystery man tugged you away. you couldn’t help but stumble in your saint laurent heels. they didn’t add much height, yet you felt as though you were walking on stilts. quickly, you made eye contact with wonwoo. he stepped away from the pole and removed the cigarette from between his bubblegum lips, just before he adjusted the glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. the air was cold, so he wore a beanie that pulled his hair back.

the man stuttered in response. he attempted to configure a convincing statement, but wonwoo cut him off.

“do you know him?” wonwoo asked you directly. his friends were silent as they crowded the corner, but they looked ready to pounce.

“n-not re-really, no.” you fought to respond sluggishly.

wonwoo then narrowed his eyes at the man who was digging his nails into your skin.

“do you know her?” the man countered. he sounded almost petulant.

“no,” wonwoo admitted impassively, “but i’m not an idiot, and i’ve hung around here long enough to see my fair share of fucking weirdos. go slink back to the other side of the street before i shove my cigarette past your eye socket and into your cranium.”

honestly, wonwoo’s words almost turned you completely sober. the man looked like he wanted to argue, but his pathetic type doesn’t usually put up a fight when their plans are directly thwarted. he released you, and melted away into the night like a sad, shrinking shadow.

“do you need to use my phone?” wonwoo was already revealing it from his pocket.

you nodded. you knew your mother would explode into fumes if you called her at this hour, so you dialled the local taxi service and decided to wait right outside the bar. you wanted to thank wonwoo for intervening when he did. he didn’t necessarily look like a bad person, but his tainted mouth and snarky expressions didn’t exactly shift him into the light.

“thanks,” you told him as you handed over his phone, “i-i appreciate what you dd-did.”

wonwoo made the effort to blow the smoke from his cigarette away from your face.

“it’s fine,” he shrugged, “happens all the time. figured i’d just stand here and be useful i guess.”

so there is a reason you’re always at this corner.

that’s what you wanted to say, but you were too shy, too foggy, to articulate any other acknowledgement apart from a tight-lipped smile. since then, you knew wonwoo would be someone you liked.

wonwoo liked to call you a rich girl. it bothered you, mostly because it’s true. you wore diamonds in your ears, pricey jewels on your fingers, dressed in luxury outfits and designer products. you lived a lavish life because your parents were well off, but it’s not like you tried to rub it in everyone’s face. in fact, you were quite modest, and you only wore the jewelry because your mother never stopped draping you in it. after your first encounter with wonwoo outside the bar, you greeted him again on the street upon exiting the floral shop.

he was alone, not even smoking a cigarette, instead sucking on a vibrant, cherry red lollipop. you could smell its sugary coating the second you stood in front of him.

“hey, rich girl.” he nodded. “how’s life treating you?”

the only reason you approached him was out of gratitude. you had already thanked him for his intervention that one night, but you wanted to thank him again now that you weren’t intoxicated and cloudy in the head. notably, your expression soured at his words.

“rich girl? that’s not my name.”

wonwoo looked you up and down skeptically. his eyes were a strong, earthly shade of brown behind his glasses, but in that afternoon sunlight, they flared up slightly, and the colour was more molasses-like. thick and sweet.

“are you joking?” he seemed like he wanted to laugh, and swirled the lollipop to the opposite corner of his mouth. “babygirl, those heels you’re wearing are more than my rent.”

you didn’t know why, but you were transiently overwhelmed with the urge to drop to your knees and let him fuck your mouth right there on the corner. was that too soon? oh well. you already thought it. remembering you were supposed to feel disrespected at his comment, you crossed your arms, though it only accented the jaded bracelet your friend bought you as a birthday gift.

“i’m going to pretend i didn’t hear anything you just said. i wanted to thank you for getting me out of that situation last week. i thought i should tell you again, now that i’m… well… sober, i guess i could say.”

you then swallowed tightly. “do you really stand there to stop creeps from taking advantage of people?”

wonwoo shrugged. he then tousled his hair, which had been flopping in multiple directions. it was on the longer side, and seemed to be the same colour as dark, silvery ashes, though the roots were pretty much black. his hair looked so soft and springy. you almost wanted to comb it down for him.

“i’m just at the right place at the right time.” he said.

what did that even mean? you simply accepted his response and pressed on.

“well, i wouldn’t mind repaying the favour one day. do you want a coffee or something?”

“no.” wonwoo replied sharply. “you could do me one better and slip me a couple hundred from your pretty bank account. i’m trying to get the local black tar heroin dealer off my back.”

you nearly choked.

“wha-what? are you… serious?”

wonwoo maintained his staid, emotionless expression, and you were really starting to believe that there was a black tar heroin dealer running rampant in the streets that might pop wonwoo if he didn’t pay him off. but then a gradual smile pulled up his lips, and you wanted to retract your entire offer.

“yes, it’s a joke. you’re too easy. the only drugs you’d find in this part of town is the ibuprofen for your grandma’s arthritis. you don’t get out much, do you, rich girl?”

you gaped widely at him.

“careful, baby,” he smirked, and he suddenly brought his hand out, raising your chin with his cold fingertips to close your mouth. “don’t breathe too much of this cheap air. it’s not filtered.”

in a bubbling, festering haze of anger, you snapped his hand away.

“for your information i—,”

abruptly, you heard your name echo from down the street. turning around, you watched your mother exit the floral shop, carrying a pale green wrapping of scarlet poinsettias. they were so huge that the petals almost covered her entire face. it wasn’t her fault, but she couldn’t have picked a worse time to come looking for you, especially when she was cloaked in the thick warmth of her sable fur coat. you sighed deeply and faced wonwoo again. he’d lost his lollipop, attempting to spark up a cigarette instead.

“aren’t these just gorgeous?” your mother swooned, running her fingers over the butter-soft petals. “they certainly cost a pretty penny to get such an exquisite arrangement, but i couldn’t help myself!”

you wanted to sink straight into the earth. wonwoo was looking between you in pure amusement as he crammed his lighter inside a pocket on his jeans. your mother didn’t even seem to notice him until he took his first puff, the distinct potency of the smoke making her nose scrunch.

“a-and who’s this, dear?” she couldn’t even mask her discomfort as she inquired you about wonwoo. at that point, you hadn’t even known his name yet.

“wonwoo,” he introduced himself, “a new friend of your daughter.”

“oh, how lovely,” she nodded at him while forcing a crooked grin. “honey,” she then placed her hand on your shoulder and spoke closely into your ear, “your father is parked down the street. we need to leave soon and get these out of the cold, so please finish your conversation quickly.”

as soon as she slipped past you and began striding swiftly toward the car, you could already taste the muddled defeat on your tongue. if you weren’t protruding the mirage of a spoilt rich girl then, you certainly were now. at least he didn’t blow any smoke into her face, though that didn’t diminish the fact you were going to receive a lengthy lecture in the car.

“why would you say we’re friends?” you scolded wonwoo.

“because you don’t have any.” he responded matter-of-factly while tapping some ash off his cigarette.

“that’s not true! what do you even know about me anyways, apart from that i’m rich.” you made sure to incorporate in-air quotations.

wonwoo pushed back the silver tresses dancing in front of his glasses, embracing the cool, afternoon current against his face.

“not a lot,” he admitted, “you come for drinks every few fridays. sit at the table looking like you hate your life and all the people in it. then you leave with your phony little rich clique.”

“not to be rude, wonwoo—” you almost wanted to laugh; you came here to thank him. now that ship had completely sailed— “but you’re kind of a dick.”

he then had the nerve to roll his eyes. “you’d drop to your knees and suck mine in a second, babygirl. now didn’t your mother say you should hurry up and get in the car? the princess can’t be out of the palace i’m guessing, especially not to talk to assholes on street corners.”

what else could you do apart from swallow your own frustration, bite your lip, and brush past him? there was nothing. it was too bitter to stand outside anyways. a strengthening winter wind was beginning to pick up from the north, the sting making your eyes water. at the same time, your cheeks were hot metal. if no one were on that street, you certainly would have taken him right into your mouth and sucked him dry. he was ridiculous and cruel, but you loved the unhinged nature he unearthed in you. it was liberating in a sense.

you wondered what would become of your relationship.

“where did you say you were going again?”

you looked up from the porcelain dinner plate, in which you’d been picking at the last few crumbs of your wine reduction pineapple cake. it wasn’t your favourite dessert, though you always finished every meal out of respect for the family’s personal chef. you saw your father reach for his water glass. he took a long sip and eyed you over the candlelight and scarlet poinsettias. it was in a way that was completely and unabashedly suspicious.

“ester and i are going to the jewellers to get a custom necklace as aria’s christmas gift. i told you like five times already.”

of course, that was a gigantic lie. you and ester had already gotten the precious necklace last week, you just needed a reasonable excuse.

“and you’re coming straight home, correct?” his voice was stern and unnegotiable.

“i always do.”

“not always.” your mother chipped in as she cut a piece of the glazed cake with her fork. “you’re not going to see that one character, are you?” she always called people with less fortune characters, like they weren’t even considered to be real.

“who?” you acted clueless, and poured yourself more of the sugary, pink lemonade.

“you know who,” there was already a note of displeasure in her voice, “that boy from the corner. the one who smokes. i wasn’t very impressed by his actions.”

you started to squeeze the white cloth across your lap. “he’s trying to quit. i’ve persuaded him.”

“he won’t do it,” your father shook his head, “and he’s not right for you. i don’t want you near him.”

“and that’s why you’re coming straight home after the jewellers.” your mother continued, not allowing you the breadth to speak.

this family couldn’t get any more ridiculous, you were tempted to scream. instead, you pushed out your chair and collected the utensils sitting on your placemat. a maid passing by had scrambled to assist you, though you told her thoughtfully that you could take care of yourself. in actuality, it was the perfect time to get going, just as you could feel the anger warm your own blood to a boiling crimson. you threw on a long peacoat, a spritz belonging to a vanilla perfume, and your saint laurent opyum heels.

“i’ll be home soon!” you shouted down the marbled corridor, but it was only your own voice that echoed back to you.

your knees were beginning to lose feeling from being pressed against the sponge-like carpet of wonwoo’s bedroom, and they would probably ache like hell whenever you came to your feet again, but for the time being, you really didn’t care. your hands were braced against wonwoo’s knees as his hand tangled possessively through your hair, each of his tugs causing your scalp to burn and tingle. you were crying. you loved to be used by him, and he loved using you. especially the warm inside of your slick mouth.

“ff-fuck, that’s it, babygirl, j-just let me fuck your pr-pretty fuckin’ face.” quickly heeding his words, wonwoo bucked his hips up in a sudden snap, the head of his cock nuzzled deep against your throat.

consequently, you gagged, and there were glossy trails of your own saliva uncomfortably pooling down your chin. he bucked up again, his fingers clasping your hair even tighter. you were struggling to breath around him, white, cottony spots blurring your vision while he forced you to take him even further. you were clutching onto his knees with enough strength to bruise his pale skin. but hearing his voice, lined with lust, heavy and laboured, how it hitched when everything felt too good; you were addicted to it.

“you’re so good at this—,” wonwoo grunted through his teeth upon jamming your head down again, “m’gonna cum down your f-fuckin’ throat, baby. be a good girl n’ m-make sure you swallow a-all of me, huh?”

you learned that wonwoo was really filthy. he didn’t have a preference for where he came, though you had to regulate his carelessness. if any of your clothes even got one rip, one pulled up thread, or god forbid a stupid ejaculation stain, your mother would put your head on a mahogany plaque. wonwoo always made fun of you for belonging to a rich family, having to act like the town’s local sweetheart because one wise crack might cost your parents a lost business partner. but you knew he loved it.

the elegant daughter of a rich heir running around with the outlandish punk? he adored it.

eventually, you had to come up for breath or else you would’ve fainted between his thighs. the air gushed into your lungs and coldly filled your chest. a string of your spit was connected from wonwoo’s flushed, hard cock to your wet lips. you could hardly discern anything that surrounded you. the oxygen had yet to thoroughly circulate and the tears were creating a thick blur. wonwoo started to stroke himself while you prepared to take him once more. the empty void in your mouth was a horrible feeling.

“you look like a fucking mess.” wonwoo grinned as he noted that your body was shaking. “am i being too rough with you, babygirl? should i just jack myself off and cum all over your face instead?”

“n-no,” you suckled in a half-hearted breath, “i-i can do it.”

wonwoo smirked. “you still want it down your throat?”

you could see him clearly now. his cheeks were tinted pink, and his eyes were impossibly dark, glittering in anticipation. without thinking, you nodded eagerly, knowing this was what you wanted. he then tapped his cock against your swollen lips, to which you opened up again and calmly took him as deep as you could. he watched your eyes glister with more tears before he started thrusting up into your mouth. his fingers were gentle. they brushed the stray spindles from your face, now destroyed by tears and drool.

“i’m surprised your tears aren’t pure gold,” he laughed, “i guess you aren’t so special.” your spine tingled as his hand crept back through your hair. “m’gonna make you cry even harder, baby.”

his grip had turned to solid iron against your scalp. you got less than a sliver to brace yourself for his unrelenting treatment, in which he pushed you straight down on his cock and kept your face right where he wanted it. with his hand against the back of your head, wonwoo snapped his hips upward, feeling you immediately gag in response. then, he unleashed on you, using your mouth as a mere fucktoy, getting all his pleasure’s worth from you in each of his hard thrusts. everything was so overwhelming and rapid.

wonwoo couldn’t help the mantra of guttural, taunt curses. he started to moan even, his deep voice cracking the second he felt his sticky cum start to abundantly spurt. without a warning, you struggled slightly to accept and swallow it, though wonwoo was intent on keeping you flush to his pelvis until every drop was polished off. he was still thrusting shallowly into your mouth, and you could feel his length gradually begin to soften. his release was warm, and it was similar to cream sliding down your throat.

after he removed himself from your mouth, he titled up your head by the chin.

“did you swallow it all yet?”

you shook your head. quickly, the side of your hot cheek was met with wonwoo’s hand. he’d given you a timid slap, one that wasn’t meant to hurt, but stung gingerly.

“i wanna see you swallow, babygirl.” he purred. “be good, won’t you?”

your tears were dribbling uncontrollably as you fully swallowed his seed. god, your throat felt like it was on fire. each muscle in your jaw was burning up ardently. your knees were so numb you didn’t even think you could stand. there wasn’t enough time for wonwoo to return the favour. you were sure he could smell the thick scent of your arousal, especially as it ruined your underwear and shone on your inner thighs.

but you didn’t care. having him use you for the night was enough.

“are you alright?” wonwoo asked, getting himself back in his pants.

you didn’t respond, just gripped onto his knee tightly and attempted to stand. your opyum heels were still on, and you nearly broke an ankle as the blood rushed into your legs. wonwoo stood also. he stabilized you by holding your shoulders, at least for a good minute. pulling back your sleeve, you rid the tears that stained your face with a quick wipe from your hand. you were going to have to be very speedy getting back to the house, unless you wanted your father to send the swat team after you.

“god,” you sighed with a raspy, dying voice, “i hate my life.”

wonwoo scoffed at you lightly.

“what lie did you tell them this time?”

you muttered, “i was going to the jewellers.”

“that’s a long time to be at the jewellers.”

“i know that,” you snapped quickly in response.

more tears pushed at your ducts. you couldn’t believe how unhappy you were, even despite having every material thing you could ever want. sometimes that particular thought would just pummel you out of nowhere and you’d fight back the urge to cry.

wonwoo’s hand cupped the side of your face. his thumb stroked gently beneath your eye and he leaned in to kiss your mouth softly. his tongue tasted like a cherry lollipop. he really was trying to quit smoking.

“what are you gonna do, babygirl?” wonwoo hummed, pressing his forehead against yours as he continued to brush your cheek.

you held his waist. “i dunno,” you croaked, “my parents don’t like you. my dad doesn’t want me near you.”

“then don’t tell him i fucked your face, princess. it’s easy.”

there was a puff of meek laughter in your chest. for a few more minutes, you let wonwoo hold you. it was the most comfortable and happy you’d felt all day. you were running short on time. the first thing you’d do when you get home would be to run a hot shower and most likely finger yourself while you thought about wonwoo’s cock lodged deep down your throat. maybe one day you’d really snap and stuff all your belongings in a suitcase and come live with him in the shitty scope of town.

but for now, that seemed unattainable.

you’d have to come up with another lie as to why you just spent two hours at the jewellers.

“the earrings were the most magnificent things i’d ever seen! i’m going to wear them for my modelling gig next month, in paris of course. i’ll even text you guys some photos of them when i get home. they have these little opal centres that absolutely sparkle.”

just one more word. if you had to listen to aria babble one more word about her modelling gig or her stupid opal earrings or her all-expense paid trip to paris then you might have to throw your glass of chardonnay in her face. those were the only three things she talked about. then the month would change and she’d have another three things to drive into the mud, yet everyone at the table ate up her words like they were a slice of chocolate cake. you were starting to develop a headache.

“that’s wonderful, aria!” ester was gleaming as she readjusted the strap on her pearl-white dress. you could just tell she was dying to incorporate tales of her own wealth into the conversation. “i can’t wait to see your modelling pictures. that reminds me, i still have some old videos from when i went parasailing in bali. do you guys wanna see them?”

everyone started crowding around ester’s side of the table, attempting to view the footage she was pulling up on her phone screen. however, you didn’t budge, and continued to stare with a dull look in your eyes out the bar’s front window. through the glass, you could see wonwoo standing at the street lamp with his friends, swirling around another lollipop from cheek to cheek. you wondered if it was cherry. his last flavour had been green apple. you tasted it on his tongue when he’d fucked you in the backseat of his car.

but that was a week ago.

“don’t you want to see?” ester was smiling at you.

winding your fingers around your thin wine glass, you shrugged. “i’ll pass.”

“suit yourself.” ester replied, and started to play her first video.

you hated everything about this situation.

wonwoo was right. you really didn’t have any friends, and that became especially clear as you observed everyone at the opposite end of the table, adoring ester’s cute, ditsy little parasailing videos that her boyfriend took. you wished you liked the same things these girls did. your life would be one-hundred times more enjoyable if you just embraced your sumptuous blessings and shed a couple brain cells to be on the same level as them.

then again, you didn’t want to be exactly like them.

they left you to get home by yourself just because you drank too much. at a bar.

pressing the wine glass against your lips, you tilted your head back and easily gulped down the remaining chardonnay. it was a pleasant coolness that streamed down your throat, and you slammed the glass onto the table once it was emptied; even slouched back in your seat and didn’t bother patting your lipstick dry with a tissue. aria raised an eyebrow at you. she looked like she was itching to say something. you were in the mood for a challenge. if she was going to make a passive aggressive comment, it better be soon.

“i hope you have a designated driver.” she finally decided to chuckle.

you rolled your eyes. “shut up, aria.”

ester and her friends immediately looked up from the phone.

“excuse me?” aria replied while tucking a strand of her behind her ear. she seemed a bit baffled by your sudden disdain. “i don’t believe i’ve ever heard you speak like that.”

you were beyond a point of caring. “what are you gonna do then? tattletale on me? you’re such a fake.”

“that’s way out of line.” ester intervened, staring you down intensely. “why are you acting like this?”

“whatever.” you stood up from the chair and reached for your coin purse, revealing a wadded clump of cash that you slapped on the lacquered table. admittedly, the alcohol concocted with your frustration (not to mention being around wonwoo’s snide personality) had quite the effect on your behaviour. if you never had to see these girls again, it would be too soon. you couldn’t believe that you’d even went through the effort of buying aria a christmas present. the only thing she gifted you was a card with her signature on it.

like that was fucking useful.

“i think you need to leave.” ester announced like you weren’t already gathering your things.

“exactly.” you falsely commended her.

she probably had a pea-sized diamond in her skull instead of an actual brain. “i’m leaving now before you guys get the chance to ditch me. don’t worry about it though. i can actually walk myself out this time.”

if only you had a camera ready to capture their gobsmacked expressions. it would have been embarrassingly laughable. you flicked past them toward the door and pushed into the nighttime air, which was crisp and wonderfully cold to your warmed flesh. you felt powerful for summoning the courage to break ties with them, and yet, at the same time, you found that you were on the verge of tears. they deserved to have their toxic behaviour thrown back in their face. it was just that you felt a bit broken.

now you truthfully were alone. well – apart from wonwoo.

you approached him as he stood at the corner, still suckling on his lollipop. him and his friends were in the midst of a humorous conversation when you tapped on wonwoo’s hard shoulder. you always wondered what they spoke about. it always seemed more interesting than the lifeless talk you once endured inside the bar. he didn’t seem all that surprised to see you, though he did look with concern at the watery film across your eyes. you could smell the sweetness of his lollipop; it had to be strawberry.

“are you okay?” wonwoo asked, his breath forming wispy cotton against the dark sky.

you ignored his question. “i want to go back to your place.” you told him.

“now?” he raised his eyebrow.

“yes. now would be good. i’ve just been thinking, and i really want you to eat me out.”

you didn’t care if his friends overheard. apparently, wonwoo didn’t care either. he smirked at you and licked his lips, though there remained a bit of uncertainty in his eyes. you had yet to answer his initial question. from inside the bar, you knew those girls were staring at you, watching you talk to wonwoo.

they were definitely going to tattle to your parents.

your fingers clawed mercilessly over the bed, practically uprooting the linens tucked beneath the mattress as wonwoo kept your thighs tightly locked apart. everything felt so dense, so hot, like the universe was pushing down on your chest and igniting flame inside of your body. you lifted your head off his pillow, only capturing a mere glimpse of his pink tongue gliding past your slit, the muscle coated purely in your arousal. he started to fuck you with his tongue, digging it as deep as he could within your heat.

unabashedly, you moaned, extremely loud and most likely disturbing everyone in his apartment complex. everything about the technicality and purpose of his movements was pushing you toward a climax that would be unlike any other. he was so impatient to get a taste of you that he hadn’t even taken your skirt off, instead bunching the pleated material up against your stomach while your underwear were thrown to the floor. suddenly, you were gasping, and your head collapsed back to the pillow.

wonwoo had managed to wriggle his hand between your thighs. as he ran his tongue in hot, fervent licks against your needy clit, he pushed two fingers inside of you, scissoring you open.

“ffuh-fuck, wonwoo!” you wailed, your hand grasping at his soft hair to keep his tongue against you. “it fe-feels s-so … s-so fucking go-good!”

he’d been taking his sweet time in building up your climax. you allowed him to have his way with you, since he knew how to work your body as though he were magic. his fingers started to curl. it didn’t take him long before they were hitching up into that one golden spot, the one that caused the entire room to whirl. you could tell that he was smiling. he began to messily circle his tongue around your clit. the sensation of the warm, wet muscle pleasuring your most sensitive region was leaving you breathless.

“c’mon, babygirl,” wonwoo mumbled against your core, his fingers thrusting up heavily and abusing that spot inside of you, “you gonna let go and let me taste your cum? you’re fucking dripping all over the bed.”

there was a glimmer of drool leaking from the edge of your mouth. you were so blissed out and crammed with euphoria that you could hardly articulate a response. wonwoo wasn’t giving you much of a chance either. he started a brisk pace rubbing his tongue against your clit, and then he closed his plump lips around you to better flick it with the pink muscle. his bicep was probably burning as he slammed his fingers deep into your heat, making you squelch. your slick had thoroughly soaked the sheets beneath you.

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” you panted, arching your chest into the air, “i-it’s s-so much, w-wonwoo—m’gonna—nngh—m’gonna cc-cum!”

wonwoo kept your hips pressed firmly to the mattress with one arm as your pleasure exploded. the tears easily streamed down your flustered, glossy face as this extreme contraction passed through you. it was incredibly wet, too wet, and you knew exactly what had happened as wonwoo pulled out his glistening fingers and completely buried his face between your thighs. god, it was fucking embarrassing. you would have curled away from him if wonwoo wasn’t so persistent. he kept licking at you, hard and fast.

at that point, your tears were no longer tiny beads. the sensitivity had left your nerves completely raw, and you sobbed helplessly as wonwoo continued to eat you out. his tongue felt like it was lapping everywhere, impatient and hungry. you tried to pull him away by dishevelled hair, but he swatted your hand back and bit down softly on your swollen clit. before you even knew what was happening, wonwoo had somehow forced your body into another orgasm. his tongue was inside of you as the second wave hit.

“pl-please,” you whimpered in utter fragility, the mixture of pleasure and pain becoming too overwhelming as wonwoo attempted to lick you clean, “pl-please, wonwoo… i-it huh-hurts..”

he chuckled against your sore flesh warmly. “are you sure you’re done, baby? bet i could make you squirt again if i was real gentle.”

“i-i don’t want to talk about it…” you said shakily. honestly, you didn’t even know your body was capable of feeling that much stimulation and pleasure. it was cosmic.

“awe, don’t be embarrassed,” wonwoo hummed, “you have no idea how fucking hot that was.”

“i don’t want to know.” you sighed.

wonwoo scoffed innocuously. he pecked the inside of your thigh, then each hip bone, before he crawled overtop of you and let you taste your own sweetness off his tongue. you spent a few minutes idly making out, smearing saliva over each other’s flushed lips, running your hands up and down his broad, hard chest, leaving scarlet rivulets along his biceps. wonwoo began teasing his fingers against your slit again, and you gasped into the kiss as his finger sunk into you, slowly, deeply.

“what’s wrong?” wonwoo asked while pumping the digit at a gentle pace.

“what do you mean?” you squeaked, staring into his brown eyes tinged with his earlier concern.

“you know what i mean,” wonwoo hummed, “why were you about to cry outside the bar? what happened?”

“are you sure we should discuss this while you’re fingering me?”

“baby, just tell me.” wonwoo urged with a comforting tone in his voice. he started to massage his thumb over your clit, and your entire body jolted.

you sniffled. “i-i just, i— i kind of cut ties with my friends. a-and i’m glad i did it but now i’m just gonna be even more a-alone.”

“of course not,” wonwoo shook his head, “you have me.”

“are you sure?”

slight amusement and shock coloured wonwoo’s face. he pulled his hand away from your core and looked like he wanted to laugh. you couldn’t blame him, but you also couldn’t help your insecurity.

“i’m sure, baby.” he told you firmly. “i’ll always be here for you. i promise.”

you smiled up at him, feeling your heart start to soften.

“can we take a shower?” you then proposed. “i want to get these tears off my face before they dry.”

while wonwoo was busy getting the water running inside the bathroom, you noticed your phone start to glow and vibrate on his nightstand. it was your mother’s number on the screen. taking a long, slow breath, you flipped your phone upside down and ignored the call. it was a risky move, but it felt almost healing in a sense to turn away from the stress in your life. instead, you focused on what mattered in the moment.

wonwoo joined you in the shower, the water gliding in silk-like pathways around his lean muscle and smooth skin. he pushed back his wet hair, sparkling droplets sticking heavy to his eyelashes. he pressed you against the tiles, and their icy touch sent a shiver up your spine. in the midst of the steam and heat, he was kissing you again, suckling softly on your tongue and squeezing your breasts in his hands. his aching length, hard and heavy, brushed between your thighs, to which your palm started to glide up his shaft.

he smiled against your mouth, “you want my cock inside you, babygirl?”

the fire slowly rebuilt itself from the embers in your stomach.

“yes please.” you lilted innocently.

wonwoo decided to press your front against the glass wall instead of the tile. his lips were leaving drifting pecks up your shoulder blade, and he didn’t seem to be in a hurry. a rough, deep groan filled your ear as wonwoo rubbed his cock between your folds, allowing your arousal to coat him generously. however, you were yearning to feel how he filled you entirely, until you could feel him nestled right to the brink. wriggling your hips against him, it was your non-verbal cue for him to start sliding in.

he cupped your breasts in his hands, whispering into your ear, “how should i fuck you, baby? do you want it hard?”

as impatient as you were, there was something about the atmosphere that told you to prolong your intimacy. “n-no,” you mumbled as the fog swathed around you, “s-slow, i want to feel you.”

your moan was almost louder than the water spraying against the tiles when wonwoo started to push inside of you. once he was buried as far as could fit, he started to grind into you, extending his pace so that you could truly feel his every inch and vein. his fingers were massaging your chest, the round flesh almost like velvet to his touch. everything about your body was endearingly soft and warm. he loved it.

“does it feel good, babygirl?” wonwoo purred. he was situated at such a pleasurable depth inside you that you felt like complete gelatine. he thrust into you a little harder, but it was enough to make you cry.

“s-so good,” you stuttered, licking the water off your lips. “do i feel good t-too?”

wonwoo smirked. he moved his hips at a shallow pace. “mmhm. you’re so tight and warm around me, baby. feels so perfect. how pretty do you think your pussy would look with my cum dripping out of it? should we try it?”

you pushed yourself back against his pelvis, “fill me up, wonwoo, please.”

“of course,” he grinned, and slowly dipped a hand down your stomach until you felt him begin to rub soft circles into your clit.

“let’s see how much you can take, babygirl.”

you were exhausted. you were sore. but you felt safe. you made an audacious decision and decided to spend the night at wonwoo’s rather than going home, where you knew you’d be greeted by an equally displeased mother and father that aria had snitched to. it was the first time you’d gone to bed without wearing pyjamas that weren’t expensive, pink satin. you were clad in nothing but one of wonwoo’s old t-shirts. he tried to give you one that didn’t still carry the scent of stale cigarette smoke.

his arm was around your waist, your spine resting comfortably against his chest while you lay together beneath the bedsheets. the sheet that was stained in your arousal had been tossed in the laundry hamper. you knew wonwoo would never stop teasing you about it. anyways, life felt different at his apartment; in fact, it felt better, especially when wonwoo kissed your temple before shutting off the light. your wealth had never been a defining factor in your personality, but it did make you consistently miserable.

that night, it was just you and a boy, a boy who you were quite positively in love with. maybe he loved you too. you weren’t completely certain yet, and you didn’t want to rush anything; however, you felt fairly confident his heart was likewise when he buried his face into your neck and wished you goodnight in his low, sleepy voice.

whatever your parents had to say, you’d find out tomorrow morning.

right now, you weren’t the rich girl, but a happy girl, and that mattered more to you than anything else.

#wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #jeon wonwoo #svt smut #svt fanfic #seventeen imagines

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nayanhello · 3 years

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Delusion à la mode

Friday 12th November-

Nayan has a show coming up! I’m so happy for my friend- it’s important to uplift one another in the arts. The art community is so sweet like that. Always kind, understanding and patient. I wonder what he will do for his show? It’s only 3 weeks away!

Saturday 13th November-

Nayan asks me if I want to go to Geoff's Emporium with him. When do I not wanna go to Geoff’s? We walk there in the rain and my shoes get wet on the inside and Nayan laughs at me. I am (as usual) upset about something going on in my life. Nayan puts a bird cage on my head and says “Work.” Fun!

Sunday 14th November-

I didn’t see Nayan today. He FaceTimes just to tell me he has entered his ‘discovery phase’. I don’t know what this means. The camera shows blurred video of burning candles and shiny gems and pretty colours. I don’t know- I was doing my makeup. Go Nayan!

Monday 15th November-

I’ve had to start wearing my hair UP because my fringe is too long and I can’t SEE. I climb through Nayan’s window at 5pm. He is only in his underwear. I came at the right time! He has set up a miniature desk directly in the middle of his huge lounge and he sits on a tiny fluffy stool. He is hunched over the desk on his MacBook. Nayan says he is doing important emails. I ask if he wants to see some hot photos of me with my hair pushed back.

Tuesday 16th November-

Desire and loathing. Nayan meets me at Amano bright and early at 11am. We discuss the push and pull of sexual attraction and simultaneous hate for those who we are attracted to. I ask him what he’s thinking for his show. He said some stuff about amber colours, sunsets and sex. I don’t really know about art! I show him a photo of my new Louis Viutton shoes. He says, “Very good Beth.”

Wednesday 17th November-

Sometimes this house feels like a prison! I come here to chill and I never leave. Nayan makes me read John Galliano's Wikipedia outline. There’s a noticeable highlight at his Anti-Semitic Outbursts and Subsequent Legal Action. Is this what Gay Auckland Art Socialites read about? I’ll get into it I guess. I tell Nayan I like those newspaper dresses Galliano makes, and he does that thing where he shakes his head quickly and waves his long fingers around in an upset, gay kind of way.

Thursday 18th November-

I bought a book that my therapist recommended, called ‘A General Theory of Love’. I sit in the park to ‘read’ it and FaceTime Nayan. He says I ‘need it’ whatever that means! He shows me a large cut in his leg and blood seeping out. I ask how he managed that and he shakes his head and says something about how beautiful the sound of glass breaking is. He’s picking the pieces up with his phone in his mouth and laughing scarily. He says he can’t even feel any pain in the cut. I tell him he should probably read my book after I finish it.

Friday 19th November-

On this day we just repeat “We Hear For You” in different iterations to each other for a while. It turns out Nayan cut his hand too, while cleaning up the glass yesterday. He tells me it is ok, because he is simply trying to make broken things as beautiful as he can. I tell him he is beautiful and he looks at me funny!

Saturday 20th November-

It is SO HOT! We are sauntering along to get coffee and Nayan, as usual, is walking too fast. I remind him not everyone is all limb. He doesn’t care- he’s just discovered the French language! He asks me if I know what ‘à la mode’ means and I say yes, ‘served with ice cream.’ He tells me it means to be fashionable; on trend. I tell him he is “Delusional à la mode!” and he says right now everything is quite “Fever Dream à la mode.”

Sunday 21st November-

I have never heard so much Lana Del Rey in my fucking life. If I try to play Summer Walker, Nayan entertains it from his pouring corner for about 40 seconds before he shuffles over to the laptop muttering something about melodic sounds soothing his irritability, and changes the song to ‘Dealer’. I ask him if we can play ‘Sweet Carolina’ because I like the bit when she says “Fuck you, Kevin.” Nayan turns his back to me and floods another mould with sticky resin. He tells me it’ll play when it plays. Rude!

Monday 22nd November-

This house is beginning to feel like an antique store; if you make one wrong move you’ll knock a little golden resin glass over and the Nayan’s whole world will begin to unravel. It is like we are living in his glossy, glistening end times. À la folie, if you will! I vent my current frustrations to Nayan. He reminds me that one must always believe their own version of the truth. But his hair is all long and I think he looks a little crazy. Hair is super important.

Tuesday 23rd November-

I twist my neck to the giant mirror and admire my new tattoo. Nayan and Taylor are talking about their show next year in Wellington. I wonder how they keep coming up with ideas. Sometimes I forget I don’t live in this fucking house. Nayan picks up all his shiny little creations to show Taylor and they look so small in his huge man hands. I think artists are pretty neurotic.

Wednesday 24th November-

I ask Nayan how his cuts are doing and he says it’s a good thing he got his tetanus shots only a few years ago. This concerns me, as I’m not sure when the last time I had a tetanus shot was. I say, “Very impressive to have drawn blood and managed to not get any in the resin.” He nods and shows me a rusty blade he’s been working with. I tell him this reminds me that I need to buy a new razor. My legs are covered in bumps.

Thursday 25th November-

Today was wild. As I walked in the door, Nayan threw a plate at my head! Luckily, it smashed on the wall next to me and didn’t damage my perfect face. Just kidding. It was me who threw the plate. It was Nayan’s idea though. He is always looking out for me! He maintains strong eye contact and says, “Beth, a bubble caught in motion is still a bubble all the same.” I excuse myself by saying something about work emails.

Friday 26th November-

Nayan and I meet outside a Church. He tells me he’s started a 30 day Ab Challenge and that he’s gonna be ripped by New Years. I say, “For who?” He says for himself. I say, “It's a sexy single summer in Auckland this year!”. He nods and sips his iced coffee, in a gay kind of way. I tell him I’ve been taking lots of nudes lately and he says he knows because I always post them to my ‘close friends’. I say he should take some and he says, “Just you wait!”. Sounds like a fucking threat.

Saturday 27th of November-

Hair salons are back open and I, being powerful, get Nayan an appointment ASAP! He simply must look fresh for his show. I tell him his new fade is giving me 2015 but he doesn’t hear me, he knows only the mirror in front of him. He sees only his pouting face and sharp fringe. He turns to me and says, “This town is a game of chess, but no ones taking this Queen down.” I tell him he’s not allowed any of the champagne one of my clients brought me.

Sunday 28th November-

I read Nayan something I wrote that references riddles. He says, “I am an enigma, wrapped in a riddle.” I say, “Are you ok?” The sun is bright and orange in his lounge and he looks tired. He waves his hands around at all that he has created and yells that I shouldn’t worry about him. I tell him I have these really good under-eye masks that have caffeine in them that are wonderful for eye bags and I’d be happy to share. He tells me to, “Get absolutely fucked.” I wish!

Monday 29th November-

I don’t have much memory of this due to the Lychee Martinis, but a video immortalises an argument between us in which I try to take a tea towel Nayan is hitting me with out of his hands, and he swings me into the fridge with little to no effort at all. I scream something about Nayan being a crazy person. He says, “Throw me to the wolves, and I shall return leading the pack.” Does this guy only speak in Real Housewives taglines?

Tuesday 30th November-

Nayan calls me at 7am and I decide to pick up just to tell him to FUCK OFF! He tells me he’s been waking up extra early so that he ‘has more time in the day to be a hater’. I tell him he has a God complex and he says, “Look in the mirror, honey!”. I hang up and go back to sleep. FUCK THIS GUY!

Wednesday 1st December-

Nayan says he is going to arrive at his show in such an impactful way it will be almost as demented as Lana Del Rey at the 2018 Met Gala. I say he would never wear anything non-designer to an event like that. He asks me if I’ve checked my TikTok inbox lately and I say no. I open the app when I get home and find 27 unread messages from Nayan timestamped at 3:42am the night before.

Thursday 2nd December-

Today I saw Nayan and he asked me if I knew what an ‘aperitif’ was. I wonder if this asshole takes me for an actual idiot. I tell him that in Italy they have a thing called ‘Aperitivo’ which means if you go to a bar in the late afternoon they’ll give you free snacks like cheese and bread and cured meat! He seems excited by this concept. I ask if he’ll have snacks at his show tomorrow. He says no. Sad!

Friday 3rd December-

I can’t believe Nayan would do this at his own show. He maintains that he is living ‘two feet in his truth’, but I don’t understand how stripping into his underwear and carrying a magnum of champagne around while hysterically crying is a ‘serve’. It is particularly disturbing when he starts scream-singing ‘Piece of Me’ (à la Britney) in the doorway. There are so many people trying to leave. I don't know; at least he got laid. Art is so cool- à- la- mode.

Beth Clemens ❣

#2021

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andrewmoocow · 2 years

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The Black Pearl Brigade chapter 2: A Fool and their Money (originally posted on March 21, 2022)

AN: Welcome back to the Black Pearl Brigade! For this chapter and the next few onwards, we'll be getting some flashbacks detailing the backstories of our villains and how they fell in with Cinnabar and Black Rutile. I originally added one for Pyrite since I felt the chapter would've been too short otherwise, but then it started to become a recurring thing. But anyways, onto the proper introduction of our first member of Cinnabar's crew!

Synopsis: While docking at a former colony for supplies, Braids has a run-in with ace con-Gem Pyrite.

Cast:

Deedee Magno-Hall as The Black Pearl Brigade

Allison Janney as Pyrite

Avi Roque as Cinnabar

Noël Wells as Black Rutile

Kathleen Barr as Púrén

Michaela Dietz as Siberian Amethyst

Susan Egan as Rose Quartz

Piotr Michael as Shopkeeper

Kimberly Brooks as Red Jasper, Dalmatian Jasper

Zehra Fazal as Zoisite

"Now entering planet Bopbe." Púrén declared as the Servant landed in a cyberpunk seaside town, and the Pearls disembarked. "Hopefully, this supply run goes well. The ship needs repairs after our last mission to Acidia."

"Still trying to get all that drool from the Spittors out of the engines." IQ retched in disgust. "I am so glad we're basically invincible. Otherwise, I'd have lost my hands."

"I'm hoping that it won't spread to the rest of the ship." Cap proclaimed. "Okay, girls, I'm giving each of you a job to do." She then pointed to each of her crewmates. "Pony, I'm tasking you with cleanup duty. Braids, you shall find some extra parts to replace the ones destroyed by the Spittors. IQ, you handle recalibrating the Servant's navigational systems, and Tails, you fix the electricity. I'll go and see if we can get some upgrades to make the ship less disaster-prone."

"I shall do my part in assembling parts." Braids proudly saluted her captain and marched away. "And I shall do it gloriously!"

"Don't you think Braids there takes things a little too seriously?" Pony asked the other Pearls. "I mean, I know she loves a good challenge, but I feel it could cloud her judgment of things."

"What could you possibly mean?" Tails wondered.

"I think Pony here is saying that our personality quirks could be used against us." IQ proclaimed. "Though how can certainly vary."

As Braids dutifully marched through Bopbe's marketplaces in search of parts to put in the shopping cart she took, a few locals and visitors to the planet looked a little wary at the Pearl. Some even looked like they wanted to fight her. "What's the matter, everyone?" Braids asked all that surrounded her. "You wish to challenge me?!"

The shoppers quickly turned around nervously, not wishing to combat a Gem that already looked so intense. Braids just scoffed and continued on her way. "Infidels."

However, one shopper wasn't as afraid of Braids as the rest of them. One of Cinnabar's lieutenants, Pyrite, grinned while watching the Pearl pass by before pulling out a communicator disguised as a makeup kit. "Pyrite to base, come in base." Pyrite declared. "I have located one of the Pearls on Bopbe. Perhaps this can be my chance to put my skills to the test."

"Excellent work, Pyrite." Cinnabar grinned. "Just pick whatever you feel you can hawk to her. But remember, do not let this go awry."

"Understood." Pyrite nodded before putting the device away and turning to one of the shopkeepers. "Excuse me, kind sir, but may I purchase that makua motor over there?" she asked, pointing to a strange helix-like device that caught her eye. "I'd also like to know how well it works."

"That thing?" the fish-man store owner said as he picked up the makua motor. "I picked it up from the trash out back a few years ago. It still kind of works, but it is honestly just a piece of garbage. You can take it if you want."

"Oh, how lovely!" Pyrite exclaimed. "How much, darling?" she asked, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously, making the merchant blush so red, a Ruby would look pale by comparison.

"Hey, it's on the house, sweetums." The dealer stuttered nervously.

"You are so kind." Pyrite cooed before kissing the shopowner on the cheek and walking out of his establishment. "Ta-ta!"

"What a woman. For a Gem." The entrepreneur giggled dorkishly and twiddled his fingers together.

"Excellent, I have acquired the necessary parts for the Servant!" Braids declared out loud as she carried a box of ship parts, even though there weren't that many people around to hear her. "Well, time to return to the ship then."

"Now, hold on a second there, Pearlie." Pyrite declared as she strutted out of a nearby alleyway. "I see you've been gathering parts for a ship. Allow me to lend you my assistance."

"And you are?" Braids asked. "I am known as Braids of the Black Pearl Brigade."

"Please, call me Pyrite, merchant extraordinaire." Pyrite introduced herself and shook the Pearl's hand. "Let me ask, do you think something is missing from your little haul here?"

"No, I believe I have everything I need." Braids looked down at her haul in confusion. "Why, do you want to give me something?"

"That is just the question I needed!" Pyrite squealed delightfully before presenting the makua motor she got. "Allow me to give you this makua motor. It shall allow your vessel to reach speeds previously believed impossible! I hear it can even go faster than the speed of light, and possibly beyond that!"

"Are you sure you wish for me to have that?" Braids asked nervously, observing the poor condition of the motor. "The device looks like it has seen better days."

"Oh, come on, would I lie?" Pyrite grinned cutely. That expression was all the evidence Braids needed to put her trust in this random stranger.

"Well, when you put it like that, I shall put my faith in you." Braids smiled and received the makua motor. "Thank you very much, kind stranger!"

"It was my pleasure." Pyrite replied, and the two walked away. However, Braids didn't catch that Pyrite's pleasant smile turned into a wicked grin as she reveled in her successful manipulation. "A sucker is born every minute, as they always say." She declared quietly before producing her makeup kit from her gem and using it to call Cinnabar. "Cinnabar, I have the grandest of news. I found one of the Pearls and gave her a faulty makua motor I haggled off one of the local stores. Wait till we see the looks on their faces!"

"Excellent work, Pyrite." Cinnabar grinned proudly. "I knew that your expertise in manipulation would work in this situation. Return to base at once."

"Affirmative." Pyrite nodded and turned off her device.

Later that day at the Servant, the Pearls worked hard on repairing their ship. Cap supervised Pony mopping up the floors to clear any residual acid, IQ was recalibrating Púrén's GPS systems, and Tails was reconnecting wires to fix the ship's power. Just then, Braids finally returned with the parts she acquired. "Friends, I come bearing machinery!"

"Excellent work, Braids." Cap congratulated her strongwoman before looking through her findings. "Let's see; we got a chameleon circuit, a multimodal reflection sorter, a gyro-stabilizer, an arc reactor, a daxial array, a crystallic fusion cell, ooh, do I spy some pizzazium infininite?"

"I also allowed a kind stranger to grant me this makua motor." Braids said as she presented the part Pyrite had given her. "It looks a little beat up, but I believe it still works."

"Are you sure?" IQ declared, suddenly appearing in-between Cap and Braids to inspect the motor. "This device seems to be in very poor condition. I do not think it's fit to operate."

"Don't fret IQ, the merchant who gave me this assured me that it works fine." Braids said with a proud grin before handing the makua motor over to IQ. "Try fitting it into the ship. I'm sure she is right."

"Well, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, Braids." IQ shrugged and took the motor from Braids to fit it into the Servant's inner workings. To her surprise, it seemed like a perfect fit. "Well, I'll be damned."

"See, it shall work perfectly!" Braids declared. "Now come, we must make haste to our next mission!"

"One question before we go." Cap interjected. "Are you sure you met a mostly legitimate businessperson and not some scam artist looking to mess with us?"

"I am pretty sure the merchant I encountered was perfectly safe." Braids answered. "She gave me the most adorable smile during our conversation, one like this!" She tried to imitate the adorable grin Pyrite gave her, but it looked a little creepy to the other Pearls. "Is something the matter? Is the assuring smile I'm wearing not winning you over like what it did for me?"

"No, it's just-"Cap said, but she couldn't find the right words to say. Stuttering for a bit, she simply groaned and turned away. "Let's just go."

The Servant finally launched and left Bopbe after a few rough starts, and it was mostly smooth sailing for the Pearls from there. However, none of them still realized that Braids had been conned by Pyrite and given a broken makua motor. However, that would soon change.

"Púrén, what's our next target?" Cap asked the ship's AI while reclining in her captain's seat.

"There have been reports of some Monazites trying to dig all the way to the core of Ferrum-5, though why they're doing so and whether they're Black Rutile loyalists or not are currently unknown." Púrén answered, displaying a video of some stocky, brown-colored Gems on the viewscreen. They were digging a massive hole in the ground with their hands turned into various digging tools. "Shall we set a course?"

"Make it so." Cap commanded. "IQ, initiate warp speed."

"As you wish, my captain." IQ saluted and pressed some buttons on the central console to increase the ship's current speed. Although the process was successful and the ship went to hyperspeed, the vessel also started flashing red while Púrén began chanting in alarm, "WARNING, SHIP IS IMPROPERLY MAINTAINED! IMPROPERLY MAINTAINED! IMPROPERLY MAINTAINED!"

"What?! But we did everything right!" Cap yelled. "How could this have happened?!"

"Maybe I forgot a part." Braids suggested, making the other Pearls turn to her in annoyance. "Why is everyone looking at me?"

"Speaking of parts, where did you say you got that makua motor?" IQ asked Braids. "A merchant with a cute smile, I think?"

"Yes, she said her name was Pyrite!" Braids answered with utmost honesty.

"You mean you bought it from one of the shrewdest con artists in the galaxy?!" Tails yelled while grabbing Braids by her upper arms and shaking her about. "Who also happens to be one of Cinnabar's minions?!"

"Wait, Pyrite works for Cinnabar?!" Braids shouted in realization. "How did I not notice that?"

"I told you guys that her poor judge of character would be a problem!" Pony declared. "But we'll yell at you some more later! We need to get the ship under control!"

"Affirmative!" Cap exclaimed and tried to take back control of the Servant. "Púrén, find somewhere safe for us to land before the engines fail, and we're left drifting through space forever!"

"We are going to pass through an asteroid field." Púrén answered. "Would you like me to land you there?"

"Yes, very much!" Braids commanded. "This is not glorious at all!"

"YA THINK?!" the Pearls yelled at Braids while the Servant was forced into autopilot, and Púrén aimed it straight at the closest asteroid field. Braids hurriedly burst from the ship, relieved to be still alive. However, her teammates weren't as relieved about her mistake.

"Because of your foolishness and being so overly trusting, we almost died!" Cap yelled. "What do you have to say for yourself?!"

"I am terribly sorry for my insolence!" Braids boomed, bowing her head so low to the asteroid beneath them, she started headbutting the ground. "My lack of foresight has doomed us all today! If you feel it is right to leave me here, do it now!"

"Whoa now, chillax Braids!" Pony exclaimed, trying to calm Braids down. "We're mad at you, but not so mad that we'll abandon a team member! We're like a family, aren't we? And family leaves no one behind."

"I'm not sure if I'd go that far yet; it's only been a few weeks." Tails remarked stoically. "I say give it a while before we can call ourselves family."

"I understand your point, but please don't ruin the mood." Pony stated. "Is there any way we can, like, turn the tables on her?"

"I believe conning her back would be the most likely, and ironic, solution." IQ answered. "We simply have to bribe her with something we have."

"Like the makua motor?" Cap asked.

"How is she going to buy that?" Tails added. "She'll recognize how beat up it is right away!"

"Maybe we can make it work." Braids stated.

Meanwhile, on Revanche 666, Gems from around the facility had gathered to listen to Pyrite's story of how she conned Braids, and they were hinged on the con artist's every word. "So then she said, 'When you put it like that, I shall put my faith in you!'" Pyrite imitated Braids' deep voice. "How stupid can a Pearl possibly be?!"

The Gems laughed uproariously at Pyrite's story, all while Cinnabar had a cold stare on her face in contrast to the smiles on everyone else's. However, she did feel good enough to at least give Pyrite a smirk and put a hand on her shoulder. "Well done, Pyrite. I suppose by the time the Pearls get wise, they'll surely become victim to a meteor shower or something."

"You are most kind, Cinnabar." Pyrite smiled. "I haven't had this much attention since my days as an arms dealer!" She then began to reminisce on happier days long passed. "I remember it like it was yesterday."

During Era 1, Pyrite was an esteemed member of Homeworld's high society for her winning, charismatic personality and business acumen that made the weapons she sold sell like hotcakes. By the days of the Rebellion, Pyrite had essentially become a billionaire through offering weapons to both her fellow Homeworld Gems fighting on the frontlines, and even some desperate Crystal Gems. Such an act was inevitable in war. The Diamonds didn't see many issues with Pyrite interacting with the enemy, though.

"You're Pyrite, correct?" an Amethyst with deep purple skin and red & blue streaks in her hair asked the fool's gold as she entered Pyrite's high-class compound with the Crystal Gems' leader Rose Quartz by her side. "Rose Quartz and I really need your help. Our forces desperately need some new weapons, because the ones we've been using lately have been useless against an armada of Monazites!"

"Monazites, eh?" Pyrite wondered, scratching her chin in contemplation before she got an idea. "Well, have I got a tool for you!"

"What kind of tool are you suggesting?" Rose asked Pyrite while she searched through her inventory.

"Hang on, just give me a second! Can't rush genius!" Pyrite hurriedly answered when she discovered just the weapon the two rebels were looking for. "How about this? The Tumbler." She introduced the pair to what seemed to look like a cannon. "Suck up whatever suckers get in this bad boy's path and launch them like a cannonball into the next group that gets in your way!"

"So it's like a vacuum and a cannon?" Rose asked. "I admire the creativity, but I fear it's a little clunky looking."

"Push clunky as a new feature and put the word out!" Pyrite exclaimed. "I want this baby mass-produced like wildfire for the next hundred years!"

"I guess it's a deal then." Siberian Amethyst declared and shook Pyrite's hand. "By the way, are you sure the Diamonds are okay with you giving things to the rebels?"

"I don't think they care. I'm an opportunist. It's what I do!" Pyrite declared. "Now, both of you, shoo! I got more possible paying customers waiting; no need for you to hold up the line!"

For the remainder of Era 1 and all of Era 2, it was a charmed life for Pyrite. Though the Rebellion ended with the presumed end of the Crystal Gems and the Diamonds abandoning Earth, she continued giving away weapons to be used for colonizing. As her fortunes grew, so did Pyrite's control over Homeworld's weapons manufacturing. Unfortunately, that would be where her success story ends.

"Now, don't worry, Moss Agate, I'm very easy to rely on." Pyrite assured another customer over the phone. "I consider myself a Gem of the people who offers any help in any way I can. What happened to Yellow 4 after the black hole swallowed it up is tragic; my condolences dearie, but don't you worry. I'll have a new colony found in no time flat!" Pyrite heard a Gem enter her establishment with some of her products in hand. "I'll call you back later, Mossy. I got a customer waiting. Okay? Love you too."

Once Pyrite hung up on Moss Agate, she walked down her grand spiral staircase to meet her visitor. "Ah, Red Jasper! It's been too long, old friend!" she exclaimed and gave the Jasper some mock kisses. "What brings you back here?"

"I'm here for my Minerals back." Red Jasper declared and dropped some advanced Gem destabilizers on the ground. "Did you get the news?"

"What news?" Pyrite asked nervously, never having had her weapons returned in perfect condition before.

"The son of Pink Diamond has ordered that all non-summoned weapons be disposed of, as part of his new Era 3." Red Jasper stated, presenting Pyrite with a hologram of Steven Universe with the Great Diamond Authority. Infuriated with this slight against her primary source of profit, Pyrite slapped the hologram out of Red Jasper's hands and grabbed her by the shirt collar.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!" Pyrite screamed angrily, a far cry from the affability she showcased most of the time. "THIS ORGANIC BOY THINKS HE CAN BOSS US AROUND LIKE THIS?! I DEMAND TO SEE HIM AT ONCE AND GIVE HIM A PIECE OF MY MIND!"

"Hey, he makes the rules now. Not me." Red Jasper said before starting to walk away. "Expect some more customers to ask for their Minerals back too."

"No, this can't be possible!" Pyrite shrieked in terror. "I've given so much to all these Gems, and this is how they repay me?! I'll be dirt poor!"

And indeed, she was. More and more Gems came by to return the weapons they had purchased and take the Minerals Pyrite had received back. After a while, Pyrite was left a penniless, crying shell of her former self.

"Why? Why did things go so wrong?" Pyrite sobbed in front of her fireplace. "When did he decide to waltz in and basically take over?"

"Why indeed, Pyrite." Black Rutile reiterated for Pyrite while emerging from the shadows. "I see your life has been ruined by Steven Universe too, correct?"

"How did you know?" Pyrite nervously asked. "Wait, Black Rutile?! I haven't seen you in ages! What brings you here?"

"I am here because I am gathering Gems whose life's purposes were torn asunder by the fascist Crystal Gems." Black Rutile answered. "And it seems you're no different. Look at you, all curled up in a ball and sobbing harder than Blue Diamond. How utterly pathetic." She sneered. "But, maybe we can change that."

"Are you asking me to join you?" Pyrite wondered.

"Exactly. I think your manipulativeness could prove very useful to my cause." Black Rutile proclaimed. "After all, why do you suppose Gems of your type are also called fool's gold?" She then extended her hand, offering Pyrite to shake it. "Now then, do we have a deal?"

"You son of a bitch, I'm in!" Pyrite declared and took the Rutile's hand. "What's the job?"

"All shall be revealed in due time, Pyrite." Black Rutile replied, putting a hand on the arms dealer's shoulder and walking away with her. "But let's talk shop for a bit in the meantime."

"Ah, those were the days." Pyrite regaled nostalgically. "Joining Black Rutile just makes me long for them even more." Just then, a video screen began ringing with a message for Pyrite, making her tilt her head in confusion. "Hm, wonder who it could be?"

"I believe I shall leave you alone for a bit. I have other tasks to do." Cinnabar said before walking out of the room. "But if it's someone trying to prank call us, be sure to contact me."

"Will do." Pyrite saluted before taking the call. "Hello there, who is this?"

"It is I, Braids!" Braids bombastically introduced herself, to Pyrite's shock. "And I message you with an offer you cannot refuse!"

"Oh my, if it isn't my favorite little customer." Pyrite giggled. "Now, what kind of offer do you have for me?"

"I contact you with news that I have come into the possession of a makua motor of my own." Braids announced. "I simply must trade it with you to say thanks for the one you gave me."

"Oh, you are just a dear!" Pyrite tittered while blushing light brown. "How much are we asking for here, 200 Minerals? 400, 600?"

"Just simply come to my coordinates, and I shall give it to you free of charge!" Braids suggested.

"Oh, and it's free too?!" Pyrite cried. "You are just too kind!"

As Braids and Pyrite continued talking, Cinnabar watched the conversation suspiciously while hiding herself from the chattering duo. "I feel Pyrite will be given her just desserts soon." Cinnabar groaned to herself while turning to one of her Black Pearls. "Make sure to send a fleet with her when she makes that trade." The Pearl saluted and walked away just as Pyrite emerged from the room. "Oh, Pyrite, who was calling today?"

"It was that nice Pearl I met who offered to give me a makua motor." Pyrite answered. "I should get myself ready, though. Don't want to look like a mess."

As Pyrite happily walked away, Cinnabar pinched the bridge of her nose in disgust. Disgust at how another of her minions will soon meet her end.

Soon, Pyrite was on her way to make a deal with Braids with a small fleet behind her to keep her safe. The Pearl told her to meet on an asteroid shining like gold, which she spotted right away upon discovering a beacon that seemed to have her name written on it. As her ship touched down, Braids was waiting for her beside what Pyrite assumed to be her ship.

"Oh Braids, my dear, how are you?" Pyrite gracefully greeted while disembarking from her ship. "Now, where's that makua motor you offered me?"

"Oh, I shall find it soon." Braids stated. "But in the meantime, how have you been doing since Era 3 began?"

Cap and Pony snuck aboard Pyrite's ship as the two Gems struck up a conversation. "Thanks for the distraction, Braids." Cap gave her subordinate a thumbs up from afar. "Now then, while she's talking with Pyrite, we sneak aboard and grab a better makua motor for the Servant."

"Roger." Pony nodded before they opened one of the ship's doors and snuck inside. "IQ, have the security systems been turned off?" she asked IQ over her earpiece.

"Indeed, you should be good to go from here." IQ replied.

"Well, it's good to see that I'm such an inspiration to others." Pyrite smiled warmly. "Now tell me, where is that makua motor you offered me?"

"Why, it should be coming soon." Braids stated. "In fact, I should be getting it right now."

"Here is the makua motor you requested." Púrén announced as a robotic arm emerged from the ship to give Braids a strangely familiar-looking motor. "Have a nice day."

"Say, doesn't this look familiar?" Pyrite wondered as she gazed at the motor in Braids' hands. "Looks kind of like the one I gave you earlier!"

"No, I insist; it is completely normal and not suspicious!" Braids fibbed awkwardly. "Go on, take it."

"This is a set-up, isn't it?" Pyrite frowned. "As an ace sales-Gem, I know when I'm being set up." Just then, Pyrite spotted Cap and Pony racing away from her ship, which made her realize what had just happened. "This was all a con to steal something from me, wasn't it? Have to say, I'm impressed."

"She's found us out! Run for it!" Braids yelled as she raced back to the Servant.

"Oh no, you don't!" Pyrite exclaimed defiantly and tried to get to her ship to chase after them, but she realized something was wrong. "What, why isn't it taking off?!"

"It is simple, really. We have stolen your makua motor for our ship!" Braids triumphantly boasted on Pyrite's main screen. "What goes around comes around, as they say!"

"Oh, how clever." Pyrite nodded devilishly. "But you failed to account for the fleet I have accompanying me!"

"She's got a point; we're surrounded!" IQ exclaimed as the Servant's navigational systems detected a small fleet of ships cornering them. "Activate weapons and defense systems!"

"No need, IQ, allow me!" Braids stated and pressed multiple buttons to put up the ship's shields and start firing upon the fleet as the Servant escaped. "Glorious!"

"Good initiative there, Braids." Cap complimented her crewmate. "You really learned something today, hm?"

"Yes, always look before you leap and never judge a book by its cover." Braids stated. "Or something like that. Aren't they basically the same thing?"

"Last I remember, no they aren't." Tails proclaimed. "Now, let's jet out of here."

"Commencing proper warp speed." Púrén announced, making the ship enter warp speed and leave Pyrite and her forces in the dust.

"No, no! You don't just get to run away!" Pyrite yelled angrily while her ship was stranded on the same asteroid she left the Pearls trapped on. Groaning in defeat, she reclined in her seat and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Please, meteor shower, take me now. Give me the sweet release of death. I'm begging you."

Luckily, hope had arrived for Pyrite in the form of a ship scooping up hers and bringing her aboard, where Cinnabar and one of her cohorts were awaiting her. "I knew this would go wrong, but no one listened." Cinnabar scowled with her back turned to the entrepreneur. "Pyrite, do you want to know why Gems of your type are called fool's gold?"

"Because we're so good at manipulation?" Pyrite sheepishly answered, dreading Cinnabar's reply.

"No, because you're just as easy to fool as your victims." Cinnabar declared. "We need to fix that, but in the meantime, I'm putting you away until I feel like I need you again."

"What?! No!" Pyrite screamed in terror. "You can't do this to me! This is how I'm treated after conning her the first time?!"

"Sorry, like Cinnabar said, you were just as easily fooled." Dalmatian Jasper added while turning around in the captain's chair. "And now I'm gonna be replacing you. These Pearls should be fun to fight." Pushing some buttons, DJ brought up Zoisite on the viewscreen. "Hey Zoisite, we got a new job."

"Sweet." Zoisite grinned sadistically.

So ends this episode of Black Pearl Brigade. When next we meet, the Black Pearls are pitted against basically Lockdown from Transformers and Molotov Cocktease from The Venture Bros, and Tails gets to step up to the plate this time. Just how fearsome are the new foes coming for them? We'll see!

#steven universe #fanfiction #steven universe alternate future #the black pearl brigade #cap peal #pony pearl #braids pearl #iq pearl #tails pearl #pyrite #cinnabar #púrén

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haloburns · 2 years

Note

“You make me a better person.” dealer's choice

sorry this took me so long!! apparently, my writer's block was specifically about danny and mateo, which is annoying. annoying and infuriating. ANYWAY, i finished it! all 1.4k! also, this is post-when the nightmare fades, which i haven't fully posted yet 😅 but i couldn't help myself. so here ya go!

you're the best thing to happen to me

For some reason, all of their friends were packed into Danny and Mateo’s room, including Luke. They were scattered across the floor, cups and bottles of various liquor scattered among them. The rain had prevented them from actually going out, since no one wanted to walk and get wet, and no one could afford the cab fare for that many people to and from. So, Danny and Mateo’s room.

Luke and Nikau were currently attempting to thumb wrestle, the keyword being attempt. It wasn’t going very well, since Nikau’s eyes were glazing over every couple of seconds and Luke was completely zoned out and kinda just wiggling his thumb. Emrys thought ze was refereeing, but ze mostly kept shouting in slurred Welsh, which did nothing but make Danny laugh.

Manaia was laying on the floor with Vanessa sitting on top of her, trying to do her makeup as best she could through her giggles. The only makeup that managed to make it onto her face was the loose glittery eyeshadow that fell off Vanessa’s brush as her hand shook with the force of her laughter.

Mateo and Danny were leaned up against Danny’s bed, Mateo wedged between the bed and Danny’s chest, their hands occupied with a small paper fortune teller. They weren’t talking much, just pointing and giggling as they obeyed the tiny scribbled numbers.

“Y’know, ‘m glad I came to Berkeley,” Danny mumbled against Mateo’s cheek. He pressed a kiss to it and pointed to the number eight. Mateo obliged, opening and closing the fortune teller the correct amount of times.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” Mateo opened the inner flap to reveal a tiny blob Skulker, his tiny green fist raised, yelling, “Curse you!” They snorted at the hastily drawn ink sketch. Mateo pulled it off his fingers and handed it over to Danny. He didn’t bother to hide the shudder he felt as Mateo’s fingers brushed his.

“Met you guys,” he said simply holding the fortune teller out for Mateo. He gently tapped a ghost number Danny had scratched down and Danny quickly did the conversion, opening and closing the correct amount. As Mateo decided which one he wanted to choose next, Danny said quietly, “Met you.”

“Why’d you single me out?”

Danny hummed in thought as he picked up his cup from its spot next to his thigh and took a sip. Mateo made his next choice, and Danny made the fortune teller open and close at his will.

“Because you make me a better person,” he said simply as he opened the flap to reveal a little blob ghost hugging a heart. Mateo started to take the paper toy out of his hands but Danny gently set it to the side.

Mateo made a noise in protest, and he shifted to face Danny. Danny didn’t say anything, he just leaned in, put his fingers under Mateo’s chin, and tilted his head up until their eyes met. He scanned his dark brown eyes for a second before grinning.

“What?” Mateo asked petulantly.

“I just think you’re pretty,” he said in a low voice. “And I think I want to kiss you.”

“I– Well– You should– Just–” Mateo stuttered, blushing racing up from the base of his neck to his cheeks. Danny’s grin only widened.

“Can I?”

“Please,” Mateo breathed out. Danny pulled him in close, leaning in slowly to press a gentle kiss to his lips. It wasn’t their first kiss, but Mateo still let out a quiet gasp as electricity raced up his spine just like it had the first time. And just like the first time, Danny quickly hauled Mateo into his lap, wrapping his arms securely around his waist. Before they got too carried away (there were other people in their room), Mateo pulled away from Danny, panting quietly as he rested their foreheads together.

“I make you a better person?” he murmured.

“That’s all that you have to say?” Danny asked with a small laugh. He pressed another kiss to Mateo’s nose, earning a laugh from his boyfriend. “But yeah, you do.”

“Care to explain?”

“Hmm… Maybe.” Another kiss, this time to Mateo’s cheek. He grinned at Danny’s affection; it wasn’t a rare sight, but he loved it when he got like this, all touchy feely and super devoted. Normally, he was more possessive in his affection, arms wrapped around him and keeping him close. Mateo loved that too. It made him feel cared for and protected. But when Danny showered him in tender kisses and gentle caresses, it made him feel warm and fuzzy, and that was even better.

“Quit being cheeky,” Mateo reprimanded, smacking his shoulder with a snort.

“Alright, alright.” He pressed yet another kiss to Mateo’s lips before pulling back to lean bodily against his bed, letting his arms rest low around his hips. “Yeah, you make me a better person. You make me want to be a better person. I… My friends are great people, and I love them, but they would kinda prefer it if I stay the same old Danny, but you… I dunno how to say it.” He stopped talking to chew his lip. Mateo let him ponder for a moment, and occupied himself with playing with Danny’s long hair.

“You make me a better person because you believe I’m already a better person than I am,” he whispered. Mateo’s hands stilled in his hair. “And the last thing I ever want to do is let you down.”

“Danny…” Mateo said in a quiet voice. A million things jumped to the forefront of his mind, a million things he could say to reassure his boyfriend, but they all got jammed on his tongue.

“No, listen, you’ve heard every horrible thing that I’ve done or that’s happened to me and you’ve just… accepted it. You’ve never blamed me for any of it, even when I have.” He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Mateo’s mouth, his lips curved into a gentle smile. “And like I said, I don’t want to disappoint you, so I try to be what you see. Therefore, you make me a better person.”

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the sweet, open words from his boyfriend, but tears sprang to his eyes. Danny’s eyes widened when he realized that Mateo was crying.

“No, Mateo, wh– Why are you crying?!”

“That’s ju-just so-so sweet!” he sobbed, leaning forward to bury his face against Danny’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around his neck. Danny let out a shout of laughter before squeezing his arms around Mateo’s waist.

“Oh, if that’s all.”

Mateo’s tears subsided after a few minutes. He sniffed and pulled himself back a little, a sheepish grin on his face.

“Let’s not mention this, yeah?”

“I make no promises,” Danny said, leaning in to kiss him again.

“Rude,” Mateo whispered. He relaxed into the kiss, going boneless in Danny’s embrace. He let out a quiet groan when Danny bit his lip, and he slid a hand to tangle into his hair. One of Danny’s hands slipped under the back of his shirt to trace lightly along the small of his back, making him shudder.

Vanessa’s wolf whistle was like ice water, the unpleasant kind, down his back. Mateo stilled in Danny’s arms. Blush grew rapidly on his face, burning with the intensity of the sun. He didn’t turn around, instead choosing to stick his face in Danny’s neck. The ghostly chill helped the burning of his face.

“Out,” Danny said. His voice was rough, but it brokered no argument. “You don’t have to go home, you just can’t stay here.”

Mateo could feel their friends grumbling at rudely being kicked out so they could make out, but he couldn't make himself feel the slightest bit ashamed. It was their room, after all.

“They’re gone,” Danny said in a soft voice once the door closed with a soft snick. Mateo sat up a little more to look at Danny, who was grinning, a mischievous green glint turning his eyes teal in the dim light of their room. Mateo returned the grin and started slowly closing the distance between them again.

“Good. Because I think I was in the middle of saying something important…”

“Oh, and what was that?”

“I think it went a little something like… this…” Mateo whispered as he pressed a slow kiss to Danny’s lip.

#i cannot beleive this took me two days #and 1401 words #to write fluff for them #i'll probably post this after i post when the nightmare fades #so ig this is spoilers??#not really #ecto writes #danny/mateo #the world is having more fun than me tonight series #fluff practice #i'm gonna go back and reblog the fluff stuff again if you guys wanna send me some more stuff #i still need more practice

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jawritter · 4 years

Text

Second Chance

Part 2 (Final)

Warning: Angst, heartbreak, unrequited/requited love, young mistakes, light smut, unprotected smut, depression, panick attack, language, domestic voilence (a slap), I think that’s it.

Summary: No one has life figured out at 18, but can one mistake made and twenty-one years of hurt and regret be fixed with an “I’m sorry?”

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 3885

A/N: This is one of my older stories from WattPad that I wanted to bring over here and clean up a little. This is completely unbeta’d, and all mistakes are mine! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is gold! Part two will be posted tomorrow! Hope you all enjoy this one!

Want More? Check out my masterlist!

***MASTERLIST***

Jensen's POV:

Jensen pulled his baseball cap down lower over his face to hide his features from unsuspecting passing customers, his eyes glued on the door, as he ideally ran his finger over the rim of his coffee that had gone virtually untouched in front of him as he sat in the back booth at the little coffee shop in Dallas that he quite honestly couldn’t even remember the name of.

Jessie had said she'd meet him here over an hour ago, now she was late, and he was quickly losing his patients.

The coffee shop was already filling again for the second time since Jensen had taken his seat. He watched the people closely, afraid at any moment someone was going to figure out who he was and blow his cover.

He'd gotten pretty good at hiding mind you, he'd been doing it since he was roughly eighteen years old, so he'd learned a few tricks to keep people kind of at bay when he really didn't want them around, or want to be noticed.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and shot Jessie the third text of the morning.

"Where the fuck are you?! I've been waiting for you for over an hour!"

Sitting the phone back down on the counter he waited for her reply, but no response. There were even more people filtering in and out of the coffee shop now, she must not be coming. It's probably for the best if he just leaves, and gets her to meet him somewhere else later. The longer he sat there, the longer he ran the risk of someone he knew walking in, or some fan figuring out who he was.

He’d just shoved the phone back down deep in his front pocket and was about to pick up his coffee and head towards the door when the shrill ding announcing someone’s entrance into the little shop made him look up, finally she was here.

Jensen watched her as she made her approach with a cold, dead look he usually reserved for his ex-wife. She looked at him completely unfazed by his sour temper as she made her way closer, and flopped down at the little table across from him.

“What took you so fucking long?" Jensen almost snarled.

"Fuck you asshole, I can walk out of her right now, and without me, you have zero chance with Y/N again? So what's your choice? You can either start treating me with some respect, or you can figure out how to get her to talk to your sorry ass all by yourself? Dealer's choice." she said coldly, looking at him like he was the most disgusting thing she'd ever laid eyes on.

"Fine, fine!" Jensen said, throwing his hands up in frustration and then glaring at her like if he could get away with it, and she wasn't a girl, he'd probably punch her in the face.

Another few moments or so silence passed with the two of them glaring at each other while Jensen's blood pressure simmered back down to a normal rate before he dared to speak again.

"So, have you talked her into going out again?" Jensen said, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

"No."

"Well, then why the fuck did you say you wanted to talk to me! If you don't have information for me on where she's going to be then you're not...."

"Jensen!"

"Ssshhhh!! Someone will recognize me!!"

"Ugh!! I'll be so glad when the two of you kiss and makeup so I don't have to look at you anymore!"

"Feelings mutual, sweetheart!"

About that time Jessie's phone started to ring, effectively ending the argument between them. Looking down she saw it was Sherry and quickly silenced it. Jessie was already late for work, and if she kept this up she was going to get fired, and also caught in the middle of this drama, which is exactly what she had told Jensen she didn’t want to happen when he’d messaged her, asking for her help in fixing his fuck up.

"Look, let's just get this over with, I don't want people to know I'm still in Dallas, they'll start to ask questions," Jensen said with a huff of frustration, sinking lower into the booth seat.

"Fine, Y/n will not leave her apartment again, not with us or with anyone else. She's been locked in her apartment since the night we dropped her off when we left the bar, she's been working from home, she hasn't left the house at all. It's almost like she's slipped into some sort of depression. I don't think we're going to get her to go out with us again, so we might have to take a different approach." Jessie said, staring coldly at that man sitting across from her.

"Okay, then what do you suggest we do? " Jensen said, taking his hat off and carding his hands through his soft hair in frustration before putting the cap back in place harshly.

Your POV:

It had been three weeks since you saw Jensen at the bar that night. It had set you back worse than you thought it ever could. Every time you closed your eyes all you could see was his face. You'd even been dreaming of him more than you had in the last three years. It wasn't healthy to say the least, and you were seriously starting to wonder if you had just dreamed it up, and had that nervous breakdown your therapist had warned you about.

All the progress you had made over the years in getting over him had seemed to spiral, and it had taken you three days to even get out of the bed once you stumbled through the apartment door.

There was no doubt in your mind that after all these years you were still in love with this man, even though you were sure he'd ever loved you. Still, the heart wants what the heart wants.

Over and over again you kicked yourself over the past three weeks for not accepting his offer to just talk. That damn ring when you saw it on his hand was like being nailed in the gut, by a ball pin hammer, just as hard as he could swing it.

He'd been able to do what you couldn't. He'd been able to move on, he'd been able to find love, and here you were alone.

You hated him, but you loved him. To you that made no sense whatsoever, but there it was.

You hated him for abandoning you all those years ago, you hated him for pushing you away, when all you'd ever done was love him, you hated him for giving up on you.

You loved him because it was something you just couldn't control. The way he smiled, those beautiful jade-colored eyes that always seemed to dance with an air of mischief that made your knees weak. You could still remember his scent, the way his strong arms felt when they wrapped around you all those years ago. You loved him because just with one smile he made your heart feel like it could leap out of your chest and fly around the room, you loved him, and for a lot of reasons, you didn't even know why still you did.

There were no denying things had changed in him. Even in the dim light of the bar, you could see that boy you fell in love with in Dallas was long gone, and a man had taken his place. The deep lines around his eyes, the way he carried himself, strong, confident. His voice was much deeper than it was back then, and even though his eyes were the same, the grey in his beard told you the boy he was back then was long gone, and really, you were in love with someone you didn’t even know anymore. He was a far cry from the boy that had taken your virginity all those years ago.

He’d lived, and you hadn’t, simple as that.

He chose money, fame, and fortune over you. You would have given him everything, a family, a warm home to come home to.

Then again, you guessed he'd found someone to do that for him, so again that rendered you useless.

Supernatural had been playing on your TV through Netflix for days. You just couldn’t stop watching it, and you couldn't stop kicking yourself. You couldn't stop thinking about him, and more than anything, you couldn't fill the hole that was in your chest, one that had almost closed, and was just a piece of you that was missing, now was ripped open and bleeding, and there was no way to make it go away.

Thank God your job allowed you to work from home. You just could do it. You couldn't deal with people, not in person, you couldn't go pretty yourself up and act like everything was fine, because it wasn't fine, and you didn't feel pretty.

You weren't pretty enough for Jensen all those years ago, and you're not enough for him now, so why even try?

A loud knock on the door disturbed you from your self-loathing.

It was probably Sherry or Jessie. They were just worried about you, you know that, but you just hadn't been able to face them. The way you just completely broke down in the Uber on the way home was just embarrassing, and the fact that you couldn’t seem to pick yourself back up again was borderline humiliating on a whole different level.

Now apparently they'd given up on calling you and had just decided to show up. Well, you were a little impressed it had taken them this long actually.

"Go away! I don't feel like talking yet."

Nothing, just another pounding knock on the door in response.

After sitting there a moment in confusion, you remembered Sherry knew where the spare key was, so it couldn’t be them. Getting up slowly you made your way to the door, pulling it open you looked through the crack and who you saw nearly knocked you on your ass.

"JENSEN!" you half yell, shocked to see that beautiful face on the other side of the door, and for just a moment you thought you were hallucinating.

"Hey, can I come in or you just going to make me stand out in the hallway?" he said, looking around like he was afraid you were going to slam the door shut in his face.

To be completely honest you thought about it, you just couldn't deal with the guilt and the “what ifs” this time if you did like you'd been dealing with for the past three weeks.

Pulling the door shut just enough to remove the chain lock that was placed on the door you open it, stepping back and letting him into your apartment.

When you shut and relocked the door you turned around to find him staring at you, a look of concern painted over his God-like face as his eyes raked over you.

You walk around him and head for the TV, turning it off before he could see himself walking with a flashlight across the screen.

"What are you doing here Jensen?" you ask him, sitting down on the couch to keep your legs from falling out from under you. You didn't realize how weak he still made you, even after all these years.

"I wanted to see you, to talk to you."

"Why? You said all you had to say to me 21 years ago." you watched as he visibly flinched at your sharp words.

"Y/n, I'm sorry, I was young and stupid, I should have never let you go, I should have never let you walk away from me, I've regretted it since you have. I just haven't been man enough to tell you..."

Standing up you cross the floor and get right in his face. A boldness you didn't have just five minutes ago springing out of nowhere, and anger burns deep, deep down in your belly.

"Don’t come at me with your lies Jensen!” you scream at him.

Bringing your hand up you slap him hard across the face before you could stop yourself. Not able to even control your own actions anymore, all you could see was red.

Your own pulse quickened in your ears as your slap staggered him back against the bar, and his hand flew up to the side of his face that was quickly turning red. You didn’t care, at that moment you didn’t even see it, all you could see was years, and years of hurt, and rejection.

“You’ve suffered so much huh?! With your perfect little wife, and kids that live in a fucking mansion on the lake in Austin! You really just expect to walk back into my life, say your sorry, and all the years of hurt would just magically go away? Fuck you!

You raised your hand to slap him again, but this time he caught it with his left hand, standing to tower over you he backed you against the wall, pinning you there with his solid form, using his sheer size and body weight to hold you there and keep you from hitting him again.

Through all the anger, through all the hurt, through the blinding tears that were now rolling down your face, there were two things you registered. First was the overwhelming feeling of his body weight pressing you, grounding you, and by some miracle, pulling you back down from your fit of rage his apology had triggered.

The second and most important thing was that his wedding band was gone.

All your strength at that moment was gone. The adrenaline crash hit you hard, and your knees buckled, a loud ringing taking the place of your pounding pulse in your ears, and your vision going white at the edges.

Jensen reached down and scooped you up into his arms before you could hit the floor, pulling you tight to his chest and bringing you over to the couch. Sitting down this you wrapped his arms, cradled in his lap like a small child.

It was hard to breathe as the tears flowed down your face now, your chest felt so tight that you were almost certain you were breathing through a straw, even though your breath was coming in pants, the overwhelming feeling of passing out made your head spin, and your body began to shake.

Jensen shushed you over and over again, running his fingers through your hair, which gave you something else to focus on. “Breath for me Y/n, come one breathe with me.”

You focused on the steady rise, and fall of his chest against you, the scent of his cologne, the steady brush of his hand through your hair, and before long you were able to focus enough to take a breath.

“That’s it, baby girl, fuck I’m so sorry sweetheart, this is all my fault.”

This was a result of twenty-one years of hurt, hurt that he caused, and he knew it.

When you'd finally calmed down he put a finger under your chin and forced you to look up at him.

"I'm so, so sorry that I hurt you, I'm sorry that I did this to you, I'm sorry that I was a fucking coward, I was afraid to find you, afraid to admit I was wrong, I'm sorry it took me twenty-one years to get enough balls to apologize to you. I know that’s enough, but I plan to stick around and do everything I can to make this up to you. I'm not married anymore. I didn't love her, I tried to, I really did, but I just couldn't, So I did the right thing, and I let her go so she could go and find someone that can make her happy."

You sat there staring at him like he'd popped out a third head. You wanted to pinch yourself to see if you were dreaming, or if you were dead.

"So I came here to find you, the one person that has ever really made me happy. Your parents wouldn't tell me where you were, so I found your friend Jessie, she was going to get you to come to the bar that night so I could try and talk to you. I'm sorry about that too. I didn't know I'd hurt you this way. If I did I wouldn't have sprung myself on you."

Crawling off of his lap and sitting down on the couch next to him you tried to make sense of what he was telling you.

"So what do you want from me? After all these years, what do you want from me now?"

You tried to understand, but you just couldn’t. Hell if you weren’t good enough all those years ago to make him want you, why the hell did he think you would be enough now?

Moving to the floor, Jensen got down on his knees in front of you, grabbing your hands in his. He looked like it took all the strength he had not to start crying himself, which only made more tears flow from you as you watched him bite down on his lower lips for a moment before he spoke.

"I want a second chance with you, I know I have no right to ask you for one, and you have every right to tell me to fuck off, and if you do I'll leave, and I'll never come back If that's really what you want, but sweetheart please, please give me a chance to fix this. Let me fix what I broke all those years ago."

His thumb made little circles on the back of your hand, and he broke eye contact with you, looking down at the floor as he waiting for you to tell him to go fuck himself.

All those years you'd prayed he'd come back. All those years you'd dreamed he wanted you again. Here he was, and if you didn't give him another chance now, he was gone for good, and that would be all, you'd die right here, you'd never be able to recover.

Jensen took a shaky breath drawing you back to the present.

"Please Y/N, say something?"

Putting your hands on either side of his face you did the only thing your brain would let you do. You pulled him to you, crashing your lips to his.

At first, he sat there shocked, but he caught up quickly though. Getting off his knees he crawled his large frame over yours, laying you both back down on the couch you were sitting on, holding his weight on you just enough to make you feel safe, for the first time in a long time.

"So I guess that means yes???" he said, lifting a perfect eyebrow and looking at you with the cutest little expression on his face, his eye crinkles showing just enough to make your heart melt.

"Yeah, but you got a shit ton of makeup to do Ackles," you tell him through tears, smacking him on his solid chest playfully.

"Well darlin’, let me start now," he said, bringing his lips softly back to yours before standing and dragging you with him, pulling you towards the open door of your bedroom.

Your mind worked on autopilot as he backed you into the room, closing the door with his large foot, and like jolts of electricity being shocked to a still heart, every lingering touch of his hands trailing your body, and every passionate kiss that made you breathless seemed to wake you up again.

This wasn’t some quickie in the back of his truck in the middle of the wood. There was no rush to this, there was no hurry in the way he lowered your body on the bed, and crawled his way over every inch of skin, leaving a trail of kisses he went.

There was no uncertainty in the way he looked into your eye as he pressed himself slowly into you, rocking slow and deep, stretching you, in the most intimate way possible, breathing life back into you as his lips found yours again in a slow lazy kiss, as he continued to work you both higher in an almost painfully slow pace.

This wasn’t going to fix it all together, twenty-one years was a lot of time, and there was a lot of damage, to the both of you, but the way his body moved inside of yours, the promise that he made not only with his words, but with his body, and with his soul that he’d never leave you, never hurt you again, it brought you back in a way that you thought was long dead to you.

When your release came, and he held you close to him, your name falling from his lips as he spilled himself deep inside of you, you felt like your heart really started to beat for the first time.

There were still a lot of unanswered questions, and there were some things you just never wanted to know. Right now as he pulled you close to him, wrapping his arms around, and caging your body close to him, promising to never let you go again would be enough.

Not everyone gets the second chance the two of you were having now, and this time you would follow him to the ends of the earth if that’s what it took, because he was the other half of your heart, and it just didn’t beat if he wasn’t there.

Jessie's POV:

“I can’t believe you sent him here!” Sherry hissed as Jessie dug around for the spare key to your apartment.

It had been hours since she had sent Jensen here to try and talk to you, and they had heard nothing. Then when Jessie let it slip on her lunch break what had been going on with Jensen and herself over the past couple of weeks, Sherry had blown her top, and insisted on coming to check on them.

“Would you shut up! I’m sure they’re fine!” Jessie hissed back, finding the key and turning the knob slowly.

The apartment was quiet as the two women pushed the door open, and closed it silently behind them.

“If he’s done something to hurt her I swear to God!” Sherry hissed again, making her way over to where Jessie was standing by the bar, staring through a crack in Y/N’s bedroom door.

She pointed towards it, and Sherry silently made her way to peek inside, seeing Jensen and Y/N curled into one another sound asleep, clothes strewn all over the floor, and long forgotten. Sherry smiled to herself as he turned around and looked back at Jessie, who was leaning against the bar, grinning like she’d won the war, and that’s all that mattered.

“Come on, let’s get out of here, I think those two are gonna be just fine.” She said, leading Sherry towards the door, and closing the door to the apparent behind them. Leaving the world outside unknowing, while two hearts did what it took to heal.

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uomo-accattivante · 4 years

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This is a great article about how The Card Counter managed to finish principal photography after getting shut down mid-March due to COVID-19.

Also, it includes this interesting description from Paul Schrader about Oscar Isaac’s character, William Tell -- “So now I have a character and he’s in his room, he’s alone. And he has a mask on. And the mask he wears is a professional poker player. And the problem that runs alongside him is that he is a former torturer for the U.S. government. So it’s a mix of the World Series of Poker and Abu Ghraib.”

Having somehow weathered his way from enfant terrible to wizened survivor, Paul Schrader is a filmmaker who is simply not finished yet. Every time it might seem his career is on the wane, he resets, revitalizes and comes back again.

Just a few years after his 2014 film “Dying of the Light” starring Nicolas Cage was taken away from him by financiers — leading Schrader to disavow the movie — he received his first Oscar nomination (for original screenplay) after directing “First Reformed,” which was released in 2018 and starred Ethan Hawke as a troubled small-town minister.

Schrader’s work is marked by emotional intensity, intellectual vitality and an aesthete’s appreciation of style. His filmography is full of unusual corners that are still being discovered. The 1979 film “Old Boyfriends,” directed by Joan Tewkesbury with a screenplay by Schrader and his brother Leonard, was recently rereleased on home video. As was the 1990 film “The Comfort of Strangers,” directed by Schrader from a screenplay by Harold Pinter.

He’s been directing films from his own scripts since 1978’s “Blue Collar” starring Richard Pryor, Harvey Keitel and Yaphet Kotto. He went on to write and direct such films as “Hardcore,” “American Gigolo,” “Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters,” “Light Sleeper” and “Affliction.” His celebrated work as a screenwriter for director Martin Scorsese includes “Taxi Driver,” “Raging Bull,” “The Last Temptation of Christ” and “Bringing Out the Dead.”

Never one to shy from controversy onscreen or off, he directed Lindsay Lohan in the 2013 Hollywood-set thriller “The Canyons,” written by Bret Easton Ellis.

In March, Schrader was about three-quarters through the shoot for his next film, “The Card Counter,” in Mississippi — with a cast that includes Oscar Isaac, Tiffany Haddish, Tye Sheridan and Willem Dafoe — when the production was shut down due to the growing pandemic. In July, Schrader was able to shoot for an additional five days to complete production.

During the break in shooting, “The Card Counter” was picked up for distribution by Focus Features.

Schrader recently got on the phone to talk about the unusual circumstances of the film’s production and completion. A film critic before he became a filmmaker, Schrader not only had startling insights into his work, but also thoughts about what filmmaking and exhibition might be like in a post-COVID world.

Before we start talking about the production on the movie, could you just describe the story? What is “The Card Counter” about?

Well, I don’t want to get too deeply involved in the plot, but what I will say is over the years I’ve kind of developed my own little genre of films. And they usually involve a man alone in a room, wearing a mask, and the mask is his occupation. So it could be a taxi driver, a drug dealer, a gigolo, a reverend, whatever. And I take that character and run it alongside a larger problem, personal or social. It could be debilitating loneliness like in “Taxi Driver.” It could be a midlife crisis like in “Light Sleeper.” It could be an environmental crisis like in “First Reformed.”

So now I have a character and he’s in his room, he’s alone. And he has a mask on. And the mask he wears is a professional poker player. And the problem that runs alongside him is that he is a former torturer for the U.S. government. So it’s a mix of the World Series of Poker and Abu Ghraib.

How did you come to put those two things together?

I’m always looking for that. I’m looking for deep-seated problems, either personal or societal, and some kind of oddball metaphor. The more you get closer, you run these two wires next to each other, the more sparks you see flying across. And it’s in the sparks that the viewer comes alive. If the wires ever touch, there’s nothing left for the viewer to do. But if you keep these two wires really close to each other, the viewer will start to spark from one wire to the other. And that’s the greatest thing you can give a viewer or a reader, an opportunity to be part of the creation.

Let’s talk about the production and everything you’ve been through. Take me back to March. What was it like for you when the production had to shut down?

I have learned in my dotage how to make a quality film on a low budget. So the film I used to make in 40 days I now make in 20. And so “First Reformed” was 20. I had shot in Biloxi 15 days. Now I knew coronavirus was going to be rising, because when I heard that Macau shut down, I said, you know, it’s just a matter of time. Macau is the wealthiest gambling center in the world and I’m here in the gambling center of the Gulf. If Macau shuts down, it’ll reach Vegas, it’ll reach here. And we were doing a scene, a poker tournament with 500 extras. And I remember I said to the A.D., “We can’t put 500 people in a room without one of them being positive.” And sure enough, one of them was. Two days later, we not only closed down, all of the Gulf was closed down.

Fortunately, when I went back, I had shot my big crowd scenes. And also I had shot my sex scenes, which I would have hated to try to do under these restrictions. So all I had left when I went back was a number of scenes in the prisons, and four more scenes in the casinos, some driving scenes. So I was in pretty good shape. But I really wanted to finish the film.

And Oscar Isaac, he was on his way to Hungary to do reshoots for “Dune.” And he wanted to put off this reshoot till after “Dune” — to do it in September because he has a big beard and he didn’t want to shave off his beard. I said to him, “Oscar, there’s a window open right now in Mississippi.” I said, “If we don’t jump into this window while it’s open, this will become one of those famous films that never got finished, and we’ve got to exploit this moment.”

So I talked him off the ledge and he agreed to do it. And we were able to put everybody back together and do our week of prep and five days of shooting. It was very strange, and in a way it was kind of fun, in a summer camp sort of way. But I would hate, hate to make a whole film this way. It was an adventure for five days, it’s a nightmare for five weeks.

In the break from March to July, were you on high alert that you could come back at any moment? Were you editing the footage you already had?

Here’s what happened. I was editing. My editor is in New Jersey and my assistant editor is in Tennessee, so we’re all editing virtually. And I had four major dialogue scenes between my principal characters that I had not shot. Then I was able to screen virtually the film for a number of people I respect, like Scorsese, who is the executive producer, like [filmmaker and programmer] Kent Jones and other people. And what I asked them all is, “I have four more scenes to shoot. I can rewrite them. What am I missing? What do I need to add? How should I write these four scenes?”

And I started getting feedback about what they felt was missing. So I was able to rewrite these scenes and make these relationships much better. And not all productions get to do that. It’s a very expensive reshoot, but it was built-in that three-quarters of the way through, I have an opportunity to rewrite one-quarter of the meaningful character scenes. So I did, I rewrote it. And I realized what was missing. And I wouldn’t have realized that if I was shooting at the top. I would have only realized that in post. And I would have walked around the room kicking myself in the ass, saying, “I wish I had the opportunity to reshoot some scenes.”

How was getting everything back together?

As soon as Mississippi allowed us to come back, we came back. And of course nobody’s working, so everybody’s eager to come back. They are hyper-conscientious because they know they are only being allowed to work by the grace of God. And so the masks and the PPE and the hands and the distancing, you don’t need to tell any of the people this. They’re so happy to be at work. They have no problem with any of that.

You can only have one person within six feet of your actor at a time. That person could be hair, it could be makeup, it could be props, it can be the director, it could be another actor. And you kind of queue up. And a thing that I realized, we had a warehouse. So we did rehearsals for every scene in this warehouse. And I told the actors that when we get to the location, to the casino, the prop people will be in there, the lighting people will be there and then you will walk there with your mask on, and you will take the positions that you took in rehearsal. Then I will roll camera and you will take your masks off and we’ll play the scenes. So that’s how we did it.

Given everything that it takes to get to shooting, once you were back on set with the actors, did you still feel like they could give you the performances that you needed? Was it difficult to get to a place of artistic creation given all the other concerns that everyone has?

Because they had done the rehearsals, they had gone through the permutations of their performances before. So the only thing different for them was that they were in a real space rather than a fake space. As I explained to them, there would be no time for exploration on set. All the exploration you are going to do, we’re going to do here in the warehouse. I don’t want to hear one peep from you about changing anything once we get into this hothouse environment. So however many hours we have to spend in the warehouse, let’s spend it.

How close to finished are you with the movie now, considering you had a lot of it already cut together?

Basically, I’m finished, down to an hour and 49 minutes, which is where I think it should be. Obviously, I have to do the score, there’s the post-prod and the special effects, but the thing is that there’s no pressure to finish the film anymore at this time. I was talking to Focus, and I could give them the film in a month. They don’t want the film in a month because they don’t know what to do with it in a month. They said, you just take whatever time you need, which is the opposite of the way studios usually talk. I also have final cut, so it doesn’t really matter. What I deliver, I deliver.

When you made “The Canyons” you talked a lot about your feelings regarding the theatrical experience, VOD and streaming and contemporary filmmaking. What impact do you think the COVID shutdowns will have on movie theaters?

There’s a certain kind of film like “The Canyons,” which should be made for VOD, which is a kind of exploitation film. And there’s another kind of film like “First Reformed” that has to be mounted by film festivals and art-house cinemas, so that it has an identity prior to VOD. So if you’re on VOD and you see an Ethan Hawke film about a minister, you’re not going to say, “Oh, let’s watch that.” No, what you’re going to say is, “Oh, I heard about that film. I heard it was good.” Well, how did they hear it was good? They heard that from film festival reportage and they heard from their friends who have seen it at theaters. So that sets up VOD.

The opposite case is a film like “First Cow,” a film that was crushed by not having a theatrical window. And everybody is, “Should I watch ‘First Cow’?” They have no context. So what’s important for a film like “The Card Counter” is we have to give it context. We have to go to the festivals and we have to go to the art cinemas to tell people what we have in our hands. Then we can go to VOD, where the real money is. So “First Reformed” went to Telluride, Toronto, Venice and New York. That set the table. I would love to set the table for this one. I can go to all those festivals. That’s not a problem for me anymore. The problem is: Are festivals going to happen?

Do you think theaters are going to come back?

Not in the way they did. There are only four reasons for theaters to exist anymore. And this situation has accelerated these trends. Like symphonies and operas and live theater, concerts, they need a reason to exist. One reason is family cinema, because parents love to see their kids interacting with other kids. Animation films will always have an audience. Another is extraordinary spectacle. IMAX, virtual, whatever they come up with. Something you can’t see at home. The third is date movies for high schoolers, which is horror and rom-coms. Or rather, dirty rom-coms.

And then the fourth is club cinema. Which used to be called art cinema. But with these new institutions that are a combination of social institutions and cinematic institutions. So the Metrograph in New York has one restaurants and two bars. There’s more square footage devoted to eating and drinking than there is to watching movies. And yet it’s always full because people want to be in that environment. So then alcohol’s become the new popcorn. And those club cinemas, which were pioneered by Alamo, they will continue to exist because people want to be part of the club, people want to buy a membership. They want to eat and hang out, and they want to know which films have been approved by the club. Which is something you cannot get from VOD.

When “First Reformed” was coming out, you spoke about how you had made it thinking it could be your last film. And yet you seem so reenergized over the last few years. Do you feel that way? Have you been able to hit the reset button in some way?

Oddly, yes. I’m in the middle of a new script, which is about a horticulturalist. And what has happened in my case, following the disastrous situation I went through with “Dying of the Light,” I said, I would no longer work unless I had final cut. And once I got final cut, I was free. When I began, you didn’t really need final cut. When I was working in the studio system, all those other films, you were working with people who knew movies, who liked movies. Who you can talk to, you could disagree with — things would get changed, sometimes they’d get better, sometimes for worse in your mind, but you were working with people who liked movies, who watched movies. In the last 15 years, I’m dealing mainly with financiers, who not only don’t watch movies, don’t even particularly like them. And how can you have discussions with these people? And that’s what final cut freed me from, because I realized I couldn’t talk to these people. I wasn’t talking to [studio executives like] Barry Diller and Thom Mount and Ned Tanen anymore. I was talking to Joe Schmo from some hedge fund and I couldn’t talk to Joe Schmo. The only way I could talk to him was to have final cut.

I’m certainly excited to see what becomes of “The Card Counter.”

The new one is quite good. Focus told me not to hump it too much because that’s their job down the line. But you can take my word for it, it’s quite good.

###

#paul schrader had to convince oscar isaac to shave off his dune beard 😂#oscar isaac #william tell #the card counter #paul schrader #tye sheridan #willem dafoe #tiffany haddish #covid-19 #coronavirus #focus features #dune #dune 2020 #first reformed #the canyons #taxi driver #interview #los angeles times #la times

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davidcampiti · 3 years

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A SCREENPLAY IS NOT A COMIC BOOK SCRIPT

I'm frustrated by writers who hire a comicbook artist then send a screenplay as their script. My first question to them is, "Are you hiring one of our writers to adapt this into a comic book script?" Usually they'll respond, "No that's the script to work from."

But it's not.

Word balloons aren't broken out or numbered, SFX aren't identified, the pacing is wrong, and most panel descriptions are missing, causing the artist and the editor to do twice as much work without a corresponding increase in pay.

Here's a good article from Nick Macari about the differences --

I think you’d be hard pressed to find some work of fiction, some type of writing, that you could NOT turn into a comic. That is to say, you could create a comic from notes on bar napkins, a published novel, heck I bet you could even create a comic using nothing but a movie as the source material.

If you’re making a comic yourself, like literally by yourself, it doesn’t really matter how you do it… only the final product matters. If you have some crazy process that gets you a beautiful finished product, good on ya mate.

But for those writing spec scripts, trying to write for others, or trying to entice others to their project, it pays to create scripts that open doors instead of closing them.

In 2020, there are a million writers writing screenplays and pawning them off as comic scripts.

If you want to be one of those guys… as you were.

But if you actually want to write comics, if you want to be a comic book writer, you should learn how to write an actual comic book script, not how to sell some other script as one.

There are lot of useful technique comics can borrow from screenplays.

For the innocent novice writer, it’s understandable to see some technical execution confusion. But for working and professional writers, knowing what transfers over and what doesn’t separates the riff from the raff.

Before we get into it, let’s put to bed, once and for all, why a straight screenplay script is not a comic script. Here’s why;

Director Production Designer Art Director Costume Designer Cinematographer … Camera Assistant Director of Photography Scenic Artist Set Decorator Storyboard artist … Makeup artist Wardrobe stylist Assistant Director Production Assistant Production Coordinator Production Designer … Script Supervisor Sound Mixer Special Effects Coordinator

oh yeah, and actors.

These are a few of the people involved in a film.

Individual roles dedicated to a specific area of production. In essence, a screenplay can deliver fairly minimal information and it’s someone’s specific job to interpret that information, its context, and otherwise apply their knowledge, experience and skill, to turn that information into some tangible, successful element.

If you think it’s the artist’s job to fill all these roles, you’re crazy… and mean to artists.

Ok, you still here?

Good.

Let’s showcase some specific examples of why a screenplay doesn’t hold up for comics;

THE FRENCH CONNECTION

Drug Dealer I don’t…

Doyle Ever pick your feet in Poughkeepsie?

Drug Dealer What?

Doyle Did you ever pick your feet in Poughkeepsie?

Drug Dealer I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.

Doyle Were you ever in Poughkeepsie?

Drug Dealer No… yeah…

Doyle Did you ever sit on the edge of a bed, take off your socks and stick your fingers between your toes?

Drug Dealer Man, I’m clean.

Doyle You made three sales to your roaches back there. We had to chase you though all this shit and you tell me you’re clean?

Russo Who stuck up the laundromat?

Doyle How about that time you were picking your feet in Pougheepsie?

The drug dealers’ eyes go to Russo in panic, looking for the relief from the pressure of the inquisition.

Russo (in pain) You better give me the guy who got the old Jew or you better give me something or you’re just a memory in this town.

Drug Dealer That’s a lot o’ shit. I didn’t do nothin’.

14 dialogue exchanges, with for all intents and purposes not a single visual description (one minor one toward the end about the dealer’s eyes.). This is likely at least one page of comic with this volume of exchanges and dialogue, and there is literally, nothing cuing the artist as to how this should go down.

THE FRENCH CONNECTION

Mutchie

That’s right, he couldn’t fight legit. One night at the Garden about 1950, ’51—he fought either Jake LaMotta or Gus Lesnevish, I think it was—he took one o’those cream puff punches in the sixth—the laziest left you ever seen—missed him entirely. Down goes Blackjack without even workin’ up a sweat and the whole Garden gets up on its feet and I swear to Christ, everybody starts singin’ “Dance with Me Henry.”

75 words. Way too much for a single panel.

How many ways can you break the dialogue into how many panels?

Is one way to break it up more effective than the others?

Because if it is, and that’s NOT the method you write up, you’re producing a less effective script.

But ultimately, what works in film as a 30 second monologue (doesn’t work in comics), would be far more effective as caption narration over flashback action.

THE EXORCIST

EXTERIOR – IRAQ- NINEVEH- DAY

The old man arrives back at that dig site in a small jeep. As he pulls up two armed guards rush out. When they see who it is the old man gives them a wave and they slowly walk back to there quarters. The old man walks up the rocky mound and sees a huge statue of the demon Pazuzu, which has the head of the small rock he earlier found. He climbs to a higher point to get a closer look. When he reaches the highest point he looks at the statue dead on. He then turns his head as we hear rocks falling and sees a guard standing behind him. He then turns again when he hears two dogs savagely attacking each other. The noise is something of an evil nature. He looks again at the statue and we are then presented with a classic stand off side view of the old man and the statue as the noises rage on. We then fade to the sun slowly setting as the noises lower in volume.

Hey! this has some nice direction, this screenplay stuff is perfect for a comic.

NO.

Let’s break it down;

This passage is 15 beats, give or take. One beat a panel, 3-5 panels per page, we’ve got 3-5 pages of comic in this passage alone.

Hang on we’re not done.

If you fill your page with this type of description (you shouldn’t, but let’s say you did), you could get almost double that amount of beats. So one page of screenplay delivering nearly 6-10 pages of comic content!

Tell me, when was the last time someone delivering a screenplay “comic script,” delivered a 2 page script for a complete issue? Never says I.

BONUS on this example:

Did y’all notice the soundtrack emphasis in this excerpt from the Exorcist script? Of course you can have sound effects in a comic, but no matter how you crack it, comics DO NOT have soundtracks. Relying on film soundtracks in a comic script is a sure fire way to deliver less effective scripts.

BIG TROUBLE IN LITTLE CHINA

JACK Alright, where’s my truck, Wang? I’m outta here. And my money, too.

WANG Forget about your truck, Jack. You don’t wanna go back there. You’ll have to go through the Wing Kong to get it. It’s insured, right?

JACK Of course it is. But that’s not the point.

WANG The smart man comes back for it later…

JACK The smart man calls the cops!

WANG Cops have better things to do than get killed.

We showed the typical lack of visual description a screenplay gives in the first example. [Screenplays tend to focus on the scene setup, then briefly hit key actions of the scene.] Here we have another example of missing visual description, but I point it out for something more specific–LACK OF EMOTIONAL context.

As I point out in the Writer’s Guide, Emotional content is one of the essential elements of each and every comic panel. So not only do we not have visual cues to support the action in the screenplay, but how are the characters delivering these lines!?

JACK Alright, where’s my truck, Wang? I’m outta here. And my money, too.

How many ways can you say this line?

I can say it pissed. Irritated. Fearful. Sarcastically. Comically. Those are just a few that pop in my head… and I’m no actor.

Leaving emotional context open to interpretation undermines narrative control–in a big way.

A good, effective scene, could die a horrible misinterpreted death.

For the record, you can use parentheticals in a screenplay. This can give emotional context, like the one from Jack’s first line I omitted to make the example more effective

JACK (pissed off)

But where parentheticals do contain emotional context, you use them in a script sparingly. Just like you don’t tell the director how to do his job filling your screenplay with camera direction, you don’t try to tell the actors how to do theirs. (Remember, the answer to why Screenplays aren’t Comic Scripts, there’s a lot of people, hopefully professionals, bringing their expertise to the table.)

CASABLANCA

Ilsa Your secret will be safe with me. Ferrari is waiting for our answer.

At the bar Ferrari talks to a waiter.

Ferrari Not more than fifty francs though.

Ilsa and Laszlo walk up to him.

Laszlo We’ve decided, Signor Ferrari. For the president we’ll go on looking for two exit visas. Thank you very much.

Ferrari Well, good luck. But be careful. ( a flick of his eyes in the direction of the bazaar) You know you’re being shadowed.

Laszlo glances in the direction of the bazaar.

Screenplays live in movement. Unless you’ve got a static insert of a letter or photo or something, everything is in motion and there is constant change (even if subtle) from micro-second, to micro-second.

While comics work to capture movement (and there are some tricks), it is ultimately a static medium, locked into showcasing moments frozen in time.

What I explain in the “works in movies not in comics article” is that the constant movement and motion, supported (primarily) by actors, but by the lighting people, the art direction people, director, etc. all gives depth and purpose to every single second of a film.

With all these people doing their job, a screenplay can give super general stage direction, like what we see here in this Casablanca excerpt.

At the bar Ferrari talks to a waiter.

Ilsa and Laszlo walk up to him.

Laszlo glances in the direction of the bazaar.

These trivial actions carry no narrative. They work in film because of performance and motion, which steps in to create narrative.Without performance and motion, a single frame captured from core stage direction translates to ineffective comic panels.

By the way, all the examples I’m giving here, are from solid movies. The big pink elephant in the room when writers deliver “comic screenplay scripts,” is that they assume they know how to write a good screenplay in the first place. Trust me, novice writers rarely do.

There’s a lot of technique and skill in writing a solid screenplay. And if you think a good screenplay causes problems converting to a comic, wait till you try it from a shitty screenplay.

Still thinkin’ screenplay is synonymous with comic script? Well you’re wrong sunshine, but what do I know?

I’m just a non-famous full-time mercenary writer, writing almost exclusively in comics and games for a decade or so. :p

I’ve spent a few hours writing this article, but there are plenty of other examples I haven’t touched on.

I’ll come back and add some more as I think of them in my down time. Maybe eventually when the list is so long it takes you a couple hours to read this article, y’all get it through your noggins that comics are there own medium which demand the attention and respect of a unique format and writing approach. Something the comic book writers reading this, already know. #justsayin

About the Author — Nick Macari is a full-time freelance story consultant, developmental editor and writer, working primarily in the independent gaming and comic markets. His first published comic appeared on shelves via Diamond in the late 90’s. Today you can find his comic work on comixology, amazon and in select stores around the U.S. Visit NickMacari.com for social media contacts and news on his latest releases.

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ningningxx · 4 years

Text

blueming - choi beomgyu

summary: pre relationship au! m/n is a tired college student that falls in love so easily. beomgyu is the cute barista that he falls for.

word count: 3k

now playing: blueming – iu & i’m so pretty - nature

notes: first in a series

m/n stumbles into his least favorite coffee shop exhausted, with a migraine, clutching an ice pack, and a gloomy disposition, wondering why everyone is so happy. it's not his fault, honestly it's not.

it's minju's.

she dragged him out last night to go shopping, which ended in disaster. he tripped over jewelry laying on the floor, got pushed into a wall and got slapped in the face, hard. not only that, but he got awoken by freaking justin bieber of all things and the starbucks across the street from his study hall is closed, and now he has to run all the way across to the other side of campus just to get a cup of freaking coffee.

wait, he also got knocked out after being hit by a trombone at orchestra practice.

he's internally yelling at minju in his mind before deciding to actually let her know how he feels via a strongly worded text message (she'll probably be fuming that he woke her from her sleep but he's too angry to care) just as he reached the front counter. still pounding away at his phone, he grunts out his order, dropping the exact amount of money for his venti-frappucino-with-three-espresso-shots. yeah, he's definitely not having the best morning.

"sorry, could you repeat that?"

m/n looks up, ready to glare viciously and direct his bad mood at the barista who obviously pays no attention... but instead gapes at him because the barista is actually really cute and damn maybe he's already got a crush. and, oh shit, he's the guy who minju tutors sometimes on weekends.

the barista (beomgyu, m/n remembers) stands there with an uncomfortable smile, awkwardly standing there behind the counter. (m/n would be lying if he said that wasn't one of the cutest things he's ever seen.) "your order?"

m/n gapes a little more before regaining his composure, a polite smile gracing his features. "yeah - right, sorry. um, a venti frappuccino with three espresso shots." he pushes the coins forward, waiting awkwardly.

beomgyu smiles again, this time an actual smile gracing his features (m/n will never admit that he swooned a little), appearing amused if anything. "right," he quickly scooped the change up before yelling behind him. "yein! large frap, three shots!" he registers m/n's change and hands m/n his drink. "thanks for coming to golden swirls! have a great day, m/n-ssi."

m/n blushes because beomgyu actually knows his name and he may or may not be screaming inside because of it. someone behind him coughs, interrupting his inner emotions and m/n is so glad that he's not in high school because he so has a schoolgirl crush.

"thanks- i'll be going-" m/n runs out of the door before he could embarrass himself further, almost dropping his coffee as he goes and accidentally knocking his laptop bag that's swung over his shoulder into the wall outside. he looks at beomgyu through the large window, watching how he serves the next customer before quickly heading off towards his next class.

not even ten seconds later, he's managed to almost break his laptop, spill his coffee over a random stranger and he just wants the ground to swallow him up. his patience has run thin and he finds himself swearing because of how awful this one morning has gone. fuck today, fuck his life, just fuck

most of the time, m/n's lucky to have minju in his life. they share an apartment together with minju running a home business as a pastry chef, she helps him with all of his assignments and they've known each other forever. but today, he really hopes that he has awoken her from her sleep (he doesn't want anything horrible to happen to her, he loves her too much) because it's her fault that he's injured. (maybe not completely her fault, not that he'll ever admit it.)

after getting back to the apartment and telling her of his god-forsaken awful day, she has the audacity to laugh.

she laughs so hard that she ends up falling off the couch, her makeup smudging which he's sure she'll be upset about. he doesn't really appreciate that she's laughing and he thinks that maybe he should take photos or a video because she laughs like a horse on crack. he chooses the third option which is attempting to make her spontaneously combust with the power of his glare.

"what the actual fuck." if anything, she laughs even harder and starts rolling around on the floor. he grabs a nearby throw pillow and launches it at her.

(she retaliates, flipping the couch over and them sitting on his back, she tries suffocating him with a surprisingly lethal fluffy cushion.)

after she stops attempting to strangle him and they put their living room back to the original state, they return to their previous conversation. but he immediately wishes that she's still attempting to murder him, because she is smirking. (he's so going to be antagonized for another week)

"so what basically happened, is that you publicly humiliated yourself in front of a cute guy and now you've turned into a weeping willow." she almost bursts out laughing again after her summary, instead pinching his cheek.

m/n immediately recoils, covering his face with another throw cushion. "yes, thank you for reminding me of the possibly most embarassing period of my life."

"you could've been worse. you could've spilled coffee on him, you could've fallen flat on your face as soon as you walked through the door." she laughed while he blushes even harder than he thought possible. (leave it to minju to bring up previous events.)

"i hate you," he manages to squeak out from underneath the pillow, curling in on himself.

"i love you too," she pats his head affectionately. "now i'll order some chinese food and we'll spend the whole night watching cheesy rom-coms while i try to cheer you up with some horrible puns and jokes."

(m/n cracks a smile because he honestly couldn't ask for a better best friend.)

after finally managing to finish his music assignment and edit another three essays as well as helping minju with baking cupcakes, m/n skypes kangmin. kangmin (the same person who chose to go in china instead of staying in seoul, the traitor) has been the third member of their group ever since the beginning of elementary as well as the exact reason for m/n's sexuality crisis. (which may or may not have included a temporary relationship and a lot of making out.)

it's not like m/n can hold it against him, but of course he still wonders why all of his friends have to be so damn good looking and adorable.

kangmin, unsurprisingly, doesn't answer the phone the first time but the second time yejin had picked up the call. yejin was the last member of their group and was the most creative and independent of the bunch. she was the first person that m/n had met that he loved within the first five minutes of meeting. of course, sometimes she was over-dramatic and hyperactive but it didn't really matter, she was still one of his best friends.

"hey m/n!" yejin smiled, flashing her pearly whites. "kangmin is currently busy working on that huge programming or digital project that he got a week ago."

yejin faces the camera towards kangmin, showing him with his head in buried in his hands. there were papers strewn all over the desk while his computer was closed. she subtly takes a picture of his distress before tapping him on the shoulder. kangmin's head snaps, a grimace present until his eyes lands on m/n's face appearing.

"m/n!" kangmin yelled, snatching his phone off yejin. ignoring her rude remark, he positions the phone in a way that both yejin and himself appear on the screen while still being close enough to hear. "sorry, i love you but this stupid piece of code is giving the biggest trouble ever and i just can't take it anymore."

he groans dramatically in his hands while yejin rolls her eyes at him, patting his head fondly.

"you'll be fine." she coos at him, rubbing his hair affectionately. "what's up m/n?"

"i may or may not have met someone..." m/n trails off, laughing at their reactions. yejin starts clapping excitedly and squealing while kangmin's head snaps up with a bright smile on his face.

"who is it? it's not that creepy guy in orchestra is it? if it is, you could do so much better.." yejin rants, not stopping even when kangmin covers her mouth with his hand.

"and i may or may not have also embarassed myself in front of him." yejin shuts up straight away, both her and kangmin starting to giggle.

"how bad was it?" kangmin inquires, a cheeky glint in his eye. "falling-flat-on-your-face-bad or peeing-your-pants-because-you're-so-nervous-bad?"

"neither,"

stares.

"maybe worse,"

more stares.

"it was clown-at-kangmin’s-eighth-birthday-bad."

long story short, kangmin’s parents had hired the wrong person and accidentally hired a drug dealer who tried to convince the kids that the cocaine he brought was sherbet.

kangmin’s parents were mortified at the time but kangmin continues to tell the story whenever he gets the chance.

m/n eventually ends the call because yejin and kangmin are laughing so hard at him and, god, why does everything with him have to be so complicated and embarassing? (he may also have rejected the next two calls, accidentally)

minju, being the absolutely amazing best friend that she is, is so much more helpful than his other two friends. meaning that since she's already laughed at him, she's moved on to the point where she decides that she's going to be a helpful friend.

(m/n shudders at the thought. last time minju decided she was going to be a 'helpful friend', he ended up in the hospital for two weeks and failed two assignments.)

unfortunately, minju turns out to be his only option to call when he sees beomgyu again at the shop.

"please, please, please, come here right now. starbucks is closed, beomgyu's on shift and i need someone here to make sure i don't embarass myself."

turns out, this is the one time that minju isn't available.

"you should've asked me before. i'm too busy. i've got to juggle six different pastry orders and they all have to be done in a couple of hours because i'm catering for a wedding."

well, fuck. m/n looks inside the coffee shop again, noticing that this time beomgyu is looking back at him. beomgyu smiles and waves, while he leans against a broom. m/n can't help but smile back, pocketing his phone and walking through the door.

as soon as he's in the door, he sees the broom that beomgyu is leaning on slips and makes him fall over. he rushes over to beomgyu quickly, helping him back up. beomgyu blushes a bright red while m/n helps him back over to the counter despite being told numerous times that he's fine.

"seriously m/n-ssi, i'm fine." beomgyu giggles. he fucking giggles and suddenly there's a hand on his arm and somehow all the oxygen has left his lungs and why is it so suddenly hot?

"are you sure?" m/n asks again, checking for any injuries. beomgyu nods again, walking awkwardly back behind the counter.

"venti frap, three shots right?" beomgyu's eyes shine, a small blush coating his cheeks. m/n nods, handing over his coins.

beomgyu scoops them up but accidentally drops a few on the ground. after all the coins are picked up, yein suddenly appears by his side with a coffee in her hand.

"smooth move, casanova," she nudges him playfully, before handing the coffee to m/n. beomgyu blushes brightly, moving over to start cleaning the counter.

"thanks, i guess." m/n says awkwardly. "i'll see you later, yeah?"

he runs out the door, waving to them as he goes. he's a few metres away from the coffee shop before he does a happy dance because he didn't embarass himself in front of beomgyu.

(this doesn't erase his bad luck however. he manages to keep his coffee intact, but someone else spilled their coffee on him, he got attacked by a rabid cat and chased by a group of dogs on the way home.)

the next time m/n sees beomgyu, it's in the comfort of his own home.

but that doesn't mean, he's ready to face his crush.

m/n's woken up by minju's banshee scream, her high pitched tone filling his entire room. he wishes his first instinct was to cover his own ears but no, his first instinct is to get up and make sure the bathroom door is closed. (every time minju screams, the large mirror in their bathroom 'mysteriously' breaks. and the money that pays for it 'mysteriously' comes out of his own wallet.)

he walks into the living room and he knows he looks like a mess.

his hair is strewn everywhere, making him look like he just got zapped with lightning. he's wearing a plain white shirt but he's only one inside while the other half is wrapped around his shoulder, exposing his lower body. he's also wearing his rainbow briefs while he's got kittens on his socks.

m/n's barely got his other arm in the shirt before he hears a cough behind, where he's met with beomgyu's blushing face.

beomgyu looks like he's trying so hard to look away, he's got his face hidden behind one of his books but his eyes are visible at the top, (it certainly has nothing to do with the way his nose starts to bleed a little) while minju doesn't look much better herself.

she hadn't bothered to brush away her bangs and instead was trying to pour herself a cup of coffee, a large yawn escaping her lips.

"we, meaning me, wants you to make us breakfast," minju speaks like she doesn't know that she just embarrassed m/n in front of his crush. (to her credit, she probably doesn't. she occasionally leaves their apartment half naked because of her tired stupor.)

"uh, r-right." m/n stutters, running back to his room, locking gazes with beomgyu before his door swings shut.

minju eyes him weirdly as he goes. (usually he'd yell at her to stop being lazy and do it herself but he seemed to be too stunned to do anything. she'd have to bring beomgyu around more often.)

"is he okay, minju?" beomgyu puts the book down.

"he'll be fine," minju yawns again, wrinkling her nose. "i've already accomplished my duty as a best friend by bringing you here." she ignored beomgyu's questioning gaze, bringing her mug to her lips.

m/n walks out of his room, looking more presentable but also looking like he was going to cut a bitch. (in every case, minju.)

"give me that," m/n swiped minju's mug from her hands, taking a deep gulp of her bitter coffee. he ignored minju's scathing remark and turned to beomgyu, unstartled. "will pancakes be okay, beomgyu-ssi?" his voice took a much softer tone than when he spoke to minju.

"yes please, and i'd rather you'd just call me beomgyu, m/n-ssi." beomgyu smiled.

"then i would insist that you'd do the same, beomgyu-ah." m/n smiled, shooing minju out of his kitchen and getting the ingredients out.

minju huffs and takes a seat next to beomgyu, crossing her arms.

"are you ready to carry on, beomgyu-ah?" minju asks, wiping her face with a wet wipe.

"gimme a sec," beomgyu rests his head on his arms as he watches m/n move around in the kitchen.

m/n's got his headphones in his ears as he hums delightfully, flipping pancakes with ease. he dances his way around the kitchen, pulling out syrup and strawberries and eating utensils, preparing breakfast with a soft smile on his face.

beomgyu can't help but watch the other male with a dumb smile on his face, not looking away even when there's a steaming hot plate of pancakes in front of him.

"i hope you like them," m/n smiles, taking out his left headphone. he fucking smiles at beomgyu, who feels his entire being heat up. (beomgyu tries to ignore the way his heart pitter-patters in his chest. that traitor.)

when beomgyu takes a bite, he moans in delight. m/n pretends to not notice, shoveling his food in his mouth. (his blush totally does not give him away.)

"so m/n-ah," minju starts, taking back her mug and refilling it. "when's your next class?"

"i'm free today. my chemistry professor called in sick so he just emailed everybody their latest assignments. i'm going to die." m/n cringed, taking a sip of his water.

"i bet physics is looking pretty good right now, huh?" minju had a triumphant look on her face.

"people who take physics usually don't have a life, or friends." m/n flicked her forehead, distracting her long enough to steal her coffee again. "no offense, beomgyu-ah."

"none taken, m/n-ah." beomgyu shrugged his shoulders. "what do you study?"

"i'm making my life hard by majoring in dance with a minor in chemistry." m/n put his two thumbs, his entire being oozing with sarcasm. "commuting to two different campuses four times a week, what fun."

"that's like me!" beomgyu's eyes were a little wider. "i'm a vocal major with a minor in physics. moving between the two campuses is such a pain."

"does that mean you know soobin-hyung? i think he's a vocal major as well?" m/n asks.

"bunny-hyung?" beomgyu's eyes glaze over in realization. "he takes care of me, you know, being one year older. does that mean you're friends with yeonjun-hyung? he still owes me twenty dollars."

"soobin-hyung owes me fifty!" m/n almost yells. "but it's okay because he buys me lunch every other day."

"oh my god, they're perfect for each other." beomgyu rolls his eyes, stabbing his pancake with his fork.

"they're disgusting. i hate seeing them meet up, like they haven't seen each in a million years when in reality it's been like four hours." m/n agrees, wrinkling his nose.

minju looks between the two males, wondering how they could be so oblivious towards one another.

"they're idiots. idiots who hopelessly crush on each other." minju complained under her breath. she held up her phone, pretending to use it as a mirror, only to snap a pic of m/n and beomgyu interacting with each other, bright smiles on both of their faces.

m/n briefly looked at her, a weird look on his face.

"you'll thank me later." she smiled innocently, tapping her phone with a wink.

#beomgyu #choi beomgyu #txt male reader #kpop male reader #txt x male reader #kpop x male reader #fluff #beomgyu x male reader #choi beomgyu x male reader #male reader scenario #txt #male reader insert

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ficsilike-reblogged · 4 years

Text

Sunshine City: Four

A/N: We are nearing the end of this little story, my loves. Thank you to everyone who read, liked, and/or reblogged the last chapter. I adore you.

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Reader (No Y/N)

Word Count: 2.8k

Rating For This Chapter: T for blood, injuries, a K*ss or two, my undying love of tropes and cliches

Catch up on previous chapters here!

London was a beautiful mix of sparkling skyscrapers and bygone brick and mortar. It reminded her of New York on one street and some sort of historical romance novel on the next. The Tube was much more proficient than the subway and Bela was fond of the fact that Harry let her take him along to the office whenever she wasn’t on assignment.

But it still felt…like she was just visiting.

“Mordred!”

She pivoted in her chair to see Roxy—Agent Lancelot—walk into her office. The young agent had been thought dead for a handful of weeks after Kingsman’s old headquarters had exploded, but she had survived. A little injured, more than a little confused, but quickly back to normal after Eggsy discovered her in the nearest hospital. She couldn’t remember her name but she did remember how to throw men over her shoulder like it was nothing. (The nurses were not a fan.)

But Roxy was now back on her very-capable feet and usually out in the field.

“Lancelot,” she replied with a quirk of an eyebrow.

“Your cowboy has arrived in that atrocious car.” But a teasing smile was pulling at Roxy’s lips as she said it, letting Sunny know this would not be the end of their conversation. Roxy had almost instantly become aware of the strange relationship between Whiskey and the former Statesman agent and found it endlessly entertaining. While Eggsy was tending to his new duties as a prince of Sweden, Roxy had readily stepped into his role of friend to Sunny when Ginger was busy.

“He is not my cowboy.” She rose to her feet and Bela poked his little head out from under the desk where he’d been napping on an embroidered pillow, a Boxing Day gift from Merlin last year.

Roxy laughed, a full-belly laugh that had the other woman frowning. “You might want to tell him that. When he saw Tristan at the door he said, and I quote: ‘tell Sunny her cowboy is here.’ So, I do not believe he knows he isn’t your cowboy.”

She was able to keep her face neutral as Roxy’s smirk continued to grow but that did not mean her stomach did not flip and fill with butterflies. “I’ll let him know, Lancelot.”

Roxy laughed and nodded before excusing herself.

“At least he didn’t honk this time,” she muttered to herself. The pair had been assigned a mission and she expected him later that day.

The stately manor house just an hour outside London was the newest headquarters for the agency and usually agents and their American counterparts would use the underground bullet train under the (also recently rebuilt) tailor shop. It would take only a handful of minutes.

But apparently Whiskey had to be…different.

She straightened her shoulders and walked toward the door and Bela followed, matching his short stride to her longer one as she made her way out of her office, through the ornate and marble halls, and out toward the manicured lawn and front courtyard.

And there was Whiskey in his Bronco. His head was tilted back so it could catch the warmth of the infrequent sun and his stupid cowboy hat was still on his head. Her stomach tightened at the sight of the stretch of his neck. God. She still had it bad, didn’t she? Would the sight of someone’s neck make anyone (aside from her pathetically-in-love self) short of breath?

Their relationship hadn’t really changed since Tilde and Eggsy’s wedding. Well, that is what she told herself anyway. Their emails had progressed to whispered telephone calls about their days and missions and she had lost count how many times she had fallen asleep to the sound of Whiskey all-but crooning in her ear.

But…friends did that. Right?

They were friends.

The scratching of Bela’s little paws against the stone of the front steps grabbed his attention and his head lazily turned to the side as a familiar smile pushed up his lips, displaying the one dimple on his right cheek. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes, Sunshine?”

She tried halfheartedly to hide her smile as she slowed to a stop and leaned against the passenger-side door. “I’m Agent Mordred here, Whiskey.”

“Nope. You’ll always be my Sunshine.” He opened his door and Bela leapt up into his lap just long enough for the older agent to scratch behind his ear and then into the back seat where the corgi promptly made himself at home. Whiskey leaned over and opened the door for her and patted the leather of seat, smile never fading. “C’mon. We can talk on our way back to London.”

She rolled her eyes but slid in. As she pulled the door closed, she said, “we could have taken the train.”

“It don’t like it. The darn thing moves too fast.”

She scoffed with another smile. “I don’t believe anything moves too fast for you.”

As Whiskey started the engine he looked at her, head dipping so he could pin her with his stare over the edge of his gold-rimmed aviators. “On the contrary, Sunny. I like going slow.” He enunciated each word with that southern drawl and let his fingers slide around the worn leather of the steering wheel, nice and slow as they trailed over the stitching. “Take my time. Make it worth it when I finally reach a destination.”

Her head snapped toward the windshield as heat curled in her stomach and then strangled the next breath from her lungs. “Inappropriate.”

But he laughed and reached over to pat at her thigh and squeezed just above her knee before gravel spit beneath his tires when he pressed down on the gas.

The pair did actually speak about the mission as the unusually clear autumn day provided a perfect backdrop for their drive. “Why do we always get put on the nuclear waste missions? It is like Champ and Harry don’t like us.” She said with a huff.

“Maybe it’s our specialty, Sunshine.”

She reached out and smacked at his arm. The mission was a little more involved than Vegas. It involved a pair of couples from blue blood families who had turned to buying and selling anything and everything a would-be terrorist or dictator would need in order to keep their luxurious lifestyles. Merlin had managed to uncover the plans of an American couple about to meet with the dealers at a gala at one of the privately-owned castles in Scotland. While Tequila managed to neutralize the American couple, she and Whiskey would be taking their place, hopefully to stop them and uncover where they were getting their supply.

She gave him directions toward the tailor shop (where they could pick up a few gadgets and supplies) once they reached the right borough and laughed when he had trouble parallel parking. But after finally managing to squeeze the Bronco into a space definitely designed for something smaller, he darted around to open her door as she pulled Bela from his napping spot in the back.

She murmured a thank you as she let Bela lick at her cheek. Whiskey hummed and scratched behind Bela’s ear before placing a hand at the small of her back as she led them up toward the gleaming glass door of the tailor shop.

It was all very…domestic, in a stereotypical “southern gentleman” sort of way and she hated how much she liked it. But she had given up on actually hating anything he did. Especially when he smiled at her like that.

Edinburgh was magnificent. And Kingsman had made sure their agent and visiting Statesman were comfortable in a luxury hotel room and an extra agent to act as their chauffeur for the evening, solidifying their image as a well-to-do couple with nefarious intentions.

The past handful of hours were spent going over the plan before separating to get ready. Her dress was from some Italian designer Roxy insisted would look good on her and fit her like a black, silk glove. The thigh-high slit just barely covered the holster she’d strapped around her thigh but hopefully the dangerously low neckline would distract anyone away from her legs. The false eyelashes gave her pause for a moment—and a few tears as she stabbed herself right in the eye a few times—but she managed to put on a face full of makeup and finished with a berry-tinted lip and a heavy hand of jasmine and leather perfume.

Missions like this always made her a bit nervous. No matter how many times she’d completed them easily, they always made her feel like a kid playing dress up and waiting for a scolding. She took a few breaths and then stepped out of the bathroom and into the suite. Whiskey was there, fixing the silver cufflinks in his classic and sharply cut, dark blue suit. The dying light of the sun was framing him and the next exhale stuttered in her lungs. It was going to be a long night.

Whiskey turned at the sound of her red-soled shoes on the floor and smiled. And, of course, his eyes dragged from her toes, up her legs, her stomach, her chest…and then stopped.

“My eyes are up here, boss,” she said with a snort.

His dark eyes finally lifted up to hers as his smile slipped to a smirk. “I ain’t your boss, Sunshine.”

And her stomach actually clenched at that and she had to take a moment to clear her throat and remember that they were on a mission. “That’s good. We’re supposed to be lovesick newlyweds, right?”

Whiskey’s mouth—god, how many times was she going to stare at his mouth tonight?—twisted to the side with a frown as he took a few steps toward her and gently grasped her left hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing the diamond-encrusted band on her finger before pressing her palm against his cheek with a sigh.

She let her thumb slide against his cheekbone for a moment, smelling his expensive cologne tickle her nose and the warmth of his hand over hers settled the nerves she felt.

“You look beautiful tonight. Truly.” He leaned forward to press his lips to her forehead before he squeezed the hand he had in his grasp and intertwined their fingers as he brought them down to his side. “An easy cover.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes as his watch beeped, letting them know it was time to go. “Let’s get these guys.”

And she let him tug her along with her heart in her throat.

The gala was luxurious in every sense of the word and the targets were so ostentatious that it was easy to spot them even if she hadn’t memorized their faces. Whiskey made easy work for introducing them as Mr. & Mrs. Jameson and making the targets laugh and trust them. She played the part of doting newlywed with no trouble and let herself enjoy it—as Whiskey seemed to be doing with how many times he deemed it necessary to hold her hand or press a kiss to her cheek or forehead, avoiding her lips with a joke, “she always hates it when I mess up her lipstick.” She would let her hand slip under his suit jacket as she leaned against his arm at the dinner table, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath her palm or push a smile to her lips whenever she had to lean in to whisper something in his ear about the security stationed around the room or how her Geiger counter, disguised as an opulent diamond tennis bracelet detected traces of radiation on the targets’ hands and feet. Especially on the woman’s—Alice—hands.

“Shall we talk shop in the gallery? I have heard they have a wonderful display of Mucha,” the man—Allan—said with a smile.

“I do adore Mucha,” she answered in return, tapping twice against Whiskey’s hand as it rested on her leg. Show time.

The pair of couples rose from their table and walked through the ball room and down a dimly lit hall toward the castle’s art gallery without much fanfare. In fact, she noticed that this whole ordeal didn’t have much fanfare at all. It was a wonder this couple had lasted this long without being taken down with how blatantly they spoke about their intentions. It was easy.

Too easy.

As soon as they stepped into the gallery, she noticed the ‘closed for maintenance’ signage. She was nearly leveled with a crack of a gun against the back of her head. The room swam for a moment and she stumbled but kept her footing and turned just in time to duck, dodging Allan as he tried to hit her again. She took a step back just enough to gain momentum before kicking out and slamming her stiletto heel into his chest.

It barely registered that Whiskey was busy handling Alice who had somehow produced a knife from god-knows-where and had managed to at least get him once with the amount of blood spilling across his white shirt.

But her attention was quickly brought back to Allan who was coughing, blood slipping from his lips as the he struggled to get to his feet. Her heel had punctured his chest. Oops. But the struggle was getting too loud. They couldn’t afford to be caught like this. It would ruin everything.

She stomped forward and grasped the sides of Allan’s head as he tried to stand and yanked. His body thudded to the ground just as Whiskey managed to sink a needle full of some yellow-tinted liquid into the side of Alice’s neck and she collapsed in his arms almost instantaneously.

The sound of approaching footsteps had them both scrambling. To hide the bodies (both of them were stuffed behind a statue in the corner). To clean up the blood (she grabbed Whiskey’s pocket square and made quick work of it all). There wasn’t time to make an escape. The thin beam of light from a flashlight was making its way down the hall, she could see it and tugged Whiskey toward her with steady hands.

“Don’t hate me.”

And then she pressed her lips to his and threw her arms around his neck, dragging him ever closer to hide the blood on his shirt.

Whiskey…could kiss. That was made abundantly clear with how easily he coaxed her lips apart to lick into her mouth, tasting of thousand-dollar-bottle champagne and mint. His warm hands grasped at her silk-covered hips and his face angled just the slightest bit so he could truly kiss her. Her hand shot into his hair on its own accord and mussed the carefully coifed locks. He groaned against her lips.

She could kiss him forever-

“Hey!”

They broke apart to see a disgruntled security officer standing in the gallery’s doorway.

“This area’s closed to the public.”

“Sorry man,” Whiskey drawled, keeping her close with a hand on her hip and her angled to keep his wound concealed, “just had to kiss my wife-”

“Do it somewhere else,” the man all but snarled before walking away.

She listened to his footsteps disappear before pushing out a soft laugh. Her heart was still racing. Her lips seemed to pulse in time with her heart and she licked them before she could stop herself, still tasting him. She quickly shot a message to the agent waiting outside that they had one body and one unconscious target to take care of before she stepped around the room, scrambling the security camera feeds with ease with the help of a small device Merlin had been particularly proud of.

She heard Whiskey walk up behind her but still jumped when his hands settled over her shoulders, a finger dragging under the strap of her dress and down her back. She shivered when she heard him chuckle against her throat, nose pressing against her pulse. Turning in his grip, she offered a small smile but didn’t pull away. She wasn’t sure when she would have him so close again. “Alice’ll be taken back to headquarters. Alan will be disposed of. Whoever set us up doesn’t have much time left.”

But Whiskey didn’t reply. His hands travelled up to carefully grasp at her face and he pressed a kiss to her lips—slow and sweet and perfect.

She pushed out a shaky breath as he pulled back and patted at his chest, mindful of the blood. “We are about to be in trouble if the guard comes back, Mr. Jameson,” she said, trying to save face.

“M’name’s Jack, Sunshine.”

“Jack,” she whispered back and she’d never liked a name more.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think!

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @spookyold-saintjm @honestlystop @paryl @fioccodineveautunnale @lackofhonor

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