#but if you look behind the curtain of his Professional Persona
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gu won does a wonderful job of seeming to be a Cool Guy but then you get to know him and you’re like… aw. he’s kind of a silly little creature <3
#king the land#I LOVE HIM I DO#he’s a cool competent man#but if you look behind the curtain of his Professional Persona#he’s just a silly little guy
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Extra number - a wolfstar AU
I tried to write a microfic for today's @wolfstarmicrofic prompt performer AU - it ended up over 1300 words = not a microfic at all. Enjoy!
Sirius was getting ready to head for makeup when the director came in.
"Paul's ill. Thankfully we've got a backup for his part. There's no time for you to repeat the whole thing together, I'm afraid. I hope it won't be too much of a problem."
Well, Sirius wasn't happy about it. But he was a professional, he'd make it work.
"He'll be here any minute so you can at least go over the duet and -"
The door opened again.
"Ah! Here he is. I believe you've worked with Mr Lupin before?"
Oh. Him. Mr prim and proper, all facade. Mr "I'll shagg you in the bathroom, then not even walk too close if there's the slightest chance of a camera". He had thought he had left those heart-wrecking months hoping there would ever be something more behind him in New York.
"Yeah, we've met", he admitted wryly.
Remus gave him a crooked smile. Sirius reluctantly shook his outstretched hand. His big, warm, and pleasantly steady hand. Met his inviting amber eyes and broadening smile. Nope. He was never falling for that again.
They really had a very short time to repeat. And Remus called them done early, wanting plenty of time in makeup.
"Are you really that worried about your looks?" Sirius mocked even though he'd seen the scars before. He knew Remus always wore long sleeves and high collars when they weren't covered up neatly. Of course, it took ages.
"If you don't care about your appearance, why the piercings? Why the hairstyling?" he replied calmly.
"Different thing. Different reason."
"What do you know about my reasons?"
"I’m well aware of how desperate you are to not let anyone see the slightest crack in your perfect facade."
Sirius left before he could reply. They could not get into an argument now. He had to stay focused.
When Sirius went on stage the thoughts of Remus were stored away where they didn't hinder him from opening the show as big and bold as always.
The second part was mostly Remus'. He did it well with only a few mistakes that the audience hardly noticed, despite his minimal time to prepare. He was nothing if not a good performer. On and off stage, that was.
For the third part, they worked together. Remus was taller than Paul, and Sirius had to take slightly longer steps to keep up, but it was alarmingly easy to fall into the same rhythm. Sirius remained focused, remained in character. It worked until the duet. Remus' eyes had him losing his stage persona and craving him for himself.
He might regret it later, but he was a professional and the audience deserved that he did his best. To deliver feeling you needed to feel. So, he looked into Remus' playful eyes again and let himself yearn. The passion in his voice came effortlessly.
They locked hands and bowed to the applause, as expected. They walked out, still hand in hand, and Remus' thumb brushed his knuckles. They hugged behind the curtain, as colleagues might. The sudden closeness so soon after the adrenalin still broke Sirius' resolve. His breath stuck in his throat as he breathed in the familiar scent. He needed him closer. His hands moved up his back under his shirt. His lips hungrily pressed against his. Until they disappeared, Remus quickly pulled back, leaving Sirius struggling to reorient himself. Right, they were still backstage.
"That was amazing!" The director handed them each a glass of champagne.
"Maybe we should team up again?" Remus said looking directly at him with a wanting expression that sent shivers down Sirius' spine. His body betrayed him again. He knew he had fallen too easily.
"Are you sure that would fit your image?" he asked icily.
The look of hurt in Remus' eyes shouldn't make his heart ache. It should be just what that bastard deserved.
"As if you don't have an image?!" Remus put the glass back in the confused director’s hands and took a step forward. "Wild and crazy. On the front page with a new conquest every week", he mocked.
"If people wanna interpret a kiss on the cheek as me having slept with someone that’s on them." The director hastily excused himself and Sirius dared to add "At least I'm open with my sexuality."
Remus pursed his lips furiously.
"What? Are you jealous?"
"Is that so hard to imagine? I thought we had something special."
"So did I, until you didn't want to be seen with me in daylight!"
Remus looked at the floor. When no replay came, Sirius quickly gathered his things and stormed out. He spent a very lonely night at the hotel room, and the next day ignoring phone calls and texts from both Remus ("I just want to talk" - bullshit) and the director (he would be working with Mr Lupin this evening as well, a thousand apologies).
That evening he met a very quiet and subdued Remus in makeup. When the girl asked to start on his arms, he refused.
Sirius looked up "What are you doing?"
"Apparently being open is very important to you."
The pain in his voice made Sirius' heart ache again. "I don't want to bully you into doing anything. Just don't think you can use me as... just don’t use me."
Remus smiled meekly and tried to sound reassuring "I know. This is for the best."
Despite everything, Sirius melted. It was true that he didn't know Remus' reasons for keeping his scars hidden, but he recognised fear when he saw it. He pressed Remus' hand. "Look, don't do anything rushed. Don't do anything you don't want to do."
"I've had plenty of time to think. After New York... I really missed you. And I've realised that for things to work out, I need to do this."
Five minutes before the start, he borrowed a microphone.
"Good evening, everyone. The show is about to start. But first: story time!"
"Those of you sitting close can see that I have scars on my arms and neck. They are 15 years old. You've never seen them, because I've always covered them up. But not anymore. Today I want to tell you what happened."
"Once upon a time, when I was a young aspiring singer, I met a bloke in a bar. We caught a liking for each other and headed home together. Holding hands. Kissing. We ran into a gang that..." he closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands for a second, "didn’t share our view of love. I woke up in the hospital."
Sirius held his breath.
"My friend didn't wake up at all."
The audience was dead silent.
"Respecting everyone is the most important message I could give you. But what I really wanted to talk about today is meeting your fears. You see, the problem with being gay and not letting anyone know is you get very limited. There's a lot of things you can’t do. Like asking your crush out, for one thing."
He stage whispered to the audience: "Guess who my new crush is?"
The crowd murmured excitedly.
"The very handsome, very talented Sirius Black."
The audience cheered and whistled.
Remus stage whispered again: "Do you think he'll say yes if I ask for a kiss?"
The audience cheered again. He was an excellent performer. But Sirius caught the tremble in his voice.
The director pushed Sirius on stage. He slowly walked up to Remus, meeting wide honest eyes.
"I had no idea" he whispered apologetically.
"How could you? I never told anyone." Remus' fingertips gingerly brushed his cheek. He reached forward, raised on his tiptoes, and smiled as their lips pressed together. Soft, lovingly, unrushed.
The audience went crazy.
That show Sirius made a few embarrassingly basic mistakes. But the audience probably forgave him, they got an extra number at the beginning after all.
More importantly, he and Remus left holding hands and didn't let go of each other until Sirius pushed him down on his hotel bed.
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Play bet. Drag queen
**Title: The Bet Behind the Glam**
It all started on a bright Saturday afternoon at Rick’s Tavern, where Tony and his group of lifelong friends gathered to watch the grand finale of a famous talent show. As the crowd's excitement bubbled over cold beers and hot wings, Tony, a burly man known for his full, meticulously groomed beard, threw out a daring wager. "If the juggler wins this thing, I’ll shave my beard and perform as a drag queen at Lacy's next week," he declared, confident that the singer was a shoo-in for the win.
The room erupted in laughter and cheers, each friend shaking on the bet, secretly hoping for an upset. In an unexpected turn of events, the juggler performed a flawless routine that dazzled the audience and judges alike, clinching the title.
The following week was a blur for Tony. As the day of his transformation approached, his bravado waned. Staring at his reflection the night before the performance, he sighed deeply and picked up the razor. With each stroke, his iconic beard fell away, revealing a strangely unfamiliar, smooth face in the mirror. It was the first step in his unforeseen journey into the world of drag.
On the night of the performance, his friends escorted him to Lacy’s Lounge, a local hotspot known for its fabulous drag shows. Backstage, he was introduced to Vanessa, a seasoned queen with sparkling eyes and a knowing smile. "Let's make you shine, darling," she chimed, her voice as smooth as silk.
Tony watched, fascinated, as Vanessa transformed him. Layers of foundation smoothed over his skin, vibrant shadows contoured his eyes, and lush lashes framed them with an almost magical allure. His hair was tucked neatly under a wig cap, replaced by a voluminous, fiery red wig that cascaded down his shoulders. The final touch was a dazzling sequin gown that hugged his frame and exploded into a flurry of ruffles at the floor. Stepping into the high heels felt like the ultimate challenge, but Tony managed it with a surprising grace.
As he looked at his reflection, Tony felt a jolt of excitement mixed with a pang of resistance. He was undeniably stunning, the image of a diva born to shine under the spotlight. Yet, part of him resisted the joy he felt, a tug-of-war between his expectations of himself and the liberating thrill of his new persona.
The curtains drew back, and the lights dimmed. Heart pounding, Tony stepped onto the stage, the crowd’s cheers fueling his confidence. The music kicked in, a lively pop anthem that he had practiced relentlessly. With each step and twirl, Tony found his rhythm, his body moving with a fluidity and flair he didn’t know he possessed. The audience was captivated, their cheers and applause louder with every move he made.
As the final notes of the song faded, Tony struck a dramatic pose, the crowd erupting in a standing ovation. Backstage, flushed with the adrenaline of performance, he caught his breath and met his own gaze in the mirror. The man who looked back was radiant, transformed not just in appearance but in spirit.
His friends crowded around, slapping his back and showering him with compliments. "You were amazing, Tony! Seriously, you could do this professionally!" one friend exclaimed, his enthusiasm echoing in the tight space.
Tony chuckled, a complex mix of emotions swirling within him. "I’ll never live this down, will I?" he joked, though part of him wasn't joking at all. Deep down, a spark had been lit, an unexpected passion for performance and transformation that he couldn't wholly deny, even if he wasn't ready to embrace it fully.
As they left Lacy’s, the night still young and alive with possibilities, Tony felt a shift within him. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the last the world had seen of his dazzling alter ego. After all, life was too short not to explore every color of its vibrant spectrum.
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A big thankyou to the people that liked ch1 bringing on the heartache, you gave me the motivation to continue writing the story @gabby913 @annoyedgrandfather @f-me-reid @chaoticcancer @bratckerman @casuallyclassless @hope-daughter @roxy9295 @eddiemunchson @ghost-mint
Chapter 2: Hold on to my heart
Listen to: W.A.S.P. - Hold on to my heart
‘Good morning, Mr Munson’! Brenda’s cheery voice sounds as she walks into the small bedroom. It’s dark inside and it smells musky, like sweat and earth. Light floods into the room as she drags open the curtains. Your eyes dart around the room interested, looking for something familiar. Goosebumps form on your arm as you spot the caps decorating one side of the room. Someone who knows and loves Wayne must’ve put them up, so it looks like home. You wonder who it might be, who still visits him here.
Next to the window sits his old leather reclining chair, even more faded then you remember. Your eyes travel further. In the corner stands a hospital bed, in it lies a crumpled heap of human, covered by a blanket. A pang hits your stomach.
Brenda pulls back the blanket a little bit and says ‘Good morning sleepy head’. She makes your introductions to the man in the bed and tells him you’re there to help him get washed and dressed. Dark eyes look up at you, empty, like he’s not really there. You really don’t know what you had expected. For him to recognize you after all these years? Or maybe for you to recognize him, to see a familiar friendly face. You and Brenda help him sit up on the edge of the bed. You can feel his bones when you hold him, his skinny body hardly filling out his pyjamas. There is nothing left of the rugged, strong, 50-something man you had known. You swallow and wipe your sweaty hands on your uniform. There’s a time for pity and this is not it. With a sigh you put on your professional face and start taking off his pyjama shirt as Brenda prepares a waterbasin.
Wayne had been Eddies guardian since he was a little boy and even though he looked tough, he was actually a really good guy. After Eddies parents died, he had taken him in without a question. He didnt have to do that, but he’d done it anyway. Better than that, he had always treated Eddie like a son. His rough look was just an outer shell for his softer persona. And Eddie adored him, even though he would never admit it. They both were like that, hard outer shell, but once you got to know them they’d show their soft side. After visiting a few times in their trailer and still calling him Mr Munson; you were taught good manners by your parents, he had insisted that you’d call him “Uncle Wayne”. So you did, awkwardly at first, but it grew on you.
‘Go away, let go off me’ the little man screams, with panic in his eyes, as he tries to slap at your hands.
‘Mr Munson, please let us help you, it’s me, Brenda’, your colleague pleads. She tries to hold his hands and squats to eye-level to smile at him.
‘No, no, no, help! HELP!’ Wayne yells in your face, he flays around wildly with his hands.
‘It might be better of you go away for a little bit’, Brenda sighs, ‘I’m sorry’.
With tears burning in your eyes you hurry into the hall. What the hell were you thinking, coming back here. Like it wasn’t going to be hard, like you weren’t going to see ghosts around every corner. Why did you have to run again, and back here of all places. What an incredibly stupid thing to do. Your breath catches in your throat as you choke on the tears flooding out of your eyes.
Hurrying along the hallway you try to hide your face. Can’t let them see you cry. In the stairway you stop and angrily wipe the tears of your face. You’re not even sure why this upset you so much. You’re a professional, you’ve been taking care of dementia patients for 10 years. ‘But never someone you knew’ a little voice in the back of your head says.
The door opens behind you and you quickly wipe at your eyes.
‘He has good and bad days’, Brenda’s says softly, ‘you just caught him at a bad day’.
‘it’s not that’, your voice sounds raspy, you cough and try again. ‘It’s just....’.
‘You knew him’ Brenda finishes your sentence. She sighs and sits down beside you.
‘Yeah..’ Your voice low. Ashamed you look away from Brenda. ‘I just didn’t think it was gonna be... like this’ You make a gesture with your arm.
‘It’s never easy when you know the patient, it must’ve been quite a shock to see him like that’ she says. ‘it’s easier for me to work here because I’m not from here. But some of the other nurses have grown up here, and Hawkins is not a very big town’
She hands you a tissue to dry your eyes ‘come on, it will get better’.
You continue your shift without further complications and promise yourself that you will try Mr Munson again in the morning, with fresh spirit. Maybe tomorrow will be a good day.
With a big sigh you step in your car and slam the door shut. You’re so damn tired but you had promised yourself to get groceries today. You lean your head against the cold leather of the steering wheel and gather your last bit of energy. With a turn of your key you bring the engine to life and back out of your parking spot. A quick stop at the supermarket and then home.
The enormous white building housing a supermarket chain and several other stores is surrounded by an even bigger parking lot. After parking your car you grab a cart and head inside. You were used to these giant stores, but it seemed out of place in Hawkins. There had only been a small supermarket when you were last here.
Strolling through the different aisles you let your thoughts wander back to your youth here. It had been a happy carefree time, in hindsight. But as a hormonal teenager you had felt out of place and misunderstood. You looked for ways to rebel against your white collar parents. Going to parties, drinking and smoking had been your way into the tougher crowd. That’s also how you had gotten closer to Eddie.
‘Hey, watch it!’ a female voice pulls you out of your thoughts. You had almost walked into someone. You start to apologise but then you notice something familiar about the blonde wide eyed woman in front of you. ‘Robin?’ Her eyes searched your face and then her face broke into the big familiar smile you knew so well. ‘No way, you’re back?’ she cheers as she pulls you into an embrace.
Talking to Robin was the highlight of your day, especially after the disaster at work.s She made you promise to go for a drink soon and the thought made you feel a little bit happier. When you finally settle on you couch with a microwave dinner and a bottle of wine, you feel a little less sad. Maybe coming back here wasn’t so bad after all.
#eddie munson au#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson blurb#eddie x you#wayne munson#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things#stranger things au#nurse#nursing
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Note: I know I haven’t been very active lately, but until my next fic, have this :).
Therapy
Pairing: Ethan Winters x F!Reader.
Warnings: smut, blow job, cheating, masturbation.
Ethan was laying in the psychiatrist’s office on the same couch he has been sitting for the past few months. The last years on his life were hell. He didn’t get out in one piece after the Duvley incident, both physically and mentally. The constant moving, the military training, it was all too much for him to handle. His life took an upside down turn. Too add more to his suffering, his relationship with Mia became more and more distant. He constantly had a feeling that she was hiding something for him, but she won’t open up about it, facing a rough rejection whenever he tried to open the subject. Certain thoughts pushed him to seek help.
The psychiatrist finally showed up, pulling him out of his small meditation, and greeted him with her cheerful demeanor. A wide, bright, smile that captured his attention from the first session. Her kindness didn’t come unnoticed by the attention starved man. Session after session, he moved his attention to other parts of her body. He took an interest in her hands. Delicate fingers wrapped in rings, alongside with colorful manicure, He couldn’t remember when Mia was this feminine.
Despite his efforts, he finally let his gaze to fall on “forbidden” parts, specifically her cleavage. He would blush like a schoolgirl whenever his eyes would meet her perky breasts that were sticking out her blouse.
Maybe it was in his head, but after some time it followed the shy touches that invaded more and more his persona space. Ethan was pretty sure he didn’t need therapy, since the discussions broke the barrier of professionalism long ago, but he couldn’t help it. He needed to know if there were subtle hints, or just his imagination.
Ethan would go home then and continue his life. He would talk normally to Mia, eat, read, and do whatever he had scheduled, then take a shower and go to bed. The only thing that is different usually happens before closed door, behind the curtains of the shower. Hot steam and the sound of running water hides the moans of Ethan as he runs his calloused hand over his erect shaft, picturing his psychiatrist in action. His mind replace his own hand with the delicate touch of his doctor, her fingers going up and down squeezing every inch of his length. In that fog he tries to picture her in front of him, the water dripping slowly between her breasts, down her belly button, everywhere where he dreams to touch. He supports himself with one hand and the other increases the speed, his fantasies washing away as he release the tension.
It’s not like he was very sexually active before, so Mia didn’t notice the lack of attention from him. The meds she was taking didn’t make Mia more talkative. Ethan had to face the truth, his wife died in Louisiana. He would cast away these thoughts, and began to think of his doctor as a way to cope. Mia didn’t even care when he would jack off next to her some nights.
Since the therapy started to do more harm than good lately, he decided it was time for a break. Doctor y/n made her entrance as usual, with a confident posture, wide, bright smile, and her floral perfume that invaded the room. Ethan relaxed, as usual, every part of his soul just craving the sweet, sweet touch of his doctor one last time before he would call off their meetings.
“What’s wrong Ethan?” She noticed something was wearing him.
“It’s...Mia.” The doctor sat next to him, and slowly progressed closer and closer, making sure not to alert him.
“What happened, did you two fight again?” He didn’t noticed how close she was to him now, touching his leg with hers, feeling the warmth of her body.
He didn’t know what to say. Ethan knew he was lying, but it was too hard to break up with someone who he didn’t even date.
“Look at me.” She moved two delicate fingers to cup his chin so she can pull his face closer to her. It was in that moment he realized how closer they were, and he instantly panicked pulling away immediately.
“This, this is wrong.”
“Why is that?” She said as she was descending down on her knees, spreading his legs to make some space for her body.
With a shocked expression he watched as the woman who was now between his legs begged with her eyes for his consent. He allowed her to unzip him and unbuckle his belt, releasing his half erect shaft already, holding it in her hand. Ethan nodded.
“Chris told me to take care of you.” She moved her head forward, not breaking eyes contact, and took his wet tip between her lips. She swirled her tongue around the tip, tasting the man’s precum, and slowly she made her way down his length. His cock was getting harder in her mouth, exciting her more. Ethan was in the point he wasn’t able to form words anymore, and was struggling to hold his moans with on hand. The sight of his psychiatrist between his legs was something he never dreamed of happened in reality.
The doctor stopped her actions and slapped Ethan’s hand away from his mouth.
“I want to hear you sweetie. There is no one left except the two of us. Why do you think I placed out meetings so late.”
She went back at worshiping his cock, and Ethan was slowly building confidence. He suppressed his moans, being stuck in his throat, but the doctor had her ways. She decided to go a little harsh on him, so she suddenly took all his length in her mouth. When the tip hit the back of her throat, Ethan finally released the moans that the doctor was so desperate to hear.
She rested one hand on his lower abdomen, playing with his happy trail, while the other was worshiping his balls. A mix of saliva and cum started to drip down his shaft as she moved her mouth up and down,making it easier to play with his cock. Her hand cupped, squeezed and toyed with his balls while his cock was coating her throat with its salty leakage. Feeling his member throb, she pulled out, with saliva dripping down her chin.
“How bad do you want to cum, Mister Winters.” She said while her wide tongue was making its way to the tip. Silence.
“Our session ended long ago. I can let you leave and go back to your wife.” Another lick. Beads of precum appear as she moved her tongue to lick underneath the tip, not too fast, but enough to stimulate him.
“I-I want you...” It’s all he could said with his shaky voice.
She went to the couch and kneeled on the place next to him, while lifting her skirt to expose her cunt covered in black thongs and a pair of fragile pantyhose.
“Please Ethan...” She could’ve taken the lead, but she wanted to see if he had any dominant side.
He didn’t know what to do. It was the first time after a long period that a woman showed this much interest in him. Unsure, he pressed his thumbs over the wet spot, rubbed, but he wasn’t consistent with his movements.
“Just ripe them off already.” And she pushed backwards her hips a little to give the man some courage. Ethan tore the thin fabric with his fingers, then pulled her panties aside to see her core. It was perfect, dripping wet, swollen, all ready for him. His fingers got in with ease, and finally all her “come on Ethan” whispers stopped and were replaced with shy moans.
“Who’s shy now? C’mon, let me hear you.” He pressed his big thumb over her puffy clit and rubbed in circular motions, which made her very vocal. Meanwhile, knuckle deep inside, his fingers were making scissor like motions.
Ethan’s confidence increased with every moan. When she felt her walls contracting around his fingers, he pulled out and placed his cock at her entrance, which slipped in with ease. With a quick thrust he filled her up and began to pump in her without wasting a second. Wet sounds and claps filled the room whenever his ballsack would hit her cunt. She dig her nails into the couch as he was thrusting with his full length. Feeling her around him made Ethan realize how much he missed it. He was ecstatic, he allowed the pleasure to flow through his body. He tried his best to make it last longer, but his balls kept tightening, the pressure on his abdomen became unbearable, and with a moan he released his load deep inside her.
“I’m-“
“It’s alright Ethan.” The doctor raised to face Ethan, feeling his fresh, hot cum dripping down her thighs. He took his arms and placed them around her waist. After, she put her head on his shoulder, letting all her weight in his embrace. “Hold me like that.”
Ethan was dazed. He knew he had to go home, but he allowed himself to stay in that position a few more minutes.
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Ooooo now you got me curious how a female Bruce Wayne role as batman would be different. Especially how she would play the Brucie Wayne act
Ohhhhhh I was hoping someone would ask me this, get ready for the info dump
First of let me start with the batsuit and a area that kinda reaches headcanon land here. I believe if Batman was a woman the batsuit would be designed to make her look like a man, even going so far as to add a voice modulator to sound like a man, why? Well there are 2 main reasons, first because that's what people expect from batman and that would help with the intimidation factor also it would help keep her identity secret and secondly cause let's face it, male superheros are more respected than female heroes even to this day, she would pick this just to make her job easier sincerely.
Now her fighting style would also change as would her physique, do not get me wrong here a female batman would be fucking toned, muscles for days, but as she is also public figure things would have to change, male bruce wayne can walk around being a pile of muscles cause thats expected of a playboy who cares for his appearance, also his suits generally cover his body pretty well, now a female bruce wayne would have to be much more careful with her muscle and scars, if she goes with skimpy dresses everyone will get to see her bunch of scars and bulging muscles, and while that would be fine if she was a man as a woman this would be a fucking scandal, everyone would want to figure out why local bimbo brucie had the body of a professional athlete and the scars of a soldier, these things are considered anomalies in woman, she would have to wear big full body coverage clothing if she wanted to go anywhere, so she would probably try to keep scars at minimal and muscles more on the lean side, also probably went through many plastic surgeries to erase scars and sometimes fix her face when rogues make marks on it
Let's talk about my favorite part of discussing female batman, Brucie. I already started talking about it a little bit on the last section but I kinda held of of going full on about it cause I wanted to make it its on part. Ok let's go. Let's assume female batman went the same route as male batman, her life would be hell, a himbo is an affectionate term, a bimbo is derogatory, if a man sleeps around he is called a playboy and will sometimes get a slap on the wrist, if a woman sleeps around she is a whore who is the filth of society. Every aspect of her life would suffer if she took on the bimbo route, people would take her even less serious than they do with male bruce, she would probably lose control of wayne corp, and if she didn't people would attribute it's success to her whoring it around and not a single man in it would take her seriously, she would have struggled way more in the adoption process as a single mother especially with a reputation of being a bimbo and probably would be accused of being the kids bio mother and not wanting to admit it, she would probably be in way more danger of being harassed than if she was a man cause people think if a woman sleeps around her body is public property, and guess what if she wanted to mantain the persona she probably would have to just let people harass her and pretend to enjoy it, gotham most likely would hate her and see her as just a "dumb bitch", the only advantage of this route is that there would never be any suspicion on her as being batman but every single other aspect of her life would suffer, but knowing how self destructive bruce is they would probably go this route if it meant the least amount of suspicions. If she wanted to make her life easier I think they would go with the snobby socialite route, acting like she thinks she is better than everyone while doing all the good work behind the curtains, she would still get a big ammount of hate but less than bimbo brucie.
Ok there is more to talk about here, mainly could rant for hours on how harder her social life would be, and also about how harder getting custody of her kids would be, but this post is already long enough and i rewrote this like 5 times so i will leave it at this.
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What’s *really* wrong with Secretary Kim? - chapter 2
Secretary!Mingyu x fem!reader / 3.0k
Sum: you make some decisions after the big meeting.
chapter warnings: some angst, swearing
Song rec (for this chapter) - Dumb Dumb - Somi
A/N: more contextual as a chapter, but things are starting to pick up. Thank you for reading, enjoy <3
Taglist: @lavendersvt , @fav9yu
Link to ch 3
Chapter 2
Mingyu had set you a lullaby alarm to wake you up, not a deafening siren like you would have set yourself in order to ensure you actually woke up and not snoozed through it. You felt energised enough after what turned out to have been a forty minute power nap and it may have been the miracle worker you needed before the meeting with Wen Electronics.
You checked the time and noticed Mingyu had left you some lunch on the coffee table. A pang of affection and gratitude squeezed at your heart for a second. He always thought ahead for you, especially when you couldn’t. Sometimes you wondered if other people had such great secretaries or if it was just you being lucky to stumble upon Mingyu and be forever blessed by his presence.
It seemed that Mingyu was really outdoing himself these days and you thought he deserved a reward. You decided not only to give yourself the week off starting Thursday but also Mingyu.
That and you remembered the outfit you’d decided on wearing in a while. You see, the first thing you’d learned about Mingyu on the job was that he was easily flustered. He was the shy type despite his overtly handsome, charismatic face and hulking muscles (usually hidden under suits but one time your stocks dipped dangerously low, you’d called him in the middle of the night and he’d shown up in pyjamas - black chequered flannels and a white t-shirt with Duck Momo on it- biceps bulging against the sleeves).
A smirk formed across your face; the outfit in question had made such an imprint on your mind, not only for its lux but the reaction that Mingyu had accorded it. He had been shot speechless when you’d tried it on in the store and appeared in front of him from behind the curtain. And when you asked him how it was, he’d been stuttering and mumbling something that from across the room you thought sounded like ‘super hot’ and ‘insane’. He’d been eerily silent the rest of the shopping trip. You were sure he’d enjoy seeing it again.
You ate some of the lunch, finding yourself too high-strung and tired to eat anything super substantial. Instead you went to your office en-suite to find that Mingyu had left the requested bags on the counter neatly, awaiting your action. You fixed your make-up, something you’d used to subdue your zombie guise this morning, and made sure it was in sync (but still professional) with what you were about to put on.
Here goes nothing.
Either Mr Wen takes you seriously or he doesn’t, you thought, as you looked at yourself in the mirror after changing. Simple; deal or no deal. You knew yourself as others did to be a strong persona, an entity to be reckoned with, feared but adored, renowned but still enigmatic. This outfit maybe suggested it a little too much.
Jacket or no jacket, you wondered. You decided, no jacket. You were - um, the weather was too hot for a jacket, even in your air conditioned offices.
You’d told Mingyu to meet you at the designated meeting room, half out of practicality, half out of wanting to make his soul leave his body like you predicted it might when he saw you. So you walked, waltzed, stumbled in the Louboutins to the meeting room, head held high and entered.
You were semi-expecting it but were still extremely flattered when every person’s jaw dropped to the floor as you walked in. You wore a crimson chiffon shirt dress, short with sheer sleeves and inlaid embroidered lace on the top, the skirt part falling against your legs rather ravishingly (if your ego didn’t lie to you in the mirror and the heels did their magic). You looked totally fierce, a tad bit terrifying, but also mighty sexy.
Mr Wen was now standing, having been seated at the table already, everyone following his suit in standing for you respectfully. You even spotted Jeonghan on the other end of the room, observing the scene with a little proud smirk. As always, he believed in you more than anyone else. You smiled, vaguely in every direction but mostly trying to scan the room for Mingyu’s face.
Bingo.
He was standing to your right, eyes wide, trying to keep his face neutral, a shade of red almost worthy of matching your dress crawling up his neck and face. Oh yah. His soul had already gone bye-bye and now it was just Mingyu and his pecs against the world.
Another few noticeable reactions that caught your eye: new intern Chan (absolutely gobsmacked), old intern Vernon (shookt™) and marketing director Mr Jeon (mildly surprised). Most importantly, Mr Wen smiled and extended a hand with respectful mirth in his eyes. You had him.
“Good afternoon, it’s lovely to finally meet you.” He said in a warm tone.
“Likewise, Mr Wen.” You shook his hand resolutely. “I look forward to our cooperation.”
“As do I, but please, call me Jun.”
Party sirens were going off in your head, first name basis? With the Wen Junhui? Some business god smiled down at you today. And to think only two hours ago you were a bawling mess in Jeonghan’s arms. Wen Electronics: bagged, signed, sealed, done.
It turned out to be a fairly short meeting, the two of you discussing the plan curated by the relevant people and yourselves, minimally disagreeing on much if anything, surprisingly calm waters and smooth sailing as far as possible. You were absorbed in the meeting, but every once in a while you glanced toward Mingyu, only if to make sure he was still taking notes as most of the others were.
The poor man was huddled over his tablet (removable keyboard and all), typing away looking tiny in his sleek suit, a little shaken but otherwise fine. You made a mental note to mess with his cute, dorky ass later. It was always fun and you wanted to thank him for his hard work too, of course.
After wrapping up with the contract signing and a commemoratory photo of your handshake (thank whoever, you had the brain this morning to dress good), you watched as everyone said their last greetings and disappeared. You were left with Mingyu, who was tidying some of the things in the room, and Jeonghan, who sauntered up to you with an accusatory (or was it suspicious?) glint in his eyes.
“I had no doubts about you getting Mr Wen’s autograph, but I gotta ask.”
“Ask?” You regarded him with equal suspicion.
“No offence, but how did you go from gremlin in the morning to goddess in the afternoon?”
“Ugh, full offence taken, Mr Yoon.” You said, lacking venom.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean it in a mean way, just in like a ‘what the fuck?’ way.” He shrugged.
“What, a lady can’t shape shift?”
Jeonghan narrowed his eyes at you. He sussed it out already. “You took a nap, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, I took a nap, shut up.” You snapped sulkily.
Jeonghan took his leave, which left you with your lovely Secretary Kim. He seemed mildly dazed as he gathered some of the materials to take with him, you smiled sheepishly at the effect that a simple little dress was having on this big guy. What can you say, you liked making men feel weak at the knees. Grown men giggling like school kids when you smiled at them? It was like a shot of dopamine.
“Mingyu!” You called. He turned at the speed of light, almost dropping the papers in his hand.
“Yessir- er, miss?” He croaked. You walked towards him, the swish of your skirt silky smooth against your bare legs, feeling like a graceful lioness stalking her prey. A frightened gazelle perhaps, not unlike the cowering, wild-eyed Mingyu in front of you.
“Thank you for the hard work. You can take the rest of the day off.” You said when you were within a couple of feet of him. He was staring at you for a moment, before tearing his eyes away from you and back to the papers.
“I shouldn’t, I need to sort some of the materials for tomorrow and confirm some of your schedules for next week and-”
“We’re taking next week off, ‘Gyu, from this Thursday. Now, be a good boy and go home already.” You purred and took another step forward, looking him in the eye he couldn’t avoid. You could tell he was fighting the slight shiver that your voice sent down his spine. It was funny to you how caring and responsible he could be, but also how flustered and easily shaken he could get. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped and nodded.
“Good, see you tomorrow.” You smiled at him and glided away, as much as your heels allowed, of course.
***
It was late Tuesday afternoon when you thought your office looked strangely beautiful. It was the way the light hit the neighbouring buildings’ windows and reflected back to you that really made it glow. You stared out at the sky, a particularly clear day greeting your eyes and an azure to die for spanning as far as the eye could see. Usually you didn’t have too much time to stand and watch but since you’d briefed Mingyu on your vacation plans, he’d managed your schedule to a point where you could easily tap out on Thursday.
As expected from the number one secretary in your company. (You hadn’t fact checked that but in your heart he was the best secretary in the entire world - universe as far as you were concerned).
You weren’t thinking too much about it, but you picked up your phone and opened the camera app, fingers tapping on autopilot as you focused on viewing the scene from behind the lens. The nostalgic feeling hit you without warning, memories of holding cameras flooding your mind. The touch memory of feeling the different grips, weights and types of each one careened through your fingertips in a split second.
Your fingers itched to touch a real camera as you looked out to the great blue beyond. The snap of the camera app coincided with a loud echo of your office door cracking open behind you. The only people who walked into your office without knocking were Mingyu and Jeonghan. Mingyu had permission, Jeonghan was just a nosy motherfucker but you let it slide due to his best friend privileges.
“Come in,” you said sarcastically, thinking it was Jeonghan since you’d mentioned you wanted him to come by when you saw him earlier, but when you turned around you were greeted with an open mouthed Mingyu. He cleared his throat.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt-”
“No, Mingyu, you’re always welcome to come in. I’m sorry, I thought you were Jeonghan.” You sat down in your big chair, closing the app on your phone without looking at the photo you took. “Anyways, what’s going on?”
Mingyu was now standing in front of your desk, ready to give his report but stopped for a second when he noticed the phone in your hands.
“Were you taking a photo?” He asked tentatively. Mingyu was aware of your past dabbling-engagement-whatever in photography. Throughout high school and college you were into it seriously, thinking that maybe one day it could be part of your livelihood, but because you sucked at other art forms (multiple teachers didn’t hesitate to cut you down when you couldn’t draw a damn apple), you’d given up trying to make anything out of it. It’s not like you would have gotten into any sort of art school. It was remembering your crushed dream that had caught up with you during your date with Minghao.
Mingyu had stumbled upon that part of yourself by accident. You had asked him for help moving from your apartment to your house about a year ago and he’d been carrying a box full of photos, albums and old film when (clumsy dear) he tripped and lost grip of it, managing to send everything, except himself thankfully, flying down the staircase of your old building. You’d been standing at the bottom already and the image of the flying materials reminded you of the montage from 10 Things I hate About You when the flyers dropped down the staircase, floating like bright slices of cheese.
Except what cascaded down was pieces of your life that you’d hidden away in a box, memories and fleeting moments stored on a page. An image that won’t actually last forever. An image that was highly flammable and could burn in an instant. You’d said it was silly whilst explaining to Mingyu that you liked photography; you, some boring CEO, his boss, had had unrealised dreams of artistic grandeur, but had landed a big shot job, boo hoo, poor little six-figure-making girlie. ‘It’s not silly.’ He’d said to you after helping you pick up every photo as you spoke.
You were taken by surprise at Mingyu’s inquisitive puppy look; all that was missing was a tiny head tilt. You nodded, hesitantly, pursing your lips. Mingyu’s face broke into a smile.
“That’s good, maybe you could pick it up again during your vacation.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “Oh right, Mr Wen sent you a bottle of wine as a congratulatory gift. It’s just on my desk, I didn’t want to risk dropping it. It looked expensive.” He laughed cutely. Even if he dropped it, you thought, you’d forgive him ‘cause he’s Mingyu. Wait- what did he say?
Pick it up again during your vacation.
“What, like a hobby?” You wondered out loud.
“Huh?” This time Mingyu tilted his head to one side. “I’m not sure sending people expensive wine is a hobby? I could look it up though?” You shook your head at him, a tiny laugh escaping your lips.
“No, it’s okay, don’t bother, ‘Gyu.” He seemed confused but he didn’t press, instead he gave you one last piece of paperwork to look over and left. You were still smiling at his sweet confusion, bless him, he does brighten up your day completely unintentionally.
Not five minutes later, Jeonghan waltzed into your office unannounced, but in his defence he got you your favourite type of sweet treat so you allowed it, no sarcastic quips. For now…or not.
“Thanks for swinging by, bestie. I have a little present for you too.” You grin at him. You reach to your side, retrieving a stack of papers held together by string (complete with a little string bow!) from under you desk. As much as you adore your friend, nothing gives you more joy that handing Jeonghan a fat stack of paperwork and watching the smirk fade off his face and the blood drain away.
“Ahh, what is all that?” He squeaked from his chair, eyes wide and unblinking.
“A few things that need signing, you do like signing autographs, don’t you, rockstar?” You pat the stack of papers and hand it to him very ceremoniously indeed.
“I’m putting you in charge, temporary CEO Yoon. She’s all yours.” She being the company. Jeonghan sighs and nods.
“I got it, enjoy your vacay.” He said as he hauled the stack with him, leaving the premises.
You were left to ponder Mingyu’s innocent but haunting words as you ate the snack. Little did you realise, he’d planted a seed into your mind…
***
Thursday rolled around quickly, and you found yourself packing a couple of bits and bobs from your office since you’d actually spend a (whopping!) ten whole days away. You’d mentioned to Mingyu that you’d let Harrison drop him off first when you left, so you were waiting to meet with him at the end of the day to share the ride.
In the dying hours of the corporate day, you’d called Mr Jeon into your office for a chat. Wonwoo was a quiet but stoic presence in your company and everyone respected the mysterious bespectacled man, who seemed to appear and disappear without notice, a little ghost-like. But somehow he knew everything that went on and didn’t miss a beat. He was exactly what you were after for this job.
You’d left your office door open and window to let in some air and cleanse the sense of existential dread and caffeine dependency that the room seemed to have an abundance of, and nearly had a heart attack when Wonwoo appeared at the doorway.
“Hello? You wanted to see me?” His gravely voice inquired. Your heart was beating abnormally fast, trying to recover from the scare, and you beckoned him in.
“Yes. Please, have a seat.” You took your own seat at your desk. Wonwoo had opted for the more formal desk seating than the couch area behind him. Business as usual, you found yourself thinking. You were colleagues but you’d known each other for several years now, so you thought you were verging on friendly-ish terms, but Wonwoo never slipped, especially to his (technically) boss.
“Mr Jeon, I’m sure you’re aware of your own expertise in the field of responsibility; frankly there’s no one else in this company that’s as level headed as you, myself included, so I have to make a request of you.” You couldn’t quite spit it out, you thought. You were just spouting nonsense at him for a minute.
“Is there something on your mind, in particular?” He asked, eyes searching behind his glasses (today’s pair was a circular wire frame that accentuated the shape of his eyes) and you felt his stare more piercing than usual.
“I’ve left Mr Yoon in charge of the company, but I’m leaving you in charge of everything else.” You said. Wonwoo seemed puzzled for a second, eyebrows furrowing.
“I’m sorry, I don’t seem to follow? What do you mean?”
“For fuck’s sake Wonwoo, please just don’t let it burn down.” You pleaded. Your outburst rendered Wonwoo speechless for a moment, and you thought you were about to be reported for inappropriate language in the work place, until a small smile inched across his usually serious face. You were struck by how cute and warm he suddenly was.
“Okay, I’ll try my best, I promise.” He nodded, letting the smile grow. “Have a good vacation.” And with that, he bid you adieu and disappeared as silently as he had appeared.
***
*copyright 2021 © momobani
#seventeen#kim mingyu#seventeen scenarios#seventeen imagines#kim mingyu scenarios#kim mingyu imagines#seventeen x reader#kim mingyu x reader#momobani.writes
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An Even Exchange II - John Wick x Reader
series summary (oneshots, can be read as stand alone) : you sell your virginity to john wick. part 1
summary : john calls you for the first time after you agree to become his to use, whenever he pleases. 6.1k words.
warnings : smut, consensual sex. rough oral sex [male receiving]. *the lightest* bondage. x f! reader.
notes : hope you enjoy this! rushed through this part a little bit because I’m really excited to write that thing i wanted to write for this in chapter 3...wink. I did edit this at 2:30am after finishing studying, please bear with me if there are mistakes! feedback so so welcome. ily xx
“When I need you, you come. No questions,
no excuses.”
.
In the late of the eve, John had called her.
His contract, she’d accepted.
Short, the conversation entailed none more than his quiet words, confident, assured. “I need you tonight.” He’d spoken, rich, beautifully rung off his deep tongue, the sound as smoky as ash in his throat.
Part of her wonders, ponders about this mysterious man. Handsome, built on perfect shape, he’d surely have no trouble finding someone to satisfy his every need. Perhaps, someone who could offer him more than she could.
He’d been the first man she’d slept with; he’d taken her virginity. Surely, he could find someone far more experienced to take care of him.
John’s home is large; extravagant. Crisp white beams and shining glass windows. A large yard, tall built trees generously speckled upon the estate. Surely, John Wick is a lavish man, equipped with more than enough financial security.
He did buy her.
Walking further, the night sky gleams, the moon glows in cold warmth.
Cold warmth.
Bittersweet.
After the night at the hotel, she hadn’t been summoned by John yet. A loch 4 days later, his call had beckoned her in the late hour of the night. The thought of what she was walking into right now bites in her head, gnaws, the ponderings growing with each heavy step.
She wasn’t scared of John; she knew he wouldn’t treat her awfully.
If the night at the Continental had proven anything at all, it was the assuring fact that John would respect her, her boundaries. He’d use her for his every need, yet never without consent.
Something special seems to grow inside John; she’d learned that in a mere three hours spent with his manhood curled between her legs.
John fucked her twice more that evening, only bid goodnight when he’d had to call it a night, sleep dense on his sex satisfied form. A taxi swept her home that evening, dropped her safely in her home, John’s proposition heavy on her mind,
Her answer yes, even heavier.
With each step, the thought of what would be to follow exhausts her, even before arrival. Beneth her feet, the path seems to crumble a little more; distracted, restless, she finds herself unsure of what to expect.
Reading into her own emotions, thoughts, feelings had been tough over the course of the prior four days. Between the sheets, John was a force to not be reckoned with. He’d shown her the fucking stars, left her yearning for more through the entire duration of the evening. Kind, respectful, reserved, his naturally dominant nature only intrigued.
She found herself marvelling more and more about the man with the bolded tattoos, the soft, mocha hair that curtains his dark eyes, the broad scars and firm mauve bruises that littered his skin. She wonders if somewhere under a hard exterior, was something softer.
Wonders, muses, guesses.
His cocoa kissed hair falters in hues; strands lengthy, messier than the night at the Continental. A candle burns in his long, lavish hallway; a flickering flame, steady, stirring. He’d greeted her, a nod of his head, reserved, his demeanour professional.
“Can I get you anything?” He’d asked, voice firm, yet held with that familiar comfort that had drawn her to him nights ago. He was assertive, reserved, yet still,
kind. Had she met him on the glittering streets of busy New York, perhaps ran into him at a heavy trafficked coffee shop, struck up a conversation of how she’d seen his familiar coffee hued hair and mahogany eyes seldom in the secluded walls of the Continental, she’d never assume.
She’d never guess,
that sex was all he wanted. Something physical, was all he’d engrossed.
She’d gotten comfortable in the silence he’d hold, his persona exclusive. Nonetheless, the most she’d heard out of his gravelly throat were the occasional grunt of pleasure, soft, muffled moans laced with a hoarse undertone emitting the air as he’d be thrusting selfishly on top of her. To his question, she returns. “I’m alright, thank you.”
He nods, as she follows him up the profligate wooden stairs. Something inside her builds, the striking view of his toned back and muscled features tensing when he leads the way. His home is quiet, and much to her surprise, it looks like a home. Flowers in vases, paintings of daisies and sunflower blooms wreathed to tall white walls, crisp and snowy.
Flowers bloom in his home, solace currents.
She’d never thought, that John Wick, lives among pretty flowers, that bloom.
From behind as she follows up the stairs, he looks towering, strong, defined.
She stares, and she stares, and she thinks. That the evening would end, with this nerve-wrackingly gorgeous man, nestled, buried between her legs.
The top of the stairs arrive, and with them, a new found suffocation.
Shackled with dread, a foreign feeling prevails to the sight, perhaps astonishment, bewilderment. And even through the ice of his reserved, quiet demeanour, she’d swore she’d seen a flicker in his compose. A halt of movement, as he’d glanced their way as well, despite best attempts to avoid.
Pictures scatter scarcely along the crisp white walls; John, and a woman. Photographs of a couple, happily in love, diffuse the walls, in the home of the man who taken her purity not long ago.
Proof of something bigger disperses the walls; stipples the walls where she’d soon offer her body,
to the same man who’d looked smitten in them.
The joints in her neck creak almost glancing their way, her veins course with a poison of something dreadful. Brittle fingers mould along her sides, taking place in frantic burden.
Intrusion; the feeling of being out of place.
This room is smaller, emptier, colder.
A single king bed presents against the wall, center of the room, silk sheets and monumental pillows. John’s back tenses as he paves the way, perhaps a drain of the way her eyes held thick with worry, seeing the sights of the previous hall. His hands fall rested to sturdy sides, breathe collected, expression grim.
She knew less things about John than the amount of hours they’d spent together.
She’d fucked him more times than things she’d known of his personal life.
And with the realization fading in; of John being a stranger, with his own life, his own battles, she wonders. Wonders if this was wrong. If she was breaking a house, fueling the destruction of a home. The thoughts race, the worries set in. Her bones carry a weight that hadn’t been present when she’d entered the lavish home; the grimmer lights of the dimly lit hallway matching those of her weary mind.
A sharp edge cuts. Something cuts, and cuts into her, twisting uneasiness.
“I’m not married.” John’s deep voice interjects her ponder, voice harder than before, and a shiver falls, cascades her spine; and it has nothing to do with the frigid air of bedroom. His attention turns to her, only brief, eyes only finding her face for a mere second or two, before finding more comfort diverted to the hardwood below. “I’m not in a relationship,” He exhales, and she’d swore the lines of his forehead tensed with each syllable. “This…isn’t wrong. Rest assured.” He adds, and the silence that follows her gentle nod of head was near deafening. She’d listened to the erratic, uneven beat of her own heart to his statement, a dense swallow in her throat when his figure advances toward the bed further.
John had probably only communicated a meagre 100 words to her, and she ached to hear more. His broad, tattooed back holds a story she knows not all ears can retain. The whispers are real; the stories had made their way around.
John Wick hadn’t become what he is over the sun bidding goodbye to a dark night.
A man of focus, as greatly as him, is conditioned. Taught, hardened, habituated to kill.
The questions, she knew would remain just those.
Questions,
that John would never entertain. This was a business deal; and to his personal details, she had no right.
For a moment, he stops. His head turns slow, his reserved features hold the weight of a million words, pent up frustrations pleading to be let out. Their eyes meet across the room. She doesn’t understand the look in his eyes. And out of all the things she’d sworn he’d wanted to say,
One stays imminent.
Need. He needs her.
He called her here today because he needs her. Needs a vessel, a gateway to relief.
Her job is to take care of him, sexually. To make him feel good. She stands, observing the way his tall, dark frame reminds her of what was to come. He’d mould their bodies together as one so expertly, so skilfully,
John was all she’d ever tasted; the first, and only man she’d ever let touch her.
And the worst part of it all, was that she was unsure, she could ever let another do the same again.
John’s thrusts would leave her weak, the sex was something holy in its own right, and she, was falling hopelessly addicted with each session. Hopelessly intoxicated by the way he’d make her feel so, so fucking good, when it was her job to satisfy him.
His low, rich voice breaks the secure silence.
“Come here.” John beckons, peeling back the silken sheets of the bed. The week at glance had offered him nothing but dire, bone chilling work. Missions complete, exhaustion prevailed. The usual amber tones held in a tall glass of Bourbon compared none to the waves of relaxation she could provide him.
He’d been craving more. Physical satiation. In dire need of long repose, John found himself unwilling to wind down with anything other than her.
Tonight, he’d find relief inside her. His nirvana would come buried inside her warm, heavenly haven reserved solely, for him.
her buyer.
A heavy inhale cascades his lungs as he watches her, drawing closer. He toys, caressing the light threads of her top between his fingers deliberately, and a pitch black smoke pools his eyes, the weight of his member between the seams of his pants falling heavier, and harder, and thicker by the growing second. “I want this off you.” His smoothly rich voice leaks, and his hand travels, trailing, smoothing over the fabric rested to her figure.
Her throat goes dry. Anticipation builds. He toys with the hem of her blouse as she stares into his eyes; his watching the way her hands peel the textile off her figure. She needs him. Perhaps, more than he needs her.
John sighs, breath heavy, perhaps flustered by the rush of blood to his manhood at the sight of her body; something about the way her curves and dips fall so effortlessly to her frame, the way her long sleeve bodycon dress moulds, seducing each inch of her femininity under the warm bedroom lights.
Captivatingly beautiful. Enough to make any man weak in his knees; an enchantress.
His newly purchased toy.
Watching intently, a captivated John barely bites his lip in amusement, watching the skimpy fabric peel off her frame, revealing delicate lace shielding devourable womanhood. “Mhmm…” John barely sighs, the ring of a rich hum brewing in his throat as his eyes gloss, drink in the supple skin of her hips, the tender swell of her breasts under the lace. His hand travels nonchalantly to his throbbing manhood, palming tenderly with chocolate eyes firm to her body, and she’d swore.
In his head, he’d already undressed her a thousand times. His hands had already roamed, delighted each inch of her skin.
Leisurely, a sturdy hand falls inside John’s pants, his palm wrapping around the weighty shaft of his cock, rising eagerly to the thought
of what he’d do to her
tonight.
Pulling out his cock to the sight of her, half bare, awaiting his instruction, he opts for a seat to the Californian king, wanting so desperately to see her in all her glory. “Take it all off.” John affirms, an order she was willing to oblige.
John was the first to see her body fully on display, the first to set gaze to what only she had seen formerly. His prying gaze sends a pool of warmth, shivering goosebumps on her silken skin. Something about the way his gaze alone makes her feel so desired.
He sits, a heavy hand rested to his thigh, the other wrapped loosely around his swollen shaft, stroking, and stroking as his eyes watch, lock to her heavenly frame as she strips for him. Bulging veins throb thick in his dick, sensitive to his fingers touch, delicate to the sight of her unravelling, a gift just for him. “Beautiful…” He whispers, merely under constrained breath to the striking view, gruff toned, yet velvety as he watches her fingers un-clasp dainty bra hooks, allowing the textile to fall off her smooth shoulders so seductively. Her skin shines under warm light, and his hand unknowingly tightens around his base, eyes taut to her skin.
Right now, in this moment, everything he saw in front of him belonged rightfully, only to him. She belongs to him. For him to touch, for him to use as pleased. “Fuck…” A burning John mutters under his breath; a fire rummages inside his belly, the pent up frustration of a load inside him pleading to be released. With a stocky hand still offering tender strokes to his member, his voice gruffs, a deep baritone searing through the silent atmosphere. “Come here,” He punctuates. “On your knees, in front of me.”
Shivers emit down her spine, and her eyes find the floor, unable to connect to his just yet.
John was moral, humane. Yet still, he was her buyer. Surely, he wouldn’t hurt her or make her do anything she didn’t please; as confusing as it may have been, she wasn’t uncomfortable around him.
But she was nervous. Nervous that she wouldn’t do good. Nervous that she’d fall short of what he’d wanted. A sum as great as what John was paying her would break most people.
She finds herself pondering, why he’d chosen her.
“Show me how deep you can go.”
Like a lightening bolt. His voices come in crashes, pounding like a lightening bolt. Something about the way he speaks to her.
The hardwood beneath her feet was cool, she’d known her knees would bruise for him soon. A warmth drills inside, anticipation of what was to come builds, and she thinks. She marvels,
She muses.
Of how her owner would use her tonight. Of what he’d want her to do.
Following suit, she collects herself, kneeling in front of John on the bedroom floor, his menacing cock sprung erect a mere few inches away from her face. John allows it to fall out his palm, opting to caress the ends of his muscle toned white shirt, drawing it over his head, revealing that familiar, beautifully toned torso. Bold tattoos, complimented by fresh, deep purple bruises;
They hadn’t been there the last time they’d fucked.
And she remembers, under the dimly lit lights, the ink that stands bold to his back is a story; that perhaps his lips could dare not hold. She still wonders. She still guesses. She guesses, she guesses.
Tension tightens in his muscles, darkness ripples in his eyes.
John needed her sex badly, direly. The lonely depths of his desolate palm hadn’t sufficed since he’d been reminded of what human connection could do; how holy finishing inside a woman felt, paralleled to grey tissues and empty walls.
“Put those lips on me, sweetheart.” John’s voice illuminates.
Heavy curtains hide what went on inside the dimly lit bedroom. Veiled the way they sin in secret; Hid the way he was slowly creating a realm; one she’d touched not long ago.
One where only her and him were real. Pleasure was all that triumphed, his body the religion, and the alter was her mouth.
With cold hardwood underneath, she sinks to her knees in front of him, studying the way his thick hand holds his member, urging towards her lips; within seconds, she obeys. Lingering his length, she encircles his tip, shallowly taking the thickness into her mouth. Within seconds, every throbbing vein on his cock glides easily through her lips, cascading over her tongue, held by hallow, tightened cheeks. Tightening on her shining tresses, John’s head falls back in pure, unaltered, pleasure. His eyes close, his body tingles, the feel of her wetness swirling, exploring his shaft take over.
And in her mouth, he melts. He melts, and tensions fade.
“Fuck…” John sighs, eyes fluttering shut with each tender bob. She goes slow at first, offering kind, nervous bobs. His teeth grit, the sounds of sloppy slickness current through his ears, building inclination. Slow, steady, his palm trails, encapsulating around her hand as she works his length, bringing it his thick base. “Remember how I showed you, use your hands on what won’t fit.” He instructs, gently encouraging her to jerk his remaining length. She obliges, watching the way his chestnut eyes hold a familierness within them; despite being his, John treats her kindly.
Treats her human.
“That’s it.” He manages, groaning quietly under his breath as he gazes her, on her knees with his cock sheathed in her throat. It had been a while since anyone had taken him this way;
since he’d allowed anyone to take him this way, after... her.
Hel.
“Tighter, darling.” He breathes, tightening his grip to her messy hair. “Look up, eyes on me.”
Slowly, steadily, she bobs further, taking more and more, pushing herself. John hired her for him to use, to please himself. Yet she finds herself, pushing her own limits to please him. To be good for him.
With his cock throbbing in her mouth, she wonders; what it was, about the man with the bolded ink, the broad back and toned muscles.
Flattening her tongue over his length, she feels his palm in her hair, guiding gently, up and down, up and down on his painfully erect member, low groans and throaty moans leaving his lips in a delightful hum. As she ventures further, gliding more and more and more of him through her wet haven, choked gasps begin to emit, John’s bulge throbbing relentlessly now, weightier on her tongue. Punctuated by praise, and nonchalant breaths, she feels his spare hand move, planting to her bare breast as she continues to move. Tenderly, softly, his thumb swirls her hardened nipples, massaging, fondling the soft swell of her supple chest in his palm.
No man had ever touched her where John does, with each intimate stroke, each lustful touch, he marks her. Marks her as his.
The sounds of her mouth, they kiss his ears; the sinful, sloppy, wet sounds, the slurps, the vibrations against his cock offer an unholy wish.
He wanted more. He needed more.
With the baritone of his voice searing her ears, his question comes as she continues to move, allowing his tip to hit the back of her throat with slow, stable bobs. With a heavy hand travelling up, planting to the nape of her neck, John signals her, ceasing her devour of his erection. Muscles tensing, she gazes the way his biceps fall beautifully firm, his beard lays perfectly groomed, a darkness rippling in his chocolate orbs. Reaching forward, his warm thumb brushes over her ever so slightly buzzing bottom lip, voice deep, ringing with currents of dominance, assertion. “Do you trust me?”
As if habitually, she feels herself nodding slightly in return. Without thought, without said. She nods, and she stares, and she stares, and she stares, feeling his gaze sink into her. Without a moment to waste, she watches John raise off the mattress, opting for a stance towering over her, leaving her still on her knees, his cock dangerously close to her mouth still, glistening with her wet saliva falling in strings off his shaft. Gazing, she swallows a dense lump, watching the way he takes hold of an intimidatingly large erection, guiding it back to the security of her lips, swirling his head around the plump of her pink stained mouth. With a hand firm to the back of her head, he pushes a conserved amount of his length back into her mouth, his hand that had been holding his cock finding the back of her head, accompanying his other.
His voice flows through the room, heavy, shallow. “If it’s too much, squeeze. I’ll stop.”
And without warning, he sinks deeper, and deeper, and deeper into her throat. Only stopping when he knows she won’t be able to fit more. His hips rock, slow at first, his hands keeping her head situated still in place, slowly beginning to move faster, faster, harder, quicker. Incoherent gags fall her throat as the realization of what he’d begun overtakes her.
John, was fucking her mouth.
Exactly how he pleased,
however, he’d want.
Loosening her jaw, her hands plants firm to his callous, large thighs, feeling each vein, each curve of his dick plummeting across her wet, soaking tongue. Completely at his mercy, the sound of hallow gags and a mouth full of cock impend the room, gasps for breath muffled by his immense size sizzling in her throat as he thrust, and thrusts, channelling his needy pace into the vessel of her mouth. Hot tears char against warmth skin, his thick balls thudding against her chin as eager hips buck impatiently into her mouth, harsh praises and tender approval falling his deep baritone.
“You’re alright, darling.” He allows, warm thumb brushing, wiping away the sear of sweltering tears hot on her cheeks. “I won’t hurt you.” Unchecked tears and muffled moans follow suit, peppering the air as he thrusts, pulsating, throbbing, twitching in her mouth.
Bliss overtakes, John’s each nerve snapping, tingling with blissful warmth. She’s working wonders on his cock, louder, courser moans surface his throat, eyes fluttering in and out of light as his head falls back, diminishing into the feel of her. He shudders, shivering with each dip; the warmth, the tightness unlike anything he’s ever felt before. She, was quite literally, something else. He thinks to himself, he dreams to himself, of how he’d went so long, without someone like her. With each sink, his jaw tightens, goosebumps peppering his skin, chest heaving as she tries her best to hold in stifled gags; his hands eventually moving to cup her soft cheeks on either side as he drills into her mouth, chasing ecstasy,
-until with an abrupt pull, her head yankers back in his grip, silky strings of saliva connecting to his tender length; his cock falling out her mouth still hard. Still filled with need. Feeling a mess, her brows thread in confusion, eyes wet, lips seeping the wet pool of slick he’d created inside. Her skin singes, a char in her eyes from the burn he’d left.
“On the bed.” He eventually ordered, flustered from a rush of his own paradise. His cock aches, his body yearns for the walls that squeezed, nestled around his member nights ago. If there’s one thing John knew, it was exactly that.
His release, needed to come from being inside her. She was far too heavenly to finish elsewhere. She obeys, finding place on the silky bed, supple skin and exposed womanhood making her appear all the more appealing. John’s member twitches to the sight of her; tantalizing, a sex siren, and she didn’t even know. “I want to tie your hands.” John speaks, ravishingly rich. “Do you consent?”
She’d nodded. She wasn’t even aware, when the words swirled inside her head, and when her hazed conduct nodded diligently.
She’d nodded, to be truly, at his mercy. She’d watched him, collect rope from a wooden beside drawer, positioning himself behind her, gently pulling her wrists together. He restrains them, fastening an knot, leaving her brewing with anticipation of what he’d do next.
Excitement, eagerness to be fucked selfishly by him.
“Our contract will be regular.” John adds, towering tall beside the bed. Fishing a condom from the box, he slides it onto his thick manhood, his gaze turning locked to her body spread for his taking in the sea of sheets. “If you’re comfortable taking oral contraception, I’d encourage it.”
The pill. He wants her to get on the pill.
She nods. She nods to all the propositions that spill his lips. She nods, and she nods.
In his nude glory, she observes his body, once again. His, was a body she adored, awaited. Mammoth length, finished with that familiar rosy tip. The thick veins, the sturdy shaft, the dark bush that jungles around, protecting the treasure that was his beautiful cock. She swallows, she gulps in the glory, and her mound tingles when he climbs on the mattress, the weight of his body sinking into the foam. Carefully, feverishly, he peels her bottoms off, a pair of sexy lace underwear matching the bra she’d removed earlier. With thick fingers and a callous hand, he palms her pussy, spreading the nectar that seeped for his taking over needy folds. He spreads her legs open further, palms placed under her gorgeous thighs; opening her up just enough to see a sheen of slick arousal coating her cunt, paired with a salacious sight of her sensitive clit, too.
With his body hovering over her, John takes in the delicious sight of her body underneath him, bound, at his mercy, for his taking. Hard, deeply shaded nipples, satin skin, plump on her chest, her breasts swell so deliciously; he finds it impossible to resist. With his cock sheathed heavy in his hand, John offers himself slow, prepping tugs as his lips trail, sucking, leaving a lone, delicate mark painted into the sensitive skin. She gasps at the pressure, wincing almost, swallowing thickly when she glances between their bodies, gazing the sight of his thickness erect in his hand, preparing to take her.
With two sturdy fingers glossing over her, he gazes the slickness; the moisture gathered between her folds, all for him.
All for him, to sink into. With his hand palming her pussy delicately, his voice interrupts, deeply rich, reminding. “Tell me to stop if you need.” She nods, remembering, of the way he’d said the same the first time he’d used her. John Wick could ruin her, if he wanted.
But he didn’t. He wouldn’t. She wonders where this humility comes from, how it lives in him. Yet, she keeps mum. She wont ask, she won’t intrude. This contact signifies merely, an exchange.
An even exchange; for him to get what he craves, for her to get what she needs.
Without much warning, John’s weight sinks into her entrance, the throbbing veins brushing her sensitive walls, quelling an obscene desperately muffled moan from her mouth, eyes widening, arm coming in rescue to cage in yelps and whimpers that threatened to fall.
The burn. God. God. Why does it hurt so much, at first?
The electrifying sensation of John’s cock burying into her overtakes; the searing burn of the stretch he leaves behind unmatchable, soliciting sinful whines from her body below. With her eyes falling shut, and her walls clenching around him, the sounds of John’s haste picking up fills the room, his hips eagerly pounding her tight, delicate pussy seconds in. John’s lust filled, dilated eyes gaze down, his hands holding her hips secure in place as lewd moans caged by her arm over her face barely whimper; his cock pulsing inside her cushy walls, grinding against that oh so tender spot between her legs. With his fingers threatening to paint bruises into her skin from his delicate hold, she feels John’s grip on her waist tighten, rapt with desire. Sucking in a sharp breath, his hips pick up pace, groaning quietly to the feel of her pussy, and he thinks-
Her pussy was made just for him; perfectly mould for him, to indulge in.
Her breasts bounce beautifully, her body jerks with each volatile thrust, his need cultivates further. The sounds of his balls smacking against her womanhood send him further, the symphony of her stifling yelps and imprisoned whimpers begging to be heard by his ears as he works her. “You...” John breathes, hips snapping relentlessly, animalistic into her as he grips her tight. “You don’t have to stay quiet.” He clears, confirming. Although this was an exchange for him to receive mind blowing sex which he so desperately needed, he didn’t mind her enjoying herself. In fact, he preferred it. He wanted it. Her moans of pleasure would confirm; that she was alright.
That this was alright.
With a nod of her head, Y/N removes her arm from the cusp of her face, eyes fluttering shut, only opening scarcely when John’s pace never slows. Panting above her, John rolls his hips aggressively, biting his lip to the sight of her unravelling underneath him, and she trembles.
With her eyes closed, she finds herself lost. Lost in the feel of John fucking her so deliciously, so intoxicatingly, the perfect amount of pain and pleasure. The pleasure that pushes her over, the pain of his godly size that only intensifies it. Her back arches, legs practically falling limbless. Sweat trails down their backs, and they release shuddering breathes.
The sound of skin assaulting skin fills the room, and when her nimble fingers crave to sink into his skin, the pressure builds further, anticipation darkening within her. The pleasure is so intense, she practically screams, beautifully frustrated, begging, pleading for her tied up hands to be free only to clench onto John. She felt herself, craving to hold onto John. A mixture of their juices coat her thighs, John’s member glistening under the lights from the sheen of her arousal. The smell of sex floods around them, the heat shared between their bodies sending a turmoil erupt. Her toes curl, and each nerve inside John builds and builds, on the brink of release; he feels silky drops of pre cum spill inside the barrier of the condom between them, he only wished it could add to the heaven of wetness she’d made, just for him. Squirming underneath him, she practically whines from the force, yelps, moans, tightens her cunt around him tightly as he continues to rummage into her body, allowing those familiar, boiling hot tears to warm up her cheeks from the sheer heaven he’s channeling into her. “John…” She gasps, desperately attempting to gather her choked breaths. Her voice breaks, and she inhales a shuddering draw of air. “Oh…John!”
He feels himself slam into her harder, and harder, melting inside her. It had been far too long since a woman screamed his name. Far too long since he’d had the pleasure of sharing release with someone. He swallowed every noise to leave her lips greedily, and she shuddered against the burning feel of him drilling into her heat, over and over, and over, and over. Enticing whispers of praise for her body fall off his lips, as if flowers to her ears.
She’d never had anyone before John; the whispers of him voicing his pleasure from her only sent her further into oblivion. She feels herself growing tender, more tender by the second, the pressure building inside her core preparing for a release she knew would show her the stars; John had done the same only nights ago when they’d first exchanged service. He shudders, shivers, groans in his deliciously deep, bass heavy voice; feeling her squeeze around him harder when she screams his name a final time, her orgasm washing over in waves of cloudy, beautiful bliss.
His chest heaves, rhythmically, lust drunk and buried deep inside her, he huffs, pants above her, chasing his release, when it builds just to the brim, finally, desperately pulling himself out of her soaking cunt, the dainty condom harshly peeled off his dangerously firm, mighty cock, discarded hastily to the bin below.
Bringing his hand to jerk, tugging his harshly erect, tender cock, he watches her, flustered, skin sticking with sweat, cheeks warmed with after sex bliss. A euphoria has washed over her form, a paradise they’d created together; and he warns. He warns quick, before chasing his own. “Open your mouth, sweetheart.” He breathes through shuddering inhales, still jerking his sensitive bulge, watching her oblige, understanding exactly what he wanted.
He’d ripped off his condom tonight, before cumming. And suddenly, she realizes why.
John Wick, wanted to finish on her face.
With her mouth open, she anticipates. Another first added to her list of firsts when it came to her sex life. Another first, that came with John. John Wick; the mysterious, reserved John, who she knew next to nothing about. John Wick, the man she knew she’d have many more sexual firsts with.
And with his cock spilling release, she feels him inch closer to her face, unloading milky ropes of slick, glossy hot cum over her features; a considerable amount layering the insides of her mouth.
His cum, all over her mouth. Her face, tainted with his seed. Her hands, tied by his desire. Her body aches fiercely, her pussy remembers the force he’d channeled into her, and pleads for more. With his cum painted to her face, she feels for the first time.
She is his. She is his.
With a final grunt, John falls beside her on the bed, catching his own breath, and she sighs briefly, still flustered, at the feeling of lightness in her chest; vision growing fuzzy. Her head turns to the gray ceiling above, panting blissfully, stuck in the euphoria he built around her.
This world John was creating, this realm they both would exchange, was becoming something beautifully intoxicating. Something she wanted more now than, before. Turning her head slight, she’d barely noticed the shift of weight off the bed to her side as he’d untied her, his sharp, regal profile distant now as he grabs spare towels from the bedside. Laboured breaths calm immediately, easily smoothing out into an even rhythm.
Even the sound of his breath, flowing,
Sends a shiver flutter inside her.
Slowly, gently, he hands one to her, his naked form still in full grandeur as his buttery voice speaks, snapping her out of oblivion. “You’re alright?”
She only nods, connecting her gaze to him as she sits up, elbows base on the bed as she holds her weight up. Nude, the familiar blush of being completely naked in front of him brings a warmth to her cheeks, and she shies, crossing her legs closed, wiping her face of what he’d left behind.
John watches. He watches, and drinks her in. He’d gone so long without sex, without real touch.
But now, he had her. He had her service. He watches the way she swallows a lump in her throat, vapour dotted across her skin from their exertion.
She was gorgeous; beautiful, not that he had any right to think that. He’d only had right to her service. Her amazing, mind blowing service. The same service, that had kept him up nights prior, lost in reveries of the way she’d made him feel.
Unlike anything that could be moulded into coherent words. A goddess in her own right.
He finds himself, far more relaxed, relieved than he’d been before she’d accepted his request for her to come. In the moment, relieved, sex gratified, John thinks to himself. Thinks of how lucky he would be from now on, to have her
whenever
He craved. His proposition had been spontaneous; a mere proposal after their first meeting; his sex clouded and intensely satisfied mind propelling him to offer. Now, after hearing her approval, her willingness for their exchange being a regular occurrence bound by contract, John electrifies.
He thrills, he rouses. His cock pulses to the mere sight of her in his guest room bed, beautifully crafted. His pensive gaze soaks into her; nude, jaded, the beauty of her splendour.
The beauty of her body. The sinful sight of her holy, delectable body. His eyes move to her pussy, glistening with product of what he’d made gush from her; a symbol of what was his. Her pussy, belonged to him-
for the duration of the contract, for as long as he owned right to her service.
He glides a shirt over his torso, a pair of grey boxers to accompany. The thought of a crisp pour of amber bourbon kissing his tongue sounds divine; a post sex drink to level nerves. Calm, collected, he gazes intently the way her sex smitten body positions, the trance dying down, her haze still thick, her skin vulnerable to prying eyes.
“I want you in the shower.” John speaks, rhythm of his tone reverted back to the reserved, assertive tenor. “Have yourself ready, please. I’ll be back in 15 minutes.”
He’d be back for more. He wanted her, more.
Brittle fingers.
Insignificant, little, brittle fingers.
They’d begged to reach for him, pleaded to touch him the entire time he fucked her mindlessly.
Something fitted across his expression when he’d turned to face her briefly, eyes flickering down, and up absently. Something wrote in his features; something she wanted more and more each time their bodies became one.
He, was her first.
And she, wanted him, to be her last.
➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴
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I'll Write This Scene a Thousand Times - Ch1
AO3 Link || Next Chapter
Ship: Moceit (Janus/Patton)
Warnings: Alcohol, Implied sex, one-night stand, rumours and scandal, swearing, I would recommend a 16+ readership, but since this isn't actually explicit I guess use your discretion?
Summary: For all accounts and purposes, Patton Hart should have been able to make it through his twenties in the music industry without coming face to face with a scandal. The perfect package of talented and adorable, with family connections to boot, all he'd had to do was keep out of trouble, and he was good at that.
He hadn't counted on running into Janus Lyre. The beautiful, frustrating, devil-may-care actor evidently has some sort of effect on Patton, driving him to make the sort of mistake that never would have crossed his mind previously. Now, with their faces plastered across the internet and fledgling careers on the line, the two of them need to keep the lie of their fleeting relationship sustained.
‘The sweetheart and the snake’ - has Janus Lyre found a new ‘Hart’ to break?
Less than an hour after being photographed at the premiere for his own movie, the young star was seen at a swanky downtown nightclub - guess that’s one flick we won’t be catching!
But, dear readers, that’s not the most interesting part. With Lyre’s turbulent record over his few years of fame, one might say playing hooky is just a minor infraction for the beloved bad boy, but the same can’t be said for the cutie hanging off his arms in those photos! Some of you might have already recognised those cute brown curls and sunshine grin, and as hard as it may be to believe that is indeed Patton Hart.
The youngest son of now retired singer Ophelia Hart has made quite a name for himself recently, with his sugary sweet lyrics and impossibly innocent persona - impossibly being the operative word. Is the golden boy finally rebelling? Or had there always been a darker side to Hart, hidden behind the saccharine pastel branding?
---
Logan Wright: Just saw the news. Need to talk immediately. Send me your location, I can arrange for you to be picked up safely.
Logan Wright: Patton please pick up my calls
Logan Wright: I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how urgent this is??
---
Patton groaned around the headache coursing through his skull as he paced the wooden floors of the darkened bedroom, willing the phone in his hand to be still long enough for him to figure out what to do.
This had to be a bad dream.
Patton Hart was not the kind of guy to wake up in another man’s bed with a bad hangover, barely any memories of the previous night, a hundred missed calls from his manager, and compromising pictures of himself spread all over the internet.
Maybe if he just crossed his fingers real hard and opened up twitter again, it would all just be gone and he would wake up in his own home, sans migraine, and everything would be just fine.
Nope. Patton’s own besotted face was the very first thing that greeted him as he opened the app, gazing up at Janus Lyre of all people. He felt like he was looking at a stranger as he flicked through the images despite his own surmounting dread. He watched this weirdly confident version of himself, practically draping himself over a man he barely knew, grinning as Janus leaned in to whisper in his ear, kissing him in the street outside the nightclub, his own unfamiliar hands running through long dark locks, wandering down to lithe waist and hips, pulling their bodies even closer.
Patton felt sick. He had to call Logan, he knew that. Logan knew how to fix things, he would handle this.
Then again, Patton had never given him something like this to fix before.
The tweets underneath the photos ranged between a variety of reactions, from confused, to shocked, to disgusted to “always knew Patton Hart had a dirty side”, to “Can’t wait to see how long Janus keeps this one around.”
To be perfectly honest, all of them made the sea of dread and nausea in Patton’s gut rise and lurch.
“This is so bad,” he muttered to the figure that had just appeared in the doorway, glass of water in hand.
“Oh is it? Is it really? Oh, thank you so much for telling me, I would definitely have forgotten just how ‘bad’ this was if you weren't here to remind me.”
Janus Lyre was infuriatingly cool, in a way that no one really had a right to be in the mornings - let alone on this morning. Somehow, even in sweatpants, with his tousled hair tied back in a low ponytail, he managed to make Patton feel awkwardly underdressed for having put his own clothes back on. His smudged eyeliner, a relic of the night, only added to the effect of his condescending eyeroll.
Regardless, Patton was grateful to accept the water, and the aspirin that was dropped into his palm with it. At least he was a gracious host, all things considered.
He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, sipping slowly as he picked at a rip in his rumpled jeans. He could feel the weight of Janus’ eyes on him, but he didn’t want to look up. It felt like he’d be doing something wrong, shameful even, to be looking at the other man right now, despite all that had already transpired between them.
He didn’t know Janus, not really, but he had known of him. At least, he’d known he was bad news. He was an incredible actor, from what Patton had heard, and had managed to flourish in the past couple of years despite his young age and apparent lack of industry connections.
…Unfortunately, his incredible acting wasn’t all that he was known for. Janus’ name frequently popped up with regards to his sardonic responses to the press, disregard for convention, insulting important names in the industry, and generally being considered trouble.
Patton had often wondered how the man hadn’t been blacklisted yet. He never thought he’d end up tangled up with him in any way, much less this literally.
“Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’re getting how serious this is,” he protested, “I - I just don’t understand how - there are pictures, Janus, everywhere, I have so many calls-”
Janus looked almost amused, as he leaned casually against the curtained windows, quirking an eyebrow at Patton.
“Oh dear, not pictures !” he mocked, “I take it this is your first time getting caught ‘ in flagrante’?”
“Wha- yes, of course!” Patton flushed.
“Well, don’t worry then, the first time is always the hardest,” Janus responded lightly, seeming as though he was getting quite bored with the conversation, and by extension, with Patton.
“I don’t exactly intend there to be a second time, just so you know,” Patton snapped,” I didn’t even intend for there to be a first time, quite frankly-”
Janus did look amused at this, grinning smugly as he replied, “Oh, is that right? You and I appear to remember last night very differently.”
“I’d really rather not talk about last night, thanks.”
“I’d happily talk about anything else. You are the one that keeps bringing it up,” Janus shrugged, before turning on his heel to face the window, tugging the curtain open by the corner, just enough to invite in a thin stream of light.
Patton might struggle with nuance sometimes, but even he understood that - Janus had got the last word in, and now he was done talking.
He huffed in annoyance, but it didn’t stop his traitorous eyes from following the graceful movement, tracing the dark lines of the tattoo that marked Janus’ light brown skin, a massive serpent that coiled and looped all over one side of his slender frame, seeming almost to writhe, hypnotically, with the slightest movement.
Patton tore his eyes away quickly, tugging self consciously at his own sweater sleeves. The cool water had helped slightly, but he could feel the dread settling in his stomach again. He didn’t belong in this situation, having wild midnight trysts with ridiculously pretty men, and whatever confidence the alcohol had apparently given him last night had evaporated, leaving him utterly unprepared for light, flirtatious morning-after banter.
“Um, well,” he cleared his throat and stood up, “I should probably go now, and call my manager to fix all this. Thank you for, er - the water, and last night, I guess, and I wish you all the best, of course.”
Janus didn’t even turn around to respond, “Oh, and I don’t suppose you’ll need transportation arranged?”
“No thank you, I can find my way-”
“And give the press an opportunity to catch you leaving the den of the snake? In the same clothes you entered in, no less?”
“I-”
Luckily, Patton didn’t have to come up with a clever response, because Logan - his dear, wonderful, manager Logan - decided to call him at that very moment.
“...I have to take this.” he muttered triumphantly, turning around to lift the phone to his ear, “Hi, Logan, I am so, so, sorry - I meant to call you, I just-”
“No time,” Logan’s phone voice was as always, clipped and professional, and he got straight to the point, “I need to see you. Immediately. There is much to discuss. I trust you’ve had enough foresight to remain at Lyre’s residence and not step outside?”
“I - I’m still here, yep.” Patton blushed.
“Good. I’m sending a car, don’t leave the building until it arrives. And bring Lyre with you, please.”
“You want to meet Janus?”
“The subject I need to discuss with you also concerns him, so yes.”
“Oh- um, okay, I’ll bring him. Um, do you need an address?”
“No need, I have it.”
“Already? How?”
“That is my job, Patton.”
“Right, right, fair enough. Okay, I’ll see you.”
---
Patton had a flashback to middle school - the one time he was sent to see the principal for bad behaviour - as he knocked nervously on the door to Logan’s office.
“Come in.”
He heard a scoff from behind him as he took a deep breath, preparing to open the door - it had been a struggle to get Janus to come along.
Just as he’d expected - and feared - Logan was wearing his “I am a professional and thus I am not going to get upset” face. What he hadn’t expected, was that this look didn’t seem directed at him.
Leaning back in the chair next to Logan’s, high heeled boots on the desk, was a man that Patton had never seen before - and between the half-black, half-silver mullet, curled moustache, and bright green glitter, he was pretty sure he’d remember if he had.
His eyes skipped over Patton entirely before settling on Janus and lighting up.
“J-Anus!” he cackled, “Thanks for not picking up any of my calls from last night, asshole!”
“Remus, good to see you,” Janus sighed, “Looks like your mummy called my mummy,” he whispered loudly to Patton.
To Remus, he said, “I do apologise, Remus, I turned my phone off because I was busy not watching the movie I was in. I’m sure you understand.”
“Ahem,” Logan interrupted, “Mr Lyre, thank you for coming in, Patton, this is Remus Rey, Mr Lyre's manager. Please take a seat, Remus and I have much to discuss with you.”
Patton waved politely at Remus, who winked back.
“Well first things first, I’d like to say congratulations to you both-”
“Remus.”
“-But that was nasty fucking trick you pulled there, Jay! You promised me you’d stop disappearing from important events! You know how much work I have to do to clear that shit up?”
Janus shrugged like a petulant teenager. “Got bored.”
“I really am sorry for putting this on you, Logan.” Patton could see Logan’s knuckles tightening, a familiar tenseness in his jaw, that telegraphed that he was Not Having a Good Time.
“That’s - not to worry, Patton,” a twitch had started to develop in his right eye, “technically speaking, this is - my job.”
“And he’s pretty damn good at it if he’s managed to keep you out of trouble this long eh, Patty?” Remus cracked in, “I mean, for what it’s worth, I always knew there was more to you, but the two of you really had the rest of those idiots fooled, huh?”
“Um…”
“ Anyways,” Logan interrupted through gritted teeth, “Whilst the two of you were missing in action, so to speak…”
Patton sunk a little deeper in his seat. He wasn’t looking at him, but he was pretty sure he could feel Janus roll his eyes from beside him.
“...Remus and I had a chance to sit down and decide how to deal with this in a way that will benefit both parties.”
“ Oh, how fascinating, do tell .”
Logan, apparently much better equipped at dealing with smart-ass comments than Patton, ignored Janus entirely.
“Now, the two of you may have your reservations, but I request that you please hear us out before rejecting the matter entirely.”
“Now, the two of you may have your reservations, but I request that you please hear us out before rejecting the matter entirely.”
“Of Course we’ll hear you out!”
“ ...Yes, because that request didn’t raise any suspicions at all.”
“Remus and I think the best way to spin this current...situation to our advantage, would be with a relationship contract.”
There was a silence in the room for a minute as the full meaning of Logan’s words settled in. Well, a silence accompanied by Remus tapping out a rhythm on the edge of Logan’s desk with his - admittedly fabulous - acrylic nails. After what felt like a full minute he grinned at them.
“Pretty good, huh? It was my idea.”
”Yes, well, I cannot exactly deny that Remus was the one to suggest that,” Logan grumbled, “However, I do support it entirely, and am happy to proceed with your consent.”
“You want us to...date?”
“They want us to pretend to date,” Janus interjected, “A few staged photos, attend events on my arm, everyone thinks this was a sweet little lover’s outing and not a drunken fling.”
“See, I told you mine was smart!” Remus grinned proudly at Logan.
“...Indeed,” Logan nodded at Janus, “I understand you might have your compunctions, but this is the best way for us to spin this into something... close to brand-appropriate, for Patton. And as for you, Mr Lyre-”
“We’re hoping we can make it look like you’re finally setting down, starting to behave yourself, or some horseshit like that,” Remus cut in, “I gotta keep you booked somehow, Jan-Jan.”
Another long silence filled the room - and even Remus stayed quiet for this one. Patton stared at his lap. He didn’t exactly feel great about this sort of thing, but Logan had said it was the only way. And heck, this sort of stuff happened all the time in this line of work, he knew that. Right?
Janus spoke up first.
“How long would this contract be, exactly?”
“We were thinking one year,” came Logan’s reply.
A whole year?
"I assume there are rules?"
"Behave as though you're in a relationship, perform for the camera when necessary, and if you intend to have outside relations, do try to keep them private - or better yet, don't."
“...I’m amenable,” Janus said finally.
And then, Patton could feel three sets of eyes on him, waiting for a response. Logan, calm and expectant, as ever hiding his impatience behind professionalism. Remus, toothy-grinned, leaning forward as if he was watching a sports match.
And Janus. For the first time with sober eyes, Patton levelled his own gaze with Janus’. His face was as inscrutable as ever, but Patton could feel the unspoken challenge behind his mismatched eyes. Asking him whether Patton Hart could handle something like this. Or worse, outright stating that he couldn’t.
…Or maybe Janus wasn’t thinking any of that and it was just Patton’s own loopy consciousness egging him on. Either way, the words slipped out of his mouth before he even thought them.
“I’ll do it.”
#moceit#patton sanders#janus sanders#ts janus#ts patton#sanders sides#ts sides#sanders sides fanfiction#celebrity au#fake dating#remus sanders#logan sanders#my writing
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The Makers and the Breakers: The Hollywood Studio System By Constance Cherise
From anecdotal tales to darker narratives of downright malevolence, movies about the Hollywood studio system are as prevalent as the subject is understandably intriguing. Films like A STAR IS BORN (‘54), THE BAD AND THE BEAUTIFUL (‘52) and, just for a bit of naughty camp, DAISY CLOVER (‘65), to name a few, all allow a voyeuristic gaze behind an enchanted curtain. The major Hollywood studios controlled all aspects of filmmaking, distribution and the lives and appeal of their stars.
A studio executive’s expertise was to home in on the "It" factor of an actor. Then the build-up of publicity would begin. A well-engineered system of perfectly timed pulleys and cranks, bells and whistles would turn, and it didn't matter whether stories about a star were the truth, embellishment or lies, from the studios perspective stars weren't actual people, they were commodities that were bought, sold, traded and used as pawns to the benefit of the studio system. (A thorough reference on this is Jeanine Basinger’s The Star Machine) But, if anyone had ill feelings about their treatment, only those that were the most daring spoke up. The cliché “You'll never work in this town again” wasn't just a catchphrase, it was wholly and utterly true. Speaking up too loudly about one's gilded cage could end a career faster than Eleanor Powell’s “machine gun” tap dancing. As quickly as the mechanism could build a pretty face to stardom, it could just as easily grind to a halt, meticulously dismantling at record speed.
The true genius of the studio system was its innate and pristine ability to create a persona around the most capable assets that their commodity had to offer. An exceptional dancer with buck teeth? No problem. Send her to the dentist for cosmetic surgery. A heartthrob of a man who was too short? No problem. Elevate his shoes and make sure his counterpart wasn't wearing heels. A knockout beauty who could dance but was too ethnic-looking? Change her hair color from jet black to red, perform electrolysis on her hairline, add luscious waves, put her on a diet and change her name from Margarita Carmen Cansino to Columbia Picture’s own Rita Hayworth.
The system found what was innately undeniable, played up the strengths and buffed, polished or cleverly disguise the flaws, a process still happening in media. But the studio system of the Golden Age was far-reaching. Its governance traveled beyond its inner sanctum into affecting contractors' personal lives. A moral clause was a standard part of an actors’ contract. Both law enforcement and mobsters were part of the studio’s payroll, a necessary tactic thought to keep its stars in line and to protect the industry's overall reputation. If a star found themselves in a compromising position, there was always a hired hand, such as in the case of MGM's Eddie Mannix, to respond, repair and refute, regardless of the cost. Studios further exerted control by means of inclusivity. By creating an insular studio with every conceivable notion at their fingertips, including health facilities and a police force (as was present at MGM), the studio system was privy to inside information by way of design and therefore able to thwart potential problems sooner rather than later.
Opinions amongst stars who were part of the system varied. Some found it confining and artistically stifling (United Artists was created as a direct result of the burgeoning studio system in 1919), while others enjoyed its protective embrace. Fred Astaire was not a particularly handsome man, but his virtuoso skill of dance was undeniable. By the time he made it to Tinseltown, he had already been a star on the stage and his elegant persona was well polished. Almost the same could be said for Gene Kelly, except that Kelly was quite handsome with his all-American chiseled features and athletic body. He too came to Hollywood bearing Broadway accolades. Anything else either star may have required was worth any level of contribution on the part of the studio. But most stars didn't come fully assembled.
youtube
Numerous classic musical fans are aware of actor and untrained dancer Debbie Reynolds’ account of bloodied feet while rehearsing “Good Morning'' for the film SINGING IN THE RAIN (‘52), a story she confirmed in a TCM interview with late host Robert Osborne. Reynolds would star in multiple roles where dance was required, and for someone who was not a professional, with training from expert choreographers, she fooled us all. Ava Gardner did not go looking for the fame that found her. She was discovered through a photo in a shop window. The daughter of sharecroppers, Gardner had no experience in acting to speak of, and in fact, had a free-spirited reputation of reluctance. She had to be trained out of her deep southern accent, but her naturally stunning features combined with her charm literally smoldered the camera.
For all the contract players who willingly or unwillingly accepted the exploitation of their assets, there were those few who refused to play by studio rules. One not to cower was Mae West, who solidified her autonomy by demanding and receiving one dollar more than the head of Paramount, Adolph Zuckor, as well as full script approval of her films. MGM’s Luise Rainer, after becoming the first woman to consecutively win two Academy Awards, turned her back on Hollywood due to its iron grip. "I did not like the superficial life that one is naturally forced at times to live,” Rainer stated in a TCM interview. William Haines, one time voted as America's top male star, refused to hide his homosexuality living an open life with his lover, defying the orders of traditional marriage by Louis B. Mayer and as a result was fired from MGM.
That's what the studio system did: take an inarguable asset, create an inflated persona around it, smooth the dents, add a little extra padding where necessary and package it to be received exactly how they envisioned for public consumption...or...destroy it. After all, with over 70% of Americans attending film theaters at least once a week, the public turned the film industry into a multi-million-dollar business during its Golden Age when the average price of a ticket was 25 cents. Studios were readily aware they held the power and used it skillfully to full advantage.
The studio systems tactics could easily be viewed as a calculated sleight of hand, however, it unequivocally delivered, and its final product was polished, pristine and precise. But for those that were plucked from obscurity, was it truly a sleight of hand? One could argue that you can't get blood from a stone, and if that statement is true, the studio’s techniques of engineered transformation couldn't possibly invoke aptitude that didn't already exist somewhere within, however miniscule. Perhaps, instead of the credit studio’s retained for creating stars, its genuine function was to awaken exceptional latent potential that was simply waiting to be discovered.
#Old Hollywood#Hollywood studios#Golden Age Hollywood#star system#MGM#Columbia#Mae West#Rita Hayworth#Fred Astaire#TCM#Turner Classic Movies#paramount pictures#Constance Cherise
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Touch Me, Please [Starker Fic] Pt.3
Summary: Tony Stark has never told anyone that he’s still a virgin. He doesn’t want to sleep with people who only want him because of his outward persona. So instead, he hires an escort. Things get a little more heated than either of them had expected.
Tags/Warnings: Escort!Peter, Virgin!Tony, nff, nsfw, sexual tension, teasing, Peter is 22, Tony is 53, oral sex, 69.
Taglist: @starkerswonderland @staticwhispersinthedark @starkerprince @parkers-stark @bluestarker (let me know if you want to be added!)
Notes: I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S BEEN 2 MONTHS SINCE I POSTED FOR THIS I'M SO SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT Y'ALL!!! I come bearing good news though! This was supposed to have three parts, but the plot started living its own life and now we're definitely having a fourth part as well ehehehe. Hope y'all enjoy!
-Kim
Read the fic here on AO3
Or click here to find the previous chapters:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
-
Peter knows he’s fucked. Absolutely, terribly, fucked.
And to be honest… Even that’s an understatement.
Peter clutches his coat tighter and fastens his pace. He’s snuck out of the enormous labyrinth that’s Tony’s home, and is now on his way to the bureau’s HQ. It’s still early in the morning, a little over 7 am, and Peter hopes to catch one of his managers before they start their meeting.
Peter made a grave mistake, and all he can do is spill it all out and pray that he can keep his job. He’s had unsafe sex with a customer. If there’s one thing that he should pay close attention to, it’s that. He never made a mistake like this before. However, with Tony, he completely threw his cool and composed sugar baby persona out the door; his mind lost to the wealthy man he only met last night. Tony may claim to be a virgin, which according to his eager yet sloppy techniques isn’t too hard to believe, but still. Peter shouldn’t have risked it.
He eyes the building in front of him and hesitates. He could just get a test done without his bosses knowing; play sick until he gets the results. But if they were to find out… He’d lose his job for sure. And contrary to popular belief, he’s not in the industry just for the money. He likes his career.
In good faith, Peter steps forward and presses the doorbell.
-
Tony wakes up when a golden glow casts over his body. He smiles groggily. In his haze last night, he must’ve forgotten to close the curtains. He sighs and turns around, grabbing the sheets to tug them up a little higher. Slowly, the surroundings are getting to him. The distant sound of traffic rushing through the busy streets of NYC. The buzz of the elevator as it sweeps past his floor...
...and the complete lack of another human’s breath.
Tony swallows and his eyes flutter open. A harsh sting rips through his chest when he sees his bed is indeed empty.
“Peter?” He calls out, half-heartedly expecting an answer but not at all surprised when it stays dead silent.
-
It’s safe to say that the following days, Tony is in such a sour mood that his employees nearly cringe each time he walks across the room. He should’ve never hired an escort to have his first-ever sexual encounter with. The plan was destined to fail from the get-go, and it had.
“Tony?”
Tony turns around to find Pepper standing in the doorway of his private office. Pepper has been his personal assistant for years now, and he is aware that he wouldn’t survive a single day without her skills in his company. She’s seen his worst more often than not - and she doesn’t deserve to be the one to take his anger - but Tony can’t help but glare.
“What?”
“Jeez, they were right. You’re a fucking asshole today.” Pepper says calmly and raises her eyebrows as she closes the door behind her. Tony can feel some of the tension fade from his posture and he casts his eyes down.
“What happened?” She proceeds to ask. Tony shrugs. How could he tell her?
“I did something stupid.”
“I figured as much.” The PA places a stack of files onto his desk and sits down in the chair opposite of him. “Personal troubles, or Stark Industries-related?”
“Personal.”
“Ah, good. That’s one less of a worry.”
Tony glares again, but this time it’s more playful. Pepper smirks.
“Gotcha,” she hums, seemingly pleased with herself. “Now, tell me what happened.”
“I can’t.”
“I’m sure you can, it’s-”
“It’s too embarrassing, Pep. Please, I gotta deal with this by myself.” Pepper raises her eyebrow at his words and leans onto the wooden surface.
“Then deal with it before you drag Stark Industries into whatever it is.” She shoves the stack of paper forward and smiles faintly. “After you deal with these, of course.”
“Of course.”
-
It’s late in the evening, and Tony swirls the whiskey around in his glass. He finished the work right before dinnertime and decided to take the rest of the night off.
Deal with it.
Tony snorts. How could he? Peter left. It’s plain and simple that the kid didn’t want to stay. His pretty, sweet words had been nothing but lies and deception, and Tony feels like a goddamn fool for falling for the act. Peter is an escort. Pleasing people, telling them what they want to hear, it’s his job. Tony can’t blame him. He only blames himself.
Yet, it doesn’t keep him from grabbing his phone and navigating towards the escort website. He sniffs once, finding his way to the catalog. It should be easy to find Peter. Right? Tony scrolls down the list and frowns when he hits the bottom of the page. Mmh. He scrolls back up and sits a little more upright when he can’t seem to find Peter’s picture. He taps the search bar and types in his name.
No results found.
In a wave of panic, Tony types out the bureau’s number to contact them and waits anxiously. He has no intention of bothering Peter ever again, but now that it seems he vanished, it makes him feel strangely panicked. As if every link he had to the boy is simply gone. As if nothing ever happened.
Except something did happen.
“Good evening, this is Eva. How may I help you?”
“Uhmm- Hi. It’s Mr. Stark. I’m, eh, I’m looking to book Peter again? He was here last night?”
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry to inform you, sir, but I’m afraid Peter is temporarily unavailable. I could put you on the waiting list for when he returns?”
“Please.”
And like a stupid idiot, he disconnects straight after. He sniffs and lowers his phone. He wonders if he just made another mistake.
-
Peter sucks at his teeth, his foot restlessly tapping onto the floor. He looks at his scheduled bookings and stares at the one empty spot. There’s only one client left to call, but Peter doesn’t know if he should. After a long tirade, and thankfully, a negative STD test, he’s back in the game and good to go. But, if he couldn’t keep himself together last time… He’s not sure if it’d be professional to go back to Tony.
Sweet, innocent, handsome Tony.
“Hey,” Harley pokes his head past Peter’s shoulder and grins. “I see you’re free tonight. My pal Dave is throwing a party at the Frizzles. Wanna come?” Peter rolls his eyes at his coworker and grins.
“And get Dave to hopelessly flirt with me again? No, thank you.”
“Oh, come on!” Harley throws his hands into the air in desperation. “Dave is your type!”
“He’s not,” Peter grumbles, nearly shuddering at the idea. “Good fella, but no, not for me. Y’know I’m into rich old classy dudes. Heck, so are you!”
“Hey, no need to attack me.” Harley lowers his bum on the edge of Peter’s desk and cocks his head. “You barely ever have a night off. Don’t you wanna have some fun? I’ll try and keep Dave off your back.”
“Well…” Peter sighs and stares back at the empty spot in his schedule.
“I actually have a client.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s the last free spot, and I have one more client to secure a booking with me. I just…” Harley frowns, his face displaying a sudden seriousness.
“Peter, did this client hurt you?”
“What? No!”
“Then why are you looking all gloomy at the mere thought of that one client? Is he- Did he force you to not use protection? Peter, we can have him blacklisted, and-”
“It’s not at all like that, please Harls, I promise.”
“Then tell me why the fuck you’re so strange about it. You’re never strange around clients. Fuck ‘em, get them hooked for more and tadaa, that’s a healthy clientele, it’s how you taught me.”
Peter groans out loud in frustration and shoves his chair back a little, trying to distance himself from the scribbled down phone number at his desk.
“I like him!”
“What?”
“I… I like him. Dammit. He’s really fucking different than the rest of them. I’ve only slept with him once, but he’s got me hooked, not the other way around.”
“Then why’d he call us again? Eva told me he sounded pretty nervous.”
Peter’s face loses all color when Harley’s words crash down on him, crumbling the reality he’d build around himself.
“No, no Harley, don’t enable me on this one. It’s bad luck. I shouldn’t do it.” Peter scrunches his nose. “Tell Dave I’ll be at the party.”
Harley simply grins, his eyes glimmering mischievously as if there’s something only he knows and Peter doesn’t.
“Sure thing.”
-
It’s been two weeks since the damned party. Peter doesn’t feel any better about himself. As expected, Dave had followed him around all evening. Harley, traitor he is, was nowhere to be found. In the end, Peter couldn’t take it anymore, and he straight up told Dave he wasn’t interested. Thank god the lad took it pretty well, but it doesn’t make Peter feel any less shitty about it.
Peter really should just focus on his job and put his mind away from both Dave and Tony. It’s for the best. He sighs and stares at the next appointment on his list. The name is hidden, a feature they have for clients who are high in on their privacy. Peter sighs and grabs his car keys to go to the appointment.
-
Tony’s tapping his foot anxiously while he tries not to stare at the elevator. It’s needless to say he’s not doing a very good job at doing so. Peter’s going to be here again. Oh, God. Tony can’t shake the feeling that maybe he shouldn’t have accepted the booking when Peter’s coworker called him.
#starker#starker fic#starker fanfiction#starker fanfic#peter parker#tony stark x peter parker#tony stark/peter parker#tony stark#peter parker x tony stark#Peter Parker/Tony Stark#spider man#spiderman#iron man#ironman#ironspider#adult peter parker#marvel#mcu#marvel fanfiction#fandom#fanfiction#fanfic#AO3 fanfic#fan fiction#ao3 fan fic#fan fic#ao3#TMPfic#kimwrites#kinkybeankim
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Zippity Zoomer: Mining the Minecraft Generation
One picture is usually all it takes to transport the viewer, one picture can create many stories.
“Where Y’All Sitting” is an image meme template ripped from good ol’ Vectortoons, a ubiquitous nobody. This meme represents a leftover relic of the days of true Beliebers. This particular variant of the meme offers up a collage of usernames turned public personas of Minecraft content creators, and is not in fact secret gibberish code that Gen-Z uses for telepathic communication. For the record, and for the sake of offering my own POV, dear Reader I’m a rapidly decaying millennial screeching into my late twenties. The following is an investigation into a NEW BREED(Z) of Celebrity, The Minecraft Streamer.
////
Millennials are more obsessed with generational categories because we have never felt an ounce of control in our own destinies.” - Me, a too wordy Millennial
My first impression when I started Googling these names one by one is that Google generously auto generates the word “merch” next to nearly every name on this list. In the Age of the Hustle, our children’s children are hawking off not just plain ol t-shirts; but also offer a wide array of: hoodies, cell phone cases, coffee mugs, pillows, stickers (oh god, the endless flood of stickers), clocks, shower curtains, coasters, jigsaw puzzles, magnets, tapestries, bedding (no, bedframes?), hats, fannypacks, flags, stationary, facemasks, baby onesies, coins, drinkware, pet clothing, and fake presidential campaign merch are just a smattering of the wares hawked by the people listed in this picture. This list of Minecraft enthusiasts turned digital entrepreneurs are all mostly various stripes of the same floppy haired young men variant. An unyielding crop of snarky cocky content creators. Most of them are banking off of the success of a digital experiment that asked, “What if Lego, but as a video game?” No! There’s more to Minecraft than that! So much more and a decrypted boomer like me could never hope to decipher.
Buy my Merch because I’m born to be on Merch.
The cockiness permeating from these content creators is understandable. Most of these current Professional Gamers were raised devoid of a functioning plausible civilization. These Gaming Content Creators can have faith in the digital system because it is through the stage of Minecraft they are accumulating millions of youtube and twitch subscribers. All of these content providers are part of millions of young people’s media diet, websites churn out articles tracking down their love lives. People want to know if badboyhalo is dating Skeppy ? People want to know if Addison Rae is joining a Minecraft based content farm collective Dream SMP? Why has Tommy Innit been banned from Tik Tok? Why did georgenotfound boycott Wendy’s? Were Minx and Wilbur Soot really dating? Does technoblade have ADD? Okay, mainly the website Distractify is asking these questions the Google algorithm certainly encourages them too). This onslaught of articles proves that not only are these largely Minecraft based Twitch streamers profitable from a merchandising stand point but they can also be mined for tabloid fodder.
Wilbur Soot - who is not an Incel. He’s just cheeky.
The connective tissue that brings all of these names together is not just Minecraft and Game streaming, but the common cause of a collective, the Dream SMP collective. Apparently, young people need a collective to believe in. I know I would be lost without an Animal Collective or an Odd Future to help illustrate what a collaborative effort should look like. Young people gravitate towards collectives and communities at large, because it is no longer available in the real world (and this was the case well before Covid). Take another name from the meme lunch room, Wilbur Soot, who is not only another Twitch based video game streamer, but he is also a musician with equally viral music videos . Soot’s general sound/vibe could be described as if Los Campesinos were extremely online and played less instruments (and just generally were worse, okay maybe that’s a thin, mean comparison). His music is not offensive, one song in particular “E-girl” finds Soot’s flipping expectations and criticizes the Internet for aiding an unhealthy romantic fixation. Surprisingly thoughtful material that is trying to articulate the raw feeling of people plugged in since birth. Seeing as most of these Minecraft based guys are known for being on the mic for hours at a time it does make Soot’s four minute song feel way longer than it should be. Soot’s got an impressive music production style down that makes his schtick go down easier. My verdict, Wilbur Soot is certainly a step above Hobo Johnson.
One of these e-boys were reported on for making an off colored jokes on a Jackbox stream, and is about a complete non-story as you would expect. I am sure most of the young men listed in this collage are walking Ninja/pewdiepie hate speech bombs waiting to happen, but I am sure that kind of controversy is saved for later down the road to get over that 10 million subscriber hump.For the most part, this is bunch of dorky tech savvy teenagers who indulge in wholesome trolling and have a fixation on serving the Sponsors.
These Minecraft based content creators’ main business pitch is a Maximalist Parasocial Bonding that specifically taps into the fan’s Good Friends based cortex. In no way am I adverse to freebasing on parasocial adult (mostly male) friendships. Being a human being, especially young and naive, is a lonely and miserable experience. People need all the faint grasp of human connection he/she/they can get. None of these kids invented this dehumanizing that rewards people who strip themselves down to the basic elementals, strip themselves down into a celebrity sized square.
A still from the upcoming DREAM SMP movie trailer that is currently nestled at 11,100,784 views
Writing this article has been a personal exercise in fighting against validating every one of my knee-jerk reactions against these Simple Minecraft Dreamers. I saw a sea of probable goons rolling around in their sponsored donated money pits where donors’ flex control over the content provider. Give badboy Skeppy 10,000 big ones and he’ll shave his head for you and put on a show. Digging deeper, and I assure you what is lurking behind every seemingly bizarre and incomprehensible faction on the Internet is a longing for community. An all too real human ache and urge to spin stories and craft personal mythos. Minecraft is not the Marvel Industrial Complex but the Dreamers, muffins and potatoes could change all of that. I keep thinking that Minecraft is just a video game version of Legos and that it will one day fade away, but I am dead wrong. It is I that will be doing the fading away. The stories and servers of Minecraft myth makers will outlive me. My body will decompose but a Minecraft streamer’s plastic phone case will endure.
#zoomer#gen z#gen z experience#gen z humor#minecraft#dream smp#badboyhalo#karl jacobs#skeppy#ranboo#tommyinnit#tubbo#georgenotfound#sapnap#wilbur dream smp#wilbur soot#technoblade#jschlatt#quackity#ponk#philza#tapl#antfrost#velvetiscake#fundy#spifey#justvurb#f1nnster#essay#gen z vs millenials
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And You’re Someone Who Knows Someone (Who Was Someone I Once Knew)
Mikey Way x Reader (Gender Neutral)
Word Count: 1909
Request: Could I request anything with Mikey? Thanks :)
A/N: I am so sorry about the delay on this one! I’ve been drowning in school and work at the moment, but I’m still thinking of you guys, I promise! Also, catch that title reference ;)
Disclaimer: This is entirely a work of fiction. No part of this story is meant to be libel, slander, or in any way derogatory towards any character’s real life counterpart. I’m not delusional; I know that these characters are simply based off of a public persona and may not actually resemble the people behind those personas. Any additional characters that you do not recognize are entirely fictional, unless otherwise stated. And finally, if you got here by Googling yourself, whatever happens next is 100% on you.
You rocked back and forth on the balls of your feet anxiously as you stood in front of the chain-link fence. Finally, a large guy with a security shirt came into your view, calling out your name.
“Hey,” he grinned when you nodded. “It’s good to finally meet you in person; Gerard’s been chattering nonstop about you for the past few days. I’m Worm, I’m in charge of most of the security for the band; I’ll take you back now.”
“Okay,” you nodded, putting away the backstage pass that Gerard had mailed to you. You were slightly taken aback by the professional quality of the whole set-up; the last time you had been to a My Chem show, it had been in a much less… respectable venue, and there wasn’t even the faintest idea of guards and backstage passes. Something told you that the security probably wasn’t the only thing that had changed over the last few years...
While you were lost in your thoughts, Worm had led you through a back parking lot filled with big box trucks and busy stage crews right to the band’s bus. He punched in a key-code, and grandly guided you up the steps.
“Gerard, your esteemed guest has arrived!” He winked good-naturedly at you, and then turned to leave. “Soundcheck at four, please attempt to think about being there in some semblance of a timely manner.” He rolled his eyes as he exited the bus.
Gerard, of course, didn’t hear him because he was too busy leaping off the couch so he could tackle you. “You’re here!”
“Yes,” you grinned, attempting to pat his back and keep your balance at the same time. “It’s been so long, Gerard, how are you?”
He let go and returned your smile. “I’ve been great, really great. A lot better than I was the last time we met. Um,” he ran a hand through his close-cropped white hair, and glanced sideways at Mikey. “You remember Ray and Mikey, right?”
“Of course,” you grinned at them. “How could I not? I did go to all of your shows for a year.”
“Well, uh, Otter ended up leaving after we finished recording Three Cheers, so that’s Bob- say hi, Bob- oh! And you remember Pencey, right? Well, Frankie’s with us now, and I think that about covers it.”
You waved at them. You remembered Frank’s wild nature, not surprised that he fit in so well with My Chem, and Bob seemed nice enough. All of the guys seemed genuinely excited about your presence, though you couldn’t shake the feeling that there were some conspiratorial glances and nudges being thrown around by everyone except Mikey. In fact, the bassist in question was doing his best to look artfully bored from his place on the couch and ignore Frank’s not-so-subtle shoving. Still, you felt a certain tug towards him, even after all these years.
“C’mon!” Gerard said brightly, snapping you out of your observations. “Let me give you the grand tour.”
The rest of the afternoon passed by in a whirlwind of wandering the bus park and venue with Gerard, watching the guys soundcheck from the nosebleeds, and dining on pizza in the green room. You were so glad you had been able to make it to a show; Gerard was one of your closest friends, and it had been a couple of years since you had last met.
Your friendship had started during your senior year of college- you had both had an internship in the same building, albeit for different companies and lines of work. Since then, you had bonded over several of your shared interests and kept in touch, leading you to go to several of the first My Chem shows, and by extension, meet Ray, Frank, and Mikey. Though your busy work life and their crazy tour schedule had caused you to drift apart, it felt like no time had passed at all as you watched Ray swat Frank for stealing his pizza while Gerard and Mikey laughed uncontrollably at Ray’s exasperated expression.
Soon enough, it was time for them to go onstage, which became evident when the venue’s stage manager knocked on the door to lead them to the curtain. Worm reappeared and guided you to the seat marked on your ticket from Gerard- a center stage view from the very first row of actual seats behind the pit. Clearly, Gerard had wanted to make sure you didn’t miss a single part of the show.
The lights dimmed, and you watched two crewmembers dressed as doctors and nurses wheel out a covered gurney while the sound of a heartbeat monitor played over the sound system. You were unsurprised when Gerard leapt out of the gurney moments later, kicking off the show.
You already knew the guys were awe-inspiring onstage- you had known it from the way you felt the first time you saw them live- but it was clear to see that over the past few years, they had taken it to a whole new level. They had each grown into their stage personas and their identity as a band, but your eyes kept drifting to one member in particular...
You had noticed it earlier today, but Mikey had definitely evolved since the last time you had met. He seemed much more sure of himself onstage; instead of retreating to the space almost directly behind Gerard, he often came up to the edge of the stage or interacted with his bandmates. He also seemed more relaxed off stage, easily interacting with fans outside of the venue and joking before the show with the rest of the band and crew. You couldn’t deny that he was a far cry from Gerard’s shy, slightly awkward, little brother you had met all those years ago.
Before you knew it, the show was over, and Frank was insisting on heading to a nearby diner for several plates of french fries and milkshakes.
You glanced at your watch and balked. “Shit… I’m sorry guys, it’s almost 1am and I didn’t get a hotel. I think I’m going to start the drive home.”
Frank and Gerard glanced at each other, and then they rushed to stop you. “Don’t be ridiculous, come with us and you can just stay on the bus!”
“I don’t want to take up anyone’s space…” You hemmed.
“It’s fine!” Ray insisted. “Don’t even worry about it, you can sleep in the back lounge, it’s honestly very nice.”
Though you were suspicious of their enthusiasm, you accepted their offer with a shrug and followed the rest of the group in their search for a 24 hour diner.
…
You sighed as you took off your shoes and settled into the bed in the back lounge. You were exhausted; the long day of walking, dancing, and socializing was starting to catch up to you. However, just as soon as you had stretched out across the soft surface and closed you, you were startled upright by the sound of yelling coming from the bunk area just behind the lounge door. Confused, you opened it to see Mikey, looking irate, and Frank looking guilty yet slightly pleased with himself.
“What the actual fuck, Frank?” Mikey glared accusingly at him.
“I’m really sorry Mikey, it was-”
“An accident? Frank, we all know you’re clumsy as fuck, but there’s absolutely no way someone pours an entire liter of soda directly on my bunk on accident!”
“Oh shit,” you said, stepping out of the doorway to assess the damage.
Mikey glanced at you. “Sorry if I woke you up, Frank’s just being ridiculous.”
“Mikey, I don’t think you’re gonna be able to sleep here tonight,” Ray said, gently prodding Mikey’s mattress. “It’s pretty soaked.”
“Oh, well, of course,” Mikey sighed irritably. “Well, couch it is, then.”
“Actually,” Gerard piped up, oh-so-helpfully, “there’s plenty of space in the back lounge.” He turned to you. “If you’re okay with sharing, that is.”
You stared at him, trying to figure out his plan here. You were pretty sure that if he could bat his eyelashes right now, he would. Ignoring your suddenly accelerating heart rate, you turned back to Mikey.
“I don’t mind sharing, it is your bus after all,” you shrugged, glancing at Mikey. “Gerard’s right, there’s plenty of room.”
The other three looked extremely pleased with themselves.
“Thank you,” he told you, before turning to glare at Frank and head into the bathroom to change.
A few minutes later, you were in the back lounge again, somewhat awkwardly laying on one half of the double bed as you waited for Mikey to turn off the lights and get settled.
He looked abashed as he stretched out on the opposite side of the bed. “I’m sorry for snapping back there,” he said. “It’s just… the guys have been making fun of me for the past few days and it gets old fast.”
“I understand, it's okay,” you nodded, as you watched his silhouette shift closer to you in the dark.
He gave you a considering look. “It’s just… I told them something personal and they couldn’t just leave it alone. Honestly, this whole weekend has been sort of a set up.”
You rolled over to look at him properly as everything began to fall into place. Frank and Gerard’s insistence that you should stay the night, Frank’s “clumsiness,” Gerard’s helpful suggestions, the general feeling that something was going on behind the scenes…
“Oh,” you said, hoping he would confirm your suspicions, “what do you mean?”
“Well, it’s just that,” for a moment, it seemed like the endearing shyness of the Mikey you had met in Gerard’s basement was back. “Okay, like.” He took a steadying breath. “I’m working on building my confidence, so I’m gonna tell you this and hope for this best. I’ve… had a thing for you for a while, if it wasn’t already obvious. I mean, at first, it was just a crush… but as the years went on, and I- we grew up, I’ve realized it’s more than that. I know I’m still working on being stable, but I want to take that chance with you. I mean, if you feel the same way of course.” He paused. “Wow, that was a weight off my chest.”
You stared at him, opening your mouth to speak and then closing it as you parsed your thoughts. You had always felt a certain fondness for Mikey, and the past day had shown you that, over the course of a few years, it had grown into something more than friendship. You couldn’t deny that you also had feelings towards Mikey, and that seeing his new-found confidence and sense of self had only solidified them.
“Um, you’re not like, pissed, are you?”
His timid question snapped you out of your reverie.
“No, of course not!” you rushed to assure him. “I… I feel the same way, Mikey. I think I always have.”
“Oh!” He couldn’t keep the small grin off of his face. “So then I guess you don’t mind if I do this then, right?” He moved in closer to you and wrapped his free arm around your waist, effectively pulling you into his chest.
You smiled, warm with the feeling that things had finally fallen into place. “Good guess,” you sighed, already beginning to fall asleep.
“One more thing,” Mikey paused.
“Hm?”
“Under no circumstances can the others know that their evil plan worked.”
“Deal.”
#mikey way#mikey way imagine#mikey way x reader#mcr imagine#mcr x reader#mcr#my chemical romance#my chem#my chemical romance imagine#my chemical romance x reader#bandom#bandom imagine#imagine#x reader#reader insert
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i could make it holy, make it fine (pt.1)
Fandom: Persona 5
Pairing: Akira/Akechi
Tags: #domestic fluff, #kissing, #wedding, #persona 5 royal spoilers
Words: 1.7k
Summary: Goro can't believe his first marrital dispute will be about the plastic cat dolls in front of their café whereas Akira is a simple man with simple needs like laying out black napkins and wearing a dress.
Note: Part 2 (work in progress) | Inspired by ‘Make it Holy’ by The Staves.
i could make it holy, make it fine
“Quick, don’t think. Black or red?”
“The napkins stay blue. Now shut up and don’t move.”
Black curls fall to the ground with each snip snip of Goro’s scissors. He tips Akira’s head back with a knuckle to check that his hair is the same length. Not that anyone could tell if it wasn’t once his hair dries into its usual curly mess. Goro assumes Akira gave him this task just to have an excuse to stare at his face from close-up—as if he doesn’t do it at any given chance anyway regardless of day or time.
That is the luxury of living in a place they feel comfortable enough to lower their defences. Goro is still trying to learn calling such a place home.
Warm hands roam over his legs, demanding his attention. “What are you thinking about?” Akira asks and presses his chin into his belly, looking up. After seven years, his features have grown sharper and more elegant like the dagger he used to wield. Sometimes Goro looks at him and the sight of beautiful, beautiful Akira Kurusu steals his breath.
“That you look like a twelve-year-old after shaving.” He pushes Akira’s wet hair out of his face and flicks his forehead, then steps out of his grasp. He crosses their bathroom to take the broom leaning against the wall in the corner, only to unceremoniously drop it in Akira’s lap. “Now clean your mess. I’m done.”
He leaves the room before hearing a response, brushing off stray black hair from his shirt and pants. Now he has to vacuum again. Why Akira asked him to cut his hair instead of booking an appointment with a professional is beyond him, but it does remind Goro, as he tugs at the end of his ponytail tickling the nape of his neck, that he might need a cut as well. The shop stays closed anyway during their preparations, so now seems the best time to get things done they usually can’t while tending to the café. Repairing the creaking floorboard behind the counter, washing the dark, vintage curtains hanging in their back office. Even though Akira is against it, they need to sort out which maneki-neko lining the front of their entrance they want to keep and which to throw away. He can’t believe his first marital dispute will be about dusty plastic cats.
The blow drier starts in the bathroom. Akira’s head peeks around the corner, the hot air whipping his hair left and right. “Goro, can you check the mail? Ann’s postcard might have arrived.”
Goro shoos him away like a fly. On his way to the stairs leading down to the café—a feature Akira insisted on during their apartment hunting to pay homage to his old home—he passes their kitchen where he puts a kettle on the stove for another round of coffee. So far, he’s only had benefits to be engaged to one of Tokyo’s most popular barista.
Leblanc is abandoned and quiet. He won’t ever admit it oud loud, but he’s glad Akira didn’t change the name after inheriting the business from Sojiro. Anything different would have been blasphemous. But while it is the same name, Leblanc’s replica lives with touches that scream Akira’s name. Bookshelves line one wall opposite the entrance, filled with every book he’s read during Highschool. Customers come and pick one and in return leave a book they have at hand, constantly switching up the collection. Then there’s people complimenting the amazing replicas of famous contemporary artist Yusuke Kitagawa on the walls, asking Akira where he bought them. But if Akira is known for his delicious coffee, he’s famous for his secrets.
Opening their post box, bills and two cards fall out. The first shows The Louvre lit at night. Ann’s curly handwriting is unmistakable, leaving a short message that she’ll arrive a day before the ceremony. The other card has a simple flower design and one word on its back.
Congratulations. — M.
Goro stares at it for a solid minute. It’s been long since he’s seen this handwriting, but he does remember it from torn-out diary pages inside a place that had blindingly white walls and tasted of despair and bitter endings. He takes everything upstairs where he finds Akira with dried, adorably messy hair.
“I didn’t know you still hang out with Dr. Maruki,” he says, voice neutral as he drops the cards and bills on the table where Akira has already spread out coffee and biscuits from Haru’s shop. He considers the card, absentmindedly stirring his cup. “I don’t. Sumire might have told him.”
“Not that I really care.” Goro drinks from his cup, eyeing Akira from the side. He’s draped over his chair like a Pre-Raphaelite painting. “He’s not invited.”
“I doubt he’ll come. Wouldn’t be too much fun if you stabbed him with the cake knife.”
Goro snorts, but the image does bring a faint grin out of him. It is a time though he doesn’t think too fondly of; a time when he’d felt too much at once and too little words managed to express that. He remembers when Loki and Robin merged into Hereward and the surprise that Robin never really left his side, always with him; the light, the good, the innocent and childlike fantasy to become a hero one day. The night he spent under Akira’s covers; limbs entangled, secrets and fears shared in quiet whispers, thumbs wet from drying tears both pretended were never shed.
After they defeated Maruki and destroyed the Happy World, Goro woke up in his bed, dizzy and disoriented, still sore from the fight. While staring at his white ceiling, he counted his heartbeat. Every thud in his chest was like a bird trying to take flight out of an ebony cage no one built a door into. He’d only have to tear his chest open and it would be free. It would return to where it longed to be, a little café tucked away in Yongen-Jaya.
Instead, Goro got out of bed, donned his winter uniform and went to meet Sae Nijima to discuss the terms of proving Shido’s guilt and his arrest. Again. He spent half a year in juvenile hall until Akira paid his bail with the remaining savings from their Mementos ventures.
“You’re crazy,” Goro had said when he met Akira outside, everything he used and owned during those six months shoved into a single plastic back.
“I missed you,” Akira had replied and now, seven years later, they’re doing what Goro never allowed himself to dream of; never showed interest in until meeting Akira Kurusu.
“Will our suits be ready?” he asks now, downing the rest of this coffee. He usually hates when it gets cold, but Akira’s blend is still enjoyable.
“I’ll check my e-mails later. They should have replied by now.” Akira watches him, tapping a slender finger against the kitchen desk. “I still think one of us should wear a dress.”
“You also think we need a champagne pyramid which we can’t afford.”
“Okay, perhaps not that,” says Akira. “But I would make a radiant bride.”
Goro doesn’t doubt that. If he takes an afternoon off and searches long enough, he’ll surely find the drag cop outfit somewhere in the attic—a real attic, this one—from all those years back. Maybe he can ask Akira to wear lipstick again when it’s time to seal the deal during the ceremony. He can’t think of anyone who would object to that.
“That’s your cue to say ‘Truly’.” Akira carries both empty mugs to the sink, a slight pout adorning his face. Goro rolls his eyes. He waits until he passes him on his way out to hook a finger through a belt buckle and pulls Akira with a sharp tug on his lap. He blinks in fake innocence. “Oh?”
“I prefer you looking good in a dress stays between us,” Goro says, shimmying his hands under Akira’s shirt—wrong, Goro’s shirt—where they rest on warm, soft skin.
Akira thinks about it. “What do I get in return?”
“No divorce papers.”
Generous as always.”
“It’s a deal then.”
On cue, Akira’s head bends and finds Goro’s mouth. Kissing Akira is still the same as seven years ago: hot, addicting. Like breathing air for the first time after staying underwater for hours. His hands roam over spots he knows where bruised long, long ago and Akira reacts like they never disappeared. Like they never left the Metaverse. Still sixteen and eighteen and too busy bruising their knuckles and knees fighting for their own justice instead of settling down and taking their time unravelling each other. It still manages to untie a tight knot within his chest. He could spend all day kissing Akira. He should spend all day kissing Akira.
One, two, three tugs on his ponytail and Goro reluctantly relents to free Akira’s bottom lip from between his teeth.
“We should give you a cut as well,” Akira says, curling the end around a finger. Goro shows his surprise by raising one eyebrow.
“You’d be okay with that?” he asks. He’s started to believe Akira’s fixation on his hair—drying it after a shower, braiding it when he’s bored, burrowing his hands in them when he cums—is a religious thing, though the prospect of it being short, feeling the cool breeze on the back of his neck during summer and not bothering to brush it every hour to untangle any knots, is appealing.
Akira wears a dreamy sort of look—though, no. That’s just him being horny, probably imagining Goro with shorter hair and all new discoveries it might bring as he gently scrapes his scalp. It’s as good as any answer. He pushes Akira off his lap and rises as well, turning left and right to stretch and make his joints pop.
“Fine, but if you mess it up, I’m going to shave you bald.”
They share a single look, thinking of the only person they know with a bald head and Goro regrets his words already, hates the face of the man he never wants to remember flashing before his eyes.
Akira takes his hand and squeezes. “I’m going to make you the most handsome man alive, promise.”
He allows Akira to lead him to the bathroom, the objection that his task will be hard so long as he breathes on his lips.
Five more days. Five more days and the most handsome man alive will be his.
#philliamwrites#ao3#fanfiction#persona#p5#persona 5 royal#p5r#shuake#goro akechi#akira kurusu#ren amamiya#persona 5 joker#p5 joker
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My First Novel!
Hey guys! This is my first post here and I’m posting the first chapter of my novel as a little teaser to advertise. If this interests you, contact me and I’ll send you the link to read more!
"And here is the break room." Mr. Lenich turned the corner, and I followed close behind. I found that my supervisor took another left, entering into a relatively large room. The doorway was large, twice the size of the average entrance. The flooring and paint on the walls were the same as in the hallway and every other room I had been in thus far - extensive black tiling and eggshell white paint. The room had several tables and chairs scattered about, most with workers enjoying their lunch breaks. I was taken aback by the amount of vending machines covering the break room's back wall: one water dispenser, a machine for an assortment of both regular and diet sodas, two for all sorts of chip varieties, one for several different types of candies, and finally one vending machine for a dozen brands of salty snacks and goods.
As soon as we stepped into the breakroom, I could hear multiple workers begin to whisper but could not comprehend more than a few words: the new girl, professional, only twenty-two, Laine, proud.
Although I couldn't, Mr. Lenich seemed to understand every word the workers were saying. "I believe your reputation precedes you, Miss Nichol."
"I have no idea what you mean by that, sir."
"Oh, come on, Miss Nichol. Mr. Lenich put a hand on my shoulder, pulling me closer despite my discomfort. "You shouldn't have to be modest when you're with your people, your fellow gamers! First, everyone here looked up to your father, and now we all look up to you, myself included."
"Please don't bring up my father, sir." It was all that I could think of saying. It had already been seven years since my father had passed, but I still didn't like to talk about the event, still refused to accept the fact that my best friend was forever gone. I chose to ignore the fact that I would never again see my closest companion, never again have a conversation with him.
I wiped a tear from my eye and smiled at my new coworkers sitting in front of me. Mr. Lenich was right; this wasn't high school where I would be bullied for being a female gamer. This wasn't college where I was ridiculed for being the only girl pursuing an education and career in programming. This was my job - Byte's Incorporated - where I could embrace my online persona. This was a safe place for me where everyone respected my reputation. Here, I could finally be myself without any repercussions - a professional, award-winning female gamer, the proven best in my state. In June, I was competing against forty-nine others, one from each state other than my own, to decide who is the best in the country.
"If you don't mind, Miss Nichol, our next stop on tour is right over here." Mr. Lenich smiled and turned towards the doorway, motioning me into the hallway.
"Okay." I waved goodbye to my coworkers in the break room before stepping out into the hallway. I followed Mr. Lenich down the hallway. After a few seconds of walking, Mr. Lenich unlocked a door on the left titled "Chief Executive Officer, Founder Laine Landborn." I couldn't believe it; was Mr. Lenich really going to show me the company's CEO and founder's office? Was I really about to meet my idol, the man second only to my late father, Laine Landborn?
"This is the office of the main boss, Mr. Laine Landborn. Unfortunately, we aren't allowed to actually go inside right now as he's not here at the moment..."
Not here?
"...so you'll have to wait until later to meet him. Normally, employees don't get to meet the CEO on their first day. Still, Mr. Landborn always makes it a point to personally know his company's line of beta-testers."
"Personally?" I looked up at Mr. Lenich with a hopeful face. I then looked into the CEO'S office. Mr. Landborn's desk was surprisingly clean and tidy - in one corner was a flower pot holding a bouquet of several crimson red tiger lilies. On the opposite end of the desk was a stack of multiple brightly coloured folders and white binders. A window directly behind his desk, covered in transparent black curtains with a bookcase on either side. The left bookcase held all different kinds of video games and small consoles. The right bookcase contained several other black binders and books. In front of Landborn's desk was a thin dark red carpet - as red as blood - with two stationary black cushioned chairs facing the desk.
"And now to our last stop on the great Byte tour." Mr. Lenich gently moved me back a couple steps and shut the door. He locked the door back and moved to the door directly across from the CEO's office, this door titled "Beta-Testing Room 1". "This will be where you'll work during your time here with us. Now, fun fact: this was the room where Laine Landborn himself worked during his first two years of this company's life, and no one else has worked in this room in the fifteen years since. So you'll be the first."
"Really?" I smiled as I excitedly stepped into the beta-testing room, looking around with absolute wonder. It was unbelievable to think that I would be working in the same room that Byte's CEO used to work in. Suddenly, my mind was overflowing with thoughts: was this the same couch that Landborn used to sit on? Did the consoles I saw in his office used to be in here? The room where I would now spend eight hours of my day was the same room where the Laine Landborn used to spend his time.
"Yes, really." Mr. Lenich chuckled and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "If you'll excuse me, I need to quickly run to the bathroom. Get yourself settled in, and I'll be back in a few minutes to show you out."
"Okay." I watched Mr. Lenich walk down the hallway to the restrooms. I took a deep breath and sat down on the white couch. It was of modern style, and both it and its small black pillows were extremely comfortable - once I sat down, I never wanted to stand up again. I pulled off my white cushioned tennis shoes. I brought my feet up onto the couch beside me, knocking down one of the pillows accidentally. I leaned over to prop it back up. I discovered that behind the pillow hid a small splatter of mysterious red liquid, almost black with age - a discovery that made me freeze. My mind raced with possibilities. It's probably just a drink Landborn spilled, or possibly makeup from his wife. Or maybe even... my paranoia made me sick, and I quickly repositioned the pillow in its proper place. I took a deep breath in preparation and picked up the other two cushions. Behind one, the one farthest from the first, was no stain. The cushion was perfectly clean and white. However, the pillow closest to the first, was a more prominent red stain, double the first size, and darkened with age. I gasped and quickly dropped both pillows onto the floor, backing away and tripping over my shoes. I gasped again and yelled out as I hit my head on the floor. It was a soft carpet, but it felt as if there was hardwood or even concrete underneath. My hand shot up to the back of my head. I pushed my white hair out of my face while fighting against the vomit rising in my throat.
I rushed to my feet, the speed almost making me fall back down again. I shoved one shoe onto my foot and went to put on the other but stopped when I heard the door open. "Mr. Lenich?" I asked as I looked up, still holding onto the coffee table for support with my foot in the air, my shoe halfway on.
"So Jeremiah was the one that told you to work in here." When I looked up at the door, Mr. Lenich wasn't the man I saw standing in the doorway - it was the founder and chief executive officer of Byte's Incorporated, Laine Landborn. "How many times now have I told him and everyone else to stay clear of this room? Five times now? About to become six?"
"I'm not supposed to be here?" I asked as I finished putting on my shoe. I looked up at Landborn and tried my best to stay calm. Half of me wanted to be excited - Laine Landborn was standing right in front of me! The other half of me, the sane half of me, wanted to run away, to get as far away from here as I possibly could. I had just found some very suspicious stains on the couch that used to belong to the very man now staring down at me, walking closer to me with every passing second. Before I knew it, I was looking up at Laine Landborn, and my heart was racing.
"What is your name, miss?"
"Hannah Nichol..." I replied reluctantly, not sure if I wanted this man to know my name at all. What other information could he find out about me? What would he do with that information?
"Well, Hannah Nichol," Landborn talked as his gaze also shifted towards the couch. My pulse struck an all-time high as I watched his expression fall, his jaw tighten. "I believe I have something to show you."
"Okay..." I swallowed hard and followed behind Landborn out into the hallway.
"One moment." Once in the hall, Landborn pulled out a set of keys and locked the door we had just walked out of. As Landborn began walking, Mr. Lenich turned the corner and froze once he saw Landborn. Landborn turned to Mr. Lenich and held out his hand, palm up. "Have another key made for this room again, and you're fired."
Mr. Lenich swallowed hard and nodded, taking out his own set of keys. He removed one key from the ring and placed it in Landborn's hand. "Yes, sir. It won't happen again."
"Now, Hannah," Landborn smiled and resumed walking. "Right this way."
I took one last look at Mr. Lenich and took a deep breath before following Landborn. For some reason, we only went across the hall... which was the office of Laine Landborn.
"Step inside, please," Landborn said with a smile as he opened the door. I swallowed hard and stepped inside, my chest feeling as if it was about to explode. "This will only take a moment," Landborn said as he closed the door behind us both, locking and shutting it tight.
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I Loved You Most 1 | O.Q
My Masterlist | Request Guidelines | Send a Request
Pairing: Oliver Queen x reader, (In the second part) Barry Allen x reader
A/N: The format of this chapter has been edited. I love Oliver and hate to have done him dirty like this. The warnings kinda spoil the chapter.
Summary: You trust someone to hold your heart close to theirs and cherish it as much as you cherish theirs. Unfortunately, you made a mistake by choosing that person.
Warnings: Infidelity; doesn't happen in any specific season of Arrow or The Flash, light cursing.
Word Count: ~2.4k
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The sun radiated through the curtains of my bedroom as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. I attempted to turn over in Oliver's arms, but his grip was strong. I settled for turning my head to face him, and was met with my fiance intently staring at me with a small smile on his face.
"Hi" I whispered, which snapped him out of his gaze.
He tucked a loose hair behind my ear and smiled at me "Hello"
I stretched my arms out before cuddling back into him. It's funny how different his two personas were. The Green Arrow was tough and stoic. But Oliver Queen I saw was kindhearted, and loved spooning.
"How long have you been awake" I mumbled into his chest
He gave a deep chuckle and I would be lying if I said his morning voice didn't affect me. "Not too long". He moved in the bed which made me groan at the lost of his body heat.
Oliver was now above me with my legs in between his. With his hands propping himself up using the pillow I was lying on. I looked into his ocean blue eyes before letting my face lull to the side onto the pillow.
He left kisses on my exposed neck. Both our jobs were professional, so he made sure nothing was visible. The bruises that we could see on each other were in more private areas.
I knew that if we continued any longer we'd both be late to work. Which has happened more times than I'd like to admit.
"Oliver" I warned, though it unwillingly sounded like a moan.
But he didn't take the hint since he moved one hand down to rub circles on my bare skin. As his mouth made it's was further and further down my neck, I places my hands on his perfectly sculpted chest trying to push him away.
"Oliver we have work."
This time he gave smirked into my neckline as his kisses got longer and left future bruises. He used one hand to put mine on his waist, "I am working" he mumbled.
I moaned when he reached a certain spot on my neck, unintentionally tightening grip. My reaction made him continue kissing that spot. I realized that he wasn't going to stop anytime soon so I took matters into my own hands.
I reached my hand down to his chin and brought him up for a kiss. His tongue slipped into my mouth and returned the affection. I slowly sat up pressing my body against his so he wouldn't be suspicious of my motives.
But when I felt his body relax against mine as he focused on kissing me, I took my chance to quickly slip away from him out of the bed. He groaned at my antics which made me laugh.
"Seriously?" He grumbled as he sat up on the bed.
I giggled at the dramatics and stepped in between his open legs to kiss his forehead. He leaned his head against me and wrapped his arms around my waist.
"Good morning"
He hummed before responding "I love you".
I smiled down at Oliver. My fiance, the love of my life, Oliver Queen. "I love you more" I said in a singsong voice.
He chuckled and looked me into my eyes. "I love you most"
I grinned to which he returned. I wanted nothing more than to stay like this forever. Unfortunately, work made that impossible.
I sighed reluctantly pulling away from him, walking towards our bathroom swaying my hips to tease him. Behind me I heard him groan. I was the luckiest person in the world.
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"Hey babe, what's up?" I asked into the phone. I was finishing up at the hospital getting ready for lunch with Oliver.
"I can't make it to lunch today" He told me "I have to do some stuff for the campaign".
My mood couldn't help but plummet at the news. I shouldn't be surprised, it's been going on for months. But I felt sad that he always had to cancel for either his mayoral campaign or Arrow business.
Nevertheless, I always made sure my disappointment never showed. "That's ok"
"Thanks baby" He said before hanging up.
I looked at my phone confused at the sudden exit. Usually he at least said bye to me. However I brushed it off with a sigh, figuring he felt bad since he only ever called me 'baby' when he was guilty.
I looked back at the paperwork I was planning to finish after lunch, but I might as well do it now.
"Hey hun, shouldn't you be at lunch?" Emily asked.
Emily was my coworker and best friend at the hospital. We weren't spectacularly close like Felicity and I were, but we hung out from time to time.
I shrugged looking at the papers I started working on in front of me. "Oliver had some stuff to do, so it's a working lunch".
Emily gave me a sad look, the same one she does every time Oliver misses a lunch date. "Well I'm sure he has a good reason" She consoles.
I smiled at her ignoring the sinking feeling in my gut "Yeah, his campaign keeps him busy". Of course other things keep him busy too, but I couldn't tell her that.
"Well tell him it's paying off, he definitely has my vote!"
I chuckled at her enthusiasm as she walked away. Now back to more paperwork, yay.
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I was in the elevator going down to the 'Arrowcave' as Felicity and I like calling it. Though Oliver resents the name. When the doors opened I saw the lights were on and heard voices coming from another room. The team must be on patrol.
I wasn't a full time member of Team Arrow. When Oliver and I got engaged he wanted me to stay safe and out of danger. So I was only usually in the bunker to see him, or if there was a medical emergency.
I was walking down the hallway when I heard heavy breathing coming from a room. For some reason it caught my interest and I stopped walking to listen.
"W-We really shouldn't be doing this" I heard someone moan.
A deep chuckle came from another person, "We'll be fine, we haven't gotten caught since we've started."
My hand flew over to cover my mouth to stifle a gasp. Tears filled my eyes at the male voice. It was Oliver.
I wanted to confront them, more than anything. But my legs wouldn't move. I couldn't bring myself to do anything other than stand here, cry, and listen to the person I love the most love someone else.
I didn't want to believe that Oliver was cheating on me with my best friend. But I knew the only two women down here would be Laurel or Felicity. And Laurel's already been heartbroken by Oliver once. Now I'm the second woman who's fallen into his trap.
I stood listening to Felicity's moans and Oliver's deep groans that I thought only I was allowed to hear.
"Oh my god, O-Oliver"
I sobbed into my hand and felt tears stream down my face at the intimate moment they were sharing. I felt myself slide down the wall with my knees up against my chest, unable to stand.
"I love you so m..." He carried off, his voice muffled by something, or someone.
I felt broken. I thought that I was his only love. I couldn't sit and listen to the man I love hurt me.
I picked myself up off the floor not wanting to hear any more of this. I stumbled out of the bunker as best as I could with blurry vision and my head spinning. Yet before I made it down the hall, my purse slipped out of my hands, alerting them of my presence.
I winced at the noise and the fact that the moans have stopped, I heard footsteps coming down the corridor. I rushed to gather my stuff before anyone caught me. I just wanted to leave their lives forever without interruption.
"Y/N"
I froze with my back turned to him before slowly turning around facing the man who betrayed me.
His face was one of pure horror from being caught. I could tell that his pants had been thrown on and he was shirtless. I glanced past him and saw Felicity wearing only a shirt that wasn't even hers.
It was Oliver's.
I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes and ran towards the elevator. I heard a ding from it as Laurel, Diggle and Thea's banter filled the room. But I was only focused on getting out of here and never coming back.
"Y/N wait!" Someone called from behind me as I heard footsteps running after me.
As I was making my way into the elevator, I saw the team's look of confusion contort into terror as they realized what was going on. I slammed the button to close the doors before collapsing on the ground in sobs.
They knew. Everyone but me knew that my fiance was cheating on me. I had a million questions swimming through my mind. How long has it been happening? Was it going on when he proposed? Why did no one tell me? Why Felicity?
But I didn't want the answer to any of them. No answer would make me forgive him, I would only end up hurting more.
The elevator doors opened and I rushed out of his campaign office to my car. I looked through my purse for my keys before my shoulders dropped and face paled. I had my phone and my wallet, but no keys.
I sighed knowing I had to call a cab. The last thing I wanted was to face anyone in the state I was in right now. Never mind my physical appearance.
I heard doors open and shut behind me. I frowned ready to face Laurel or another ex-teammate and whatever explanation they had. Fully ready to call out the bullshit.
But It was Oliver. The guts he must have to think anything could redeem him after this. I rolled my eyes at his presence and pulled out my phone. I was ready to stand my ground and not fall back into his arms.
He took a step towards me. "Y/N let me explain." he pleaded.
I scoffed, I didn't even want to hear whatever he cooked up in the couple minutes before this. He obviously wasn't expecting to get caught.
"I didn't mean it"
I narrowed my eyes at him, "I heard you Oliver"
"Y/N just listen"
"You said that you love her!"
I had tears flowing down my face, replacing the dampness from my last ones. And with every step he took towards me, I took one back.
He squeezed his eyes shut, "Y/N..." he trailed off.
"How long has it been going on?"
Oliver ran his hands over his face before crossing them over his chest. He would have looked menacing if his shoulders weren't slumped. "A year" he mumbled. His eyes were glossy but I couldn't bring myself to care.
I gaped and simultaneously covered my mouth to muffle a sob. We got engaged seven months ago. He was fucking my best friend when he dedicated the rest of his life to me.
He walked closer to me reaching his arms out for comfort but I dodged his advances. I don't even know him anymore.
The same Oliver Queen who claimed to love me, who wanted a life with me, who wanted children with me, deceived me in the worst way possible. He played with my emotions not caring how it was affecting me, then has the nerve to want forgiveness.
"Y/N please, we can get over this"
I shook my head and backed away from him. I couldn't be here anymore. I didn't even want to be in the same city as Oliver Jonas Queen.
He continued "I can fix this"
"There isn't anything to fix Oliver" I screamed, cutting him off.
He shook his head dismissing what I said before opening his mouth to speak again.
"Oliver we're over"
"Y/N. I love you"
I clenched my jaw, "No Oliver. You love her, my best friend. I loved you. But you betrayed me in the worst way."
Before he could argue with me I got into my cab that arrived. After I buckled my seat-belt and told the driver a destination. I looked back out the window at Oliver, despite knowing I shouldn't.
He was standing out on the street, eyebrows furrowed. Tears brimming his eyes. I've only seen Oliver cry a couple times during our four year relationship. And I would've felt bad that I broke him, but I didn't.
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I got out the cab with my almost empty purse. But that didn't matter since I had the essentials. I was in an empty field on the outskirts of the city. There weren’t many people I could call since most of my closest friends are on Oliver's side of our fight.
I opened my phone and went to my recent calls. I smiled to myself when I saw the fifth name knowing he would always be there when I need him. I clicked on his name and as expected, he answered on the second ring.
"Hey" I sniffled as my voice cracked. "I need you to come get me".
Without me having to explain anything else I felt myself being whisked away. Not even wondering how he got here so fast. I grinned up at the scarlet speedster as he took me to what would be my new life. Away from Oliver, away from Felicity, away from the people I thought were my friends.
Barry glanced down at me before focusing back on running, pulling me closer as if he could sense my distress.
I had a feeling everything would be alright.
▣▣▣▣▣ Thanks For Reading! ▣▣▣▣▣
Parts: -1- | -2-
#i loved you most -1-#i loved you most#oliver queen#arrow#arrowverse#green arrow#myarrowverse#mywriting#x reader#imagine#fanfiction#reader insert#barry allen#flash
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