#<- starting a tag for this typa shit? more likely than ya think :)

[schnee-gheist]

dp fanfic ideas are getting to me again goddammit

[imaginesbymk]

“Something’s Wrong with Mr. Pink.”

Reservoir Dogs One Shot

Summary: There’s been spark between you and Mr. Pink, but he’s one to shield his emotions. He realizes he’s starting to lose you, but he’s out of ways to win your heart. Desperate, he approaches Mr. White for help.

Pairing: Mr. Pink x Fem!Reader

Tags: swearing, sexist remarks, smoking + mentions of drug use (marijuana)

Non Requested

Word Count: 2,054

Author’s Note: as you can tell, quentin tarantino movies have been on my list!!! the reader is codenamed Miss Beige!! i never thought i’d have this much appreciation for steve buscemi until now, he’s such a cool guy :(((  also thank you @myriadimagines​ for checking my title capitalization aksnskdns - leave a like/reblog + feedback!!! <333

MR. BROWN gave Mr. Pink a ride to the next meeting, and the whole trip there, Brown rambled on and on about God knows what. It came through one ear and out the other for Pink. Brown didn’t seem to notice because of his investment of his proven theory of a movie he had seen and wanted to share it with someone. 

If he wasn’t listening in silence, Pink would always have something to say. It would usually be a comment, an opinion on something about social life. This one afternoon, he bit his tongue, despite the guys knowing his mind was occupied, even Nice Guy Eddie raised a brow. It didn’t start the day they were all given your colour coded names. It didn’t start the day they reviewed the plan of the heist with each other. It all started when you two were unintentionally left alone at the large dining table, moments after the guys had walked out the restaurant for something.

“Pink’s a pretty colour.” You gave him a reassuring smile, stirring your straw in your milkshake.

“To you.” 

“And to anyone else who would want to be codenamed Pink!” you scoff. “Sexist.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re Miss Beige,” he says, his mouth full of his toast. 

“And I happen to like my name. It’s a pretty colour,” you paused. “Just like pink.”

Pink huffs, swirling his coffee mug. “I can’t wait to smoke.”

“Lucky.”

“My buddy sets up Thai sticks like it’s one of those model boats in a bottle. It’s so fragile to him, and he saved one for me. Something tells me I owe him a shit ton.”

“You smoke Thai sticks?” you ask. “Your poor lungs.”

“Nah, I gotta smoke outta one anytime after coffee just for me to either black out or jump off the Empire State building by the time we hit Easter.”

You chuckled.

From the windows of the restaurant, you could see the guys standing outside their parked cars including Nice Guy Eddie and Joe, talking to each other about whatever. You could see their mouths moving, Nice Guy Eddie using a lot of hand motions at Mr. White, and Joe calling someone on the phone.

This wasn’t the first time you spent a limited amount of minutes alone with Mr. Pink. At Uncle Bob’s Pancake House, you two did sit close to each other, except Mr. Blue sat in between the both of you, and you had to lean forward to see Mr. Pink if he was speaking or if you two were giving each other looks if someone said something stupid.

If you were that childish, you would've considered the five minutes of alone time with Mr. Pink a first date - without the formal introduction. You two didn’t give each other your names because of Joe, but you wouldn’t mind slipping it out.

Silence, and then-

“I know this really cool café near my apartment. We should check it out sometime,” you blurted out.

Pink was in the midst of swallowing his food. He chokes on his ketchup dipped toast, taking his coffee mug to chase the contents down his throat.

“Wait a minute-” Pink cleared his throat, then cleared it again. “Are you-” he cleared his throat for the final time. “Are you asking me out?”

“Y-yeah,” you sheepishly smile, holding in your breath. “I mean, we can go get coffee, hang out at my place afterwards - it’s just a five minute walk - and sit on my couch, listen to K-Billy’s Super Sounds of the ‘70s, you can smoke your Thai stick, I wouldn’t mind...” By looking at Pink’s face made you trail off your words. You knew where this was going. 

“You couldn’t ask Brown or Orange?”

“No, I wanted to ask you. We’ve been talking lately, we seem to get along, thank God, and you’re really cool. Even when you can be an absolute dick almost all the time, you haven’t scared me off. Just one date, it won’t kill us.”

“A date...” he frowns a bit. “With you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” your heart sank.

“Nothing’s wrong with you, Miss Beige. Ya just got the wrong idea. We’re here for a job, not to hook up. If you want to suck someone off, try your luck with Mr. Blonde. Besides, I go for chicks at a bar. I know from experience, they’re always coming in hot - first come, first serve typa’ shit.”

“Right. My bad.” You felt yourself shrinking now, fighting the urge to get up and make a dash outta there, somewhere to scream in embarrassment, whatever emotion it was. 

“Excuse me.” Mr. Pink gets up and walks away, just as the rest of the guys start making their return to the large table.

“Where did Mr. Pink go?” Mr. Orange asked.

“Little men’s room, I’m guessing.” You sighed, sliding the milkshake away from you. “I’m full.”

“Something’s wrong with Mr. Pink. Did you guys get in a fight? We were only gone for five minutes,” Mr. Brown laughs.

You sat in silence, staring down.

“Nah, I bet she finally put him in his place and he’s crying like a baby in there,” Mr. Blue said, lighting the cigar in his mouth with a match.

“Most definitely not.” Mr. White shook his head, patting his pockets in search of his lighter. “That man’s a smartass, and smartasses like him know how to shield themselves. He’s fine. If anything, he can walk his ass home.”

Meanwhile, Mr. Pink calmly entered the restroom, placed both hands on each side of the tiny sink, stared at his reflection in the dirty mirror, and screamed in anger. 

He jumps when he notices a man had appeared from one of the stalls just a moment ago, staring at him worriedly.

“WHAT?!” Mr. Pink snaps.

If someone treated him like a friend, he goes along with it if they weren’t weird or creepy. If someone told a joke, he’ll laugh if it isn’t corny or cringeworthy. But if someone admitted their feelings to him? Let alone ask him out?

That was the thing: Mr. Pink doesn’t like the idea of vulnerability. He’s aware that it’s unavoidable, it’s human nature - he just chooses not to give into it. Mr. Pink won’t waste a breath giving anyone the impression that he’s easy to get along with and that he’s a kind of guy to not act like a complete jerk half the time, because that’s not true. Not on his behalf, at least. 

“Mr. White,” Mr. Pink approaches him in the vacant room at the hideout one day.

He knows people can judge. So he naturally survives on witty remarks, being a sarcastic ass most of the time, and coffee, coffee, and more coffee. Coffee times six. 

Mr. White finishes combing his hair in the small mirror, nodding at him as a response. “You all right, son?”

But at the same time, his heart was telling him he wants you all to himself.  “I got a problem...”

"SO you want my help?” Mr. White said, a few moments after Mr. Pink had explained the situation he was stuck in. “You’re completely hopeless right now? Gosh, is it my birthday already?”

“You’re full of shit,” Pink mumbled.

“Thought you’re s’posed to be a fuckin’ professional, like you said?” Mr. White chuckled. “I would have thought you would know what to do by now.”

“What am I, the Dalai Lama? I don’t know the answer to everything.”

“I mean... I kinda figured something was goin’ on between you two, I tried to warn her,” White shoots him a blank stare.

“Warn her?” Mr. Pink scowls. “Like I’m some fuckin’ tiger on the loose?”

“I did tell her: Listen, honey,” Mr. White grimaced, as he saw you like a sixteen-year-old teenager not knowing better than to get her heart broken. “Are you one hundred percent sure you like Mr. Pink? He’s a pretty cynical guy. You know he doesn’t tip waitresses?”

You shrug.

“Look, I know I can be very close to myself while very outspoken but,” Mr. Pink sighs. “I mean, c’mon, you’ve seen Miss Beige. Who wouldn’t want her? One time, she called in sick for a job she worked at just to play Super Mario World.”

“You could go there and apologize to her.”

“It’s not that easy, White.”

“How so? Just tell her you freaked out but you had a change of heart.”

“No, man. I could have accepted it right there and then, I could be taking her out somewhere, a place she likes, or that café she was talking about. But no, I turn into the cold piece of shit I always am ‘cause I’m a fucking-” Mr. Pink kicks the rusty chair in anger. “-idiot!” He kicks it again, hurting his foot in the process. He cries out in pain and hops away to the table for balance.

“Mr. Pink, it’s not too late to win her heart. If you really like her, and I can tell you’d take a bullet for her, then brush the professionalism aside for one second and make your move.”

“How?” he chuckles, taking a seat in the chair he had just kicked.

“Well, you can start by introducing yourself.”

“Already done.”

“No I mean, your name.”

“Whoa, whoa whoa. What we’re not gonna do is that.” Mr. Pink ran his fingers through his hair, turning his back to White to therapeutically stare at the light pink tiles on the walls. 

“Why not?” White shrugs. “I told her mine. And it’s-”

Mr. Pink turned around. “What?”

Mr. White furrowed his brows. “Huh?”

“You told her your name?” he said. In his mind he prayed Mr. White gave her a fake name on the spot.

“I mean, not just her. Mr. Orange, too. My first name and where I was from, it was a normal conversation.”

“...WHY?!” Pink’s voice echoed in the warehouse.

“Orange asked.”

“You know what Joe said, we’re not supposed to reveal any personal info about ourselves!”

“Joe said this, Joe said that- fucking teacher’s pet,” Mr. White mocks.

“What the hell were you thinking, White?” he shouts.

“How else can you and Miss Beige take a step further if you can’t even tell each other your fuckin’ names? Just introduce yourself, Pink. That’s one way to start,” Mr. White says.

“And what if she doesn’t like my name?” He could only come up with such a question like that.

“What is your name?” 

“Fuck you, man.” Mr. Pink stood up from the chair, earning a chuckle from his colleague.

“All right, if you won’t tell me your name, then tell y/n. Y/n should be the only one who can know.”

Mr. Pink turned back to him again. “Y/N?” he says. “That’s her name?”

Mr. White nods. As heated as Mr. Pink was, he knew one day your name would have to fall out of his lips and not a colour, and he wouldn’t mind that. Y/N...

Mr. Pink wouldn’t mind that one bit.

FROM now on, the café near your apartment complex would be your go-to. It was a café not too small but not too big, and no one would bat an eye if you showed up in your pajamas. The following Saturday you went there alone, sipping your coffee and turning to the second page of the morning paper. 

What sucked was the fact that after you were turned down, you came to think that Mr. Pink wouldn’t be able to see how cool the interior was. He sure was missing out. Sure his Thai stick won’t be stinking up your living room while throwback songs from the ‘70s play on the radio, but indeed, sucks for him.

“Shit, you were right, y/n. This place is pretty neat.”

The newspaper crinkled when you lowered it down. Standing at the foot of your booth was Mr. Pink. This time he didn’t have on his silly Hawaiian shirt like last time, and no, he didn’t ironically wear pink as a kind gesture. He did look good in a white tee, though. 

You had to smile. He knew your name. And you wondered how...

“Oh, Mr. Pink. Morning,” you nodded.

He takes a seat in front of you. “C’mon, we’re not at work. Just call me—”

THE END

—

TAGLIST: @locke-writes

[boogiepilgrim]

thanks for tagging me @taste-thewaste, love ya ⭐

fic writer interview

name: bethany (bluemoves98)

fandoms: ok first off i wanna say i dont . consider myself a fic writer? the one on my account ^ began on a whim. back in the sweet days of yore, summer 2019, on like my fifth watch of rocketman. the part where bernie says "we'll go to my raench. we’ll hide awaehy" hit, and i was like...... um. holy fucking shit. the idea was born. and so i was like, omg i bet ppl ARE writing fics about this. so i went, and i 👀, and i saw the dynamics people were wanting to read about, etc... & the particular one i skimmed through didnt do it for me. like, it just wasnt.. believable where it needed to be, stuff like that. ppl were wanting to read/write about an abusive relationship, but that random one, to ME, was totally off the mark. so, i took the idea i had (the ranch idea, which had branched by this stage into the telephone thing..), and concocted a story that depicted that in a more accurate, there-is-absolutely-nothing-sexy-about-this way. the answer to this question is: rocketman

two-shot?: i..do not know what this really means. i know what a one shot is? hmmm. perhaps you could consider nlh a two-shot considering im lich writing a companion story for it ☺️ xx stay tuned for that x

most popular multi-chapter fic: there only is one babey. out now. sequel coming soon........ im hoping august 8th... . but lets call it "soon"........ . ..

actual worst part of writing: like you said, ambie, finding the time to actually do it. with work n whatever else, it's hard to find stress-free time to do it sometimes

how you choose your titles: in true traditional fashion, title and chapters were all lyric excerpts that i felt pertained in some typa way

do you outline: i doooo. i think you need to, to some degree. like even the bare minimum. i DO love the freedom of taking it in any direction at any given time, but i also enjoy knowing where im headed and where i need to bring everything. the one im writing now, i think, is a lot more steadily outlined than the first one was.

ideas you probably won’t get around to, but wouldn’t it be nice: i dont actually plan on writing any more after this. ALTHOUGH i have a like lighthearted funny fantasy story based entirely on captain fantastic (the song) that has nothing to do with this, that i started writing on the side, in ye olde drafts. so who knows hunniez

callouts @ me: bitch, you didnt need to do bernie the fish so damn dirty. im sure ppl like @luzff, @rocketthem, @hobbit-with-tea, @killmypiano or anyone whos read it could answer this more accurately. or colourfully. fkhsjfjsjf id love to know

best writing traits: i havent got any idea. again, someone who has read it might be better at answering this.. ummm. something i wanted to accomplish w it was making it one of those fics you'd read that stays with u for some time, ur invested, it’s full of detail, lore. relatability. which i feel like i did. theres stuff to piece together or like draw ur own conclusions about since it's told strictly from one pov. a fair amount lies between the lines. another thing is it's obviously dark, but it's also like . not too serious in places, and as a whole has got like a charming element (regarding the good stuff). SO, more self promo: if you at all cared about nlh n the characters i made up, u may love the second (2nd) pov of it. because there is SO much that i put into nlh that will be brought to light and wrapped up in a NEAT little PACKAGE 🎁 in little miss qat

spicy tangential opinion: im on board w yours amber. one of mine would be: if youre going to write about experiences you havent experienced, even in a fanfic, i feel like you should at least do a lil research on the way. it helps your writing, and also prevents you from putting potentially harmful content out there

idk that many fic writers; i dont read them myself anymore. but i tag: @axlnchas, + anyone else who sees this and wants to 🧡