#marissa is drinking again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

javier-pena · 7 months ago

Text

quicksand

Pairing: Pedro's unnamed character in Materialists x f!reader

Word Count: 8.2k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You meet a stranger at a party.

Notes: Last week I saw these behind the scenes shots of Pedro in Materialists and somehow I had to write 8,000 words about that? I'm also not quite sure what happened, it was supposed to be like 3k max. There was also this ask Han @swiftispunk received that I couldn't get out of my head. The title is inspired by Ms Swift's song Treacherous (And I'll do anything you say / If you say it with your hands / And I'd be smart to walk away / But you're quicksand), the rest is inspired by going completely feral whenever new pictures dropped. Tremendous thanks to Dani @alexturner who just beta'd a long-ass fic last week and then this fic this week - you're being way too good to me with indulging all thoughts I have that I have to turn into short stories 🫣 My dear, sweet anon who kept sending me encouraging asks, this is for you!!

***

There’s laughter coming from downstairs, deep, rumbling laughter impossible to ignore. Your whole body seems to shake with it, your heart stutters in your chest angrily, and you press your hands over your ears. But the loud voices are still there, mocking you with their indifference to your pain. You bury your face in your cool satin pillow and sob into it, ruining the expensive fabric. You don’t fucking care.

All your friends warned you this would happen and you hate how they were right. “You’re nothing but a toy to him.” Shut up, Marissa, you’re just jealous. “Maybe you should look for a boyfriend who’s closer to you in age.” Maybe you should look for a boyfriend, period. “You’re only a fuckmaid to him, do you realize that?” That was the point you stopped listening to them and, at the same time, it was the point you should have started listening.

You are nothing but a toy to him. You should have looked for someone closer to you in age. You are … no, you can’t bring yourself to even think the word, because the truth hurts too much. The truth and your blindness and your stupidity and the fact that you’re throwing your life away for a man who breaks every promise he makes and who treats you like a pet. A beautiful, expensive pet that can be ignored whenever it’s convenient.

“Come with me to the Keys,” he whispered into your ear, his breath hotter than his steadily cooling release sticking to your thighs.

“What?” you asked, heart clenching painfully. When was the last time he cared enough to make you come? Months ago?

“Come with me to the Keys,” he repeated. “The change of scenery will be good for us. I’ll show you around. We can go deep sea fishing. I’ll buy you some dresses and bathing suits. Just take my card tomorrow.”

He brushed your hair away from your neck, kissed the skin there, cupped one of your breasts, squeezed it hard. “Piers,” you warned, tried to get away from him. But there was nowhere to go.

The truth is you had been looking forward to his trip. Had been looking forward to having the apartment to yourself for a while. It’s not like you would’ve done anything in particular except just breathe for once.

“Don’t be like that,” he mumbled against your neck, squeezed your breast again. “Don’t you want to sip on a nice cocktail? Wear a risqué outfit for me?”

No, you didn’t want that. But if you didn’t say yes soon, he’d get angry. “Okay,” you gave in. “But you have to promise me that you’ll spend one day with me. No business.”

What’s easily promised is easily broken.

Today is supposed to be your day. And for once in your life, you thought it would be. Piers took you out for breakfast, right by the water. You watched the sunshine dance across the waves. Then he showed you around town, took you to his favorite spots in Key West, even held your hand. And you thought, This is it. I’m finally worthy of him. Then came the call, followed by those emails, and suddenly Piers was like, “Sorry, babe, I have to meet them, they’re important business partners. Why don’t you go to the beach club, buy yourself a nice massage? Here’s my card.”

Here's my card. You’ve never hated three words more.

What you didn’t expect was to come home to a party. At least twenty men were milling around the house Piers liked to refer to as his “Key West Residence”, a late 19th century villa. Twenty loud men, rich like Piers, most of them his age, leering at you as you stepped through the front door, mistaking you for tonight’s entertainment.

“Babe!” Piers boomed, spilling half his drink while opening his arms as if he meant to hug you. The glances didn’t stop. “Go upstairs, freshen up, put on something nice, and then let me show you off.”

You managed to complete the first step before breaking down on your bed. You’ve been sobbing ever since.

Something breaks downstairs and some of the men roar. You bury your face deeper against the pillow, terrified to go back downstairs, terrified to stay up here. Whatever you do, it will be the wrong thing. You close your eyes and think about what it would be like if the men downstairs vanished. If you had the house to yourself, sharing it with a person you loved and who loved you in return. You could be having dinner on the patio now. Before that, you might go for a swim in the pool, knowing the only eyes on you were your partner’s, the only glances you received were welcome.

You sit up straight. You might hate it when Piers’ business partners look at you like you’re a piece of meat, but Piers hates it too if they don’t do it without being invited. Twenty men imagining all the vile ways in which they could fuck you is the last thing you want right now, but it’s also the last thing Piers wants.

You stumble into the bathroom and wash your face with ice cold water, willing the puffiness of your eyes to recede. You put on your most expensive makeup, the kind that only comes off with intensive scrubbing, then you pick your most revealing bikini and put it on. If those men stared at you like that in a long sundress, their heads will probably explode if they see you like this.

Chin held high, beach towel thrown over your shoulder, you make your way downstairs on high heels the same shade of black as your bikini. You feel utterly stupid, like you’re giving them exactly what they want, but the flush that spreads across Piers’ cheeks when he sees you is worth it. There are some whistles, a few crude comments, one man slaps your ass, but you make it to the pool. None of them are brave enough to follow you outside.

The water is cool against your skin, doing its best to extinguish the fire that burns within you. The flames don’t die down completely but they’re certainly soothed. You start to swim, one length, then three, and soon the party resumes and the men pick up their conversations again. This almost feels normal; this almost feels like a life you could enjoy. Except that you’re alone. And not in a way you crave.

You stop swimming and start drifting on your back, watching the sky above turn from a gentle blue into a soft pink, a bright orange, a deep purple. Soon, the sun will go down and the party will pick up speed. You should go, put on a dress, let Piers show you off, vanish before they’ve had too much alcohol.

You climb out of the pool, squeeze water out of your hair, wrap the towel around yourself. No one is paying attention to you now, so you pick up your heels to carry them back upstairs. There’s no way you’ll make it back to your room without one or two unwanted glances, without the odd rude comment, but you can live with that. You step onto the patio, eyes firmly fixed on your destination, then start walking through the gathering, careful not to look at anyone, careful not to be seen.

Someone sees you though. It’s not Piers, and it also isn’t one of the men who look at you and lick their lips. It’s someone watching you from the shadows, someone on one of the chairs in the parlor. Keep your eyes on the stairs, you tell yourself. Nothing good can come from this. While you were in the pool, Piers must have turned on the music, old jazz songs he always plays when he wants to appear sophisticated. The tinny sounds of saxophones make your ears ring, irritating you more than the heavy smell of cigar smoke that seems to be seeping into every corner of the house. You feel horrible between all those men dressed in their suits, even with the towel covering most of your skin. And you wish that one man would stop watching you because it makes you feel hunted, makes your body beg to run and hide.

At the foot of the stairs you pause, your heart in your throat. A man brushes past you, pretending like there is only so little room he has to press his palm against the small of your back. You turn around looking for Piers, ready to pretend you have a horrific migraine and won’t be joining him after all, when your eyes land on the man who is making the hair at the back of your neck stand with his unrelenting gaze.

You can’t see him properly because he’s half hidden behind the door to the parlor, a room that’s devoid of proper lighting and full of cigar smoke. But you see his dark eyes on you, feel them look right through you, see you for who you are, while he laughs at something the man next to him is saying. You crane your neck to get a better look at him but two other men walk past, obscuring your view. When they spot you and start to make their way toward you, you bolt up the stairs. At least no one will dare to follow you up here.

*******

“There she is!” Piers announces later, opening his arms wide again. He doesn’t spill his drink this time. You step into his embrace and let him kiss your cheek. “Took you long enough, doll.” You hate it when he calls you that, but you keep on smiling. Then he leans closer and whispers, “If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll make sure you’ll regret it. Letting another man touch you! What’s wrong with you?”

So it did bother him after all. It should make you feel proud, but it only makes you feel empty. “I’m sorry,” you whisper back and kiss him. Someone at the back of the room whistles.

“Just try to behave for the rest of the night,” he says coldly, then smiles at you and asks in his loud business voice, “Isn’t she lovely?”

Some of the men nod but none dare to look at you directly. Not when Piers has his arm slung around your shoulder anyway.

“How about a drink?” he asks you and when you nod, he takes your hand and leads you toward the bar at the back of the parlor. You follow him, shivering slightly from the evening breeze blowing in through the open French doors. The smoke in the room makes your eyes sting.

With practiced ease, Piers fills a sparkling glass with vodka and soda, adding a bit of lime juice. You try to ignore the man who is standing a little bit too close to you, whose eyes hang a little bit too low.

“Here you are.” Piers hands you the glass. “I have something to discuss with those gentlemen over there,” he nods at two men standing by the door to his study, “but I shouldn’t be too long. Try not to cause too much of a scene while I’m gone.”

You close your fingers around the glass and nod. All you want to do is run.

As soon as he’s gone, they start to close in on you. It’s what Piers wants. He wants others to desire what belongs to him – his apartment, his car, his life. You’re part of all of that. He wants these men to desire you, to think they can have you. You should have listened to your friends, to Marissa and Annie and all the others. If you had, you might hate yourself less.

You know they all want to talk to you and they won’t take no for an answer, so you start to make your way toward the open French doors to escape into the garden. If you stand right at the edge, you can hear the waves whisper and feel the ocean breeze on your face. And if you keep still long enough, they might forget about you.

You don’t even make it out the door before your eyes start to wander from the lush green bushes and trees outside and land on a man sitting in a leather armchair close to the open doors. You don’t know if it’s the same one whose gaze you felt on you earlier, but there’s something about him that makes it hard for you to look away. He’s in the middle of a conversation, one leg comfortably slung across the other, ankle resting against thigh. One of his hands is spread on his knee, his fingers stroking and tapping the expensive fabric of his back dress pants in a nervous tick. His other hand is wrapped around a glass full of amber liquid that he takes a swig from right as you walk past, pretending not to notice how the muscles in his neck work as he swallows, pretending not to notice the gold ring on his little finger that clinks against the glass as he lowers it again.

Your own drink untouched, you stand on the patio, off to the side where you hope no one will notice you but where you can look at that stranger from time to time. You don’t think you’ve seen him before, but you don’t usually pay a lot of attention to Piers’ associates. None of the men here this evening look familiar. Still, there is something about the way this man runs his fingers through his dark curls from time to time, the way he tries to smooth the wrinkles in his white shirt, the way he takes a drag from a big, dark brown cigar once in a while that makes it impossible for you to look away. Until another man demands your attention.

“Hi there,” he says, his laugh showing off perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. “I’m Hutton.”

You think about saying, “And I’m not interested,” but to Piers that would probably count as causing a scene. And Hutton looks like he’s one of the younger men here, probably in his late 30s. There are worse guys to talk to. “Hi,” you reply with a sweet smile.

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” He steps closer to you, encouraged by your smile.

“Yes,” you reply. “So how do you know Piers?”

If he’s annoyed by you bringing up your boyfriend right away, he doesn’t let it show. “We work together,” he answers, which could mean anything in Piers’s world.

“And what brings you to Key West?”

“The scenery,” Hutton answers, not even trying to hide his hungry gaze that glides over your naked shoulders and cleavage.

“I thought it was business,” you say, your smile faltering slightly. “Seeing you’re here.”

“I try not to mix business with pleasure.” Hutton leans against the small sliver of wall between the French doors and the corner of the house. “It’s neither good for business nor pleasure.”

You hum, trying to take a step back. You’re already at the edge of the patio though, and you almost stumble off it, losing your footing.

Hutton grabs your arm and pulls you toward him. “Careful there, pretty girl.”

You try to pull your arm back but he won’t let go. “Thank you,” you say at the same time as he says, “Have you ever thought about exchanging Piers for a younger model?”

It didn’t take him more than a few words exchanged to get to the point.

You yank your arm free but he grabs it again. “Stop it,” you command in your strictest voice but he only grins at you.

“Don’t be like this. I’m only fooling around.”

“Then let go of me.” He doesn’t.

You’re about to throw your drink in his face, even if it means Piers will be angry with you again, when someone steps out onto the patio.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

He’s standing right there, one hand in the pocket of his dark pants, the other holding his cigar. Shame washes over you and your palms grow sweaty. You really don’t need this right now. But Hutton immediately lets go of you and turns to face the newcomer.

“We’re good here, thanks,” he says, his jaw clenched.

The stranger takes his time to take a drag on his cigar, lets out the smoke while looking up at the now deep purple evening sky. “It’s a lovely evening, isn’t it?” he asks and Hutton lets out a sigh.

“Are you just going to keep standing there?” he asks.

The stranger shrugs.

You glance into the parlor, at all the men milling about, wondering if you could make your escape without anyone noticing. But there is something in the way the stranger holds himself that makes you want to stay and find out how this ends. Piers, by now, would have rushed past Hutton, a snarl on his lips, his anger directed at you. The stranger just stands there, his shoulders relaxed, acting as if he doesn’t even particularly care that you and Hutton are out here on the patio as well. It’s a different kind of threat … a different kind of protectiveness.

Hutton turns to you. “Are you coming?”

You shake your head and with a roll of his eyes and an annoyed, “Whatever,” he vanishes into the house, leaving you alone with him.

The silence unbearable, you say, “Thank you.”

He takes another drag on his cigar, then comes closer to you. You ignore how your heart flutters at his approach. He reaches for your hand and for a wild moment you think he’s going to grab your arm too, but he only takes the drink from your hand, sniffs the contents of the glass, then dumps it over the edge of the patio. “Let’s get you a proper drink,” he says.

You’re too stunned to do much more than follow him back into the house and toward the bar. Around you, the volume has risen since you stepped out onto the patio, but you don’t care as much as you did before. It’s hard to care about anything when your stomach is in a tight knot and when you feel like the world around you has gone completely quiet.

The man steps behind the bar, gently places his cigar in an ashtray, then regards the collection of bottles before him with his hands on his hips. “You don’t look like a vodka girl to me,” he mumbles, and you feel your face grow hot. You don’t know why. “Here.” He pulls out a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of vermouth. You only now notice how big his hands are, and your mind immediately starts to replay the evening. His hand on his knee, his hand around his glass, his hand … You shake your head, but the shiny gold ring on his little finger glitters enticingly as he unscrews the bottle of vermouth to smell the alcohol within. It’s like you’re a magpie, enchanted by everything that glitters.

“Sweet enough,” he concludes, pouring a little vermouth and a lot of whiskey into a martini glass. Then he goes through all the bottles once more until he finds one of lavender bitter and adds it to the mix.

“What is that?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “I’m not done yet.” There’s a small jar of cocktail cherries he unscrews. With skilled movements, he skewers two of them onto a silver cocktail stick before handing you the glass. The mix inside is orange on top, a reddish purple deeper below. It looks like the sunset you watched earlier.

“What is it?” you ask again.

“Taste it,” he tells you, an eager glint in his eyes.

You take a careful sip and widen your eyes in surprise at the strong yet sweet taste. “Oh, this is really good!”

“It’s sweet, like you,” he says, then seems to change his mind, adopting a matter-of-fact tone of voice. “It’s a Manhattan. That’s where you belong, not in this tourist trash kind of town.”

That makes you laugh. “Hey, I like it here.”

The bar is still between you but he leans on it to get closer to you. “I bet you would also like Manhattan if I showed you around.”

“I’m from Manhattan,” you tell him. “I live there, actually.”

“I do too,” he responds. “Funny how we should run into each other here, of all places.”

You inhale shakily. You don’t know why. “If you hate it here so much, what are you doing here?”

He smiles at you, and you’re sure your heart stops. “I heard you talk to that other guy. I’m not here to have a conversation like that with you.”

You take another sip from your cocktail even though it makes your head spin. “What are you here for then?”

“That’s just another way of asking me what I’m doing here, angel eyes,” he points out. He does it so smoothly you almost don’t notice the diminutive.

You straighten your back, only now realizing you were leaning on the bar close to him. He mirrors you, then walks around the wood between you so he can stand directly next to you. “You tell me what you want to talk about then. After all, you approached me, you made me a drink, you wanted to whisk me off to Manhattan.”

“That was before I realized how worldly you are,” he says and his smile turns sly.

“Oh?” you make. You swallow. “Am I too difficult for you then?”

“I like a challenge.”

This is where you should stop. This is where you should thank him again for rescuing you, and for the drink, and where you should walk away to find your boyfriend, who surely has to be done with his meeting by now. But how can you step away when he’s still smiling at you as if he’s having the time of his life, when you felt drawn to him all evening, when having his eyes on you makes you feel truly seen? Yes, he isn’t exactly subtle in the way he flirts with you, but there is a kindness in his gaze you’ve never seen on another man before. And then he touches you, straightening the strap of your short, tight dress, and your whole body comes alive.

“You know smoking is bad for you, right?” is the only thing you can come up with, willing your voice to remain steady.

“I like things that are bad for me,” he replies.

It’s such a cheesy line, it makes you want to bury your face in your hands. But, god, does talking to him make you feel good.

“Ha!” He points at you. “That’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen all evening.

“Call me ‘sweet’ again and you might see some more,” you retort. All you want to do is to tell him you don’t mind his harmless flirting, that whatever this is between you is fun, but it comes out heavy with implications. Implications you can’t take back because you don’t want to.

He brushes your hair behind your ear and you think you might die. “You’re very brave.” It’s a statement. “I saw you walk to the pool earlier in –”

“I know,” you interrupt him. “I saw you watching me.”

He brushes his thumb over your bottom lip. “It made me want to kiss you.”

You freeze. There is nothing you can say that won’t end badly for you. “So you made me a drink instead?”

He plucks the cocktail stick out of your glass and holds it up to your mouth. You close your lips around the first cocktail cherry and pull it off slowly, your eyes fixed to his. It might just be the low lighting but you think his pupils dilate. He drops the stick back into the glass and takes a big swig of your drink, his eyes momentarily leaving yours. You do your best not to watch his throat as he swallows.

“You really are something,” he concludes, putting down the glass on the bar.

You feel lightheaded, as if you’d just made out with him for half an hour. “I’m also in a relationship.” The words are out before you can stop yourself. You didn’t mean to say them.

“I don’t give a damn.”

You giggle, actually giggle, like a schoolgirl with a crush. “You sound like the hero in one of those ancient black-and-white movies.”

“Or maybe I’m the villain.”

This time you do bury your face in your hands. “Oh, stop it.”

“No,” he simply says, and you get it. You want to kiss him too.

Instead, you glance at the small gold wrist watch on your arm. “It’s late. I should –”

He interrupts you. “Don’t –,” but you don’t let him finish.

“Thank you for the drink. And thank you for making me laugh. You made this whole thing bearable.”

You don’t know if you should shake his hand or kiss his cheek so you don’t do any of it. You pat his arm, once, trying not to notice how it feels against your palm, then walk toward the stairs, your heart breaking with each step. If you were single, you wouldn’t have hesitated to sleep with this man. If you weren’t Piers’ girlfriend, he would never have looked your way. It’s better to end it here.

The quietness of your room engulfs you, just like the soothing coolness of the pool earlier. As soon as you close the door behind you and lean against it, you can breathe. Yes, you can still hear the sounds of the party, but they’re muffled. You can finally hear yourself think again and you exhale shakily. You almost made the biggest mistake of your life. The adrenaline rush you got from it makes you snicker.

Piers isn’t entirely faithful. He attends parties with strippers, he looks at other women, you know all that. But it doesn’t mean anything because at the end of the day he comes home to you. What you just did … it goes beyond everything Piers has ever done, and you wouldn’t have been able to look at yourself in the mirror if you had spent one more minute in the presence of that handsome stranger. Even if your flirting made you happier than Piers has in months.

There’s a knock at your door and you jump. Expecting Piers, you open it without a second thought. “I’ll be right …,” you start but forget every word in the English language when you come face to face with the stranger.

“Hello,” he says, and that handsome smile is back on his face, even if he keeps a careful distance. “You vanished so quickly it made me wonder … did I do something wrong?”

“What?” you ask because it’s the only word you can remember.

“I’ll go back downstairs if you don’t want me here,” he goes on, “just say the word.”

They never come up the stairs. Never. Who does he think he is? “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just tired.” You try to close the door in his face, but he steps closer, bracing a hand against the wooden doorframe. “Excuse me,” you say insistently.

“Can I come in?”

Into your room? “Oh, I don’t think that would be a good idea,” you reject him. You laugh, but it sounds insincere. “You should go back downstairs.”

“Alright,” he agrees, “but you have to say it like you mean it.”

“Listen here,” you start in your best no-nonsense voice. He tightens his grip on the wood and you hear it creak, despite the noise downstairs. “I want you to …”

It’s no use. You don’t know who he is, you don’t even know his name, but you also know that if you don’t let yourself have this, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.

“You need to say the words, sweet –”

“I want you to kiss me.”

You both freeze. His mouth hangs open, still in the middle of forming the next word he wanted to say. You tense, well aware that you said something you can not take back.

The few seconds that pass feel like an eternity. Then he pushes himself past the doorframe into your room, into your personal space. You smell the heavy scent of cigar smoke on him, you smell leather and lavender and citrus. You see his smile that turns into something more determined the closer he gets to you. You notice the stubble on his cheek, the glint in his eyes, the small dark spot on the collar of his white shirt. You feel … you feel his body pressing against yours, his hand pressing against the small of your back, his breath on your face, and then everything is reduced to his lips on yours, your breaths mingling, his … his tongue coaxing you open, not gently but insistent, and you not hesitating to open yourself up for him.

It's as if you’re watching it all from above, you pushing him backward, him closing the door with a hard slam, the both of you pulling at each other while kissing and kissing and …

“Careful,” he chuckles when you bite down on his bottom lip. “You said kiss, not –”

“I don’t give a fuck what I said,” you interrupt him, pulling his shirt out of his pants.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says and grabs your wrist.

You groan. “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts.”

He pulls you in for another kiss. “I’m not. You’re just … We’re doing this on my terms or not at all.”

Something throbs deep within your core.

He tightens his hold on you. “I’ve had all evening to think about this. To picture all the things I want to do to you.”

“It’s not going to be just kissing then?” you ask, relishing the chuckle you draw out of him.

“I knew I wouldn’t leave here tonight without feeling your pretty little cunt clench around me.”

It sounds like a line straight out of a porn movie. You should laugh, tell him to take you seriously. But all you can do is whimper at the thought of him sitting in his chair downstairs, talking to one of Piers’ associates or even Piers himself while thinking about being buried deep inside of you. Every other man would send you fleeing. Not him though.

“Who are you?” you whisper.

“Does it matter? Once I’m done with you, you’ll have forgotten your own name.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. “Those are some big words,” you point out.

He lets go of your wrist, then bunches the fabric of your dress up in his hand until he can reach below the hem, his broad, warm hand landing on your naked skin, his ring digging into your soft flesh. You gasp.

“Do you really think I’d disappoint you?”

“No,” you say too quickly, too rashly.

He grabs your dress again. “How about you take this off for me?”

“No,” you repeat, biting the inside of your cheek so you don’t laugh at the look of shock on his face. Then you turn around. “I can’t really open the zipper without some assistance.”

He runs both his hands over your naked shoulders and down to the middle of your back. You expect him to take his time, but he yanks the zipper down so quickly you think you hear fabric tear. You almost don’t have enough time to slip out of the thin shoulder straps before he falls to his knees behind you, pulling the dress with him. His hands are on your butt cheeks now, massaging, grabbing you as if he’s set on memorizing every detail. He slips his thumb under the hem of your panties, dips the tip into the wetness there.

You gasp at the same time as he whispers, “Knew it.”

You pull him away from you and turn around, well aware you’re completely naked except for your panties. “Well, it’s hardly surprising,” you start, your voice airy, but then it dies down completely at the sight of him kneeling in front of you looking up at you with so much heat in his gaze you’re getting burned. How did you get here?

You want him to tease you back, but he only pulls you close, his hands clasping your hips insistently, and kisses your belly, right above the hem of your panties. Then he kisses your thighs and your sides, and your belly button, and then he pulls down your panties and buries his face in your wetness with a relieved sigh. Your hands shoot forward and grab his curls, dig into them, desperate for purchase, as your head swims from the overstimulation. You would like to focus on the feeling of his hair between your fingers. You would like to focus on his tongue swirling around your clit. You would like to focus on the growl he makes when you run your nails over his scalp.

You think you’re laughing. You think you say, “Does that still count as kissing?”

“Yes,” he mumbles against the soft skin of your thighs. His curls are already a mess, his face is flushed, but when he glances up at you, his eyes are bright with determination.

“I think you have to show me that definition of kissing someday,” you go on, glancing up at the ceiling. You can’t look at him directly, it feels too intimate.

“That’s enough talking,” he decides and licks a broad stripe across your drenched folds.

You tighten your grip on his curls in response because your legs start to quiver. You hope he doesn’t notice, but his fingers dig into your thighs to steady you. The edges of his ring are cutting into you almost painfully – you want more of it. His hair wrapped around your fingers you pull him closer into you and he moans against you … actually moans. You push away those thoughts that make you compare him to Piers, how Piers would never moan if he was between your legs, how Piers never eats you out. This isn’t about him – it’s about you.

There’s something in the way that stranger rolls and flicks his tongue that tells you he won’t make you wait for an orgasm. You want to hold on longer because you can’t bear the thought of this being over already, but there is something in the way he devours you that pushes you toward the edge at a rapid speed. You don’t even hear the sounds of the party anymore, the laughter, the music; it’s just him and his deep sighs and moans.

You’re almost embarrassed by how fast you come. One second you’re appreciating the way his tongue flicks your clit, the next you can barely stay upright when your whole body releases months and months of built-up tension. You quiver in his grip and he holds you close, licking and licking until you can’t take it anymore. You think you mumble, “Fuckfuckfuck,” but there is no way to be sure. All you know is that you just had one of the best orgasms of your life.

You laugh as if the weight of the world has been lifted off your shoulders. What else is there to do? “So this is doing things on your terms?” you ask.

He sits back on his heels and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. You think you might explode at that sight. “No, that was for your benefit. The rest is going to be for mine.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you glance over your shoulder at your bed that’s rumpled from you crying on it earlier. If he can make you feel like that with just his tongue, what will he be –

“No, sugar, not like that,” he tells you, immediately pulling your attention back to him.

Your throat is dry when you ask, “What then?”

He stands and cups your cheek, his hand pleasantly warm. You lean into the touch immediately. “Don’t be so impatient. Enjoy the moment for a while.”

“What moment …?” you start but you don’t get far. He claims your mouth in a searing kiss that makes you wish you had been paying more attention to what he was doing when he was eating you out. You kiss him back, slinging your arms around his neck, the soft fabric of his white shirt rubbing against your naked chest. He licks across your bottom lip until you open your mouth for him, and then he claims you like no one has before. You fear that if you start thinking about how you can taste yourself on him, you’ll go insane.

“You’re so easy to kiss,” he mumbles against your lips. You’re not quite sure how he means it, but your chest still expands at the compliment.

“And you’re very handsome,” you retort lamely.

“Is that what you’ve been thinking about telling me all evening?”

“No,” you reply too slowly this time.

He kisses your temple, then brings his mouth right next to your ear. “I’ve been thinking about watching myself fuck you.”

He doesn’t give you time to process, takes you over to the vanity that stands opposite your bed, its mirror dull in the dim light of the room. Even when he places your hands on the table top, telling you to hold on, you still don’t think he’s serious. You look at yourself in the mirror, at the makeup smudges below your eyes, the birth mark on your throat that you hate, how your mouth hangs open in a way that looks so very unsexy. Behind you, that stranger you invited into your room, this man you know nothing about, is unbuttoning his expensive dress pants, his white shirt obscuring the view. What does he see in you that makes him want you like this?

“Do you know what you’re doing to me?” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut.

He’s holding himself now, but you can’t see his hand moving without turning around. And he didn’t tell you you’re allowed to look. Your palms begin to sweat against the wooden surface of the vanity, at the thought of him telling you what you are and aren’t allowed to do, at him praising you for doing well and punishing you if you don’t. You don’t recognize that side of yourself.

His eyes are open again and he searches for yours in the mirror. “I asked you a question.”

You swallow hard. “No, I don’t,” you say, fighting down a giggle. It’s nerves.

“I’d better show you then,” he concludes, and he pushes inside of you with one hard stroke, filling you faster than you can spread your legs.

You both take a moment to breathe. He adjusts himself, you try to get used to the angle, the feeling of fullness. You haven’t seen his hard cock, but you know he’s more than Piers, so much more the stretch is almost uncomfortable. The wood beneath your fingers starts to swim when your vision blurs and –

“No, none of that.” He grips your chin and lifts your head, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror. “I’ve also been thinking about you watching me fuck you.”

His hand looks so big holding your face like that, and when you swallow again, he can feel it against his fingers.

His own face is right there next to yours, his eyes firmly fixed to yours through the glass. “You’re a big girl. I’m sure you can take it.”

Before you can think of anything to say, he pulls out of you and thrusts back in in a tentative motion that is enough for your eyes to flutter shut in pleasure.

“No, no, no,” he whispers into your ear. “Keep them open.”

You do as you’re told and he rewards you with a sharp bite to the spot where your neck meets your shoulders. Your hips thrust back of their own accord, meeting his in a quick snap.

“You make such pretty sounds,” he mumbles against your skin.

You hadn’t even realized you were making any, too transfixed by watching him move behind you. Whenever your gaze wavers and flutters to your own face, embarrassment sends adrenaline shooting through your body. But he … watching his shoulders and arms tense and relax beneath his shirt that looks all too tight now, watching him meet your gaze, eyes full of lust … you don’t know why you would fuck anyone any other way than this.

He straightens his back, changing the angle slightly, and now you do hear yourself groan. He grabs your chin tighter and pushes two fingers into your mouth. “You know,” he says, and his hips snap with more force, faster, making the vanity rattle beneath your hands, “if you were mine, I’d let no man touch you. I would’ve broken his arm.”

It takes you a few seconds to figure out what he means; you’re too busy relishing the taste of his skin on your tongue. There must have been a man who touched you … when you were coming down the stairs … You can see it all clearly now. He would grab that man’s arm, calm and collected, twist it, make him shout in surprise … you can almost hear the bones snap.

“Oh, look at that,” he groans, and you do. You look at yourself in the mirror, unashamed, eyes wide. You watch how you eagerly suck and lick his fingers, watch it as if another person was doing it. You’re trembling in his grip … or is he making everything shake with his thrusts that are coming faster and faster now as he fucks you, taking what he needs? “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You almost don’t hear him, too transfixed by how depraved he’s making you feel. “You’d get off on that, a good man protecting you. Shame I’m not good, really.”

You don’t care. You’re done with those men who act politely, who treat you with care when they know Piers is around, but who talk about you taking it up the ass when your back is turned. You’d much rather have this, a man who isn’t scared to say these things to your face. Even if he thinks he isn’t all good, he still protected you.

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and you whimper at the loss, watching how a thread of spit connecting his digits to your lips breaks. With his other hand, he suddenly grabs one of your breasts, squeezing your hard nipple with practiced ease, and you arch your back with a moan, exposing your throat to him. His fingers close around it, hard, restricting the airflow, his ring pressing against one of the most vulnerable spots of your body in a way that doesn’t leave any room for doubt – you’re doing this on his terms.

He tightens his grip on your throat until you start seeing stars, the loosens it. “I’m going to make you come now. I want you to watch yourself. I want you to see what you look like coming around my cock.”

If you could, you would nod, but he isn’t looking for your consent. He rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger one last time, then lowers his hand to find your clit. When he touches you, you make a sound like never before, one that’s feral and animalistic and can’t possibly be coming from you.

He shushes you, his breath tickling your neck. “You don’t want anyone to hear us.”

You don’t? You have no idea. You can’t form a single coherent thought as he pounds into you, making sure you’ll be able to feel him long after he’s done with you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Your voice is breathless after that scream, hoarse and raw. Your gaze flickers to his fingers curled tightly around your neck.

“Keep your eyes on yourself, baby girl,” he orders.

Baby girl.

That’s what does it. You watch your eyes widen and your mouth fall open as your body shakes first from his thrusts and then from wave after wave of pleasure. He was right. You love this. You love watching yourself come while he forces you to watch yourself, love to watch your orgasm play out across your face. He’s watching you too, licking his lips hungrily, never faltering. But you can see it in his eyes, the way he’s memorizing every detail of your orgasm.

“Well done,” he says once you’re done and moves your chin so he can kiss your lips.

Then he suddenly pushes you down so your chest connects with the table top. You grunt in surprise, then in pain when he rolls your head to the side so you can still somewhat glimpse his reflection above you.

“My turn,” he growls.

His teeth are digging into his bottom lip, his eyes are firmly fixed on his own reflection, and he holds you down with such a strong grip you can’t move, but also in a way that’s so casual it makes you feel like he’s using you. Your heart stutters with longing so intense at that thought that the feeling spreads to the rest of your body and becomes so intense he feels it in his own. At least you think that is what’s going on when he smiles down on you.

The position you’re in and the tenderness between your legs steadily turns from pleasurable to uncomfortable to simply too much. But he doesn’t finish. He keeps going and going, not as fast as before, seemingly transfixed by what you’re doing. You reach back for him and he grabs your wrist and pins it to the small of your back.

“Please,” you whimper, and it makes his intense gaze falter for just one second.

“Almost there, baby girl,” he replies, “you’re doing so well. Just keep taking it a little while longer.” You think you could bear anything if he just kept talking to you like that.

Then suddenly it’s over. There is one last thrust that pushes you onto the tips of your toes and then he stills. The only movement comes from his hips that are twitching as he empties himself inside of you. You don’t even dare to breathe, watching as his reflection slowly relaxes and he closes his eyes for a few seconds, trying to catch his breath.

Finally, he pulls out of you and you try to stand, but he pushes you back down again. “Stay. We’re not done yet.”

Your legs tremble in anticipation, but your mind is blank, unable to imagine what else he could have in store for you. You don’t feel anything at first, you just hear him moan, and then you realize he’s kneeling behind you, cleaning you up with his tongue, eagerly licking his own release off your skin. It makes you feel so lewd you forget about everything, even Piers. Especially when he doesn’t stop at your thighs but moves further and further up your legs until his tongue and nose are buried in your folds once more and he’s spreading you open with his big hands.

You can’t help it.

“Fuck, fu- I- I’m gonna –”

There’s no time for you to finish the warning before you’re coming a third time, your hips desperately twitching against the vanity. He licks you through it, catching every last drop you’re giving him on his tongue. You can’t tell for sure but you think he’s chuckling and for some reason the shame you feel turns you on even more.

When it’s all over, he peels you off the vanity and pulls you into his arms, brushing your hair out of your face that is sticky with sweat. “You sure are a greedy little thing,” he says before he kisses you tenderly.

You swallow a sob and give him a sigh instead.

“Half the people downstairs probably heard us.” There’s a big grin on his face at that thought.

“I don’t give a fuck,” you repeat your earlier sentiment, surprised to discover that it’s true.

“Someone wants to get caught,” he teases and kisses you again.

“What I want is for you to fuck me like that again.”

“Oh, baby girl.” You almost hate how he’s already figured out what hearing him call you that does to you. “There are a million more things I want to do with you. This was just a taste.”

You’re not sure if you can believe him, but you decide to indulge that fantasy. You put on your sweetest smile. “Can’t wait.”

He lets go of you and walks toward your door. “Why don’t you give me a call once you’re back in Manhattan.”

A red warning light switches on somewhere in your brain. “But I don’t even know your name.”

“Something tells me you’ll find out.” And with that, he’s gone.

#materialists fanfiction #materialists #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #is this anything?#quicksand

344 notes · View notes

padfootagain · 8 months ago

Text

Only an Almost (IX)

Chapter 9: Testing Feelings

Hello!! Here is another chapter! Will Sam’s plan work???

Hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!!

*************************************

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader, friends with benefits AU

Warning: No explicit smut or nsfw content, but there are sexual themes and heavy make-out sessions (it’s a friends with benefits AU, I can’t really escape it), so 18+ only!

Summary: Andrew has been in love with you for years, and yet he has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.

Word Count : 2163

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

On paper, Sam’s plan sounded both brilliant and simple.

This night out with your friends did sound, indeed, like the perfect place to make you jealous.

Andrew had spent most of the evening with his friends, including you. You looked ethereal tonight, he wasn’t sure how you did this, how you could always make his heart skip beats by the mere sight of you. Perhaps, if he knew how, he would ask you to stop.

The group was now splitting into tinier cells, some levitating around a game of pool, others chilling by the bar, while some where still lost in conversation by the table around which you had gathered at first. You were off to get another drink. Sam leaned closer to Andrew, the two of them having remained sitting in the booth.

“The brunette over there is staring at you.”

Andrew frowned, before turning around to take a look, trying to spot the person his friend was talking about. It was easy to notice her, indeed. When Andrew locked eyes with hers, she didn’t look away, only threw him a flirtatious smile. He was the one to turn back to his friend with a blush.

“Sam… I don’t know if I should…”

“Ha! No! Don’t back down, now! We’ve talked about this, and this is the best plan we have. So, get out there, flirt with her, and see what happens with Y/N. This woman is perfect! She’s beautiful, and very clearly interested in you. So, don’t make her wait.”

But Andrew made the ice-cube of his whiskey twirl, and didn’t stand up.

“What are you thinking about?” asked Sam, who knew his friend a little too well.

Andrew swallowed back the lump in his throat, before answering in a whisper, still staring at the brown liquid in his hand.

“What if she doesn’t care? What if she doesn’t give two shites about me flirting with another woman? Do I really want to know the answer to that question?”

Sam rested a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder, squeezed for a few seconds.

“No, you don’t,” he answered earnestly, making Andrew look up again. “But you need to. You need to, Andy. Trust me.”

Andrew finally nodded, emptied his drink, and finally got up. He gave the woman a timid smile as he approached her. She was sitting at the bar, alone. She was pretty. In another life, he could have fallen for someone like her. But in this one, you were filling all of his heart already.

“Hi,” he spoke quietly, his voice deep and warm although a little hesitant. “Sorry to bother you, and feel free to say no if you don’t feel like it but… can I buy a drink, by any chance?”

She raised a playful eyebrow.

“I don’t even know your name,” she fought back, and he liked the way she smiled with mischief all over her features.

“Andrew. The name’s Andrew. And you are?”

“Marissa.”

“Lovely name.”

“Yours is pretty basic, but it’ll do.”

He couldn’t help but genuinely laugh at that.

“Hey, it gets the job done. You say it, and I come running.”

“And why did you come to me? I wasn’t calling your name.”

“Hmm… no, you weren’t. But according to my friend over there, you’ve been staring. Which is highly impolite. So, I thought I should buy a drink.”

“If I was impolite, shouldn’t I be the one buying you a drink?”

“You can buy round two and three, so we’re even.”

She laughed, and the sound was lovely. All Andrew noticed was that you were bringing drinks back to the table. You frowned, looked around. And then you saw him, and frowned some more, as if you had been searching for him, but were surprised to find him there, with someone else.

As he focused on Marissa again, Andrew could think of nothing but you.

“Well, you should buy me that drink, then, so I can quickly repay my debt,” Marissa answered, and Andrew ordered another whiskey.

You were looking at him and Marissa, Andrew wondered if his plan was working.

Daphne and Sam and the rest of the gang were somewhere else, lost in the dim lights and crowds of the busy pub. He was discreetly looking at you over there, standing near the table where some of your friends were gathered. Others were playing pool, some were simply scattered around the place. But everyone was lost in conversation… except for you. You were standing there, staring at him, with an unreadable expression on your face.

Did it hurt, to see him flirt with another woman?

Marissa rested her hand on his forearm. He didn’t feel anything at the touch, but he let her anyway. He even leaned a little closer, for good measure, staring at her dark eyes again. She was beautiful. You were all he could think about…

“When is this wedding then?” she asked, the tone one of conversation, but there was something syrupy in her voice that was meant to lure him in.

“In about four months now! Time flies.”

“Have you decided who you’ll go to the party with?”

He laughed, a little too loudly, just to show you that he was having fun. That he could laugh without you. That he didn’t need you.

He was lying through his teeth.

“Not yet,” he answered while staring right into this stranger’s eyes, making his voice a little deeper than usual on purpose. “Do you have suggestions?”

“I mean… I can think of a possibility… depending on what happens between then and now.”

She held up her open palm, and Andrew knew to place his phone in her hand. She entered her phone number.

“I have to go for tonight, but I hope you’ll call me soon,” she said, handing him back his phone, and her smile was tempting enough to melt a glacier.

Andrew nodded, gave her a wink. She moved closer to kiss his cheek, and he let her, bending a little to offer his skin to her lips. They were warm and soft, he could feel her lipstick on them. He wondered if you were still looking.

She gave him another warm smile; and he returned the gesture, bid her a goodnight and a safe trip home.

He didn’t look at you again, instead he grabbed his glass of whiskey, and downed the burning liquid. He turned towards the bartender and asked for a refill. He recognized your footsteps behind him, and he thought you would stop by his side, but you didn’t. You made a beeline for the bathroom instead, and his heart leapt in disappointment.

“Andy! Get your arse over here!” Alex shouted from somewhere behind him. “I need your word for a story! Daphne won’t believe me!”

Andrew shook his head, a fond and amused smile on his lips as he turned to his friends, taking his new drink with him. He kept an eye on the door to the bathroom while he joked with Alex.

“I was sick,” Andrew defended himself.

“We were thirty minutes before a show, when this guy just gives us the most cringy sound I’ve ever heard. Somewhere between a prepubescent getting hit in the balls and a dying pig.”

“I had the flu, and was completely stoned on steroids to keep my voice somehow functioning.”

“Excuses, excuses! He got us all panicking, thinking he wouldn’t be able to perform.”

“And I did!”

“How professional…”

“Thanks, Alex…”

“… to perform while higher than a fucking boeing!”

Andrew playfully rolled his eyes, making everybody laugh.

He caught a glimpse of your jacket as you hurried from the bathroom to the door of the pub.

“Ha… Y/N’s calling?”

“Fuck off,” he merely answered his bass player, making Alex chuckle.

“You’d better hurry before she leaves you behind.”

Andrew didn’t answer and merely followed his friend’s advice, emptying his drink before leaving the glass discarded on the nearest table.

You were pacing a few meters away from the entrance of the bar when Andrew stepped outside.

You froze as you noticed him.

“Y/N? You’re okay?”

You blinked at him, like a deer caught in headlights.

“Yeah,” you breathed.

You looked paler than usual, your eyes were a little red. He wasn’t sure if it was due to fatigue or tears.

“Are you sick? You want to go home?”

You hesitated, but finally nodded.

“Yeah, I… I think I’m gonna head home. I’m tired and… I had a bit too much to drink.”

“Give me a sec, I’ll grab my coat.”

“I’ll call a uber. Anyway… you’re not sober either, you can’t drive, Andy…”

“It’s almost one in the morning. It’s late, let me take you home, okay?”

“I… I’d rather you don’t.”

Andrew narrowed his eyes at you.

Did it mean that his plan was working? That you were jealous?

“Why not? Did I do something wrong?” he asked, feigning innocence.

You took a couple of seconds to answer, your expression still unreadable.

“No… no, you didn’t. But I don’t want you to accompany me. I don’t need your help.”

He was taken aback by your answer, by how much it hurt to hear those words coming out of your mouth.

“I just… I was just trying to be helpful.”

“You seemed busy enough tonight… Don’t you have someone else to go home with?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Are you jealous?” he asked, trying to hide how impatient he was, how he hoped for the answer to be a yes.

You scoffed, hands coming up to rest on your hips.

“Don’t be ridiculous, we’re not dating! You can sleep with whoever you want.”

“You’re jealous,” and this time it was more of a statement than a question.

“I’m not! We’re not dating! We’re not exclusive! If you want to have fun with… whoever that was, then go ahead! Have fun!”

“We just flirted, nothing serious.”

“You got her number, that’s a win!”

You hesitated for a moment, but asked the question on the tip of your tongue anyway.

“What’s her name?”

“Marissa,” he answered, and you looked away as he spoke her name.

There was a tug to his heart… it came from both satisfaction and guilt.

“You know… we can make a rule about that,” he offered.

“About what?”

“About… the arrangement stopping if we want to sleep with someone else.”

You scoffed again, your arms moving once more, this time to cross before your chest.

“What makes you think you’re the only person I’ve slept with these past couple of months?”

You flinched when his face fell.

“Have you? Slept with other people while we…?”

The question remained suspended in mid-air, and Andrew tried to blink away the stupor and the pain that came with your words. There was no air left in his lungs, like a punch in the guts…

“No… no, I haven’t,” you admitted. “Have you?”

“No, I haven’t.”

You’re the only one I want, he wanted to add, but he didn’t want to spoil it all by saying something so stupid.

You remained silent, and so Andrew pulled out his phone and got a uber for you.

“Can you text me when you’re home? Please? Just to make sure you’re alright,” he insisted, and you easily yielded.

It took you a couple of minutes to walk closer to him again. He was surprised when you took his hand. He ran his calloused fingertips across your soft knuckles a couple of times before interlacing your fingers together.

“Can we… can we add that rule of yours? We stop our arrangement when we meet someone else?” you asked, fleeing his gaze.

“Okay, let’s do that.”

“So… are we going to stop our… arrangement? Are you going to see Marissa again?”

You didn’t see his reassuring smile, you were looking at the curb instead.

“No… no, I don’t think I want to see her again.”

You finally looked up at him.

“You’re sure?” you asked, but Andrew’s smile grew more tender as he nodded, and he let his free hand move upwards to rest on your cheek.

“I’d rather have you,” he confessed in a whisper, voice deep and sweet. He noticed how you leaned into his touch.

He wanted to kiss you, he wondered if you would let him… but then there was a car coming, and you took a step back as the headlights illuminated your frame while they came closer, like a halo around something divine.

“Goodnight, Andy,” your voice was soft and tender as you spoke, and he guessed that your words meant more than their usual meaning.

He gave you the most loving smile.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

He watched as you disappeared in the car, waited as the engines roared a couple of seconds before the vehicle started to move, stared as the car drove away.

He smiled.

You were jealous. You wanted him to have no one else. It meant that you cared. You cared. You fucking cared…

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier x fem!reader #hozier fanfiction #hozier series #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #series

176 notes · View notes

the-goddess-of-mischief-writing · 1 year ago

Note

whipped price is the best price!! i read countryside again earlier on while ao3 was down and it soooo good literally tempted to read it again before i go to sleep tbh looooool but food for thought because i literally think of price and sunshine!reader before i go to sleep but what if (and idk if this is cliche but i am going to be a cliche for this cause why not)

but what ifffff price goes off to the toilet for a week and while he’s gone he leaves sunshine!reader at the bar to get drinks (yes at marissa’s place) anyway sunshine is at the barrr and some random dude comes up and starts to hit on her and she’s like nah dude i’m good thanks and he still hits on her and even marissa is like ‘seriously back off’ and then after a bit price comes out and sees and starts puffing his chest a bit cause ? who da fuck is that flirting with his women?! and the others see him storming over and try to brace themselves for the wrath of price on this muppet flirting with his girl and that’s all i have rn butttt if you wanna continue it then please do

TLTR; price gets jealous of another guy hitting on his girl and i am wondering if you’d be down to finish it off cause you’d do a wayyy better job then me 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

A/N: Thank you s much love. This definitely took I turn, not gonna lie, but I still like it, hope it's alright<3

Dark and Stormy

Summary; When another guy hits on you, Price gets protective. One thing leads to another and you find yourself in a vastly unfamiliar situation with Price that Ghost helps manoeuvre.

Pairing: Cpt. John Price x reader (sunshine!universe)

Rating: Mature

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Onehsot

Word; 4.3k

Warnings; PTSD, mental health discussion, protective!Price, implied age-gap

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing

SUNSHINE UNIVERSE MASTERLIST

The intention of tonight was a quiet night out. Or, as calm as it gets when there's football on the telly. It also was when Johnny entertained a conversation with you rather than watching the game, as disinterested in the sport as they come compared to the others. And yes, even when a team scored, the evening was peaceful.

But then two things happened. John excused himself to the toilet while you headed to the bar, wanting a drink and something to chew on. It was a few minutes before half-time and you knew there would be a wave of people flocking towards where Marissa, at the moment, stood unoccupied, her arms crossed over her chest, eyes drifting over the crowd with an amused look. As you stepped up to the counter, that gaze settled upon you.

"Ain't it fascinating they can be this invested?" Marissa was as uninterested in football as Johnny, yet both possessed a good understanding of the game and the current season. Both your friend and the Scotsman unwillingly so, regarding the bar broadcasts relevant games on weekends and, apparently, it was a common topic not only off but on base amongst the men.

You shrugged in return. "Each to their own".

"I guess", she huffed, pushing away from the counter she'd been leaning against. With two short steps, she stood in front of you. "Wanna get something?"

"You already know what I want", you replied, to which she put a hand on her chest, an exaggerated expression morphing her features as her mouth dropped open.

"To come and keep me company, you shouldn't have", Marissa flicked her hand, making you chuckle.

"If it makes you pay for my drink, sure", you wink at her.

"Dream on, missy", Marissa chuckles as she goes to prepare the beverage, but she stops in her track suddenly, eyes shifting away from you.

"I can pay for your drink, gorgeous". You jump slightly at the voice close to you. With a swivel of your head, you instantly locate the blonde man who'd crept up behind you.

"No, thank you", you reply with a polite smile, turning towards Marissa again, trying to make it obvious you turned his efforts down.

"Didn't sound like that a second ago". Your brows furrow, sending the blonde a look over your shoulder.

"Joke between friends", you reply curtly, motioning between yourself and Marissa.

"Well, she can't keep you company all night, can she?" He smiled, leaning on the bar beside you with his elbow. "But I can". He must've thought the wink accompanying his sentence was meant to lighten your mood. If anything, it made you cringe inwardly and take a step away from him.

"Got my boyfriend for that". You looked forwards, locking eyes with Marissa. She met you with an expression you didn't need words to understand.

You saw a movement in your peripheral. Glancing at the man, you spot him turning his head left and right, looking behind him. "Don't see him around. You're not lying to me now, are you?"

You didn't look at him as he faced you, only following Marissa as she propped one of her hands on her hip, a low muttered 'Jesus' passing under he breath.

"Her man shouldn't need to be attached to her hip for you to understand what a no means", Marissa remarks. You send her a thankful look as her eyes momentarily shift to you.

"He should if having a girl this peng otherwise people will bother her all the time".

"Like you?" You finally turn towards him, arms crossed over your chest.

His brows are furrow, setting his features in a hard stare. "What did you say?"

You want to roll your eyes. But honestly, how the man's voice fell so drastically from the flirty tone made you hesitant. Yeah, you were bordering between annoyed and cautious now. "I'm saying I'm not interested in and you're making me uncomfortable".

"But I've done nothing wrong", he claimed.

"You may interpret that way, but I feel differently, so please", you motioned towards some other tables, asking the man to leave you be.

"I can stay here to have a drink if I want to", he states, turning to Marissa, making no move to listen to your desire for him to give you space. "I'll have a dark ale".

"I won't serve you", she declares.

"You can't decide that", he points at your friend, who cocks her head.

"I can. I own this place".

"Bull-fuckin-shit you do. What poor old grandpa did you rob this place from? Shouldn't even be surprised you took his life-work from him". Your mouth dropped open. Marissa's face hardened.

"Believe what you want because this is my pub and no one here will serve you". The man opened his mouth, about to continue the argument, when someone interrupted him.

"You can't get a clearer no from either of them, mate". Your eyes instantly find John upon his voice. He's standing behind the man looking at Marissa, then you, only for his eyes to meet the blonde's as he turns his head to see who's talking to him.

"I didn't talk to you, now did I, old man?"

"Maybe not, but you didn't show any signs of human decency and respect to her". John motions to Marissa. "Neither did you care when she straightforwardly said she didn't enjoy your advances", he nods towards you.

Understanding that John caught his behaviour towards the two of you, the blonde suddenly switched up.

"Oh, come on, it's alright, ain't it, love?" He turns to face you, concerning you're the closest to him. Your nose scrunch at the pet name. In your mind, it was only reserved for John. That the man dared to use it despite how he's been acting made a revolting sensation grow in your stomach. "You don't mind me, right?" He raises his arm, attempting to put it around your shoulders in a manner of goodwill. But, you move out of his reach, not desiring to be touched by this man.

And, even if you hadn't moved, the blonde would never have reached you concerning how John acted swiftly. He'd grabbed his shoulder, a gentle pull making him take a few steps back to give you space. When the blonde stumbled slightly from the reasonable action, you understood the man wasn't entirely sober, quite far from it. Noticing the same thing, John placed himself between you and the man rather than standing by your side.

A look of disbelief crosses the blonde's features before he turns sour. "You looking to scrap?"

"No". John stands straight, using his full height to his advantage. He wasn't only taller but broader than the other man, and you barely saw anything of him if you didn't glance around John's frame. All those things together would've been enough for most to back off, but not this guy.

"Then piss off", the blonde spat, clearly thinking the liquid courage he'd gotten was enough to stand up to John, oblivious to his disadvantage. And that was only physical. With John's experience, you didn't doubt who'd be victorious in a possible fight. "I'm just trying to get a drink".

John scoffed, glancing back at you. You knew his easy attitude was for your sake, the way his hand sneaked backwards in search of yours reinforcing that as he faced forwards again.

"It sounded like you tried chattin' up my girl and then insulted her friend. And when both made clear your presence wasn't welcomed, you can't respect them enough to leave. If you didn't notice that it's time to head home". John motions towards the exit with a small jut of his chin as he finally drops what you hope is the hint that will make the blonde scurry away.

The man did catch it, his eyes flickering to you and then down to see your enlaced hands behind John's back. But you also recognised something else. Hurt fucking pride.

"Don't come and order me around", he scoffs, chest puffing.

"Only givin' you advice". John was serious. You gather that much despite not seeing his face. His voice had dropped a notch, his sentence more straightforward than previously. "Better off takin' it".

"Or what? You gonna force me, don't think ya would even land a hit", the blonde scoffed in return, swaying as he made a show of moving his head as if dodging punches.

Something changed in the air then. John cocked his head, chuckling. An uneasy sensation rolls through your body upon the sound. It was nothing joyful in it. It was stern, hard edges digging into his smooth and raspy voice.

You know John is SAS, a soldier through and through. He's violent, but not violent. He can separate work from... this. What you feared, however, is that what he deals with professionally is calculated. Everything is planned, counted and weighed until agreed on something remotely executable. Initial planning left little to chance. That much you knew with your sparse knowledge of the military.

The blonde staring at John now was nothing of this. He was uncalculated, impulsive. He could do something stupid in seconds. You trusted John, not the man.

"Don't buy into his crap, please, John". You step up alongside him, gently shifting out of your enlaced hands to hold his arm, trying to divert his attention.

He doesn't look at you, eyes remaining locked with the man opposite him. "I won't".

"Ain't no fucking way to talk to me". You send the man a disgusted look.

"I talk however I want to you if you can't understand what a fucking no means", you spit back.

One of his brows cock and he steps forwards, hand raising. He doesn't come much further as John copies him. He steps out of your touch, one hand pushing forcefully enough against the guy's chest that he needs to catch himself at one of the stools.

"If you just were about to hit her-". Each syllable of the words is gritted through John's teeth as he speaks slowly. "-don't think about doin' it again". You hear the threat in his voice, the brush of 'test it, I dare you'.

Your throat constricts. And alarm of a situation spiralling out of control blaring in your body. You shoot Marissa a worried look and she knows what you can't say.

"I've had enough of this". Marissa firmly puts her hand down on the metal counter closest to her. Her action is followed by the rattling sound of glasses. John reacts in milliseconds, eyes snapping towards her. The blonde's attention follows a few seconds later. "You are not welcomed here anymore. Get out", she points at the blonde before motioning towards the door, her brown eyes darker than you've seen them in a long time.

"Or what?"

"I call the fuckin cops on you". She threatens, a sneer working itself into twisting her features.

The man is probably about to defy her and argue when a shadow suddenly positions itself at your side.

You feel dwarfed, standing so close to the new presence and John. But rather than shrinking in on yourself. You silently thank the gods it isn't an unwelcomed someone.

"You heard her". You look up at Ghost when he speaks. As always, his eyes were the sole feature peeking through his skull baklava. And right now, they bore into the blonde. "Get out". He didn't hesitate to grab the excess fabric of the jacket covering the man's shoulder.

"Take it easy, mate". The blonde almost whines as Ghost pulls him away from your group and forces him to walk ahead while he follows him to the exit. Even the man understood he'd met more than his match.

You don't hesitate to step around John to face him as soon as the man is gone. You immediately notice his lips set in an aggravated purse and how he must run a pointed tongue over his teeth. His head is turned, a hard stare boring into the man staggering away with Ghost's palm planted firmly between his shoulder blades.

"Hey". John's eyes finally met yours. They're dark, blue soladites gazing back at you. Something is brewing in them, something volatile. "Are you alright?"

John doesn't answer. Instead, his jaw only works, repeatedly tensing, making the muscle in his temple visible. It looks like he's chewing his words but can't spit them out.

You glance towards Ghost, who just pushed the man out of the pub, caring little about what he does with himself once out of the space.

Your eyes fall back to John as you sigh in relief. He still looks tense, and in an attempt to wordlessly tell him the situation is under control, you smile. But... you don't get a similar action in return. You got none, in fact. Something feels off. As if the situation is still spiralling despite the source of conflict gone. Your brows furrow, trying to snap him out of whatever resentment he can't seem to let go of by enlacing your fingers. Although, when your fingertips brush his, he flinches.

Taken aback by how his hand jerks away from yours and he moves back, you whisper his name. "John?"

Your hand hang in the air, staring at him. He's still looking at you. Even so, his gaze feels far-away. Now you're seriously worried.

"Not your fault". For being such a big man, Ghost moves quick and silently. Upon his sudden appearance by your side again, you turn to him.

"What?" His brown eyes lock with yours briefly before quickly falling on John again. He shakes his head once, not explaining something he must know.

"Marissa". You look at your friend when Ghost directs his attention on her. Even she's watching the situation with wide eyes, unfamiliarity written clearly over her features. "Have a secluded space?"

"I-uh, you can take my office". Your friend supplies the only private space within the pub's walls. Ghost nods, turning and stepping closer to John.

"Price". The masked man earns the attention of John when he settles on the juncture between his shoulder and neck. Your mouth had opened, wanting to speak up about what just happened to you but stop yourself when no reaction to the touch comes. "Get a move on. To the back".

And he does. Like a soldier, John turns and heads to the doors leading to the backroom. Stunned, you follow him with your eyes.

"You should come". Ghost directs with a quick look over his shoulder just as he follows John. You do as he says with a quick look at Marissa. She tries to give you a calm expression and a gentle smile, but it's impossible after your interaction with the blonde man and this sudden turn of events. Your jaw clenches as you hurry to keep up with the two men.

One of Marissa's coworkers emerges from the backroom just as you near it. Instinctually she holds the door open for the two men to pass through after she's stepped into the main room. You offer her a 'just getting some things for Marissa' to ease her confusion. Thankfully, you know her and she replies 'alright' just as your friend calls for her. Probably to not linger about to keep it as free of people as possible concerning Ghost's request.

You press your lips together when the doors close, cutting off much of the pub's natural racket, walking briskly behind John and Ghost. Something gnaws in your chest as you look at the latter. Neither he seems relaxed.

Your arms wind around your stomach, silently stepping into Marissa's office, staying almost pressed against the door once your close it by leaning into it.

"Price", Ghost's voice makes John turn. "Your head's elsewhere". He continues. He doesn't sound cold, but he speaks evenly.

For being a masked man, you would describe Ghost as someone who usually has an expressive voice. But his current tone sounds matter-of-factual. Fuck. You gnaw your lip, fingers digging into your sides, eyes jumping between them.

"You ain't there". Ghost's words make your eyes flitter from John to him and stay there for a few moments. You only see parts of his face concerning how he's still facing John more than you. "You're back home, at the pub. There's nothin' to overthink, nothin' to deal with, nothin' more happenin'. You hear me?"

John nods. But the large man only shakes his head in return. "Answer me, Captain".

"Hear ya, L.T.". John's voice is low and gritty as he grunts the reply.

Ghost nods curtly, a swift tip of his chin. "It's all in your head. Get it back on your shoulders", he continues, letting his sentence hang in the air rather than filling the silence with anything else.

Though you don't understand the interaction fully, you're starting to grasp what's going on in the stillness. You watch John closely as he crosses his arms over his chest and inhales slowly, holding his breath before exhaling. He repeats the action over and over.

"That cunt ain't here to bother you or your sweetheart, neither is anyone else, so at ease". Ghost angles his body, your eyes landing upon his profile. He motions to you with his hand, bringing a set of eyes to you. Yet, they're not brown, but blue.

Upon John's attention, you shift, shuffling on your feet, but don't avert your eyes. The look from before is still there, though it doesn't feel as intense. And then, slowly, it melts. It's nothing grand, not a sudden shift, no jerk of realisation. But the forced labour breathing John focused on eases into something natural, making his shoulders drop and the look in his eyes change. He feels present. As if he's actually looking at you now. A gentleness fills his eyes. They warm up.

Then, John's eyes flutter close, his head notching forwards. One of his hands settles by his temple, massaging the sensitive point before travelling to the bridge of his nose, pinching the highest point as a deep furrow sets his brows close to his fingers.

"You good?" Ghost asks, his voice milder than before.

"I'm good", John responds on a exhale. He takes a step backwards to partly sit on the desk behind him. He shifts his fingers so his thumb massages the skin between his eyebrows.

Meanwhile, Ghost turns, walking towards you. You only look at him once he stops beside you.

"Should I do something?" You whisper to the tall man. You felt helpless during this ordeal and still not exactly sure what happened even though you now had a guess. Ghost only cocks his head, hand stilling on the door-handle as he looks at you.

"Just be there for him", is all he says, swinging the door open.

He nods goodbye as he exits, not overstaying the moment after he apparently isn't needed anymore.

Your eyes fall on John when the door closes again. He looks tired, standing in a similar position as before. Only his hand had shifted to cover his eyes, the span of his brows covered by his index finger and thumb.

"John?" You try to soften your voice to hide your concern.

His hand drops, blue eyes finding yours. His mouth is in a thin line, corners slightly downturned. Your heart cracks a bit at his discouraged look.

Your feet move on their own, bringing you to him. As soon as you're within range, he drops his arms, opening them wide for you to step into. It's seamless how you reach around John's shoulders, one hand coming to the back of his head, moving him towards your neck while his arms wind tight around your waist, pulling you close as he haunches forward to burrow his face against your throat.

The silence is only filled with your breaths. Yours blowing into the air at the side of John's head, his exhales puffing against your skin. Your eyes are shut harshly as your fingers repeatedly card through his hair and continue down his neck until your fingertips glide over his last cervical vertebrate.

It's gradual, but you feel John the tension leaving his body. He relaxes against you, not feeling as stiff with his hold. His arms loosen, sliding lower towards your hips where his hand squeeze the plusher flesh. Your thumb circles his shoulder and you turn your head to the side, kissing the side of his head. In return, he kisses the skin over your collarbone.

There's a tug-of-war inside you. Should I? Shouldn't I? In the end, you decide to try.

"If you're comfortable in telling me, what happened?" The words brush against John's head, your breath disturbing some strands of his hair.

He sighs deeply and you hold your breath for a few seconds. "Got triggered". So...PTSD, then? Or was it something you never fucking heard of? Your mind raced.

As if able to read your thoughts, John finally leans away. You don't let your hand fall from the back of his head, continuing to card through the strands of hair at his nape as he looks at you, head bowed to be levelled with your face.

"Doesn't happen much at all". John begins, clenching his jaw before continuing. "But triggers can... it feels like a misplaced adrenalin rush with overwhelming emotions and racing thoughts".

You nod, biting your lip. Brows furrowing, you search for the right words, carefully choosing what to say. "Was it something that guy said that did it?"

"Don't know, can't recall what hit the wrong cord", John said with a shake of his head.

"You sound jealous". You try a different approach in a lighter tone, rapping your fingers against his neck with a soft smile.

"Maybe protective", John shrugs, chuckling awkwardly. Even so, the tightness in the corner of his mouth eases. His gaze flickers away, moving back and forth, staring into nothing for a few seconds. When his gaze trails back, his eyes are a bit clearer, apparently having uncovered something to answer your question better. "Think it was when he raised his hand".

The reminder that the man had thought about doing something physically to you resurfaced on your frontal lobe. As the moment replayed, you could understand why it was triggering, perhaps not to the extent and with the interconnections John obviously had towards the action.

"Got angry, worried, the feeling resembling something from...", John trails off, but you don't need him to explicitly say it. You're not there. Ghost's sentence echoes in your mind. "Should probably work on that, m'sorry".

This man. You shut your eyes, turning your head away. You try to will the wetness you felt away, but when you open your eyes, you still need to tilt your head back and forth a few times to not let any tears fall before you look back at John, eyes noticeably glassy even so.

"Don't apologise". You finally say. "It isn't your fault that guy acted like a cunt. Compared to him, you never wanted to escalate the situation even though you were the one who had the right".

"But-" You cock your head after he cuts himself short, giving him space to continue the conversation at his own pace. John releases a slow breath and speaks again. "It shouldn't have triggered me". You purse your lips at the way he says it. He sounds so frustrated with himself.

"Don't know too much about it", you admit, neither of you labelling what the obvious it was. "But you soldiers can't pick and choose what does or doesn't".

"Wouldn't that be a dream", he sighs.

"Maybe you should work on it. If you want to. Not the protective part, I mean... I appreciate that, I like that I can trust you having my back". You lick your lips, biting the lower one for a second as your brows furrow. "But, maybe the other part?"

It brought a sigh from John. "Guess... I haven't left the last deployment behind entirely despite being cleared on the med-evaluations". It wasn't a yes, but it was an acknowledgement.

"I-I know we haven't talked much about what you do in detail. But, if you want to, you know? Talk. I'll listen". John looks at you, blue eyes widening.

"I-", he began. "I need to think about it". You nod, not pressing him, understanding that he needs time.

Rather than continuing the conversation, you lean forwards, pressing your lips against his forehead. You feel his eyes flutter close, his lashes brushing your lower face as he leans into the touch, so you only part to mumble an 'okay' before planting another kiss between his brows.

You graze your lips over his face in soft presses until you reach his mouth. Hovering there, your hand slip to his cheek. Your fingers brush along the line of his beard, feeling the softness of his skin and the brown hairs. You hover there, waiting until John initiates the kiss.

It's sweet, soft. A gentle tilt of heads in opposite directions as you merely connect the plush pillows of your lips together. It holds so many emotions for something that is so surface-level.

"Want to go home? Escape the crowd?" You whisper against his lips when you part.

John hums, leaning away so his gaze meets yours the second you open your eyes. "If you don't mind".

"Would never mind if that's what you need". You smile at John, running your thumb along his cheek. He sighs, an appreciative smile spreading.

"Can I drive?"

You remember what he said the night you first met, how helpful those drives could be for him. "If you want to, yes".

"Thank you". John pecks your lip.

You smile at him. "No need".

622 notes · View notes

lostreverb · 4 months ago

Note

Haiii I love you and your Warren stuff, I absolutely require more but I have no ideas to ask you to write ^^"

-Duckie 💜

please please please (short n' sweet)

(warren lipka x fem!reader) in where you swear you have good taste in lovers, but your new boyfriend makes everyone think otherwise (wc: ~3.2k) (this fic is a part of my short n' sweet collection!)

content: fluff, angst, established relationship, swearing, drugs (weed), nsfw actions implied

note: ILYT THANK YOU for the request!! (so so sorry this took so long!) also using a song about barry keoghan to write about a movie he was in just feels so good to my brain idk. (also ermm... UK is supposed to be the university of kentucky idk if ppl call it that just go with it)

the dim light of the living room provided a warm atmosphere for the party you (somewhat) spontaneously decided to attend. your girlfriends had been pestering you to go out recently and you figured coming along this time would get them off your back, at least for a bit. you and your two closest friends lounged on plush couches, drinks in hand. as you sat, listening rather than speaking, your friend marissa’s voice cut through the chatter. the walls seemed to close in when she asked the question you had been dreading:

"so who's this guy you're dating again?"

"uhm... he-" you shifted in your seat, feeling your unease gradually intensify. "he goes to UK.."

another friend, cleo, who sat further down on the couch, leaned forward with a laugh. "come on, girl," she teased. "why is this like pulling teeth with you? stop being so vague and just spit it out."

typically, you'd never be one to hide information about a guy you're dating from the girls but you knew how they were gonna react. you had been avoiding the topic for weeks.

"cause' i know y'all don't like him!" you snapped. "y'all don't like him and i honestly don't want to be lectured-"

"we're not gonna lecture you-" marissa interrupted, her voice softening, trying to reassure you.

"how could we not like him if we don't even know him?" cleo added.

you rolled your eyes. your friends, as sweet as they were, could be very blunt with their opinions on guys. especially ones you dated. sure, your last ex did end up hooking up with his overly flirty biochemistry lab partner, but that wasn’t until after you broke up. a week after, to be exact—but still, it wasn’t like he cheated. and the one before that, the one with a slight drinking problem, couldn't really help it. addiction ran in his family (that's what he told you at least) plus he was irish! who were you to deny him participation in his culture? your friends couldn't be right about everything and you certainly didn't want to entertain the thought they could be right about-

"warren? warren fucking lipka?"

you felt your face heat up at marissa's reaction.

"yes, warren… lipka," you murmured, feeling the air grow heavy as their disapproving stares settled on you. this felt so much worse than how you’d imagined it in your head.

"deals-weed-and-sells-burner-phones-out-of-his-dorm warren?" marissa asked in disbelief.

"didn't he just break the record for most yellow cards in a single season?" cleo added, one eyebrow arched in skepticism.

"he doesn’t deal anymore—and he’s going through some stuff," you huffed, frustration bubbling up as you tried to defend him. warren had never really loved soccer, and after losing all respect for his father following his parents' messy divorce, he’d grown to despise the sport. as for dealing, you’d convinced him to stop after a close call with the cops. besides, he couldn’t stop getting high off his own supply.

"y/n, don’t take this the wrong way… we just don’t want to see you get hurt again," marissa said gently, her voice full of concern.

"or end up as a pothead," cleo chimed in, more bluntly. "you… haven’t smoked with him, have you?"

you didn’t respond, suddenly paralyzed by the sight of a familiar face, standing idly by the drinks table. spencer reinhard. if he was here, then that meant…

a pair of hands covered your eyes, followed by the smell of old spice and a hint of weed. "guess who?"

ah, shit.

"hey…" you said nervously, glancing around the room. of course, he's at the one party you decided to attend.

"you're supposed to guess- whatever- guess what, babe?" warren grinned as he plopped down on your side of the couch, far too comfortably for your liking.

"what?" you asked, trying to keep your voice level.

"got my hands on a couple of pre-rolls," he said, pulling out a small baggy with a smirk. "i told my guy about you, and he threw in some edibles as a gift."

"told him about me?"

"yeah, he couldn't believe it. luckily, i had that polaroid of us—"

you froze, knowing exactly what he was referring to. the first time you had sex high with warren, you came up with the "great" idea to take pictures together afterward. you thought you had hid them, but he must've swiped one without your knowledge.

"you had what?"

"don't worry," warren said quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "i covered the lower half with my hand- are these your friends?" he glanced at the others. "you guys look a bit tense. you interested?" he waved the baggy slightly.

"no." marissa said sternly, her eyes narrowing as she shot him a cold look. cleo, sitting beside her, simply ignored him, her expression unreadable.

"jeez, what's their problem?" warren muttered.

"warren, go hang out with spence…" you desperately wanted him to leave.

sensing your discomfort, warren shrugged. "fine," he said, standing up. "we'll be out back. let me know when you wanna go- i’ll give you a ride."

you watched as warren walked away, a pang of guilt settling in for how dismissive you had been. you were only trying to protect him until you could get your friends to understand. yes, warren was incredibly chaotic, but that was part of what drew you to him. he wasn’t just some lazy stoner; he wanted to push boundaries and break rules. he yearned to live a different kind of life, to do something extraordinary, unbothered by what others thought.

but he cared what you thought, and you had just pushed him away.

you rose from the couch, glancing over at your friends. the need to apologize was growing by the second, urging you to make things right. "hey guys, i'll see you around. i think i need to-"

before you could finish, warren was suddenly at your side. "we've gotta go, come on."

"what? why?" you asked, confused.

"LIPKA!" you heard someone roar from an open door. "I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU!"

warren’s strong grip clamped around your wrist, pulling you out of the house. as you stumbled behind him, you took a glance back and saw the angry figure charging toward you, recognizing the unmistakable frat symbol on his shirt.

when you finally reached the car, spencer was already in the driver’s seat, watching behind you. without hesitation, you scrambled into the backseat and warren followed, the frantic moment pushing you into the vehicle.

"GO, GO, GO!" warren shouted, a hint of laughter in his voice. the engine roared to life, and the car surged forward, its tires screeching against the pavement.

the escape left your heart pounding furiously, and you struggled to process the chaos you had just experienced. the boys erupted in laughter as the car sped away. warren leaned forward, playfully thumping spencer on the shoulder.

“serves that fucking asshole right!” he exclaimed, his grin wide with satisfaction.

“what happened?” you asked, still trying to catch your breath.

warren pulled out a wad of cash, holding it up with a triumphant smirk. “i sold that dumbass jake a baggy of flour.”

you sighed, rolling your eyes slightly, your friend's comments echoing in your mind. warren glanced at you. his mouth opened as if he was about to say something, but he quickly thought better of it. you both stayed quiet the whole ride to your college apartment, avoiding the tension that hung between you like a dark cloud.

when spencer finally pulled up to the curb, you both stepped out of the car, the cool night air doing little to ease the knot in your stomach. you walked ahead, the familiar path to your apartment feeling longer than usual, while warren followed closely behind.

as soon as the door to your place clicked shut, warren got straight to the point.

“what’s going on?” his eyes were fixed on you, searching for answers.

“warren, i’m just tired-"

“that’s bullshit, y/n, and you know it,” he shot back, stepping closer, the intensity in his gaze making it impossible to look away. your relationship was still fairly new and you had never seen him like this. not with you, anyway.

you stayed quiet, biting your lip as you searched for something, anything, to say that wouldn’t make things worse. but the words wouldn’t come, trapped somewhere between your throat and the overwhelming pressure in your chest.

warren ran a hand through his hair, the frustration evident in the sharp tug of his fingers as they glided through the long strands. his voice dropped to a softer tone, almost vulnerable, as if the question he was about to ask took everything out of him. "are- are you embarrassed of me?"

"baby… no-" you began, but your voice faltered as you caught the frown on his face. it was a small, almost imperceptible pouting of his lips, but it spoke volumes. he didn’t believe you. and deep down, in a place you didn’t want to admit even existed, you weren’t sure if you believed yourself either.

warren shook his head, his eyes narrowing as he leaned back against the wall, his arms crossing defensively. "you never even let me come over when you head back home."

you opened your mouth to respond, your mind racing to come up with something that would make this better, make him understand. "that’s because-" you started, but he cut you off.

"you think i’m gonna embarrass you in front of your parents," he said, the words spilling out in a rush. "'our poor perfect daughter is dating a fuck-up.' i’m not a fuck-up! i just have different plans for my life than you boring-ass people!"

"warren, i never-" you tried to interject, but he was on a roll now, the floodgates of his emotions opening wide.

"and i can’t fucking be perfect all the time!" he yelled. "i’m fucking human!" he continued to ramble, his words tumbling over each other, his breaths coming quicker.

"warren-" you tried again, but he didn’t seem to hear you.

"WARREN!" you finally shouted, your voice slicing through his seemingly never-ending rant.

he stopped mid-sentence, his eyes snapping to yours, his chest heaving with the effort of holding back whatever else he was desperate to say. "WHAT?!" he barked.

you took a deep breath, steadying yourself. "fine, next friday, i’m supposed to head back home… it’s my dad’s birthday dinner… you can come and meet my family."

warren’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "i don’t need your pity invitation,"

you stepped closer, your eyes locking onto his. "i want you to come!" you insisted. "it’s never been about you. it’s just… my parents can be a bit judgmental," you lied, the words tasting bitter on your tongue, but you couldn’t bear to tell him the truth.

warren studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. finally, he let out a heavy sigh. "you promise?" he asked, stepping closer to you.

you reached out, taking his hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "i promise," you said softly, hoping that the warmth in your voice would be enough to convince him, even if you were still trying to convince yourself.

he lazily guided your arms around his back, his touch gentle as he pulled you into a sweet embrace. his warmth enveloped you, and as his arms tightened around you, a familiar sense of safety washed over you. being in his arms never failed to make you feel protected, cherished, as if nothing in the world could touch you.

despite the conflicting feelings that swirled inside you about how others perceived your relationship- their judgments, their whispers-none of it seemed to matter when you were wrapped up in him like this. in the quiet moments, when it was just the two of you, all you felt was the love you had for him, pure and undeniable, drowning out any doubts or fears.

you felt warren shift in your embrace, his body tensing slightly against yours. instinctively, you pulled away, your brows furrowing in confusion as you noticed the sudden change in him.

"babe?" you asked, tilting your head as you looked up at him. "are you… hard?"

warren’s cheeks flushed as he offered a sheepish grin, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "you just look so fuckin' hot right now…" it more had to do with you raising your voice at him for the first time but he would never admit to that.

a surprised laugh escaped your lips. "ohhh my god," you said, shaking your head. "weirdo!" the playful insult held no real bite; if anything, you were relieved that his thoughts had shifted to something less serious, even if it was a bit… unsavory.

"sorrryy," warren drawled out, his grin wide.

you rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "alright, come on-" you began to turn around when, without warning, he scooped you up, tossing you over his shoulder with surprising ease.

“warren!” you squealed in surprise, but your protests were ignored as he held you securely, his strong arms wrapping around your legs as he carried you toward your room with a determined stride.

"to the bedroom!" he declared, as he marched forward, your laughter echoing through the hallway.

as he carried you into the room, you could feel the tension of earlier melting away, replaced by the warmth of his affection and the thrill of being so completely swept up in his arms.

you’d been worried about how warren would fit into the evening at your parents, thinking to your friends criticisms, but to your surprise, the atmosphere had been light and warm, the conversation flowing easily. it turned out that your dad had been friends with warren’s father during their college days- which served as an easy topic to build off of. although warren wasn’t particularly fond of talking about his dad, he managed during the talk, his jokester personality doing wonders with your parents.

after dinner, the mood was relaxed, everyone contentedly full and in good spirits. the suggestion to watch a movie came up, and it was quickly agreed upon. as you and your mom went to sit on the couch, your dad motioned for warren to join him on the porch. there was a certain seriousness in your dad’s tone that made you pause, a small flicker of worry sparking in the back of your mind. but you brushed it off, telling yourself it was nothing. probably just a typical fatherly chat.

still, as the minutes ticked by and they didn’t return, the worry began to gnaw at you. you exchanged a glance with your mom, who raised an eyebrow, her expression mirroring your own unease. finally, unable to ignore the growing curiosity, you decided to check on them.

you slowly slid the glass door open, stepping out onto the porch, the cool night air brushing against your skin. “hey-” you started, peering around the corner, only to freeze at the sight before you. “oh, what the fuck? dad!”

your dad, looking far too amused for his own good, was holding a joint, a cloud of smoke curling lazily in the air around him. he chuckled at your reaction as passed the joint off to warren, who accepted it with a grin, taking a casual drag as if this were the most normal thing in the world. he would've killed you if he ever caught you smoking but here he is.

"what?" your dad replied with a shrug. he glanced at warren, who was now chuckling along with him, clearly enjoying the situation. "it's my birthday! i think i deserve to treat myself"

behind you, your mom appeared in the doorway, having followed you outside when you didn’t return. she took one look at the scene and burst into laughter, the sound infectious and disarming. you found yourself laughing too, the absurdity of it all breaking through your shock.

“i can’t believe this,” you muttered, shaking your head, but unable to wipe the grin from your face as you watched them both continue to banter as if they were old buddies.

the car hummed softly as you drove through the dimly lit streets. warren sat in the passenger seat, his arm resting casually on the window ledge as he glanced at you.

"you know," he began, speaking a bit slurred as his hand played with one of your loose curls. "your dad is seriously cool… like, really cool. and, uh, i gotta say it- your mom’s a total milf."

you felt your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and you glanced over at him, half-laughing, half in disbelief. "warren, please, don’t fuck my mom."

warren's eyes widened, and he quickly waved his hands in front of him as if warding off your words. "whoa, whoa- no, i didn’t mean it like that!" he stammered. "i meant it objectively, you know? respectfully. she’s a milf, sure, but like… it's cool to see where you get all your killer looks from," he added, trying to recover.

you couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his desperate attempt to backtrack. "nice save," you replied, your lips curving into a smirk as you focused back on the road.

warren chuckled, visibly relieved that you weren’t upset. "i mean it though," he said more softly, his voice carrying a sincere note that held more layers than he could express in the moment. "you’ve got great genes."

you pulled up in front of warren’s house and parked, turning off the engine, the sudden silence filling the small space between you.

he took a moment before unbuckling his seatbelt, his movements slow as if he was reluctant to leave. he turned to face you, his expression earnest now. "thanks for the ride," he said, hand reaching to scratch the back of his head. "and, you know, for trusting me. i don’t take that lightly."

you met his gaze, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at the sincerity in his eyes. "of course," you replied softly. you can't believe you ever doubted him. "i trust you, warren."

there was a brief pause, a moment where the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in the quiet cocoon of the car. then, without warning, warren leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender, lingering kiss. it was soft, sweet, and filled with unspoken promise (and of course weed).

when he pulled back, a small smile played on his lips, and he reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "see you tomorrow?"

"yeah, see you tomorrow."

warren opened the car door and stepped out, turning back to give you one last look. "goodnight,"

"goodnight," you echoed, watching as he walked up the path to his front door. he paused at the entrance, giving you a final wave before disappearing inside.

you sat there for a moment, the smile on your face widening as you replayed the evening’s events in your mind. the earlier worries and doubts that had clouded your thoughts now seemed distant, almost silly. maybe, just maybe, you didn’t need to be so worried after all.

#i love warren sm omggg #this took way too long #evan peters #evan peters fandom #american horror story #evan peters fanfic #evan peters imagine #warren lipka fanfic #warren lipka x reader #warren lipka #american animals #evan peters x reader #evan peters x y/n #evan peters x female reader #lem's short n' sweet collection

130 notes · View notes

morganbritton132 · 2 years ago

Note

obsessed w this new saga with David and the other teachers.... perhaps them either coming over again for a small party - "it's mostly family!!" Hence being even more confused when even MORE famous people show up (THAT'S brony Erica???)

I’m picturing the same cookout from this post.

There are three new eighth grade teachers this year. Including David, there is Marissa and Jordan. Then there is Kathy, who has been at the school for two years. They are all trying to figure out what is going on with Steve Harrington.

The man is a complete mystery.

He’s a walking contradiction in a math pun sweatshirt and he is often the topic of conversation when the four of them are alone in the breakroom. Jordan describes him as ‘onion-like’ because he has many layers and Marissa always replies with, ‘yeah, a fucked up alien onion where each new layer is weirder than the last.’

It’s a bit cruel but also, they found an article about Starcourt Mall.

Who is just in a fire? Who saves a bunch of children from a structure fire that collapsed on top of them and doesn’t make it their whole personality for the rest of forever? Who just never mentions it ever?

Steve Harrington, apparently.

After David (and Kathy) left Steve’s house more confused about the mild-mannered math teacher than ever, he went home and googled ‘Eddie Harrington.’ All he found was a link to a Facebook page for some dentist.

So, like, who the hell is he even married to, right? The guy has a Grammy but not a Wikipedia page? What’s up with that?

All David knows is that when Anita (the teacher that’s probably closest to Steve) invites everybody over for a cookout and says that your partners are more than welcomed, he’s going. When Steve asks if it’d be okay if Erica stopped by on her way to the airport and Anita said yes, he’s definitely going.

He is not going to miss the opportunity to see the kid that gave her dad psychic damage by introducing him to the fucked up parts of the My Little Pony fandom. No way.

Kathy informs everybody that she will NOT be bringing her husband, but she will bring booze.

David arrives too early and ends up helping in the kitchen. He’s slicing up tomatoes with the world’s dullest knife when Steve gets there. He can’t see the front door, but he can hear Anita ask, “Oh, where’s your service doggie?”

“It’s his day off,” He hears Steve joke, “Brought the human instead.”

And then David hears the man of mystery’s man of mystery himself because Eddie says with 100% impulsive thinking and 0% brain-to-mouth filter, “Yeah, he brought his service top instead.”

David just knows that Steve is giving Eddie the same dead-eyed look of unbelievable that is reserved for students that mix their chocolate milk with peas and dare each other to drink it in the silence that follows. Anita, bless her heart, replies as happy and clueless as can be, “Oh, that’s cute. Because you provide a top-notch service.”

“Never had any compl- ow!”

The first time David gets a good look at them, Eddie’s pressed up against Steve’s back, looking over his shoulder at the pictures of Anita’s grandkids she has on her phone. One of his hands is wrapped loosely around his waist and Steve is holding the other one, fiddling with the rings on it. They look so casual, like they’re always standing that close together.

David watches as Anita points in the direction of the drinks cooler and Eddie slips away with a kiss to the side of Steve’s neck and then another to his cheek. They hold hands until they absolutely have to let go. It’s cute. Marissa, next to him, scoffs and says, “Gag me with a spoon, they’re fucking adorable.”

Eddie returns to Steve with two beers and a Smirnoff Ice for Anita, gets another kiss and clearly calls Steve ‘sweetie’ when he clinks their bottles together. Steve throws his arm across Eddie’s shoulders and Eddie tucks his hand into Steve’s back pocket like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

David loses track of Steve and Eddie for a while, catching them in his peripheral as he mingles with everybody. He seems them steal a kiss. He sees them laughing at something Kathy says. He sees them holding hands as Eddie looks utterly lost during a discussion of the baseball season.

At one point, he sees Eddie stand up on the bench of the picnic table and get yanked down by Steve. They’re both laughing and Steve gives him a kiss that is not exactly chaste.

Cindy rolls her eyes at them and says that they’re always like that.

Him and Jordan are playing cornhole against Steve and Eddie. He’s almost positive that Eddie is not as bad at the game as he’s pretending to be, but just likes when ‘Stevie baby’ guides him through how to throw the beanbags. If it wasn’t for Steve excusing himself than he probably wouldn’t have noticed the big SUV parked in the driveway.

His first thought when he sees Erica is ‘oh, she must be adopted’ followed immediately by ‘wait, duh’ and then by ‘hey, wait a minute.’

Steve gets stopped by her bodyguard before he can hug her with a big threatening hand on his shoulder. David’s still trying to figure out why she looks so familiar when Erica says to the bodyguard, “Uh, excuse you. Do not touch him. He was my first bodyguard, have some respect.”

Steve scoffs, “I was your babysitter.”

“I’m sorry,” Erica says, full of sass. Eddie is a couple steps back, grinning ear to ear. He loves when Erica and Steve get into it. “Did you bleed for me? Did you fight for me? Did you, Steve Harrington, get tortured so I made it out safe? I think so. Bodyguard.”

Eddie finally greets her with a bow, “Lady Applejack.”

Erica gives him a flat look and tells her bodyguard, “You can tase that one.”

David is still reeling from the words ‘babysitter’ and ‘torture’ that he probably would’ve missed Marissa in his ear if she wasn’t so goddamn loud, “Holy shit, that’s a fucking US Senator.”

Jordan is quieter when she mutters, “Language.”

Later in the evening when the sun is starting to set and they should all really go home and prep their lesson plans for next week, Anita’s husband lights a bonfire. David is sitting across from the fire from Steve and Eddie and he so tempted to ask what Eddie does for a living when Steve whispers something to him and then stands up quickly.

He can’t even ask what that was about because Eddie gets up and follows him, almost matching Steve’s quick steps into the house. They’re gone for a while, long enough that David gets up to check on Steve. He looked pretty pale when he rushed out of here.

He’s halfway up the stairs when he hears them, and he stops. Steve sounds tired but reassuring as he repeats, “I’m fine. I’m okay. I’m fine now.”

He hears Eddie respond with, “I know, baby. I know, but rest with me for a minute, kay?”

When he pokes his head around the turn in the staircase, he can see the bottom of Steve’s Nikes hanging over the top landing. He can also see the bottom of Eddie’s boots where he’s crouched over Steve. His first reaction is to think he stumbled on them in a compromising position, but he can’t bring himself to move just yet.

“You just had a seizure, take your time getting your bearings, sweetheart. Do you wanna go home?” Eddie asks in a cacophony of jingling metal rings and chains. Steve makes a noise that Eddie interprets, “Okay, do you want me to give you space?”

“No, come –�� The sound of metal clinking together doesn’t get louder, just more and when David pokes his head around the corner again, Eddie is straddled across Steve’s lap. Steve’s hands are on his hips and then higher, pushing up Eddie’s shirt clumsily just feeling him. “Feel floaty.”

“I’ll keep you grounded, baby.”

David knows he should leave, or at least looks away, but he stuck frozen to the floor at the sight of the scar tissue running up Eddie’s sides and back. They’re deep and jagged, and old. It looks like he was torn open and sewed back shut, and it takes David a long time to get his feet to go back down the stairs.

He goes back out to the fire a little dazed and later, it’s only Eddie that returns. He whispers something to Anita and then disappears into the night.

When Cindy makes a comment about Steve leaving without a proper goodbye, David tells her to shut up.

#I made one post about David wondering why Eddie Munson is and followed it up with a post where Eddie introduces himself as a Harrington #I think it’s infinitely funnier if David is trying to find info about this man but has the wrong name #Steve has his one-sided beef with Diane. Cindy has hers with Steve #This one is long and it sorta/kinda answers the prompt this time #This was a great prompt. I really enjoyed writing this #eddie munson tiktok saga #steve harrington #eddie munson

925 notes · View notes

girlboss-malewife-gauntlet-melee · 11 months ago

Text

locklyle (book) propaganda:

Lockwood is a homeowner at age 15 and he wanders around it drinking tea and charming people into giving him yhings. Lucy carlyle is a hotheaded aggressive and EXTREMELY powerful agent in his ghost hunting company. They both get shit done but in OPPOSITE ways. They have an interesting way of rejecting traditional gendered tropes- the sensitive dude and the bullheaded girl- that is both simple and INTENSELY complicated within their narrative, which i think qualifies them for the title.

she is the protagonist of the series, a once in a generation prodigy, the most powerful listener since Marissa Fittes, the list goes on. He likes to drink pulpy orange juice and strain it throught his teeth to pretend to be a blue whale

Imagine a buff kind of irritated teenage girl with a sword. No, shes even cooler. That's better. Now imagine a rich preppy guy. No, thats too much like Patrick Bateman. Think Artemis Fowl. Ok youtr there. Hope yhis helps:)

they are PERFECT for each other. she recognises the subtleties in his smiles and he allows himself to be vulnerable in front of her

resting 😒 face x resting ☺️ face. they both have swords and live in a house together (along with their other friend and a disembodied head, but that's unrelated)

Malficlark Propaganda:

Malfina is a sexy powerful demoness and Clark is just. Some guy. From Connecticut. Safe to say he knows a thing or two about good ol fashioned Connecticut hospitality and homemaking.

You know them, I know them, it's everyone's favorite demoness and blob man back to share their love with the world once again.

they're iconic

#locklyle (books)#Anthony Lockwood #Lucy carlyle #locklyle #lockwood x lucy #Lockwood and co #malfina/connecticut clark #clark and malfina #connecticut clark #malfina the demon witch #malficlark #polls

160 notes · View notes

cairavende · 11 months ago

Text

Worm Arc 17 thoughts:

Travelers backstory!!!!!!!!! WOOOO!!!!!!

HOLY SHIT THEY ARE FROM EARTH ALEPH! That really explains the mysterious nature of their backstory up to now.

Would have loved to get some PoV's from some people who aren't Trickster but I'll live.

He's just such an asshole! Like I already knew he was but god DAMN did this arc remove any doubt.

Just the worst type of asshole that can be found in MOBA games (I say this as someone who played MOBA games for years). And then given superpowers. Ugh.

THE SIMURGH FUCKING HELL OH MY GOD I LOVE HER!!!!!!!!!

SHE IS MY FAVORITE ENDBRINGER AND ONE OF MY FAVORITE CHARACTERS EVEN IF SHE IS SUPER DUPER EVIL AND TERRIBLE! BUT SHE JUST SINGS IN EVERYONE'S HEADS AND THEY SEE THINGS THAT SHE WANTS THEM TO SEE AND SHE SEES THE FUTURE AND CREATES A CAUSE AND EFFECT PLAGUE BASICALLY AND I LOVE HER!!

Just the level of planning ahead she does, the number of moves ahead Simmy is playing. After the first few times she shows up they start quarantining where she attacks. Which ends up being exactly the right situation needed to push the Travelers to the choices she wanted them to make. Like, is quarantining even a counter to the Smurph or is it exactly what she wanted?

Sure precogs mess with precogs. That makes sense. But I don't know that it is as clear cut as Coil presented to Trickster. He implies two precogs just cancel each other out, but I assume it's more of a strength thing - a strong precog will cancel out a weak precog, but a weak precog will only make things a little fuzzier for a strong precog. So having Dinah would have helped against the Simurgh but I don't think it would be enough to just cancel out the Simurgh's power. Coil and Tattletale would probably also help. But I'm not convinced the last few months in Brockton Bay hasn't been more or less what Simmy wanted to happen.

Cody is the only person here that is probably more of an asshole than Krouse. Just could not get over the fact that Noelle didn't want to date him. Unbearably entitled dick. Possibly dead now, if Accord got his way. But very possibly not. Won't be surprised if he shows up again.

Cody's power is fun. I think it's the first "time travel" power I've seen. I mean Clockblocker does time freezing which is basically the same category but still, curious to see if we get any more level of time travel than this.

Marissa needs someone to make her some cookies and give her a place to hang out that isn't the house her mom lives in. I mean, I guess the current situation handles that but not how I meant.

I already liked Jess and now I like her even more. She's a cape geek! Wonderful.

Luke is interesting cause he was the only person besides Noelle who was close to Krouse at the start, but he's the first (well, aside from Cody I guess) to leave him. Really went through a character arc. Also Krouse lists Luke's "individual tragedy" as "not getting to fly" which is hysterical.

Oliver is a trans girl. Headcanon 100% established. It just fits so well. She just needs to find herself! And once she does and realizes what she actually wants to look like her power will get her there and won't need to keep adjusting! Right now Oliver's power is doing performative masculinity for them.

Noelle has had a bad time. God damn. She was having a bad time before everything happened and now she's having a very bad time. Damn. I had some guesses about her correct. Figured she was like, monstrous bottom half and normal top half. And figured touching her was bad. But I didn't foresee "touching her creates mutated evil clones". I'm sure that won't be a major problem in the next arc or two. I'm sure there won't be evil mutated clones of a bunch of capes to deal with . . .

I had long figured Travelers had Cauldron powers. It just fit with their power levels and such. I had also figured whatever Noelle's condition was, it was related to having a Cauldron power. I had a lot of guesses. None of them were "only drinks half a vial". For some reason I thought everyone would be too smart to do THAT! (I have no idea why I thought that.)

Current guess is Noelle is sort of in a never ending "trigger" event. Her power is constantly in the "building and gathering" phase and is not reaching the "lock things down" phase that normally happens (Bonesaw talked about this). Definitely a lot of other things it could be, this is just the best fit I've found so far.

This goes for Oliver too, which is why their power keeps changing how they look. Oliver just got lucky and has much less significant troubles compared to Noelle.

Got to see lots of new Case 53's. That was fun.

I expect to see more of Accord in the future. Just cause like, he gets smarter the more complex the problem. And the world is supposedly going to end due to (I think) the actions of higher dimensional entities. That is a very complex problem. And at the same time, he seems like the kind of person that might see "billions die" as a good way to reduce chaos. To simplify the world. Not saying that is what he will do, just that it seems a shame to not bring him up again.

I knew 40 people had died due to actions of the Travelers. I did not know Noelle had eaten them all! Because she tried to starve herself. I can see why it's important to keep her well fed. And why it's going to be an issue that there is no longer someone providing her with thousands of dollars of meat a week. No waste though, she has a very efficient digestive system.

The ending, with Trickster just staring at the bloodstain left behind by Coil's body while Genesis stares out at the ocean ... very good. I mean, really sucks for them, but it was a very evocative arc ending.

I wonder who won the Ransack tournament? One team disconnected because the building they were in disappeared into a space hole. I wonder what the rules are for that?

68 notes · View notes

iamfitzwilliamdarcy · 2 years ago

Text

Thinking about how Kipps is everything an adult supervisor should be and it’s those exact reasons he cannot live with himself being one... this was just supposed to be a post of contrasting block quotes and it’s still mostly that but I added a bit of commentary/context:

“The adult supervisors had zero psychic sensitivity and, since they were mortally afraid of going anywhere near an actual Visitor, never ventured far into a haunted zone. Instead, they hung around on the sidelines, being old and useless.”

- Lucy in The Creeping Shadow

Kipps, meanwhile, during the Guppy escapade:

“The one exception was Kipps, who sat cross-legged in the kitchen, drinking hot chocolate and reading a newspaper. He didn’t have sufficient Talents to do psychic exploration.”

(emphasized because he’s actually in the home, none of Lucy’s adult supervisors have ever done that -- also he’s staying out of the way)

Later, he makes an official suggestion in his capacity as Fittes observer, but when the actual psychic kids reject it, he goes along with their plan anyway. Not only that, they’re actively trying to draw out Guppy and Kipps helps:

“Lockwood inserted his crowbar into a narrow space between a countertop and the cupboard below. ‘Kips and I will start,’ he said. ‘The rest of you keep watch” ....After a bit, he moved back and let Kipps take over with the mallet.

And then :

“We have to go and help him, Kipps,” I said. Kipps didn’t seem to have moved since Lockwood had left the room. His face was white. He gathered his wits. “Yes. We must. Come on.”

He doesn’t end up having to do anything because George finds the Source a moment later but he’s willing! He can’t see the ghost but he’s gonna go help Lockwood fight it!

I don’t have my copy of Screaming Staircase with me to double check so I’ll edit this later-- I can’t remember if Lucy asking Jacobs to come into the house and offer advice is in the book or a show addition, but it’s such a contrast!!!

And then, of course, these are all the reasons that Kipps ends up resigning-

“I just had a realization,” he said when we were on the train and rocking slowly through the south London suburbs. “After the Guppy job. I mean, there we were-- in a house possessed by a wicked and powerful entity, and you all were running around like madmen-- fighting, screaming, being fools-- but dealing with it... I was just a fifth wheel. I couldn’t see it, I couldn’t hear it... I was too old to do anything useful. And that’s what being a supervisor is: it’s a life of sending others out to fight and die. I’ve known that for a while, but it took you to make me realize I couldn’t bear to continue with it.... it was probably another dumb decision... like agreeing to come along with you today. Lockwood says he wants my expertise, but I’m not sure what I can contribute aside from standing around like a fence post. Maybe I can make the tea.”

which like wow! The acceptance that he no longer has Talent, that his leadership can no longer continue to the way it used to -- which is exactly what an adult supervisor should do -- be there for input, listen to the psychic kids, advise and support-- it’s what Kipps does !

we very frequently see Kipps actively engaged with his Team in Whispering Skull and Hollow Boy- obviously he has a Prideful streak, he’s pompous and makes mistakes, but we generally see him trust his team and do his best as a Leader. Again, don’t have my copies with me so can’t make the point further in those books, but also remember the reason he falls into hot water with Fittes in the first place is he goes a little rogue-- and the reason for that is because none of DEPRAC or the other Adults know what’s going on with the Chelsea outbreak, and, in the wake of his agent’s death, Kipps doesn’t want to lose anyone else to arbitrary nonsense (there’s something here in direct contrast to Marissa but maybe I’ll expound more in another post) -- instead, he trusts a Talent he actually knows and makes the best choice for his team members

Which is all to say-- Kipps is a good adult supervisor, but the system isn’t made for good adult supervisors

#quill kipps #mostly #creeping shadow #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #This got wildly out of hand lmao #I lost the point somewhere along the way

294 notes · View notes

deathofpeaceofmiiind · 1 year ago

Text

high infidelity | one

Do you really wanna know where I was April 29th? Do I really have to chart the constellations in his eyes? April 29th 2022 (a/n yes I know some of these dates don’t actually add up, it’s just for story purposes!) Elliots POV Nursing really wasn’t for the faint of heart, which makes me wonder why I do it. Part of me knows it’s cause I’m a pathological people pleaser and like all the pats on the back I get. On the other hand I did land myself a great position in the NICU and helping babies get healthy and go home was such a rewarding feeling. I worked twelve hour night shifts but they went by pretty fast. It was about 6:45am and I was wrapping up some charting as my phone buzzed beside me. It was my best friend Danielle. “Hey boo! Don’t forget we got tickets for Bad Omens tonight!”

Shit, I totally forgot. I sighed deeply, catching stares from some of the parents visiting their babies. I hated texting Tyler about anything because he acted like everything was fine but sadly, I had to play the part too. “Hey I totally spaced and forgot I’m going to a concert with Danielle tonight. My dad is going come over to help with Liam’s dinner and bedtime until you get home.” “Okay :) See you when you get home!” I rolled my eyes so hard they almost got stuck. My shift was over so I handed off report to the nurses coming on shift and headed towards my car. I lifted my mask off as the fresh air hit my face, waking me up a little bit. I took my phone out of my scrub pocket and texted Danielle back. “I can’t wait…I need a girls night.” “Come to the venue at 5 so we can have some drinks and sneak front row.” Danielle worked at the venue where Bad Omens would be playing, which worked in our favour. She always got us free tickets to every event and snuck us in early to get a good spot. I discovered Bad Omens around the same time I met Tyler. I heard Careful What You Wish For on the radio and I was hooked. During the pandemic, I found myself watching all of Noah’s twitch streams every single day. It was his way of staying connected to the fans and to fill the void of uncertainty of this virus. Something about his voice was so soothing, seriously, he could do audiobooks or podcasts if this singing thing doesn’t work out. When I got home, Tyler was on his phone typing away, probably to whatever her name was. Marissa? Miranda? I don’t know or fucking care enough to remember. He got up from the table and tried to kiss me but I turned my head and lied about having a cold sore forming. He went to make me coffee and I suddenly felt nauseous. Every time he tried to do something nice for me my blood would boil. He wasn’t doing this because he loved me, he did it to keep his image. I took the coffee from him and turned away from his sad attempt to kiss me again. “You never want any affection from me anymore, what is going on?” Oh if only you knew. “Tyler, I spend all fucking night with babies on me and being overstimulated by people. I just want an hour where I’m not touched or talked to.” “Right.” “Sorry.” I lied, rolling my eyes. I started to walk towards the stairs so I could go up and shower but he stopped me dead in my tracks. “You know tonight will be the third time you’ve gone out with your friends this month.” He shot me at me. That was the one thing I fucking loathed about him. He was really, really good at being a dick about absolutely anything. I never bothered replying to him, I just headed to my master bathroom and turned on the shower. The water felt so good as I washed off last nights shift, which was a mixture of formula and spit up. After my shower I took my coffee into my bedroom and settled on a rerun of Friends while I waited for Liam to wake up. I heard Tyler leave and I felt like I could breathe properly.

A few hours later there was a knock on the door. Liam and I were having a nap on the couch after we had lunch. It started to rain earlier so it ruined our plans to go to the park, instead we settled on Disney movies and snuggles. His nap time was the only time I got to sleep during the day unfortunately unless he was at daycare. I slipped out of his grip to go answer the door, it was my Dad. He greeted me with a hug and we walked into the kitchen. I threw on some coffee for us as a yawn escaped my mouth. “Thanks again for staying here until Tyler gets home.” “Anything for you pumpkin.” He replies as he grabs the creamer out of the fridge for us. “Is everything okay? You seem a little down lately.” “Uh…yeah there is something.” I said before taking a deep breath. “Tyler’s been having an affair. I haven’t told him I know, I’ve been getting everything in order with my lawyer before I serve him the papers.” “When did you find out?” “A month ago.” I laughed. I don’t know why I was laughing, but somedays this situation felt comical to me. “I’ve only told Danielle because her mom is a lawyer.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” “I was afraid you would’ve shown up here with a shot gun.” I chuckled before taking a sip of my coffee. He half smiled but I could tell he was really upset. “Dad I’m fine. I’m going to figure this out.” “I know. Just talk to me sooner next time okay? Now that your mom is gone you and Liam are all I have.” “I miss her so much.” I said as I felt that all too familiar lump in my throat anytime I thought about my mom. We sadly lost her to Covid after she came home from a girls trip in Mexico, right around the time the pandemic hit so we didn’t know the severity of it. It hit her so fast, causing her to go into cardiac arrest and passing hours later. I had days where guilt hit me hard since she was admitted to the hospital I worked at. I wasn’t allowed to care for her cause looking after family is considered a conflict of interest. It’s been so difficult without her, but it has made my bond with my Dad a lot stronger. We talked and finished our coffees before Liam ran into the kitchen after his nap. He was only fifteen months old and could already outrun us all. I picked him up and showered him with kisses before I headed upstairs to get ready for tonight. I opened a raspberry White Claw as I put Taylor Swift’s Reputation album on shuffle, it was my favourite album by her and it was my go to while I got ready. I settled on a pair of faux leather leggings, a low-cut bodysuit to show off my sternum tattoo, and black Doc Martens. I was still learning to love my postpartum body but I had to admit, the new hourglass shape I had was starting to grow on me.

My phone buzzed that my Uber was outside and it caused my heart to flutter. Something about the idea of finally seeing these boys in real life was making me nervous, and I had no idea why. I never put them on a pedestal or thought they were gods but it’s gonna be surreal after only seeing them behind a screen. I said goodbye to my dad and Liam before heading out the door. I was so happy it was almost May, the weather was mild enough that I didn’t need a jacket anymore. “There she is!” I smiled as I walked up to Danielle who was with our other two friends, Amy and Taylor. They complimented my look and it gave me the confidence boost I desperately needed. Danielle walked up to the bar when we got in and got us a round of double gin and tonics which was just what I needed. My nerves were getting the best of me and I really needed to loosen up a little bit. After a few more drinks we headed to the barricade and waited for the concert to start.

“So El, are you excited to see Noah?” I furrowed my brow and looked at Taylor, “Uhh…I’m excited to see the whole band.” “Obviously, but you’re obsessed with Noah. You’ve been practically drooling over him since he was streaming.” “I have not.” At this point I was blushing so hard and I couldn’t blame it on the drinks we had. I mean, she wasn’t wrong. His long hair would make me fold every time I saw him and don’t get me started on the buns he used to do where strands of his hair would perfectly fall around his face…or when he used claw clips or… Make them Suffer came onto the stage and interrupted my thoughts that were going south. The girls and I thrashed around to their setlist and right after that A Thousand Below came on followed by Dayseeker. I cried a little bit during Without me then went back to dancing and even caught a guitar pick. I was feeling better than I have in months, I felt so carefree, happy and not thinking about what my home life was like. I wish I could feel like this every night.

The lights went dark and I froze. I could feel my heartbeat in my ears as Folio walked towards his drum set and started to play to the beat of Concrete Jungle. I had tried my best to stay off TikTok to avoid spoilers but I knew Noah came out next before the rest of the band. Before I could process what was going on, he was right in front of me. He stood there all dressed in black, his leathered hand wrapped about the mic stand and he started to sing. Holy fuck. I couldn’t take my eyes off him throughout the entire show. He was captivating as he had the crowd in the palm of his hands. His voice sounded better than I could’ve imagined, he had the voice of an angel and the screams of a demon. I don’t know if I was being delusional, but I’m sure we made eye contact a few times. He sat down at the edge of the stage and serenaded the crowd with who are you? and he was right in front of us. He was so close I could see clusters of freckles on his shoulders peeking through his tattoos. When our eyes connected again I waved at him to embarrass him and it totally worked cause he fumbled his next line. He got up and walked towards the other side of the stage, not before turning back around to look at me again…he was completely flustered. “What was that?” Danielle screamed at me as the girls just stood there in disbelief. I just shrugged at them before putting my attention back on the band. The show came to an end, not before Noah and I stole more glances at each other. I tried to gain my composure, but I couldn’t. I cannot believe I just flirted with Noah Sebastian. Also the show? Fucking best concert I’ve ever been to, so good that my throat was hoarse and I’m pretty sure my toes were bleeding. “Hey guys before we go, I just need to go to my office to grab my purse. I can’t stress this enough though, no looking for the band okay?” As much as I wanted to find Noah, we nodded our heads in agreement before heading back there. I was not about to get my best friend fired from her dream job cause I wanted to flirt with some boy in a band. I really needed to pee though after holding it for almost three hours so I went on a mission to find a bathroom. I circled for a few minutes before finding a women’s bathroom. As I walked in the toilet flushed and the stall door opened. It was Noah. He put his hands up in protest as he flushed pink, “I promise I’m not a woman.” I forced an awkward laugh as I looked him up and down. He already looked like he showered and changed. The scent of his cologne lingered over to me and I could feel my face burning. He walked over to the sink to wash his hands so I took the opportunity to admire his tall stature. He was wearing black skinny jeans with a grey Chief hoodie and white Nikes. He had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his tattoos were exposed. My face was getting hotter the longer I watched him…I felt like a victorian man seeing a women’s ankles for the first time.

Also…Chief? One of my favourite bands? What are doing to me Noah? “Nice hoodie.” Noah smiled at the ground before looking back up to me. His eyes were so dark you could hardly see his pupils. They were the kind of eyes you could get lost in…and I definitely was. “Sorry I’ll give you some privacy.” He said gesturing towards the bathroom stall. I smiled at him as he walked past me towards the door. Noah stopped as he opened the door to turn back to me, “oh by the way, thanks for making me fuck up tonight.” “I did no such thing!” I audibly gasped. Noah shut the door and walked back over to me, “you definitely did.” “I was testing a theory that you were eye fucking me through the whole show.” I said as I crossed my arms, trying to make myself look taller but I was failing miserably. “Well, how was my eye fucking?” He replied with a deeper tone to his voice. He crossed his arms as well and got closer to me, close enough that he towered over my 5 foot frame with no problem. I was completely lost for words on account that my bladder was about to burst. “I have to pee.” “Ok fine, I’ll go.” He said, looking down at me as he grinned like a devil, “this isn’t over.”

#bad omens #noah sebastian #fanfic

58 notes · View notes

bridgeportbritt · 10 months ago

Text

Tomorejuvinate Spa | Tomerang, Sulani | 4 Days Until the Wedding

Spa Attendant: Welcome, Your Royal Highness!

Spa Attendant: And of course, our guest of honor, Countess Olivia! Thank you for choosing Tomarejuvinate! We hope your flight was alright.

Olivia: It was. Thank you!

Spa Attendant: Excellent! You can find robes here and we've set up a few services from which you can choose from. Have a drink, relax, and congrats on your wedding!

Eva relaxed: Remind me again why we don't hang out with Cousin Bria more often?

May: No, seriously.

Marissa: I'm guessing it's because Cousin Bria is a whole Grand Duchess.

Laughter

May: So, what's on the bachelorette party agenda after this?

Olivia: What do you mean?

May: Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love this, but are we, you know, going out on the town when we get back?

Olivia: Oh, no. We didn't plan to.

Marissa: I don't think Olivia's ever been "out" in her life.

Olivia: My dad would've killed me if I was even on the same street as a bar or nightclub.

Eva: All the more reason to go out tonight! Your near last night as a single woman!

Olivia: You guys think so?

May and Eva: Yesss!

Marissa: The people have spoken. I think I know a place, too!

Eva: And I bet we can get Bria's staff to find you an outfit.

May: We, of course, all came prepared for these types of shenanigans.

Olivia originally said she wanted a "low-key relaxing bachelorette party or maybe spa day." Of course, Bria heard "a luxury spa trip to Sulani" and that's how the girls ended up renting out one of the swankiest spa resorts in Sulani for the day. While everyone's enjoying, it's common in Simerica for a bachelorette party to include drinks, dancing and good vibes. Olivia's new Simerican cousin in-laws convince her to make a night of the celebration.

20 notes · View notes

mostlyvoid-partiallyflowers · 6 months ago

Note

*bangs hand repeatedly on the little bell on the desk*

Re: WIP Wed. You know what it’s gonna be… 😌 my BOYS 🤲🏻

WIP Wednesday 7/3/24 | When Harry Met Sally au

Aaron Minyard is a patient man. He is going into medicine after all, but there is only so long someone can wait for their friend to stop kissing their stupidly tall boyfriend on the sidewalk in the middle of campus. They finally come apart for air and Aaron breathes a sigh of relief. He thought he was going to have to use his windshield scraper to pry them apart.

Marissa says, “I love you.”

Mystery man, Aaron’s soon to be passenger for 12 hours straight, replies all soft and sappy, “I love you.”

They start kissing again. Aaron rolls his eyes and clears his throat as loudly as he can. The two continue kissing, people are watching, but desperate calls for desperate measures. He leans on the steering wheel, lets his hand slip, “accidentally” hitting the horn briefly. Marissa and Mr. Tall Drink of Water jump and break apart, finally glancing over at where Aaron sits in his shitty little Subaru Outback.

#hiiii shannen <3 #anything for you #i literally have next to nothing written so far so you're getting the opening #kevaaron #kevin day #aaron minyard #when harry met sally au #ember writes #asks answered #wip wednesday #wip #aftg #all for the game

13 notes · View notes

the-goddess-of-mischief-writing · 1 year ago

Note

ok i know you haven’t written possessive price yet and i genuinely can’t remember what i wrote in the ask and i feel like i’m gonna write the same thing but the roles are switched but idc…but imagine possessive sunshine!reader…like price is a good looking dude and imagine he gets hit on at marissa’s bar IN FRONT OF THE READER AND/OR MARISSA and price is doing his best at trying to get the last away from him but she just won’t fuck off

Soulmate Sour

Summary; When someone flirts with Price you take it into your own hands to let them know he's off the market.

Pairing: Cpt. John Price x reader (sunshine!universe)

Rating: Mature

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Onehsot

Word; 3.2k

Warnings; alcohol consumption (drink in moderation), possessiveness, hints at suggestive themes

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing

A/N: so I adjusted this just slightly but the main parts are still there, hope you enjoy nonnie<3

You chat with Johnny, his left arm slung behind Marissa on the couch's backrest. Meanwhile, your friend is talking to Kyle. For once, you aren't at the Pearl. Marissa decided to close her place earlier for your group to enjoy a night out where she could join in. Perks of being the owner and controlling closing times, as she said.

It's still early for a Friday, only 9 p.m. There were two more hours before the pub you'd find your way to closed.

It was a much more traditional place than Marissa's. Dark, gloomy, food-to-the-drinks kind of place that half of the population would stop by on their way home from work. And your company wasn't entirely different.

Tonight wasn't a return-from-deployment night. It was a simple get-together after work that John asked if you wanted to tag along to, Johnny having done the same to Marissa. Despite having planned a girl's dinner, the boys had been scattered for a few weeks, most of them back on active duty like John, and tonight was the first time most found their way back to town from wherever so the get-together had been something you couldn't pass up on.

However, rather than fixing yourself to the somewhat special evening when John had knocked on your door, you'd greeted him with your computer in hand and a brief wave. A meeting with one of your clients ran longer than anticipated.

In the end, Joh waited 40 minutes for you to finish, giving you no time to change out of your work attire if the two of you didn't want to run unfashionably late.

You'd managed to reach the pub just as the others arrived. It was lucky you'd chosen a place that served food, seeing how your last meal had been lunch. Which, at the time, had been over six hours ago.

Your stomach had rumbled enough for Marissa to dig her finger into your side, asking if 'the workaholic cares for herself' in that partly teasing, partly serious tone. However, with everyone's plate of favoured dinner polished clean of food soon after finding a table -aside from Ghost who, when you asked, said 'don't fancy eating around other people, so ate earlier'- the soft feeling of fullness had eased your stomach.

Not soon after the dinner, and before the plates got cleared from the table, John had patted your thigh.

You'd been in the midst of your conversation with Johnny as you momentarily had turned to face the one seeking your attention.

'Gonna get somethin' to drink. You want anythin'?' John had asked once you turned to face him. 'Same old', you'd answered and he'd only nodded, squeezing your thigh before he slid out of the curved booth.

What brought you out of the thought 'he's been gone for a while now' was when the Scotsman trailed off in his sentence, his eyes perched over your shoulder rather than face, remaining pinned to something behind you.

Your brows knitted together, head cocking slightly at his sudden shift of attention. The minimal reaction to his strayed conversation was enough to make the Scotsman's face you again.

Something new had entered his eyes and you gave him a questioning look.

"Hate to say it to ye, lass, but old Price seems popular". Johnny nodded forward, motioning to whatever he spotted earlier.

Just as you shift to follow his gaze, a second voice momentarily stops your movement.

"Don't go rippin' a head". Your eyes flicker to Ghost sitting across from you. The man had apparently also noticed whatever Johnny motioned towards as his brown eyes shifted to you.

You only smiled back. "Don't worry".

Ghost only shrugs, eyes falling back to what he'd watched earlier and you finally turn towards whatever both men now observed.

It's easy to find John. His stature is not hard to miss.

He's standing by the bar, presumably having ordered the drinks he set out to do for you two. But, rather than staring at his broad back as he leans against the bar leisurely, waiting for the drinks to be served. John's standing straight, one hand resting on the bar, the other shoved in his pocket. His posture is tense enough that you note it across the room and if you would've been closer, you probably would've seen his jaw work too, as it often does when he's on edge.

The reason? A woman. She's talking to him, flirting with him.

You see it all the way from here despite not hearing a word she says, her body language screaming her intentions. She's smiling, head cocked to the side, her hand resting on the bar not far from John's. She isn't touching him. Still, she's standing close, closer than what's generally considered talking distance for strangers. Her upper body is leaning towards him, breaking John's personal bubble.

Your brows rise at the scene, your body turning towards the pair. Maybe Ghost was right with his comment as a sudden sour feeling fills your mouth. Despite this, you bite your tongue, remaining put as you watch the scene closely.

It doesn't take long, not even two minutes, before you spot what you only had a hunch would happen.

At something the woman says, John's head and upper body instinctively lean away from her before the rest of his body follows. He rolls his shoulder as he turns, his side facing her while replying. All the while, he attempts to step around the stool that previously prevented any smooth exit of putting distance between himself and his forced company.

The move signalled two things. John didn't try to hide that he didn't enjoy the woman's presence anymore and wanted to end the primarily one-sided conversation. And, he needed help, not because you doubted him but because the woman followed his step with one of her own.

You scoffed. Apparently, the woman was fucking blind if she didn't understand the signal.

"I'll be back", you said to Johnny and Ghost, both having turned to look at you upon what transpired. You slide from the booth, rising to your feet once at the edge.

"Go get her, lass". There was a big grin on the Scot's face, but you ignored it as you started walking towards the bar.

"Don't do anythin' I would". You hear the Englishman warn from behind, to which you raise a few fingers in recognition and a departing gesture.

As you weave between tables and occupied chairs, your eyes never leave John and the woman. She sweeps her dark hair over her shoulder, showing off more of the plunging neckline meant to draw eyes. You almost laugh when she frowns upon noticing it didn't have the desired effect, but you catch yourself in the last second.

Slowing your step, you switch to look at John. His exasperation with the situation is humouring enough that the gentle smile you let spread isn't forced.

"Hi, how's the drinks going?" John's head snaps ironically fast towards you, his body swivelling to face you rather than the bar. In the corner of your eye, you note how the woman's attention switch to you.

When you get closer, John pulls his hand out of his pocket and raises his arm, letting you sidle up to him. His hand lands upon your shoulder, making the two of you shift together when he turns to look down the bar. In the new position, you naturally face the woman, but at the moment, you don't look at her, focusing on John as his eyes drop back to you as he speaks.

"Soon done, love", he mutters. His voice is strained, annoyed. You don't need to guess because of what, or rather, who.

You circle your left arm around his waist, finally looking forwards, feigning realisation when you meet the woman's gaze.

"Oh, hello", you greet her with raised brows, catching the sour expression twisting her features for a split second. "Are you an acquaintance of John?"

You motion between the woman and the man at your side, pointing out their closer-than-strangers proximity. Upon the question, the dark-haired woman steps backwards to not stand as close to you.

"You're his girl". Your head cocks at the short remark and complete disregard of your greeting.

Satisfaction spreads through you at her response, but you only let the gentle smile continue to play on your lips. "I am, and you are?"

"Kathleen", she puffed out her chest, chin jutting upwards, eyes straying towards John before shifting back to you.

"Pleasure", you return with a nod just as the bartender puts your drinks on the counter. "But, if you excuse us, our company is waiting". Your eyes stray to the glasses to push your point.

"I was talking to John when you interrupted". His name is purred from her lips as if knowing it meant everything to her and should bother you. You look back at her with creased brows, a questioning look directed towards her. She must have taken it for displeasure rather than astonishment at what she thought she was attempting, as a smug smile spread on her lips. "And he never mentioned you".

Instantly, John tenses beneath your touch while his arm tightens around your shoulders. This time, you scoff. Did she really think that implied he was... what? Open to cheating because of that?

Your reaction makes John's head tilt downwards. You know he wants you to look up at him from how intently he's looking at you, but you don't face him, instead staring straight back at the woman.

"And yet, you don't assume I'm anything else than his girl when I join him? If you didn't already have a hunch, why didn't you just suppose I'm his thing?" You question with a smile. Her mouth opens and closes, caught off guard by your reaction to what evidently was an attempt at winding you up. Clearly, she didn't get the response she desired.

She sneers. "Well, maybe you are because he didn't object to it". She makes a sharp motion with her hand towards John to defend whatever her definition of it implied.

You can feel how he heats up at your side, his already warm body boiling from how she addressed you and what you know is a false statement. You'd seen it yourself. That's why you can't help but chuckle, stepping away from John towards the bar.

His arms remain around you for as long as possible until he begrudgingly lets it fall. When John doesn't touch you any longer, the air shifts violently. Tension immediately bleeds into the air.

"Be my guest then", you nod towards John as you grab your drinks, catching how not only the women's eyes widen at what you said. "If you want to get turned down a second or even third time, that is. Because from what I saw, my man isn't interested in you and tried to respectfully show that without dropping my name. Which should be enough anyways, don't you think?" You continue as you turn to face her.

The same smile you'd carried the entire conversation now flashed brighter towards the dark-haired woman, who sputters in bewilderment. Satisfied with her stunned expression and being tongue-tied, you turn towards John, whose eyes apparently never left you.

"You ready?" His blues shift so violently that it feels like they go from black to white when you offer him his beer. He takes his drink from your offered hand with his right one only to intertwine the fingers of his left with it instead. You take the hint. "Have a good evening, Kathleen". You bid her goodbye without turning to face her, missing how the perplexed woman follows the two of you, stunned when John tags along with an ease she'd found impossible to evoke.

As your back is turned to the woman, you finally spit at her in your mind. Fucking bitch.

You hadn't noticed, but you took your first deep breath in a long time when taking a similar route back to the others as you had previously done to the bar. That was until there was a tug at your hand.

You slow, twisting your head to look over your shoulder at John, only for him to twirl you around and into his chest before you manage. Some of your drink spill over your fingers, but you don't care about it the second his handsome smile and blue eyes greet you.

"Do you know how much more attractive you just got?" None of the previous tension lace his voice, only a lilt that reflects his lightened expression.

"What?" You ask, a bit dumbfounded, still mentally cursing the woman for how shitty she'd acted. Women empowering women, they say. Not those types of women.

John's eyes flicker over your face before settling to meet your gaze with a smirk. "Haven't seen you this possessive before". Your mouth drops open before you bite your lower one as it curls inwards.

"Don't like someone trying things on you", you mumble, shrugging as you continue. "Especially when they don't show some respect".

Your eyes widen when you suddenly feel John duck, attaching his mouth to yours. Though he catches you off-guard, you fall into the kiss soon enough, his big hand releasing yours to tilt your face.

He's warm, overwhelmingly passing the sensation into your body. You feel the last bit of resentment towards the woman leave you as John forces her out of your mind, replacing the mental place she'd occupied with himself.

The bristle of his beard brushing your lower face contrasts with how he gently cups your cheek. His beard oil and cologne fill your nostrils in a blend of something nutty and musky.

You're putty in his grasp and can't help the silly smile spreading when he nipps your lower lip when pulling back.

"Appreciate it, love", John chuckles, gazing at you with an upwards curve of his mouth. "And the confidence suits you", he adds.

"Need to have some when dating your handsome face". You tap his bearded cheek with your index finger with a cocked head and smile.

"This handsome face only has eyes for one woman". You dip your head with a shake, momentarily needing to escape his intense eyes as his hand falls to the small of your back. His fingers teasingly press into the area.

"Let's go back to the others". You nod backwards when you raise your head again. John agrees with a nod and a final peck before he guides you towards your table.

"Putting on a show, are you Price?" Kyle greets you with a smug look as you come closer. John only shrugs in return, not bashful about the action but not keen on discussing it. Everyone watches you as you retake your place, sliding into the booth first. John follows soon after, seating himself close enough that his side presses against yours.

Marissa leans forward, her forearms crossed upon the table. She sends you an amused and knowing look, one you roll your eyes at, understanding the whole table must have followed the spectacle.

Like the smile your friend flashes, Johnny harbours a similar grin as when you'd left.

"About time ya get someone who acts as yer saviour, Captain". The Scotsman remarks while he nudges his shoulder with yours, giving you a playful wink. This time, John huffs amusedly and you presume it's an inside joke as you catch the low chuckle escaping Ghost and Kyle.

The comment swung them into a new conversation with countless ribbings. You can't help but shake your head at their antics as you listen to their chatter with your glass in hand.

Sipping your drink, you melt into the seat, head resting against the shoulder of John's non-dominant side.

It had been a long and, by your standard, stressful day. It had taken a toll on you mentally more than physically. The only downside with not having an ordinary one-to-five, in your opinion. John asking you to tag along to this outing was just what you needed at the end of the day to be able to wind down, aside from one inconvenience.

The timing couldn't be any better as you suddenly feel someone staring. Your eyes sweep over the other occupants of the table before travelling further. You don't need to look for long until you find the source.

The same woman from earlier sits by the bar, your eyes locking when your attention falls upon her. You raise your brows, huffing more out of pity than annoyance as you take another sip of your drink.

Holding her stare, you don't hesitate to shift in your seat and cross your leg over your own and John's. You sit slanted towards him now, your leg resting comfortably over his thigh, dangling between his legs.

His response is immediate, his body aligning more towards you as he settles his left hand just above your knee.

"You get awfully touchy when tryin' to make a point to someone". John whispers as he ducks his head, breath skimming the shell of your ear.

You smile against the rim of your glass, noticing how the woman's face scrunches upon noting your intimate proximity. The reaction is enough to spot from your position. "How'd you know?"

"I'm a soldier. I'm trained to always be attentive to my surroundings", he hums in response, still keeping his head low enough so only you catch his words. "Likewise, to read someone's intentions. Gotten good enough to rival your skill when it comes to you". He humours you with a low chuckle. The rough sound sends a shiver down your spine as your eyes drop to his thumb, which begins a circling motion on your leg.

Your head tilts upwards, John accommodating by angling his head to catch what you say. "Well, good job, Captain". Your eyes momentarily lock with the women once more as John leans away, shielding your view as he stiffens upon hearing his rank being purred against the shell of his ear. But, you catch the reaction you wanted always, the woman promptly turning away.

Your eyes now meet gaze back at those blues focusing on you keenly.

Yes, John had gotten to know you quite a bit, your ticks and tells. But he indulged you in just as much.

You give him a coy smile and fall back slightly, resting your back against the couch again as you return his gaze.

John levels you with a firm look, hiking your leg slightly higher on his leg, signalling if you continue, this evening will definitely be cut short.

You only smile sweetly at him before you turn your upper body away, engaging yourself in the conversation with the rest. Upon catching his muted sigh, you sip your drink to stop yourself from grinning.

#john price x reader #john price #john price x fem!reader #john price x reader #captain john price #john price x you #john price x y/n #john price x female reader #john price cod #captain price x reader #captain price #cod fanfic #cod modern warfare #price cod #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick

326 notes · View notes

uloelu · 1 year ago

Text

Location: Windslar, Windenburg

(Transcript under the cut)

Next (Part 2)

Scene 1 - Outside the Fosters home (28 Windslar)

Wes: There you are. Thought you might have run away already.

Haven: God, you’re clingy. I checked out a record store in Copperdale with Cassandra. Pretty fucking cool. The perfect place for a jam sesh.

Wes: Cassie, huh? You move fast.

Haven: Very funny. You know she’s dating someone, right? That Sidney Price guy.

Wes: So?

Haven: So, I’m not her type in the slightest. I might as well get used to being a lonely Windenburg farmer.

Wes: Well, then, allow me to be your fairy godmother. Got an invite to a nightclub from Wolf. Remember him? The club’s all the way in Evergreen Harbor, but he swears by it. Here, I’ll send you his text.

Haven: Got it. Dew Point? What kind of name is that?

Wes: They’re weird in the Harbor. But they’ve allegedly got good drinks, they don’t check IDs too closely, and weed’s legal there. What’s not to like?

Haven: And you’re sure it’ll be...my kind of scene? You know what I mean.

Wes: Haven, Haven, Haven. When have I ever led you astray?

Haven: Well—

Wes: On second thought, you don’t need to answer that. Wolf seems right up your alley—don’t think I’ve seen him in anything other than black outside of school. You’ll love him.

Scene 2 - Inside the Fosters home

Heather: Thanks so much for staying over, Rani. To be honest, I thought I’d be all alone on my birthday.

Rani: Alone? You’ve got 5 other teens in this house! I’m jealous, honestly.

Heather: I guess so...but I’ve only known them for a few days. Chloe’s nice, but she’s always at soccer practice or the gym.

Rani: I get it. I know we don’t know you that well, but Marissa and I had fun. And sorry she had to duck out so early—her parents might actually keel over and die if she misses a single science fair.

Heather: That’s all right. I’ll see you both in school on Monday. Have a safe trip back to Oasis Springs!

Scene 3 - Inside the Fosters home

Haven: Makeup done, hair done...I clean up pretty good!

Cassandra, on the phone: [Why am I traveling all the way to the Harbor tonight?]

Haven: Because your new BFF needs a wingwoman. Some guy named Wolf invited Wes to a club, and Wes invited me, and I don’t know anybody else there.

Cassandra: [Wolf invited you guys? He said he had work tonight! That bastard.]

Haven: You know him?

[Do I know Wolfgang Metzinger? snorts Only since he bit my arm when I wouldn’t share my chorizo back in second grade. That asshole’s usually one of my best friends.]

Cassandra: Haven: Usually.

Cassandra: [He does stupid shit sometimes. Can’t help it.]

Haven: Well, let’s hope he’s trustworthy tonight. When I go too long without a date, I shrivel up like a raisin and waste away.

Cassandra: [Haven, you’re sixteen. Dramatic much?]

Haven: Seventeen as of next week, and hardly. [pauses] All right, Wes is ready to go. I’ll be waiting for you at Dew Point, and if you want me to remain a voluptuous grape, then I’ll see you there.

Cassandra: [Never say those words in that order again.]

27 notes · View notes

likeadaydreamorafever · 1 year ago

Text

Mischa Barton: ‘The trauma doesn’t just go away overnight’

The OC made her one of the most famous stars of the Noughties. Now 37, and with a new role in Neighbours, she’s back — and this time it’s on her own terms.

There was a time, not so long ago — the Noughties — when we hunted young women until they went mad. A pack of men with cameras followed them, stalked them, waited outside their homes to take their photograph, so that people could devour their lives and their changing teenage bodies, and watch their rising panic as they cracked under the pressure we were putting them under.

“It was all very Hunger Games,” says Mischa Barton, 37, sitting in a hotel room in central London, hair blow-dried, coffee poured, legs crossed. The British-American actress was 17 when she was cast in the teenage TV drama The OC, catapulting her to worldwide fame and making her Karl Lagerfeld’s “face of a generation” — an It girl in an era of size-zero bodies, up-skirt shots and gossip blogs.

Barton was — reluctantly — a paparazzi favourite. She was beautiful, cool and sceney, with a trail of rock star boyfriends and wild child friends. She suffered as a consequence of rather than in spite of the fame. She was arrested for drink driving, spent time in rehab and was detained in a psychiatric hospital. In 2017 a video of her, incoherent, rambling and distressed, was sold to the gossip site TMZ, peddled as proof of her going off the rails. Her drink had actually been spiked with a date rape drug. That same year an ex-boyfriend tried to sell a video — filmed without her knowledge — of her having sex and being naked in her own home.

“You can go to therapy every day for the rest of your life,” she says, “but there’s just a certain amount of trauma [from] all that I went through, particularly in my early twenties, that just doesn’t go away overnight.”

Today her life is a little quieter — the paparazzi don’t yet know where her new home is in Los Angeles (though the sound of cameras can trigger a panic attack, part of her enduring post-traumatic stress disorder). The OC is coming up to its 20th anniversary, with a new generation of Gen Z fans going wild for the Y2K vibe. She has had a stint on Dancing with the Stars and the reality TV show The Hills: New Beginnings, as well as parts in horror films, indie films and now the resurrected teatime soap Neighbours.

Barton was, and still is, a valuable commodity. “They first wanted me to do an arc on Neighbours when I was in my twenties,” she says, dressed smartly in a blazer, A-line dress and preppy jacquard pumps. I’ve just finished watching the new season, I tell her. “Oh wow,” she says in her mid-Atlantic drawl, “have you actually been watching it?” Sure, I continue, it was nostalgic. “Oh wow,” she says again, flatly. “Yeah. I haven’t seen any of it.” Barton still has the cool-girl energy that drew so many people in: arch, a little judgmental, but fun. She is the popular girl at the party.

The “final” episode of Neighbours was broadcast on Channel 5 last July, after 37 years and 8,903 episodes featuring alumni including Kylie Minogue, Jason Donovan and Margot Robbie. A group of heartbroken fans campaigned for its return and four months later Amazon Prime signed a deal with the production company. The reboot features old favourites Susan, Carl and Harold, as well Barton’s new character, Reece Sinclair, the expensively dressed American hotel proprietor who is having an affair with the bellboy.

Barton spent two months filming in Melbourne, cramming lines for 5am call times. “They work crazy hard [on soaps],” she says. “Really, it was gruelling. You’re lucky to get a second take.” She did, however, rewrite some of her script. “They don’t let everybody change their lines” — she lowers her voice — “trust me. The other kids were like, oh, can I do that? And [the writers] were like, no.” She cackles. “Say your lines as scripted!”

The actress will always be known for The OC, in which she played Marissa Cooper, a rich, blonde Californian who was troubled and glamorous — and who every teenage girl was desperate to be. The first series, which aired in 2003, pulled in an average of 9.7 million viewers per episode in America and was a hit on Channel 4, and she won two Teen Choice awards.

“I don’t think I was fully prepared for that level of fame,” she says. “Because it has never been something that I have sought out. I really would much rather be anonymous.”

Still a teenager, Barton was lauded for her looks and treated, she says, as much older than her years. “You do look back and you were 18 dating 34-year-olds,” she continues. “With hindsight you’re like, yeah, that was weird.” An interview with Harpers & Queen has recently resurfaced in which Barton, 19 at the time, says she was told by her publicist to sleep with Leonardo DiCaprio, who was 30, “for the sake of your career”.

She left The OC after three series — she says she was bullied on set and exhausted by 18-hour days for each 24-episode series — asking the writers to kill off Marissa as brutally as they could. She died lying in the road, dripping in fake blood, her crashed car up in flames.

In the following years Barton became a familiar face on the LA nightlife scene, all smoky eyeliner and faded band T-shirts, photographed with Nicole Richie, Lindsay Lohan and Amy Winehouse, while dating the Kooks’ frontman Luke Pritchard, the American rocker Cisco Adler and the Roughs’ guitarist Taylor Locke. “I definitely got to tour with some cool bands,” she says, still a little thrilled by the whole thing. “I mean, I was obsessed. But I don’t know if I could date a guy in a band any more. It just sounds exhausting and dirty.” The paparazzi attention was certainly not “healthy” for romantic relationships. “Everything is just so heightened,” she says. “You depend on the person so much more, you think you’re that much more in love because they’re your grip on some sort of normalcy.”

In the gossip blogs she was considered fair game. She was criticised for losing a stone in a year, then criticised for being “bloated Barton”, with the celebrity blogger Perez Hilton often the leader of the pack. “Nothing I did was good enough,” she says today. “It was the peak of cruelty about young women’s bodies. It was wild.”

Could she leave the house without being followed by photographers? “No,” she says immediately. “I couldn’t. [The paparazzi] were doing all kinds of crazy stuff to me.” She says they tracked her car, tried to climb over the walls of her house, paid off restaurants and bought mobile phones for homeless people so they could tip them off. “I was stalked,” she says. “I did go a little bit nuts at [one] point. I just felt really helpless.”

Then there was an arrest (2007, driving under the influence, without a valid licence and possessing cannabis), rehab (court ordered) and psychiatric hospital. She said she was “depressed and overworked”, and then, she claims, pumped full of prescription drugs by her “team�� to keep her working. People have got kinder about mental health, though, she says. “That’s one of the better things about society these days — people are more willing to talk about having had depression or anxiety, or it’s not so taboo.”

But it was her legal battle against her ex-boyfriend that was “one of the worst and most gruelling experiences of my life”, she says. In 2017 Jon Zacharias tried to auction off illicit videos of her to the internet’s highest bidder.

After a years-long legal battle she won the case to prevent him from doing so. “It’s shocking to realise that there is that type of darkness in the world,” she says. “And you wonder what you’ve done to attract it.”

Mischa Anne Barton was born in Hammersmith in west London, the middle of three girls, her mother a producer and photographer, her father a foreign exchange broker. She went to St Paul’s Girls’ Preparatory School before the family moved to New York when Barton was six.

She was a bookish, shy child who found respite in acting. She had her first modelling job at eight and her first professional stage role the same year. By 11 she was in Italian Vogue. By 13 she was the lead in the movie Lawn Dogs, which had dark undertones of child molestation, followed by Pups, a crime drama. “Even from a young age I was sexualised,” she wrote in Harper’s Bazaar in 2021.

After her big break in The OC she starred as the “hot girl” in various music videos (Noel Gallagher, James Blunt, Enrique Iglesias) and became the face of Chanel, Calvin Klein, Monsoon Accessorise, Neutrogena, Herbal Essences and Keds.

“I was definitely told ‘sign here’ many, many times over,” she says. “I’ve gotten a lot better with legalese. Now I will read a contract front to back.”

Do people think she made more money than she has? “Oh, I know they do.” Today you can watch The OC on Amazon Prime, Hulu and ITV. “But I say to my friends, ‘Oh cool, I just got a direct deposit for $1.50.’ And they’re like, ‘What’s that?’ And I’m like, ‘Residuals.’ ”

She pushed herself into indie films and cerebral plays, which she loved, and then appeared on the rebooted reality show The Hills, which “wasn’t for me”, she says. “It’s the fame-chasing and the posing stuff that I don’t like. I found them to be very alieny.” She says the producers tried to make out that the original cast of The Hills had hung out with the cast of The OC in the Noughties, “but that was not the case. I never saw them around. I mean, it was a completely different world, a different type of celebrity.” She looks up from pouring herself another coffee. “You know what I mean.”

Today Barton lives between New York and LA. She is steady and grown-up, but still with a streak of flightiness. Her spontaneity “is a problem”, she says. She travelled around Indonesia alone over the summer, then France, then the UK, where she has been staying with her older sister, a barrister, in Kensington.

“I’m happy being single at the moment,” she says. “Because it comes up, the whole thing of ‘Do you wanna settle down and have kids?’ I am a weirdly traditional, conventional person when it comes to stuff like that, more so than people think. But it really depends on the person you’re with.”

In the past few years there has certainly been a collective reckoning regarding our behaviour towards young, famous women of that era. But does that regret mean anything to the women who suffered through it?

Recently the FBI knocked on Barton’s door, saying they were “working on a case” and wanted to play her a series of tapes. She listened to her conversations with people from years ago, which were recorded covertly. “Who knows who was doing it?” she says. “But I was almost grateful to know that they [the FBI] were going to such lengths, otherwise you feel crazy and paranoid.”

She has also had direct apologies. In 2019 Perez Hilton told her, on The Hills: “If I could go back in time and do things differently, I would.” Barton was largely unmoved. “This bullying you did for so long to so many young girls, I find it hard to let go,” she replied. “I can’t really accept the apology entirely.”

I bring up Hilton today and she rolls her eyes. “I don’t listen to anything he says because he’s so crazy,” she says. “You can see how sorry people feel for what they did to people like Britney [Spears] then. Everyone now is like, ‘I can’t believe we did that to those poor women.’” She pauses. “People feel so entitled to you and your body and your image. It’s a strange feeling. It’s strange.”

Video included in the article:

youtube

#mischa barton #marissa cooper #the oc #theoc

32 notes · View notes