#fuck summer weddings tho
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Alive Hale Family!AU
STILES: "Do you know how to use Pinterest?"
DEREK: "Uh... I guess?"
STILES: "Great, I want a summer wedding."
#biblically accurate stiles quotes#incorrect teen wolf quotes#incorrect quotes#writing prompts#stiles stilinski#derek hale#sterek#teen wolf#gotta love AHF aus#fuck summer weddings tho#i hate the sun#drunk people are gross but SWEATY drunk people are worse
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heyyyyyy <3 <3 i feel terrible.
i had planned to stay off longer but i genuinely have had like three nervous breakdowns since i left bc right as i decided it was abt time i just chill for a little bit everything started happening all at once. so i came back to see my silly little internet friends, but like the second i logged back on some ppl were talking smack abt me sooooooooo... ya know. my day (two weeks) be so fine,, then BOOM my entire schedule fills up and i become hollow on the inside! (hey sorry like vent post n tags i need to get things out of my brain)
#spikes rambles#i was happy there for a minute too :<#heres what its looking like rn....#i have three weddings. one of which i am a bridesmaid for and was left to get my own dress#but i cant afford a nice dress that matches. so i have to make one my damn self. and in two weeks.#i have a graduation.. and a graduation party both for different ppl#even tho i had to push back my own graduation by a full year bc things were just not going as planned. and now everyone thinks im a failure#im volunteering to teach at a kids summer camp like thingy. i was supposed to have a partner but i was told that she actually#wants nothing to do with me and was forced into this but i was under the impression that we would be teaching TOGETHER#and not her being an assistant. so now i have to call her and be like heyyyyy what the fuck is going on i need to know the lesson plan#im also volunteering for a church summer thing. if i could i wouldnt be doing this but my self made mother figure asked me personally#to help and i cant say no to this. we get to hang out and i get to paint like murals and shit and we've been doing this together for years#i have to spend the weekend with my bio mother to go to a celtic festival thing bc my younger brother wants to go.#i'm having some pretty severe best friend problems which i am honestly not well equipped enough to deal with and its eating me away inside#summer has officially started here so that means 24/7 headaches and sensory problems. straight up category 5 autism moments#i had to pick up the slack and become a paternal figure to my youngest brother. which is just sad that i have to at all#my dear beloved friend is trying very hard to make a young adult like hangout (???) thing in own town and really wants me to go#but i just dont wanna. i dont really care for social gatherings#hey guys btw all this has happened or was planned for next month in the two weeks i was gone#what the fuck.
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my outfit is so slay im gonna be the cuntiest bitch at the church
#maybe i take pic later to show u guys#just wish my shoes were more fancy but its fine this is a summer wedding#despite it being like actually fucking cold today wtf. so grateful tho#its going up to 21c only??????
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#I only have two friends so i really cannot afford to be as annoyed at this one as i am#especially considering the weirdness with my (former) neighbor. like. things should be simple with my former roommate then#but man#GIRL I HATE YOUR HUSBAND#I HATE HIM#HE GOT A [REDACTED] ON THE [REDACTED ADMISSIONS TEST] BECAUSE HE#DID NOT STUDY EVEN THO YOU BEGGED HIM TO FOR THE WHOLE SUMMER AND NOW YOURE PLANNING ON TAKING OUT THREE YEARS OF#STUDENT LOANS FOR HIM TO GO TO SCHOOL FOR WHAT REASON WHEN HE HAS NEVER DEMONSTRATED#HE IS CAPABLE OF SUCCEEDING IN SCHOOL TO THE DEGREE THAT MAKES THAT WORTHWHILE#ITS LITERALLY DEFINITELY NO DOUBT ABOUT IT BECAUSE HE SAW YOU DOING THIS AND THOUGHT HE COULD DO IT TOO#BECAUSE HE THINKS HE IS SMARTER THAN YOU. HE THINKS IF SHE CAN DO IT IT MUST BE EASY. BECAUSE HE THINKS HE IS THE SMARTEST#PERSON IN THE WORLD EVEN THOUGH ALL HE DOES APPARENTLY IS PLAY VIDEO GAMES#AND SLEEP UNTIL ONE PM. HERES AN IDEA IF HIS JOB IS ONLY FOUR DAYS A WEEK AND YOU GUYS ARE SO SO POOR#HOW ABOUT HE GETS A WALMART JOB OR SOMETHING??? We'd Never See Each Other WELL HE SLEEPS UNTIL ONE PM SO WHEN DO YOU SEE HIM NOW#ALSO OF COURSE YOUR FAMILY HATES HIM. HE IS VERY BAD TO BE AROUND.#AND EVEN IF HE WASNT CHARMLESS THE FACT THAT HE GAVE YOU AN EXTENDED MONTHS LONG MENTAL BREAKDOWN AFTER BREAKING UP WITH YOU MEANS THAT#YOUR FAMILY WILL NEVER TRULY LIKE HIM. AND THATS FINE. THEYRE CIVIL AND GET ALONG. BUT STOP TRYING TO FORCE YOUR DAD TO HAVE A ONE ON ONE#RELATIONSHIP WITH HIM WHY ARE YOU SO INTERESTED IN GETTING THEM TO TALK WITHOUT BEING INVOLVED??? ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU TALKED TO YOUR OWN#FATHER WITHOUT HIM BEING INVOLVED ONCE AND HE SAID DONT EVER DO THAT AGAIN WHICH WHAT THE FUCK BY THE WAY#also you don't have to go to your in laws wedding and they weren't obligated to think of your exams when picking the date#also if you're so poor stop buying Starbucks every time i see you and especially stop buying food#there's stuff you complain about not being able to afford which would literally be like five Starbucks visits if that#you were annoying about money when we lived together and you are annoying about it now if your husband isn't hanging out with us I don't#want to fucking buy him dinner too#while you complain there isn't any organic garlic powder at the store and toss whole bottles of lotion because they have unclean ingredient#you seem not to grasp that you and he are in an insanely horrible financial situation like crazy awful bad and when your student loans kick#in next year it's going to become obvious.#and you want a baby in two years??? you need to start thinking about how not to let it end up in indentured servitude#because again you are about to take out big time student loans for your husband's latest in a long string of dreams and they're bigger#because he didn't do well in school or prove himself capable in any way so he is unlikely to receive a scholarship
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FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE. -l.c
pair : dino x fem!reader.
prompt : “say you want me, and i’m yours.” SMUT. MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT.
wc : 5k.
heads up / smut tags : ex-boyfriend!chan. everyone’s down horrendous. drinking/some alcohol consumption prior to the fucking (they aren’t drunk tho). chan is able to lift reader and carry her a short distance. oral (f rec). backshots. unprotected p-in-v sex. reader has solid arch game. chan calls reader good girl/pretty girl/ baby. it’s all very needy.
notes : i had idubilu chan on the brain for a big portion of writing. this was supposed to be a drabble and then ended up longer than some of my actual fics, so. bon appetite i guess?
There’s a list of places you think you’d be okay to run into one of your exes.
In the grocery store, for starters. At the gym. In a bar, at your favourite pizza place, the library… None of them would exactly be fun, but one way or another, you believe that they would all be quite manageable.
Further down are family events. While on a date with someone else. At the beach, or a swimming pool. A doctors office. Considerably more uncomfortable. Would probably warrant a large glass of wine as soon as you got home. You would live, though. No doubt about it.
But at a wedding? Not only is it not on there, it’s quite high up on its own index.
The Crisis List.
Yet this is the position in which you find yourself on this beautiful summer’s evening. You suppose it’s sort of what you get for letting yourself be set up with a friend of a friend while you were in college and mixing your social circles: this is some sort of twisted, universal revenge. But of all the places you’ve pictured running into Chan and succeeding to pace yourself through awkward small-talk before parting ways again… you never imagined that a celebration of eternal love would be the setting.
You recognised the sound of his voice pretty much as soon as you arrived, but you were thankfully seated on opposite sides of the aisle during the ceremony itself. It was therefore pretty easy to keep your eyes off him and instead focus on what was going on at the front of the room. This wasn’t so simple when you only knew one other person at your table during the dinner service and Chan was seated barely ten feet away, and every time you glanced over to him, he was blowing bubbles and entertaining a group of young kids. Every time he laughed, or even every time he made one of them laugh, your head would snap over on instinct. Though you locked eyes with him a few times, mostly you were able to look away again before he had the chance to catch you.
Regardless, seeing that brilliant smile from across the room full of strangers made your stomach twist, so much so that you couldn’t even finish your dessert.
Thus far, the day has passed without any real incident; dinner was three hours ago and you’ve managed to avoid him almost perfectly. You keep telling yourself that if you can just make it a little while longer, you’ll be able to go back upstairs and retire to your hotel room, and maybe even eventually, this will become another one of those memories you can laugh about with your friends.
Just a little while longer.
In the meantime, a stool at the very end of the bar is your sanctuary and it has been for so long that your ass has started to go numb. With more people in attendance at the reception than there were at the ceremony and dinner portions of the day, you’re doing a pretty fantastic job keeping your distance from Chan. His friends, too. Everyone, if you’re being completely honest: with your back to the room at large, you could forgive anyone here for assuming that you peaked early, got wasted and just no longer have the legs to move from your perch.
But the truth is that you’re still nursing the same flute of champagne you were given on your way in. Still drawing your fingertip round and around the rim of the same glass, wiping off the lipstick marks you leave with every tiny new sip. Still watching the same bubbles rise up and burst at the same surface. You’re about as sober as anyone on the planet has ever been.
At least, almost certainly, you’re the most sober adult in the building.
You know it’s not exactly fair to have removed yourself from the fun like this on the happiest day of your friends’ lives. You’re overjoyed for them, you really are, and you sort of wish you could just shake this off and go about your business, pretending he’s not here so that you could enjoy yourself properly. You’ve never claimed to be the life and soul of the party, but you know being so distant is a new look on you.
If only it was as easy as simply caring less.
But you’re surrounded by happy couples and faced with the man who is the definition of ‘right person, wrong time’. How can you possibly think about anything else?
Your spine tingles with the feeling of someone hovering behind you and you pick your glass up into your hand, ready to spin around and tell a concerned bride — for the fifth time — that you promise, you’re okay. To keep up the lie about the bellyache you’ve been pretending to have for an hour now just to get her to go back to her party. You square your shoulders and put a smile onto your face, but you don’t have the chance to turn around and put up a façade. The person — who is decidedly not who you were expecting — appears to your right instead, a solid frame in a black suit swallowing up your periphery. Your excuses fade away to static in your brain.
“Is this seat taken?” Chan asks, fingertips brushing over the leather of the chair adjacent to you. “Are you… waiting for someone?”
You shake your head, taking a deep breath. There’s no running away now. “Nope. All yours.”
He swings one leg over the stool and settles into it, both hands resting up on the bar. He, too, twitches his fingers against his glass. He, too, fails to even glance at you.
“Been a while, huh?” He says after a few seconds. Even though music continues playing behind you both, it’s nowhere near as loud as the thick, uncomfortable silence that had started to settle between you.
A while is sort of a massive understatement. You haven’t seen him in… four? Five years? Not since you left college and he accepted the job offer of a lifetime, pulling him all the way to the other side of the country. Not since, despite your shared willingness to try, you realised that the whole long-distance thing didn’t work for either of you; not since you ended up calling time on your relationship after just four months of being apart.
Ending things meant saying goodbye to amost two and a half years though, in total.
You’d you’d never been broken up with over a video call before. It fucking sucked.
“I didn’t know you were around,” you say instead of answering the obvious. “Are you just here for this, or…?”
Chan takes a long sip from his drink and finishes the glass, pushing it away from himself. He shakes his head, scrunching his nose a little. You were surprised not to see him with some sort of a whiskey in-hand, so his reaction to the chug makes sense: he was never that big into wines. Some things never change.
“I got promoted. Came with a relocation,” he tells you. This time, he turns his head and looks at you properly, a small smile tugging up the corners of his lips.
“Oh, shit. Congratulations,” you offer, tilting your now mostly empty glass in his direction before draining the little bit in the bottom, just like he did. You know it’s probably all in your own head that the fizz gives you a bit of a confidence boost, but you find the nerve to move to face him fully: you’ve never been one to turn your nose up at a positive coincidence, after all. “That’s amazing.”
“Thank you,” he says, bowing his head. “It’s… good to be back.”
A few seconds later, he tags on, “and it’s really good to see you.”
The bartender comes back to see if she can get you anything else to drink now you’ve finally finished your champagne and Chan puts his card down for a round of your choosing. It helps loosen up the tension in your shoulders, stops you bouncing your leg against the rest beneath your seat, makes it a little bit easier to settle into a back and forth with him. Eventually, the conversation starts to flow as if you were never really apart.
You laugh at his bad jokes. Chan shoves you playfully when you make some back. He gets so invested in catching up on what’s been going on in your life that he doesn’t even tell you what the promotion he got is, nor where he’s been relocated to.
As the following few hours tick by, he doesn’t leave your side. Even when people come over to talk to him, even when your friends’ eyes start to find you together and linger, as they attempt to read your lips, pick apart your body language, as they begin whispering behind their hands. He takes exactly one bathroom break, and he finds his way straight back to the chair he left. He even scoots it a little bit closer.
And the longer he stays glued to your left, the more you find yourself starting to hope a little harder that wherever he’s living now, it’s not too far away. That whatever him being ‘back’ means, something happens because of it.
Your something comes in the form of your companion trying to persuade you to get up and dance with him. He fails, numerous times; you have a whole arsenal of excuses, some of which are recycled and things that he heard a very long time ago, but others are new. He raises his eyebrows at a couple of them, though you don’t know if he’s just shocked at your attempts or actually impressed. None of them work on him though. You should have remembered that he wasn’t a quitter.
“My shoes hurt,” you tell him on attempt number five. “You go, I’ll stay here.”
Clearly, this line of defence isn’t good enough either.
“Just one song,” Chan asks again as he stands up from his chair and picks up one of your wrists, this time. You look down at where he’s holding you, but he doesn’t. “Please? Just… for me?”
“When was the last time I did anything ‘just for you’?” You scoff incredulously, shaking your head.
It doesn’t. His eyes soften and he takes a small step closer to you, those perfect lips of his pressing into a pout.
He drops his fingers lower and squeezes your hand lightly. “Too long ago. I miss it.”
Something in his stare looks a little far away and you wonder what exactly it is that he’s thinking about. Is he remembering the times you would bring him his favourite snacks when he was sick, ice his injuries after gruelling dance practices, brush sleep out of his eyes early in the mornings when he stayed up too late and couldn’t get out of bed, but really needed to make it to his 8AM classes? Is he remembering when you’d put band-aids on his papercuts? Make sure his laptop was fully charged when he had long study days? Pick him and his friends up from the bars and let him lean all his weight against you as you dragged him into your apartment?
(Those needy nights where you’d let him call you the prettiest girl in the world as he snuggled into your side and nuzzled his cold nose against your warm cheek? When you’d let him tell you, without even rolling your eyes, that you were his everything, the reason he had any strength, the love of his life, the only person he’d ever need—)
He uses your distractedness to his full advantage; as soon as the muscles in your arm go slack, he pulls you again and this time succeeds in getting you to your feet. You stumble a few steps towards him and he ends up leading you all the way over to the dance floor, grinning proudly the entire time.
“One song,” you stress, hanging your head to try and conceal the fact that you’re definitely blushing hard.
“Just one,” he lies, glancing back at you.
You know he's lying, too. High-flying job aside, he’s always been a dancer at heart: when he turns around to face you, there’s a glint in his eyes that says ‘one... or five.’
Confirming your suspicions, seven songs later, you’re still up there with him. You’ve stopped caring about your dumb shoes, or having too many sets of eyes on you, or whether anyone here is murmuring about it. How could you mind, when he keeps finding little ways to touch you again? When he’s singing his heart out, serenading you with corny 90’s love songs, hand on his heart and everything?
How could you mind, when he so clearly doesn’t care?
And the thing is… no part of you thinks that this is a bad idea. It could never be a bad thing to let somebody make your heart race this way and your brain so fuzzy; just seeing him grin at you as he extends his hand out, waiting for you to take it, feels like being twenty one all over again. And when he spins you and spins you and spins you until you’re dizzy, falling over your own feet and staggering until you land against his solid chest, laughing… when he catches you in both arms, and darts his tongue out over his lips at the exact moment you look at his face…
Perhaps your rare moment of unabashed bravery is spurred on by the way he drinks you up like an elixir. Perhaps it’s spurred on by the way he adjusts himself to hold you tighter against him, perhaps it’s spurred on by the fact that this right here is exactly what you feel like you’ve been missing. Whatever the reason, you hook a finger through one of the belt-loops on his pants and manage to find your voice long enough to speak.
“My room or yours?” You ask, quietly enough only for him to hear, loudly enough that he can’t mistake you.
Letting out a breathy chuckle, he brings his palm up between your shoulder blades. “Don’t care,” he says, ducking lower and brushing the tip of his nose against your own. “Just… pick one. As soon as possible.”
A few people have already started to leave: couples with young families, older relatives who are getting tired, friends who have work in the morning, so you don’t feel too bad about slipping out into the corridor with Chan in tow as soon as you’ve grabbed your things. The elevator door closes behind you and you feel the mechanism start to pull you upwards, away from the hotel’s function room and towards the fourth floor to your own suite. Chan presses kiss after kiss to the back of your neck as soon as you’re alone, hands slipping around your waist and joining together just below your belly-button.
“They have… cameras in these, you know,” you sigh, tilting your head to give him better access anyway.
He chuckles quietly, nosing just behind your ear. “Okay?” He says, kissing you there too, bunching your dress in his hand and pulling it a little higher up your thigh. “So what?”
“So… fucking… public indecency,” you laugh, a little taken aback by his brazenness.
It’s hard to be stern with him when he’s acting as if he never forgot how to press every single one of your buttons. Hell, as if he never stopped pushing them, in the first place. You lay one hand over both of his and squeeze gently, encouraging his teeth to keep grazing over the skin of your shoulder. You’ve never had any resolve when it comes to him. He clearly hasn’t forgotten.
Just as you’re relaxing into it, the elevator pings and you jolt away from him just in time for the door to open. The middle aged woman waiting to get in eyes you both as you rush out into the hallway and Chan grabs hold of your hand: you’re fairly sure she sucks her front teeth just before the door closes, but you don’t care. You’re too busy counting the rooms until you get to yours.
409, 410, 411…
“You look so fucking good right now,” Chan groans as you whip turn a corner and he quickens his pace to catch up, walking so fast he should probably be running instead.
421, 422…
“423,” you breathe, fumbling in your purse for the key-card.
In a flash, you wave it over the sensor and pull down on the handle: before you have the chance to get dizzy from the speed of the turn, Chan has you pressed against the door from the inside. He doesn’t wait to be invited. He barely gives you the chance to catch your breath from your power-walk from the reception. Both his hands press into your hips when he brings his mouth down against yours, lips scorching hot, lifted up at the edges in a grin. Your knees go weak and you hold onto his biceps for stability, which… maybe, with how thick and sturdy they feel beneath your palms, isn’t a great way to help you calm down.
When his tongue presses into your mouth and he tastes you for the first time in what feels like forever, you know the only thing keeping you standing is his strength. His hands, pinning you to the wood behind you. His body, pressing against you everywhere it possibly can. His muscular thigh, slotted between yours, giving you something to relax down against but also, to find a tiny little bit of friction from.
He dips down a little lower, looping his hands around you just below your ass, and with a quick movement he lifts you up off the floor completely. You hook your ankles together behind him, shifting to get higher up on his hips: when he steps away from the door, you drop your head down to his shoulder and a smirk replaces his prior very needy expression, feeling how warm you are at your core now your dress has hiked up around your waist.
“Say you want me,” he says, licking a stripe up the side of your neck. He knows you do.
“Huh?”
Chan repeats, “say you want me.”
You grasp harder at his hair and pull, but he doesn’t move away from your neck, just keeps kissing you at your sweet-spot until he’s walked a few paces to the middle of the room, holding you up over the hotel’s generously sized bed.
“Say you want me, and I’m yours.”
He’s… yours?
It takes you a moment to process it but you don’t have to think twice about how you respond, even though your stomach flips at this very open-hearted confession. The entire way back up here, part of you expected this to be little more than a one-night-only special event, but…
“Shit,” you whine, feeling his fingers slip beneath the thin fabric of your underwear at your hip and tug. He pulls back from you at the sound of your voice, determined to look you in the eyes when you say it.
Faces just inches apart, you admit, “I– I want you, Chan. Please. I want you so much.”
He bounces you up a little bit higher to get you to unhook your ankles and proceeds to basically drop you down onto the mattress, pushing both his shirt sleeves up to his elbows and reaching for his necktie. In a manner you can only describe as obscenely smooth, he grabs the knot and pulls, tugging it side to side to make it looser. The expensive silk comes undone easily. He balls it in his fist. You watch him toss his tie to the side, snap open a few more buttons, and with heavily lidded eyes, he plants one knee on the comforter, before crawling up the length of your body until you’re face-to-face again.
You take care of the remaining buttons on his shirt for him as he trails his lips all over your throat, your chest, your shoulders: even down your arms, to the crooks of your elbows, everywhere he can reach with your clothes still on. When his upper body is bare, he disregards the fact that you’re still wearing anything at all and kisses down your torso anyway.
He lays between your thighs and presses his lips to them, too, pushing your dress up higher until it’s bunched up around your ribcage. One of his hands pushes your panties to the side and the other one reaches up to grab hold of yours, pulling it down to lace your fingers back into his hair. You do as he silently asks, and you swear his eyes roll back into his head at the first little pull.
Chan always liked giving, but he loved it when you used him like a little toy, tugging and moving him around until you couldn’t handle him anymore.
Some things never change.
You’re about to tell him that he doesn’t have to do this. That you could take him now, if he wanted to hurry and get to it, because you’re already feeling yourself flutter at the thought of having him buried inside you. But his lips part and you feel the tip of his tongue drag through your folds, separating them, exposing you; he collects your arousal and swallows it back, pressing his tongue into your hole, swirling it around your clit, sending sparks up and down your spine.
That ridiculous, stupid idea dies magnificently. You let Chan lose himself in you, and in equal parts, you lose yourself in him. In the cold bite of the ring decorating his middle finger as he trails them down your sensitive skin, in the way he grunts and moans and praises you between your legs. You selfish– and selfless–ly let him have his way, right up until you feel so tense you could snap.
Sure, you could let yourself come undone like this. Easily. In seconds, even, because he’s got you right there and you’re battling not to let it wash over you. But there’s something you need even more than the euphoria of your own release.
You scrunch your fist in his strands so hard that it forces him to pull away from you, gasping and cringing at the sting. At this, before he has the chance to ask what’s wrong, why you’ve stopped, if you’re okay, you press up onto one elbow, straps hanging off your shoulders, your own hair a mess. Somehow, Chan still looks up at you with glittering eyes, so shiny you can see their sweet, questioning gaze even in the dark.
“Need you, now,” you tell him, your chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. He wipes over his lips on the back of his hand and nods, pulling himself up onto his knees. You let go of him and tug your dress up over your head while he fiddles with the buckle on his belt.
“Flip over,” he says huskily, tugging it free just as quickly as he did with his tie, and when it thunks to the floor, you hear him start to move his pants down his legs too.
You do as he says, turning onto your front, bracing yourself on your knees with your hands clasped together beneath your head. Your back arches naturally for him, pressing your hips higher into the air; his breath catches at the sight of you, your perfect ass, your dribbling pussy.
It’s his favourite view. Always has been. Shit, nothing since the last time he was with you has ever come close.
“Deep breath for me,” he says, so soft in comparison to the way his fingers on one hand grasp at your hip and you feel the blunt edges of his nails digging into your skin. You inhale through your mouth, loud enough for him to hear. “That’s it. My good girl.”
He’s so fucking hard when he finally drags his tip through your folds, so heavy and thick when he pushes inside you inch by inch. The stretch is more intense than you remember, and despite slowly letting the breath you sucked in leave your lungs, you feel all of your muscles go tense. Your eyes squeeze shut. Your torso goes tight. You know your cunt hugs him because of how he lets go of his length and lays his hand flat in the middle of your back, dragging his thumb back and forth, trying to soothe you through it.
“Easy,” he says to you, slowing but not stopping until he’s buried all the way inside you. He’s so deep, you swear he nudges something he shouldn’t. So far inside you that you don’t know what to do with yourself. “Relax, baby. I’ve got you.”
It’s a little difficult when you feel more full now than you ever have, but slowly, you manage to loosen up and it’s only when you give a small nod of your head and an 'mhm' that he starts to rock his hips back and forth. Shallow, to start with, but with the angle he slides into you at, he might as well be going full depth, full force, full speed with how feverish this already is. You bunch the comforter in your fist, letting those familiar sensations of being fucked by Chan take over, letting the discomfort subside until it's replaced only by pleasure.
By which point, he's stopped treating you like a fragile doll, and has started to handle you like the person he wishes he never lost.
Those dancer hips haven't gone to waste, you realise, as he snaps them fluidly into you, the harsh slap of skin-on-skin punctuating every single sound that escapes you both. Sometimes, he pulls you back, spearing you wholly on his length, letting you do some of the work and control the pace. Sometimes, he holds you completely still so that he can have it all.
At all times, you feel yourself losing your mind piece by piece. Though you've tried to be with other people since that horrendous breakup, it's never managed to stick, and you find yourself thinking that maybe in a way, you were waiting for him. Hoping that one day, he'd waltz his way back into your life and sweep you off your feet and make sure you never forgot just how well he can give it to you. Praying that the universe was going to give you another chance.
One of his hands slips around your waist, now, and you feel him come down lower, pressing his chest against your back. His thrusts stop being so long and instead, he settles for harsh, deep ruts. His fingers find and start strumming over your clit, and you can feel yourself start to break apart with gasps and choked moans and whines of his name.
You're done for, and he knows it, but he still teases you as he kisses up your spine.
"Wanna feel you come, pretty girl," he says. His fingers move so easily that it takes everything you have not to collapse beneath him. “Missed feeling this pretty pussy around me. Wasn’t the same watching you play with it on the phone.”
You hide your face in the comforter and gasp, that beautiful heat starting to rise up inside you again. “Fuck, Chan—”
“That’s it,” he guides you, grunting with every little spasm of your walls. “Missed you so much.”
“I missed— missed—” you try to say, but he finds just the right pattern to make you squeak and you tug harder at the sheets. “Oh my God—”
Your universe explodes as he hits just the right spot inside you and you feel your peak slam through you, hips jerking back to meet his until there’s no room for any air to pass between your bodies. Chan stills, letting you ride yourself through it, easing up a little with the pressure of his fingers but still keeping them moving to milk every ounce of pleasure that he can from you.
With your thighs still shaking, you buckle downwards and he slips out of you unintentionally as you fight to catch your breath. You’re still seeing spots, still trying to put your thoughts in the right order, but when he smooths his hands over your ass and down the backs of your thighs, still up on his knees behind you, you slowly start to come back to Earth.
You slowly move round to lie on your back so you can look up at him, his still hard, now soaked cock sitting heavily against his thigh. He settles his hands on your knees, and you lean over to the side to pass your finger over one of the light switches. The one behind the headboard flickers to life and illuminates him: a sheen of sweat makes his broad frame gleam, his rosy blush makes your chest stutter.
“I missed you too,” you say quietly, unsure now if he was just saying so in the heat of the moment or if it was the truth.
You never needed to worry, though. Not if the way he drops down onto one elbow and kisses your newly regained breath straight back out of your lungs, cupping your cheek with his other hand is anything to go by.
“You meant it, then? You really want me?” He asks, pulling away only to drag his thumb over the corner of your mouth. You nod, turning your head a little and pursing your lips forward, pressing a kiss to his skin.
“I never stopped,” you tell him.
Little celebratory fireworks start to dance in his pretty eyes.
“Yeah?” He breathes, rolling onto his back and pulling you on top of him. “Good. Neither did I.”
thank u so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed it! as always, likes, reblogs, comments & feedback are so so appreciated.<3
thank u so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed it! as always, likes, reblogs, comments & feedback are so so appreciated.<3
#lee chan smut#dino smut#seventeen smut#svt smut#kpop smut#dino x you#dino x reader#dino imagines#j writes.#mw500party!#*
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IS THERE A VERSION OF JOEL MILLER I WOULDN'T FUCK?
[a case study in how thirsty i am for this man.] [aka fic recommendations]
Unfortunately, in my extensive research on this topic, I have found some pretty damning evidence against my sanity.
dad's best friend!joel miller x fem!reader
Your Summer Dream [masterlist]
by @swiftispunk
It is a scientific fact that if you place Joel Miller on a beach he becomes 100x hotter. I don't make the rules, I just report them.
Creep it Real!
by @swiftispunk
I am a puddle. I melted and I'm a shallow pathetic puddle. Cowboy and Angel. I just hnnnnnggggg. I need him to ruin me pls dear god.
*I'm realizing if i include all the DBF!JM i read this will get very long, very quickly, and i think i have revealed enough of myself on this blog to highlight my very obvious daddy issues
**speaking of daddy issues...
stepdad!joel miller x fem!reader
Don't Be Cute, Be Nasty
by @cockslutpadalecki
i'm pretty sure this was the first stepdad!joel miller anything i read and it awoke something in my soul. it's always fun to reach new levels of my daddy issues and BY GOD was this just 🫠
Bad Girl [part i of many]
by @seventeenpins
he walks in on her while she's watching stepdaddy porn and good lord it gets filthier and filthier in the best kind of way.
boyfriend's dad!joel miller x fem!reader
Lost in the Dark [masterlist]
by @iamasaddie
i expected to be a slut reading this but then it made me an emotional slut out of nowhere i am obsessed. there is nothing i love more than being drawn in by my thots only to be hit by an emotional bus out of nowhere.
Thigh's Out AU [masterlist]
by @toxicanonymity
not only is this a boyfriend's dad AU, but said boyfriend's dad is a hot and slutty. just like i like my dilfs.
father-in-law!joel miller x fem!reader
Pink [masterlist]
by @netherfeildren
holy fuck. that's all. just holy fuck. this altered my genetic makeup.
Help, I'm Stuck!
by @nosesitter
spoiler alert: he takes her wedding ring off before dicking her down and I-- 👀 send help.
***i didn't think i had a lot of significant other's father!joel miller in my repertoire, but i had to stop myself again from listing them all on this one otherwise we'd be here all day. shit, i'm learning things about myself 🤡
dark therapist!joel miller x fem!reader
Session 1
by @elvinaa
i think this only highlights how badly i need an actual therapist (as does this entire list actually).
sleazy gas station clerk!joel miller x fem!reader
Meet Me in the Back (1) & The Night is Dark Enough ... (2)
written by @atticrissfinch
It does not bode well for me that this version of Joel Miller made me so fucking feral. In no way, shape, nor form should a sleazy gas station clerk make me feel this way AND YET HERE WE ARE.
tattoo artist!joel miller x fem!reader
Honeyed [masterlist]
by @softlyspector
This one absolutely hits too close to home for me, but that's probably why I'm so obsessed with it. My touch adverse yet touch starved ass ate this up and left no crumbs😌
chiro!joel miller x fem!reader
Say Yes to Heaven
by @pascalisbaby
i thought the medical side of my brain would cringe at the doctor/patient dynamic but as it turns out my depravity knows no bounds 🥵
frat dad!joel miller x fem!reader
The Old College Try
by @proxima-writes
i didn't even know this was something i needed in my life until it came into my life. blessings🙏🏼
ceo!joel miller x fem!reader
Sex on Fire [masterlist]
by @macfrog
i don't think i need to harp on what that sugar daddy vibes do to me🤤
mafia!joel miller x fem!reader
Divine Dynasty
by @cavillscurls
Remember when I said putting Joel by a body of water makes him 100x hotter? The same applies to a Mafia AU. I can't explain it. I have no sound reasoning to support my claim other than "he hot tho".
pornstar!joel miller x fem!reader
I Know it When I See it [masterlist]
by @bageldaddy
🔥🔥🔥 that is all.
maintenance man!joel miller x fem!reader
Maintenance Man [masterlist]
by @gracieispunk
toolbelt. say less.
slasher!joel miller x fem!reader
Slasher [masterlist]
by @toxicanonymity
i thought for sure, FOR SURE, this would be blind, pure, detached smut that i could enjoy with no emotional ties whatsoever. and then all of a sudden i'm feeling things??? he just loves his mom so much😭 mama's boy wants to be happy. JAIL. real jail for murderer joel miller. horny jail for me. and audacity jail for toxic b/c how dare you make me feel things for a serial killer😩
as i said previously, the evidence speaks for itself. i have yet to find a version of joel miller i could not immediately fuck. i'm actually planning (i have a lot of plans and no time smh), to go through all these on my recommendation blog w/play by play commentary so everyone can know just how unhinged i am for this guy.
but now!! you guys have a syllabus for my insanity!!
now, excuse me while i go find a therapist (a real one, not a hot/dark joel miller version of one) (although beggars can't be choosers right?👀)
dividers by @saradika
#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us#tlou fanfiction#fic rec
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All the fics I read this year, part 1: ship I read most this year —
It's James/Lily !! I've read about 80 fics for Jily this year! I've linked them all down below and limited myself to describe every fic in only a line to fit Tumblr's 4066-character limit (I don't think I did any of them justice though ,:) they're all amazing and incredible in their own way). They're not sorted in any order - it's a chaotic mess ,,:,,)
Kindly Stopped for Me* by @nodirectionhome-ao3 - Lily survives AU, an angsty fic with great badass Lily moments!
Lay All Your Love On Me* by @athenasparrow - Jily Hogwarts fic that also has smut :D
The Art of Identification by Athenasparrow - cute one-shot featuring amortentia :D
She Will by @relyingonoldships - ANGSTY! gather your napkins. I have warned you.
The Summer I fell in Love* by @annasghosts - Muggle meet cute + summer love <3
Finding Lily by Annasghosts - unique premise + fake dating for the win :D
Things That Haven't Happened Yet by @kay-elle-cee - SMUT
the silence in the sorrow by kay-elle-cee - secret relationship during war + battle angst
to ache, to hope by kay_elle_cee - unplanned pregnancy that explores both James and Lily's emotions
i'll be fine, i'll be good* by kay-elle-cee - Slytherin!Lily AU focussed on Lily's character + secret relationship
Tall Dark and Glasses by @jamesunderwater - lovely writing and a heart-melting meet cute!
Meet Me At The River by @charmsandtealeaves - PEN PALS JILY, absolutely adorable fic!
Laundry Day by charmsandtealeaves - cheeky fic
Midnight Dip by charmsandtealeaves - ALSO cheeky 😏
Call Me By Name by charmsandtealeaves - feat. Phone Call sex 😏 and strangers to lovers!
Incoming by charmsandtealeaves 'call me by name' but James POV and it's so good!!
Wake Me Up (When September Ends)* by charmsandtealeaves - Hogwarts Jily 7th year coming of age :)
Love Birds by charmsandtealeaves - fluffy ridiculous rom com au where James cannot be separated from his accidentally acquired duck and Lily is a gorgeous vet :D also features insanely cute doodles :D
Something Black and Blue by charmsandtealeaves - what's making Lily Evans so late to her own wedding?
Sugar Quills by charmsandtealeaves - SWEET x
Padfoot's Nose Knows by charmsandtealeaves - indeed sirius can smell the good news from a mile away!
The Exchange Principle by charmsandtealeaves - cute body swap fic!
Nom De Plume by AnnaBtG - !!!!! unique concept! secret erotica writer James needs Lily (his coworker who's totally NOT his muse) to pretend to be his persona but Lily hates his guts...... or does she 😏
Haircut by PetalsToFish - James gets a new haircut!!
Lipstick by PetalsToFish - James bought Lily a lipstick and she's trying it out 😏
WILF by PetalsToFish - Wizard I'd Like to Fuck 😏
Reputation (Wildest Dreams Version) by PetalsToFish - Slytherin!Lily + enemies to lovers fic <3
State of Grace (Never Saw You Coming) by PetalsToFish - Lily never saw James coming..... literally. a car accident meet-cute (no one's hurt tho :))
Prodigal by PetalsToFish - slightly angsty, exploring Lily through her years at Hogwarts from first year
Girl Crush by PetalsToFish - actually Peter's POV centred around Jily
*[The asterisks next to a fic indicate that I haven't caught up to the latest chapter update]
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Hi if you're open to requests: could you do an Adrian x fem reader with the premise of them having known eachother in highschool and sticking together as ostracized weirdos. Reader leaves evergreen after graduating HS and comes back 10 years later and runs into Adrian. I love your writing and how you characterize Adrian!!
hi hi hi i hope you enjoy this it got away from me and now its a full blown fic
A Homecoming
warnings: best friends to strangers to lovers, gut chase is his own warning, maybe ooc, angry drunk sex, bad speeches, love confessions, angry fluff if that makes sense, happy ending even tho both idiots are in their bag down bad
“How the fuck did Laura meet Gut Chase of all people?” you whisper to yourself as you pick out produce to stock the fridge of your Airbnb. It's a crappy one bedroom house on what was once the nicer side of town, the side with lovely little suburbs away from all of the apartments and trailer parks that people turned their nose up at. You remember those noses turned up at you for your lovely little apartment that you called a childhood home. Now it feels freaky to be on the other side, in a rancher in a suburb with cute little pinterest craft-esque decor on the walls and a Friends reference as the wi-fi password. Fucking yuck.
You never expected to be back in Evergreen after high school, especially not for a wedding. You flew across the country for college to basically avoid this very situation, but here you are. Your college roommate who got a job in Seattle bringing you back to your home town to marry easily the biggest douche from your high school. Your invitation to the fifteen year reunion came in the mail and was thrown directly into the trash several months ago muttering about how they even fucking found your newest address, and then the fuckin save the date from Laura came behind it. You’d known Laura was dating some gym trainer, you knew she said he was from a small town. She’s always been one to fall fast and hard, and you can count on more fingers than you've got the amount of times through college and grad school she had cried over a failed date with “the one” before getting back in the proverbial saddle.
You fondle an onion and think about the last time you saw Gut Chase. It was… the morning after your graduation. The morning you left for Gotham. He was sat at the breakfast bar of their house sipping coffee and raising an eyebrow at you trying to sneak out of his house for once instead of into it.
Now having taken that trip for the first time in reverse, your long taxi ride from the airport to the airbnb felt like a death march. You’d left behind so much and burned any bridges that could have been left here.
June 2008
“The guys are never going to believe this.”
“Dude, you’re not telling any guys about this,” you laugh, wrapping yourself around Adrian’s torso, the lean muscle taught under his skin as he laughs with you. You weight dips and moves on the trampoline below you, the stupid double wide sleeping bag doing nothing for your back, especially after you’ve been standing in heels all day and sweating in your graduation cap and gown.
“But then I can finally tell Gut and Chris it’s just that I’m a late bloomer! And if I don’t tell them it was you they won’t believe me!” Adrian exclaims, not at all worried by the open windows of his own house or the other backyards that the dawn is going to slowly creep over. You roll your eyes, your best friend always consumed with impressing his older brother and his friends.
“That's not a thing. Isn’t it enough that we had this?” you ask, you cheek pressing into his bare chest. His legs tangle in the early summer heat under the cheap sleeping bag.
“No!” He exclaims, laughing like you should be in on it too, but you don’t laugh with him. Your virginity was never important to you, it’s just that everyone else in Evergreen sucks. He’s the only one that you would have deemed worthy anyway.
You figured: You leave for college tomorrow, he’s the best person you know, and he’s hot even if he doesn’t know it. You’re both virgins- or- you were until you dragged him out into the backyard around two in the morning after passing back and forth a bottle of peach schnapps that he had been arguing about with you all night until he figured out it tasted like candy; the party his older brother hosting in yours and Adrian’s name very quickly became not about you and about him and his friends who had graduated a few years prior.
Tomorrow you’ll be a month away from being eighteen and across the country by yourself and you haven’t told anyone but your mother, but it hasn’t quite hit you yet. It can’t when a sticky condom was thrown across the yard twenty minutes ago, and That’s Not My Name by the Ting Tings is bass boosted and floating in the air from the house, and Adrian Chase just gave you your first orgasm.
“Maybe it is,” he admits, his voice now heavy with sleep. You don’t know when he falls asleep, but you leave before he wakes.
Your hand shakes at self check out, wondering if Adrian and his brother patched things up enough to be a groomsman. Laura made you a bridesmaid over FaceTime, talking your ear off about how much Dorian wasn’t her normal type but when you know you know, you know? And even then it never struck you to remember that Gut’s real name is Dorian. Maybe you’d be paired up, and maybe Adrian had changed enough in this span of time to forgive you and look you in the eye. You don’t count on it, honestly, you expect him to throw a fit the second he sees you. You don’t blame him for that hypothetical reaction either. It’s been over a decade with two degrees six terrible boyfriends and only one friend who ever came close to how special Adrian was for you. And now she’s marrying Adrian’s dickhead brother.
Its only a few minutes after you load the dirty old fridge of your airbnb (definitely only getting three stars, the place is sketch) that you phone rings, Laura’s contact illuminating the dull lighting of the kitchen. You put her on facetime while you load the pantry.
“BITCH!” she screams, her smile illuminating a dim screen as her voice cuts through all of the loud background noise, “Where are you?”
You laugh, tossing the veggie chips into the back of the pantry.
“Where am I?” you scoff, “I’m at my Airbnb, I was about to throw on a bad movie and drink some wine. Where are you, Miss Bride?”
She puts the phone up close to her face, only her eye showing as she fake whispers into the mic.
“I’m at Hooters,” she confides like its the funniest secret.
“Oh, with Mr. Groom?” you ask, teasing her as you reach for the bottle and the corkscrew, one of the few amenities left to you in the drawers.
“With tha whooooole wedding party,” she draws out the words without taking the phone away from her eye.
“You had their LIT’s, didn't you?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at her.
“And I just bought one for you,” she confirms, “So you better get an uber or I’m going to switch out your bridesmaid dress for an Aquaman costume.”
“You slut!” you shout, swiping up on her call to obey her and pull up uber, “You wouldn't. Aquaman is such a chump.”
“So get over here!” she laughs, and it's infectious. God, you've missed Laura. Sure, you facetime twice a week, but she lived with you for six years and it's like losing a hand to lose her being just a few layers of drywall away at all times.
“I am, I am! Its ordered,” you assure her, and a comfortable silence settles, she sips her drink, her hand clawlike to hold both hers and yours so she can hold her phone in the other.
“You know he fucks the fish, right?” you ask.
“You're the second person to say that tonight!”
The uber to Hooters is quick, thank god. The bright lights feeling harsh on your skin and you really wish Laura hadn't threatened you with the costume. It’s manipulation at its finest. You had the most recent kissing booth movie right there ready to be made fun of over your coffee mug full of wine. But no, you have to stand around in a Hooters in your hometown. Youre flooded with relief, however, when you walk past the hostess stand and clock that theres a touchtunes machine in the corner so you can at least entertain yourself with awful song choices. You know who would love hearing the Monster Mash followed by Call Me Maybe? You and Laura. Especially after she tries to pour that LIT down your throat the moment she sees you.
“There she is!” Laura shouts, helping you tilt back the glass immediately. It's just like college again, your days back in Gotham where you’d wander away from the college bars and see how much liquor you could get for your money.
“Mm, holy shit,” you cry out, barely able to down the drink in one go, “That's how you snagged your groom?”
She crinkles her nose at you,her blonde hair falling in her face as she leans in close.
“He happened to like my squat thrust, I know I have to work harder than that to win you over,” she quips, and you rub your nose with hers before pushing yourself out of her arms reach.
“Now where is he? Who are these bridesmaids I’m sharing my spotlight with?” you ask, letting her lead you further in towards the bar.
Gut Chase himself meets you halfway across the restaurant.
“Y/N!” He shouts, “You’re kidding me! I thought Laura-girl was joking when she said she knew you.”
“Gut!” you shout back, surprising yourself that you're actually sort of happy to see the familiar face. He pulls you under his bicep quickly, ruffling your hair as if you were his little sibling.
“She was so weird after she got kicked off the cheer squad,” he explains to his fiancee, “She spent all her time in my basement with my little brother! This one lived with us.”
“Oh, Adrian?” she asks hesitantly trying to remember his brother's name , and something weird twinges in your chest.
“Yeah,” you manage to get out, your voice and your breath practically leaving you.
Is he here? Does he hate you? Does he miss you? The first few years without him were tough, you would turn to tell him something or think of something funny you had to say and it all just had to float into the wind, forgotten. Then Laura sort of filled that gap. Then your D&D group. But the Adrian sized hole can only be squeezed into, never full filled, never a perfect fit.
“Yo, Adrian!” Gut calls out before you can stop him, “Get your ass over here!”
Gut releases his grip on you and a man across the bar looks up from his phone.
And it's like time slows down, and as he slides off the barstool “Foxy” by Jimi Hendrix floods the air like that scene in Wayne's World. Its like he moves in slow motion, his sweater doing nothing to obscure his physique and muscles, his glasses doing nothing to hide those beautiful eyes of his. He's changed so much, but not at all, just filled out what was already there. You're not sure if it's the LIT or the sight of him that's making your knees feel like they’re buckling.
“Why is she here?” Adrian asks his brother, his posture straight and tone unreadable, and Gut gives him a warning look. You almost pity Laura that you didn't brief her on on your intimate knowledge of the family she was marrying into.
“Bro…” Gut warns him, less than subtle. You've seen this before, but in high school, Gut would have just hit Adrian already or called him a pussy.
“Hey, uh, Gut? Sorry, Dorian?” he turns his attention to you as you correct yourself, “Why don't you take my dear Laura for another LIT? I could use another one too.”
Laura looks at you like you've got three heads for commanding the situation, but gladly lets her fiance lead her back over to order another, whispering to you that she’ll bring yours on Gut’s tab.
Adrian stares at you, looking you up and down, sizing you up… not sexually, maybe… maybe? Wouldn't be the worst thing, he’s always been handsome to you, but he's really filled out.
“Why are you here?” he asks you directly, his knuckles turning white around his beer.
“I….,” words fail you for a moment, breath hitching in your throat as a million things want to spill from your lips.
I’m sorry, I’ve always regretted leaving you, I wanted you to come with me, I wish I took you with me, I compared even the stupidest tinder date to you, I want to make you laugh, I loved you since I was a kid, Even Laura doesn’t get me like you do.
But you don’t say any of that. You can’t.
“I’m here for the wedding,” you say, holding it all back even though you could collapse into his arms at any moment.
“Me too,” He says, “Only I’ve been here and who knows where you were.”
Okay; you deserve that snark from him.
“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t call.”
An understatement of the century but it’ll do for now. If you say too much, you’ll cry. You cannot cry in a Hooters.
“Or say goodbye?”
“I know, I’m sorry for that too. I’m sorry for everything.”
Adrian’s arms fall around you, the cold heel of the bottle of the glass digging between your shoulder blades as you lean into the hug against him. It feels like home being in his arms again, only now the arms are filled out with muscle and he
“I’m sorry too,” Adrian offers, but there's no real emotion behind it. You can tell he doesn't really mean it; an empty thing to say just because he thinks he should, but that doesn't bother you.
“There's nothing to be sorry for, “ you console him genuinely, your hand rubbing up against his henley covered bicep.
“I know, I’m just saying that. I’m not the one who abandoned my best friend. Now I have a new best friend!”
You pull back, not at all upset because you expect that too, and at this moment Laura comes back with your LIT.
“For courage,” she whispers not at all subtly in your ear before kissing your cheek and running back to her fiance.
“Why do you need courage?” Adrian asks, not pretending he didn't hear that.
“Cause I never should have left… and you look really good.”
It's definitive, it's out there. You can't and you won't take it back for anything. It's the truth. You love Laura and the fact that you met her but you absolutely should not have left Adrian to do it.
You take the straw to your mouth and suck, not pulling away from Adrian, instead your hand still around his back clawing into his sweater to keep him there.
“You look really good too! Pretty, because women don't like being called hot.”
You dont know where he got that from, but you accept the compliment nonetheless.
“You know, I was really mad at you for like a year, but then I just got over it, I figured you were trying to teach me some weird lesson about missed opportunities or acting out part of some romantic comedy but then you didn't come back and… I’ll shut up now,” he says, misreading your attention on him as a bad thing.
“I wanted to call you back,” you admit, “But how do I call you and say: Hey, I’m in Gotham now! Even though we were supposed to get dinner tonight I guess I wont be making those plans. I didnt know what to do.”
“I could have come with you!”
You both know thats a fucking lie.
“I’m glad I got to see you,” you offer, the words so bittersweet on your tongue. His eyes search your face, and you realize then you probably should have re-applied some make up. Its set into your face from the flight this morning and all of the errands you've run. You probably look like some kind of victim.
"Me too, because honesty I've thought about that night a lot. I've tried to rank where it falls between all the threesomes I've had."
Weird flex, but, okay.
"I do too," you admit as you grab the straw for another sip, "not the threesomes thing, but I think about it... about you."
Something about Adrian's gaze has you open and honest, moreso than you would normally be with a man. But then again, Adrian isn't just some man...
“Finish that,” he tells you, his eyes zeroed in to where your lips and the straw connect. You obey, drinking what you can before putting the glass down on the nearest empty table.
“Adrian I-” You get cut off by his lips capturing yours; Adrian kisses you with a passion you haven’t felt in fucking years, the passion of someone who actually cared. Sure, you've had boyfriends and girlfriends, but none have kissed you like this.
Instead of hot and bothered you feel cold… and wet.
“Adrian, what the fuck-?” you whisper when you can break away, something dripping down your leg. His beer spilling as he tilts the bottle carelessly to grip you better. You break away from him to shake the beer off of your jeans, a puddle forming on the ground. He scrambles to right the turned bottle and place it on the same table as your LIT.
“I have no idea what I’m doing, I’m not good at understanding people,” he admits to you as if you didnt spend all of high school attached at the hip, and this time you kiss him, your hands coming up to cup his clean-shaven jawline.
The next thing you know, you're back at your airbnb, having Irish goodbye’d to Laura and Gut and without meeting or talking to the rest of the wedding party. Youre being a bad friend and a bad bridesmaid and you know it. You hadn’t had the chance to ask Adrian why Gut was so friendly to him, though Laura might have a hand in that. You hadn’t had the chance to ask where he worked, what he liked to do, who Adrian now was really.
Adrian’s mouth barely leaves yours the second the door is closed, instead backing you quickly into what he correctly guessed is the bedroom of the house. His reflexes are sharp, unlike the awkward teen he was, and he knows how to perfectly steer you to your bed for the next week.
You walk backwards awkwardly until your calves meet the boxspring unceremoniously. He tilts you back until you fall on your own, your elbows catching you as he follows suit and crawls on top of your figure. You don't know where the confidence comes from, but then again it had fifteen years to form in him. Adrian pulls off your shoes and your pants quickly as he moves up the bed, not even trying to hide his prowess, moving like some kind of well trained machine. He’s come to impress even though he's done more than that by simply not snubbing you or telling you off in the middle of a Hooters, although both would have been deserved.
But you; You feel like you're back out on that trampoline again, your graduation dress pushed up around your waist, all too bare under him. No time has passed, it’s all so familiar -
“I should hate you” he states, his lips hovering over your navel, “But it's weird, I don't! In fact, I feel like I should be thanking you. If hadn't left and rejected me so hard I wouldn't have gotten so buff and good looking.”
“You should hate me,” you agree, your breath and your words feeling lost in your chest under the weight of him on top of you. His lips travel from your navel to your ribcage, pushing your shirt up as he goes, leaving a trail of fire in their path. You arch your back into his motions, your hands helping him pull the shirt off, awkwardly shuffling until you can fling it to some random corner of the room. Adrian’s eyes widen when he sees your bralette, mesh and flimsy and hiding nothing from him.
He pulls one of the dark blue mesh cups down, immediately latching his lips around your pert nipple, sucking and earning a sharp inhale of breath from you. He chuckles against your skin at your reaction to him, and then does it again. Cocky asshole. You can't help but compare this to the trampoline. He was so unsure, fumbling and almost tearful at the fear of fucking something up. You led the way, urged him on. Adrian now needs no urging, no guidance in making you squirm beneath him. His lips release your nipple, and he bites down at the top of the swell of your breast, sure to leave a mark. Youll have to remember to put a spoon in the freezer tomorrow morning or else you could end up with a wardrobe malfunction for the wedding. Cocky bastard, you think, leaving his mark on you.
But really, he’d left so many marks on you that still havent faded. Its the way your ringtone from high school never changed, its the way you bought only the brands of locks Adrian said were best for each apartment you've had, its the way you buy things in teal if theres the option. Your fucking spatula back home is one of his many marks.
“Ah!” you yelp when his bite gets a little too hard, your perfectly manicured fake nails digging into his back. Adrian laughs again and pulls himself up to reach your neck, his hands exploring everywhere they can, teasing at your chest, your waist, your hips.
“Fuck me,” you plead as his lips connect with the pulsepoint on your throat.
“Youre sure?” He asks, “You know, you shouldn’t fuck someone who should hate you. That's just asking for complications.”
And although he gives you an out, he’s already gone back to kissing and licking at your throat and groping at every curve of your body. You're thinking with your pussy, not your mind right now. You know there should be a conversation instead of whats happening right now. Maybe some tears shed, maybe a nostalgic movie and some honest explanations on your part.
But you don't initiate any of that.
“Then fuck me like you hate me,” you say instead.
Adrian grinds his jean clad length against your core, and you whine, girlish and high pitched and embarrassing. He shushes you, removing himself from your grasp to yank off his sweater and undershirt, then his jeans all discarded over the edge of the foot of the bed.
He moves to you, working your panties down your legs until you can kick them off the bed at your ankles, and sheds his boxers with them. His eyes follow the trail of your legs to your center, already dripping and ready for him.
“You really want that?” he asks, and it sounds rhetorical. You didnt know Adrian could do that. He traces his calloused hands up the insides of your thighs, letting his fingertips tease you where you need him most. You nod fervently, arching your back to try to reach him, bring him closer.
“Please?” you ask, wanton and pathetic under him. He draws his thumb between your folds, testing the metaphorical waters. He draws low, anticipation laced moans from your lips, teasing and slow.
And then without warning pushes two fingers into you.
Your gasp echoes against the cliches wall decor, rattling the glass of the live laugh love frame, shaking the flimsy bedframe.
He does not start slowly, no, he gives you no mercy in his motions, his smirk teasing and taunting you as he thrusts his hand.
“Adrian, I- Fuck!” you struggle to find the words, your hands moving to his forearms and digging your nails in, trying to hold on for dear life.
“This is what you wanted, right?” he asks. Fuck, you didn’t know Adrian could talk like this. And to think, you could have had this the whole time if you just stayed here.
“Yeah,” you whine, “Yeah, please.”
You're not sure what youre begging for. To cum? To feel him? You just want more.
“I’ll give you exactly what you want,” he leans down like he’s going to kiss you, and then instead nips at your lip before pulling back. Its cruel.
His fingers move in, out, in, out, inout, and then slow to a halt inside you. You squirm under him, needing him to do anything. Anything.
“I can feel you squeezing me,” he says, and you flush in embarrassment, neediness and heat settling in your chest.
“Adrian, I need you,” Your voice sounds far away, underwater, foreign to your ears. Who is this person? How and when did you ever get this needy, this desperate? His smile grows, but it does not give you any comfort.
Adrian removes his fingers from you, lifting them up to his nose to smell them.
“Like fucking candy,” he remarks, and pushes his boxers down, easily discarding them.
He leans back down, his weight on you once more. A weighted blanket, a comfort as his chest presses against yours. You kiss him, the way a smoker needs a cigarette, pulling and all consuming; your hands find purchase in his hair, your body fully reactive to every tiny movement of his lips against yours. His tongue sweeps across your lips, easily parting them the same way he easily parted your legs. He moves against you, rock hard in the crux of your thigh, his big hands holding your hips in place as he finds his way. Adrian probes along, pushing his hips in slow teasing motions until he finds his rightful spot at your center.
“I’m gonna make you hate me,” he whispers between kisses, and you brace yourself against him, foreheads touching and his glasses fogged.
He pushes into you with a groan, bottoming out and giving you the grace to adjust before he starts to move.
Adrian’s hips rock you, the whole bed, your whole world, your hands tighten around his curls as they pick up in pace, the rhythm of the bedframe banging against the bed punctuating each of his movements. He picks up his pace quickly, and you move in time easily, rolling your hips to meet his with each thrust.
“Fffffuck,” you stutter, losing control of your lips, your tongue, both moving of their own accord and saying shit. There’s a war in your brain, part of you wants to stay in control, wants to make sense of this; the other side wants everything Adrian to overtake everything you.
“I’m gonna make you hate me,” he repeats, switching up his angle to make your next moan a pitiful squeak in your throat.
“You,” you gasp again, “You said that.”
His hands roam the geography of your body, mapping each curve and dip of you, not missing a single centimeter. Everything he touches turns to flame, hot under him and hot under his touch, pushing you closer and closer to your boiling point.
You won't last long, you know that. Adrian moans above you, dragging his lips against the corner of yours as he moves, closer and closer.
And then he pulls out. You whine at the missing contact, the chill that sets in without his heat in your orbit. You pout, lips messy and swollen.
“Turn over,” he demands, moving his finger in a circle to demonstrate his intention. You obey quickly, pushing yourself onto your hands and knees. His hands land first on your ass, smacking both sides of your cheeks and whispering “hell yeah” in a tone you're definitely sure you weren't supposed to hear. His hands then slide from your ass to your hip, then to your back. He unclips your bra and lets the straps fall down your shoulders.
He bends down over you, letting his chest press into your bare back as he presses a kiss to the space where your neck and shoulder meet.
“Down, girl,” he says, as one of his big hands starts to push your shoulder down until you cave into his movements, folding into the bed until your face hits the pillow.
Fuck, all control of the situation you had, you’ve lost. The ground crumbling out from under you and Adrian can mold and manipulate you any way he wants to, and you want him to.
His free hand strokes down the curve of your back, and then leaves you, only to position himself back at your entrance.
“Oh, you look beautiful like this,” Adrian sighs, sounding strained. You've always trusted Adrian to be honest, and you can believe he means it, like he would worship you face down ass up.
He presses his length into you slowly, letting you feel every inch of him, a glacial pace until he’s fully sheathed.
Adrian wiggles his hips when theyre fully against your ass, and you huff in laughter, giggling into the pillow before he silences you with a rough thrust.
This new angle feels like the wind has been knocked out of you, but in a way that you want to feel over and over again, in a way that makes you feel breathless and alive. The next thrust and the one after that leave you gasping and struggling for air, the ones after it drawing high pitched whines into the silk of the pillowcases.
He pistons into you quickly after that, like a man with something to prove. He presses his full length into you each time, and each time hitting a spot inside you that has you feeling fuzzy and hot all over. His hand returns to your hip to guide his motions and yours.
You chase your high, rocking back into his thrusts and meeting each of them half way. Your moans are swallowed in the silk, wrapped and buried down deep into the mattress, rooted in him and the moment.
“How am I doing?” he asks, and sensuality gone from his voice, but thats just Adrian.
You moan in response, his fingers digging into your skin, sure to leave crescent moons in your skin that would last far into the morning.
“Close,” you manage to squeak out, your voice barely audible, but Adrian picks up on what you're trying to say.
“Yeah? You wanna come on my dick?” he asks, but doesn’t give you a choice otherwise. Adrian moves his hand from gripping your hip to between your legs. His fingers circle your clit, just the right amount of pressure to make it feel like you're about to snap.
“Please,” you whine, arching your back further into the friction.
“Let go, baby, let go,” he coaxes you, his lips against your spine and you finally give in to him.
He slows and kisses your shoulder while you ride your high, whispering praise against your skin as you shudder beneath him, his whole frame bent over yours. His hand leaves your clit and both come up to hug around your waist, anchoring you to him and the world and bringing you back down. All you can think of is that you could have had this the whole time. Fifteen years of this.
But then he returns to his former position, the hand on your shoulder returning there as he picks up the pace again. It stings when he starts to move, but not terribly. A soothing burn that you find yourself rocking back into without a second thought.
“Where can I?” He asks through gritted teeth, lifting his hand off of your shoulder so you can lift your head up.
“Inside,” you answer, voice still muffled by the pillow, "I'll get plan b, there's always a coupon for that shit."
“Got it,” he confirms, and then speeds up his pace again. This time his hips are messy, without rhythm as his body meets yours, his voice uncontrolled as me moans without restraint.
Even overstimulated and tired, you rock back in time to meet him, moaning each time his hip bones meet your ass.
“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna-” he stutters, and pulls back unceremoniously, heat streaming and filling you only seconds later. You shift slowly, trying to get your knees out from under you.
Adrian stops you though, one of his hands a soothing comfort on your hip to guide you to a comfier position as his other hand dabs a tissue from the bedside on your back.
He cleans you off remarkably gently, moving over you to throw himself down on the blankets beside you, his head hitting the empty second pillow. Your back feels sticky and cold, but you don't mind at all. You turn your head so at least one one your eyes can peek out at him from where you lay spent and tired, a mess of sweat and spit and butterflies in your stomach. He lays in a similar state, breathing deeply with a lazy smile across his features.
It feels right.
“Stay and cuddle?” you ask, voice wary from use and the need for sleep. You feebly move your hand toward him, reaching out to straighten his glasses.
“Sure,” he says, “But I won't be here when you wake up.”
He puts his big arm across your back, and where you should feel the familiar warmth you only feel ice.
“Really?” you ask, but fuck, thats a mistake. You shouldn't say anything. It's an instant realization you don't want to hear anything he’s about to say.
“It’s what we do, right?” Adrian says it like it’s a joke, but there’s venom in his words. It drips through, from his teeth to yours, and sinks in.
He pulls you close, his actions not matching his words, and snuggles in, his hot breath fanning out against your face. His eyes close and he lets his body relax quickly. You try to do the same, but you end up staring at the ceiling fan, trying to think of any reason why Adrian would actually stay. You don't know when you fall asleep, but it's long after he does.
True to his word, he’s not in the airbnb when you wake up. Just cold sheets and an empty glass of water and a half eaten green apple on your counter. That's all to signify he was even here, that you and your best friend had a sleepover after fifteen years. No real evidence, no trophy, not even his phone number, not even a cup left in the sink for you to clean when you do the dishes. Even the marks of his nails are fading away into nothing.
You deserve that, you think, all of Adrian’s talk of hate fucking of course wasnt a joke. When had he ever not said what he meant? He’d always told you what was on his mind, no filter and often TMI. But that doesnt stop the tears that fall, the streaking of last night's mascara down your cheekbones and the messy foundation you didn't take off.
True to your words last night as well, before you even brush your teeth you order a plan b kit from Doordash. Now you wait, and wallow.
It comes quickly, you take it, you feel no different.
You lay on the couch, the bed feeling weird and wrong now that it's been used and abandoned by Adrian. It's definitely going to be a long week, you think, and you debate trying to contact the airbnb host to see if you can check out early. Maybe you can take a rental car up to that town they shot Twin Peaks in and stay at the hotel or something.
This was a mistake. All of it. You shouldn't have let Adrian kiss you, you shouldn't have kissed him. You shouldn't have wanted him. You shouldn't still want him.
Your phone rings. Laura.
“Holy shit,” she sighs, her voice shaking, “Can I ask you the biggest favor?”
You have nothing to lose at this point, besides your comfort in the stilettos she has you wearing for the bridal party.
“Yeah, whats up?”
“I need,” her voice breaks, and you can tell it's serious.
“Whoa, what do you need? I’ll drop everything,” you interrupt and reassure her, and it's not like you had anything scheduled but self pity until the rehearsal tonight and the dinner at Fennel Fields afterwards. Laura’s not someone you've ever liked to hear or see cry, because she never does so unless she has a good reason.
“Gina’s plane got delayed,” she explains, “You remember Gina?”
You remember Gina well, Laura’s best friend since diapers, your Adrian basically. She was the maid of honor and you were basically second in command to her.
“Babe, I know Geen,” You remind her. Gina gave you your first pot brownie.
“Well her plane got delayed and she's stuck in Metropolis on her layover until the morning of the wedding and then she still might miss hair and make up but she's not here for the rehearsal dinner speech and I don't know what to do,” Laura sucks in a desperate breath, “I don't want to cancel the dinner speeches I know Dorian's best man had a plan.”
“You don't have to,” you tell her, “You made me second in command.”
“I know, I need you to write a speech if you can.”
At this point you can tell Laura is crying on the other end of the line.
“It's done. Don't worry your sexy little face about it,” you comfort her, not really thinking about what you're signing yourself up for but your undying loyalty to her taking over the rational thought in your mind.
“That doesn't make sense,” her voice is still watery, but you can hear the smile through it.
“Hang up on me and go make out with Gut,” you tell her, “Leave the amateur hour to me.”
And she does just that, whispering her thanks to you as she cuts herself off.
Oh, what have you gotten yourself into?
This fucking speech, your saving grace of a distraction. Fuck, fuck, fuck what do I say? You think. You wrack your brain on what to say, you practice, you write line after line in green glittery gel pen on a piece of stationary you found in the homes kitchen. You treat it like a stand up set, ‘yes and-ing’ yourself to death to try to think of something that doesn't sound stupid. You've never been in a long term relationship that was ever actually going anywhere. You're so incapable of wording what love is…
No, thats a lie you tell yourself. The words come easily now, the words flow like water from a fountain.
It's not clear how you're going to go through the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner. Knowing Adrian will be in the same proximity as you; Knowing that with Adrian one kiss is too many and a thousand is never enough. You want to bash your head against the wall, but instead you save your airbnb fees and focus on doing your hair and makeup and getting dressed.
You look at the dress you brought for the rehearsal, one of two garment bags hanging on the top of the closet door. Your bridesmaid dress; an olive green, low cut, with a soft flowing skirt. And then the dress for tonight, one that was already in your closet at home from your thrifting as a broke college student; navy vintage polyester taffeta, with an extremely tight square neck bodice and a tea length skirt that puffed out. You had sewn a comically big pink heart with white lace into the bottom of the bodice a week after you had gotten it. Laura came home to you sitting with fabric and thread strewn across the floor of your shared apartment. You knew this dress was a memory between you two, and that's why you picked it for tonight. Putting it on alone is a little difficult, but you manage. The only thing Laura asked out of your comfort zone was that all bridesmaids wore silver stilettos. Fucking evil, but you throw those on the passenger seat of your rental car.
You crinkle the paper with your speech in your hand as you clutch it against the steering wheel, and pull out of the driveway of the rancher.
The rehearsal goes smoothly, but that wasn't the part you were worried about. You only wrinkled part of your skirt under your sweaty hands but for the most part it was salvageable. You're walking with one of Gut’s coworkers, a nice guy named Mike who has also never been in a wedding before and he’s easy to use as a distraction from those green eyes you can't stand to feel on your skin. Laura is happy and that's what matters. That's what you tell yourself every time your smile falters.
You avoid his eyes at all costs as you enter the back room of Fennel Fields, taking your seat next to Laura’s mother, taking the Maid of Honor seat and looking at the fixed course menu after a polite hello to the woman who helped you find a Gotham apartment without remnants of fear gas in the venting. Adrian sits at the table diagonal from you now, a slight relief from the onslaught of him and everything about him. Your clammy hand reaches for the menu, passing it to the waiter nearby after clarifying that everything looked fine with no substitutions; everyone does the same and you try to keep yourself preoccupied by any means necessary to avoid that gaze.
Champagne is poured and you want to drink it down, want to take the edge off in any way possible.
But you don't. You can't. The note in your dress pocket prevents you from doing that.
Gut’s best man goes first. He gives a lovely speech, you figure. He talks about how Laura and Gut are like puzzle pieces or something and how she’s been such a light in his life. It's odd to think that Gut’s friends know so much of Laura, that she’s become one of their group. Her other bridesmaids are even Gut’s friend’s wives and girlfriends except for you and Gina and one other girl, her coworker at this new job.
You keep your eyes trained on him, and on Gut and Laura. They look so in love, so genuinely happy. Fuck, its beautiful.
“So I’ll end this trainwreck on a toast. To the lovely Bride and Groom: may they make their honeymoon flight, and not lose their luggage!”
You laugh, whispering a cheers before tapping your flute on the table and finally sipping champagne yourself.
Now it's your turn. On unsteady legs, whether from the stilettos Laura has you wearing or your emotional state, you rise from your seat and pull the grossly crumpled piece of paper from your dress pocket.
The microphone gets passed to you and you steel yourself to do your best stage face and voice. Give them senior year at Gotham University’s production of Miss Julie.
Here goes nothing.
“Hi,” you start, clear and confident, “I’m not Gina. I’m sorry, I wish I was.”
Laura’s mom and a few of the wedding party laugh. You don't look at Adrian.
“And to make matters worse, I’m not even qualified to give this speech.”
You earn another laugh, this time from more people, and Laura snorts and slams her hand down on the table. She can correctly guess how you screamed in your airbnb trying to write this, having watched you struggle through editing stand up sets for years. She knows you probably talked to yourself in the mirror to get this right.
“I’ve sabotaged my chance at love but these kids? They know what they’re doing.”
What the fuck does that next line say, you sweaty bitch? Why the fuck did you use gel pens for this?
“Before I moved into my studio in Condiment King’s territory—“ you pause for laughter and get some, “— I lived with Laura. And she was good, I guess.”
You stick your tongue out at her, winking.
“She showed me how to use a hair straightener and how to shotgun a beer, but most importantly she showed me what it looks like to actively be vulnerable and put yourself on the line for love. She faced the dating world before tinder, but she also extended that vulnerability to me. With her making soup for me when I’d had a crappy day, and calling me out when I’d done something wrong to put me back on the right path, she always loved me fully and with care. Not gentleness, though. After a frat formal she threw a glass at me once.”
The room erupted in laughter and Laura looked fake-embarrassed.
“But I have also had the privilege of knowing the groom. Dorian, or as I know him, Gut Chase, was someone I always knew would make sure I didn’t end up dead in a ditch. I was briefly a cheerleader, he was in football and a few years older, but I had someone close to him that I held dearly and he kept that in mind. I don’t think he liked me much when we were growing up, but he always made sure I had a ride home and a place to stay. I wasn’t allowed to speak to him in public but I wasn’t going to get hurt around him.”
The room laughed again, although you only focus on the smile of one of the groomsmen who doesn't meet your gaze. You crumple the paper further because you can’t even read it at this point and you don’t remember what it said.
“The point is, I don't need to have some love story of my own to know what care and love look like when it comes to these two. I know I could have had something like this and I'm endlessly jealous of my prettier college roommate. And judging from last night and today I’ve never seen such explicit love between two people, the way they orbit each other and care for the people in their lives. They've found someone who is not only going to be there at night for them when things are fun, but they've found someone who’s going to be there in the morning. And someone they're going to be there in the morning for. Someone that's going to take care of the good and the bad and someone that they're going to show up for in that way, too. It’s fucking beautiful. I’m sorry for cursing. Let’s get hammered.”
You knock back your champagne and remind yourself to call an uber and leave your rental here. Maybe it's heavy handed that you mentioned the morning. But really, had you stayed that morning with Adrian you would have never left. You would have thrown away college had he kissed you again the morning after. People cheer and you scurry to get away from the spotlight, people start to stand from where they were and waiters start to clear plates and people begin to go to the bar. You're one of the first.
You order another glass of champagne. Had Adrian asked, you would have stayed. You know that. You've always known that, and that's exactly why you had to leave before he woke up. Fate is cruel, bringing you back here.
“Baaabe!” Laura shouts, Gut in tow, and throws her arms around you.
You hug her back with the arm not holding your glass.
“That was amazing,” she says, and you can only scoff, not willing to take the praise.
“You did good, Runt,” Gut offers, patting your shoulder with a fond smile on his face. Maybe people can change.
“Thanks guys,” you sigh, and try to gulp down this next glass as well.
“Who were you talking about?” Laura asks.
You choke on your sip.
“Who?”
“In the speech, you said you blew it with someone, who was it?”
Gut’s grip on your shoulder gets a little tighter.
“Do you want a tequila shot?” you deflect, and never one to turn down a challenge, she accepts.
You shoot Gut a thankful glance, although he actually didn't do anything.
The next morning you wake up to your alarm with the slightest headache, two full glasses of water and a bottle of advil on your bedside table that you don't remember placing there but you also don't expect to with all the champagne and tequila going to your head.
It's still forty five minutes before you have to be at the wedding venue but you shower in under ten minutes and call an uber (thankful for your foresight to leave your car last night) the second you're dry. It's a good thing the ride is quick to the venue and they dont mind that you've thrown your bridesmaid dress and shoes and an additional backpack across the back seat. The uber driver is far too loud and friendly for this hour, your headache starting to get stronger even though you took the advil.
Laura’s already there and panicking, her lashes done and her immediately screaming at you to get into the hair chair even though it's technically not correct on her schedule. Janessa should be going first but you don't question a bride thats near tears. You hop in and close your eyes, and combing or prodding is fine with you, as long as you don't have to be standing.
By the time your hair is done other bridesmaids trickle in, and by the time everyone is done Gina finally is able to make an appearance and you all breathe a sigh of relief at Laura’s worry finally dissolved. You all look nice. Laura looks like a princess. You're not sure if you can get through this wedding without crying like a baby now that you see her all done up. Fuck. She ushers you all out as she stays behind, a smile that finally looks genuine plastered on her face, ready for her first looks with her new husband before the rest of the world gets to see her.
“Thank you,” she whispers one last time to you, and you squeeze her hand before you leave the bridal suite to go line up in preparation for the actual wedding itself.
“— You moron!”
You catch the end of whatever Gut is whisper-shouting at Adrian in the lobby, handsome in his suit and anxiety painted on his face and seeping from his gritted and bared teeth.
You walk the rest of the way over after getting down the rest of the stairs, skirt of your dress fluttering as you move, and put your hand on Gut’s arm not unlike the way he did to you last night.
“Hey, whatever's going on, I got it,” you tell him, not looking Adrian’s way still in fear of your own emotional state. You aren't sure why you offered to help at all, but there's no backing out now.
“He wants to switch partners to walk with you, which is stupid and not part of the plan,” Gut explains. What the fuck. Actually what the fuck.
You shake your head, and you bury the pit in your stomach. Your emotions aren't the most important ones today and others are at stake. Fuck it, you’ll take one for the team and maybe cry in the bathroom later and blame it on the alcohol, as long as it doesn't stop you from the cotton eyed joe at the reception.
“Let us switch, your bride is upstairs waiting, we’ll handle shit down here,” you tell him, voice already exasperated, and that seems to light a fire under his ass. He moves to the staircase without another warning and salutes towards you and his little brother.
His little brother whom you still cannot look in the eye.
The rest of the bridal party starts to get themselves together at the disappearance of the groom, and you sort yourself in order. Shoes are good, hair is good, dress is good, you are good to go; and once youre over this hiccup you can party with Laura and the other bridesmaids.
“Look, I’m sorry-” Adrian starts as you link your arm in his own. He looks so fucking good in the suit, so good you need him to shut up before the last of your dignity leaves you.
“Don't even worry about it,” you say, still not looking at him, “We’re even, remember?”
Adrian seems to deflate at your words, but if you know Adrian you know that doesn't mean he’s given up.
“I’m just saying, you didn't deserve that. I should have stayed.”
You eye up Gina in front of you, her long hair cascading down her back, happily joking with the best man. Mike’s now behind you, with Laura’s work friend. Adrian’s arm feels like a cage around you.
“Don’t worry about it,” you mumble, trying to focus on how it feels to be hungover in stilettos. Bad, but you can use that pain as a distraction.
“See, you say that,” you're in for an Adrian rant, and you wish you could appreciate it, “But you won't look at me, and then your speech last night had me thinking, and then you didn't let me talk to you about it after you drank a lot of tequila with my brother and even though I drove you home you wouldnt let me make sure you drank your water.”
He looks at you with expectant eyes, asking you to crack.
He says it so easily, as if his mini rant doesnt throw a spear through the heart of your barely calm and cool persona. As if your blood doesn't run cold knowing Adrian was in the airbnb again, only to care for you and look out for your safety. Adrian is a good guy, and as your pinky toe pinches in the straps of the stiletto while you rock away from him, you regret never calling most of all. Your eyes search his face for an hint of a lie, but you can't find one. So you do what you can, you look away from him.
“I drank the water,” is all you can say, the tip of the iceberg of what you really mean. His free hand squeezes your elbow, an exchange.
The opening chords of the organist strike, and you recoil at the sound, sighing deeply as everyone readies themselves.
Gina is all you want to focus on, her two braids tied into the curls the stylist sweat over in a half up-do that would rival what the wig makers on Game of Thrones could do.
“But anyways, I’m trying to apologize.”
You can't even find a bobby pin sticking out on her whole head.
“I don't want an apology.”
You want to run away again. You want to fuck him in the bathroom of this venue. You want to fight him to the death. You want to stain his clean shaven cheek with your lipstick.
“Then what do you want? You're torturing me, and I would know, I’ve been tortured. This is like emotional though, not physical.”
Ignore whatever that means.
“I want to know what you would have done if you didn't leave.”
Fuck, why did you say that? Quick, think about escape routes, find fire exits. Run for Mount Rainier, burn down the airbnb. Goodbye!
“Well, not fucking leave,” he starts, lowering his voice to a whisper when the doors open to reveal all of the guests.
You just tilt your head, yeah, figures.
“You like everything bagels with chive and onion cream cheese, and I would have gotten you one. They make your breath smell like shit but I would have kissed you anyway just to prove a point.”
That's basically a confession of love right there.
You and Adrian walk down the aisle, a smile tugging at your lips, but you refuse to let it stick. The venue is beautiful, sage green and pink everywhere, a flower arch out of some perfume commercial and trendy reclaimed wood galore.
“Can we just talk?” he asks, his voice rising and you immediately try to shush him as discreetly as you can.
“Save a dance for me at the reception,” you whisper to him, preparing yourself to take your place in the line up at the altar.
“But I wanted to talk-”
You shush him again, a little harsher than you mean to, but he seems to get the idea.
“Oh! duh— I didn't bring a date! I don’t have a dance partner to begin with,” he answers, and the smile you’ve been trying to hide breaks through. You squeeze his arm as you leave his embrace and go to stand on your side.
You look out at the crowd, a lot of them unfamiliar faces. A few friends from Laura’s major and their partners, a few cousins and kids you met when you went to her summer house, a few of Gut’s friends on the other side (save for Chris Smith, thank fucking god, you would absolutely not be surviving this if you had to hear him say anything about your tits) and Gut’s cousins from Northern California. You stop for a moment on two empty chairs, for Gut and Adrian’s parents. Suddenly you're sixteen again, watching Adrian push you away for the comfort of shooting ranges instead of talking about his own parents' deaths as a result of a car chase gone wrong. Your eye’s flicker to Adrian, his eyes already set straight on you, his smile not matching how his eyes scan you. Gut enters and practically power walks down the aisle, and you mote that theres already a noticeable amount of lipstick on the corner of his lips.
The music changes.
The most beautiful woman you've ever seen walks down the aisle.
You can feel Adrian’s eyes on you the entire ceremony.
Adrian doesn't leave your side the entire cocktail hour, following you around and asking about all of your drink and snack preferences.
“I like pomegranate martinis, you know, a little Hades and Persephone thing going on?” You joke, and he orders you one from the drink station without a second glance.
“You mean like Hercules, the Disney movie?” he asks when he hands you your glass, hand steady and careful not to spill it.
You could scoff, or make a joke, or correct him, but instead you just smile and say, “Yeah, Adrian!” just to see his smile get even wider.
“Thats a really good movie, even if its for kids,” he muses.
“So what does Adrian Chase drink?”
He pauses and thinks it over for a minute.
“Yeungling,” he says, but he doesn't try to hide his grimace at the answer, his teeth bared and his eyes averted.
“So thats a lie,” you point out immediately over the rim of your glass. Adrian’s eyes dart over to where Laura and his brother are talking to some distant relative, definitely from Laura’s side. They're both the happiest you've ever seen them and you can’t help but to thank whatever cosmic power led them to meet.
“Yeah, Gut says a bay breeze is chick stuff,” Adrian admits, and you figured this was the case. He was always pulling you down candy aisles or getting the really sweet stuff as far as slurpee flavors went.
“Get the fucking bay breeze,” you tell him, and his whole face lights up. When was the last time this man got himself a girlie tropical drink?
“Okay! I mean, I've gotta hide it, but if you won’t judge me then I’ll do it,” he turns away from you, already ready to get the bartender’s attention again to order.
Theres a million things you want to say and all you can come up with is talking about his drinking habits? You only know where the guy works because you asked one of his cousins why the rehearsal dinner was at Fennell Fields and she told you he basically was allowed to book the back room for free because he worked there. You have so many things to ask him, so many things to say, and you ask him about a fucking drink.
“You were right, this is way better. You said we could talk now?” he asks, not hiding his eagerness as he talks with the bendy straw still between his teeth.
You exhale harshly, pushing the air through your nose, nodding.
“Yeah,” you mumble, not wanting to correct him that the cocktail hour technically isnt the reception. Thats an easy mistake to make, its close enough.
He nods his head towards the back doors, leading out to the gardens that a few people are at, but its much less crowded than the venue proper. At least hes giving you that safety net.
Each step feels heavier, and you once again curse the fact that Laura is a stilettos girl and made you be the same for a weekend. But the garden is beautiful, it looks like a small town in Washington’s version of the Versailles gardens, which you've never seen outside of Google images so it doesn't matter to miss out on the real thing.
He leads you to a bench, and pats it as he sits down on one end. You sweep the flow skirt under you and sit too, thankful to be off your feet after the past few hours.
"You can take those off if you want," he points his glass at your heels, "We can swap? They don't look comfy."
"We can't swap," you chuckle, but you unbuckle the heels and stretch your feet on the pavement.
“Well, we should talk,” he says, as if prompting you. The whole situation feels like there’s some kind of teleprompter you should be able to read, some magical thing to say, but there’s not. You don’t have words, just feelings. The anxiety, the joy, the ecstasy, the profound sadness and emptiness of the whole thing. There’s no way to put it into words. You don’t know how to word that you’ve forgotten him for maybe only ten of the months you’ve been away. Often wondering with other dates if Adrian was nicer than them, if he was dating. Wondering if Adrian was having a good life, if Adrian made friends. Seldom you forgot about him. And none of it you can voice without sounding worse than you already are.
“I’m sorry,” you say, looking down into your martini, the last few sips staring back at you.
“You’ve said that already. Can I talk?” he asks. You nod, still not meeting his gaze.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “Like I said before, you didn't deserve that.”
“I kinda did,” you offer, shrugging.
“Will you stop?” he asks, his eyes widening behind his glasses. You only grimace and nod for him to continue.
“Sorry, anyway, you didn't deserve that. I know you had to have a good reason for leaving without saying anything. And I have to admit, I have kept tabs on you. Not in a creepy way,” he pauses, “Maybe in a creepy way, but not in an illegal way. When the library put up the article about your job in Gotham I took it because that's not real stealing, everything is free in the library.”
That's not how libraries work. You remember that article, you were put on a 30 under 30 article for art and design in Gotham; you just didn't know the article made its way back to Evergreen. It's sweet that he stole the article, even though he could have just bought a copy of the magazine.
You nod at him, needing him to continue.
“And then when I saw you it all just kinda, came up, you know?”
You do know. Its that same vacuum that sucked air from your lungs and slowed the time down in that fucking Hooters that now feels so much more meaningful and cosmic instead of being what it is. God, what a place for a reunion.
“Yeah, I know,” you say, your voice just above a whisper.
“I didn’t want to be mean, but I felt like I had to, I don’t know why.”
But you know why, you know exactly why.
“No it’s fine, I would have done the same,” you say, the knuckle of your free hand brushing the soft material of his suit pants.
“Yeah. I know,” he laughs, his smile overtaking all of his features. This feels normal, finally. You’re on the same wavelength.
“And I have to admit, I was a little jealous of Laura for taking my best friend position once I heard about you guys in college.”
You roll your eyes, letting yourself lean into him, his shoulder warm under his shirt. His arms look fucking good, with the crisp white
“Where’d your suit jacket go?” you ask, lowering your head to rest it against him.
“Gut’s gonna kill me,” he answers, and you can pretty much assume he’s lost it.
Laughter escapes your lips, loud and almost cackling, and you sit back up so as to not spill your drink as the laughter keeps coming. Adrian joins in, his eyes closed behind those glasses that haven't changed in the past fifteen years, laughter boisterous and light.
“Can we start over?” you interrupt your own laughter, setting your glass down on the ground next to the bench.
Adrian’s laughter subsides, and he goes quiet. He thinks about it for a second.
“Hmm, no,” he answers. Your hands fall limp in your lap, the skirt of your dress making a light swooshing noise at the contact. He could have punched you just now and it would have been less of a surprise to you.
“Oh,” you sigh, trying and failing to play it cool. Your shoulders feel heavy.
“I can’t start over with someone who’s seen my penis… or wore my retainer when she lost hers. Which was really gross,” he laughs, this time a subdued chuckle with a hint of nostalgia, and his eyes travel up and down your body again. You shiver under his gaze.
“Yeah, that was nasty,” you admit, but your teeth are straight no matter what.
You both go quiet, staring out at the treeline behind the venue. A cosmic reset. His hand scoots closer to you on the seat of the bench. The wind whistles and Party Rock Anthem is muffled and obscured by the glass doors leading back into the cocktail hour.
“So your brother and my college roommate, huh?” you break the stillness.
“Yeah, it's uh,” he looks down at his watch, “almost the end of cocktail hour. We get to walk in together, right?”
“Yep,” you confirm, “You made sure of that with the stunt you pulled this morning.”
If he's at all embarrassed, he doesn't show it.
You stand up, rolling your eyes.
“C’mon,” you say, holding your hand out to him.
A cosmic restart.
“And here is your wedding party!” the DJ announces over the microphone. The first couple dances out from under the sting light arch, offbeat and singing along. Then the second. After the third it's you and Adrian, and you can feel him starting to get antsy.
“We’ll be fine,” you reassure him, brushing your knuckles against his.
“Don’t hate me for this,” he whisper-shouts over the music.
You don't have time to even think about what that means because the couple in front of you dances out, but now you're anxious and rigid in your heels. You step into the spotlight, and your cue comes.
But Adrian has other plans, apparently, as he bends down to let his big strong arms (wow are you happy he grew these in your absence) circle your thighs and he hoists you over his shoulder.
You wave awkwardly at all the guests sat for dinner, cackling and slapping Adrian’s back to the beat of the music, Adrians laugh filling your space as he awkwardly dance- walks you across the dance floor to where the other wedding party members are standing and talking, waiting for dinner and the reception to officially begin. You feel giddy, like a late night drive in the summer after Adrian got his license, like when you walked into prom holding Adrian’s hand like you’d just won the lottery. His hands are warm, incredibly so, and his muscles are taut against you.
Fuck, you’d like to feel his muscles against you in - nope, hold that thought. You want to repair whatever this is with Adrian, not be a slut at your friend’s wedding.
When you finally reach your spot, he holds you there for a few moments, his big hands squeezing the backs of your thighs before he puts you down gently. You miss the feeling of his hands on you.
Dinner and more speeches go off wonderfully, and you're thankful you get to stay quiet this time, few eyes on you throughout all of the formal stuff, except for Laura. Sure, her main focus are the speakers and her new husband, but you've caught more than one sneaky glance your way, and you know exactly what that means. Before they leave for their honeymoon in Cabo, she's going to corner you and ask if you and her new brother-in-law are doing anything. And knowing her, she’ll already know the answer.
Adrian nudges you when the plates are cleared by the caterers during the first dance, drawing your eyes away from the happy couple dancing to him, apprehension apparent on his face. You realize that you really haven't spoken to him since he put you down.
“Do you want to… maybe, go out there when they’re done being a lovely couple?” he asks.
“I mean, yeah. I told you to save me a dance,” you respond, and Adrian’s shoulders visibly sag in relief like a weight has just been taken off of them.
And you're lucky enough that your anxiousness is spared that the next two songs and the family dances go by as quickly as they can, and the dancefloor opens for everyone with Vienna by Billy Joel. You look over to Adrian, winking as you rise from your seat, your hand reaching out to lead him away from the table.
He, to your surprise, grabs your hand firmly and lets you lead him out, and you become one of the first couples out on the dance floor. People trickle in after, but they're all peripheral noise and shapes as Adrian’s hands find purchase on your hips.
“I’m glad you're here without a date,” Adrian admits, without a hint of shame in his voice.
“I’m glad you're here without a date too, or else this whole weekend would have been a lot more complicated than it already has been,” you offer honestly, and lean into his swaying. Your fingers play with the curls at the base of his neck absentmindedly.
“It wasn't that complicated,” he says, “We’re just bad at feelings.”
Understatement of the century, you think, but yeah, that checks out. You'd both had hurt feelings and both been weird about it. He hums along as he pulls you closer, your chests almost touching, the heat tangible between you. It's going to be hard to keep your cool around Adrian all night without wanting to be even closer, without wanting to kiss him. Maybe you can kiss him afterward.
“Did you become a Billy Joel fan while I was gone?” you joke, knowing that his taste was a lot more girl pop or harder rock when you last saw him.
“Billy Joel? I thought this was Bruno Mars!”
You want to ask him if he's joking but you already know the answer to that.
“Yeah, I mean they're easy to mix up,” you say, and he nods.
“I really missed you, Adrian,” you finally admit, “I wish I-”
“I wish that you would just let it go, troll under the bridge. Lets have fun before you have to leave again,” he interrupts.
“Well actually,” you readjust your arms, more of a hug than a dance now, “I’m here until next Monday, and I want to give you my number so we can keep in touch. Laura lives here now so…”
“So you have a reason to come out here?” he asks, hopeful.
“You’re a reason to come out here too, if you want to be,” you assure him, and his fingers dig into your hips, the material of the skirt bunching under his palms.
“Really? I do, I want to be-”
Fuck it, you think. Be a slut, do what you want.
You pull Adrian into a kiss, cutting him off mid sentence. He hums, the death of a word coming to die from his lips to yours, and his form melts around yours, his grasp on you growing firmer pressing you against him
“I knew it!” you hear Laura scream, “I fucking knew it!”
But you don't dare pull away from Adrian to laugh with the bride. He keeps swaying, off tempo to the song, but perfect for you. His lips curl up into a smile and his own laughter breaks the kiss, though.
“Do you want to go have sex again?” he asks bluntly, slightly breathless from his own laughter.
Unlike the other night, you're pushing him down onto the mattress tonight, Adrian eagerly shuffling further up onto the bed as you hike up your skirt to climb on top of him. You stop when you're over his hips, letting the skirt pool around him, your flimsy underwear leaving you feeling bare and hot against Adrian’s pants.
You pull him up by his tie, your mouths meeting in the space between you for another sloppy kiss, open-mouthed and wet. You both fall back into the sheets, kissing as your hands move to the knot of the tie. You fiddle with the knot, pulling it one way, then the other, trying to loosen it without breaking the kiss to look at it.
Cmon, cmon.
You feel it tighten against his collar instead of loosen. You have to pull away.
Adrian’s lips chase yours, not opening his eyes until he hears you speak.
“Get rid of the tie, I can't do it!” you demand, your hands instead starting to work at buttons lower down on his chest. He laughs, but his hands leave your body to pull the tie loose, and he does it easily. He slips the stupid thing off of his neck and flings it into the dimness of the room. You're free to unbutton all of his shirt now, pulling at where it's tucked into his pants to get it off of him.
Fuck, he’s beautiful, you think, as you finally get to take in his bare chest. He's got muscle, he's buff, with the lightest dusting of hair between his pectorals and light freckles that you remember.
You pull him back up to sit so he can remove his shirt and you find that to be the wrong move. As he sits up, his hips shift against your core, and you struggle to bite back a needy moan.
“Am I bothering you?” he asks.
“Nope,” you shake your head, biting down on your lip at the friction.
“No? Then you wouldn't mind if I…” he trails off, tilting his hips up into yours again. This time, you feel him rock hard against you, and you whine desperately. Fucking bastard. Adrian chuckles, and you decide to get your revenge.
You push him back down on the mattress the moment the offending shirt is shed, latching your lips onto the expanse of his neck, kissing a wet trail in your wake as he gasps and grunts below you.
“I was so mean to you,” he gasps as you bite at his collarbone, “Do you want to punish me for that?”
Who the fuck is Adrian fucking? Is the first thought through your head. Punish him? What kind of kinky shit does he get up to?
“Don’t wanna punish you,” you dismiss, “Just wanna have you.”
“Okay,” he mumbles, his lips dragging against your hairline as he pulls you lower on top of him until your chests meet, “Still on the table, though.”
You'll keep that in mind.
“Get this dress off,” he groans, equally struggling with the zipper until he finally just rips the hook and eye at the top of it, the zip sliding down your back easily for him after that. You’re definitely going to have to get that repaired, but that’s the last thing on your mind when Adrian is pulling the material off of you half crazed, trying to have you bare against him as soon as he can. He pulls the dress up over your head, maybe not the easiest way to discard it, your arms struggling to untangle from the straps as he unwraps you. You help him push all of the bunched up material across your chest and over you, finally breathing a sigh of relief when the bodice finally comes off of you and you can both drop the dress off the edge of the bed, and his hands immediately working their way to your chest.
His thumb brushes against the faded mark on your breast that he left the other night, sending a shiver down your spine. You're sure he's about to leave even more.
“You’re so fucking hot,” he moans, squeezing at you while his eyes take you in. You’re glad now that you opted for the ‘sexier’ of the no-show underwear you picked out under the dress.
“Thought you said women don’t like being called hot,” you joke, recalling his previous words.
“Right, pretty,” he corrects himself, and you have to shake your head.
“I’m fucking with you,” you laugh.
“I’m gonna fuck you,” he retorts, and quickly flips you over, pinning you underneath him.
“So so pretty like this,” he whispers, his hands trailing down your body, stoking the fires of your arousal.
You’ll keep that in mind, too.
You grab at the sheets, balling the cotton in your fists as Adrian’s hands finally make their way between your thighs. He presses his fingers to your clothed cunt, and you both sigh at the contact.
“Please touch me,” you beg, all the boldness gone from your tone now that he’s got you like this.
“I’ll do you one better!” he says, and moves himself down the bed, removing his hand only so he can remove your panties.
“Can I taste you?” he asks, repositioning you for his own easy access. You nod, tilting your hips up towards him. He puts your legs on his shoulders, and slowly creeps in.
His hot breath fans out over your cunt, his glasses fogging as he looks up at you, the way his cheeks and nose scrunch lets you know that he’s grinning like a maniac.
Without warning, he darts his tongue out, licking between your folds and only stopping when the tip of his tongue meets your clit.
You whine, needy and unexpected, and try to quiet yourself again. You feel him as he exhales through his nose, maybe laughing at your desperation, and moves his tongue; small, deliberate licks against your clit that have you hitching your breath with each one.
“Please,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut and gripping the sheets so tight you could rip them. Adrian dives in like a man starved, his tongue dipping into you and the tip of his nose bumping against your clit. He licks into you like your cunt is what keeps him alive, like the water of life. You moan, languid and loud; his big hands flatten out, one against your stomach and the other along the underside of your breast.
Where the fuck did Adrian Chase learn this? Maybe you don't want to know, maybe you just want to enjoy the skills for what they are. His lips move in tandem with his tongue, not hiding the slurping sounds his mouth makes; fuck, he worships you.
Your orgasm sneaks up on you, at first a slow bubble, and then a sudden boil. Your moans turn almost to screams as you shake under him, your thighs tightening around his head.
Adrian’s having none of that, though. He removes his hands from you, moving them to your thighs to hold them in place. Without the leverage of your legs, your back arches almost painfully, leaning into your orgasm as it shakes your entire system, Adrian just happily working you through it, gradually slowing down his mouths movements as your breathing becomes more and more regulated.
“Good?” he asks, when he finally moves his mouth away from you. Everything from his nose to his chin is soaked in you.
“Y-yeah,” you pant, still catching yourself.
“Good, then you’re ready for me,” he says, smirking as he untangles from your thighs and moves back up. He kisses your cheek, decidedly not letting you taste yourself at this moment. Somehow, in your haze, you hadn't noticed that he’d gotten rid of his pants.
You already feel him, heavy and hard, resting against your entrance, and immediately you need more no matter how sensitive you might be.
“I’ve been ready,” you tell him, and he chuckles.
“Not for this,” and he pushes in to the hilt. He gives you no mercy, like he said he wouldn't. He gives you no time to adjust to his size. You yelp, both in surprise and in pleasure, and he picks up his pace as if your noise was permission.
“Fuck, prettiest girl I’ve ever known, all laid out for me, all for me,” he babbles, his lips just barely brushing yours as he stays close.
“All for you,” your voice comes out in a moan, all control of your volume and tone lost; the fire already building in you again.
“Gonna give you everything, all for you,” he says, like a promise, his own voice strained.
He doesn't hold back in his pace, pushing in all the way each time, deep and hard, a slamming pace. He's not gentle, but the way that he looks at you is full of all of the affection and sweetness he holds for you. This is your best friend. This is… whatever he is beyond that.
“Adrian, kiss me,” you beg, wanting to seal yourself to him, to connect.
“But I might taste-”
“I don’t care.”
That's all he has to hear, and once the kisses start, they don't stop. He moves a little awkwardly at first, his pace faltering slightly to adjust for this connection, but he finds his rhythm again. He thrusts sharply, your hips moving to meet him as best you can, your bodies moving in sync with your pleasure. He quickens his pace, his kisses getting harsher, more bruising. Adrian is a kisser, you realize. He likes it like this.
“I’m gonna—,” he gasps after his harshest thrust yet, and you grab his hips, holding him close.
“Go ahead,” you say, breathless yourself and ready to lose your own composure.
He pumps into you harder, his hips snapping against you sure to bruise. Adrian’s hand leaves your hip to move his thumb to your clit, rubbing quick circles that choke out sobs from your throat. It's hard to hold on, both physically to his hips but also to your composure. Every thought of him, him, him, and the fire inside of you that fights to escape.
“Adrian, please,” you beg, voice watery and desperate, and he obeys, speeding up his movements until you scream, and shake, and lose everything. Your mind whites-out. No thoughts but the specific shade of green of his eyes.
And when you come back you feel full, sticky and hot. Adrian holds you tightly, still inside you, snuggling you close and cradling your body to him. He's shushing you and pressing kisses into your skin, muttering sweet nothings to soothe you. Fuck, thats never happened before.
“That was good?” you ask, breathless laughter in your tone.
“Now I know you have to be joking with me,” he says, pulling back slightly, “That was mind-blowing! Literally.”
He pulls away more, and you reach out to reel him back into your embrace. Adrian reassures you he’ll be right back. Even after all of this, the tiniest doubt creeps in, and when he backs out of the room, boxers in hand, you pull the sheets up over you tightly.
He comes back into the room with two glasses of water in only his boxers, a sight you want to get used to. He places the glasses down on the nightstand and throws the covers over the both of you, enveloping you in their warmth and his. Adrian runs like a furnace.
“Can you stay this time?” Your voice is small, vulnerable. Adrian’s warm hand cups your cheek, and he shimmies closer to you under the covers.
“How much does a flight to Gotham cost?” he asks, deadly serious.
You balk at his question.
“Adrian, you can't uproot your life for me,” you insist, feeling bad suddenly about the way you continue to cling to him, hands pressed into his back to hold him to you.
“Psh, who said that? I figure maybe Evergreen can survive without me for a week or so. I wanna take you on a real date,” he snuggles closer, curling the blankets further over you. Your own little world, a little bubble just for the two of you.
You’ll remind him that Gotham is currently surviving a week without you, too, in the morning.
“I’d like that,” you say, sleep sinking into the edges of your voice.
“Get some rest,” he says, sounding just as sleepy, his head feeling heavier against you, “I’ll be here in the morning.”
He is.
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Hey Sarah I’m in a mood and I was wondering if you could break my heart (pls put it back together tho) with any of the Eddies or Joes
Hiii lovey!! I will gladly break your heart and I’m gonna be totally honest I had a whole moment where I went “what if…I don’t put it back together?” but don’t worry I will…eventually(I really will fix it I promise) 🙈 but I did this in a conversation formate because that’s how it flowed the best in my mind so I hope you enjoy💖
-I had to create a whole new Eddie for this because I simply couldn’t bring myself to break any of my precious babies hearts😂
A/N: This has a cliff hanger and I’m sorry I feel like it’s necessary and you’ll see why, don’t hate me✨
“You know staring at it won’t make it magically disappear right?…you’re gonna have to open it eventually.” “Gee thanks Steve…what would I do without your words of wisdom?” “Listen jackass sitting here on your front porch staring at a cardboard box isn’t exactly how I planned on spending my Friday night okay?” “Then why’d you come over?” “Because…you called and sounded all…upset…and you’re like one of my bestfriends so…here I am.” “Thanks…” “So…what’d you do?” “I fucked up.” “I mean yeah…that’s a little obvious…I mean what did you actually do to make her send all your stuff back in a box marked…the asshole’s stuff?” “We got into an argument and she walked out and I didn’t go after her.” “Wait..what?..what do you mean you didn’t go after her?” “I mean exactly what I said Steve…I said some shit…she said some shit and then she left and I just…let her….” “What was this argument about?” “She got a wedding invitation from some girl we went to high school with and it made her all…happy and hopeful for our future and..she started talking about us getting married and I just…I’m not ready for all that shit man I’m only twenty three I can’t be someone’s husband.” “Okay so you just tell her you’re not ready yet…you don’t just throw in the fucking towel Eddie.” “You didn’t see her face when she was talking about our lives together Steve…she’s ready for that like right now and I don’t…I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.” “What exactly did you say to her?” “I just told her…if she’s looking for someone to marry she’s looking in the wrong place…and…and she just..called me a selfish asshole and left.” “Well she wasn’t wrong…and that’s when you just let her drive away?” “I didn’t even move from the couch…I sat there the rest of the night because I just assumed she’d come back after she calmed down a bit.” “You’re such an idiot man…but just tell me…is it the idea of being with her forever that you don’t think you’re ready for? Or is just being her husband you can’t wrap your head around?” “I love her…more than anyone and I know she’s it for me but I’m not husband material Steve and that’s not…fare to her.” “Oh fuck off with that…she clearly thinks your husband material or she wouldn’t bring it up so don’t go trying to say you did this as a favor to her okay? You did this because you’re scared.” “I’m not scared.” “Yes you fucking are Eddie…you’re terrified that someone else loves you so much that they literally want to be legally bound to you…that’s some heavy shit man so I get it but that’s why you made her run away…it has nothing to do with this lame ass excuse of you not being husband material.” “I just..I don’t want to fuck it up..I’ve seen enough horrible marriages I don’t need to be apart of one too.” “Sorry to break it to you man but…you kinda already did.” “Yeah…I did didn’t I? She couldn’t even write my name on the box…” “Oh asshole isn’t your first name? I’m shocked.” “Fuck off…” “Sorry…but you wanna go through it now or…wait?” “I don’t need to go through it…I know what’s in it.” “Oh really? What?” “A few mix cds I made her… a teddy bear from a claw machine at the arcade…some letters…a photo of us at the lake one summer and hopefully a few Metallica shirts.” “Letters?” “Yeah? We used to write each other all the time…it was like our way of expressing how we felt sometimes when we couldn’t really…get the words out…why are you looking at me like that?” “Do you want her back?” “What?” “Answer the question man.” “Yes…yes I want her back…” “Just checking…because…I may have an idea…” “Okay…I’m listening…”
#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson au#eddie munson angst#Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction#Eddie Munson#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things au#my little dungeon master baby#my little fluffy haired baby
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Blind Date x Forgotten First Meeting AU landoscar
Hilarity of slightly mutual friend groups so they assume the other is the other half of the blind date (they aren’t 😂 friends assume they are too different to work) even tho they don’t *know* each other but one of them (A) remembers a very young encounter/friendship that really struck a cord in A and has been on their mind forever but assumes B has completely forgotten or it wasn’t as profound or B doesn’t realize the other component is A (would be funny if B talks about the friendship/encounter around A at some point but has no fucking clue the person B is talking about is right fucking there 😭😭😭)
As I was writing this it definitely felt like lando would be more B and oscar more A but I trust this in your hands wiz 🧡
Feel free to ignore blind date aspect if it flows better another way ✌🏻
Idea for very young encounter totally not ripped off from an episode of Bluey: they meet at a campsite locale to one of them as little kids and spend the entire week just getting along like a house on fire but eventually the week ends and the other has to go back to his country and they are too young to keep in contact. Bluey episode totally not for reference cause it’s really really cute 8 minutes 😭😭😭 https://www.bluey.tv/watch/season-1/camping/
-brooke <3
brooke/ @scuderiabs my friend i literally sat on this for so long cus i genuinely wasn’t sure what else i could add to your gourmet ask right here.
but! on the night of the blue suit oscar debut, it’s perfect because either of these would work beautifully… especially if oscar or lando met again at a friend’s wedding (alex albon’s is always gonna be my default setting for romcom-at-the-wedding AUs).
and obviously we gotta have some supporting visuals so here you go:
and ahoy… maybe a glimpse into this world.
snippet below:
————
“I didn’t think it was you.”
“Why?!”
“You look… the same. But different.” Oscar says, tapping the rim of his glass.
The evening light’s dipping into darkness, sky going blue and sooty. Yellow candlelight casts soft circles on Lando’s face. The years have been kind to him. He’s handsome, in a way that endears easily, draws people close to him in a way that works well for Alex’s large contingent of groomsmen.
“How different?”
“Older.”
“Well you look exactly the same as you did when I kicked your arse at tennis. Remember the instructor?”
“Yeah. Thomas was never subtle about the cigarette breaks behind the shed.”
“Pretty funny when your serve hit that citroën though.” Lando shakes his fists in the air dramatically.
“Arrêté!” Lando adds, in a poor imitation of Thomas, the very harried summer school tennis instructor.
Oscar snorts with undignified laughter. One of Alex’s stern Thai aunts looks at him disapprovingly.
“Sorry.” Oscar mumbles. This is far too much emotion for a communal setting. A flush creeps up his neck, and he wonders if he’s getting a food allergy. Maybe it’d be easier if he disappeared to the bathroom to play tetris on his phone and stay inconspicuous like he’d planned after all. Or maybe he could walk into a wall and take refuge in an ambulance.
“I think I saw a tennis court out there earlier.” Lando says, sipping his gin and tonic. There’s a sprig of boysenberry in Lando’s that somehow perfectly matches the cheery boutonnière on his brown suit. Oscar’s not sure how Lando got the bartender to do that up as a special, because it was presumably off menu from the carefully curated wedding drinks. (Probably Lando’s bizzare Prince-Charming-via-Clapham-Common act, and god knows the charm offensive has been working on him too. Nonetheless, it’s really the least of Oscar’s priorities at the moment.)
Because Oscar is looking at Lando’s face. At the quizzical slant of the other man’s brow. He’s watching as Lando leans in curiously, knee just microscopically close enough that they could touch. Though Lando stops just short of doing so, as if sensing that Oscar needs to come in willingly.
Oscar knows Lando has been flirting with him all night. Saying look at you in that amused voice, finding excuses to clink their glasses together far beyond the wedding toasts were over, with flimsy excuses to do so (“god save the queen!” “she’s long gone, mate.” “then god save us all!”).
They’ve also been reminiscing about that one summer camp from over a decade ago. From when they’d lost touch, and all the things that have happened in their lives since. Life in Australia, life in England. Finishing Engineering school. One dropping out of college to pursue music. Births and deaths and having to pay taxes now.
And of all the millions of possible places, of the skipped stops and lost connections in the world; of all the phone numbers and emails and social pages they’ve near-missed, they’ve met again, right here.
Oscar remembers summer sun. Shouting across the net, knocking elbows. Chocolate and marshmallows stuffed into a baguette, sticky on his hands. Dogeared detective novels passed back and forth. A blur of curly hair streaking past him, both of them jumping headfirst into a lake, surfacing to take in huge lungfuls of air.
“You fancy a rematch?” Oscar asks, sipping the last of his drink. He’s not sure if he’s talking only about tennis.
But he doesn’t break eye contact, and hopes Lando understands what he’s really asking.
Lando’s gaze stays steady at him.
A corner of Lando’s mouth tips up into a smile.
(Cicadas hum outside. It’s summer, again.)
“I thought you’d never ask.”
#landoscar#mclaren#twinklaren#op81#ln4#814#814m#f1 rpf#prompt fill#drabbled this thinking it’d only be snatches of dialogue but it appears I have many thoughts about the two of them re-meeting at a wedding#thanks Brooke for the prompt <333#if typos exist I ask that you simply ignore them as it’s been a v e r y long day
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https://twitter.com/stylinarts/status/1714473692585947337?t=18RP7d8GLqJXV5J788jixw&s=19
Gina when did this rumor even get started? So many people mainly larries keep sharing this old ass bit of info as if it's new somehow believe this rumor even tho there is literally zero bit of evidence that proves this happens. Louis, Tom and others hung out a few times in early 1D days and some random anons claim they fucked and somehow there's larries out here posting shit about about it like it's a fact. 🙃
I woke up to an inbox full of questions about this stupidity. I honestly don't even understand why stuff like this gets shared (especially without any sort of evidence it's even real). All it does is get the OP lots of attention and create hysteria among newer fans.
First of all, it's a receipt from more than a decade ago, so I'm not sure why it's being talked about AGAIN. But I'll entertain the questions because I'm so tired of this stuff.
Tom Daley came out in December 2013. He met and started dating Dustin Lance Black (now his husband) that Summer. This receipt says he supposedly slept with Louis prior to that. We have photos of Tom with Niall, Harry, Louis, and Eleanor from James Corden's wedding in September 2012. As far as I know, that's the only time they have been publicly seen together.
We know Louis (and Liam) tweeted Tom about his performance on July 30th 2012. This was just after the band was announced to be performing at the Olympics closing ceremony, so truly unsurprising that their twitter accounts would be showing them having interest in Olympic athletes. We know Louis watched the swimming competition on August 11th in order to give us the super hot Elounor kiss and, once again, remind people that the band would be playing closing ceremonies.
Tom has been a fan of the band for a long time. He once dressed like Louis. He's more recently knitted Harry's JW Anderson sweater and cosplayed Harry on the cover of The Times magazine.
TL;DR: I've never seen anything that supported a rumor that Tom and Louis hooked up. All I've ever seen is fans thinking they'd look hot together and taking the fact that they'd met, and that Tom seemed to like the band, as fodder for rumors.
x
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Night check✨
8:57pm EST
For a Monday today wasn’t so bad. Heat sensitivity from SSRIs tho is no fucking joke and it wasn’t even THAT hot today. Summer is going to be funnnnn 😅😅
This picture was from like two years ago after my ex besties first wedding (they did the Covid small wedding then big wedding but that drama is for a different day) I was so drunk I don’t even remember that night.
Reggie is doing well his shoe should be back on any day now. We think the abscess blew Friday into Saturday. Can’t wait to get back on him and start our 2024 show season. I have a lesson on my friend who’s letting me use her horse for a show Wednesday. I haven’t ridden this horse in two years and I’m showing a level she hasn’t schooled or done before-I real test to see if I’m a good equestrian or not 😂 no pressure 😅
Anyways I hope you had a lovely Monday and remember I love you 💕
Remember
You are loved
You are wanted
Take your meds
Drink your water
Be kind to yourself
#18+ blog#manic pixie dream girl#personal#girls with piercings#mental illness#mental health#bipolor#mentalheathawareness#me#hypomania#bipolar 2#spring#girl blogging#ginger#red head#red hair#tumblr girl#girl blogger#throw back#mental health awareness#bedtime#bed selfie#inbox open#asks open#send anons#AA#monday night
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like a week ago or whenever i was poking at morty's 'reliance on rick' and what that could mean and it just hit me how much of his baggage is inherited from his mother... man.... rick and morty actually is more transparent about beth's deal than it is morty's, so looking at her for insight into her son can be lucrative.
one thing we dont ever see is what the smith household was like before rick crashed his ship into their garage. however from what we see of them now, its pretty clear that rick (prime) abandoning them fucked beth (and everyone else by proxy) real bad. she has raging abandonment issues. theyre pretty obvious about that in the wedding episode.
this people (specifically rick) pleasing behavior is ingrained into beth, summer, and morty. jerry is less emotionally invested in keeping rick around but is bullied into it by everyone else (more on him later). this tendency of beth is often hidden by her abrasive, honestly mean personality. beth is cold. she is distant. in the pickle rick episode it is explicitly made clear that she is this way because she thinks masks her own problems and because rick is the same way:
if she doesnt let people in, she doesnt risk depending on them, but more importantly she wont feel like their burden and they wont leave her. one of the few times beth comes to rick for advice in a vulnerable way was when she was behaving the most like him (hooking up with space beth behind her familys beth), to which rick actually replied suggesting she consider her familys feelings. beth's child-mind rationalized primes departure was her fault and that idea went unaddressed as she matured. she is scared of not being interesting enough for him to stick around, which when u consider that it was prime who had actually abandoned her, it's likely that theres some truth to it. and the real kicker is she genuinely thinks that this is working, that this is healthy, and that this is "better" than any alternative.
clearly its not tho, as her kids demonstrate. returning to morty, i think he is afraid of becoming his mother, who absolutely 'relies on rick' in the same way the hole means it. morty didnt experience rick's initial abandonment first hand (an aside: analyzing his reactions to ricks shorter periods of absences would be...interesting) but beth accidentally taught him that rick is the best a person to be, to put it frankly. he wanted to measure up to him but knew that he absolutely never could.
i think theres a gendered aspect to it as well, which is where jerry comes in. if rick is the 'best' at being a man, then jerry is the 'worst'. the hole episode has a joke about morty fearing becoming his father, but its still true. sniveling and pathetic, at best the family pities him. once he gets in the way, they get nasty. i think what drives the smiths a little crazy is when jerry gets to the point of, like, fully accepting his patheticness.
ending this with another poor morty he doesnt deserve this but also poor beth. even if shes mean but we love mean women here <3
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17. talk about your writing and editing process <3
Man apparently I’m allergic to checking my inbox but HEY better late than never my love!
So my process, if you can even call it that, is chaotic as FUCK!!! I stare off into space writing it mentally first, type all my bullshit in my notes app like a heathen, don’t proofread, drop unsolicited personal lore in the notes, all that. Gonna use TWITR as an example again btw
I’ve said it before, but The Webs In The Rafters is based on a WHACK ASS DREAM I HAD. specifically chapter 17 and the climax of the story. Like I was the Kenny character, Sansa the dog was telepathically speaking in my mind, there were piles of cuddling cats everywhere, the sound of helicopter blades and a trail of spiders in the hay. I woke up like bro what the hell this is a story right here and I went from there. And in fleshing out the plot, pinning the story beats, the time I was writing it was PERFECT TIMING. Because I had a six hour drive to make for a friend’s wedding. And what did my insane ass do? I FUCKING RAWDAWGED that drive. No music, no audiobook, just silent highways and plotting TWITR. By the time I got home I had a very clear idea of where I was going with the story that at that point was only a few set up chapters and a title.
Speaking of titles, a lot of the time I have titles before I have plot, which is kinda weird bc I know a lot of people struggle with titles, but that’s one of the first things that comes to me. Especially with my one shots, like my kysterion fic All The Punches That I’ve Thrown. That lyric popped into my head and a fic idea with it. Song lyrics inspire a LOT of ideas for me.
So does art. Like with In The Truly Gruesome, I saw a drawing emilyartstudios did of Stan and Shelley working a booth for Tegrity at a fair and I was like YO WHAT IF I FUCKED THIS UP AND STUCK ZOMBIE ALIENS IN THERE lmfao. And ofc, the OrangeJuiceVerse wouldn’t exist if I hadn’t seen foxydodo’s art of basketball player Kyle and mascot Stan.
While oneshots come together pretty fast for me usually, being written out in my head to be typed out in the course of a day (back in the days of janitor Riley bored as shit at work and having the time and energy for that lol), multichapters are require more thought structurally. So what I like to do with a multichap:
Think of it in three acts. In script writing, there’s something called the “page 12 event”, the event that gets the plot rolling near the beginning of the film. And I like to stick an event like that at the end of chapter 1 of my stuff a lot of the time, like ITTG and uhhhh yeeting Stan into a mineshaft after we find out the boys are being chased by monsters (jesus what is wrong with me). What I’m getting at: I like to know where my beginning middle and end are, how the characters are feeling at each step, how their relationships change, all that. And a lot of the time I think of the end before I do the middle or beginning tbh. Like I said, chaos. I think of a random scenario (as we know usually someone is hurt and getting taken care of bc I’m fucking evil and that’s where my brain goes constantly), hence the WhumpShots.
And I do primarily operate in WhumpShots. I picture a scene with a character getting their injuries tended, sick and dizzy but having a friend or loved one at their side, etc, and BAM that scene becomes a oneshot. Even the REALLY short ones, like the sot bunny I did last summer called So Only Say My Name, was about 700 words and one sequence of events. That kind of to the point structure comes easy to me, which is why I loved doing Style Week so much; new oneshot prompt every day. And while I don’t usually proofread after I finish a work, I edit as I go, sometimes post random lines on here or send a screenshot to the R.A.N.T. homies (I’ve definitely done this more as of late, a habit from when I attempted writing smut for the first time and would send neen a screenshot all “IS THIS CRINGE?!?” lmfao I love the Idea Trampoline tho). And I can’t spell so autocorrect is fr my saving grace unless it betrays me. Off the top of my head I can think of 3 words in 3 separate fics that I need to fix but am simply not going to bc that requires effort and oh fuckin well.
And I say that, but I may be lax about the more fiddly stuff but I care SO much about the big picture. Like “does this convey the feelings I want it to? Is this going to be a bright spot in someone’s day? Is the vibe I want there?” That’s my priority. If I can leave an impact on a reader, entertain them, make them smile, that’s what matters to me.
Jesus sorry this was a convoluted answer lmao it’s 3 in the morning and I woke up all “hey I should actually check my inbox” and here we are
Thank u for asking abt my chaos melda tâe
#asks#why is my ‘process’ just ‘hey what if I stick Stan in an avalanche and he has to keep Kyle calm enough to take care of him’#insanity#south park#my shit#also I’m awful at answering asks sorry yall
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unfiltered thoughts on ttpd
I just finished my first listen of TTPD so below you can find my first thoughts on each song as I listened at 6 in the morning (I need sleep so bad lmao)
1. Fortnight
AAAAHHH I AM LISTENING!!!!! This has such Lana vibes omg!
Who do we wanna murder now??
I love you it's ruining my life :(
IS THIS ABOUT MATTY???????????
Is Post Malone getting the female singer treatment hahahahah
oh okay there he is!!
Florida mention!!!!!
2. The Tortured Poets Department
Woah I like this beat!!!
No-fucking-body!!!!
Dream mention????? (golden retriever)
This is so pretty
Wait is this about Travis??? I am so confused. Please tell me this isn't about Matty too
Oh the wedding mention
3. My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys
Put me back on the shelf :(
Love the melodies
THE OUTRE THE OUTRO LOVE THISSSS
WHY IS THIS SO SAD FUCK ME
4. Down Bad
I can't do this IT IS SO SAD
"Fuck it if I can't have him"
hahaha
Is this another Matty track........ I can't do this
So fuck you if I can't have us :((((
5. So Long, London
Are we in a church
Jesus fuck why is this so sad
this is so beautiful
I am crying
I sent my full reaction to this song to @bluishfrog and it's basically just me looking at the lyrics while crying lmfao
6. But Daddy I Love Him
This one is about Matty again huh
I need a dictionary
I fuck with this song so bad
7. Fresh Out The Slammer
my first word was "Woah"
Back to cheating
"Years of labor, locks and ceilings
In the shade of how he was feeling"
Outch
Oh god this one is hard - this sounds like end of relationship stuff
"Watched me daily disappearing
For just one glimpse of his smile"
:((((
So many outros, I really fuck with this
Imaginary rings what if I go die
8. Florida!!!
she cheated too????
omg an actual feature with a female artist!!! We love!!!
I did not think this song would be about murder and drugs lmfao
Sorry I got lost in the dnf-isms, loved the song
9. Guilty as Sin?
I will have to come back to this, I am so tired I just completely zoned out xD
Love the vibes tho
It's a bop ngl
10. Who's Afraid of Little Old Me
Oh I will love this
FUCK IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL
THE CHORUS WOW WOW WOW
THIS IS SO GOOD
This is so my favourite so far
Okay so we are in an asylum lmao
"Put narcotics into all of my songs
And that's why you're still singing along"
this is genius
THIS SONG IS AWESOME
11. I Can Fix Him
love the vibes
god her lower register help me
THE ENDING I AM CACKLING THIS IS SONGWRITING PERFECTION (also thanks Taylor for coming to your senses lmfao)
12. loml
this sounds sad..............
Every mention of getting married makes we want to committ
Never quite married FUCK HIM FUCK HIM FUCK HIM
I don't wanna do this anymore
"And all at once, the ink bleeds"
all the songs they wrote together I am...... not fine
"You shit-talked me under the table
Talking rings and talking cradles
I wish I could unrecall
How we almost had it all"
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO
this bridge broke me
the loss of my life I-
13. I Can Do It With a Broken Heart
What a bleachers sounding song
okay so this is definitely what we thought it would be about
"Lights, camera, bitch, smile
Even when you wanna die"
you go girl
A BOP
i am crying and dancing in my bed
"He said he'd love me for all time
But that time was quite short"
FUCK HIM FUCK HIM FUCK HIM
okay time to dance again
"I'm so depressed, I act like it's my birthday every day"
she's so silly
the ad-libs I love her so much
14. The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived
not the breath - i wanted to keep dancing :(
"And I don't even want you back, I just want to know
If rusting my sparkling summer was the goal"
ughhhhhh
the lower register hitting again
BRIDGE BRIDGE BRIDGE AND WHAT A BRIDGE
oh she is angry agnry
"I would've died for your sins
Instead I just died inside"
WHY WHY WHY
FUCK HIM FUCK HIM FUCK HIM
15. The Alchemy
I zoned again lmao
IS THIS ABOUT TRAVIS??????
WHO CHEERED
love this for her
16. Clara Bow
"You look like Taylor Swift
In this light, we're loving it
You've got edge, she never did
The future's bright, dazzling"
oh how I love this, she is such a genius
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Be warned this is gonna be long i apologize in advance, but this is all just me giving a massive kudos to you and your work. I’m so happy to see this updated thank you for your hard work and talented writing.
*inhales*
*exhales*
After reading interlude ii for CMC and as usual I loved it to bits but also I AM SUDDENLY CONFLICTED? With BOTH SIDES????? The whole time I was like “Yeah Sidney take the fucking L” but now that we have the full detailed story of how it led up to that moment, suddenly the situation is so much more complicated. HE ACTUALLY WAS READY AT THE LAST MOMENT OH GOD HE WAS GOING TO DO ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING TO MAKE IT UP TO HER AND THE BABY HE WAS READY TO BE A PARTNER AND DAD-
And now my head is in my hands as I think: ‘Oh my god. Reader didn’t give him a chance to be a dad to Lucas for NEARLY SEVEN YEARS (even though she was justifiably pissed at him) AND HE THOUGHT HIS BABY WAS GONE’
And, please hear me out. The pregnancy and the actual birth of the baby are two different parts of the process. It’s different for everyone, but sometimes it takes a few weeks or months for the parents to feel a connection with their baby once they’re born; It’s actually quite common among parents. Same goes for the pregnancy term. It’s fucking scary, raising a child; You’re not just living your life for yourself, you’re living your life for the best interest of your child. And while there’s absolutely no excuse for Sid and his emotional distance/neglect (believe me when I say I still want to sock him in the face for his initial reaction), it does bring perspective at to why he reacted that way. Correct me if I’m wrong, but he was scared that his commitment to his career would end up hurting his kid, not being able to be there for them. Of course, dumbass man sucked at communicating that to Reader properly huh
But he did come back. He did return. He was ready to begin repenting. Lucas wasn’t even born yet and he was ready to do right by him and Reader both.
Suddenly I am now in full panic mode because once Lucas gets older enough to question why did his mom keep him away from his dad if both parents loved and wanted him from the start. And I know reader said in previous chapters that everything she did was for her son and his happiness and safety which is an absolute HELL YES THAT’S WHAT BEING A PARENT IS ABOUT, but did she ever consider the possibility that keeping them both hidden away from Sid would potentially hurt all of them more than it would help? Lucas never got to meet the other side of the family; Troy and Trina never got to be grandparents, Taylor never got to be an aunt. They weren’t able to see Lucas grow up, and I just know they would’ve loved him the moment they were told of his existence.
Am I allowed to feel angry at both Sid and Reader? I am so sorry I… just love this story so much, I’ve never felt so many emotions reading before. Please correct me if I’m wrong in any way.
first of all, ily oh gosh. i never expect a comment this long from anyone but omg thank you!! i appreciate you taking the time to lmk which part/s u like/impacted u most 🥺 not lying when i say i was smiling as i read it entirely it’s truly fulfilling to come across a reader as passionate as u so endless thanks my dear 🫶🏻
second, ALL FEELINGS ARE VALID! i honestly can’t wait for them to be happy why can’t they just sit together and talk things out it’s not that hard 😭 had enough of little lukey having to bear poor adult choices!!
to clarify tho, since i’ve been mia on here and on the updates, the series was supposed to be done in 2022 😫 so our timeline for cmc would be that it’s still 2021 going 2022 (refer to teaser #3).
for everyone to be on the same page, allow me to recapitulate:
april 2015
refer to teaser #1
sidney is 27 yrs. turning 28 yrs. in aug
reader is 26 yrs.
first month of summer, 2015
june: reader finds out she’s pregnant
july: miscarriage scare; sid and reader break up before kris’ wedding
post breakup, 2015-2016
sidney wins the cup, oct 2015 to june 2016
post breakup, 2016
january: luke is born on 6th of january (kind of like his dad’s bday 8.7.87 = 1.6.16)
post breakup, 2016-2017
sidney wins another cup, oct 2016 to april 2017
post breakup, 2019
reader moves back to pittsburgh; hides sid’s son
post break up, 2021 [we’ll go back to this timeline on ch. 6]
sidney is 33 yrs. going 34 yrs. (refer to teaser #2)
reader is 31 going 32
luke is 5 yrs. a few months older than geno’s son, nikita
minimum age requirement for sid’s little penguins hockey is 5 yrs.
luke enters hockey program, meets sidney; sidney meets luke and reader
timeline for ch. 6 until stated otherwise
ANYWAY, i’m so excited we’re now on the second half of the series!!! ✨and the plot thickens✨
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