#anyway i hope we all have a nicer time here

[creaturology]

Hey there friends from twitter!!! fancy seeing you in this bomb shelter we’ve all huddled into while twitter blows itself up . so cool

[luvyeni]

p. fratboy!mark x fem bodied reader | warnings: soft sex, unprotected sex, not really frat boy but they are in college | words: 0.5k ~ (553) 🐯ㆍ₊⊹

request: can u please do a frat mark smut w like him and the reader at a frat party and at the beginning their all cute and they go back home and mark is js really nice and soft. I feel like frat boy mark would be so sweet. Also first time asking i loveee your work💗

authors note. i hope this satisfies you , and thank you for reading my works 🫶🏾

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

“this is your 3rd soda tonight, if you want to have a different type of buzz tonight we have alcohol.” Mark stood in front of you. “i-i don’t like alcohol, I hope you don’t mind.” You knew who he was; of course you did, he was mark lee, the head of the dream frat house— and probably the only boy you’ve ever had serious crush on since you started college.

“it’s fine, they aren’t mine anyway, so drink away, haechan wouldn’t mind a cutie like you drinking all his soda.” He smirked taking a drink from his cup watching you smile to yourself. “I know you.” He said, your eyes widened. “I see you all the time staring at me.” He laughed watching your eyes widened. “don’t worry, it’s cute, I don’t mind.”

He was nicer than the stereotypical frat boy, but he was a frat boy nonetheless, so it was no surprise when you felt your back against the counter of the kitchen, mark hovering over you, his hands on your waist. “so shy, so cute.” He whispered against your skin. “me-me, no.”

“of course you are.” He said. “you aren’t the only one who can look, I’ve been watching you for sometime, and I really wanted to get to know you.” He kissed your cheek softly. “let’s go somewhere private yeah?”

That’s how you found yourself locked into marks room; his door locked, the music from the party playing as he kissed along your neck, his hand up your shirt. “you sure you want this?” he pulled away. “I have no problem just chilling up here with you.”

You desperately pulled him into another kiss, gripping his shirt. He smiled against your lips, as you lifted his shirt. “slow down.” He sighed. “let me do it.” He stood on his knees, lifting his shirt up, throwing it to the side. “there you go, now it’s your turn.”

Eventually you both were undressed, his cock bobbing against his stomach. “I won’t hurt you I promise.” He held the base of his cock, his tip dripping with pre-cum. “i-i trust you.” He held your legs open as he slowly pushed himself inside of you. “ma-mark.” You moaned. “fu-fuck you’re so tight.”

he pulled out, rubbing tight circles on your clit as he pushed back inside of your cunt, both of you moaning as he began to pick you his pace. “so fucking cute -shit- you look so cute taking my cock like that, you feel good baby?” you nodded. “so good.”

“ma-mark.” You whined. “please go faster.” You gasped as he picked up the pace. “fuck , mark im gonna cum.” He grunted. “me-me too, cum for me.” Your legs shook slightly as you came. “fuck, you’re tightening up around me.” He felt his cock twitching. “shit im cumming!” he cursed, quickly pulling out, cumming all over your puffy cunt. “fuck.” he tapped on your clit a few times with his tip. “fuck you did so good.” His cock softening. “so fucking good.”

“we can just stay in here.” He helped you get dressed. “we don’t have to go back out and party.” He laid down next to you. “we don’t have to.” You said, he shook his head. “I don’t really want to.” He smiled.

“I want to stay here with you.”

©️LUVYENI

[russellsppttemplates]

I want this every day (Charles Leclerc)

Charles has been frustrated with the team's strategies and the results he's been getting lately so you find a way to cheer him up

Note: english is not my first language. I was going to write it earlier on the week, but then I felt like I a jinxing it so I stopped... but after today, I think it's a good place to start...

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions Jules Bianchi

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3

Another race weekend where he was out qualified by his team-mate left Charles with the feeling that if it came to it, he was almost one hundred percent sure they would ask them to swap positions.

Points for the team would be important anyway and they came away with a good amount and the car showed to be competitive enough considering the RedBull dominance on the grid, but the frustration was still there.

With the team and with himself.

They told him they'd keep him - there wasn't a quesion put down about his contract -, Il Predestinato wasn't something he carried lightly but often times it was confusing. Without the support and appreciation from inside the team, it was proving difficult to achieve their goals.

His childhood dream was driving for Ferrari and Suzuka always carried a heavier weight for him. As he took off his helmet and was faced with the number 17 on the side, he apoligised. To Jules, who he wanted to make proud every day but even more on this particular track. To his fans, who deserved better than this. To you, who were there for him, arms open for a hug and a shoulder where he could cry and let his feelings out on, to hold him and remind him every single time that all of the nonsense commentators and the media still had the audacity to say about him despite his continous shows of intelligence, skill and talent, and to love him.

The way you loved him was something he had never felt before and had never thought he deserved.

The face you were giving everyone in the garage that dared look at you wasn't unfortunately a rare occurrence, hence the fact that so very few team members approached you, "Charles is just finishing his interviews, he should be here soon", Silvia said before excusing herself from the garage.

You walked to your boyfriend's driver room, knowing he would end up in there soon enough after greeting the mechanics and engineers.

He stepped inside the room less than fifteen minutes later, finding your embrace immediately as his arms wrapped around your waist, "it's not fair that this keeps happening", he mumbled.

"I know it isn't", you kissed his stubbly cheek while rubbing his back soothingly.

"I thought I could've done so much better, for the fans, for you, for Jules", he hiccuped, letting himself be vulnerable after bottling up everything he was feeling.

"You did us proud, Charles - he is always so proud of you", you cupped hisface in your hands as you hoped the words got through to him, "okay?".

The flight back home had Charles sleeping most of the time, the whole rush of the weekend catching up with his body as he slept with his head on your thighs, your fingers playing with his locks while you arranged your schedule for the week ahead.

"I was thinking we could spend some time together today", you said over the phone, hoping he hadn't booked anything since you made sure that Andrea and Joris had cleared his schedule so you could make this happen without a hitch.

"You don't have work?", Charles asked, "no, I arranged a few things and a meeting got cancelled", you explained.

"Good, I don't have anything to do either, I was just going to stay home, but being with you sounds much nicer, my place or your place?", he wondered.

"My place, please", you replied immediately, "I just want to change my clothes and I'm feeling like spending the afternoon in", you tried, hoping he would catch on and not mess up your surprise.

"Okay, amour! Do you need me to pick you up from work?", Charles asked and you heard a small smile on his face. You weren't sure why, but Charles really got a kick out of dropping you off and picking you up from work, so you felt bad for the answer you were giving him, "it's okay, you can meet me there, I'm already walking", you said as you drove out of the shop and headed home. It was an inoffensive lie but you kept telling yourself it was for a greater good.

"Okay, I'll meet you there in twenty minutes or so", he said, "Je t'aime, mon amour".

Riccardo seemed to have parked the car at the front of your building, making you get the bag out of your car trunk and join him and his family, "hey guys! Thank you for coming to this", you smiled, touching Chiara's foot softly and getting a giggle out of the little girl.

"No worries, this is such a nice idea and we're happy to help!", Marta said, letting you walk up to the door so you could get to your apartment.

"For the first time in my life, I'm the first one somewhere, and then they showed up too!", Joris said as the rest of the group you invited stood up from the hallway floor.

"I'm sorry for making you wait, but I had to pick these up and then the call with Charles had to be done at the precise time so he wouldn't get here before I did!", you explained, unlocking the door and letting them in.

"So we're fine to wait, but Charles can't wait for you?", Joris teased, making kissing noises as you shook your head, "privileges of being my boyfriend - it is what it is!", you chuckled.

Delegating the small tasks you left for the last minute, Charles' text saying he had just parked the car was enough to capture you attention, "quick quick, go hide in the living room - careful with the board game boxes! He's coming up!", you ushered your friends to the living room before your boyfriend knocked on your door.

"Hello, my love", you said, kissing his lips and pulling him inside the supposedly quiet apartment.

"Hey, gorgeous girl - I missed you", he squeezed you tight once you closed the door, "I was getting in my he - what's that?", Charles asked as a noise came from the living room.

Chiara squealed loudly enough for him to hear, so in part your surprise was not such a surprise, "you're not alone?", he mused.

Lacing your hand in his, you pulled him to the living room as everyone jumped out of their places to greet him!

"Surprise - ish!", you waved your hands as if you were announcing some great show, "I gathered all your favourite people - Lorenzo is coming with Charlotte in a bit, he just picked her up from work and your mother also had a cliente so she'll arrive a little later. Arthur is in the bathroom?", you wondered as you saw him walk out and pat his brother's back, not missing the truly surprised look on his face as he pulled you closer to him, kissing your temple, "you're the best, amour, thank you", he whispered.

You had food laid out in the coffee table and drinks in the kitchen where everybody could serve themselves so you could have your dining table available for the board and card games you were playing along with some building blocks for Chiara who was immediately stolen from her parents once your boyfriend saw her.

"Do we want to make a castle? Or maybe a rollercoaster?", Charles mused with the little girl sitting on his lap, still keeping an eye on his Monopoly game to make sure no one was missing any of the payments on his properties, "Good job, chérie!", he congratulated her, kissing her chubby cheek.

"Do you want me to get you guys anything? I'm already going to the kitchen", you wondered, "can you fill this up for us, please?", Marta asked as she handed you the orange juice jug, "yes, of course!", you grabbed it.

"This was a great idea, Y/N", Lorenzo said whole he poured himself a drink as you stepped into the kitchen, "he's been in his head a lot recently", he began.

"It's not much, really, it was quite easy to put everything together and you being here was very kind", you brushed it off.

"Y/N, gathering his favourite people to do something he loves apart from racing may seem simple but it's what he needs right now - don't underestimate yourself or the ability you have to bring him back to a good mental space", he rubbed your shoulder before going back to open the door, "it's our mother", he excused himself.

You set the jug on the table and took Chiara from your boyfriend's arms, volunteering to change her nappy in your bedroom.

Charles hugged his mother tight, "Hello, mon petit", she cupped his face and kissed his cheek, "I'm not little anymore", Charles blushed, "you and your brothers will always be my little boys, I don't care how old or how tall you get", she smiled, greeting everyone else in the room.

His favourite people were all in the same place, Charles thought. Some were playing cards, some were just chatting and you just picked his friends' daughter to change her nappy like she was your own.

"Do you have room for one more? I'm usually pretty good at this!", Lorenzo said as he sat at the dining table, "you take my game - it's not too bad, just make sure Marta pays up what she owes me - two hotels in my blue cards", Charles raised his eyebrows, "I know you were counting on your daughter's cuteness to distract me, but I have excellent vision", he smirked.

Charles walked to your bedroom, seeing you close the diaper bag as Chiara kicked the air, layed on top of your comforter and giggling at the story you were telling her, "and then I had to tell the lady 'that won't do, because I have my boyfriend's family and our friends over for dinner and I can't have too little food! Even if I have left overs for weeks!' because that's what's right, right? She also had this very fluffy bread that was still warm from the oven so I asked her if she could add that because I knew you'd like it - bread is the best, isn't it, cutie?", you spoke.

You were it, he had known that for a long time.

You were the one he wanted to grow old with and go through every challenge life wanted to throw at you, because he knew you both could face them if you were there.

"And who is that spying on us, hm? It's Charles! Let's go and give Charles a big hug and many kisses!", you smiled, picking her up and approaching your boyfriend, cuddling into his chest as you kept the little girl on your arms, kissing his chest while Chiara palmed his face and giggled when Charles pretended to eat her fingers, "yummy fingers, nom, nom, nom".

"I need to get started on dinner - I'm doing that roast you really like", you offered, "I already prepped most of it, just need to cut up the veggies and then put in the oven, simple as that".

"C'mon, Chiara - I bet my mother is wondering where you are because she'll want a cuddle", Charles took her from your arms, "I'll be back for you", Charles slapped your butt playfully.

You were seasoning the food on the trays, making sure you weren't forgetting anything when your boyfriend walked up to join you, wrapping his arms around your waist, "thank you for this, I really needed it", he kissed under your ear, turning you around to face him and kissing your lips properly, "it's fine", you scoffed.

"No, I really needed it - it's easy to lose sight of these things and these moments", he began, "I was home and getting way too much into my own head and I wouldn't got to anyone unless they asked about it", he admitted, squeezing your body closer to his.

"I'm glad you liked it, it's truly nothing but I'm glad you're happy", you smiled, "I can't control what goes on your mind all the time but I'm going to make sure that whenever you're near me and say silly things about doubting yourself, I will always help you see the truth and work it out with you - no down talking about yourself when you're with me, understood?", you stated firmly almost like you were lecturing him.

"I know, amour", he giggled, kissing your forehead and then littering some more kisses on your face and making you break out in laughter loudly.

The dinner was great and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves as they ate the meal and spoke about whatever came to mind, summer plans already in discussion.

Charles was helping you put away the plates when he decided he would voice the thoughts running through his head. Usually at this time of the day he was already knee deep into strategies and failed attempts, but this time was different.

"I want this every day", Charles said with a big smile on his face.

"Well, not all of us have your schedule, it would be lovely, but maybe making it a weekly thing? Monthly maybe with your schedule?", you tried, not wanting to kick his idea straight to the trash.

"I don't mean that - I've been thinking about this a lot lately, and I was wondering if you'd like to move in with me", Charles clarified, "there's no point to keep two places when realistically, we spend most times at eachother's place - you're down to what? Sleeping two nights here per week?", he noted as you smiled.

"You want to move in together?", you checked and he nodded, "yes, I do - honestly, I've thinking we keep my place since you're renting here and that way you'd be closer to work, too", he suggested.

"Sounds good to me", you smiled, kissing his lips, sealing the deal.

"I don't want to be far away from you when we don't have to be, and this way you can save on rent, too!", he added and before you truly lectured him, he caught you ahead, "I know you won't let me pay for things on my own and we will find some arrangement for that, I was just saying you won't have to keep paying your landlord", he smiled.

"I mean it when I say I want to split expenses, okay?", you argued, "unless you start going with expensive caviar or any of that crazy expensive stuff - my salary can't take that", you joked.

"When have you ever seen that in my fridge?", he threw his head back as he laughed.

"I'm only joking, handsome - I can't wait to move in with you", you hugged him, "I love you, Charles, can't wait to be your new roomie".

[pennylanefics]

Morning Light - Quinn Hughes

a/n: once again, not entirely happy with this, but i've been struggling lately so it's no surprise. but i hope you enjoy anyways :)

summary: you and quinn just moved into a house together and you are getting used to the new changes

word count: ~1k

Sunlight filters in through the new, rather thin curtains covering the large window in your bedroom. You could hear birds chirping and flittering around in the trees, landing on the feeder you put up on the outside of the window to entertain your cat.

As your eyes slowly open, adjusting to the bright, natural morning light, you take a moment to look at the man sleeping beside you. Or, well, the man awake beside you.

Quinn stares up at the ceiling in thought, his eyes still full of sleep, but deep in his own mind, his arm remaining underneath your head, his fingers toying with the ends of your messy hair. His eyelashes flutter against his cheek as he blinks, not noticing that you are awake just yet.

You take a moment to admire his features, his pink cheeks appearing slightly flushed so early in the morning, soaked in the sunlight that he chooses to ignore. The way his green eyes are glimmering in the light as well, seeming unbothered by the fact that he was practically being blinded. His teeth were chewing on his bottom lip, a nervous habit of his.

The two of you had just moved into your first home together, a nice rental in Vancouver, just outside of the city, a beautiful view of the mountains in your backyard, a peaceful setting that the both of you very much needed.

It was very a stressful time, having to move things out of your apartment and then into the new home, which thankfully wasn’t too much since you were getting new furniture delivered that would better suit the larger space. But boxes of personal items, such as trinkets, clothes, decorations, and other utilities all remained to transport.

His parents were a huge help, as well as Jack and Luke, offering their abilities to help clean the place and do some work in the backyard. It had gotten to the point now where things were starting to settle in, but there was still a lot to be done.

Last night was the first night you slept in a real bed rather than just a mattress on the ground, and it couldn’t have felt nicer to be curled up under the new comforter, falling asleep to the gentle wind blowing in through the open window.

You get lost in your own thoughts gazing at Quinn that you barely even register that he turned his head to look at you, until he’s kissing the tip of your nose gently. Giggling softly, you hide your face in his shoulder, breathing his scent in.

“Morning,” he mumbles, his voice rough with exhaustion. He continues to play with your hair, beginning to kiss along all along your forehead.

“Morning,” you whisper back, raising your head back up to ask for a kiss from him. He gladly plants one on your lips, sighing softly into it.

“I think our couches are going to be delivered today, sometime between one and three. We can go out and get some lunch and then come back.”

“That sounds good. What time is it now?” Quinn grabs his phone on the bedside table, clicking it on.

“Almost nine.”

“Wanna make some breakfast?” You wonder, reaching up to play with his messy hair that had gotten so long. He was wanting to grow it out a bit, and you were loving it so much, his curls were appearing often and you loved being able to run your fingers through it when he rests his head in your lap.

A few more minutes of laying in each other’s arms, you eventually get up and head to the kitchen to get a start on breakfast. Quinn wanted pancakes and you wanted toast and eggs, so you made it all, as it was a day to celebrate, with your home almost being finished.

You started your favorite shared playlist on the bluetooth speaker in the kitchen and got to preparing everything, pausing here and there while the pancakes cooked on one side to dance with Quinn, your laughs filling the house, one moment of many to come in the years spent here together.

After breakfast, you get some small stuff done around the house, putting away extra clothes, decorating the bathrooms, and organizing the closet in your room.

By the time lunch rolls around, you get dressed in some casual clothes, the weather feeling lovely today, and head to your favorite restaurant in town, quickly being seated. The two of you chat over your plans for the rest of the day, what else needs to get done, and how you are going to decorate the living room.

Soon, you find yourselves greeting the movers who are dropping your couch off and helping move it into your living room. An hour later, once everything is moved in and settled in the place you chose for it, you and Quinn flopped down onto the soft, dark brown velvet couch, Quinn throwing his arm around you.

“We did it,” he whispers, kissing your forehead. Giggling quietly, you look up at him and nod.

“Everything is almost done, finally.” 

“We have to finish decorating in here and I think there’s a few more boxes for the basement to unpack. But we can do that another time, I want to have our first movie night in here,” he replies, nuzzling his nose in your hair.

“Sounds perfect to me,” you grin.

So that’s exactly what you did. Later that night, once you finish dinner and after showering, you get dressed in the cozy pajamas that Quinn’s mom gifted you two with for Christmas, you get all snuggled up on the corner of the sectional couch, a queue of your favorite movies up and ready to go.

As the movie plays on, halfway through, you get a sudden sense of love filling your chest as you take in your surroundings. You sit in your home, with the love of your life by your side, realizing that you’d get to do this for the rest of your life.

You gaze up at Quinn and smile widely. He was lost in the movie, not realizing you were staring, until he finally breaks out of his concentration and looks down at you, chuckling when he sees you are already looking at him.

“Something wrong?” He wonders with a slight smirk. You shake your head and kiss him sweetly.

“Nothing at all. Just happy.”

taglist: @petite-potato4

[jomteaaa]

Heeello, how r u? I hope u r doing well ^^

This is an emergency request soo pleaseee write it asap 🙏🏽

Its abt tsukishima kei’s gf who’s very stressed out abt her final exams that she forgets to take care of herself

a/n: i wish you all the best for your exams!! i hope this will be comforting in some ways. i fr tried my best to finish and make sure it still seems alright. just some headcanons on it:

tsukishima leaves a cup of either hot or cold water, whichever you prefer, beside you on the table as you study, and he refills it when he sees it empty.

it doesn't matter if his final exams are around the corner too, and as much as he believes his studies are important, he prioritises you over it.

if he notices that the water level hasn't changed after some time, he slides it over till it's right in your line of sight. "drink, pipsqueak."

if you tell him "later", he'd drags you away from your work by the chair leg and shoves the cup into your hands.

he leaves you alone once you drink at least half the cup of water, but not without a kiss on the top of your head and a squeeze on your shoulder before heading to refill it.

it's harder to get you to eat food though, let alone actual meals, so he resorts to leaving you comfort food or something filling alongside with the cup of water next to you.

if you refuse to eat, he'll again pull you aside to eat, and in some extremely rare times, begrudgingly feeds you himself.

"the things i do for you." "don't do it then, i didn't ask you to." "...no."

you two share earpieces with one of his many playlists running.

he likes to rest a hand on your thigh when he's studying, only pulling away if he really needs to use it, but be assured it always returns back to its place.

everyone knows tsukishima suck as a tutor, with his impatience and all, and it's not like he cares anyways. he doesn't wish to be one. but for you, he tries to be nicer.

"not so dumb now, are we?" and his signature smirk.

when he takes a break from his books and notes, he makes you take one with him too. it's not optional.

"you've been studying for the past few hours already. study any more and you'll actually self destruct."

he either pulls you by the wrist or distracts you with a kiss. you obviously prefer the latter.

wait wait wait imagine him standing behind your chair and he tilts your head up by the chin (albeit roughly knowing you and your stubborn ass) and kisses you YKYK

ok but continuing on, he pulls you to his bed and just cuddles with you, with the earpieces still on.

you'll rant to him as he plays with your hair in silence, with a bit of input here and there.

if you breakdown from the stress, he's there holding your face in his hands and wiping away your tears with his thumbs, placing a few butterfly kisses on your forehead, your cheeks and your nose, again in silence.

he doesn't know what to say during these times, and sometimes, he doesn't have to. his actions are enough.

[aka-indulgence]

Imminent Threat: Baby Pictures Confirmed!

I was bitten by the inspiration bug and I do love this idea a lot, heheh…

Wanna see what happens if HT!Sans catches a glimpse of your baby pictures?

(HT!Sans x Female!Reader)

(No warnings just be prepared for silly, fluff, and cute (aggression))

——————

Sans twiddles his thumbs, watching you leave with the dishes into the kitchen. Your parents had forbidden him from doing the dishes.

“You made us this wonderful meal! It’s her turn on the chores anyway,”

“What! I come home to see you and you’re just making me do chores?”

“Yes! It’s to catch up on all the chores you missed these past few months! Hahahah!”

He turned to you and whispered a pathetic little “sorry,” but you waved him off.

“It’s ok, I’m used to it. Might as well treat them since I can’t cook like you, right? Keep them company.”

So here he was, sitting on the table, feeling like he was going to expel the meal he just ate, watching your parents wipe their lips with tissue like they were about to interrogate him.

“So, how’s living with (Y/n) like?”

“good.” no no. too fast. talk more. “she…… she’s nice.”

nice? is that all i have to say about her?

“Ah. That’s good to hear,” your dad replies, taking a sip of tea from a mug.

…

i guess if i said the other things i thought of her, they’d probably want to take her away from me.

“Hey, I hope she’s more active than how she used to be. She used to stay home for days, and we’d have to remind her to go outside and get some sun!” Your mom chortles, and Sans rubs the back of his neck.

“a… actually… she’s the one that wants to leave the house now. i don’t… like leaving. the house is nicer.” Sans forces a grin, but he can’t tell if it’s coming off as awkward or spine-chillingly horrifying.

He can’t gauge how your parents reacted. Your dad smirked, and your mom tilted her head. What does that mean? Do they not approve? Sans usually prides himself in being able to read people like a book- even after the head injury. But his skull is full of thoughts.

“I imagine you’d have to stay at home to hone that cooking skill, then?” Your mom offered, “that stew was amazing! The blend of herbs and spices, the broth wasn’t too thick or thin, and the meat was cooked to perfection…”

Your dad chuckles. “I don’t know about cooking as much as my wife does, but I’ll tell you what, that’s one hell of a stew you’ve got. You could probably start a restaurant,”

“heh… heh you think?” His grin turns more genuine as his cheeks turn a tinge of dark blue.

“How did you learn to cook so well, Sans? Did you go to culinary school?” Your mom pries.

“oh… no actually, i learnt it all myself,” Sans explains, “back in the underground we didn’t have much to go on but we didn’t want to eat something completely tasteless so i learnt how to make things taste good with what we had…”

Sans realizes too late that maybe he brought up the underground a bit too casually, because all of a sudden your mom looks stricken with guilt, and your dad looks awfully uncomfortable.

“O-oh, I’m so sorry Sans, I didn’t mean to…”

“no no. i-i brought it up, you don’t have to apologize,”

Is he smiling too much? Should he be frowning? Wait hold on he’s looking at your mom too much, he should look at your dad now. Oh he’s looking away…

Why was he so bad at this? He’s relied on looking scary and stopping everyone from trying to talk to him. B-but he likes your parents, they’re nice, some of the few humans that actually look past his scary face and see him as… sort of harmless?

Your dad broke the silence.

“Yes, I’ve always tried to make the most of my meals. Like when I have crumbs I’d toss them near the anthill we used to have in the backyard. Hahah, one time when (Y/n) was very little she saw me throw breadcrumbs and asked me what I was doing. I told her I was feeding the ants, and she must have been really impressed with that idea… because,”

Your dad got into a fit of giggles, and Sans perks up.

“Tch… hih! Because the next day I found her standing in front of the anthill… with bread on top of it. Whole wheat, whole bread slice. I asked her what she was doing! And she said ‘I’m feeding the ants!’ She looked so proud I had to take a picture of her! I think I have it on my phone,”

Sans mouth opens. He all but quaked in his chair, having to physically restrain from grabbing your dad’s phone.

“m-m…” Sans coughs trying to regain composure, “may i see it,”

“On it, just… give me a sec…” Sans watched as your dad scrolled and scrolled, until…

“Found it,”

He turned his phone around.

There you were, no older than 3, in a little bucket hat, sleeveless shirt and shorts, with tiny flip flops. You had a bright, sunshine smile on your face, and humorously… a slice of bread sitting amidst the grass and dirt just a foot or two away from you.

Sans’ eyelights shrinks, his grin gone. Carefully, he takes the phone out of your dad’s hands and zooms in on your face. You had dimples in your cheeks, and they… they looked so plump like little squishballs. Your eyes were round and sparkled in the sun. His hands shook.

He must’ve looked unhinged.

“What do you think?” Your mom asked.

“sh…… she’s so small……” Sans breaths, then swallows, turning to your dad. “d… d’you… do you have more…?”

Your dad snorts, his arms crossed. “‘Do you have more’ he says,” he scoffs. “Kid, we have an entire baby album.”

****

You tuned out of the conversation in the kitchen, earphones plugging your ears, a tried and true ‘dish washing’ playlist playing as your background music. It was a nice break. You’re happy to see your parents again, but they can be a bit overbearing at times… ask Sans odd questions about monsters, sometimes mention how tiny you look next to your boyfriend (which had Sans hiding his face… they thought he was offended but he was mortified, worried your parents were hinting at how he was like with you in private).

Though you certainly didn’t miss doing chores back home, you did see it as a bit of a reprieve.

But then over the music, you heard laughter… loud laughter. It didn’t sound like your dad. And Sans doesn’t usually laugh that hard. It started soft at first but it got louder and louder, until you were sure that was Sans. What were they doing to him? It almost sounded like they found his most ticklish bone and was torturing him with him.

A laugh startled you so bad you almost dropped a clean plate onto the floor. You took off an earphone just in time for your mom to walk in.

“Hi dear, this is your dad’s, he’s finished his tea. You don’t have to wash it if you don’t want to…”

“Yea, ok-” you say, distracted and looking over your mom’s shoulder as if you could see what was causing all the ruckus. “What is happening???”

“Oh,” your mom laughed, “Sans is such a sweet, delightful monster. Your dad’s showing him your baby pictures-”

“Excuse me my WHAT?!!”

You threw the gloves onto the sink counter, washed your hands hastily, and yanked the other earphone off, tossing them haphazardly into a pocket. Tripping over your feet to sprint into the room, though you realize you’re too late.

Sans is vibrating on the sofa, having migrated from the table it seems. His eyelight was blown wide, the widest you’ve seen it, glued to the open book in front of him. Your dad flipped a page, looking unaware of the murderous skeleton next to him.

“And here… oh this was on a trip to the beach. She’d gotten scared of water because of a wave too big had brought her out from shore and her legs couldn’t reach the sand. It wasn’t out to sea or anything, but when you’re that small it must’ve been scary. But the hotel had a pool and I couldn’t have my daughter stay afraid of water… this was after a fun session of swimming in floaties and being swung into the pool.”

“ah… HAHAHAH! bright… orange…!”

It was clear to you now. Sans wasn’t laughing from something funny. He was overjoyed. So overjoyed he can’t contain it in himself that he just bursts with it. His eyelights warbled. They looked like hearts shimmering under a running river.

You grabbed your head in despair. “No, no no- what have you done!”

Your dad had looked up immediately, while Sans’ didn’t, holding onto the album. Though… his grin had twisted into something dark.

Dad took a photo out, the one he was just explaining: a picture of you laughing in orange floaties, floral swimwear, carried by your dad in a clear blue pool, looking up at the camera. The sides of the picture were slightly yellow.

“Do you remember this, poppy? It’s weird to think you were ever scared of water now… it’s hard to stop you from swimming, nowadays,”

You can’t help but smile in your heart a little. It brought back happy memories of travelling with your parents when you were little.

Unfortunately, there are far more pressing matters at the moment.

“No, wait, dad… what did you do?”

“What?”

“You… you showed Sans my baby pictures?”

“Baby and toddler pictures,” your dad corrected. “Also there’s no need to be embarrassed, I feel like it’s a right of passage to have your baby pictures shown to your significant other by your parents.”

“No, I’m not embarrassed,” you shake your hands helplessly, “it’s just… Sans is gonna kill me,”

There was an incident, almost a year ago now. You were shuffling through some things you found in a box you never unpacked… at the bottom you found a polaroid of you rolled up in a baby blue blanket and, admittedly, looking pretty darned cute.

You showed it to Sans, innocently. It’s cute, you can admit it, and you knew Sans would appreciate it.

Oh how naive you were.

He held the picture, stared at it. Was at a loss for words, though he kept trying to form them helplessly, bringing it close to his face like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Then he muttered.

“b… baby…… b… baby…”

Then he went crazy. Picking you up, not listening to your protests- usually when Sans gets in a cuddly mood he ignores your complaints but that time, it was like he really couldn’t hear you. His pupil was blown wide and constantly shifted from heart to circle. He squashed you in bed, smooshed your cheeks, kissed you until you were gasping for breath- you don’t even think it’s a sexual thing, he was just overcome with cute aggression!

It wasn’t a one time thing either. Carelessly, you’d leave the picture propped up on the window as a cute memento aesthetic… thing, maybe, but every time Sans looked at the picture too long, he’d get into his violent cuddly moods and kidnap you to the bedroom to squish you. Eventually you had to hide it to avoid inducing anymore ‘cute-induced murderous rage’ in him.

And your parents just opened pandora’s box for you.

Your brows furrow in worry as Sans looks up from the album to you, his eyelight tightening into just a fraction of what it was before, zeroing in on you. His grin was wide and deranged. He chuckled, a low, threatening sound.

“heh heh… i’m going to crush you.”

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 47

part 1 | part 46 | ao3

cw: recreational drinking; fatal levels of fluffy idiocy

They make their way over to the kitchen, where Eddie snags them two cans of beer off the counter — warm, but unopened, which is really as much as you can hope for at a house party by this time of night.

Steve doesn't mind, anyway. Doesn't want Eddie's hands to be cold.

"You think you're good to step outside for a few minutes?" he asks, tugging at the hem of Eddie's leather jacket. The black hoodie he has layered underneath. They're not nearly thick enough for an extended stroll through the two-inch blanket of snow outside, but he's hoping it'll do for just a few minutes.

Eddie cracks his beer with a grin. "Why? You wanna have a snowball fight?"

"Something like that."

Eddie follows him out back, down the slope of the lawn toward the property's edge. Away from the rest of the party until theirs are the only footprints in the powdery sheet of fresh snow.

It's bright out tonight. Moonlight bounces so fully off the white canvas that Steve doesn't even need to use a flashlight, and Eddie's pale skin shines; dazzles in the moonglow, all shimmer and sparkle and so utterly alive, his limbs in constant motion to keep the cold out of his bones. He's taking these big exaggerated hop-steps, shaking the snow from his shoes with each lift, compressing the fluff beneath his feet with each heavy stomp down so it doesn't creep into the eyelets of his boots and wet his socks.

Steve's gonna thrift him a new jacket. A big, puffy one, he decides. New boots, too, next chance he gets; gonna wrap him up in a big knitted scarf and crocheted mittens and a hat with a silly little pompom on top. He'd look cute like that, all bundled up. Warm and safe.

"What are you smiling so big for?"

"No reason," Steve smiles wider with a shrug. He doesn't bother trying to explain himself, 'cause he never sounds half as eloquent out loud as he thinks he does in his head; shit gets all jumbled up on the way out of his mouth, but he just thinks, "You look cute."

Eddie stops short. "Excuse you!" he squawks, one foot still hovering in the air. Arms out wide to keep his balance on one leg. "I am not cute."

"Uh huh," Steve licks his lip. Your eyes are bigger than the moon and your cheeks get all pink when you're offended, but sure. You're not cute. "Whatever you say."

"That's right," Eddie insists. He sticks his nose up in the air with a little hmph! noise. "I'm mean and big and scary, and you like doing what I say."

"Also true," Steve agrees.

Eddie's face comes back down, expression softening into something sickeningly sweet; desperately so, almost unbearable to look at.

Steve's heart squeezes hard enough in his chest to bruise his lungs.

"Where are you taking us, anyway?"

"Not much further," Steve says. The party’s on a cul-de-sac that backs up to Maple, to Tommy’s old street — weird, considering how much newer and nicer this neighborhood is compared to Tommy's, but that's how all of Hawkins is. The zones stacked on top of each other, new money swooping in and taking over them like kudzu.

In between the neighborhoods there’s a stretch of untouched woods: old trees and tall grass, brambles and dark mulch and the remains of reedy stalks, and through the center of it all runs a massive, winding storm drain. Like the bones of a concrete snake, blanketed by moss and leaves and snow.

Steve and Tommy used to play here. Used to perch where the drain pipe let out to a shallow open groove; dangle their legs over the edge and pretend they were sitting on a lake dock instead of sweating their asses off in the woods beyond Tommy’s yard.

“This one year,” Steve says as he leads Eddie toward the spot, pausing to hold a branch back so it doesn't pop them in the face. “There was this, like- this crazy flood, and the water got so high that we could almost splash our feet in it from the top of the pipe.”

He points out the drain in question. It’s smaller than he remembers; comes up to maybe shoulder height, but it used to be huge. Used to be that he could stand up in the opening and spread his arms out wide and only just scrape the tips of his fingers against the gritty walls.

Now it looks like he’d tweak his back trying to hunch over to crawl in. Guess he was a lot smaller than he remembers then, too.

"Okay..." Eddie says as he takes wide steps toward it, eyeing the curve of snowy concrete. "I can't tell if this is secluded in a romantic way, or if this is just some creepy Stephen King shit."

Before Steve can so much as roll his eyes, Eddie gasps and spins on his heel; snow spraying under his feet, eyes impossibly wide. "Oh, my fucking god," he breathes.

It puts Steve on high alert. "What is it?" he asks as he steps in close; gets Eddie by the elbows, backs him up against the side of the pipe and uses himself as a shield so he can look over his shoulder and scan the undergrowth. Is there an animal out here? Something worse? Did Eddie see something? "What-?"

When he turns back around, Eddie's clamping his lips shut so tight it looks like it hurts. "I just realized..."

His nostrils flare as a snort escapes him.

Oh, goddammit. Steve thought it was something serious! He slouches in relief, letting his hands slip around Eddie's waist; underneath his jacket, to the dip at the small of his back. "Yes?" he sighs, prompting Eddie to spill whatever's got him trying so hard not to laugh.

"Your- your name is Stephen."

Uh. "Yeah?" What the hell...? "I mean, it's Steven with a V, but- yeah?"

Another giggle breaks free. "And- and you're The King."

"...Oh, my god."

He's so stupid. He is so fucking stupid. Eddie's snickering so hard it's making his nose wrinkle up, his whole face flushed a brilliant pink, and there are fireworks going off in the neighborhoods all around them; Steve can hear the countdowns starting, the muted chorus over the hills, people shouting 'ten! nine! eight!' and Eddie's so fucking tickled he can barely get his words out.

"Baby," he gasps as the crowds chant four! and three! "You're Stephen King."

Two!

Steve has to kiss him.

One!

Has to kiss him and never stop.

"You're an idiot, Eddie Munson," he smiles against laughing lips, and their tongues meet in the middle as they ring the new year in.

—

part 48

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[cillianhead]

Hi, I love love love everything you write! Your so talented could you please write something about Emmett. He & y/n have arrived on the island and Emmett can't wait to make love to her without being quiet. Thank you ❤️

You are amazing thank you <3

I love Emmett...

that film was what got me into Cillian. Literally remember going nuts over how hot he was.

Anyway... hope you enjoy!!

Scream For Me || Emmett x Reader

Warnings: SMUT, unprotected P in V, oral sex (m receiving), daddy kink, breeding kink, adult content.

18+ Minors DNI

The island was safe. You kept repeating in your head, and you couldn't help but flinch as everyone spoke out loud or did something a little too noisy. You just sat and waited for the horrid creatures to get them but they never came because they couldn't swim. Emmett easily talked aloud, it was strange, this was the first time you had really heard him talk so loud. Of course, you'd speak louder than a whisper but never this openly. His voice made you feel all woozy and shy in such a pathetic way.

"I reckon we're gonna head to bed now..." Emmett murmured to the group around the fire, he looked at you, seeing your nervousness. This was only your second night on the island, you still hadn't quite adjusted yet to a comfortable bed and clean clothes... and working showers. "It was lovely talking to you all, goodnight." Emmett patted a few guys on the back, waving politely before sauntering to you.

Emmett picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, you gasped at this, looking at the people giggling at you two. They had a small empty house for the two of you to live in, it was nice enough. Nicer than anything you'd find back out on the mainland.

"So quiet," Emmett hummed as he sat you down on the foot of your bed. A look of hunger was evident on his face. "You're such a good girl, Y/N." He knelt down in front of you, torso in between your legs as he peppered kisses along your neck and collarbone.

"Emmett..." You whispered.

"No need to whisper here, sweet girl," He grinned at you. "You can be as loud as you want."

You leaned in, kissing him desperately, the way he pawed at you made you feel weak. Hands slipping underneath your cotton sweater and pulling it over your head, breaking the kiss. "No bra?" Emmett smirked before teeth sank into the top of your left breast, sucking in and creating a plum-colored bruise. He was trying to elicit a reaction out of you, trying to get you to moan, trying to get you to be loud.

"God... Em..." You said through shaky breaths, a little louder this time. He kept marking you until your entire chest was littered with love bites with teeth marks indented around it like some sort of peculiar pattern of rosettes. "Markin' you as mine," He grunted before latching a mouth onto your erect nipple. "Everyone's gonna see ya love, gonna see how you belong to me, and you're my girl" Emmett pulled away from you, pulling off his clean white shirt, revealing his chest hair and the snail trail that tucked itself away under his trousers.

"Emmett... we haven't... had sex in so long..." You bit your lip, thinking about how you had been so stressed and so busy trying to survive that you never really had time to do anything. You thought about how last night you two had separate showers. You had a long hot shower, the first in a long time. Of course, you bathed in creeks but it wasn't the same. You had been given a fresh clean razor when you first arrived on the island as well. Emmett chose to neatly trim his beard but he still kept it long. He knew how you loved his beard.

"I know, need you so fucking bad, feel..." He grabbed your wrist and placed it over his clothed cock, letting you feel how rock-hard he was. You reached up and eagerly tugged down his pants, the ones that fit him so nicely, they were slightly high-waisted and they weren't caked in dirt or old blood. You wondered what Emmett was like before this all started, you wondered how you two would've gotten along, though you quickly remembered that he had a wife before all of this. "Gonna suck my cock? Must be a special occasion, go on, baby, suck me off."

You give a timid lick to the weeping head of his cock, sighing happily at the taste of his precum on the tip of your tongue. "Don't tease." He said firmly. Emmett held you by your hair which was pulled up into a makeshift ponytail. You looked up at him as you slowly wrapped your lips around the tip, sucking harshly and feeling pleased as you see his eyes flutter shut, sinking even further down on his shaft.

Emmett's hips bucked into your mouth involuntarily, you gagged and he moaned at the sight of you. Spit dribbling out of your mouth, lips stretched around his thick cock and eyes all watery for him. One of your fingers slipped underneath your shorts, slowly rubbing at your clit and moaning around his dick as he began fucking in and out of your mouth, letting tears slip down your face.

"I love your little mouth," He grunted deliriously, hands on either side of your head as he fucked it harshly, using you like a fleshlight. "I wanna cum down your throat... fuck... but I need to be inside you." He slowly pulled his wet cock from your dribbling mouth. You gasped in for air, massaging your aching jaw as he stroked himself slowly.

"I want you to cum inside of me... please..." You whispered. He had never done that before, the last thing you two needed was for you to get pregnant during a time like this. But things were different now, you were on the island, and maybe you could raise a baby together finally. "Please... Emmett..." Your glossy eyes looked up at him, pleading silently with him.

Emmett's eyes glazed over, he looked like was high as you slipped your shorts and underwear off, revealing your freshly shaved cunt to him. His jaw fell open as he whimpered, "Fuck, look at that," Emmett let go of himself and approached you slowly, pushing you down and spreading your legs open to look down at this new look for you. "What a pretty little thing... can't believe you did this for me."

"All for you, daddy." You hummed quietly, no louder than you would when you'd fuck in the bunker. He grunted at the nickname as he fell down on top of you, holding himself up with one arm and the other helped guide his throbbing hard-on to your gushing pussy. "Are you gonna cum in me?" "So desperate for it, 'course I'm gonna fuckin' cum in ya," He remarked, pushing into you slowly. "How could I deny you of that? Especially 'cause you asked so nicely."

You arched your back, slapping a hand over your mouth to cover your moans like you always did for him as his cock was now fully sheathed within you. The stretch ached deliciously, pussy clenching around him, begging him to move.

"Fuck..." You whined, eyes rolling to the back of your head, nails digging into Emmett's strong shoulders. "Emmett..." You whispered. You were trying your best to stay quiet as he began grinding into you.

"Speak up for me," Emmett groaned, rolling his hips right into where you needed him. "Need to hear you scream for me, baby... I know you've got it in you."

You shook your head, whimpering as he fucked you like a pornstar, panting above you, mouth agape and eyes clearly displeased with your disobedient reaction. One of his nimble fingers slipped down your stomach and onto your pulsing clit, you were painfully aroused, every stroke of his dick brushing perfectly against your g-spot. Your mind goes completely blank, legs squeezing and shaking around him, nails leaving claw marks on Emmett's biceps. You couldn't help but start to scream, he was fucking you so passionately you couldn't hold it in.

"That's it," He breathily said. "That's my girl, tell me how good I'm fucking you." "So good!" You moaned, sounding like you were being railed within an inch of your life. His balls slapped against your ass and Emmett's hands now were gripping onto your hips, holding you tightly, manhandling you into the bed and using you to chase his own pleasure. You were a mess, an extremely loud mess, on the brink of tears at how good he fucked you. "God.... daddy! Oh... fuck... wanna have your babies!"

A sick grin spread across his blissed-out face, high on the feeling of your tight cunt all stretched out around him. "Then I'll give you my babies if that's what you want, gonna cream in you, gonna fill you with my cum every fuckin' night til..." He gasped out, stuttering on his words, you were squeezing him tighter than ever, his raspy tone of voice bringing you closer to cumming your brains out. "...Gonna fill you with my cum every night til... I see you walkin' round all pregnant and glowing with my kid in you."

You nodded your head desperately and cried like a slut, Emmett leaned down and intimately pressed his forehead against your own, thrusts sloppy as you felt the orgasm unleash itself upon you. The pleasure is hot and white and consuming, words incoherent as you scream out. His own seed fills you like an endless fountain, the vibrations of his own moaning in your neck send you further down that spiral of pleasure.

"Oh, daddy..." You're gasping out for air, your hands cupping your own tits as he still rutted into you, almost a bit pathetically, his cum spilling out of you as his seed just kept on coming. "So... so full..."

His eyes are squeezed shut, the veins in his forehead prominent as he slowly begins to come down. He didn't say a word as he collapsed on top of you, catching his breath, sweaty skin pressed against you. "My love... took me so well..."

"I think I was too loud..." You bit your lip, feeling incredibly flustered and embarrassed at how you knew the rest of the island probably heard your late night shenanigans.

"No such thing," Emmett pressed wet kisses along your jaw, trailing them until he reached your lips. "Prettiest thing I've ever heard." He whispered, speaking right into your mouth. "I'm gonna make you scream until your throat is raw, I'm addicted to your sounds."

You could feel him grow hard again and his hungry lips took yours in his again and the screaming began again, this time concealed within a kiss.

-

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Pilot | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 4833

A/N: This is gonna be the slowest of burns. Every Saturday, these will publish at 3:00 PM CDT! I hope you all enjoy. Taglist/Requests are open!!

Series Rewrite Masterlist

A trail of men disappearing spanning decades had brought you to Jericho, California. It seemed it would be a pretty standard hunt. From the moment you arrived, though, you knew this would be different.

You’d run into other hunters on jobs before, but none as strange and belligerent as John. John was all you knew him by. He was rough around the edges, and in all honesty, a complete dick. You had unintentionally gotten into an unspoken race with him to see who could finish the hunt first. Both of you refused to back off and go find another job; you just out of spite and him… you had no idea why a guy old enough to be your father was being so petty and territorial about this hunt. And perhaps that’s what fueled your fire to finish this hunt before John could. You thought maybe he knew something you didn’t about the hunt, and you were desperate to find out. But then… he disappeared. 

About a week into the “competition” you were having with John, he disappeared. You didn’t see him around Joseph Welch’s house, the Breckenridge Road home, or the Centennial Highway Bridge. It was completely puzzling. He didn’t seem like the type to up and leave in the middle of a job, but you brushed the unsettled feeling you had aside to keep pushing through your hunt. 

You had torched the body of Constance Welch the same night you guessed John left. You were just about to leave town, and then, Troy Squire ended up dead by what you assumed were Constance’s hands. 

You pulled up to the Centennial Highway Bridge in yet another stolen car. 

‘One of these days I won’t keep putting a neon sign on my back by stealing cars and actually find a way to buy one,’ you thought.

Almost as if on cue, another car pulled up next to yours. Except this car— a black 1967 Chevy Impala— was way nicer than the shitty sedan you’d copped for the time being. 

Two young men in the most layers you’ve ever seen anyone wear in the California sun stepped out on either side of the car. You pushed aside the thought of how attractive the shorter of the pair was and kept walking toward the taped-off part of the bridge where a few officers were milling around a crashed car. 

“Is that Troy’s? Oh, my God,” you shook your head, making sure the officers could hear you. 

“Ma’am, you are not supposed to be here,” an officer told you, trying to keep you from walking any closer to the car.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, I just—” you sniffed, “—I’m his cousin. We were really close growing up, and I, uh, just had to see this for myself, um, do you have any idea what could’ve happened?”

“We were wondering the same thing,” a deep voice called from behind you, making you wheel around.

‘Fuck. The Impala dudes.’

“And who are you?” the officer you’d been speaking to asked.

“Federal marshals,” one said, flashing a badge.

‘Goddammit, more hunters.’ You held back an eye roll, doing your best to stay in character.

“You two are a little young for marshals, aren't you?”

The one you’d found attractive initially flashed a smile. “Thanks, that's awfully kind of you. You just had another one just like this, correct?”

The officer you’d been speaking to didn’t seem too convinced by their story, but replied anyway. “Yeah, that's right. About a mile up the road. There've been others before that.”

“Any connection between the victims, besides that they're all men?”

“No. Not so far as we can tell.”

“So, what's the theory?” the taller guy asked. 

“Honestly, we don't know. Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?” The officer seemed to remember you were standing there as he spoke. “Ma’am, I really do need you to go.”

“I was just about to—” you started, before the shorter guy cut you off. 

“What kinda crack police work are you doing; talking about sensitive information in front of townies?” He was cut off with a grunt; apparently the other guy had stepped on his foot. 

“Thank you for your time,” you told the officer, suddenly feeling very awkward. You turned on your heel, hurrying away. 

***

After the bizarre incident with the other two hunters on the bridge, you went down to a local diner to get something to eat. You were puzzled as to why Constance was still around after you torched her bones. You flipped through a few pages of your journal when you saw the two hunters from the bridge walking in with two goth chicks. 

‘What the fuck. First John, and now this.’

The shorter one of the pair caught the glare you threw their way over your shoulder. He had a smug look on his face you couldn’t quite read as he sat down in a booth with the girls and his partner. You did your best to listen in on their conversation as you sipped your drink. 

“I was on the phone with Troy. He was driving home. He said he would call me right back, and...he never did,” you heard one of the girls lament. 

You recognized the voice of the taller one. “He didn't say anything strange, or out of the ordinary?”

“No. Nothing I can remember.”

“I like your necklace.”

“Troy gave it to me. Mostly to scare my parents—” the girl laughed, “—with all that devil stuff.”

“Actually, it means just the opposite. A pentagram is protection against evil. Really powerful. I mean, if you believe in that kind of thing.”

“Okay. Thank you, Unsolved Mysteries,” the other guy’s voice broke in. 

You held back a small laugh. You hated to admit it, but he was pretty funny. 

“Here's the deal, ladies,” the pretty one said, “The way Troy disappeared, something's not right. So if you've heard anything… What is it?”

Your eyebrows drew together, your back still turned to the group.

“Well, it's just... I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk,” a new voice chimed in. 

“What do they talk about?” the two boys said in unison.

It got a little harder to hear as one of the girls quieted her voice. “It's kind of this local legend. This one girl? She got murdered out on Centennial, like decades ago. Well, supposedly she's still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever.”

‘Yeah, yeah, I already know that. They are way far behind me in the process.’

“Well, thank you for your time, ladies,” the voice of the taller one spoke amidst some rustling. You figured they were getting up to leave. 

You dropped a twenty on the table, let the door shut behind the group, and stood to follow the boys out. You hung back a little while you watched them head to their car. 

“I know you’re back there, sweetheart,” the pretty one called without turning around.

“I know you do. I was just testing you,” you said, walking closer. “Look, I’ve already got this one covered. You guys should find something else.”

“Not a chance,” the pretty boy replied. 

“Look, man—” you started. 

“We’re just looking for our dad,” the taller one cut you off. “We think he’s working this same job.”

“Wait, is your dad’s name John?” you asked, surprised. 

Both of them started toward you, their shock and confusion evident. “How do you—”

“Whoa, easy,” you giggled. “He was here a few days ago and then he just, pfft,” you imitated a puff of smoke, “disappeared.”

The pretty boy ran his hand through his hair, looking frustrated, while the taller guy continued talking to you. “Was he working with you?”

“Hardly,” you scoffed, “we were kind of in an unspoken competition to see who could smoke this bitch first when he disappeared. And then, Troy ended up dead a day later. I thought maybe he was connected to Troy’s death some kind of way.”

“I don’t think so,” the taller one answered. “I’m Sam, by the way. This is my brother, Dean.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m (Y/N),” you shook Sam’s hand. When you reached for Dean’s, though, he rolled his eyes at you without taking it. 

“Oh-kay,” you muttered. 

“Sorry about him,” Sam told you. “He’s—”

“A bit touchy?” you smirked.

“Yeah,” Sam laughed. 

“I can hear you two, y’know,” Dean snarked. 

“I know,” you quipped. “So, what’s your theory on your dad?”

“We have no idea,” Sam said. “We were hoping you might know.”

“I have nothing for you,” you shook your head. 

“Well, do you know anything about the case?” 

“A lot, actually. Chick’s name is Constance Welch. She’s a woman in white. She lives at the end of Breckenridge Road. I talked to her husband, and he definitely cheated on her. He buried her in a plot behind her house. I went there and torched her. I was just about to leave town when your dad disappeared, Troy wound up dead, and you two showed up.”

“Then, there’s gotta be something else keeping her here,” Sam told you.

“Okay, then what?”

***

“So this is where Constance took the swan dive,” Dean said. The three of you looked over the railing of the Centennial Highway Bridge. Sam had been nice enough to force his brother to let you tag along. 

“Okay, so now what?” Sam asked.

“Now we keep digging until we find Dad. Might take a while,” Dean responded.

“Dean, I told you, I've gotta get back by Monday—”

“What’s Monday?” you asked. 

“I’ve got an interview with law school.”

“Oh, shit, no way!” you smiled. 

Sam smiled back at you before Dean cut in. “Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just going to become some lawyer? Marry your girl?”

“Maybe. Why not?” Sam cut back.

“Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know about the things you've done?”

“No, and she's not ever going to know.”

“Well, that's healthy. You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are.” Dean kept walking down the bridge. 

“And who's that?”

“You're one of us,” Dean said. 

Sam hurried around him. “No. I'm not like you. This is not going to be my life.”

You felt really awkward doing what felt like intruding on a private moment. Your eyes began to scan the railing of the bridge opposite you.

“You have a responsibility to—”

Sam cut his brother off. “To Dad? And his crusade? If it weren't for pictures I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like. And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, Mom's gone. And she isn't coming back.”

You were doing your best not to listen in on their conversation when Dean grabbed his brother by the collar and shoved him against the bridge railing.

“Uh, guys—” you started, your eye caught by what looked like Constance standing on the railing of the bridge.

“Don't talk about her like that,” Dean grumbled at his brother; ignoring you.

“Guys!” 

“What?!” Dean turned to face you, stopping when he caught sight of Constance. Constance then stepped off the railing. 

The three of you broke off in a sprint toward the spot she’d leapt off. You searched the water below. “Where'd she go?”

“No idea,” Dean answered. 

Your visual search was interrupted by a bright light coming on in the corner of your eye. Dean’s Impala’s headlights. 

“What the fuck—” Dean trailed off.

“Who's driving your car?” you asked him. 

He responded by pulling the keys out of his pocket and jingling them. 

“Oh.”

The car jerked to life, heading straight for you and the boys. You broke into a sprint yet again, doing your best to outrun the car; a task that proved impossible. 

“Jump!” you screamed, and the three of you threw yourselves over the side of the bridge. You thankfully caught a bit of the bridge that jutted out over the water and pulled yourself back up, groaning.

‘My arm’s gonna be sore as a bitch in the morning.’

“Dean?” Sam yelled down to the water below. “Dean!”

“What?” came his aggravated response. 

You looked down to see a mud-covered Dean crawling out of the water. You couldn’t hold back a laugh upon seeing him.

“Not funny, sweetheart,” he called up to you.

“My name’s (Y/N),” you answered. “Don’t call me sweetheart. It weirds me out.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

“Guys, you can argue later. You okay?” Sam called down to Dean.

“I’m super,” his brother responded.

You and Sam climbed back over the railing of the bridge while Dean made his way up to you. The car had stopped only a few inches from where the three of you dove over. Dean busied himself inspecting the engine while you sat with your back leaned against the passenger’s side door. 

“Your car okay?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah, whatever she did to it, seems all right now.” Dean shut the hood. “That Constance chick, what a bitch!”

You chuckled to yourself at his antics. “Alright, well, I don’t think the bridge is what’s tying her here. What now?”

Dean raised his hands in frustration, flicking mud off his hands in the process. 

Sam caught a whiff of his brother. “You smell like a toilet.”

***

Your next stop was a motel. When you went to check in, the clerk informed Dean that another man under the last name on Dean’s card had bought out a room for the whole month. And so, you and the boys went poking around John’s room. 

Every surface was covered in newspaper clippings, magazine articles, photos, hastily scribbled notes, and bits of red tape tying some of them together. 

“I knew John was weird, but this is a whole new level,” you commented, slightly in awe of the frantic scribblings covering the wall. 

‘'Don’t talk about him like that,” Dean grumbled. “I'm gonna get cleaned up.” He started toward the shower. 

“Hey, Dean?” Sam stopped him.

His brother turned around. 

“What I said earlier, about Mom and Dad, I'm sorry—”

Dean held up a hand, cutting him off. “No chick-flick moments.”

Sam laughed. “Alright, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“You guys are strange.”

Dean rolled his eyes at you before disappearing into the bathroom. 

You started looking around John’s room. A closer look at the walls of information revealed pages on demons, witches, possession, and other bits of newspaper referring to mysterious deaths unlike anything you’d heard before. One was an obituary clipping from 1983; taking you aback. The picture was of a gorgeous blonde woman named Mary Winchester who died in a house fire. Her picture was surrounded by other house fire deaths and linked by red thread to multiple of the demon and witch articles. You walked over to his dresser where there was a picture of a much younger John holding two boys who you assumed were Sam and Dean. 

“You guys were cute kids,” you told Sam, showing him the picture.

He smiled sadly at it. 

After a brief melancholy pause, you spoke up. “So, what’s your deal? College? Law school? Part-time hunter? That doesn’t add up.”

“My, uh, my dad raised us as hunters after my mom passed,” he explained. 

“I’m sorry,” you told him, sitting on the bed next to him. “Was her death the reason your dad became a hunter?”

“Yeah. I’m not exactly sure what happened; I wasn’t even a year old yet. Dean remembers way more than I do, but he said our dad was never the same. Anyway, two years ago, dad and I got into a fight. I wanted to go to school, and he wanted me to stay and hunt. So I left.”

“Dean said you got a girl now? Was that the voicemail you were listening to a few minutes ago?”

“Yeah, actually. Jess. She’s— she’s amazing. I’m excited to get back to her.” You could see how much he loved her just in how his face lit up talking about her.

“I’m sure you are,” you smiled. 

“So, what about you? What’s your story?” he nudged your shoulder with his. 

“Meh, not much to tell.”

“Aw, come on—” Sam rebutted. 

“I’m serious!” you laughed. “I’ve just always hunted. Never knew anything different.”

“I know that’s difficult.” His tone became serious again. 

“Nah, it’s not so bad. I enjoy it. Brings me a little peace, y’know?” you shrugged.

“You sound like Dean.”

“Speaking of which, he’s taking forever and a day in the shower,” you joked. You bounced over to the bathroom door, leaning your ear on it about to knock. “Hey, princess—” 

You were cut off by the door opening and stumbled into Dean’s chest. 

He caught you by the shoulders. “You were saying?” 

You shoved off him, annoyed by his smug smile and quirked eyebrow. “Sorry.”

“Anyway,” Dean began, “I'm starving, I'm gonna grab a little something to eat in that diner down the street. You want anything?”

“No,” Sam said.

“A burger would be great,” you told him. 

“Wasn’t asking you,” Dean said. 

You stuck your tongue out at him. “Aframian’s buying, anyway, so what difference is it to you?”

“Nothing, it’s just fun to rile you up.” He winked and smiled at you, amused at your aggravated expression before closing the door behind him. 

You shook your head. “Dick.”

Sam laughed. “You get used to him.” He went back to his phone, relistening to his girlfriend’s voicemail. He furrowed his brows before pressing it to his ear. “What?” He stands up, catching your attention. “What about you?” He huffed when he hung up the phone, rushing over to the closed curtains to peek out. 

“What, what is it?” You crossed your arms.

“Police got Dean. We need to leave.”

“Shit.”

Sam quickly pulled away from the window which you understood meant you had company. You hid under the bed, anxiously waiting to see the officer’s boots make their way into the bathroom. You began scooching yourself out from under the bed frame, and when he’d slammed the door to the bathroom open, you and Sam snuck out of the room. Thankfully, Sam had Dean’s keys, and the two of you sped away from the motel in Dean’s Impala.

“Well, shit,” you breathed, your heart still beating quickly.

Sam huffed out a laugh, still recovering from the adrenaline.

***

You and Sam were headed to Breckenridge Road to hopefully figure out how to stop Constance. Since you had torched the body, then maybe something in her house was keeping her alive. 

After Dean’s arrest, the two of you were intent on getting Dean and getting the hell out of Jericho before anyone else had a run-in with the cops. 

Sam’s phone rang, and he answered quickly. “Hello?” He tossed a look your way. “Actually, it was (Y/N)’s idea.” You had no doubt he was referring to the fake shooting you’d called in to the police department so Dean had an opportunity to escape. You motioned for him to give you the phone.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” you told him once you had the phone to your ear. 

“Yeah, whatever, sweetheart,” Dean’s gruff voice responded.

“I told you not to call me that.”

“And I’ve made it pretty clear I’m not going to listen. Hey, give the phone back to Sam. I gotta talk to him.”

“And why can’t you tell me? Don’t you trust me? I’m offended, babe,” you quipped. 

“Don’t objectify me.”

“Hey, you started it with the whole ‘sweetheart’ thing.”

“C’mon, (Y/N), give him the—”

“Shit!” you screamed, dropping the phone as the car came to a screeching halt. “What the hell, Sam?”

“Constance,” he replied coolly. He kept a level head despite the tense situation. 

You looked up at the rearview mirror to see her in the backseat. “Fuck.” 

Constance’s hauntingly beautiful voice melodically flowed from the backseat. “Take me home.”

“No,” Sam answered. 

You saw her glare as the doors started to lock themselves. You whipped around to start trying to reopen them. The car began jerking forward. 

“What the hell, Sam? Stop!” you told him. 

“It’s not me.”

You looked over to see him holding his hands up. The steering wheel was moving itself. You turned back to the door, struggling to get the lock open. Eventually, you wound up at Constance’s abandoned Breckenridge Road house. The car’s rumble quieted and the headlights turned off. 

“Don't do this,” Sam pleaded, still holding his hands up. 

The ghost flickered, sounding sad. “I can never go home.”

‘That’s it.’

“You're scared to go home,” you realized. When you turned around to look at her, she had disappeared. Before you could even turn back around, you felt the bench seat reclining forcefully. 

“Sam!” 

Constance sat atop him, begging him to hold her. 

“You can't kill me. I'm not unfaithful. I've never been!”

“You will be,” she hummed. “Just hold me.”

You fumbled for your gun hidden under your top. Before you could fully aim at her, you felt your back make brief contact with the Impala’s door before flying through the air. You barely registered Sam yelling your name as you groaned in pain on the dead grass beneath you. 

You rolled around, trying to regain your wits and recover when you heard the sound of multiple gunshots. 

“Sam!”

“It’s me, (Y/N), stay down!” Dean yelled. 

Suddenly, Dean’s car burst through the front of the abandoned house. You pushed yourself up off the ground; your joints and back aching in protest. 

“Sam! Sam! You okay?” Dean called after the car. 

‘I’m fine, Dean, thanks for asking,’ you thought. 

The two of you climbed over the rubble to the passenger’s side window. 

“I think,” Sam responded weakly. 

“Can you move?” you asked.

“Yeah. Help me?” He reached out to his brother. 

Dean pulled Sam through the window of the car. “There you go.”

You turned to see Constance looking sadly at a picture she was holding before slamming it to the floor. She glared at the three of you harshly, forcing a bureau across the floor to pin you to Dean’s car. 

You groaned in pain once again as Dean struggled to push the furniture off. You stopped your struggle at the lights flickering and the sound of water rushing down the stairs. 

“You've come home to us, Mommy,” the echoey voices of Constance’s children sang. They appeared behind her, hugging her as she screamed. In a surge of energy, Constance and her children began melting to the floor. Constance’s resounding scream seemed to get louder and louder with each passing moment, the flickering of the lights becoming more and more intense. You squeezed your eyes shut until the screaming subsided, suddenly feeling the pressure on your stomach relieved. All that was left of Constance and her children was a puddle of murky water on the floor. 

“So this is where she drowned her kids,” Dean said while you rubbed your stomach, recovering from the pressure of the bureau. 

Sam nodded. “That's why she could never go home. She was too scared to face them.”

“You found her weak spot. Nice work, Sammy.” Dean slapped his brother on the chest where he’d been injured by Constance.

Sam laughed despite the pain. “Yeah, I wish I could say the same for you. What were you thinking shooting Casper in the face, you freak?”

“Hey. Saved your ass,” Dean commented, starting to look over his beloved Impala. “I'll tell you another thing. If you screwed up my car? I'll kill you.” 

You giggled at Sam and Dean’s banter. Sam and Dean started to get back into the car, and you idled awkwardly. 

“Whatcha doin’? Let’s go.” Sam looked at you expectantly. 

“Go where?” you asked, feeling stupid. 

“I think we make a pretty solid team. You should tag along.”

“What?” Dean asked while you started shaking your head. 

“No, no, I shouldn’t—” 

“You should. I’m going back to school, and I know Dean’s gonna be lost without me trying to find my dad.”

A slow smile crossed your face. “Thank you. That’d be nice, actually.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything to the contrary. And with that, the three of you set off to drop Sam back off at college. 

***

The thing Dean so desperately wanted to tell Sam that he couldn’t tell you earlier was that his dad had left coordinates to a place called Blackwater Ridge, Colorado in the journal he’d left behind in Jericho. John was getting weirder and weirder by the minute. 

“AC/DC. I like it,” you said from the backseat. 

“Thanks.” Dean cracked what seemed like a genuine, lopsided smile at you for the first time in the rearview mirror. “Sam thinks it’s mullet rock.”

“Yeah, well, it’s better than Kiss and Poison.”

“True that.” Despite the fact that he was agreeing with you about something as mundane as music, his tone was still guarded.

“How far is Blackwater Ridge?” you asked Sam, who was looking over a map. 

“About 600 miles,” he answered.

“Hey, if we shag ass we could make it by morning,” Dean cut in. 

Sam suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Dean, I, um…”

The older brother deflated. “You're not going.”

“The interview's in like, ten hours. I gotta be there,” Sam tried to reason.

Dean nodded, disappointed, and returned his attention to the road. “Yeah. Yeah, whatever. I'll take you home.”

The mood in the car had turned tense, awkward, and sour, and remained that way for the rest of the drive back to Sam’s college.

“Dude, you go to Stanford?” you asked incredulously.

“Yeah,” he nodded, sheepishly.

“Alright, smartass, look at you.” You nudged his shoulder with your balled fist. 

Dean rolled to a stop in front of Sam’s apartment complex. 

You and Sam got out of the car. You gave him a quick hug goodbye before climbing down into the front seat. 

Sam leaned into your rolled-down window. “Call me if you find him?”

Dean nodded. 

“And maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?”

Despite Sam’s chipper tone, Dean’s disappointment was clear. “Yeah, all right.”

Sam patted the car door twice before turning away. 

“Sam?” Dean called before his brother could get too far. “You know, we made a hell of a team back there.” 

You felt a pang in your heart at Dean’s indirect attempt to try to convince Sam to stay. 

Sam nodded with a half-hearted smile. “Yeah.” 

Dean then began to drive off. 

The two of you didn’t get any more than five minutes down the road before you felt something was off. You could no longer hear the steady ticking of Dean’s watch breaking through the almost awkward silence. Sure enough, when you looked over at the wrist he had perched atop the steering wheel, the watch was stopped. 

“Dean,” you said. You tapped his watch’s face with your fingernail. 

He matched your worried glance, immediately turning the car around.

The car had barely stopped before you and Dean were leaping into action. You let Dean take the lead in rushing up to Sam’s apartment. 

Dean kicked the door to the apartment open, calling out to his brother in the process. You gasped when you caught sight of flames licking at the ceiling coming out from what you assumed was Sam’s bedroom. 

You heard Sam’s voice weakly calling his girlfriend’s name as you rushed to get him out of the smoldering room. You just barely caught sight of a body bleeding from the stomach burning on the ceiling before you and Dean dragged a screaming Sam out of his bedroom and away from the fire. You fought him every step of the way out of his apartment complex. 

It didn’t take long for the fire department to show up and the police to start asking questions. A small crowd had gathered to gawk at Sam’s smoldering apartment. Your face was steely as you watched the firefighters carry Jess out in a body bag. You and Dean took the brunt of the questions the police had, allowing Sam as much space as he needed. 

You and Dean soon headed over to the Impala where Sam was packing up the weapons cavity of the trunk. Both of you seemed too scared to ask Sam what was running through his head, and neither of you had any idea what to say. 

Sam threw a shotgun into the weapons box before muttering, “We got work to do,” and slamming the trunk shut.

You threw a look at Dean, who shook his head in response. Biting the inside of your cheek, you followed the boys into the car. As the three of you left Sam’s apartment in the rearview mirror, you realized the course of your formerly relatively boring life was changing very quickly. 

‘Damn you, John. Wherever you are.’

[reiderwriter]

discard this request if it isnt your style but it might be funny

bdsm and kink culture reader with vanilla spencer. r is being super 🌶 and spencer is not understanding (maybe r teaches him and he gets really into it)

Vanilla Spencer is so fucking funny to me, because given the chance this man could have the most fucked up sexual habits of anyone in the BAU but he also seems like the type of guy who would be like "idk people get murdered with shit like this" you know 😭 anyway, here's the fic, hope you enjoy, anon!

Summary: You want to spice up your bedroom activities with Spencer, but he's just not getting it.

Warnings: BDSM themes, vanilla! Spencer into soft! Dom Spencer, mentions of spanking, some dry humping, dirty talk, daddy kink mentioned. 18+ MINORS DNI

Here's my masterlist and my requests are open!

“Oh, what are you gonna do about it? Gonna spank me?”

“Actually, no study has found physical punishment to have a long-term positive effect, and most studies have found negative effects, with children who undergo physical punishment found to grow up to be more aggressive adults.”

You really weren’t sure what you were expecting from your boyfriend.

So far your sex life together had been pretty vanilla. He was an absolute gentleman, making sure to gain your consent everytime he tried something new. He was soft and sweet, and quite honestly, one of the best you’d had in your life because of how attentive he was to your body language.

But recently, you’d been aching for something a little more interesting, to say the least.

“Oh but I’ve been such a bad little girl.” You try again, hoping that he gets the idea this time.

“You shouldn’t think like that, baby, you know you’re doing a great job at work, and if there’s anything you’re struggling with, we can talk it through, okay?” You want to rip your hair out in frustration.

“No, god, Spencer, I want…” you let out a groan and pick yourself up from your chair, choosing instead to climb into his lap and make it more obvious.

“Do you remember that case we took two weeks back? All the couples had some pretty interesting private lives?” You wrapped your hands around his neck and started grinding down on his lap, hopeful that he’d get the idea.

“The family annihilator that went after couples engaging in the BDSM lifestyle? The one who was so traumatised by the discovery of his parents hobbies that he started murdering couples with families that looked like his own?” He still seemed a little confused but he grabbed your hips, aware of the direction this was heading in, at least.

“Heinous murderer aside, were you not at all intrigued by some of the research we had to do?” You pushed your hips down into his again and again, but now you could feel his reciprocation from beneath his slacks.

“Are you talking about the japanese rope bondage, or the dog leashes, specifically?” Spencer teased you, as his hands started trailing up and down your back.

“Spencer don’t tease….”

“No, I’m really curious, what was it that you wanted me to do first?” Spencer was smirking now, and whilst you were happy he was finally picking up what you were putting down, you weren’t exactly excited to have to voice your needs.

“I want you to….I want you to, ummm…..” Your mind was going blank now, because one of Spencer’s hands was now under your skirt drawing small circles, moving closer and closer to your centre.

“Oh that's right, you wanted me to spank you, right baby?” You couldn’t hold back the moan as you felt him finally touch you where you needed him.

“Oh, you like that idea, do you? Want me to throw you over my lap and ruin your nice little ass until you can barely sit.” You were grinding desperately into his fingers now, wishing that he’d make the final move and push your panties aside.

“Use your voice, baby, you know we can’t go any further unless I hear you say what you want.”

“Fuck, fuck, touch me, fucking touch me now.”

“How about we try saying that a little bit nicer this time?” He makes to move his hand away and you whimper - you actually fucking whimper - at the loss of contact, obviously enjoying this a little bit more than you thought you were.

So you partially blamed your unconscious need for him on the next set of words to escape your mouth.

“Fuck me, daddy.”

His hands stilled completely and your eyes shot open, immediatley looking into his darkened ones.

“What did you just call me?” You felt his hips shift under yours and knew you finally fully had him.

“I called you daddy.” You whispered, your lips moving closer and closer to his, practically begging for some more attention.

Instead, he pushed you off him, and you fell unceremoniously onto the floor while he stood and straightened his clothes.

“I want you on the bed, ass up and legs spread for me. What kind of daddy would I be if I denied my little girl, right?” he smirked down at you.

It was going to be a fun night.

[theglassofmiddleearth]

I'm Always Funny. You're Just Not Smart Enough To Keep Up. (Teaser!)

Max Verstappen X reader

Danny Ricciardo X reader platonic.

Not sure if anyone here is an F1 fan but I've recently gotten into F1 and I've started writing a small fanfiction of Max Verstappen Fake relationship Au! Please tell me if you like this and want the rest of it! Enjoy~

Max had just broken up with his long time girlfriend Kelly Piquet. 

They had disagreed on their future plans and had decided it would be better to part ways. It was an amicable split and Max still visited Penelope. However, the media wasn’t kind to him, not that it usually was.

Fans were in a roar over the split calling him all sorts of names for the past seven months.

It wasn’t too bad until the sponsors started to look a bit concerned over the state of the media.

Y/N, being a small town girl from Perth Australia, knew Daniel Ricciardo from when she was younger. His sister Michelle would babysit Y/N from time to time and that's how she came to meet the ever enthusiastic personality that was Daniel.

Daniel, alongside Michelle, had been like an older sibling to Y/N. He would always visit her or text her to catch her up on his state of affairs. 

After his ill-fated departure from Mclaren, to which Y/N was still fuming over. He had spent two months back in Australia, lounging around before Y/N and Michelle told him to get back into what he really loved.

Sure enough, Daniel returned to RedBull as a reserve driver alongside his old teammate Max Verstappeh and Sergio “Checo” Perez.

It was at this point Max had been receiving scalding comments and the Public Relations (PR) Manager had decided it would be a good idea for Max to date someone new with good media presence. Someone who the fans were bound to like.

That is exactly where Y/N came in. She had been featured on Daniel's social media before and made small cameo’s on RedBull and Mclaren videos, wishing Danny luck in his races or even supporting him in person.  

~~~~~~

Max walked alongside Y/N at a brisk pace. They were wading through the crowd of press just before the paddock and after the car park. Y/N was slightly uncomfortable with the firm grip that Max had on her hand but refrained from speaking up. He, after all, was paying her salary, so to speak. 

“Smile,” Max grunted out. Nodding at the press and giving half smiles in a seemingly out of character style. 

Y/N, who was already smiling hissed through her teeth.

“The hell you think I'm doin’ mate?” She then turned slightly away to wave at the photographers,

“Morning! Hope you’re all well rested! Make sure to drink enough water too!” She called out to the mass of people. Y/N understood that these people had to make a living and if you were nicer to them, they were bound to return the favour, although that was easier said than done.

Verstappen kept a pleasant expression as he continued to walk past people, signing hats along the way. 

“When can we stop this damn circus act?” He hissed into her ear, his voice sounding like the grind of gravel. 

“Whenever your PR Manager lets us.” She replied, her smile unfaltering as she kept walking beside him.

“This is all a stupid waste of money and time.” He grumbled under his breath. “This whole relationship thing and the sponsors.” Y/N cocked her head knowingly and replied,

"You need those sponsors and so does RedBull. Anyways, don’t give me a hard time because of it, yeah? I’m just doing my job to the best of my ability.” It wasn't as if she didn't want the money, however she also did it to help out Danny. Apparently the situation had made Max a little crabby.

Max sighed, “You have no idea who many different people we have to play happy couple for to satisfy the sponsors.” to which Y/N smirked and retorted with.

“I dunno, maybe the whole world, Mr Formula 1 World Champion?” Max rolled his eyes dismissively, effectively losing his facade.

“Do you know how much the sponsors pay me to keep you around? Don’t smart mouth me man.” He spat out, scowling and crossing his arms defensively. He pointed at the camera’s who had now turned back to you at the suddenly escalating conversation as moths were drawn to light.

Luckily they hadn’t heard the conversation, only seen the wild gestures that Max had thrown out in exasperation. 

Y/N, being the quick thinker she was, gently patted his shoulder and stepped closer to him,

“Calm down mate, they’re looking at us. Let’s just get inside the paddock yeah? Then we can argue when we get to the motor home.” She whispered slowly, hoping to ease his stress.

“Whatever, " Verstappen muttered, his voice ever harsh and monotonous.

He led her by the small of her back past the photographers and past the gates and into the paddock. He kept you firmly by his side while remaining silent. It seemed like he wasn’t going to talk until they were both tucked into a private building. Or as private as it would get.

As they briskly walked by, they passed some children who were staring in awe at Max. Y/N smiled at the children and tugged on his short sleeve gently.

“Max, give them an autograph! Look, they're so cute. This one’s wearing a mini version of your race suit!” She exclaimed, clearly taken by the children who were bubbling with energy.

Max, as a result of Y/N’s excitement, stopped walking and looked over at you with his signature grim expression before seeing the children. His eyes shifted and his expression became light hearted and almost charming.

“Yeah, alright I’ll sign a few things for you guys.” He grinned at the kids that had gathered around began thanking him incredulously in adoration as their favourite Formula one driver signed their shirts and caps.

Max suddenly turned to you with a small smile,

“Here,” he said, handing her a sharpie, “You should sign one too. They’ll like it.” Y/N shook her head, shy from the sudden attention. 

“But I’m not famous like you. They don’t know me.” She turned to the children, sheepish, waiting for them to collectively agree. Yet, to her surprise one of the younger girls reached out to hug her and exclaimed,

“I know you! You’re Max’s girlfriend! My older brother says you’re pretty!” The little girl beamed up at her and pointed at an older male of similar facial structure who was blushing.

Y/N laughed in surprise and smiled brightly at the young girl.

“Hey love! Would you like me to sign your shirt?” She kneeled down to face the girl and all the younger kids. The children that were now surrounding you went crazy, screaming “Yes!” and “Please!”

They held out their belongings for her to sign, clearly overjoyed. She laughed in delight while Max looked on, while chatting to other young fans.

Y/N gave each of them a hug before signing their shirts.

“Oh and here!” She took out a large ziplock bag that was filled to the brim with friendship bracelets she had made for the fans.

“Take these! There’s enough for all of you.” She ruffled the closest childs hair. Max watched in amusement as the children who were absolutely beside themselves, trying on their new bracelets.

“You’re good with the fans,” he said, actually sounding genuine and kind for once. Y/N shook her head, smiling and waving at the children still as they walked away.

“Nah, I just love the kids. I want them to have good memories that build into hope and motivation.” She looked at Max and gave him a small smile.

“That’s very kind of you.” Verstappen replied, sounding surprisingly sincere. They both walked towards the motorhouse and as they reached the entrance Max opened the door for Y/N and signalled for her to enter.

Y/N walked through, thanking him on the way and waved hello while passing all the staff and volunteers of the Red Bull team.

The pair made their way, through all the greetings and then into Max’s room where Max closed the door behind them both and then turned to face Y/N.

“Alright, no more fake smiles or pleasantries. He sighed, “Do you know how long we’re stuck with this whole fake relationship thing?” He asked while plopping down onto his bed, unceremoniously to which Y/N shook her head. She herself was unsure.

“Nope. I was hired for a year-long contract but it wasn’t definitive,” She sighed and sat down on his chair and spun to face him.

“I think it wouldn’t be too bad for us to be friends Max.” She sat forward with her elbows on her knees.

“It’s not like we’re attracted to each other. It would make life easier if we got along, no?" Max stared at her, inquisitive.

“Friends.” He said slowly, almost as if tasting the word before he tilted his head to say,

“Friends don't usually get paid to be with one another.” Max raised his eyebrows.

“But, I guess being friends wouldn't be too bad. It’s not like anything would happen between us anyways.” Y/N nodded and chuckled, 

“I mean, I get paid to pretend to be your girlfriend. We could totally do it from afar y’know?” she shrugged, smiling.

“That sounds like a great idea.” Max said sarcastically. 

“I’ll just yell ‘I love you’ through a megaphone at you from a distance and we’ll keep it going that way.” He smirked mischievously, crossing his arms to which Y/N burst into laughter in sheer surprise. 

“Right! That would get all the fans roaring.” She chuckled loudly, enjoying his dry humour.  She gave him a genuine smile before asking, 

“You’re really funny when you want to be huh?”

Verstappen rolled his eyes with a subtle upturn in lips at your amusement. Y/N had an instinct that he was proud of the reaction he got out of her.

“I’m funny all the time.” He retorted, “You’re just not smart enough to pick up on it.” He said with a cocky smile.

 

~~

AND THATS THE TEASER! please comment if you'd like the rest!? Thank You for reading!

[wayfayrr]

I didn't think hyrule had berlin-

had a silly thought about the links in Mario kart getting a little attached to you, so when you end up in hyrule? well of course they're gonna get close if they can :3

gotta thank @peepthatbish @tomsishere and @xxbuttercup for helping me brainstorm this <33

[masterlist]

“You think there’s a chance that the shadow could ever send us to my world? I mean, it did bring me here so there’s gotta be at least a small chance right?”

“Yeah, I hope so anyway, I’d love to go to Berlin with you. That always looked like a nice city.”

“Wait tears how-”

“Really? Athens always looked nicer to me.”

“OKAY HOW DO YOU BOTH-”

“Course you’d say that goddess boy.”

“Goddess boy?”

“HEY YOU TWO - you can bicker later, how the FUCK do you know the names of cities in my world?”

That got their attention, with them both turning to me with some clear confusion before it quickly melted away into a… look of devotion? It’s pretty clear that they both know something that I don’t, hopefully they’ll be kind enough to let me in on it soon enough, if I even want to know from the look they’re giving me that is.

“Do you not remember my dove?”

“Or did you not know that we could hear?”

“... That you could hear?” 

Hear what exactly, me when I was off of their games? Before I got to hyrule? 

Wait. 

The places they mentioned - the fact that it’s just them who seem to know - could they be talking about mario kart? If they are then… how much could they hear? Did they hear any of my friends? Did they hear when I was drunk? If they could then, how much do they know about me? There have been times when I’ve been too drunk to remember what I was even saying and if they heard that then… What don't they know about me? 

I don’t have a clue how to start processing this, do I even want to stay with them now - the others don’t seem to have a clue are they safe for me to be around. Neither of them are really touching me so, if I’m going to move now is my chance. Just got to hope they don’t notice me trying to move.

“Hey, sundelion, where are you going? We - we finally opened up about that and you - you, please don’t leave.”

There goes my chance then, he’s got a good grip on my hand and he’s not likely to let go. Even if he didn’t it’s not like I could get all that far now that he’s noticed me trying to leave, he’d just use recall on my clothes to bring me right back over. Aaaand now he’s tearing up. 

“You’re worried about what we know right? Well I’ll tell you - anything you want to know if we know, just don’t leave please.”

“Tears - what no, No you can’t decide that for the two of us, that’s not fa-”

“Sky… I just - I can’t lose them - I can’t- you know I can’t!” 

“But to just tell them everything off of the bat like that.”

“What would you suggest instead, you want their trust right?”

“You two know that I can hear everything you’re saying, you aren’t alone.” 

“Mhm, it’s still strange getting used to you being here and being able to hear us too though. Guess we still have old habits.”

Just finding out about the secrets they’ve been keeping seems to have taken a load off of their shoulders, with tears instantly sticking himself onto my side tighter than if he were to fuse our shirts together again. Sky is still a bit more distanced though, like he’s scared of letting his guard down, he’s frowning too. It’s been clear for a while though that sky is hiding something, his saccharine-sweet facade being far too kind even for a hero and with what he’s just said… there’s more to him than he’s let on. Honestly? I’m not sure I want to find out what’s being hidden away. 

“[name]? Would you be able to come over here a moment?”

Oh to think time saying that would one day not fill me with dread, it’s a good opportunity to get a bit of time to process everything. And who knows, maybe he’s got some good news about the search to find me a way home, he’s been near obsessed with the idea of getting me home since- well since sky and tears started to get more attached. Does he - is there a chance he knows more than he’s letting on? It’s not a surprise seeing how many other secrets he keeps from the others I guess he promised you the second he knew you knew his past that he wouldn’t keep any from you unless it was for your own safety. Why are you ignoring that? Tears still has his hand holding mine, Sky’s still staring too, just need to try to move; they heard time just as well as I did so I should be able to move. “Wait, do you have to go, he doesn’t sound urgent. Can’t it wait?”

“Old man should learn to wait his turn with you…”

“Knowing him it’s probably a - what was that sky?”Knowing how he was in game it shouldn’t be surprising that he’s acting like this, he was always the link with the snarkiest dialog, even being outright mean at times. It shouldn’t be surprising that the calm sleepy soft boy was a bit of a persona he put up, but it is surprising he’s starting to let it drop. Time didn’t seem to like how clingy they’re getting though, seeing as he decided to come over to get me himself instead of waiting any longer. Helping me up and getting us away from the others.

"So what is it you wanted me for so badly?"

"I think I've found a way to get you home."

[milaisreading]

Of arguments and kiss-cams

Author: I am sorry that some requests are taking time, but I am struggling to find some good plot to them, but I will do my best to do them in the next few days, hope you can understand 🙇🏻‍♀️ for now I really hope you like the stories I did post and thank you so much for reading and for the nice messages 🩷 stay safe 🩷

Pairing: Michael Kaiser x manager!Reader

Warnings ⚠️: reader uses she/her. Requests are open

⚽️Blue Lock belongs to:Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura⚽️

Noa was used to a lot of shenanigans Bastard München members would pull, especially the younger ones. From constant arguments with teammates to the opposing team, he saw it all. Lately the Bastards got new recruits from Blue Lock, who were surprisingly a little tamer, until a certain blonde opens his mouth. One of their newest additions was the new assistant manager, (Y/n), who kept Isagi, Kunigami, Hiori, Kurona and Yukimiya in check. And as much as Noa was grateful for her help, he had issues with her at times too. Mostly concerning any interaction she shares with their start player Kaiser.

"Did anyone tell you how annoying you are?" (Y/n) asked with a tight smile as the blonde asked her another random question. Kaiser, enjoying the annoyed look, smirked and moved closer to her.

"Only for you, Cutie~"

"Your nicknames are as corny as your face."

"You sure? Because I might need to get you some glasses to see properly."

"I am already suffering enough."

The team watched in amusement and annoyance as they  kept on arguing. Ness kept standing to the side as he watched the two bicker, since he said he doesn't mind it if (Y/n) disrespects Kaiser. Kunigami and Isagi got up from their spots and separated the two, growing worried that Neol might yell at everyone. Also the closeness was bothering them both.

'Stupid Kaiser and his big mouth.' Kunigami thought as Isagi and the said boy started arguing instead, which caused Ness to intervene.

"That's asshole..." (Y/n) muttered as Kunigami patted her back.

"Calm down, he isn't worth getting in trouble for. What did her even say?" Hiori asked as he approached them, Kurona was meanwhile busy pulling Isagi away. Blushing a bright pink, (Y/n) shook her head at the boy.

"Nothing... Just something stupid... the usual." (Y/n) answered as Noel finally inserted himself to separate them.

'The blonde is so annoying! Why does Ness like him so much?!' The girl thought as she looked at the blonde boy.

Later that day (Y/n) was waiting outside the stadium for her friends, to go back to their dorms together. She sighed, tired and hungry from all the running around and arguing with Kaiser. (Y/n) was growing more and more frustrated as each day passed, it seemed like the blonde was growing annoying for the hell of it.

'I just want to do my job-'

"If it isn't my cute manager!"

'God...' (Y/n) held back a groan as she felt the boy's arm around her shoulders.

"Why so cold? I think I was a little nicer today, wasn't I?" Kaiser snickered as (Y/n) tried to move his arm away, but his grip only tightened.

"What do you want now? Didn't you make my life a living hell enough, Kaiser?" The girl asked, causing the boy to mockingly think it over.

"Hmm... no! I think if anything I bless your day."

"We sure have different definitions of 'bless'... where is Ness?" (Y/n) suddenly asked, surprised that the magenta-eyed boy wasn't with him. Hiding a annoyed look, Kaiser pointed at one of the entrance doors.

"He is still changing. Why are you so concerned anyways? But enough about Ness, how about I take you out for some dinner."

"No thanks. Go ask a fangirl of yours." Finally pulling herself out of his grip, she saw Kunigami walk out. Kaiser watched as she looked through something in her bag and took out a scarf?

'That looks familiar.'

"My friends are here, can you please give this to Ness when he gets out?"

"Ness?" Kaiser wondered, feeling the familiar tingle of jealousy.

"Yeah, he gave me his scarf the other day and I finally remembered returning it."

"(Y/n)! Are you ready to go?!" Kurona yelled as the others stared intensely at Kaiser.

"Sure!" She yelled back, giving the clothing item to the blonde and running to her friends.

Kaiser looked at the girl and then down at the scarf, anger bubbling up inside of him as the image of (Y/n) wearing it hit him.

'What does Ness even have?! He has half of my talent, if that even, half of my fame, half of my looks... yet she is so fixated on him.' Kaiser gripped tightly on the item.

'I am not losing to that loser.'

"Is he out of his mind?!" (Y/n) yelled as she watched Kaiser argue with Rin over something. It was the day of the Bastard München and PXG match, so she can understand that the tension was high, but not to the point were they are close to beating each other up.

'He is like a child.' (Y/n) facepalmed as Kaiser was called to sit down and for Ness to switch with him. She watched the magenta-eyed boy run onto the field and Kaiser went to sit down on the bench. (Y/n) too his water bottle and a clean towel and walked over to him.

"Why did you even go off on Rin? He didn't even do anything."

Kaiser looked up at the girl and took the towel from her to wipe his sweat off.

"None of your business. Why are you even here? Wouldn't you loovee to watch your lover boy play instead?" Kaiser asked. The tone was a genuinely upset one, a tone (Y/n) was not really used to from him. Sighing, she turned to look at the field as it was still timeout and looked back at Kaiser.

"You are really acting like a child, Kaiser. This is an official game, you arguing with someone for no good reason is not a good look on you or on the team. Think of the others as well." (Y/n) glared, leaning a little forward.

"You care too much."

"Of course I do- you are impossible! Off and on field!"

While the two were having their argument, the announcer said it was time for the kiss-cam moment, alerting the audience. The players watched passively, waiting for it to be over.

Karasu made some jokes, which prompted Loki and Rin to give him a scolding.

"Can this be over- Not like that!!" Hiori yelled as he saw on who it landed.

"Oohh!! Looks like our star player Michael Kaiser and his manager (Y/L) (L/n) got lucky this time!!"

"What?" The duo looked up, freezing up when they saw the kiss-cam landed on them. (Y/n) looked around in embarrassment, praying her friends will save the day, but all the while Kaiser was over the moon. The blonde smirked and grabbed (Y/n)'s chin, turning her head to face him.

"So~ the sooner we are done the better, don't you think so?"

"Shut up! This has to be against the rule-"

"Can you two get it over with?! We want to play!"

"Shut up, Shidou! This is against the rules..." Rin yelled, growing at the crowd annoyed.

'Why are they cheering them on?!' Karasu thought and looked at his horrified friends from the opposite team.

"Do something." He mouthed at Kunigami and Yukimiya.

"Should we start a fight?" Isagi offered.

"Punch me!" Kurona added.

"You remember how I told you we will eventually kiss." Kaiser asked with a smirk. Rolling her eyes (Y/n) grabbed his collar.

"Let's just get this over with."

The crowd's cheers grew even louder after they kissed, leaving certain boys horrified and pissed.

'Ah... so she does like Kaiser then?' Ness thought with his usual smile, trying to ignore the ache from his heart.

[seancekitsch]

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. 

[distort-opia]

Tort can I bother with something? Like, I don't know how you feel about people asking your opinion about batman stuff a lot but I since you have read much more comics and for a longer time I always think "well, she must know more about it" 😂 I hope it's not annoying.

So the ask in question is: what's the difference between Joker and Riddler? And not the thing they two had about the difference between a joke and a riddle but in batman's perspective, kinda? What Joker have that Riddler don't? Because this pattern of Batman being "nicer" (as nice batman can be with a criminal lol) with Joker and hating (I don't if he hates him but anyways) Riddler keeps repeating in a lot of media now. It was in the comics with Tom King, in the movie with Batman 2022 and we have the games and books with Batman: Arkham knight and Batman: Arkham knight: The Riddler's Gambit. What's the difference they have to batman? It's especially ironic since also in a lot of media they kinda of two side of a coin (don't know if this sentence apply to these two. What I meant now it's the joke vs riddle thing now jajaja. People sometimes mistake a joke for a riddle and vise versa. So it's like people thinking they're the "same", when actually, there is a difference between a joke and a riddle.) (and when I say "people" I'm talking actually about the people in the DC universe not people actually people)

Hey! I don't mind the question, no worries. I'll say this though, it is a bit of a funny ask because I've had this sort of discussion with people before, and I hope I'm able to find the posts, because it's still funny to me. Here's one of them, with a lot of comic recs and everything. Essentially, how are Joker and Riddler different to Batman in the comics? Bruce is obsessed with Joker, but Riddler... pisses him off.

As you mention yourself, Riddler pisses Bruce off so badly Tom King wrote two comics in which he attempts to kill Edward (The War of Jokes and Riddles, Batman: One Bad Day -- The Riddler). He's similarly peeved with Riddler in the Arkhamverse, especially after Edward tries to fill the vacuum left behind by Joker's death and replace him. And well, I'm not gonna delve into The Batman (2022) because the Riddler of that movie is much different to the comics version... as is Barry Keoghan's Joker. I'm not a fan of the way Matt Reeves took these characters and then mixed their backstories around because he wanted to "put his own spin" on them or come up with a "novel approach". Riddler in The Batman (2022) is quite different to the comics version, so I feel any discussion of dynamics within that movieverse has to be its own thing, and acknowledged as such. I'll put the rest of the answer under the cut though, because things have gotten long enough as it is.

In comics, Joker and Riddler are obviously different individuals, although they've got similarities too. Sometimes writers don't know how to write Riddler well and kind of have him as this bad copy of Joker (because how different are riddles and jokes, right). But the two characters have different goals, different backstories, different dynamics with Batman. Bruce is obsessed with Joker for many reasons: he sees himself in him, he projects onto him, he feels guilty for his existence and also relies on it. Joker is a villain Batman had a direct hand in creating. Joker is Batman's equal and the one to actually want all his anger and his violence. Joker is about making the world realize that it's all a big joke, that nothing matters, which is his ultimate point. He likes fighting Batman and getting beat up... while that's not really Edward's case, who isn't really portrayed as a masochist:

Batman (2016) #32

Meanwhile, Joker:

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight #61

Edward's much more focused on intellect-- that's the facet of Batman's psyche that he, as a Rogue, is meant to address. He's meant to challenge Batman's detective brain, his high IQ. One could say Edward is just as obsessed with Batman as Joker is, but it's a different flavor: while attention-seeking is a big component for both of them, it's much more pervasive for Edward. And that's one of the reasons Bruce is so annoyed with him; the fact that he chooses to get people killed over his selfish need to prove he's the smartest guy in the room. That's what probably activates Bruce's mean streak with Edward more than with the others too-- the need for attention and validation, mixed with fear of him. Because the thing is, Bruce requires things to make sense almost pathologically. So many times, the question he poses to individuals wreaking destruction is "What is the point of this?". And he can understand them, when there's a grander purpose he can even remotely relate to, no matter how dark and twisted. He's related to Poison Ivy, to Joker, to Ra's al Ghul... he even gets Scarecrow, because he knows what it's like to be obsessed with fear and the goal of conquering it. Or maybe it's not accurate to say he doesn't get Edward, because he can relate to having a compulsion, but it's that Edward's compulsion is uncontrolled and about himself. I literally just said that Bruce needs things to make sense, and Edward needs answers, so clearly they're similar in that. But Bruce puts his own in the service of something bigger than himself (in his mind), while what Edward is doing is simply indulging his compulsive need to assert intellectual dominance and get attention, making Batman the target of it and getting people killed along the way.

As to the difference between a joke and a riddle... sigh. I fully think Tom King brought that up in The War of Jokes and Riddles as something that sounds cool, but not something that actually means anything:

Batman (2016) #32

If it does mean something, to me this is more Joker saying "Do you know what the difference between me and Edward is?"... which is connected to the abstract difference between jokes and riddles too, in a sense. What does a joke want? A joke wants to make people laugh. But what does a riddle want? A riddle wants to be solved. A joke is about the laugh it gets; a joke, ultimately, is an attempt to connect with other people. But a riddle is an intellectual pursuit centred around the answer hidden within; a riddle needs someone to make the effort and chase it and solve it, unlike a joke which is the one to make the effort. A riddle is about itself. In my opinion, Joker is saying that he saved Batman from killing someone and destroying himself, because Joker needs someone to make laugh... he needs an audience for the jokes he's trying to tell, and that audience is Batman. Riddler isn't the same; Riddler needs someone to solve him.

Anyway, can't say I'm an expert on the dynamics between Batman and Riddler, this is just my personal opinion. But I hope this helped with understanding the differences a bit more! Or maybe don't take it from me, take it from Joker's own pep-talk to Edward in Death of the Family:

[altair214]

I am obsessed with The Sandman teaser. Just everything about it.

Dream's eye makeup is just the best, I hope he wears more of it throughout the season. He looks so pretty and so tired and it's so fitting for this season. And I love the inclusion of the throne, very fitting considering how many audiences he'll have to sit through this season on said throne. I wish he was wearing a pirate outfit though. I am holding out hope that it's going to be a surprise. Please. I need to see him in a pirate outfit.

I am in love with Death's outfit. It's so perfect for her, she truly looks like the angel of death here. And I can't wait to see her show up in a very casual outfit and for Destiny to tell her to wear something nicer. And then for Dream to compliment her outfit. I can't wait.

And Desire. I love that they've gone for a very similar look to the comics here. And Desire with tattoo's. It's just perfect. They're just waiting to cause trouble at the family dinner and to make Dream's life difficult at every turn.

I love what they've gone for with Despair's outfit. It's so perfect for her. A huge improvement over the comics in my opinion. She looks like she's ready to be very sadistic and it fits her so well. Her outfit looks amazing. She looks like the embodiment of Despair but with a fashion sense, and it's perfect.

And DESTINY. I don't know much about Adrian Lester, but he looks exactly how I imagined Destiny to look in my head, so I am very happy. He looks so serious and mysterious, exactly like Destiny should.

I cannot wait to see Delirium. I love her so much. Esmè looks amazing as Delirium. I love how closely they're sticking to the comics with Del's outfit. It's perfect for her. I can't wait to see Delirium and Dream interact, especially in Brief Lives. I'm so excited.

Destruction. I love that they've given him armor, very fitting for Destruction. His outfit almost looks like it has gladiator elements to it and I think that's very fitting for Destruction. I wonder if they've shown him as he was before he left or if this is still his outfit after he left. Like are we going to see him trying to look like a proper artist? Or does he just wear his armor all the time? Either way, I am very excited.

Anyway, words cannot express how excited I am for season 2