i can’t pick so all three of 🌧️, 🌃, 📃 please 🙈 they all sound so good i can’t wait for you to write adrian fics
someone finally asking for my baby adrian 🥺 i was lowkey getting nervous that no one reads for him anymore (i say after spending the year writing 200k+ words for a character with 3 mins of screen time lol) but im glad you’re interested ! enjoy xx
🌧️ START OVER ── .✦ He tilts his head, innocently confused and not following what you were trying to put down. “But that is me.”
“It’s a part.” You pause, wanting to turn away, but he finds the edge of your jaw before you can try. His touch is soft, yet commanding. Just quietly firm. Something you’ve felt too many times to count.
“But it’s not all of you,” you add.
He goes quiet, only the feeble drizzle of rain and the weighted silence filling the cabin of the car that feels like it’s pressing in on you. Then his hand falls from your face, hovering just above your thigh before he moves it to the cool leather of the untouched seat bedside you.
Like it burns him to touch you now.
“You know I can’t do that,” he says— Not sharp, just solid. Ashamed of how certain it is. “Someone could go after you.”
“What if I say I don’t care,” you whisper, fingers finding purchase on his shoulder like it would make it more true. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
“And I’m not,” he shoots back, shaking his head like it makes him sick with frustration to hear your plea. “Not when it comes to you.”
🌃 TIPTOES ── .✦ His smile is comically toothy— Not that you could necessarily see it, but it was easy to imagine when the fabric of his mask seemed to stretch tenfold to compensate.
“My friends call me Vig,” he says, clearly pleased with himself.
Your brows lift, intrigue twinkling in your eyes under the draping city stars piercing through the twilight. “Vig?”
He nods, melodramatically rolling his eyes with a grin like it was the coolest, most flattering thing in the world. “Vig.”
Your smile helplessly tugs, eyes narrowing just slightly as you study him. “Are you saying I’m your friend, Mr. ‘ilante?”
He huffs a laugh at that, sound honest and warm. “Yeah, duh! We’ve always been friends.”
Fuck, why did he say that?
You smile, unbothered and unaware of both the implications and his internal panic suddenly spiraling into the pit of his stomach.
“Yeah…” you hum, melting inside the words. “We have, haven’t we?”
You just don’t know how right you really were.
📃 KNOW YOU NAKED ── .✦ A smile works its way to your lips as you hand the paper over, watching his eyes rake over it in record time. They shift left, then right.
Once. Twice.
“Good for five free pencils…” he says carefully, brows pinching together, glasses slipping down his nose. He pushes them up with vigor, gentle mouth slipping open to question it when you lean over.
He freezes, breath caught in his throat. You’re right in his space. You smell so good. You look prettier up close, if that’s even possible.
His vision blurs, trying to focus. He’s a lost cause. His gaze snags on the way your fingers curl into your sleeve, holding the pen close to your palm, soft and pretty and man he wishes he could hold your hand. They wander over the loose strands of hair from your neck-laden bun under the harsh buzz of fluorescent lights that suddenly feel like the sun. He’s hot. It was so hot in here.
You smell like that bubblemint gum you always silently share in World History, like that perfume vial you keep zipped on the inside of your bag. Like that familiar, intoxicating sting of punchy blue ink.
He wants to take it from you hand and drag it all over you, doodle aimlessly on your skin until he knows nothing else. He wants to write his name on your collarbone. He wants to kiss the ink off, wants to smear it with his tongue, wants to lose himself in your warmth and skin and—
Woah, he needs to calm down.
God, he likes being this close to you.
more tiptoes x
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