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kylowritten · 2 years ago

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Why Me?

Pairings: Phillip Altman x F!Reader

Summary/Excerpt: "There's a litany of things you never thought you would do, one of them being returning to your home town to attend your high school reunion. Next on the list: falling in love with Phillip Altman."

Warnings: cussing, recreational drug use, talking about sex, making out, partial nudity

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: The title of this should actually be "Why is Adam Driver so Fucking Adorable"

This fic is a part of the prompt exchange with @juniperwoodwell

There's a litany of things you never thought you would do, one of them being returning to your home town to attend your high school reunion.

"It's not a setback," you tell your reflection. "It's just a...readjustment."

The woman in the mirror hardly looks convinced. But you promptly ignore her, grab your purse, and head out the door to meet your Uber. You aren't so desperate as to rectify the failing relationship with your mother by asking her for a place to stay — God, you couldn't even imagine the state of your childhood bedroom — so you rented the cheapest motel room that you could find.

The door swings shut behind you and the sound of your heels on the weed-clotted pavement joins in with the symphony of cicadas. Humidity presses against you like an unwelcome embrace from an elderly relative. Flippantly, you think that you should've packed a travel size hairspray, or deodorant into your purse, but your thoughts have been far away from appearances and personal hygiene.

You had one thing on your mind.

You clarify that the driver is here for you, and climb into the backseat. An old country song floats through the speakers. You're barely out of the Motel 8 parking lot before trepidation fills you — high school wasn't a grand experience (but was it for anyone?). As soon as you flung your cap on the air, you swore you would never come back. So why were you now?

The car abruptly halts at the side of a curb. You look up from your phone, which you've had nervously clasped on your lap, tapping away meaninglessly. The houses that surround you are distinctly suburban, nice, but not overly so, like most of the neighborhoods here.

"What's going on?" You ask. "I need to go to the high school."

The driver meets your gaze in the rearview mirror. "I'm picking up another rider."

"What? No, I didn't want Uber pool."

"Sorry, kid," the driver replies. "I'm the only Uber in town, and everyone is going to the same place."

Great, you think, sinking back in your seat. Not only were you going to have company, but it was going to be some chum from your class. Worst case scenarios run through your head: an ex boyfriend? The mean girl? But a surprising warmth forms in the pit of your stomach when the new rider flings open the door and crouches down to get inside. "Shit, fuck," the rider declares as they hit their head on the car.

Then, rather ungracefully, Philip Altman folds himself into the backseat besides you.

He doesn't realize who you are until he's finished rearranging his long legs and muscular form, barely succeeding in making himself comfortable in the backseat of the car. You're staring at him when he finally glances your way, and a blush dusts your cheek as his eyes light up. "Is that you? In the flesh?"

"I know, I'm surprised too," you say.

"What are you doing here?" He excitedly asks, then shakes his head. "Don't answer that, I know why. I guess I just didn't think that you were the reunion type."

You raise a brow. "And what type would I be?"

"You know," he said, as if you did. He jostles your side in a companionable fashion. When you don't register what he's implying, a look of shock takes over his handsome features. "What? The hot girl? You seriously don't know."

You fix him with an incredulous look. "C'mon, Phillip."

He holds up both of his hands defensively. "I'm being completely honest. I swear on my father's grave, bless his soul," he adds, then tilts his head. "Can you still swear on people's graves?"

"I heard about that," you say, softly. "I'm so sorry."

"Thank you." A look passes over his face, one that you can't quite read, disappearing quickly. "Fortunately, I have coping mechanisms. Adult ones."

He pulls something from his back pocket: a joint.

You glance at the driver, then Phillip. "I haven't..." you trail off, gesturing with your hands, "since high school."

Amusement flickers across his face. "We're going to our high school reunion, don't you want to reunite with something else?"

You order the driver to drop you off a few blocks away from the high school. Phillip grabs your hand and tugs you out of the car, throwing a "thank you" over his shoulder. You're both giggling as you find an alleyway to duck into, an uncontainable smile unfurling on your mouth as Phillip strikes up his lighter.

He takes a long drag, then hands it to you. You fumble with it. "Do I even remember how to do this?" You ask, to no one in particular.

Phillip grins at you, smoke streaming steadily from his mouth. "It's like riding a bike," he remarks. "Except the bike is made out of smoke and the road is made out of good times."

He finishes this intelligent analogy right as you bring the joint to your lips and inhale. You snort and then choke on your laughter, and then on the smoke, inducing a coughing fit that is not at all remedied by Philip's own howls of laughter. "Dumbass," you say, swatting his arm.

You snatch the joint back from him once you're satisfied that your coughing fit is over. The weed hits your lungs, pungent and powerful, and you can feel the tension begin to melt from your body. You tilt your head back and gratuitously blow out the smoke, watching as it rises into the air, twisting and turning. When you look back at Phillip to proffer the joint again, he's already staring at you. It's in this moment that you remember all of the rumors in high school.

Although you didn't necessarily run in the same circles, you saw each other at the occasional party or school function. The rumor then was that he was an apologetic flirt and playboy, hopping from one eager girl to the next.

The rumor didn't matter to you in high school, you had your own shit to figure out.

But now, looking at him, illuminated in the hazy dusk light, there's a tightening in your stomach that high school you had never acted on.

Smoke breezes past your face as Phillip exhales, drawing you from your trance. His brows pull downwards. "Everything okay, kid?"

"Yeah. Perfect," you tell him. You pause. "Can I tell you the real reason I'm here tonight?"

He feigns offense. "You mean it wasn't to smoke some shitty weed with me in a dark alley like a couple of prepubescent hoodlums?"

This brings a smile to your face, but you ignore him. "Promise you won't laugh." Phillip makes the motion of crossing his heart. Taking another drag and summoning your courage, you tell him, "I never had sex in high school. So I thought that by coming back I could fuck someone from high school and it would kind of, like, settle the score."

"Oh." Philip's lips twitch with barely retrained amusement.

"You said you wouldn't laugh!" You tell him. "It's stupid, I know."

"I don't think it's that stupid," he assures you. "There's some people who genuinely want to relive their high school days and reconnect with their peers."

He says this as if it ranks only just below murdering a bunch of baby orphans.

"I guess," you say. You feel relieved to have said it out loud, like Phillip was a priest and you were confessing your sins to him. When he changes the topic, reserving his judgement if he had any, it only solidifies your trust in him.

You waste almost half an hour, smoking and swapping stories about your lives since high school. You thought, going into tonight, that you would have to embellish yourself and your achievements, but you didn't feel that need with Phillip. He made you feel safe. Worthy. It was an excellent precursor to the reunion; you no longer felt nervous, and upon realizing that you were going to be unfashionably late, Phillip pinches the top of the joint and shoves it back into his pocket before once again seizing your hand. Another thing to add to the litany of things you never thought you would do: run giggling, hand in hand, with Phillip Altman through the front doors of your high school.

Horribly loud music washes over you as you check in at a table, giving your name to a girl that you don't even remember. Quickly, you scribble down your name on a name tag and slap it on your chest. Phillip snickers as he scribbles something down, sharpie scratching against the material. He proudly slaps it on his chest.

It reads: Phillip Assman.

The girl at the front table makes a face.

You, however, find it absolutely hilarious.

Philip eventually ushers you away, still cackling, as more last-minute people trickle in through the door. He grabs your shoulders and directs you into the gym where the reunion is actually being held. Streamers with your school colors are taped limply on the walls. Several high-top tables occupy the gym floor, most of them crowded around by former students deep in conversation. There's a bar on one side of the gym, and a DJ booth on the other.

You open your mouth to ask Phillip if he wants a drink, right as he's flagged down by someone standing around one of the tables. You don't recognize them. He waves and moves as if to join them, but stops and addresses you, "I'll be right back."

You watch him leave, ignoring the small kernel of disappointment inside you.

Whatever, you think. It's not like you came together. He was just a guy that had the same Uber with you and you shared a joint. Not a big deal.

Straightening your shoulders, you turn on your heel and march over to the bar.

Alcohol, as it turns out, is a wonderful crutch for social interactions. You drift awkwardly through the gym, catching up with a few people whose friendship have gradually eroded over time, and pretending to be enjoying yourself. Your high helped, clinging to you like a weed-fueled security blanket. But you maintained a vague impression that you made a mistake coming here.

No one had magically gotten more attractive or interesting in the years since you graduated. There was one guy from your freshman algebra class that you bumped into while waiting in line for the bathroom, a guy who you probably would've totally fucked under different circumstances. But your mind kept wandering, and you ended up making up some half-ass excuse and scurrying away from his blatant attempts at flirting.

Because, infuriatingly enough, you only had one guy on your mind.

Unhappy with this realization, you quickly do your business and then hightail it for the parking lot. You're embarrassed that you even came, you're embarrassed about why you came, and you're embarrassed that - not unlike a high school girl - you can't stop thinking about the stupidly good-looking guy you interacted with for only a few moments. "Idiot," you mumble to yourself, pushing your shoulder into the door and stepping outside.

The cold sobers you up considerably, and you ditch the red solo cup you'd been carrying for the last hour or so. You needed to just go back to your motel. In the morning, you could forget that this ever happened and erase Phillip Altman from your mind.

"Hey, where are you going?"

You stop and turn, your heart pumping out a traitorous rhythm as Phillip emerges from the front doors and jogs over to you. Fuck, how did he manage to even look good in the shitty glow from the streetlights? He shoves his hands in his pockets.

"You're not leaving, are you?" He glances over your head, scanning the lawn as if expecting to discover a reason for your departure, then back to you. "Come out here to puke or something? Those bushes right over there are --"

"No," you interrupt, sharper than you intend. You sigh, and try to soften your voice. "I shouldn't have come here. I-I'm going home. Well, not home, but my motel room."

You're rambling. And you're aware that you're rambling, but it's doing nothing to deter it.

"You can't leave," he says.

You arch a brow. "What? Why not?"

He withdraws the joint from his pocket, which admittedly looks a little more crumpled than the last time you'd seen it. "This joint is legally binding. You have to finish it with me."

"Or?"

He shrugs. "We probably shouldn't find out. You know, just in case."

"Phillip -"

"We could go back to your room," he says. Recovering, he adds, "If that's okay. Or even that dark alley. It was warm and inviting, not to mention sanitary. We could go back there."

You smother your grin. It's not fair, that you've just reconnected with this man who you knew only in the abstract before, but now have become utterly transfixed by him. He has a magnetism about him that you can't ignore.

You feel yourself thawing. "What about all of your friends?" You ask, gesturing towards the school. "You can't just leave them."

Phillip makes a face. "Who cares?" He grabs your hand - did he do that a lot? Grabbing hands randomly? - and hauls you to the curb, where he expertly flags down an awaiting Uber driver. "M'lady," he says, as he holds the door to the backseat open for you.

The drive back to the motel is spent with you discreetly (read: not discreetly) sharing the joint and blowing the smoke out the cracked window. Your Uber driver seems less than impressed with you by the time you tumble out, but Phillip assuages your poor behavior with a generous tip. The heady combination of alcohol and weed, and Philip, fuels you.

There's no saying who makes the first move -- your mind is swimming with elation from your company. But it happens sometime between the car pulling away from the curb and reaching the room of your motel. Phillip pushes you up against the side of the building, peppering your neck with kisses and whispering dirty things in your ear as you fumble for the key card. He feels so warm and comfortable and secure, and you desperately want to undress him, to explore him with your hands and your mouth and discover what he's like as he unravels.

The door clicks as your key card finally registers. "Finally," Phillip all but growls.

You squeak as he lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he nudges the door open with his foot and marches you inside. You're both still giggling like kids between desperate, hungry kisses, his hands reaching under your shirt and your hand disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans.

It's only when you're both left in your underwear that Phillip pauses.

You look up at him. He hovers over where you lay, sprawled out on the bed. He's infuriatingly, devastatingly handsome, even when traces of doubt line his features.

"What's wrong?" You ask. "Is everything okay?"

Philip's mouth opens then shuts, as if deciding on what to say. "Why me?"

"What?"

"Why me?" He repeats, in no way clarifying himself. Phillip quickly elaborates, "You said that you went to the reunion just so that you could fuck someone from high school."

You struggle to find a response. "Why not you?"

"I mean, is this--" he waves his hand as if hoping to magically conjure the words that he's searching for, "--is this just nothing? I mean, I'm fine if you want to just settle some score and use me for my body but I'd like to know so I can charge you afterward."

His tone is nonchalant, light hearted, but there's a vulnerability lurking below.

You sit up on your elbows. It's difficult to address him like this, when his naked torso is practically staring at you in the face. It would be difficult for anyone to concentrate. But you want to be serious, truthful, because you found something in Phillip tonight that you have never found in anyone else. It was too early to call it love, of course, but there was a deeper connection that you would be foolish to so hastily get rid of.

"I'm not saying that I wouldn't whore you out," you tell him, "but I can promise that I don't want to do this for some dumb reasoning. I mean, sure, that's why I came here tonight, but I didn't expect to meet you." This admission sounds highly cliche, and it brings a blush to your face. "What I'm trying to say is--"

Phillip interrupts you with a goofy smile. "Say no more."

There's a litany of things you never thought you would do, one of them being returning to your home town to attend your high school reunion. Next on the list: falling in love with Phillip Altman.

#phillip altman #phillip altman x reader #this is where i leave you #why me?#fanfic #ADCU #writers #writers on tumblr

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purestxblood · 2 years ago

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𝗧𝗔𝗞𝗘 𝗠𝗘 𝗛𝗢𝗠𝗘, 𝘱𝘩𝘪��𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘯.

(𝙋𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙥 𝘼𝙡𝙩𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙭 𝙛!𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧)

You weren’t teenagers anymore, that was the problem. You were old lovers discovering new versions of the other and if you allowed this to continue, you feared what would transpire. You both were always courageous, spontaneous without thought or reason. So be it.

𝗔𝗻𝗴𝘀𝘁. 𝗙𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳. 𝗘𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗱 𝗣𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗥𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽. 𝗦𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗙𝗼𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆. 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴.

“The gears in your head are turning,” he teased, the tip of his finger coming into birds-eye view for a second as you stared at the fan atop your ceiling before tapping the tip of your nose. You let out a delicate chuckle of breath through your nostrils, swatting his finger away with your hand. His own chuckle filled the husky morning air and you turned cheek, taking in his exterior.

It was still dark in your room, soft hues of gray peering beneath the curtain signifying that morning was askew, night fading to meet a nearly rising sun. His dark locks were tousled from being tugged between your fingers, strands sticking messily against your pillow and along his forehead. Like yours, his eyes were dark and heavy from sleep, more so lack of, and it surprised you that he was awake staring at you with a closed mouthed smile to his dimples.

In any other case – more like past memories where you found yourself clothes free and tangled in webs of desired limbs and synchronized moans, Phillip Altman would find himself sound asleep with blankets covering his face or his face buried alongside your breast and abdomen…that’s if he had stayed the night.

Granted, the last time you had your ex-boyfriend in your bed had been years ago when you were just two hopeless teens in what you thought was forever puppy love, leading him to sneaking out of your bedroom with enough time before your parents stirred.

Now, you were in your late twenties, in your own home, wondering why the hell you allowed yourself to consume enough alcohol (or so you made as an excuse with only having two drinks and a shot) to take home the first and only man you ever loved and why he hadn’t gone home after you both came.

Instead, you both had fallen asleep. Only this time, your face had been pressed into the crook of his neck, your arms draped over his chest and legs latched to his hips. It was as if subconsciously, your inner teenage self had sprung awake and didn’t want to let the moment go yet when you woke, you were quick to peel yourself off him and nestle against the pillow shoulder length away.

“The gears aren’t turning in my head,” you scrunched your nose, your mouth frowning as you looked at Phillip. He chuckled lightly and rolled onto his side, until his frame nearly hovered your side, his face inches apart, “they so are.”

Summer before college had been the last. While you were ready to take the world by storm with Phillip by your side, he had been leaving you high and dry. Your sights were on growing together, getting through school and reaching your desired career, to then, marriage and a family.

You were hopeful and optimistic that Phillip was the one you’d travel through life with.

He had other plans and you accepted that deep down in the root of his spirit, Phillip Altman was terrified of commitment and the adult world. Both of which you weren’t, and while your breakup after four long years of high school sweets, became many sleepless and tear filled nights, you vowed to never look back—yet here you were: naked and sexually satisfied underneath ruffled bed sheets..

Oh yeah, the gears were turning and you were wondering why you allowed years of growth to be tossed out the window the second Phillip hugged you in appreciation at his fathers wake and invitation to the bar.

Giving condolences and regards to your ex’s family by attending his fathers funeral and celebration of life was one thing, devouring said ex by giving him a blow job in the alleyway behind the bar like you were freshly horned teenagers to then fucking in your living room and bedroom was another.

You weren’t teenagers anymore, that was the problem. You were old lovers discovering new versions of the other and if you allowed this to continue, you feared what would transpire.

Phillip was still nothing but a man child. He wanted the attention and beds of many, not the warmth of a solid foundation.

“I think you should go,” you admitted.

The corner of his lip twitched, the smile upon his face diminishing until his dimples disappeared. “You want me to go?”

No.

“Yes.”

He blinked, his eyes piercing yours as if he were trying to see underneath your lashes, through your pupils, and into your mind. Your expressions always gave way to the thoughts in your head, hence how Phillip still managed to know you were stuck in thought, yet you hoped he wouldn’t protest and would just be.

Phillip hummed and brought his hand out from underneath the sheets, cupping his palm to your cheek. He held your face tightly, eyes lingering from your dazed eyed to your slightly parted lips.

He leaned forward slowly as if we were waiting for you to protest but when your eyes had drifted down to his mouth, did he continue leaning until the gap was closed and his lips were on yours.

The kiss was tender, his lips delicate in question while yours met him gentle in answer. It was short lived, Phillip being the one to break it and pull away. He hovered so closely to your face, his thumb soothing the apple of your cheek before brushing your sex filled bed head away from your face.

He smiled, “you don’t.”

Truly, you didn’t but you were far from wanting to make things complicated. This was supposed to be a one night rekindled heated romance.

“Phillip—”

You were ignored, silenced by his lips once more only breaking for him to continue a journey of feather-like kisses down your throat to the base of your shoulder and chest. His hand teased its way between your breasts and down your chest, coming to a rest on your inner thigh. His fingers smoothing circles along your skin, his knuckles occasionally brushing along your nude sex.

“This was supposed to be a one time thing,” you gasped as he nipped at the crook of your neck. He hummed in agreement against your skin as he feverishly devoured you in pecks, “and now?”

As the question stirred, Phillips fingers trialed to your core, his fingers teasingly running along your slit.

“A goodbye,” you licked your lips, your eyes closing as you pressed your head into your pillow, your pelvis lifting in need of touch.

Your words were one thing but your body was betraying you by giving way to his touch. “Mmm,” Phillip rubbed his lips together. His finger ran up and down between your folds, dipping into your wetness while he kissed your jawline with an open mouth and tongue, a smile brewing, “baby we’re only getting started.”

Return to 𝗠𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 . Join my 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 for notifications of future one-shots.

#phillip altman #phillip altman x reader #this is where i leave you #adam driver #adam driver x reader #adam driver characters #drafts #q

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