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solxamber · 23 days ago

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Trash Novel Chronicles: Get Me Out of Here || Rook Hunt

You’re isekai’d into a trashy novel and stuck as a tragic side knight character. All you want is survival, but your boss is Rook Hunt—a poetic, eccentric duke.

Now you’re caught in his chaos and, worse, you kinda don’t mind.

Series Masterlist

You’re a completely normal person. You eat normal meals at normal times, sleep the normal amount of hours (give or take a few, who needs all eight anyway?), and hold down a regular, soul-crushingly normal job. It’s not glamorous, but it pays the bills and lets you indulge in your one true love: reading web novels for five hours straight like some kind of feral literature goblin.

Your current obsession? The Lady’s Tragic Love. It’s the sort of story that you can’t put down—not because it’s good, but because it’s so excruciatingly terrible that it loops back around into comedy. The heroine has all the personality of a wet tissue but somehow manages to ruin everyone’s lives with reckless abandon. It’s almost impressive.

You rub your temples as you skim yet another chapter. “Oh my God, this woman has the moral compass of a black hole,” you mutter.

The plot makes less sense the deeper you go: the heroine starts off as the daughter of a down-on-their-luck noble family. Her father racks up an unholy amount of debt, so she’s forced to marry a viscount who—get this—is actually a nice guy. Like, genuinely kind. He agrees to marry her in name only to protect her from debt collectors, even offering to fund her hobbies.

And what does she do? Poison him. Poison him!

"Okay, maybe she's misunderstood," you think, in the kind of delusional optimism only a web novel enthusiast can muster.

Nope. She poisons him because she "can’t stand looking at his face," which is only mildly unattractive and not the ogre-like monstrosity the text implies. Also, he was literally helping her stay alive.

“Oh, sure, let’s kill the only decent male character in this hellscape. Why not?” you hiss, scrolling furiously.

After committing literal murder, the heroine sets her sights on an archduke, who is tall, handsome, and very much engaged to the so-called villainess. The villainess is stunning, kind, intelligent, and inexplicably hated by everyone because—checks notes—she’s too perfect?

At this point, you're gripping your phone so hard that it’s a miracle it doesn’t snap in half. “Why is the villainess the villain? This should be the heroine’s title! She’s practically speedrunning how to be the worst human being alive!”

But no, the heroine gets rewarded for her nonsense. The archduke doesn’t fall for her (because he has taste), but the crown prince does. The prince, apparently a sucker for chaos, marries her. Instead of being happy with her new title and riches, the heroine spends her days scheming to ruin the villainess’s life because, in her words, “How dare the archduke choose someone that isn’t me?”

You pause and reread that line. Then reread it again.

“WHAT?!” you yell so loudly that your downstairs neighbor bangs on the ceiling.

It’s a spiral of nonsense that drags you through emotional whiplash until you finish the last chapter with a migraine and a full-blown existential crisis. You stare at the screen. "Why...why did I do this to myself?"

You stumble out to your tiny balcony to clear your head, phone still in hand. The cool night air washes over you as you lean on the railing, your brain buzzing with rage and confusion.

“Why does she get a happy ending?” you grumble. “She’s a walking red flag factory! The villainess deserves to be queen, and the prince deserves a lobotomy for his taste in women!”

In your frustration, you kick the balcony railing. Unfortunately, your landlord hasn’t exactly been diligent about repairs. The rusted screws holding it in place give way with a terrifying screech.

“Oh, come on,” you say, deadpan, as the railing collapses beneath you.

You plummet ten stories down, bouncing off an awning like some kind of cartoon character before landing face-first in a suspiciously placed fruit cart.

As darkness creeps in, your final thought is not of regret, nor fear, but of pure, unfiltered pettiness:

“I hope my next life is more exciting… and I never have to read about this heroine again.”

With that, you pass out, blissfully unaware of the absurd fate that awaits you.

You wake up, groggy and disoriented, and immediately ask yourself the first logical question: Why the hell am I alive?

The last thing you remember is gravity betraying you and a suspiciously convenient fruit cart breaking your fall. But when you sit up and look around, it’s very clear you’re not in your crappy apartment anymore. For starters, this place is way too clean, smells faintly of vanilla, and—oh, is that sunlight streaming through those beautiful glass windows? Not the dim, depressing flicker of the streetlight outside your old place?

Something is very wrong.

You scramble out of the bed, which is definitely not your rickety twin-sized monstrosity held together with duct tape and misplaced hope, and start poking around. The furniture is elegant, the carpet is plush, and there’s an oil painting on the wall that practically screams, Welcome to Generic Medieval Europe™!

The realization slams into you with all the subtlety of a freight train: You’re in that garbage web novel.

You pause, frozen, your brain throwing up a million red flags at once. Your knees almost buckle. "Nope. No. Absolutely not. This is some kind of cosmic punishment," you whisper to yourself, clutching your temples.

You creep towards the ornate mirror on the other side of the room, your reflection getting clearer with every step. “Please,” you mutter, “if there’s a single merciful entity out there, don’t let me be the heroine. Or the villainess. Or, God forbid, one of the male leads.”

You finally reach the mirror, squeeze your eyes shut, then crack one open. And there you are: just some random face.

“Oh, thank God,” you exhale, slumping against the wall. You’re not the heroine. You’re not the villainess. You’re not one of the tragic walking disasters that make up the main cast. You're just… some person. A total nobody.

But just as you’re about to bust out your victory dance of mediocrity, something catches your eye. You lean closer, squinting.

Wait.

No.

NO.

You’re that nobody.

You’re the tragic commoner knight who gets blackmailed by the heroine, coerced into doing her dirty work, and ends up assassinating the villainess for her. The same commoner knight who dies in three chapters because the heroine throws them under the bus as soon as the villainess's fiancé finds out what happened.

You stagger back from the mirror like it’s cursed. “Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. I did not reincarnate into this medieval soap opera just to get unalived in the dumbest way possible,” you say, pacing the room like a lunatic.

Your character’s life flashes before your eyes: the abusive father, the crippling family loyalty, the gambling debts. This poor soul had it rough even before getting turned into the heroine’s personal murder minion. And you? You’re not about to pick up that torch.

So you grab some parchment and pen what might be the most passive-aggressive resignation letter of all time.

“To Her Highness, the Crown Princess,

Kindly do your own dirty work from now on. My father can gamble himself into oblivion. I’m out. Good luck with your reign or whatever.”

Satisfied, you sign it with an unnecessarily large flourish, slap it on the desk, and prepare to bounce.

You’re halfway down the hall when you almost walk face-first into him.

Rook Hunt, the walking embodiment of “this guy doesn’t belong in this novel but here he is anyway,” stands there with his golden hair and overly dramatic smile. He’s loud. He’s eccentric. He’s dressed like he’s about to break into a musical number about the beauty of life. Oh, and he’s also the duke whose household you served in as a knight before you quit.

“Mon ami!” he exclaims, throwing his arms wide like you’re long-lost lovers. “You’ve returned to me! What an exquisite twist of fate! Shall we celebrate the beauty of reunion?”

“No,” you say flatly. You attempt to sidestep him, but Rook doesn’t just let things go.

“You cannot leave me again! Do you not wish to resume your role as my loyal knight?”

“Absolutely not,” you snap on instinct, because why on earth would you willingly dive back into this mess? But then it hits you. Wait.

Rook isn’t part of the main plot. He’s not the crown prince, not the archduke, not the villain, and definitely not one of the doomed love interests. He’s just… there. A minor character. A colorful extra who pops up to sprinkle poetic nonsense into the plot and then wanders offstage.

Your brain kicks into overdrive. If you stick with him, you’ll be close enough to the action to keep tabs but far enough to avoid the heroine’s nonsense. Plus, salary. And minor characters like him rarely die!

Your decision solidifies. You plaster on a winning smile and nod. “Actually, on second thought, yeah. Let’s do that.”

“Magnifique!” Rook practically beams as he grabs your arm. “Come, let us bask in the splendor of returning home!”

You follow him, letting his endless stream of poetic babble wash over you. Is this the best plan? Probably not. But it beats getting murdered for a heroine who couldn’t find her moral compass with both hands and a map.

You make it back to the duke’s grand estate—because of course it’s grand. Every aristocrat in this godforsaken novel seems to have a mansion the size of a small country. Rook practically floats through the gates, his dramatic energy causing every passing servant to give him the “not again” look. You follow, still trying to process the reality of your current situation.

After an unnecessarily flowery tour of the place (you’ve been here before in this body, but you let him talk because it’s easier than interrupting), he finally stops in the courtyard. He turns to you, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Now, mon chevalier, reclaim your rightful position as my trusted bodyguard!” he declares, flinging his arms wide as if inviting the heavens to applaud him.

You blink. “…Respectfully, sir, why do you need a bodyguard?”

He pauses, staring at you like you just asked why water is wet. Then, with an infuriatingly serene smile, he says, “Ah, but the shadows are filled with secrets, my dear knight! The beauty of life is in its mysteries, n’est-ce pas?”

You squint at him. “Okay, but that doesn’t answer the question.”

He leans in closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Because the wolves, mon ami. The wolves.”

You freeze. “…What wolves?”

Rook straightens up, tilting his head as if contemplating the meaning of the universe. “Ah, they are everywhere and nowhere. In the forests, in the halls, in the hearts of men. Who can say where danger truly lies?”

This man just said a whole lot of words without saying anything.

“Right,” you say slowly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “But you’re, like, ridiculously strong. I’m pretty sure you could take on any wolf—metaphorical or not—by yourself.”

“Ah, mon chevalier,” he says with a wistful sigh, placing a hand on his chest like he’s reciting a Shakespearean soliloquy. “Strength alone cannot protect one from the unexpected, the unseen, the poetry of peril!”

You stare at him, trying to figure out if this is some sort of elaborate prank. But no. This man is completely serious.

“So… wolves. Poetry of peril. Got it,” you mutter, rubbing your temples. “I’ll, uh, just… go patrol or something, I guess.”

Rook claps his hands together, beaming. “Ah, magnifique! I knew you would understand! Truly, you are a gem among knights!”

You slink off, still scratching your head. You’re 90% sure the wolves are a metaphor for absolutely nothing, but who are you to question the logic of a trash novel? At least the pay is good.

You quickly realize this trash novel is trying to trash you right back. It’s like every corner you turn, fate has decided you don’t deserve a peaceful life.

Walking through the garden to calm your nerves? Someone leaps out of the hedges with a dagger. You narrowly dodge, trip over a decorative fountain, and the attacker runs off, cackling.

Trying to enjoy the roses because you’re starting to think, “Hey, if I gotta die, at least let it be aesthetic?” Nope, arrow. Right past your ear.

By the fifth assassination attempt (some guy “accidentally” dropping a potted plant from a balcony), it clicks. The heroine must’ve decided since you’re not doing her dirty work anymore, she needs to eliminate you before you spill the beans. But, unlike her, you have brains.

So, you write a letter.

Dear Villainess and Esteemed Archduke,

I hope this letter finds you well, though considering the general chaos surrounding us, that feels optimistic.

I am writing to inform you of an unfortunate situation involving a certain someone (cough the crown princess cough) who has, shall we say, less-than-noble intentions toward your continued existence.

To clarify: she asked me to assassinate you. I know, shocking. However, as someone who values integrity, personal safety, and not being murdered by shady royalty, I’ve decided to step down from my position as her unwilling assassin.

This does mean she may hire someone else to handle the job, which is unfortunate for you but also none of my business anymore. I’m not sure how you typically handle murder plots, but I suggest taking precautions, like perhaps not smelling your roses or standing under precariously placed flower pots.

Lastly, while I am admittedly a pawn in this chaotic mess, I felt it was only fair to let you know what’s going on. I wish you both a long, unassassinated life.

Warm regards,

Your Local Retired Assassin

P.S. Please don’t kill me. I’m just the messenger.

You thought this letter would buy you peace. Instead, it bought you an invitation.

And by “invitation,” you mean you’ve been dragged into a private meeting with the villainess and the archduke, who are both sitting across from you now, looking like they’re deciding whether to thank you or strangle you.

“So,” the villainess says, her voice like ice. “You’re telling me the crown princess is plotting to kill me?”

“Uh, yes,” you say, your palms sweating. “But, like, not me anymore! I’ve retired. Permanently.”

The archduke raises an eyebrow. “Why would she want to kill us?”

You glance at the villainess. “Uh… because you exist?”

Before the villainess can stab you (she looks ready), the door swings open, and in saunters Rook.

“Ah, my friends!” he says, grinning ear to ear. “How serendipitous that we are all here. I believe I can shed some light on this matter.”

You gape as Rook launches into a detailed explanation of the heroine’s convoluted scheme—exactly what she’s planning, who she’s hiring, and even the color of the dress she’ll wear while gloating about it.

The villainess and the archduke exchange a glance, then rise, thanking Rook for his “invaluable insight” before sweeping out of the room, leaving you and Rook alone.

You turn to him, your jaw still on the floor. “How do you even know all that?”

Rook just winks at you. “Ah, mon chevalier, the shadows have ears, and I am their maestro.”

He struts out, humming a jaunty tune, leaving you sitting there, more confused than ever. At this point, you’re half-convinced Rook is either a genius or just making stuff up as he goes. And honestly? You’re too tired to figure it out.

You’re stationed at the edge of the garden, trying your best to blend into the scenery while the tea party unfolds. Rook, as usual, is the life of the gathering, passionately chatting with Vil and Epel, who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

You’re in your usual "bodyguard mode," which mostly consists of staring off into the distance and trying not to fall asleep. It’s peaceful—for once—until Epel casually drops a comment loud enough for even you to hear.

"Rook, you finally got them back, huh?"

Your brain screeches to a halt.

Got you back? Back? What does that mean? What is there to get back? Was there something to get back in the first place?

You barely have time to process any of this before Rook, in the most Rook way possible, interrupts with a flurry of poetic nonsense.

“Ah, young Epel, the winds of fortune have indeed graced me with their bounteous song! But let us not dwell on the past, for the present blooms before us like a radiant garden of opportunity!”

You blink. Did… did that mean anything? Epel seems to think it doesn’t, judging by the way he rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath. But you’re too busy processing the odd look on Rook’s face to care.

Because, for the first time ever, Rook looks nervous.

His usual serene confidence is still there, but there’s a hint of something else—a faint pink dusting his cheeks, an almost imperceptible shift in his tone. And why the hell is your heart fluttering at the sight?

You squint at him, trying to decode whatever is happening here. Is he… embarrassed? Flustered? Can Rook even be flustered?

Before you can spiral further into overthinking, you notice Vil’s sharp gaze cutting through the moment like a knife. His violet eyes lock onto yours, and an infuriatingly amused smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

Oh no. He knows.

Vil, of course, pretends like nothing’s happening, smoothly pouring himself another cup of tea and joining the conversation like the consummate aristocrat he is. But every so often, you catch him glancing at you with that same entertained expression, like he’s just discovered a juicy secret.

You try to shake it off, refusing to let yourself be dragged into this nonsense. But Rook’s flushed face lingers in your mind, and every time he smiles at you for the rest of the party, you feel the heat creeping up your own cheeks.

Great. Just great. Whatever this is, it’s going to haunt you for days.

It started with an uproar in the palace—a desperate, urgent call for help sent to Rook, Duke of Hunt.

"The wolves are attacking!"

You were mid-sword practice when the messenger arrived, breathless and frantic. He handed the summons to Rook, who took the parchment with an amused smile.

"Wolves, you say?" he mused, tapping his chin dramatically.

"Yes, my lord!" The messenger practically collapsed from the effort of delivering the message. "They’ve breached the outer gardens, and the prince and heroine request your immediate assistance!"

Rook looked at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Ah, mon chevalier, do you recall what I told you once about wolves?"

You blinked, frowning. "You mean the thing about being surrounded by wolves one day? I thought you were joking."

Rook’s grin widened. "Oh, I never jest about wolves."

You opened your mouth to demand clarification, but Rook waved the parchment dismissively. "Alas, I must decline."

The messenger froze. "W-What? But…you’re the Duke of Hunt! The greatest tracker and marksman in the kingdom! Without you, the palace is doomed!"

Rook leaned forward conspiratorially. "Tell me, mon ami, what makes you think I’d risk life and limb for the likes of the heroine and her precious prince?"

The messenger stammered. "B-But—"

Rook held up a hand, silencing him. "No, no. I simply cannot. My schedule is far too packed. Why, just this morning, I promised my chevalier here that I’d help reorganize their weapons rack." He turned to you with a wink. "Isn’t that right?"

You rolled your eyes but nodded. "Yep. Super busy."

The messenger left, looking utterly defeated. You figured that was the end of it.

It wasn’t.

Over the next two hours, messengers kept arriving, each more desperate than the last. Rook refused them all with increasing flamboyance.

One messenger was sent away with, "Alas, the stars are not in alignment for such a hunt!"

Another was dismissed with, "The winds whisper that this is not my destiny today."

Finally, a personal plea came from the heroine herself. She barged into the estate, dramatically throwing herself at Rook’s feet.

"Oh, noble Duke!" she wailed. "You are the only one who can save us! Please, I beg of you!"

Rook tilted his head, pretending to think it over. Then he glanced at you, his expression suddenly sharp beneath the veneer of cheer.

"And what of my chevalier?" he asked.

The heroine frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You’ve made quite a nuisance of yourself lately," Rook said lightly, though there was an edge to his voice. "Why, only yesterday, you sent someone to ambush them in the gardens, did you not?"

Her face paled.

"I might reconsider," Rook said, his tone taking on a singsong quality, "if you promise to leave them alone from now on."

There was a long, tense pause. The heroine’s expression flickered between rage and fear before she finally forced a smile. "Very well. I promise."

"Splendid!" Rook clapped his hands and stood. "To the hunt, then!"

You stood there in stunned silence as he walked out the door, bow in hand. When he turned back to flash you a grin, you couldn’t help but mutter, "What the hell just happened?"

Rook’s laugh echoed through the halls, and you were left wondering yet again if you’d ever fully understand this ridiculous man.

It’s payday, baby.

You’ve never been more excited to hold a pouch of jingling coins in your life. Your day off couldn’t have come at a better time, and you’ve already decided to treat yourself. No assassination attempts, no cryptic poetry, no Rook yammering about beauty—just you, the market, and sweet, sweet retail therapy.

After wandering for a while, you stumble upon a fruit stall, and your eyes light up. The produce is incredible—vividly colored, juicy, and nothing like the waxy, suspiciously glossy stuff you’d get in your original world. You don’t even know what half these fruits are, but they smell amazing, and you’re buying them all.

As you carry your haul back to the manor, an idea hits you like a freight train. You’ve been craving dessert—specifically, something you can’t get in medieval Europe. Something simple, sweet, and utterly anachronistic.

And that’s how you end up in the kitchen, surrounded by fresh fruit, flour, sugar, and whatever else you’ve managed to scrounge up. You’re determined to make crêpes. Yes, you know they weren’t invented yet, but the cooks don’t even seem to know what a waffle is, so they’re not going to stop you.

It takes a bit of trial and error—because, shocker, medieval kitchens are not equipped for finesse—but eventually, you’ve got a plate of soft, golden crêpes filled with fresh fruit and drizzled with honey. It’s so beautiful it almost brings a tear to your eye.

You’re mid-bite, mentally congratulating yourself, when Rook materializes out of nowhere like some kind of dessert-seeking missile.

“Mon chevalier! What marvel have you crafted here in this humble kitchen? The scent alone rivals the sweetest perfume!”

You freeze. This is fine. He’s just curious. There’s no reason to panic. Subconsciously, you scoop up a bite on your fork and offer it to him, your body on autopilot.

Rook doesn’t hesitate, leaning in and accepting the bite with the elegance of a prince at court. “Magnifique! Truly, you have woven magic into this creation, mon cher!”

You relax slightly, pride swelling at the compliment—until he takes your hand and licks a stray drop of honey from your finger.

Your brain short-circuits.

Before you can even form a coherent thought, Rook grins at you with that infuriatingly charming smile of his, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek.

“You are as talented in the kitchen as you are with a blade,” he says, his voice warm and soft, as if he hasn’t just dismantled your sanity.

And then he’s gone, striding out of the kitchen with his usual jaunty step, leaving you standing there like an idiot, replaying the sensation of his lips on your cheek and his tongue on your finger.

You slowly sink to the floor, crêpe in hand, trying to process what just happened.

“Why,” you mutter to yourself, taking another bite of your crêpe for courage, “does this keep happening to me?”

Life had been…dare you say it, pleasant recently. No assassination attempts, no tea parties and no surprise arrows whizzing by your head. You were almost convinced this world might not be so bad after all.

But like clockwork, the plot reared its ugly head.

You were outside, basking in the rare serenity of a quiet afternoon, when the shouting began. You knew the voice instantly. It was grating, furious, and way too familiar.

Your abusive father—the original you’s deadbeat excuse for a parent—had somehow crawled out of the woodwork.

“You useless brat!” he snarled, stomping toward you. “How dare you stop sending money? Do you think you’re too good for your family now?!”

Oh, for the love of—

You crossed your arms, already done with the theatrics. “First of all, family implies mutual care and respect, neither of which you’ve ever provided. Secondly, kiss my ass.”

The man’s face turned a deep shade of purple, veins bulging in his forehead. He raised his hand, and you didn’t flinch. You weren’t scared of him. You were just irritated that he had the audacity to show up and ruin your vibe.

But before his hand could even swing down, an arrow whizzed past, slicing through the air with deadly precision. It nicked his cheek, leaving a shallow cut, and he yelped like a scolded dog.

You turned, and there he was.

Rook.

But this wasn’t the poetic, flowery Rook who praised sunsets and waxed lyrical about everything under the sun. No, this was Duke Hunt. His bow was clenched tightly in one hand, his expression colder than you’d ever seen. His eyes locked onto your father, sharp and unyielding, and for the first time, you truly understood why people called him a hunter.

Your father stumbled back, clutching his cheek. “Y-you’ll regret this! I’ll get my revenge!” he spat, turning tail and running like the two-bit villain he was.

You didn’t even watch him go. You were too busy staring at Rook, your heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the fact that, dammit, he looked good like this.

You silently scolded yourself. Really? Now? This is when you’re going to have a revelation about your feelings? Pull it together.

Rook’s gaze softened as he looked at you, and without a word, he closed the distance between you. Before you could process it, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a firm, steady embrace.

You stiffened for a moment, but then it hit you—you were shaken. You hadn’t realized it until now, but the encounter had left your hands trembling. And Rook…he didn’t say a word. He just held you, radiating warmth and reassurance, as if he knew exactly what you needed.

Slowly, you relaxed, leaning into him, letting the tension bleed out of your body. For once, there were no witty remarks, no poetic musings, no cryptic riddles. Just Rook, steady and solid, and the quiet comfort of his presence.

You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. Maybe life here wasn’t so bad after all.

It was the hunting competition trope—the bread and butter of every third-rate villainess novel ever written. Noblemen rode out in droves to massacre innocent wildlife in the name of prestige, while the women gathered on the sidelines to swoon over who could kill the most majestic creature.

Normally, you'd find this whole affair ridiculous, but today? Today, it was a strategic opportunity.

Rook and you had cooked up a plan. After bagging his game, Rook would publicly gift it to the villainess, cementing the stance of his household against the heroine. A subtle yet unmistakable message to everyone present: this duke’s house wasn’t here to play politics; it was drawing battle lines.

Rook was, predictably, ecstatic about it all. “Ah, mon chevalier, what a splendid opportunity to honor beauty and justice with the art of the hunt!” he proclaimed, twirling dramatically as he readied his bow.

What you didn’t anticipate was his strange fixation on a handkerchief before he left.

Throughout the day, noblewomen approached Rook, each one batting their lashes and holding out dainty, embroidered handkerchiefs. It was practically a parade of desperate peahens.

“Oh, Lord Hunt, a token for luck!” cooed one particularly persistent lady, pushing her frilly kerchief toward him.

Rook clasped his hands to his chest with exaggerated reverence. “Ah, mademoiselle, your thoughtfulness moves me beyond words, but alas, I cannot accept. To carry such a treasure into the wild would be to risk its loss, and I could never bear such tragedy!”

Another woman attempted to loop her kerchief around his wrist directly. Rook gracefully dodged, as though she were offering him a live snake. “My dear lady, your artistry is unparalleled, but the only adornment fit for this hunt is the pure, untainted spirit of nature herself!”

By the third rejection, you were practically biting your tongue to keep from laughing.

But then came the curveball.

“Ah,” Rook sighed as he approached you. “If only I had a handkerchief imbued with sincerity. A simple, honest token to guide my aim and steady my heart!”

You blinked at him. “What, like…this?” You pulled out your completely ordinary, unembellished handkerchief and held it out.

Rook’s eyes lit up as though you’d just handed him the Holy Grail. “Mon chevalier! How perfect! How divine! This humble square of cloth shall be my guiding light!”

Before you could protest, he tied it around his arm with a flourish and rode off, looking like he was ready to star in his own personal opera.

From his place in the pavilion, Vil Schoenheit took a slow, deliberate sip of his tea, his sharp eyes locking onto yours with a glint of pure amusement. The smirk tugging at his lips seemed to say, Oh, I know exactly what’s going on.

Meanwhile, Epel squinted between you and Rook, his expression shifting rapidly as though he’d just cracked the secret to immortality. He whispered something to Vil, who nearly choked on his tea before regaining his composure.

What the hell is going on? you thought, baffled.

Fast forward to now, the present, where the plan was supposed to culminate with Rook triumphantly presenting his prize to the villainess. Simple, elegant, strategic.

So why, why, was Rook standing in front of you holding a literal griffin?

“Uh, Rook,” you whispered through gritted teeth. “What are you doing? This is supposed to go to the villainess.”

But Rook was having none of it.

“Ah, my loyal chevalier,” he declared loudly, drawing the attention of every noble in the vicinity. “It is only fitting that such a prize goes to the one who inspires my steadfastness and resolve!”

Your jaw dropped. “Rook. No.”

He turned his radiant smile on you, looking like a proud schoolboy showing off a crayon drawing to his teacher. “Yes!”

The gathered nobles erupted into murmurs, and you could already feel the weight of every single judgmental stare. This was not part of the plan. But despite your internal screaming, a small, annoying part of you couldn’t help but feel…flattered. This was a duke, and you were just a knight. A very confused, very underqualified knight, sure, but still.

Vil, still seated with his ever-present cup of tea, took another long, pointed sip, his eyes glimmering with amusement.

This was the drama he’d signed up for.

The hallway leading back to the room where Vil, Rook, and Epel were sitting felt oddly silent, the muffled voices of their conversation barely filtering through the door. You weren’t one to eavesdrop—but when you heard your name, well, curiosity got the better of you.

"Just confess already," Epel was saying, his tone exasperated. "We’ve all seen the way you look at them."

Vil chimed in, his voice tinged with amusement. "Epel is right for once, Rook. Love is about timing, and yours is abysmal."

"But love is an art, mon ami," Rook replied, his tone unusually hesitant. "It cannot be rushed. It must unfold naturally, like the petals of a flower in spring."

"Okay," Vil drawled, clearly unimpressed. "But what happens when someone else plucks your ‘flower’? Say, the gardener they’ve been spending so much time with?"

The silence that followed was deafening. You leaned closer, your heart pounding, hoping—no, needing—to hear Rook’s response.

Instead, you heard nothing.

The stillness stretched unbearably until you couldn’t take it anymore. You shoved the door open, startling all three occupants. "What are you talking about?"

Vil raised an eyebrow, the picture of nonchalance, though the corners of his mouth twitched with mischief. "Perfect timing, as always. I’ll leave you two to sort this out."

He grabbed a very reluctant Epel by the collar and dragged him toward the door. "Wait, I wanna see what happens!" Epel protested, but Vil shut the door behind them with a decisive click.

Which left you and Rook alone.

You crossed your arms, leveling him with a look that you hoped masked the frantic hammering of your heart. "So…what’s this about a confession?"

Rook’s usual composure faltered. For once, the poetic, perpetually self-assured Rook you knew looked…unsure. Vulnerable. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his gloves, and he avoided your gaze, staring instead at the floor.

"Rook," you said softly, stepping closer. "Please, just tell me what’s going on. I need to know."

He finally looked up, and the raw emotion in his eyes was enough to steal your breath.

"Mon chevalier," he began, his voice low and trembling, "I have loved you from the start. At first, it was the camaraderie of equals, a kindred spirit I admired. But when you returned from the heroine’s side, defying expectations and staying true to yourself…you captured my heart completely."

You blinked, stunned. "Rook, I—"

He continued, the words spilling out as though he’d been holding them back for far too long. "You never treated me like I was strange. You accepted me as I am, even when others mocked my passions or dismissed my eccentricities. I never truly needed a bodyguard. I just needed you. Near me. Always."

His voice broke slightly on the last word, and you felt your resolve crumble.

You sighed, but it wasn’t from exasperation. It was the sound of relief, of something clicking into place. "Next time," you said, stepping even closer, "just tell me your feelings directly. It’ll save us both a lot of trouble."

Before he could respond, you reached up and pulled him into a kiss.

It was everything a first kiss should be—long, searing, passionate. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, pulling you flush against him as though he never wanted to let go. You melted into him, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, and for a moment, the world outside that kiss ceased to exist.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless. Rook’s lips quirked into a smile as he whispered, "Your lips are the sweetest arrow, mon amour, and they have pierced my heart beyond repair."

You burst into laughter, burying your face in the crook of his neck to muffle the sound. "Gods, Rook, only you could ruin a moment like this with something so cheesy."

He chuckled softly, his arms still secure around you.

And as you stood there in his embrace, you couldn’t help but think that this ridiculous, trashy novel world was the best thing that had ever happened to you.

The parlor was warm with the golden light of afternoon sun filtering through the windows, but the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation. You stood near Rook, his arm casually draped across the back of your chair, as Vil and Epel looked at you expectantly.

“Well?” Vil prompted, raising a perfectly arched brow.

You glanced at Rook, who smiled encouragingly, as if to say, go ahead. Clearing your throat, you announced, “We’re…together.”

Vil sighed dramatically, setting down his teacup with a soft clink. “Finally. I was starting to think I’d have to intervene.”

Epel, on the other hand, froze mid-sip of his cider. Slowly, he set the glass down, stood, and walked over to you. His expression was a mix of grief and dread, like someone had just informed him of some terrible, life-altering news.

He placed both hands firmly on your shoulders and looked you dead in the eyes. “Good luck,” he said, solemn as a funeral bell. “This is a life sentence, y’know.”

Rook chuckled, clearly amused. “Mon cher Epel, you wound me! Surely being with moi is more of a treasure than a trial?”

Epel turned to him, unimpressed. “Treasure? You follow people for fun. You recite poetry to wild animals. You can’t even eat pie without analyzing its existential meaning. I mean, who does that?”

You were already laughing, shaking your head as you patted Epel’s hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Epel. This is a sentence I’m more than happy to serve.”

Vil smirked behind his tea, watching the scene unfold with obvious amusement. “Frankly, I’m just relieved we won’t have to endure any more of his tragic sighs every time you left a room.”

Rook clasped a hand to his heart in mock offense. “Oh, Vil! My sighs are poetry incarnate!”

Vil didn’t even blink. “Your sighs are the sound of unspoken melodrama. Spare me.”

Epel plopped back into his seat with a long groan, running a hand through his hair. “Anyway, I guess congratulations or whatever. At least now we can all stop pretending we don’t notice him staring at you like some love-struck puppy.”

“That’s rich,” you shot back, grinning. “You’re the one who looks like your pet rat just died every time we get close.”

Epel huffed. “I’m just saying! Now you gotta deal with him being even more poetic! And clingy! You thought the prince and heroine were bad? Wait till you see Rook when he’s in love. You’re doomed.”

At the mention of the prince and heroine, Vil made an exaggerated sound of disgust. “Speaking of those two… Honestly, has anyone ever been so painfully predictable? The prince has all the charm of wet cardboard, and the heroine—don’t even get me started on her hair ribbons.”

“Ah, the heroine,” Rook sighed wistfully, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Always so delightfully transparent. Her schemes are like open windows to her soul.”

You snorted. “If by soul, you mean her desperate attempts to turn everything into a sob story, then yeah, sure.”

Epel leaned forward, grinning. “Did you see her crying at the hunt competition? Like, girl, it’s a competition. What did you think would happen? That the griffin would apologize and hand itself over?”

Vil smirked, tapping a manicured finger against his chin. “Or how about the prince declaring his ‘eternal devotion’ to her at the banquet last week? I nearly choked on my wine.”

Rook chuckled, turning to you with a soft smile that was far more genuine than his usual theatrics. “Ah, but let us not waste all our words on such trivialities. This moment, mon amour, is one of joy.”

You leaned into him, your laughter subsiding into a contented smile. His arm slipped around your shoulders, holding you close as Vil and Epel continued their playful bickering in the background.

For the first time since you’d been thrown into this absurd world, you felt completely at ease. If this was the result of being trapped in a trash novel, then so be it. You were exactly where you wanted to be.

Trash Novel Masterlist

Complete Masterlists

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #rook hunt x reader #rook x reader #rook hunt #rook x you #rook hunt x you #rook #trash novel chronicles

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luveline · 1 year ago

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hi can i request girl dad!aaron 🥺🥺 i am such a sucker for him, anything would be amazing thank you so much <3

hope this is okay!! —you have big news for your small family. 1.5k pregnant!mom!reader

When you first married his father, you weren't expecting Jack Hotchner to like you very much. Losing his mom so young, you wouldn't have blamed him for resenting you, or even hating you. You were like a stranger in his home.

Things are different now. Jack lays in your lap with his head on your shoulder, and maybe he's a little too old for such a coddling cuddle, but who really cares? You love him and you love holding him, and if he wants some extra comfort tonight you're happy to give it. Plus, you have something you've been meaning to tell him.

“He doesn't have real headlights, did you know?” Jack asks. “They're just stickers.”

You raise your brows at the car on screen. “No kidding.” You brush your fingers through his hair. He's blonde like his mom, though that blonde has turned brown the older he gets.

“Race cars don't have headlights.”

“They don't need them,” you say. Jack smiles at you shyly and leans into your neck, clearly pleased.

You're very, very glad that you ended up being someone he loved. It's a privilege to get to look after him, and to be his step mom. In the same way you're lucky to be Aaron's partner and Jane's mom, too.

“Think dad's made dinner?” you ask.

“No, he's probably just talking to Jane.”

Yes, well. You can't blame him, nor would you want him to stop. He talks to Jane like she understands, and Jane, not even two years old, nearly brand new to the world, soaks him in. You can hear him if you strain, the dulcet cadence of his voice under the steady hum of the dishwasher.

“That's okay, sweetheart, don't get upset,” he's saying, “it's okay. Come here, I've got you.”

Jane starts to cry. You and Jack give one another the look, apprehensive in hoping it won't turn into a full blown melt down.

“Honey?” Aaron calls. “Sorry, where did you put her other pacifier?”

You kiss Jack's hair. “Sorry, bub. Wanna come with me?”

Jack wants to stay and watch Cars. You wrap him in a throw blanket and make your way into the Hotchner kitchen, where Aaron rifles through the drawers and cabinets with Jane held snugly to his chest. “I know,” he says, “I know. I'll get it.”

You nudge him aside. You only know where the spare pacifier is because you put away the wooden spoons last night and pushed it back. You fish for it, a ladybug made of glittery red plastic, and Jane's crying slows as soon as you pull it free. She grizzles while you rinse it, but she settles when you hand it over.

“This is not the best, is it? The pacifiers?” you murmur.

“She dropped her other one and it rolled under the oven. And no. Not ideal.” He pats her back gently. “As long as she stops before she gets her big teeth, she'll be okay.”

“Do you think it's a comfort issue?” you ask.

“No,” he says. You worry about stuff like this constantly, but he knows kids are more hardy, and he isn't worried. “Sorry for making you get up.”

He hates when she cries; he may see his kids as a hardy bunch, but he takes their upset as a personal failure half the time. His concern for her overrides his concern for you, but in a few weeks that might change. You can't imagine him calling you to find something again when your stomach is round as a honeydew.

You've been meaning to tell him about that, too.

You're not secret-keeping immorally, he does want another baby, but you've been having a little bit of fun. He's gone on cases so often lately that he hasn't been able to keep track of you, or your doctor's appointments.

You watch him with Jane, and you think about him with Jack, and you know he's going to be happy. He's told you as much before.

“My poor girl,” he says, covering the back of Jane's head with his hand and pulling her under his chin. He looks as fine as ever, tall, dark and handsome to a fault. Jane's lips smack as she sucks and digs her teary cheek into his chest.

You can feel his gaze on you. “Is now a good time?” he asks.

You shrug. “For what?”

“To tell me what you're not telling me.”

“Oh, busted,” you croon, aiming for his shoulder.

You do as Jane had and press your cheek to his front, your eye forced shut.

“What do you think it is?” you ask.

He makes a strange noise. You can practically hear the possibilities for your secret running through his head. His birthday is vaguely soon, so that's what he'll settle on first. But Aaron likes to disregard the obvious as most people do, only circling back to it when there's no other lead to follow.

“How big of a secret is it?” he asks, rubbing Jane's back diligently. She makes a happy sound, and for a moment he forgets his plight to kiss the top of her head.

You speak quietly, carefully, because it is big, huge news. “The pamphlets say it’s about the size of a strawberry.”

He puts his cheek to Jane's head softly, looking at you in confusion. A second, another, and his eyebrows start to relax, rise, a smile on his lips like it's too good to be true. “You are?” he asks in surprise.

Jack appears in the doorway with the throw blanket trailing behind him. “Y/N, when are you coming back to watch TV?”

“Jack, lovely, come here. I have something to tell you,” you say.

Aaron grabs your wrist. When you meet his eyes, he squeezes gently. “You're sure?” he asks.

“The doctor seemed pretty certain, handsome.” You lower your voice as Jack comes to stand in front of you. “Are you happy?”

“Happy about what?”

You put your hand on your stomach cautiously, worried about Aaron and how quiet he's being, and if it's as okay to tell Jack as you'd thought, but that action is what gets him. “I love you,” he says quizzically, as though his being happy is totally dependent on the fact. “Of course I'm happy. This is the best secret you could've kept.”

“About what?” Jack asks, patting your arm.

You bend down just a bit to see his face properly. “It's a secret you can't tell anyone for a while, okay? The only people who can know for now are me, you, and dad.”

“Can I tell Jane?” he asks.

“Yeah, buddy, you can tell your sister,” Aaron says.

You peer at him from the corner of your eye, both concerned and pleased to see the wetness ringing his waterline, and the tenderness with which he holds Jane close, his thumb rubbing little circles into her back.

“I'm going to have another baby,” you say.

Jack's jaw drops. “Right now?”

“No, not right now! You still remember last time?” you ask with a laugh, taking his shoulders into your hands.

“You were crying and shouting for dad to hold your hand.” He pokes your stomach. “So it's like Jane?”

“Maybe one day, sweetheart. For now, it's just a tiny baby.”

Jack wants to see your stomach. He's expecting a much bigger bump than you have to offer, but you explain that eventually it'll get bigger again, and he seems quite pleased. Aaron makes sure to give him a hug and ask him if he's okay, to which Jack says, “Yes, but can we have a brother this time?”

You rub the soft top of your stomach. “I'll see what I can do, Jack.”

Aaron commandeers your attention, kissing you more times than you can count. You don't think you've ever seen him this happy now the reality has truly set in, asking Jane in his murmur, “Do you want to be a big sister?”

She gurgles around the pacifier, leaving drool in a line down his chest.

“I know, honey. I'm excited too. Let's clean you up, mm? And make mommy a cup of hot cocoa…” He narrows his eyes at you. “Would you sit down?”

“I'm only ten weeks, I'm fine.”

“She's keeping secrets from me, and now she won't do what I'm asking,” he says to Jane. “Can you believe it? Anyone would think mommy doesn't like me as much as she claims.”

You kiss his cheek. “M'having your baby, Aaron, again.”

“That is a compelling argument.” He wipes Jane's cheek. “What do you think? Should we forgive her?” Jane laughs. He smiles at you, lovesick. You're not sure who for. “I guess we're letting you get away with this one, sweetheart. But no more secrets.”

“None,” you promise.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

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popponn · 1 year ago

Text

so what if mikage reo is running late and crashes to you—a culinary student, also late—on his rush. predictably, the coffee in his hand got spilled all over his expensive coat. unpredictably, you—a scholarship student too busy trying to survive—don't know how rich he actually is and automatically offer to compensate him somehow.

since washing his coat somehow will cost you ten times your rent while buying one is simply asking for a lifelong debt, you offer to him what you do best—your cooking for a full month. at first, reo really doesn't want it as he doesn't mind. also, stranger danger? but since you are adamant enough to even offer him "i will make it in front of you!" he ends up accepting it.

and somehow, as people say, a way to a man's heart is through his stomach. reo kind of falls in love a bit too hard and a bit too clumsily before he knows it. but hey, if the love of his life is offering him lunch with a full-blown smile maybe learning to be a proper domestic husband while juggling soccer and business is worth it.

#1:

"so, is it good?" you asked in the manner of a true excited cook.

reo wanted to say that he knew it would be good even before he put your food in his mouth. or say that even if you offer him to eat a marshmallow that is one fire he will still do it for you at this point. or maybe he really should just blurt out, "it is. please marry me and let me have your cooking for the rest of my life. i love you."

but, reo has his pride as your trusted food tester—so, with a wide grin that was objectively handsome if not a bit too full of love, reo answered, "very! guess, studying and testing all those spices really paid off, huh?"

#2:

"can you guys—" nagi paused, making a face as if he was tasting the words on his tongue, "—just get it together?"

you blinked. "uh? pardon?"

nagi didn't raise his head from his phone. "reo keeps looking at you like he wants to—"

"dude," chigiri interrupted, kicking nagi's leg visibly. nagi grunted, which chigiri ignored him in favor of offering you a nervous laugh instead. "sorry, reo kind of ruined his game yesterday. he kept grudges—"

"hey, reo kicked my head—"

chigiri immediately kicked nagi's shin hard enough that the table shook. you spared the white-haired male a pitying squint as you tried to not wince too much. you really should have gone to pick up the food with reo.

note: aka a post canon romcom au no plot no braincell just vibe of supportive x supportive. it's reo just falling in love with you who offer good food and good mental support. and hey this au entails classic "rich guy tries domestic mundane things he never even touch once" which of course would let to reo getting your guidance (while staring longing at you like a boy in love). at least this is reo, so through sheer power of natural learning capability and also love, he will do it right at the second or third time. oh, of course nagi and chigiri is there. chigiri wishes reo would stop bragging about your food and you if he isn't going to grow a bone and confess. nagi wishes reo would stop hitting him each time you send him an emoji or a praise—reo you are ruining his full combo. aka do you see idiot 1 & idiot 2? there is never too many idiots to lovers. might have went way too self indulgence thinking about this—"after bllk they still go to uni" this kind of thinking should tell you enough how many braincel is present here. but. uh yeah. "i want to support and comfort reo" is a feeling. anyway ok. thanks for reading this blurb i should be doing something else rn but 🫶 yeah have this. take this. love u.

#bllk #blue lock imagines #bllk imagines #bllk x reader #blue lock #blue lock fluff #blue lock x reader #blue lock scenarios #bllk fluff #bllk scenarios #reo fluff #mikage reo x reader #reo x reader #ngl im also manifesting a culinary cutie rn so there is that. but im also manifesting actual mikage reo #but all in all the thought of two kind supportive people finding each other is a nice thought like “you deserves good things”#drabbles #drabble #maybe one day soon #blurbs

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starlightguh · 22 days ago

Text

A Change in Scent

Word Count: 1,489

Summary: Visiting Sylus, he notices a change in my scent. The repercussions of it leave me both happy yet scared.

Tags: Suggestive themes; but no smut, Pregnancy, slight angst.

A/N: I was gonna make this longer but I felt like if I kept writing I would go off the rails. But ever since seeing the trailer for Sylus myth, my head was spinning with HC that we are fr Luke and Kieran’s family. Doubt this is canon but this came to mind so I wrote it down. Please enjoy!

Being in Taurus and falling in love with the dragon who protected it, wasn’t exactly my plan in life.

I had been exiled from my tribe for refusing to marry a man I didn’t love. In order to be accepted back, I had to venture to find a rare protocore to earn my place. I stumbled upon a cave filled with endless treasure, and the dragon who guarded it took one whiff of my scent and claimed me as his own.

I had become his beloved, his wife, and everything in between as soon as he scented me. His fangs would sink into my neck and in some cosmic way; I knew that we belonged to one another.

However, I didn’t understand dragons, every couple months he had me practically bound into the bed as we did nothing but cuddle and make love. He claimed it was his animalistic nature to go into heat, but to me Sylus was human despite his otherworldly appearance. His heart and love were purer than the winter snow. Every word from his lips sang my praises, and at times he would refuse to let me return back to the tribe.

But I managed to escape his protective grasp to maintain some semblance of a human life to see my grandmother. In the meantime Sylus promised to dispel any of my “silly” desires of a human life, and promised he was going to build me a house surrounded by our favorite flowers.

Things remained as a normal courtship between us. It wasn’t till one day he noticed a change in me that I hadn't myself.

I hadn’t seen him in a few days, so I had been excited to spend more time with him. When I returned to his abode deep within the mountains, he immediately buried his nose against the crook against my neck as he breathed in, he pulled away with his red eyes blown wide with surprise.

“What? Is something wrong? I know I’ve been busy with dealing with my Tribe I haven’t had time to bathe-“ I try and make up an excuse as he pulls away with a shake of his head.

“No. No sweetness it isn’t that…” he pants in my ear and then chuckles, “Your scent….It’s different.” He pants out and starts nipping his fangs at my neck.

“Like a good difference or a bad difference ?” I say confused.

“My love,” he laughs full of pride and joy as he pulls away from my neck to press a soft kiss against my lips, “You’re pregnant.”

I freeze, “Excuse me?” Are the only words to leave my lips.

“You’re with my children,” he growls as he bends his face down to continue to kiss on my neck and collar bones.

“I don’t think I’m late on my period? How do you know for sure?” I try and grasp at his silver locks to pull away and explain himself to me.

“Your scent is giving off a pheromone to me that is screaming that you’re pregnant….I cant describe it, but it’s a sickly sweet smell that makes me want to worship you…Carrying my Babies…”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, I don’t feel any different,” she rolls her shoulders back, “I think maybe I’m just ovulating?”

He shakes his head no, “No I can tell….You’re pregnant.” He chuckles darkly, “Bless the gods, the mother of my children…I could only be so lucky.”

“Sylus…” I mentally try to deny his thoughts again and he just shushes me and places a fiery kiss to my lips.

“Mine forever,” his claws rake down my small form, stopping to caress my stomach. “A living part of me to be with you always.”

I let out a shaky breath and stare up at him in fear, “What am I….What are we to do?”

He quirks his head at me, “Is this not good news? A cause for celebration? Do humans not enjoy the idea of bringing life with their beloveds into the world?”

I shake my head, “It usually is, but Sy….Think of the complications. I’m a human. If my tribe finds out I’m carrying a dragons baby….” A shiver of fear went down my spine.

“You’re not to return,” he growls out as a command, “Your life is with me now. Under no circumstances will you even be let out of my sight while carrying my children,” his tail wraps around my middle. He isn’t applying any pressure to my body with it, but the visual is enough to send a message.

“But Sy my family-“

“We’re going to be a family,” his eyes flash an emotion of hurt as he hisses at me, “I will protect you and our babies till the ends of the earth. This family will never cast you out. I don’t want you to return to the tribe ever again. It’s dangerous.”

I shake my head, “They might come looking for me… What would they think of finding me in your treasure nest heavy with a baby…Sylus, we can’t do this…”

It was as if I had struck him, his face sinks and his red eyes glisten with tears as he walks closer and embraces me in his claws, “Beloved…What do I have to do? Do you not want this? Want me?” His deep voice cracks with hurt, his pride now wounded at my lack of joy.

I look up at him, both of our vulnerable expressions mirroring one another’s, my mouth opens and closes as I try and muster the words to say, “I don’t know much about your kind…I don’t know if our child will be a human, a dragon, or something in between….While I don’t know much I do know that we are bound to one another. You are mine. I am yours…”

A silent moment passes between us as he holds me in his arms and his eyes desperately scan my face, “I want this…I want you….But,” I look away, “I need to be sure that the life we have here in Taurus is safe enough for a child. And for me to even deliver one…”

Sylus closes his eyes and nods his head as he hears my words and my concerns, “I will find a way to prove and provide for you two…This isn’t the first instance of a hybrid child. I will find a nest of my people and do whatever it takes to let us have this…”

I take a step back out of his arms, “Until then I think I need to stay in the village…They won’t know for a while that I’m with child and I should build strength there until we can start a life out here…Besides I think if I have to leave my family there forever, I should at least say goodbye…”

He curls his claws around my waist and brings me closer, “Don’t leave me yet…Just….Let me have you for a while.”

Sylus curls his head into the nape of my neck and inhales with such a shaky breath his whole body shudders, “Gods your scent….It’s driving me crazy than usual…”

“Are you in heat?” I run my fingers down his back and caress the spot where his wings sprout out of his body.

“No…It’s not that it’s just…Knowing that you smell like this because of me,” he stands up straighter and runs a claw through my hair, “It makes me want to keep you this way. Hoard you here like my most prized treasure…”

“Sylus,” I whisper as I stare at his lips, “I want you.”

His tail happily swooshes at my words and he bends down to lift me up by my butt as he carries me to head out of his cave and into our spot full of flowers.

He lays me out on the field of green grass and wine colored flowers. The sun shines on my face making me feel warmer than usual with Sylus’ body heat leaning over me.

He undresses me slowly, unwrapping me both physically and mentally with his eyes. As I’m bare before him he leans his head down to my stomach and rests his cheek against my belly and closes his eyes.

A kitten-like purr escapes him and his body vibrates with the soothing joy.

“Twins,” he smiles as he keeps nuzzling his cheek against me.

“Twins?!?” I say more alarmed. “H-How are you-“

“I can hear their hearts…They love you already,” his red eyes flick open and meet mine. The tenderness in Sylus’ voice, this overwhelming news, and the truth my heart feels at his words break me and I feel tears stream down my face.

Sylus lifts himself up and curls his body over mine, to hide me away from the world, to make me weep with joy in his warmth.

“We’ll protect them my beloved…The four of us,” he chuckles, “We’re home now.”

~fin~

#love and deepspace #lads fanfic #lads x reader #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #sylus #sylus fanfic #sylus x mc #dragon! sylus x reader #pregnancy fic

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afro-hispwriter · 6 months ago

Note

do you have any headcanons for aemond or ewan (idk if u write for real people) but what do you think either of them would be like in a relationship?

Dating Ewan Mitchell:

Ewan gives off very caring bf vibes

he definitely listens to you all the time

he has a genuine interest in what you say and he learns about you through that

he LOVES seeing you in his clothes

doesnt care if he slowly starts running out of shirts bc seeing you in them makes it better

HORROR MOVIE MARATHONS

ewan loves horror movies and if you don’t… he will respect that

but that doesn’t mean he wont try to convince you

maybe it works

maybe it doesn’t

or maybe you will just as long as you get to be cuddled up to him🤭

OMG CUDDLES

i feel like he gives AMAZING hugs so imagine just laying in your apartment together and he just pulls you into him or your in bed post sex and his arms are wrapped tight, maybe legs entwining with yours

COUPLE FIGHTS:((((((((

tbh i don’t think they would happen often, ewan seems like the guy to realize somethings wrong and bring it up to try and talk

and he seems pretty responsible so fights over chores probably wouldn’t happen

but not saying they wouldn’t happen, one that might happen is over work

if both of you are actors you might not have time too be with each other so there will be more understanding

but if you’re not a celebrity of any kind, it most likely will be a little difficult for you

ewan might but put job before you to often and that hurts:(

you have love and supported him through his hard times, you visit him on set, you go to his premieres

but it goes both ways

a fight would break out, maybe a screaming match followed by some silent treatment until one of you breaks probably ewan

it ends with make up sex

BIG BACK?

im not to sure about ewans cooking abilities since I've only even seen a mention of a steak

BUT if he can cook he probably would cook for you a lot when he can

or if he cant and you can then you’ll take on the cooking aspect

but if you’re not as together as youd like due to work or you’re having a lazy day

i see some take out or simply going out to dinner frequently

The LIL GREEN MONSTER

ngl ewan doesn’t seem like the jealous type NOW

but when his career started kicking off maybe he was a lil jealous of the people you hanged out with

or if you’re a little bit more well known than him and have an established career before him and you had been dating already

boy probably had to deal with the people you work with already and got used to it

but i see a silent jealous person in him if it comes down to it

staying right behind you

holding on to you at all times

maybe he will go as far as kissing you in front of everyone

neck kisses

A LOT of pecks

he might even get a lil handsy around the person

or he will try a full blown make out session and you’ll be like 😯🤨

you both like your privacy like the media might not even know but they will now depending on where its happening

he’s a professional but he loves you so much

but once you catch one to whats his deal

a lil talking too with some words of reassurance and a kiss ofc and he’s back to normal

The talk of MARRIAGE and/or kids probably would come up depending on how long you had been together

i can see ewan giving you a promise ring, especially if you had been dating since you were young

but i say give him two or three years and he’s on one knee

kids though….

not sure if ewan wants kids or if he does obviously just not now

so if you guys got married, kids probably wont happen immediately

unless you had an oopsie before or right after marriage

but the whippets are enough for you two for now🥰

thats all i got for now😙✌🏾

he seems like a pussy eating king ngl

legs trembling

the type to cum just by giving you pleasure

imagine the groans😩

IMAGINE THE CHAIN DANGLING

THIS ISNT A NSFW FUCKK

a/n- first time writing a headcannon😗i know this was supposed to be both ewan and aemond but aemonds will come later🥰

#ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell x reader

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mooshs-crack-headcanons · 1 year ago

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Hi if requests are still open could I ask for nsfw headcanons for Erwin, Levi and Hange? Thanks so much in advance 😊🩵

Yaaaaay, veteran trio sure thing :)

Disclaimer: I use they/them pronouns for Hanji and since this request is NSFW in nature also AFAB language/terms will also be used for them. And Levi’s portion goes into the expected heavy shit about his childhood and Underground. ...Erwin’s I just... idk. Wrote with my dick I guess 🧍🏻‍♂️

Gender neutral reader (no pronouns used) with AFAB or AMAB anatomy depending on reader's choice since both options are lightly given. Hope that makes sense.

NSFW contents under the cut 😉

Erwin Smith

Dear Reader, I want you to look me directly in the eyes and try to tell me this man doesn't have a big dick - trick question you can't. The man is big all over. But he's very polite about it, not one to brag but it does bring a warm smile to his face to see your eyes practically pop out of your head the first time you're down on your knees, crouched down in front of the chair to his desk, mouth already watering as you quickly undo his belt and unzip him to be able to pull him out - only to go eyes owl wide when it nearly smacks you in the face. It takes a lot from him not to chuckle out when your hand goes to hesitantly wrap around it - only for you to flinch back when it twitches hello in your grasp, he finds it very cute actually.

Hairy chest. That's all. Actually no - hairy everything. It's great.

He is loud very loud - Erwin’s a loud man in general, kind of has to be when he's been in a military superior position for good portion of his life. But it didn't come up from that, no, Erwin’s always been loud when it comes to 'entertaining' lovers - even since he younger, if Erwin Smith is having sex everyone will know it, does not help he's a screamer (Nile and Mike have always teased him about it) but he sees no shame in it - just proof his lover(s) made him feel good and wears it like a badge of honor. And don't think he's alone in this, he will make damn well sure you're just as satisfied until your lungs go sore.

But if you are embarrassed of having people give you awkward looks afterwards, the solution is actually very simple: gag him. It could be with anything really; your underwear, your fingers, your hands around his thick neck, your hole/cock, get really creative with it :) And if you want yourself to not be heard, just tell him I'm sure he can think of some naughty ideas too.

Erwin has... complicated issues with relationships, both being Commander and focusing on attaining his dream he'd rather not be tied down to a serious relationship, but he has no issue with a friends with benefits type situation - stress relief. God does he need stress relief. However, if you are in a serious relationship with him then it's clear you're obviously very special to him - which also complicates things. For one I see him refusing to date a civilian so you have to be in the Survey Corps and fully understand what that means, to fully understand the 'delicate your hearts' oath and fully know damn well either of you could die at any time each time you step outside the Walls. Plus Erwin has a lot - and I mean a lot of enemies, you being someone someone so dear and close to him makes you a number one target and he knows that, he struggles with that, however it's a good motivator in a way; keeps him more focused and on guard, it makes him more careful, it makes him gather more and more blackmail on certain people if needed. That being said, the sex between you and him if you're dating - or hell married - is full blown romantic.

Don't get me wrong, he'll still blow your back out if you ask, but most of the times when you both find the time to sink to each other's touch it's with this air of gentleness Erwin has honestly never experienced with another partner, even Marie. You're... something special to him. Maybe it's because unlike past romantic interests - both men and women - you actually understand what's going on inside his head, you get how important his dreams are, you get his guilt, you actually know the... unspeakable wonder (beside all the titan killing fellow comrades thing) of what it's like outside the Walls. Freedom.

His kisses are so gentle yet grounded, he makes sure to kiss every inch of your body while muttering all sorts of praise and adoration with his lips pressed up against your skin so you can feel his words.

His big, thick fingers work open your hole/pump around your cock with steady rhythm as he takes you on his bed. He loves feeling your hands spring up and encourage his actions by messing up his normally perfect stylized hair and turning it into a complete blonde mess.

Loves hearing you, your voice sounds like absolute heaven to him if there is one and your voice crying out his name over and over and over and over and over again as he makes you come with nothing but his fingers/hand never fails to briefly send him there each time.

When he's inside you he can't help but feel overwhelmed, you're so warm and tight hugging your walls around him and if you're smaller than him he will never fail to tell you how seeing his cock not even able to completely enter all the way inside without the tip of his cock already pressed to deep that his head is rubbing at the deepest part it can go without you completely breaking entirely. If you're around the same size or maybe even a little bigger, then it's still the same, it brings a wide stupid grin on his face to look back as he has your legs tossed back and you're on your back you taking his prick all the way up to his base, balls resting comfortably against your ass. He feels ecstasy when he can start fucking deep into you.

When I said loud, I mean loud-loud. And if you're more than just an occasional fuck? Double that by like - twenty. He will vocalize each and every single thing he's feeling and is on his mind as he pounds into you. The headboard? Is banging against the wall so loud that Cadets two floors down in the Mess Hall can hear it and could mistake it for Wall Rose getting breached. It's an absolute miracle that shit hasn't split in two yet and especially with how one of Erwin’s hands clutches down onto it to keep himself grounded as he fucks you, moaning and groaning your name and all sorts of curses so loud that Levi’s viciously kicking the wall down the hall in his own office just as loud to tell you two to shut the fuck up but neither of you can hear it as you're so fucking lost in one another.

Call him Commander in bed. Do it. That twenty will turn into a hundred so fucking fast, not as fast as Erwin rearranges you to turn around - front facing the bedroom door - and straddling his hips with your back to him and your arms are held behind your back as he roughly bounces you on his lap. Everyone in this damn building and outside it will know what you're doing.

I mentioned his hairy chest? Yeah, well that adds a nice friction on your back and his chest is so plump you can lay back in them almost like pillows. Meaty, hairy, pillows. It's nice. They jiggle underneath you btw.

When he comes it's like a geyser going off inside you - literally. He'll fill you so full and your ears will practically ring from how loud he'll scream unless you quickly muffle his mouth up with your own or something, if not... well, everyone already knows what you've been doing at this point. If not? They certainly do now. But you try not to think about it, watching the flood of come pouring out of your when his cock slips out and staining both your and his thighs and the bedsheets.

Erwin acts practically drunk in the afterglow, his words are slurred and he has this wide toothy smile on his face you can't help but to kiss. This is the true stress relief. Here, his thoughts are the furthest from everything; the Walls, the titans, the Government, the Crown, the maybe-possible-if-his-father's-right people living outside the Walls... his dream... all of it. This is one few times he can completely distract himself away from all of it. He isn't Erwin Smith, Commander of the Survey Corps and accidental murder of his father - he's just... Erwin. And he's with you, just you - not Squad Leader (Name) (Surname). Just you, (Name). Nothing outside this very room matters, just laying in each other's arms and taking in the glow of being with one another. Knowing damn well you'll have to remember and face it all once you leave here.

But it's fine. He wouldn't be with you nor you would him if you didn't know that, if you didn't want to fight back against everything that be - if you didn't want Erwin’s dream to come true. And everyday, bit by bit you make further strides for that dream, together. You’ll reclaim Wall Maria, capture outside the Walls, beat the titans, learn the truth of what's to know about them. And see that thing mentioned in one of Erwin’s forbidden hidden books his father left... what was it again? Oh yeah, the sea. The ocean.

You two will see that together. You promised one another. No matter what.

Levi Ackerman

Right off the bat it should be stated: Levi has a complicated relationship with sex - it should be obvious, given how he grew up. Where he grew up. What his mother did for a living, and... he very much grew up aware of what she did. It's not just sex either, relationships, dating as a whole he's... complicated with.

Two things: Levi doesn't do causal flings, he doesn't do causal relationships. If he's with you in the first place it's because he loves you. If he didn't he wouldn't be with you and it's that simple, he's doesn't vocalize it much - he has... issues with words, serious, emotion-y words - but if you're with him at all romantically in the first place you already know him fluently enough to understand that. He doesn't have to say "I love you," very often - you already know he does, and when he actually does voice it, it's always at the absolute most vulnerable positions he can be to show you how much he genuinely means it.

Trust is important to him. Very important. He loves you, he wouldn't be with you if he didn't as we already established that. Sex? Completely different ball park. If he wants to he sexually active with you it is beyond trust with him. It's beyond just trusting his own life in your hands, it's beyond letting you handle his old knives, it's beyond trusting you enough to tell you horror stories of how he grew up, it's beyond telling you just how close Farlan and Isabel were to him that they were practically siblings to him, it's beyond telling you about Kenny and how for the longest time and still sometimes that it fucks him up to think... he knew his mother - doesn't know how, the bastard always refused to ever tell him, and then just one day for no fucking reason just... walked out. Walked out without a word or anything. Left him to barely survive down there on his own until Farlan and Isabel. How for years... he was convinced the bastard might be his father. Because what else could he be? Visiting and knowing his dead mother by name - her actual name - and picking Levi up and saving him when he was on the brink of starvation, if Kenny hadn't arrived when he did then... he might've very well been dead by the next day. It's just... or it was hard to think up any other possible explanation but this MP killing bastard being his dad. But now, he isn't sure - nowadays doesn't really care to find out, hell the bastard could be rotting in a ditch for all he cares. He's never told another soul that - just you. Between you and him there's something deeper than trust.

Now, I know a lot of other headcanons tend to make Levi out to be this super dom sexy sex sex man or whatever, but no. He has no fucking experience whatsoever, until he made this connection with you he absolutely refused to - always thinking about that sunk look in his mother's eyes after dealt with clients and how she'd fake the warmth in them to hide the hurt when Levi would be let back in the room by one of her lady 'work friends' and she'd talk to him so lovingly and sweetly... until she got another knock on the door and he'd have to leave again. That sunken look in her eyes immediately returning and even as a kid he'd want to attack the bastards he knew was the cause of her hurt. And that's how he seen sex for the longest time, didn't fucking help with all the degenerates pigs Underground. He can count on both hands and toes and it still not be enough how how many fucking pigs he's had to gut for staring at Isabel the wrong gross way - a child. Still makes him sick. All these years later. So he's stayed away from it. Fought against it, even up against the absolute worst the Underground had to offer.

However, the longest he'd had bad associations with it, but... with you it's different. You're different, different than a lot of people and that's because of the beyond trust thing. He can be different around you - not the smartass, foul mouthed, titan killing machine people know him as now, he can be... vulnerable, alone with you - and he wants to be. He really does, he loves you afterall and... he wants to give himself to you, completely, because that's how special you are but...

It's stupid, he tells himself - he's a grown man, he's in his late twenties right now, acting and beating himself up in such a childish way over a natural thing. What's wrong with him? But it's you to calm him down, telling him you don't have to do anything and that you're content just the way things are between the two of you now. That you didn't need to go further - ever if he wished, that you love him no matter what. But the thing is... he wants to. There's just this - this mental block he can't seem to get across, no matter how hard he tried. Humanity's strongest? Or whatever it is they're calling him now? Scared of what? He scolds himself. Losing his virginity? The two of you share a bed together to sleep in - this shouldn't - shouldn't - shit. But... you look at him. The two of you sit together on the bed and you look up/down/straight forward at him (depending on your height) and he just... feels at ease, he remembers why he loves and beyond trusts you in the first place, that everything's fine, everything will be fine as he puts a hand to your cheek, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip as he gives a steady nod and melts his lips with yours.

That being all said, yeah, Levi’s a virgin. He doesn't really have all that much idea of what he's doing, just goes by his gut and will rely on you to actively tell him what to do, what you want, and how you want it. But Levi - being the prodigy in every new skill he learns, doesn't take long for things to start clicking together in place. Half in hour and your virgin lover you'd think was actually a sex deity in human form - things just... click for him in that odd way it does for him learning new things (weird fucking Ackerman genes in work in real time, actually)

Insane head-game. Think he mouth I'd just good for crass insults and shit jokes? Nope, but honestly that should be expected. After the first few experimental pokes and licks around, enough to get a good idea of how to get you going, will his mouth latch onto and kiss, bite, and suck around the opening to your wet hole then stuck fucking his tongue deep inside and thrusting in all the sweet places/or mark fondle your balls with his mouth before working up your shaft kissing your head before absolutely deepthroating and going to town on you - no gag reflex, shocker. He loves the way you taste and can go on and on and make you come again, and again, and again, and again repeatedly until you loose your mind or voice. Or both.

Want to play with his insecurities? Not maliciously of course, but in universe I think Levi’s thought of as """"""""ugly"""""" and if that's the case you can imagine what types of disgusting shit people has called/said to him. He doesn't mind or care, especially these days as he's older but... call him handsome, or gorgeous and Levi’s a really pale guy, even if he's been above ground a couple years he's still wasn't born a 'sun-walker' so when he blushes it practically dyes his entire face and goes all the way up to his ears. It's cute. Even more cute when he growls, frowns, and scowls as he tries to hide it and distract you by suddenly entering you - which breaks the facade almost immediately as he goes wide eyed and nearly out of breath as he feels you around him. You overwhelm him, he burries himself in your neck not to let himself bottom out. His chest rocks with each breath and he's quick to litter your neck and collar in bites.

Hope you like it here, virgin or not with that Ackerman stamina you're going to be here awhile as he absolutely rocks your world. For hours and hours on end until the both of you are drenched in sweat and the wall has a crack in it from the bed moving.

Very quiet - nearly silent actually except for the occasional gritted curse and heavy breathing. But the longer you go on the more comfortable he actually gets making noise; moans, grunts, and punched out intakes of your name.

He'll fuck you until your legs go numb, wrapped around his hips and encouraging every thrust he gives you and you'll come over and over until you're light headed, bit with him there seems to be no end in sight as he onyx colored hair swoops down and dances with each and every single one of his movements as he looks down almost dazed at you.

Tell him out loud you love him and he'll come on spot.

Silvery grays practically roll back inside of his head when he hits his release and he'll be louder than anything he's been all night before finally his body gives out and collapses on top of you. Wide pleased smile on his face that's for no one inside these entire damn Walls or below ground to see - accept for you. It's only for you. This all is only for you.

After falling unconscious for about forty seconds Levi wakes back up with his normal expected demeanor, this time he just lies there in your arms and presses himself lazily in your neck. When he speaks it's slightly muffled, but it's fine. You ask him if he had a good time - which he tells you is a stupid question and should be obvious, getting a light laugh out of you as you go to comb through his sweaty hair.

He makes it very clear later that this isn't a regular thing, a once maybe a month type thing until... he gets a better understanding with it. "Shit takes time, you know." And you agree, telling him to take all the time he needs which he just lies there for another lingering moments before pushing himself up and pushing his lips to your own.

A bath sounds good now.

Hanji Zoë

Doesn't really have that much experience, WAY too invested in their work to really have had the time. But! That doesn't mean they're not ready and willing to learn - very opposite in fact, honestly. They are absolutely over the MOON when you come out and say you want to fuck them! They get so excited that they rush off into whatever direction of the nearest library to learn and come up with ideas of what to do with you that they sort of leave you there behind in dust 😅 but not to worry, Moblit's there (somewhat very embarrassed to walk in on this exchange) but he promises you that your Squad Leader means well they're just... you know, eccentric.

Books on sexuality and other ""taboo"" stuff of that nature are looked down upon in the higher society of the Walls, but they're not that hard to find if you know where to look, and luckily Hanji knows where a bunch of them are - in fact they know a lot of libraries have them in a 'secret' section - but pulling a few strings and hinting at knowing about a married librarian's affair with a nurse down the street Hanji is able to gather a bunch of books to bring back to Headquarters! They spend all next and the next few days looking over them, reading them cover to cover - only having to explain to Nanaba once who came to visit their office and curiously had picked up one, only to immediately set it back down when seeing the one of the crude sexual diagrams drawn inside before immediately excusing herself.

So, with all this learning and newly attained precious knowledge and a bit of self discovery, turns out Hanji Zoë is a kinky mother fucker. They excitedly jot down all sorts of things that catch their interest, said list turns several pages long that when shown and told about your eyes nearly bug out of your head. Your face turns scorched hot as you tell your lover that maybe best for now just to... narrow it down to three things, then the both of you could talk and work up to it.

And that's where it stays for a couple of weeks, nothing really happens and things go on as normal, until one day when you're at the Superiors table in the Mess Hall as Erwin draws on and on about Banquet plans - AKA 'entertaining' and kissing ass to the nobles and the Brass to beg for funding for the next expedition outside Wall Maria - to you, Levi, Nanaba, and Mike, until suddenly Hanji comes springing down the hall and grabs your arm and pulls you completely off the bench seat to where you fall on your ass.

"Sorry-important-titan-research-matters-need-to-borrow-(Name)-bye!" And they drag you off, your ass still on the floor. Leaving everyone else at that table speechless.

You're about to scold your lover the moment you get inside the door, now at your feet, and your just about to until Hanji pushes you back against the wood in a feverish kiss that leaves you breathless. When they pull away they have a wide shit eating grin on their face. Okay. You're much calmer now. You let yourself be dragged across the small office and shoved onto the bed tucked in the corner - Hanji gives you a wink and excitedly goes for a couple boxes at their desk, handing them to you for you to open.

Rope. A... harness looking thing that looks like... underwear? With an odd hoop in the middle. And... a large phallic shaped object that makes your eyes go shot wide. Okay, you tell yourself. This must be their three.

"Two actually," They correct you without you even having to say it out loud. "-this is three." Without much effort they start pulling off their uniform to reveal the pretty white laced lingerie they have on that makes you go entirely speechless. They push their glasses up further on their nose with a head tilt. "You like?" You nod without even feeling yourself do so. "Good." You... didn't know to whether be scared or aroused at that glint in their eyes.

You're naked and tied up from post to post with the red velvety rope as your lover straddles you and map out every part of your body with their hands, committing each bump, scar, and curve to memory. Hanji looks at you with this inquisitive look in their eyes - the same look they get during one of their experiments but yet, it's almost different than that, or is it? They touch you and look back up to your face for a reaction, they like watching you squirm but not be able to do anything with your limbs tied and can only whimper and moan for them, they like that very much actually. You can't touch them either, as they straddle you your hips do buck into them - getting a gasp out of them but with their hands suddenly around your neck they scold you with a pointed wagging finger. "Bad, naughty."

Their hips starts grounding into you as they begin touching themselves with only you helpless to watch their hand disappear down lace panties and start working themselves over, making sure to make plenty of noises you can hear until suddenly their slick hand is shoved into your mouth and you're ordered to suck, which you do until they're roughly yanked out be replaced but their breathless kiss instead - tasting their own arousal off you. Then they get an idea.

With a wide smile off their face do they maneuver around the bed to where they're above you and moves the panties aside for you to eat at them as they sit on your face. They hum and moan out all sorts of praises as they let you know how good of a job your doing eating out their pussy like it was your last meal, and since Hanji wants to be the dominant party here, they're not afraid to order you around a bit - reminding you that they are your Squad Leader and you should address them as so. So get ready to add "Yes, Squad Leader," to each and every you say tonight :)

For being so good, they give you a reward: while you continue to eat them out, they'll bend slightly over, spread you legs slightly apart to comfortly position themselves to eat out your hole/or gag around your cock, all nice and good for their beloved favorite squad member until you both come at least a couple times each, and if you're to type to get overstimulated, they'll reassure how well you're doing and tell you in the softest voice they can: "One more, just one more." until you come again.

Once you're done with that and Hanji wobbles off the bed, legs shaking, as they go to gather the harness and dick shaped object off the floor. They slip off the lingerie panties and stuff them in your mouth with a; "Hold these, please." As your lover then boucy legs each of their legs through the leg-holes and carefully latches each strap - only pausing when they look over and realized they forgot the dick. Oopsie. Fix that.

With it finally on they kneel back on top the bed, untying yours legs and arms and rubbing each appendage carefully, muttering to ask if you're okay in your ear - you nod. Now, it doesn't matter to Hanji how big or small you are. You are going on their lap - no matter how maybe ridiculous you maybe might look, you are straddled their hips at your sex is rubbed against their fake dick. But of course, you're not getting it first without begging for it, or beg for it enough for your lover's liking.

When it's in and your hips are encouraged by Hanji's hands at your hips to start bouncing on it, at your own pace at the start, until a sudden slap to your ass encourages you go faster and you make a noise - muffled by the panties still in your mouth - to your lover's shit eating grinned delight as they start thrusting their hips to meet the back or your thighs in wet snaps.

Hanji absolutely loves having their chest marked up, after ripping the underwear from out of your mouth they'll hold your head to bite at their breasts that gets them to toss their head back in a satisfied hum.

Eventually, will push you to your back and start pounding away at you in their own pace, committing every sound you make to memory and drinking in every call of their name like they were on the brink of dehydration and bit by bit more they push you to the absolute edge - until you nearly scream out your climax, for it to be quickly smoothed by their lips and a tight fist wadded in your hair.

Both of you are jelly boned by the time your finished, completely naked now up in each other's arms and honestly half asleep. That is until you chuckle, nuzzling your face in the crook of your love's neck. "I think that might've been just a tad more than three things," you tell them, which they shrug. "What can I say? I got creative in the moment, you know - there's a ton of things in those books! Maybe some stuff you'll like-" You wave it off with a yawn.

"Maybe later. Nap time now," You can't help the amused smile. "-Squad Leader."

If you like what you read please consider reblogging! It means the world for writers and artists!

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

Note

AHHHH CONGRATS ON 5k!!! Ok ok, hear me out on this request because I think it might make a good little fic. I can’t decide between Hesh or Price for this one but I got a general idea: stoned Hesh or Price. You know those videos of husbands waking up from surgery and not recognizing their wife right away but knowing they’re the most beautiful person in the world (something like this: https://youtu.be/kV8KyeApBJY). Well maybe it’s something like he got hurt from a mission (hurt enough to require drugs/anesthesia for the plot) but is recovering back at base and imagine their wife is their medic and she’s trying to update his team on how he’s recovering and you just got a stoned Hesh or Price completely hopped up on drugs following his injury, just fawning over her and he just goes bananas when she “reveals” they’re married. The team got a kick out of it

—Keep The Sheets Warm, My Love Is Coming Home

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [If this wasn't enough to prove that you were the only person for Hesh, you didn't know what did.] ❞

You walked around the room, tidying up what you could if only for the simple fact that it could distract you from the unconscious body in the bed. Realistically as a medic, you knew he would be fine—he was in the best hands possible—but Hesh had a track record for being unpredictable.

He’d gotten into some trouble out in No Man’s Land again. Broken arm and ribs; a bullet through his thigh. He was so pumped full of medication and anesthetics from surgery that you doubted that he would be waking up soon.

But then again, Hesh was always surprising you. It was one of the reasons you’d married him, after all. Never a dull day.

Elias’s voice calls from the doorway.

“You’re going to fall over at this rate,” you blink quickly, turning with an extra blanket in hand to spread around your husband’s comatose state.

Your father-in-law has his arms crossed, and Logan slinks his way through the doorway with an arm looping your shoulders, a head pushed into your scalp silently. You sigh deeply, tension that you hadn’t realized was on your face lessening.

“Only if he keeps me from seeing those greens of his.”

Logan huffs a laugh, squeezing you as his father grunts—the stern man’s eyes softening in a way they only would for you and his boys.

“He’d be more worried about you than himself if you did. Put my mind at ease, okay?” Your eyes roll but you nod with a small smile. You don’t argue with his point in the slightest.

So, that was how you ended up here, in a seat by Hesh’s hospital bed—your hand in his and your head nodding back and forth with fatigue. Elias and Logan are casually playing a game of chess from across the room when David’s eyes flutter; his mouth releasing a low groan.

Your lids snap back, spine straightening, but before you can get a word out, your husband is pulling his hand from yours. His green eyes are loopy, pupils blown wide.

He mutters something under his breath, lips grimacing and face pulling in at the sight of you.

“Hesh?” The two men stand as you check his vitals, heart hammering until there’s nothing out of the ordinary and you can sit back down with a sigh and a relieved smile. “Take it easy, alright? You got out of surgery a little while ago—everyone’s here for you—”

“W…Where’s my wife?” His words slur, jaw loose as he rotates it; the unbroken arm with an IV chord stuck in it raises as jerky digits rub at his eyes. You’re left at a loss, blinking slowly in confusion before sharing looks with your in-laws. “No offense, Miss, you’re pretty and all, but…shit, why’s everything spinning?”

A hand covers your mouth, heated embarrassment lighting inside of your veins.

“Hesh, Sweetheart,” your arm reaches to the brunette, trying to grab his wrist that he weakly moves away.

“Stay away from me,” he grunts, head limply lulling on its pillow. “Thought I told you to keep it to yourself. My Wife’ll rip,” Hesh’s voice fizzles, a loud yawn peeling his bandaged face back, “you to pieces.” A pause. You hear Logan trying to hide his loud laughter behind his lips. “Did…the doctor send you?”

Your body turns to Elias, face beaming and expression exasperated.

“Now that he’s awake will you get the other three? It’ll be easier to give the news to all of you at once.”

“Already commed ‘em,” the man states, watching his eldest with a raised brow and a slow smirk. “Least we know he’s a loose cannon on anesthesia.”

Merrick, Keegan, and Ajax all file in, and as you continue to watch over a loopy Hesh, his small noises and babbling continue even when you give the breakdown of the patient sheet. You stand just shy of brushing the bed’s lower frame. You won’t lie and say it isn’t hilarious.

“He needs to keep out of the field for at least two and a half months, boys, and I’m not joking about that, alright?”

Your husband’s slow voice slashes through your speech, and the rest of the Ghosts snicker, sharing knowing looks as Hesh tries to lift the hand currently wrapped to his chest to keep it still. “You’re a real beautiful lady, Doll, y’know that? I’m sorry you like me so much, but I love my wife, you hear? Please don’t be angry with me.”

“Hesh, Darling,” you walk closer and bend down carefully. He blinked owlishly at you, finger coming up to poke at your cheek. Your hand grabs his as you hear Ajax make a quick remark to Keegan about the man being ‘totally whipped even when he’s high.’

“David, hey,” your voice prompts him to smile, perhaps now only realizing the familiarity of it. “I’m going to tell you something, hm?”

“Okay,” he watches, petting your neck with his thumb.

“I am your wife.” The man’s eyes widen comedically as everyone shares a long laugh with one another.

“No way,” Hesh breathes after a moment, awe-stricken. “Really?”

“Really.” There’s a moment of silence, and then the heart monitor begins to pick up its pace to a fast pound. Your face goes hot with love, and you bend your head forward in a long and honest laugh into his shoulder.

Green eyes shift to the men, and Hesh beams, cheeks red and heart racing as he slurs out, “This is my wife?!”

It was safe to say they were never going to let him forget about this.

#cod #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty #x female reader #call of duty x you #cod ghosts #cod ghosts x reader #call of duty: ghosts #call of duty ghosts #hesh walker x female reader #hesh walker x reader #david hesh walker #hesh walker #david walker #hesh x reader #david hesh walker x reader

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the-dumpster-fire-of-life · 1 year ago

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Hey!!

Can you do hcs of something like being the 5th member of Tokio Hotel and Bills wife? If you haven't done that?(Also maybe some hcs of being best friends with Heidi?) Love your work, thank you! (Sorry if it's hard to understand, English isn't my first language 😞)

(i most certainly can and I'm very glad you love my work!! Your English is actually really good, I wouldn't be able to tell it's not your first language if you hadn't said so 😭)

Bill Kaulitz's Wife

You obviously grew up with these fuckers

But you were friends with Georg and Gustav before you even knew Tom and Bill

For Bill it was like love at first sight

He was so young yet he already knew that he was in love with you

Maybe not full blown love yet but definitely puppy love

He was always watching you out the corner of his eye on stage and wanted you to be impressed by his singing

He was always attached to your hip as you guys got older

You guys shared like little secret kisses and hugs and it was so cute because you guys thought you were being sneaky and hiding your little love well

You weren't though because obviously, everybody knew

You guys got teased so much by Gustav, Georg and Tom but it was definitely all worth it

Bill loved being around you and traveling the world and being on stage with you

He loved that you were in the band because you understood struggles and were so close to him all the time

You guys definitely got some little playful nomination of best couple at some little awards show

When you guys win awards, after he hugged Tom it was definitely a little ritual for him to practically pick you up

He definitely was by your side through everything and so were you, especially when he had to have the voice and throat surgery

He loved you even more, which he didn't think was possible, when you stuck by him

You guys had ups and downs and arguments but he was glad for those because it somehow just brought you guys closer

He definitely is that little romantic guy making funny dates for you guys that go wrong when he tries to be romantic

You guys are always sneaking off and doing some dumb crap you guys get shit for but don't care

Bill was especially happy that you were close friends with Tom because it's vital Tom loves you

You guys got married very quickly

It wasn't even meant to go so fast but Bill couldn't even wait and threw out a hasty proposal because he just knew he wanted to be with you

You guys got married and had such a cute wedding

He loved seeing you walk down that aisle and he definitely cried

Tom was the officiant, no doubt

The first look for y'all's wedding he cried

He felt so happy and so lucky and so loved

Every little moment of you guys growing up and loving each other was playing through his mind

He didn't think he would have the great love for a while until you walked through the door and showed him how much he could love someone

He loves that you accept him for him, how he dresses, his makeup, his hair and that you support him wholeheartedly

He gets you so many things just because

You and Heidi are best friends definitely

Since Tom and Bill are twins you two are always side by side

You guys team up on Tom and Bill everyday

You guys are always doing some shit to them just because you can

You guys have double dates a love as well

You love Heidi's kids as well

You and Bill definitely babysit them for a bit while Tom and Heidi do whatever

You and Heidi love traveling and dragging along Bill and Tom

They love you guys though

You and Heidi give each other tips on how to deal with these assholes

Especially you because you grew up with them

Heidi loves hearing embarrassing stories about Tom growing up

It's your favorite pastime as well

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@billsjum6ie @bigbootahjudy @ilovebill-and-gustav @r3dheadedw0rld @kiwitsune @V4mpyboyy @novaaisstupid @billybabeskaulitz @yas-v @iischafer @dilfverz @ahswhore0 @graciegizmo3184 @sweetpuffy12 @80s-tingz @ryiana @yuriayato5 @bunnysenpai31 @banshailey @bellastoner420 @victryzvv9 @stxngnr @killed-kiss @stilesandjames @m00nzyblogs @sylisan @lyzit @trixiekaulitz @laylasbunbunny @5hyslv7 @limaswife @nyxwritesshit

#tokio hotel #tokio hotel imagine #tokio hotel x reader #bill kaulitz #bill kaulitz imagines #bill kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz #heidi klum

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shima-draws · 10 months ago

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OK, so thinking about a Sanlu au where Luffy is a Pirate King who gets so many marriage requests but does not want to get married. And so he instead insists that he gets to choose his partner through a contest where all the princes and princesses of like the countries around them or other pirates can like bring him a meal and if he likes it, you get married. The problem is that whenever people bring him food he'll just eat it and move on.

And so obviously the vinsmokes are like. Oh s***, we should get in on that. New Ally? And so they try with some of Sanji's others brothers, but none of them like work because they just made their cooks make their meals and everything.

Then eventually sanji, who wants to escape hears about this. And he knows that he can cook so he makes this amazing meat dish He is ready to present his meal towards the Prince in hopes of like maybe escaping his country and living there with Luffy. But like as he's on the way there, there's like this little girl who's starving, and so he gives her the meal instead. It was a one in a million shot anyway.

Anyway, either Luffy sees him doing this or if this was like the true test for kindness for all his partners, and sanji passes the test. Luffy's like get bring this man to me! So sanji goes before him, and luffy asks if he has a meal for him. All sanji has is like, this old sandwhich that he made for himself for the journey here, and sanji tells luffy that. Luffy tells him to bring it to him anyway, and after a lot of protests, he does. Luffy finally eats it and says that its delicious. He and sanji definitely get married.

Sorry for dumping this on you, but your artwork made me literally fall in love with sanlu so I wanted to share this middle of the night idea with you lol.

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP ANON THIS IS EVERYTHING.......I'm a SUCKER for AUs like this, ones that kinda give off that Cinderella vibe? The whole 'Well if I have to get married to a random stranger I'm gonna do it my way' trope is always so fun to explore

Luffy's one requirement for a spouse being that they have to cook well is SO on brand for him tbh. I feel like that's something that would be canon too. (Thinks about a situation like that in canon where Luffy's like well nobody can cook better than Sanji so I'll just marry Sanji! And Sanji double takes like wait what hold on a second--)

Even funnier would be if Luffy just met Sanji's brothers and was like. I don't like their vibes they seem mean. And all three of them being SO offended at that lmao

SANJI GIVING HIS DISH TO A STARVING GIRL THO AAAHGFHFHF THAT'S SO. CLENCHES MY TEETH he's so selfless and giving he would absolutely give up all of his dreams just to make sure someone doesn't go hungry I am GOING to cry. And Luffy immediately noticing that, pointing at Sanji and going "Him. I want that one" AGHHH 😭😭😭

ALSO YES THE CALLBACK TO WCI with Sanji's little lunch basket...the food is a total mess it's been rained on and dropped and looks awful but Luffy eats it anyway and says it's delicious...and Sanji's like oh oh oh I think I'm in love with him. Uh-oh.

DON'T APOLOGIZE THIS IS SOOO ADORABLE I'm so glad I got you hooked on Sanlu they are so underrated!!! Going slightly off topic here but I think it's really funny how predictable I am when it comes to getting into new media. Step 1 I watch a show and slowly discover who my Favorites are. Step 2 I end up shipping those favorites together. Step 3 I make that everybody else's problem. Also that ship almost always ends up being the less popular one for some reason?? Which is SO funny to me. Looks at Trustedpartner/Diode, Yujikiri and Tododeku as the most obvious examples of this along with Sanlu

ANYWAY anon I really want to write this can I write this. No guarantees to me actually finishing a full blown fic but oh my godddd this is such a cute idea and is so in character for both of them I'm weeping real tears

#Shima answers questions #I'm going to blow up this is SO THEM!! SO SANLU #I love them so much hahfhghfsanda #I love Cinderella-esque AUs anon you're a GENIUS #Sanlu #One Piece #Lusan #Luffy #Sanji #Monkey D Luffy #Black Leg Sanji

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redrose10 · 10 months ago

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Here is Chapter 16! It’s a bit shorter. There is either going to be one or two more chapters to this story. It just depends on if I want to split up the next part into two or just do it as one big chapter. We’ll see. Thank you all of all the engagement and sticking with me this whole time!

Yoongi X Female Reader. CEO/Arranged Marriage AU

Summary: You were selected to marry the wayward CEO/Billionaire/Heir, Min Yoongi. You went into it with an open mind and heart determined to try and make it work. Yoongi on the other hand had no intention of ever letting you in let alone allowing himself to fall in love with you. Slowly you start to associate the smell of cinnamon and vanilla with the feelings of hurt and sorrow.

Word count: 1,368

Warnings: (May get updated as chapters progress): Arranged marriage, cheating/infidelity, hints of smut (Probably won’t get very explicit but we’ll see how it goes), Sexual Assault, Brief mentions of death, Reader grew up an orphan, General Angst, Swearing

Tag list: @gimeow @kam9404 @viankiss @baechugff @gaby-93 @kayleefriedchicken @igot7fairlyoddparents @jalexad @drrookie

Woo-Sung dropped you back off at Jimins and once inside you were quickly surrounded by three men praising you and thanking you for your quick thinking to get a confession out of Suri. After Yoongi shooed the other two away he wrapped you in hug and led you over to the table.

“So what do we do now?”, you asked while accepting a drink from Yoongi.

Jin cleared his throat, “Well since things didn’t work out exactly like we planned I think we should just go to Suri tomorrow. Let’s not wait it out any more. She knows something is up and the longer we wait the more time it gives her to try and plan something else. We tell her we have the recording and all of the proof that Yoongi is not the father. We’ll give her the chance to just walk away peacefully, but I’m sure she’ll have a tantrum so we have to be prepared for that and anything else she might throw our way.”

Everyone nodded in agreement. Jin continued, “I say Y/N and I will meet up with Yoongi at his place tomorrow morning. We’ll present everything to Suri and go from there.”

After Jin said his goodbyes and Jimin went off to bed you were finally able to get some alone time with Yoongi before he left to go back home.

“You did great today Y/N. Seriously I might just have to hire you. You’d be a great assest to the company.”

“I was so nervous, but I could just tell that things weren’t going anywhere so I knew I had to step in. I’m glad we got what we needed. I just hope everything goes smoothly tomorrow.”

“It will. I know it. And if it doesn’t then fuck it.”

You rested your head on his chest suddenly feeling very tired and overwhelmed.

You could hear his phone getting notification after notification and you both knew exactly who they were from.

He sighed, “I guess I better get going before she has a full blown meltdown.”

“I can’t wait for all of this to be over and we can just move on and live a normal life.”

“Me too. We’re so close and then I can focus on making it up to you. I still owe you quite a bit.”, he smirked.

His lips started at your lips before slowly moving down your neck to your chest. His hands started on your thighs and slowly made their way up. Just as his hands reached the the strap of your bra his phone began ringing again.

He groaned into your shoulder, “Let me answer this. Maybe I can get her to be quiet and go away for a few more hours.”

You smiled watching as he walked over to grab his phone. When he finally returned he had a bit of a pep to his step. As soon as he reached you his lips once again met yours as his hands grabbed your hips pulling you towards the bedroom.

“Wha-what about Suri?”, you asked in between kisses.

“She said she’s going to stay with a friend tonight so she won’t be home so we’re all good.”, he smiled.

You felt a sudden rush of relief knowing that you and Yoongi could spend the night together in peace.

Before you knew it the back of your knees hit the bed and you fell backwards with Yoongi following right behind. With one swift motion your shirt was removed and his not long after. He had your jeans off before you could even blink. Instinctually you reached for his belt buckle, but he grabbed your hands and gently pushed them onto the bed pinning you down.

“This is going to be all about you.”, he said before removing the rest of the thin fabric from your body leaving you completely nude beneath him.

As much as you wanted to protest he didn’t give you the chance as you were quickly hit with a wash of pleasure from the way he touched you.

After what seemed like hours and when you just couldn’t take any more you both shared a shower before getting in bed and quickly falling asleep. You were still surprised at how comforting it felt to have his arms wrapped around you when a year ago it would’ve made your skin crawl.

The next morning you were woken when a swift rush of cold air hit your very warm body. Realizing the cause being that the blanket you were using had been ripped off of the bed and culprit was none other than your best friend Jimin.

Before you could react Yoongi spoke first, “What the fuck Park? Just because you’re our best friend doesn’t mean I won’t fire you.”

Jimin chuckled, “Well after having to spend the night listening to what sounded like a porn being filmed in my own home I just might quit anyways so go ahead and fire me. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to unhear the things I heard last night.” You covered your face in embarrassment while Yoongi laughed next to you.

“What do you need Jimin?”, you asked trying to get out of this situation.

“One of you should probably answer your phone. Jin has been calling for the last hour. He said it’s urgent so call him back.”

You watched as he walked out of the door letting it slam behind him.

“Fuck.”, you heard Yoongi whisper next to you after he grabbed his phone.

He clicked a few buttons before putting the phone on speaker.

“Well well well look who finally decided to call me back. I’ve only called you like twenty five times.”, Jin answered.

“Sorry we just woke up.”, you responded wanting to make sure he knew you were also there.

“Yoongi did you spend the night there?”

“Yeah I did. Suri said she was going to sleep at a friends house so I decided to take the opportunity to stay here.”

Jin chuckled, “Yeah that probably wasn’t a great idea. You should get over here to your place ASAP. You are not going to believe who Suri’s friend is.”

“Wait what’s go-?”, Yoongi went to ask but Jin hung up before he could finish. He looked over at you and chuckled, “Well I guess we better get dressed.” You nodded and you both worked quickly to get dressed and out to the car as soon as possible.

“Who do you think it is?”, you asked on the drive there.

“Who knows at this point.”, he shrugged.

He opened the door to the familiar penthouse and you followed him. Yoongi stopped walking so suddenly you didn’t have time to stop and walked directly into him. Peaking around his shoulder you saw Jin and Suri sitting at the table as you expected, but next to Suri was a woman you’d never seen before. She was one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen. Her hair dyed blond, but it fit her thanks to her tanned skin. It was obvious that she spent a lot of time in the gym as you noticed her perfect proportions thanks to her perfectly fitting designer clothes. Looking down at your leggings and old college sweatshirt combined with your no makeup look and hair thrown in a messy bun you suddenly felt very insecure.

You looked up at Yoongi noticing he hadn’t moved or spoke since walking him the room. He had turned a pale gray color. His eyes focused on the mysterious woman sitting next to a smirking Suri. Jin chewed on his bottom lip not making eye contact with anyone. It seemed like you were the only person who didn’t know this woman.

“Aren’t you going to say hello Yoongi? You don’t want to be rude.”, Suri spoke teasingly.

You watched as Yoongi’s mouth moved up and down, but no sounds came out.

So instead Suri turned her attention to you,

“Oh Hi Y/N, I didn’t even see you there. Must be how you just blend into everything wherever you go.”

You ignored her subtle jab so she continued,

“Let me introduce you two. Mia, this is Y/N, Yoongi’s thing. Y/N, this is Mia, Yoongi’s EX.”

#bts #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #cinnamon&vanilla #min yoongi #yoongi fic #yoongi angst #yoongi x y/n #bts fanfic #bts x reader #yoongi au #bts yoongi #kim seokjin #jimin #bts fic

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coolshadowtwins · 8 months ago

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The story starts with SQQ and LBH, post canon and extras, accidentally dimension hopping. I don’t care about the why, or the how. If I did, this would be a full fanfic instead of ramblings on here!

What other dimension do they land in? Why, PIDW of course. Specifically, the PIDW that they had already met. Bingge is just… standing there, in the throne room they landed in, because it turns out the two had gotten transported to his palace!

LBG: Uhg. You.

LBH jumps up, pulling his sword and getting between LBG and SQQ.

LBH: Did you bring us here?! To take my Shizun?!

SQQ: No one can just ‘have me’ because they kidnap me-

LBG: Of course not! I don’t need you anymore! I have my own nice Shizun now!

LBH is pretty sure that his Shizun here was dead. SQQ was completely sure that LBG’s Shizun here was dead, and that there was no way SJ was anyone’s ‘nice Shizun’.

And then! Walks out! Shen Yuan! Pre-transmigration- shorter, thin, glasses, with hair being grown out and fancy robes.

SY: Binghe? …two Binghes?! And- the scum villain?!?!

LBH: wha- don’t call my husband that!

LBG, smug: Don’t yell at my husband then.

SQQ is freaking out in the corner at seeing his old face.

Bingqiu is stuck there for like… a week or something. SQQ hates being around SY. LBH is a bitch to SY at first, for the snide comments he makes to SQQ, then he starts to see some… similarities between SY and SQQ.

And then he starts thinking about it. How LBG didn’t get a nice Shizun, because his Shizun didn’t change when he was 14, and there was seemingly no reason for the difference, and now here SY was, so similar to his husband and has LBG wrapped around his finger.

He doesn’t want any more miscommunication between him and SQQ, so he just goes up to him and asks him if SY was him.

SQQ isn’t alone. SY and LBG were there. LBG, of course, already knew that, but SY sure didn’t! Before SQQ could answer, SY says that he could never be LBH’s mean teacher! The scum villain!

SQQ, having enough of his younger self, then argues back that he has done the best he could! And he wasn’t that mean, after everything! So maybe you should just shut up, huh?!

Many way, SY and SQQ are now having a full blown argument. LBG and LBH are just watching, really not wanting to get between the two if it doesn’t devolve into silence.

And then LBH asks LBG, “What about Shang Qinghua?”

LBG: What about the traitor? He’s dead.

LBH: I think he’s like Shizun. And he’s married to MBJ so…

This ends with SQQ and LBH going home, and having a nice long talk. LBG and SY live happily ever after. And LBG brings Airplane over for MBJ, which I think is an hilarious concept that I will write about later.

#svsss #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #luo binghe #luo bingge

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kuroowo · 2 years ago

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Modern AU Suguru whose guilty-non-guilty pleasure idea of fun is to make people fall in love with him (just because he can) meets you, the new transfer, at the office and instantly decides you’re his next target.

He’s befriends you right off the bat. Seeks you out between breaks for a quick chat. Tries to get to know you more. Invites you out for an occasional drink that turns into full blown dinners and walks home. He gifts you little trinkets he finds reminding him of you— hold on. Wait a minute, Suguru’s world screeches to a halt with utmost urgency. Since when did he start to look forward to texting you first thing in the morning? Since when did he carve out a routine to see you outside of work at least once a week? Since when did he anticipate to see your smile, hear your laughter? Since when did his thoughts start to run circles around you every night before he sleeps? Since when did he start planning to have you meet his two disaster best friends? Since when, since when, since when—

Geto goes through a ‘minor’ crisis realising that he ended up falling in love with you instead of the intended other way ‘round. Gojo cackles so hard his sunglasses slips off his face, boisterous laughter only amplified by Ieiri’s, “I told you, dumbass.”, but the dark-haired man is still in denial nonetheless.

“There’s no way, Shoko—”, because where did he falter? When did he slip up? It’s not even his first rodeo, so why did this happen?? “—and shut up, Satoru!”

“And there’s no way his hair isn’t white.”, unimpressed and utterly over Geto’s shit, Ieiri blows a cloud of smoke into his face, strangely annoyed and sympathetic. Okay, maybe not that strangely. Maybe it’s her conscience kicking in because you’re actually a great friend to her and she’d hate to see you gone because of the man bun wearing block-head. “Get your shit together before it’s too late, Suguru.”

And maybe Geto should. Yeah. No. He definitely should. Like hell is he losing you to some lame baker who makes stale pastries 3 blocks down from your home (it’s not stale, he’s just jealous) or to that desperate creep from the company next door (they’re actually just an extrovert, he’s just jealous), and especially not to Fushiguro fucking Toji of all damn people (that’s a married and devoted man to his wife, he’s just jealous). So yeah, Suguru’s going to get his shit together alright.

#modern au suguru because I CAN AND I WILL #geto x you #geto x reader #geto x y/n #suguru geto #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu geto #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu sorcerer #jjk #I REFUSE to do any sort of canon compliance or timeline for jjk #ESPECIALLY FOR GETO #low-key jerk suguru bc I have a horrible thing for jerk men who turns soft & sweet for the one they fall for #he going through a crisis but that’s ok he’s just being dramatic #as usual yk <3 #jjk.fics

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seancekitsch · 1 year ago

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Hi if you're open to requests: could you do an Adrian x fem reader with the premise of them having known eachother in highschool and sticking together as ostracized weirdos. Reader leaves evergreen after graduating HS and comes back 10 years later and runs into Adrian. I love your writing and how you characterize Adrian!!

hi hi hi i hope you enjoy this it got away from me and now its a full blown fic

A Homecoming

warnings: best friends to strangers to lovers, gut chase is his own warning, maybe ooc, angry drunk sex, bad speeches, love confessions, angry fluff if that makes sense, happy ending even tho both idiots are in their bag down bad

“How the fuck did Laura meet Gut Chase of all people?” you whisper to yourself as you pick out produce to stock the fridge of your Airbnb. It's a crappy one bedroom house on what was once the nicer side of town, the side with lovely little suburbs away from all of the apartments and trailer parks that people turned their nose up at. You remember those noses turned up at you for your lovely little apartment that you called a childhood home. Now it feels freaky to be on the other side, in a rancher in a suburb with cute little pinterest craft-esque decor on the walls and a Friends reference as the wi-fi password. Fucking yuck.

You never expected to be back in Evergreen after high school, especially not for a wedding. You flew across the country for college to basically avoid this very situation, but here you are. Your college roommate who got a job in Seattle bringing you back to your home town to marry easily the biggest douche from your high school. Your invitation to the fifteen year reunion came in the mail and was thrown directly into the trash several months ago muttering about how they even fucking found your newest address, and then the fuckin save the date from Laura came behind it. You’d known Laura was dating some gym trainer, you knew she said he was from a small town. She’s always been one to fall fast and hard, and you can count on more fingers than you've got the amount of times through college and grad school she had cried over a failed date with “the one” before getting back in the proverbial saddle.

You fondle an onion and think about the last time you saw Gut Chase. It was… the morning after your graduation. The morning you left for Gotham. He was sat at the breakfast bar of their house sipping coffee and raising an eyebrow at you trying to sneak out of his house for once instead of into it.

Now having taken that trip for the first time in reverse, your long taxi ride from the airport to the airbnb felt like a death march. You’d left behind so much and burned any bridges that could have been left here.

June 2008

“The guys are never going to believe this.”

“Dude, you’re not telling any guys about this,” you laugh, wrapping yourself around Adrian’s torso, the lean muscle taught under his skin as he laughs with you. You weight dips and moves on the trampoline below you, the stupid double wide sleeping bag doing nothing for your back, especially after you’ve been standing in heels all day and sweating in your graduation cap and gown.

“But then I can finally tell Gut and Chris it’s just that I’m a late bloomer! And if I don’t tell them it was you they won’t believe me!” Adrian exclaims, not at all worried by the open windows of his own house or the other backyards that the dawn is going to slowly creep over. You roll your eyes, your best friend always consumed with impressing his older brother and his friends.

“That's not a thing. Isn’t it enough that we had this?” you ask, you cheek pressing into his bare chest. His legs tangle in the early summer heat under the cheap sleeping bag.

“No!” He exclaims, laughing like you should be in on it too, but you don’t laugh with him. Your virginity was never important to you, it’s just that everyone else in Evergreen sucks. He’s the only one that you would have deemed worthy anyway.

You figured: You leave for college tomorrow, he’s the best person you know, and he’s hot even if he doesn’t know it. You’re both virgins- or- you were until you dragged him out into the backyard around two in the morning after passing back and forth a bottle of peach schnapps that he had been arguing about with you all night until he figured out it tasted like candy; the party his older brother hosting in yours and Adrian’s name very quickly became not about you and about him and his friends who had graduated a few years prior.

Tomorrow you’ll be a month away from being eighteen and across the country by yourself and you haven’t told anyone but your mother, but it hasn’t quite hit you yet. It can’t when a sticky condom was thrown across the yard twenty minutes ago, and That’s Not My Name by the Ting Tings is bass boosted and floating in the air from the house, and Adrian Chase just gave you your first orgasm.

“Maybe it is,” he admits, his voice now heavy with sleep. You don’t know when he falls asleep, but you leave before he wakes.

Your hand shakes at self check out, wondering if Adrian and his brother patched things up enough to be a groomsman. Laura made you a bridesmaid over FaceTime, talking your ear off about how much Dorian wasn’t her normal type but when you know you know, you know? And even then it never struck you to remember that Gut’s real name is Dorian. Maybe you’d be paired up, and maybe Adrian had changed enough in this span of time to forgive you and look you in the eye. You don’t count on it, honestly, you expect him to throw a fit the second he sees you. You don’t blame him for that hypothetical reaction either. It’s been over a decade with two degrees six terrible boyfriends and only one friend who ever came close to how special Adrian was for you. And now she’s marrying Adrian’s dickhead brother.

Its only a few minutes after you load the dirty old fridge of your airbnb (definitely only getting three stars, the place is sketch) that you phone rings, Laura’s contact illuminating the dull lighting of the kitchen. You put her on facetime while you load the pantry.

“BITCH!” she screams, her smile illuminating a dim screen as her voice cuts through all of the loud background noise, “Where are you?”

You laugh, tossing the veggie chips into the back of the pantry.

“Where am I?” you scoff, “I’m at my Airbnb, I was about to throw on a bad movie and drink some wine. Where are you, Miss Bride?”

She puts the phone up close to her face, only her eye showing as she fake whispers into the mic.

“I’m at Hooters,” she confides like its the funniest secret.

“Oh, with Mr. Groom?” you ask, teasing her as you reach for the bottle and the corkscrew, one of the few amenities left to you in the drawers.

“With tha whooooole wedding party,” she draws out the words without taking the phone away from her eye.

“You had their LIT’s, didn't you?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at her.

“And I just bought one for you,” she confirms, “So you better get an uber or I’m going to switch out your bridesmaid dress for an Aquaman costume.”

“You slut!” you shout, swiping up on her call to obey her and pull up uber, “You wouldn't. Aquaman is such a chump.”

“So get over here!” she laughs, and it's infectious. God, you've missed Laura. Sure, you facetime twice a week, but she lived with you for six years and it's like losing a hand to lose her being just a few layers of drywall away at all times.

“I am, I am! Its ordered,” you assure her, and a comfortable silence settles, she sips her drink, her hand clawlike to hold both hers and yours so she can hold her phone in the other.

“You know he fucks the fish, right?” you ask.

“You're the second person to say that tonight!”

The uber to Hooters is quick, thank god. The bright lights feeling harsh on your skin and you really wish Laura hadn't threatened you with the costume. It’s manipulation at its finest. You had the most recent kissing booth movie right there ready to be made fun of over your coffee mug full of wine. But no, you have to stand around in a Hooters in your hometown. Youre flooded with relief, however, when you walk past the hostess stand and clock that theres a touchtunes machine in the corner so you can at least entertain yourself with awful song choices. You know who would love hearing the Monster Mash followed by Call Me Maybe? You and Laura. Especially after she tries to pour that LIT down your throat the moment she sees you.

“There she is!” Laura shouts, helping you tilt back the glass immediately. It's just like college again, your days back in Gotham where you’d wander away from the college bars and see how much liquor you could get for your money.

“Mm, holy shit,” you cry out, barely able to down the drink in one go, “That's how you snagged your groom?”

She crinkles her nose at you,her blonde hair falling in her face as she leans in close.

“He happened to like my squat thrust, I know I have to work harder than that to win you over,” she quips, and you rub your nose with hers before pushing yourself out of her arms reach.

“Now where is he? Who are these bridesmaids I’m sharing my spotlight with?” you ask, letting her lead you further in towards the bar.

Gut Chase himself meets you halfway across the restaurant.

“Y/N!” He shouts, “You’re kidding me! I thought Laura-girl was joking when she said she knew you.”

“Gut!” you shout back, surprising yourself that you're actually sort of happy to see the familiar face. He pulls you under his bicep quickly, ruffling your hair as if you were his little sibling.

“She was so weird after she got kicked off the cheer squad,” he explains to his fiancee, “She spent all her time in my basement with my little brother! This one lived with us.”

“Oh, Adrian?” she asks hesitantly trying to remember his brother's name , and something weird twinges in your chest.

“Yeah,” you manage to get out, your voice and your breath practically leaving you.

Is he here? Does he hate you? Does he miss you? The first few years without him were tough, you would turn to tell him something or think of something funny you had to say and it all just had to float into the wind, forgotten. Then Laura sort of filled that gap. Then your D&D group. But the Adrian sized hole can only be squeezed into, never full filled, never a perfect fit.

“Yo, Adrian!” Gut calls out before you can stop him, “Get your ass over here!”

Gut releases his grip on you and a man across the bar looks up from his phone.

And it's like time slows down, and as he slides off the barstool “Foxy” by Jimi Hendrix floods the air like that scene in Wayne's World. Its like he moves in slow motion, his sweater doing nothing to obscure his physique and muscles, his glasses doing nothing to hide those beautiful eyes of his. He's changed so much, but not at all, just filled out what was already there. You're not sure if it's the LIT or the sight of him that's making your knees feel like they’re buckling.

“Why is she here?” Adrian asks his brother, his posture straight and tone unreadable, and Gut gives him a warning look. You almost pity Laura that you didn't brief her on on your intimate knowledge of the family she was marrying into.

“Bro…” Gut warns him, less than subtle. You've seen this before, but in high school, Gut would have just hit Adrian already or called him a pussy.

“Hey, uh, Gut? Sorry, Dorian?” he turns his attention to you as you correct yourself, “Why don't you take my dear Laura for another LIT? I could use another one too.”

Laura looks at you like you've got three heads for commanding the situation, but gladly lets her fiance lead her back over to order another, whispering to you that she’ll bring yours on Gut’s tab.

Adrian stares at you, looking you up and down, sizing you up… not sexually, maybe… maybe? Wouldn't be the worst thing, he’s always been handsome to you, but he's really filled out.

“Why are you here?” he asks you directly, his knuckles turning white around his beer.

“I….,” words fail you for a moment, breath hitching in your throat as a million things want to spill from your lips.

I’m sorry, I’ve always regretted leaving you, I wanted you to come with me, I wish I took you with me, I compared even the stupidest tinder date to you, I want to make you laugh, I loved you since I was a kid, Even Laura doesn’t get me like you do.

But you don’t say any of that. You can’t.

“I’m here for the wedding,” you say, holding it all back even though you could collapse into his arms at any moment.

“Me too,” He says, “Only I’ve been here and who knows where you were.”

Okay; you deserve that snark from him.

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

An understatement of the century but it’ll do for now. If you say too much, you’ll cry. You cannot cry in a Hooters.

“Or say goodbye?”

“I know, I’m sorry for that too. I’m sorry for everything.”

Adrian’s arms fall around you, the cold heel of the bottle of the glass digging between your shoulder blades as you lean into the hug against him. It feels like home being in his arms again, only now the arms are filled out with muscle and he

“I’m sorry too,” Adrian offers, but there's no real emotion behind it. You can tell he doesn't really mean it; an empty thing to say just because he thinks he should, but that doesn't bother you.

“There's nothing to be sorry for, “ you console him genuinely, your hand rubbing up against his henley covered bicep.

“I know, I’m just saying that. I’m not the one who abandoned my best friend. Now I have a new best friend!”

You pull back, not at all upset because you expect that too, and at this moment Laura comes back with your LIT.

“For courage,” she whispers not at all subtly in your ear before kissing your cheek and running back to her fiance.

“Why do you need courage?” Adrian asks, not pretending he didn't hear that.

“Cause I never should have left… and you look really good.”

It's definitive, it's out there. You can't and you won't take it back for anything. It's the truth. You love Laura and the fact that you met her but you absolutely should not have left Adrian to do it.

You take the straw to your mouth and suck, not pulling away from Adrian, instead your hand still around his back clawing into his sweater to keep him there.

“You look really good too! Pretty, because women don't like being called hot.”

You dont know where he got that from, but you accept the compliment nonetheless.

“You know, I was really mad at you for like a year, but then I just got over it, I figured you were trying to teach me some weird lesson about missed opportunities or acting out part of some romantic comedy but then you didn't come back and… I’ll shut up now,” he says, misreading your attention on him as a bad thing.

“I wanted to call you back,” you admit, “But how do I call you and say: Hey, I’m in Gotham now! Even though we were supposed to get dinner tonight I guess I wont be making those plans. I didnt know what to do.”

“I could have come with you!”

You both know thats a fucking lie.

“I’m glad I got to see you,” you offer, the words so bittersweet on your tongue. His eyes search your face, and you realize then you probably should have re-applied some make up. Its set into your face from the flight this morning and all of the errands you've run. You probably look like some kind of victim.

"Me too, because honesty I've thought about that night a lot. I've tried to rank where it falls between all the threesomes I've had."

Weird flex, but, okay.

"I do too," you admit as you grab the straw for another sip, "not the threesomes thing, but I think about it... about you."

Something about Adrian's gaze has you open and honest, moreso than you would normally be with a man. But then again, Adrian isn't just some man...

“Finish that,” he tells you, his eyes zeroed in to where your lips and the straw connect. You obey, drinking what you can before putting the glass down on the nearest empty table.

“Adrian I-” You get cut off by his lips capturing yours; Adrian kisses you with a passion you haven’t felt in fucking years, the passion of someone who actually cared. Sure, you've had boyfriends and girlfriends, but none have kissed you like this.

Instead of hot and bothered you feel cold… and wet.

“Adrian, what the fuck-?” you whisper when you can break away, something dripping down your leg. His beer spilling as he tilts the bottle carelessly to grip you better. You break away from him to shake the beer off of your jeans, a puddle forming on the ground. He scrambles to right the turned bottle and place it on the same table as your LIT.

“I have no idea what I’m doing, I’m not good at understanding people,” he admits to you as if you didnt spend all of high school attached at the hip, and this time you kiss him, your hands coming up to cup his clean-shaven jawline.

The next thing you know, you're back at your airbnb, having Irish goodbye’d to Laura and Gut and without meeting or talking to the rest of the wedding party. Youre being a bad friend and a bad bridesmaid and you know it. You hadn’t had the chance to ask Adrian why Gut was so friendly to him, though Laura might have a hand in that. You hadn’t had the chance to ask where he worked, what he liked to do, who Adrian now was really.

Adrian’s mouth barely leaves yours the second the door is closed, instead backing you quickly into what he correctly guessed is the bedroom of the house. His reflexes are sharp, unlike the awkward teen he was, and he knows how to perfectly steer you to your bed for the next week.

You walk backwards awkwardly until your calves meet the boxspring unceremoniously. He tilts you back until you fall on your own, your elbows catching you as he follows suit and crawls on top of your figure. You don't know where the confidence comes from, but then again it had fifteen years to form in him. Adrian pulls off your shoes and your pants quickly as he moves up the bed, not even trying to hide his prowess, moving like some kind of well trained machine. He’s come to impress even though he's done more than that by simply not snubbing you or telling you off in the middle of a Hooters, although both would have been deserved.

But you; You feel like you're back out on that trampoline again, your graduation dress pushed up around your waist, all too bare under him. No time has passed, it’s all so familiar -

“I should hate you” he states, his lips hovering over your navel, “But it's weird, I don't! In fact, I feel like I should be thanking you. If hadn't left and rejected me so hard I wouldn't have gotten so buff and good looking.”

“You should hate me,” you agree, your breath and your words feeling lost in your chest under the weight of him on top of you. His lips travel from your navel to your ribcage, pushing your shirt up as he goes, leaving a trail of fire in their path. You arch your back into his motions, your hands helping him pull the shirt off, awkwardly shuffling until you can fling it to some random corner of the room. Adrian’s eyes widen when he sees your bralette, mesh and flimsy and hiding nothing from him.

He pulls one of the dark blue mesh cups down, immediately latching his lips around your pert nipple, sucking and earning a sharp inhale of breath from you. He chuckles against your skin at your reaction to him, and then does it again. Cocky asshole. You can't help but compare this to the trampoline. He was so unsure, fumbling and almost tearful at the fear of fucking something up. You led the way, urged him on. Adrian now needs no urging, no guidance in making you squirm beneath him. His lips release your nipple, and he bites down at the top of the swell of your breast, sure to leave a mark. Youll have to remember to put a spoon in the freezer tomorrow morning or else you could end up with a wardrobe malfunction for the wedding. Cocky bastard, you think, leaving his mark on you.

But really, he’d left so many marks on you that still havent faded. Its the way your ringtone from high school never changed, its the way you bought only the brands of locks Adrian said were best for each apartment you've had, its the way you buy things in teal if theres the option. Your fucking spatula back home is one of his many marks.

“Ah!” you yelp when his bite gets a little too hard, your perfectly manicured fake nails digging into his back. Adrian laughs again and pulls himself up to reach your neck, his hands exploring everywhere they can, teasing at your chest, your waist, your hips.

“Fuck me,” you plead as his lips connect with the pulsepoint on your throat.

“Youre sure?” He asks, “You know, you shouldn’t fuck someone who should hate you. That's just asking for complications.”

And although he gives you an out, he’s already gone back to kissing and licking at your throat and groping at every curve of your body. You're thinking with your pussy, not your mind right now. You know there should be a conversation instead of whats happening right now. Maybe some tears shed, maybe a nostalgic movie and some honest explanations on your part.

But you don't initiate any of that.

“Then fuck me like you hate me,” you say instead.

Adrian grinds his jean clad length against your core, and you whine, girlish and high pitched and embarrassing. He shushes you, removing himself from your grasp to yank off his sweater and undershirt, then his jeans all discarded over the edge of the foot of the bed.

He moves to you, working your panties down your legs until you can kick them off the bed at your ankles, and sheds his boxers with them. His eyes follow the trail of your legs to your center, already dripping and ready for him.

“You really want that?” he asks, and it sounds rhetorical. You didnt know Adrian could do that. He traces his calloused hands up the insides of your thighs, letting his fingertips tease you where you need him most. You nod fervently, arching your back to try to reach him, bring him closer.

“Please?” you ask, wanton and pathetic under him. He draws his thumb between your folds, testing the metaphorical waters. He draws low, anticipation laced moans from your lips, teasing and slow.

And then without warning pushes two fingers into you.

Your gasp echoes against the cliches wall decor, rattling the glass of the live laugh love frame, shaking the flimsy bedframe.

He does not start slowly, no, he gives you no mercy in his motions, his smirk teasing and taunting you as he thrusts his hand.

“Adrian, I- Fuck!” you struggle to find the words, your hands moving to his forearms and digging your nails in, trying to hold on for dear life.

“This is what you wanted, right?” he asks. Fuck, you didn’t know Adrian could talk like this. And to think, you could have had this the whole time if you just stayed here.

“Yeah,” you whine, “Yeah, please.”

You're not sure what youre begging for. To cum? To feel him? You just want more.

“I’ll give you exactly what you want,” he leans down like he’s going to kiss you, and then instead nips at your lip before pulling back. Its cruel.

His fingers move in, out, in, out, inout, and then slow to a halt inside you. You squirm under him, needing him to do anything. Anything.

“I can feel you squeezing me,” he says, and you flush in embarrassment, neediness and heat settling in your chest.

“Adrian, I need you,” Your voice sounds far away, underwater, foreign to your ears. Who is this person? How and when did you ever get this needy, this desperate? His smile grows, but it does not give you any comfort.

Adrian removes his fingers from you, lifting them up to his nose to smell them.

“Like fucking candy,” he remarks, and pushes his boxers down, easily discarding them.

He leans back down, his weight on you once more. A weighted blanket, a comfort as his chest presses against yours. You kiss him, the way a smoker needs a cigarette, pulling and all consuming; your hands find purchase in his hair, your body fully reactive to every tiny movement of his lips against yours. His tongue sweeps across your lips, easily parting them the same way he easily parted your legs. He moves against you, rock hard in the crux of your thigh, his big hands holding your hips in place as he finds his way. Adrian probes along, pushing his hips in slow teasing motions until he finds his rightful spot at your center.

“I’m gonna make you hate me,” he whispers between kisses, and you brace yourself against him, foreheads touching and his glasses fogged.

He pushes into you with a groan, bottoming out and giving you the grace to adjust before he starts to move.

Adrian’s hips rock you, the whole bed, your whole world, your hands tighten around his curls as they pick up in pace, the rhythm of the bedframe banging against the bed punctuating each of his movements. He picks up his pace quickly, and you move in time easily, rolling your hips to meet his with each thrust.

“Fffffuck,” you stutter, losing control of your lips, your tongue, both moving of their own accord and saying shit. There’s a war in your brain, part of you wants to stay in control, wants to make sense of this; the other side wants everything Adrian to overtake everything you.

“I’m gonna make you hate me,” he repeats, switching up his angle to make your next moan a pitiful squeak in your throat.

“You,” you gasp again, “You said that.”

His hands roam the geography of your body, mapping each curve and dip of you, not missing a single centimeter. Everything he touches turns to flame, hot under him and hot under his touch, pushing you closer and closer to your boiling point.

You won't last long, you know that. Adrian moans above you, dragging his lips against the corner of yours as he moves, closer and closer.

And then he pulls out. You whine at the missing contact, the chill that sets in without his heat in your orbit. You pout, lips messy and swollen.

“Turn over,” he demands, moving his finger in a circle to demonstrate his intention. You obey quickly, pushing yourself onto your hands and knees. His hands land first on your ass, smacking both sides of your cheeks and whispering “hell yeah” in a tone you're definitely sure you weren't supposed to hear. His hands then slide from your ass to your hip, then to your back. He unclips your bra and lets the straps fall down your shoulders.

He bends down over you, letting his chest press into your bare back as he presses a kiss to the space where your neck and shoulder meet.

“Down, girl,” he says, as one of his big hands starts to push your shoulder down until you cave into his movements, folding into the bed until your face hits the pillow.

Fuck, all control of the situation you had, you’ve lost. The ground crumbling out from under you and Adrian can mold and manipulate you any way he wants to, and you want him to.

His free hand strokes down the curve of your back, and then leaves you, only to position himself back at your entrance.

“Oh, you look beautiful like this,” Adrian sighs, sounding strained. You've always trusted Adrian to be honest, and you can believe he means it, like he would worship you face down ass up.

He presses his length into you slowly, letting you feel every inch of him, a glacial pace until he’s fully sheathed.

Adrian wiggles his hips when theyre fully against your ass, and you huff in laughter, giggling into the pillow before he silences you with a rough thrust.

This new angle feels like the wind has been knocked out of you, but in a way that you want to feel over and over again, in a way that makes you feel breathless and alive. The next thrust and the one after that leave you gasping and struggling for air, the ones after it drawing high pitched whines into the silk of the pillowcases.

He pistons into you quickly after that, like a man with something to prove. He presses his full length into you each time, and each time hitting a spot inside you that has you feeling fuzzy and hot all over. His hand returns to your hip to guide his motions and yours.

You chase your high, rocking back into his thrusts and meeting each of them half way. Your moans are swallowed in the silk, wrapped and buried down deep into the mattress, rooted in him and the moment.

“How am I doing?” he asks, and sensuality gone from his voice, but thats just Adrian.

You moan in response, his fingers digging into your skin, sure to leave crescent moons in your skin that would last far into the morning.

“Close,” you manage to squeak out, your voice barely audible, but Adrian picks up on what you're trying to say.

“Yeah? You wanna come on my dick?” he asks, but doesn’t give you a choice otherwise. Adrian moves his hand from gripping your hip to between your legs. His fingers circle your clit, just the right amount of pressure to make it feel like you're about to snap.

“Please,” you whine, arching your back further into the friction.

“Let go, baby, let go,” he coaxes you, his lips against your spine and you finally give in to him.

He slows and kisses your shoulder while you ride your high, whispering praise against your skin as you shudder beneath him, his whole frame bent over yours. His hand leaves your clit and both come up to hug around your waist, anchoring you to him and the world and bringing you back down. All you can think of is that you could have had this the whole time. Fifteen years of this.

But then he returns to his former position, the hand on your shoulder returning there as he picks up the pace again. It stings when he starts to move, but not terribly. A soothing burn that you find yourself rocking back into without a second thought.

“Where can I?” He asks through gritted teeth, lifting his hand off of your shoulder so you can lift your head up.

“Inside,” you answer, voice still muffled by the pillow, "I'll get plan b, there's always a coupon for that shit."

“Got it,” he confirms, and then speeds up his pace again. This time his hips are messy, without rhythm as his body meets yours, his voice uncontrolled as me moans without restraint.

Even overstimulated and tired, you rock back in time to meet him, moaning each time his hip bones meet your ass.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna-” he stutters, and pulls back unceremoniously, heat streaming and filling you only seconds later. You shift slowly, trying to get your knees out from under you.

Adrian stops you though, one of his hands a soothing comfort on your hip to guide you to a comfier position as his other hand dabs a tissue from the bedside on your back.

He cleans you off remarkably gently, moving over you to throw himself down on the blankets beside you, his head hitting the empty second pillow. Your back feels sticky and cold, but you don't mind at all. You turn your head so at least one one your eyes can peek out at him from where you lay spent and tired, a mess of sweat and spit and butterflies in your stomach. He lays in a similar state, breathing deeply with a lazy smile across his features.

It feels right.

“Stay and cuddle?” you ask, voice wary from use and the need for sleep. You feebly move your hand toward him, reaching out to straighten his glasses.

“Sure,” he says, “But I won't be here when you wake up.”

He puts his big arm across your back, and where you should feel the familiar warmth you only feel ice.

“Really?” you ask, but fuck, thats a mistake. You shouldn't say anything. It's an instant realization you don't want to hear anything he’s about to say.

“It’s what we do, right?” Adrian says it like it’s a joke, but there’s venom in his words. It drips through, from his teeth to yours, and sinks in.

He pulls you close, his actions not matching his words, and snuggles in, his hot breath fanning out against your face. His eyes close and he lets his body relax quickly. You try to do the same, but you end up staring at the ceiling fan, trying to think of any reason why Adrian would actually stay. You don't know when you fall asleep, but it's long after he does.

True to his word, he’s not in the airbnb when you wake up. Just cold sheets and an empty glass of water and a half eaten green apple on your counter. That's all to signify he was even here, that you and your best friend had a sleepover after fifteen years. No real evidence, no trophy, not even his phone number, not even a cup left in the sink for you to clean when you do the dishes. Even the marks of his nails are fading away into nothing.

You deserve that, you think, all of Adrian’s talk of hate fucking of course wasnt a joke. When had he ever not said what he meant? He’d always told you what was on his mind, no filter and often TMI. But that doesnt stop the tears that fall, the streaking of last night's mascara down your cheekbones and the messy foundation you didn't take off.

True to your words last night as well, before you even brush your teeth you order a plan b kit from Doordash. Now you wait, and wallow.

It comes quickly, you take it, you feel no different.

You lay on the couch, the bed feeling weird and wrong now that it's been used and abandoned by Adrian. It's definitely going to be a long week, you think, and you debate trying to contact the airbnb host to see if you can check out early. Maybe you can take a rental car up to that town they shot Twin Peaks in and stay at the hotel or something.

This was a mistake. All of it. You shouldn't have let Adrian kiss you, you shouldn't have kissed him. You shouldn't have wanted him. You shouldn't still want him.

Your phone rings. Laura.

“Holy shit,” she sighs, her voice shaking, “Can I ask you the biggest favor?”

You have nothing to lose at this point, besides your comfort in the stilettos she has you wearing for the bridal party.

“Yeah, whats up?”

“I need,” her voice breaks, and you can tell it's serious.

“Whoa, what do you need? I’ll drop everything,” you interrupt and reassure her, and it's not like you had anything scheduled but self pity until the rehearsal tonight and the dinner at Fennel Fields afterwards. Laura’s not someone you've ever liked to hear or see cry, because she never does so unless she has a good reason.

“Gina’s plane got delayed,” she explains, “You remember Gina?”

You remember Gina well, Laura’s best friend since diapers, your Adrian basically. She was the maid of honor and you were basically second in command to her.

“Babe, I know Geen,” You remind her. Gina gave you your first pot brownie.

“Well her plane got delayed and she's stuck in Metropolis on her layover until the morning of the wedding and then she still might miss hair and make up but she's not here for the rehearsal dinner speech and I don't know what to do,” Laura sucks in a desperate breath, “I don't want to cancel the dinner speeches I know Dorian's best man had a plan.”

“You don't have to,” you tell her, “You made me second in command.”

“I know, I need you to write a speech if you can.”

At this point you can tell Laura is crying on the other end of the line.

“It's done. Don't worry your sexy little face about it,” you comfort her, not really thinking about what you're signing yourself up for but your undying loyalty to her taking over the rational thought in your mind.

“That doesn't make sense,” her voice is still watery, but you can hear the smile through it.

“Hang up on me and go make out with Gut,” you tell her, “Leave the amateur hour to me.”

And she does just that, whispering her thanks to you as she cuts herself off.

Oh, what have you gotten yourself into?

This fucking speech, your saving grace of a distraction. Fuck, fuck, fuck what do I say? You think. You wrack your brain on what to say, you practice, you write line after line in green glittery gel pen on a piece of stationary you found in the homes kitchen. You treat it like a stand up set, ‘yes and-ing’ yourself to death to try to think of something that doesn't sound stupid. You've never been in a long term relationship that was ever actually going anywhere. You're so incapable of wording what love is…

No, thats a lie you tell yourself. The words come easily now, the words flow like water from a fountain.

It's not clear how you're going to go through the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner. Knowing Adrian will be in the same proximity as you; Knowing that with Adrian one kiss is too many and a thousand is never enough. You want to bash your head against the wall, but instead you save your airbnb fees and focus on doing your hair and makeup and getting dressed.

You look at the dress you brought for the rehearsal, one of two garment bags hanging on the top of the closet door. Your bridesmaid dress; an olive green, low cut, with a soft flowing skirt. And then the dress for tonight, one that was already in your closet at home from your thrifting as a broke college student; navy vintage polyester taffeta, with an extremely tight square neck bodice and a tea length skirt that puffed out. You had sewn a comically big pink heart with white lace into the bottom of the bodice a week after you had gotten it. Laura came home to you sitting with fabric and thread strewn across the floor of your shared apartment. You knew this dress was a memory between you two, and that's why you picked it for tonight. Putting it on alone is a little difficult, but you manage. The only thing Laura asked out of your comfort zone was that all bridesmaids wore silver stilettos. Fucking evil, but you throw those on the passenger seat of your rental car.

You crinkle the paper with your speech in your hand as you clutch it against the steering wheel, and pull out of the driveway of the rancher.

The rehearsal goes smoothly, but that wasn't the part you were worried about. You only wrinkled part of your skirt under your sweaty hands but for the most part it was salvageable. You're walking with one of Gut’s coworkers, a nice guy named Mike who has also never been in a wedding before and he’s easy to use as a distraction from those green eyes you can't stand to feel on your skin. Laura is happy and that's what matters. That's what you tell yourself every time your smile falters.

You avoid his eyes at all costs as you enter the back room of Fennel Fields, taking your seat next to Laura’s mother, taking the Maid of Honor seat and looking at the fixed course menu after a polite hello to the woman who helped you find a Gotham apartment without remnants of fear gas in the venting. Adrian sits at the table diagonal from you now, a slight relief from the onslaught of him and everything about him. Your clammy hand reaches for the menu, passing it to the waiter nearby after clarifying that everything looked fine with no substitutions; everyone does the same and you try to keep yourself preoccupied by any means necessary to avoid that gaze.

Champagne is poured and you want to drink it down, want to take the edge off in any way possible.

But you don't. You can't. The note in your dress pocket prevents you from doing that.

Gut’s best man goes first. He gives a lovely speech, you figure. He talks about how Laura and Gut are like puzzle pieces or something and how she’s been such a light in his life. It's odd to think that Gut’s friends know so much of Laura, that she’s become one of their group. Her other bridesmaids are even Gut’s friend’s wives and girlfriends except for you and Gina and one other girl, her coworker at this new job.

You keep your eyes trained on him, and on Gut and Laura. They look so in love, so genuinely happy. Fuck, its beautiful.

“So I’ll end this trainwreck on a toast. To the lovely Bride and Groom: may they make their honeymoon flight, and not lose their luggage!”

You laugh, whispering a cheers before tapping your flute on the table and finally sipping champagne yourself.

Now it's your turn. On unsteady legs, whether from the stilettos Laura has you wearing or your emotional state, you rise from your seat and pull the grossly crumpled piece of paper from your dress pocket.

The microphone gets passed to you and you steel yourself to do your best stage face and voice. Give them senior year at Gotham University’s production of Miss Julie.

Here goes nothing.

“Hi,” you start, clear and confident, “I’m not Gina. I’m sorry, I wish I was.”

Laura’s mom and a few of the wedding party laugh. You don't look at Adrian.

“And to make matters worse, I’m not even qualified to give this speech.”

You earn another laugh, this time from more people, and Laura snorts and slams her hand down on the table. She can correctly guess how you screamed in your airbnb trying to write this, having watched you struggle through editing stand up sets for years. She knows you probably talked to yourself in the mirror to get this right.

“I’ve sabotaged my chance at love but these kids? They know what they’re doing.”

What the fuck does that next line say, you sweaty bitch? Why the fuck did you use gel pens for this?

“Before I moved into my studio in Condiment King’s territory—“ you pause for laughter and get some, “— I lived with Laura. And she was good, I guess.”

You stick your tongue out at her, winking.

“She showed me how to use a hair straightener and how to shotgun a beer, but most importantly she showed me what it looks like to actively be vulnerable and put yourself on the line for love. She faced the dating world before tinder, but she also extended that vulnerability to me. With her making soup for me when I’d had a crappy day, and calling me out when I’d done something wrong to put me back on the right path, she always loved me fully and with care. Not gentleness, though. After a frat formal she threw a glass at me once.”

The room erupted in laughter and Laura looked fake-embarrassed.

“But I have also had the privilege of knowing the groom. Dorian, or as I know him, Gut Chase, was someone I always knew would make sure I didn’t end up dead in a ditch. I was briefly a cheerleader, he was in football and a few years older, but I had someone close to him that I held dearly and he kept that in mind. I don’t think he liked me much when we were growing up, but he always made sure I had a ride home and a place to stay. I wasn’t allowed to speak to him in public but I wasn’t going to get hurt around him.”

The room laughed again, although you only focus on the smile of one of the groomsmen who doesn't meet your gaze. You crumple the paper further because you can’t even read it at this point and you don’t remember what it said.

“The point is, I don't need to have some love story of my own to know what care and love look like when it comes to these two. I know I could have had something like this and I'm endlessly jealous of my prettier college roommate. And judging from last night and today I’ve never seen such explicit love between two people, the way they orbit each other and care for the people in their lives. They've found someone who is not only going to be there at night for them when things are fun, but they've found someone who’s going to be there in the morning. And someone they're going to be there in the morning for. Someone that's going to take care of the good and the bad and someone that they're going to show up for in that way, too. It’s fucking beautiful. I’m sorry for cursing. Let’s get hammered.”

You knock back your champagne and remind yourself to call an uber and leave your rental here. Maybe it's heavy handed that you mentioned the morning. But really, had you stayed that morning with Adrian you would have never left. You would have thrown away college had he kissed you again the morning after. People cheer and you scurry to get away from the spotlight, people start to stand from where they were and waiters start to clear plates and people begin to go to the bar. You're one of the first.

You order another glass of champagne. Had Adrian asked, you would have stayed. You know that. You've always known that, and that's exactly why you had to leave before he woke up. Fate is cruel, bringing you back here.

“Baaabe!” Laura shouts, Gut in tow, and throws her arms around you.

You hug her back with the arm not holding your glass.

“That was amazing,” she says, and you can only scoff, not willing to take the praise.

“You did good, Runt,” Gut offers, patting your shoulder with a fond smile on his face. Maybe people can change.

“Thanks guys,” you sigh, and try to gulp down this next glass as well.

“Who were you talking about?” Laura asks.

You choke on your sip.

“Who?”

“In the speech, you said you blew it with someone, who was it?”

Gut’s grip on your shoulder gets a little tighter.

“Do you want a tequila shot?” you deflect, and never one to turn down a challenge, she accepts.

You shoot Gut a thankful glance, although he actually didn't do anything.

The next morning you wake up to your alarm with the slightest headache, two full glasses of water and a bottle of advil on your bedside table that you don't remember placing there but you also don't expect to with all the champagne and tequila going to your head.

It's still forty five minutes before you have to be at the wedding venue but you shower in under ten minutes and call an uber (thankful for your foresight to leave your car last night) the second you're dry. It's a good thing the ride is quick to the venue and they dont mind that you've thrown your bridesmaid dress and shoes and an additional backpack across the back seat. The uber driver is far too loud and friendly for this hour, your headache starting to get stronger even though you took the advil.

Laura’s already there and panicking, her lashes done and her immediately screaming at you to get into the hair chair even though it's technically not correct on her schedule. Janessa should be going first but you don't question a bride thats near tears. You hop in and close your eyes, and combing or prodding is fine with you, as long as you don't have to be standing.

By the time your hair is done other bridesmaids trickle in, and by the time everyone is done Gina finally is able to make an appearance and you all breathe a sigh of relief at Laura’s worry finally dissolved. You all look nice. Laura looks like a princess. You're not sure if you can get through this wedding without crying like a baby now that you see her all done up. Fuck. She ushers you all out as she stays behind, a smile that finally looks genuine plastered on her face, ready for her first looks with her new husband before the rest of the world gets to see her.

“Thank you,” she whispers one last time to you, and you squeeze her hand before you leave the bridal suite to go line up in preparation for the actual wedding itself.

“— You moron!”

You catch the end of whatever Gut is whisper-shouting at Adrian in the lobby, handsome in his suit and anxiety painted on his face and seeping from his gritted and bared teeth.

You walk the rest of the way over after getting down the rest of the stairs, skirt of your dress fluttering as you move, and put your hand on Gut’s arm not unlike the way he did to you last night.

“Hey, whatever's going on, I got it,” you tell him, not looking Adrian’s way still in fear of your own emotional state. You aren't sure why you offered to help at all, but there's no backing out now.

“He wants to switch partners to walk with you, which is stupid and not part of the plan,” Gut explains. What the fuck. Actually what the fuck.

You shake your head, and you bury the pit in your stomach. Your emotions aren't the most important ones today and others are at stake. Fuck it, you’ll take one for the team and maybe cry in the bathroom later and blame it on the alcohol, as long as it doesn't stop you from the cotton eyed joe at the reception.

“Let us switch, your bride is upstairs waiting, we’ll handle shit down here,” you tell him, voice already exasperated, and that seems to light a fire under his ass. He moves to the staircase without another warning and salutes towards you and his little brother.

His little brother whom you still cannot look in the eye.

The rest of the bridal party starts to get themselves together at the disappearance of the groom, and you sort yourself in order. Shoes are good, hair is good, dress is good, you are good to go; and once youre over this hiccup you can party with Laura and the other bridesmaids.

“Look, I’m sorry-” Adrian starts as you link your arm in his own. He looks so fucking good in the suit, so good you need him to shut up before the last of your dignity leaves you.

“Don't even worry about it,” you say, still not looking at him, “We’re even, remember?”

Adrian seems to deflate at your words, but if you know Adrian you know that doesn't mean he’s given up.

“I’m just saying, you didn't deserve that. I should have stayed.”

You eye up Gina in front of you, her long hair cascading down her back, happily joking with the best man. Mike’s now behind you, with Laura’s work friend. Adrian’s arm feels like a cage around you.

“Don’t worry about it,” you mumble, trying to focus on how it feels to be hungover in stilettos. Bad, but you can use that pain as a distraction.

“See, you say that,” you're in for an Adrian rant, and you wish you could appreciate it, “But you won't look at me, and then your speech last night had me thinking, and then you didn't let me talk to you about it after you drank a lot of tequila with my brother and even though I drove you home you wouldnt let me make sure you drank your water.”

He looks at you with expectant eyes, asking you to crack.

He says it so easily, as if his mini rant doesnt throw a spear through the heart of your barely calm and cool persona. As if your blood doesn't run cold knowing Adrian was in the airbnb again, only to care for you and look out for your safety. Adrian is a good guy, and as your pinky toe pinches in the straps of the stiletto while you rock away from him, you regret never calling most of all. Your eyes search his face for an hint of a lie, but you can't find one. So you do what you can, you look away from him.

“I drank the water,” is all you can say, the tip of the iceberg of what you really mean. His free hand squeezes your elbow, an exchange.

The opening chords of the organist strike, and you recoil at the sound, sighing deeply as everyone readies themselves.

Gina is all you want to focus on, her two braids tied into the curls the stylist sweat over in a half up-do that would rival what the wig makers on Game of Thrones could do.

“But anyways, I’m trying to apologize.”

You can't even find a bobby pin sticking out on her whole head.

“I don't want an apology.”

You want to run away again. You want to fuck him in the bathroom of this venue. You want to fight him to the death. You want to stain his clean shaven cheek with your lipstick.

“Then what do you want? You're torturing me, and I would know, I’ve been tortured. This is like emotional though, not physical.”

Ignore whatever that means.

“I want to know what you would have done if you didn't leave.”

Fuck, why did you say that? Quick, think about escape routes, find fire exits. Run for Mount Rainier, burn down the airbnb. Goodbye!

“Well, not fucking leave,” he starts, lowering his voice to a whisper when the doors open to reveal all of the guests.

You just tilt your head, yeah, figures.

“You like everything bagels with chive and onion cream cheese, and I would have gotten you one. They make your breath smell like shit but I would have kissed you anyway just to prove a point.”

That's basically a confession of love right there.

You and Adrian walk down the aisle, a smile tugging at your lips, but you refuse to let it stick. The venue is beautiful, sage green and pink everywhere, a flower arch out of some perfume commercial and trendy reclaimed wood galore.

“Can we just talk?” he asks, his voice rising and you immediately try to shush him as discreetly as you can.

“Save a dance for me at the reception,” you whisper to him, preparing yourself to take your place in the line up at the altar.

“But I wanted to talk-”

You shush him again, a little harsher than you mean to, but he seems to get the idea.

“Oh! duh— I didn't bring a date! I don’t have a dance partner to begin with,” he answers, and the smile you’ve been trying to hide breaks through. You squeeze his arm as you leave his embrace and go to stand on your side.

You look out at the crowd, a lot of them unfamiliar faces. A few friends from Laura’s major and their partners, a few cousins and kids you met when you went to her summer house, a few of Gut’s friends on the other side (save for Chris Smith, thank fucking god, you would absolutely not be surviving this if you had to hear him say anything about your tits) and Gut’s cousins from Northern California. You stop for a moment on two empty chairs, for Gut and Adrian’s parents. Suddenly you're sixteen again, watching Adrian push you away for the comfort of shooting ranges instead of talking about his own parents' deaths as a result of a car chase gone wrong. Your eye’s flicker to Adrian, his eyes already set straight on you, his smile not matching how his eyes scan you. Gut enters and practically power walks down the aisle, and you mote that theres already a noticeable amount of lipstick on the corner of his lips.

The music changes.

The most beautiful woman you've ever seen walks down the aisle.

You can feel Adrian’s eyes on you the entire ceremony.

Adrian doesn't leave your side the entire cocktail hour, following you around and asking about all of your drink and snack preferences.

“I like pomegranate martinis, you know, a little Hades and Persephone thing going on?” You joke, and he orders you one from the drink station without a second glance.

“You mean like Hercules, the Disney movie?” he asks when he hands you your glass, hand steady and careful not to spill it.

You could scoff, or make a joke, or correct him, but instead you just smile and say, “Yeah, Adrian!” just to see his smile get even wider.

“Thats a really good movie, even if its for kids,” he muses.

“So what does Adrian Chase drink?”

He pauses and thinks it over for a minute.

“Yeungling,” he says, but he doesn't try to hide his grimace at the answer, his teeth bared and his eyes averted.

“So thats a lie,” you point out immediately over the rim of your glass. Adrian’s eyes dart over to where Laura and his brother are talking to some distant relative, definitely from Laura’s side. They're both the happiest you've ever seen them and you can’t help but to thank whatever cosmic power led them to meet.

“Yeah, Gut says a bay breeze is chick stuff,” Adrian admits, and you figured this was the case. He was always pulling you down candy aisles or getting the really sweet stuff as far as slurpee flavors went.

“Get the fucking bay breeze,” you tell him, and his whole face lights up. When was the last time this man got himself a girlie tropical drink?

“Okay! I mean, I've gotta hide it, but if you won’t judge me then I’ll do it,” he turns away from you, already ready to get the bartender’s attention again to order.

Theres a million things you want to say and all you can come up with is talking about his drinking habits? You only know where the guy works because you asked one of his cousins why the rehearsal dinner was at Fennell Fields and she told you he basically was allowed to book the back room for free because he worked there. You have so many things to ask him, so many things to say, and you ask him about a fucking drink.

“You were right, this is way better. You said we could talk now?” he asks, not hiding his eagerness as he talks with the bendy straw still between his teeth.

You exhale harshly, pushing the air through your nose, nodding.

“Yeah,” you mumble, not wanting to correct him that the cocktail hour technically isnt the reception. Thats an easy mistake to make, its close enough.

He nods his head towards the back doors, leading out to the gardens that a few people are at, but its much less crowded than the venue proper. At least hes giving you that safety net.

Each step feels heavier, and you once again curse the fact that Laura is a stilettos girl and made you be the same for a weekend. But the garden is beautiful, it looks like a small town in Washington’s version of the Versailles gardens, which you've never seen outside of Google images so it doesn't matter to miss out on the real thing.

He leads you to a bench, and pats it as he sits down on one end. You sweep the flow skirt under you and sit too, thankful to be off your feet after the past few hours.

"You can take those off if you want," he points his glass at your heels, "We can swap? They don't look comfy."

"We can't swap," you chuckle, but you unbuckle the heels and stretch your feet on the pavement.

“Well, we should talk,” he says, as if prompting you. The whole situation feels like there’s some kind of teleprompter you should be able to read, some magical thing to say, but there’s not. You don’t have words, just feelings. The anxiety, the joy, the ecstasy, the profound sadness and emptiness of the whole thing. There’s no way to put it into words. You don’t know how to word that you’ve forgotten him for maybe only ten of the months you’ve been away. Often wondering with other dates if Adrian was nicer than them, if he was dating. Wondering if Adrian was having a good life, if Adrian made friends. Seldom you forgot about him. And none of it you can voice without sounding worse than you already are.

“I’m sorry,” you say, looking down into your martini, the last few sips staring back at you.

“You’ve said that already. Can I talk?” he asks. You nod, still not meeting his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “Like I said before, you didn't deserve that.”

“I kinda did,” you offer, shrugging.

“Will you stop?” he asks, his eyes widening behind his glasses. You only grimace and nod for him to continue.

“Sorry, anyway, you didn't deserve that. I know you had to have a good reason for leaving without saying anything. And I have to admit, I have kept tabs on you. Not in a creepy way,” he pauses, “Maybe in a creepy way, but not in an illegal way. When the library put up the article about your job in Gotham I took it because that's not real stealing, everything is free in the library.”

That's not how libraries work. You remember that article, you were put on a 30 under 30 article for art and design in Gotham; you just didn't know the article made its way back to Evergreen. It's sweet that he stole the article, even though he could have just bought a copy of the magazine.

You nod at him, needing him to continue.

“And then when I saw you it all just kinda, came up, you know?”

You do know. Its that same vacuum that sucked air from your lungs and slowed the time down in that fucking Hooters that now feels so much more meaningful and cosmic instead of being what it is. God, what a place for a reunion.

“Yeah, I know,” you say, your voice just above a whisper.

“I didn’t want to be mean, but I felt like I had to, I don’t know why.”

But you know why, you know exactly why.

“No it’s fine, I would have done the same,” you say, the knuckle of your free hand brushing the soft material of his suit pants.

“Yeah. I know,” he laughs, his smile overtaking all of his features. This feels normal, finally. You’re on the same wavelength.

“And I have to admit, I was a little jealous of Laura for taking my best friend position once I heard about you guys in college.”

You roll your eyes, letting yourself lean into him, his shoulder warm under his shirt. His arms look fucking good, with the crisp white

“Where’d your suit jacket go?” you ask, lowering your head to rest it against him.

“Gut’s gonna kill me,” he answers, and you can pretty much assume he’s lost it.

Laughter escapes your lips, loud and almost cackling, and you sit back up so as to not spill your drink as the laughter keeps coming. Adrian joins in, his eyes closed behind those glasses that haven't changed in the past fifteen years, laughter boisterous and light.

“Can we start over?” you interrupt your own laughter, setting your glass down on the ground next to the bench.

Adrian’s laughter subsides, and he goes quiet. He thinks about it for a second.

“Hmm, no,” he answers. Your hands fall limp in your lap, the skirt of your dress making a light swooshing noise at the contact. He could have punched you just now and it would have been less of a surprise to you.

“Oh,” you sigh, trying and failing to play it cool. Your shoulders feel heavy.

“I can’t start over with someone who’s seen my penis… or wore my retainer when she lost hers. Which was really gross,” he laughs, this time a subdued chuckle with a hint of nostalgia, and his eyes travel up and down your body again. You shiver under his gaze.

“Yeah, that was nasty,” you admit, but your teeth are straight no matter what.

You both go quiet, staring out at the treeline behind the venue. A cosmic reset. His hand scoots closer to you on the seat of the bench. The wind whistles and Party Rock Anthem is muffled and obscured by the glass doors leading back into the cocktail hour.

“So your brother and my college roommate, huh?” you break the stillness.

“Yeah, it's uh,” he looks down at his watch, “almost the end of cocktail hour. We get to walk in together, right?”

“Yep,” you confirm, “You made sure of that with the stunt you pulled this morning.”

If he's at all embarrassed, he doesn't show it.

You stand up, rolling your eyes.

“C’mon,” you say, holding your hand out to him.

A cosmic restart.

“And here is your wedding party!” the DJ announces over the microphone. The first couple dances out from under the sting light arch, offbeat and singing along. Then the second. After the third it's you and Adrian, and you can feel him starting to get antsy.

“We’ll be fine,” you reassure him, brushing your knuckles against his.

“Don’t hate me for this,” he whisper-shouts over the music.

You don't have time to even think about what that means because the couple in front of you dances out, but now you're anxious and rigid in your heels. You step into the spotlight, and your cue comes.

But Adrian has other plans, apparently, as he bends down to let his big strong arms (wow are you happy he grew these in your absence) circle your thighs and he hoists you over his shoulder.

You wave awkwardly at all the guests sat for dinner, cackling and slapping Adrian’s back to the beat of the music, Adrians laugh filling your space as he awkwardly dance- walks you across the dance floor to where the other wedding party members are standing and talking, waiting for dinner and the reception to officially begin. You feel giddy, like a late night drive in the summer after Adrian got his license, like when you walked into prom holding Adrian’s hand like you’d just won the lottery. His hands are warm, incredibly so, and his muscles are taut against you.

Fuck, you’d like to feel his muscles against you in - nope, hold that thought. You want to repair whatever this is with Adrian, not be a slut at your friend’s wedding.

When you finally reach your spot, he holds you there for a few moments, his big hands squeezing the backs of your thighs before he puts you down gently. You miss the feeling of his hands on you.

Dinner and more speeches go off wonderfully, and you're thankful you get to stay quiet this time, few eyes on you throughout all of the formal stuff, except for Laura. Sure, her main focus are the speakers and her new husband, but you've caught more than one sneaky glance your way, and you know exactly what that means. Before they leave for their honeymoon in Cabo, she's going to corner you and ask if you and her new brother-in-law are doing anything. And knowing her, she’ll already know the answer.

Adrian nudges you when the plates are cleared by the caterers during the first dance, drawing your eyes away from the happy couple dancing to him, apprehension apparent on his face. You realize that you really haven't spoken to him since he put you down.

“Do you want to… maybe, go out there when they’re done being a lovely couple?” he asks.

“I mean, yeah. I told you to save me a dance,” you respond, and Adrian’s shoulders visibly sag in relief like a weight has just been taken off of them.

And you're lucky enough that your anxiousness is spared that the next two songs and the family dances go by as quickly as they can, and the dancefloor opens for everyone with Vienna by Billy Joel. You look over to Adrian, winking as you rise from your seat, your hand reaching out to lead him away from the table.

He, to your surprise, grabs your hand firmly and lets you lead him out, and you become one of the first couples out on the dance floor. People trickle in after, but they're all peripheral noise and shapes as Adrian’s hands find purchase on your hips.

“I’m glad you're here without a date,” Adrian admits, without a hint of shame in his voice.

“I’m glad you're here without a date too, or else this whole weekend would have been a lot more complicated than it already has been,” you offer honestly, and lean into his swaying. Your fingers play with the curls at the base of his neck absentmindedly.

“It wasn't that complicated,” he says, “We’re just bad at feelings.”

Understatement of the century, you think, but yeah, that checks out. You'd both had hurt feelings and both been weird about it. He hums along as he pulls you closer, your chests almost touching, the heat tangible between you. It's going to be hard to keep your cool around Adrian all night without wanting to be even closer, without wanting to kiss him. Maybe you can kiss him afterward.

“Did you become a Billy Joel fan while I was gone?” you joke, knowing that his taste was a lot more girl pop or harder rock when you last saw him.

“Billy Joel? I thought this was Bruno Mars!”

You want to ask him if he's joking but you already know the answer to that.

“Yeah, I mean they're easy to mix up,” you say, and he nods.

“I really missed you, Adrian,” you finally admit, “I wish I-”

“I wish that you would just let it go, troll under the bridge. Lets have fun before you have to leave again,” he interrupts.

“Well actually,” you readjust your arms, more of a hug than a dance now, “I’m here until next Monday, and I want to give you my number so we can keep in touch. Laura lives here now so…”

“So you have a reason to come out here?” he asks, hopeful.

“You’re a reason to come out here too, if you want to be,” you assure him, and his fingers dig into your hips, the material of the skirt bunching under his palms.

“Really? I do, I want to be-”

Fuck it, you think. Be a slut, do what you want.

You pull Adrian into a kiss, cutting him off mid sentence. He hums, the death of a word coming to die from his lips to yours, and his form melts around yours, his grasp on you growing firmer pressing you against him

“I knew it!” you hear Laura scream, “I fucking knew it!”

But you don't dare pull away from Adrian to laugh with the bride. He keeps swaying, off tempo to the song, but perfect for you. His lips curl up into a smile and his own laughter breaks the kiss, though.

“Do you want to go have sex again?” he asks bluntly, slightly breathless from his own laughter.

Unlike the other night, you're pushing him down onto the mattress tonight, Adrian eagerly shuffling further up onto the bed as you hike up your skirt to climb on top of him. You stop when you're over his hips, letting the skirt pool around him, your flimsy underwear leaving you feeling bare and hot against Adrian’s pants.

You pull him up by his tie, your mouths meeting in the space between you for another sloppy kiss, open-mouthed and wet. You both fall back into the sheets, kissing as your hands move to the knot of the tie. You fiddle with the knot, pulling it one way, then the other, trying to loosen it without breaking the kiss to look at it.

Cmon, cmon.

You feel it tighten against his collar instead of loosen. You have to pull away.

Adrian’s lips chase yours, not opening his eyes until he hears you speak.

“Get rid of the tie, I can't do it!” you demand, your hands instead starting to work at buttons lower down on his chest. He laughs, but his hands leave your body to pull the tie loose, and he does it easily. He slips the stupid thing off of his neck and flings it into the dimness of the room. You're free to unbutton all of his shirt now, pulling at where it's tucked into his pants to get it off of him.

Fuck, he’s beautiful, you think, as you finally get to take in his bare chest. He's got muscle, he's buff, with the lightest dusting of hair between his pectorals and light freckles that you remember.

You pull him back up to sit so he can remove his shirt and you find that to be the wrong move. As he sits up, his hips shift against your core, and you struggle to bite back a needy moan.

“Am I bothering you?” he asks.

“Nope,” you shake your head, biting down on your lip at the friction.

“No? Then you wouldn't mind if I…” he trails off, tilting his hips up into yours again. This time, you feel him rock hard against you, and you whine desperately. Fucking bastard. Adrian chuckles, and you decide to get your revenge.

You push him back down on the mattress the moment the offending shirt is shed, latching your lips onto the expanse of his neck, kissing a wet trail in your wake as he gasps and grunts below you.

“I was so mean to you,” he gasps as you bite at his collarbone, “Do you want to punish me for that?”

Who the fuck is Adrian fucking? Is the first thought through your head. Punish him? What kind of kinky shit does he get up to?

“Don’t wanna punish you,” you dismiss, “Just wanna have you.”

“Okay,” he mumbles, his lips dragging against your hairline as he pulls you lower on top of him until your chests meet, “Still on the table, though.”

You'll keep that in mind.

“Get this dress off,” he groans, equally struggling with the zipper until he finally just rips the hook and eye at the top of it, the zip sliding down your back easily for him after that. You’re definitely going to have to get that repaired, but that’s the last thing on your mind when Adrian is pulling the material off of you half crazed, trying to have you bare against him as soon as he can. He pulls the dress up over your head, maybe not the easiest way to discard it, your arms struggling to untangle from the straps as he unwraps you. You help him push all of the bunched up material across your chest and over you, finally breathing a sigh of relief when the bodice finally comes off of you and you can both drop the dress off the edge of the bed, and his hands immediately working their way to your chest.

His thumb brushes against the faded mark on your breast that he left the other night, sending a shiver down your spine. You're sure he's about to leave even more.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he moans, squeezing at you while his eyes take you in. You’re glad now that you opted for the ‘sexier’ of the no-show underwear you picked out under the dress.

“Thought you said women don’t like being called hot,” you joke, recalling his previous words.

“Right, pretty,” he corrects himself, and you have to shake your head.

“I’m fucking with you,” you laugh.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” he retorts, and quickly flips you over, pinning you underneath him.

“So so pretty like this,” he whispers, his hands trailing down your body, stoking the fires of your arousal.

You’ll keep that in mind, too.

You grab at the sheets, balling the cotton in your fists as Adrian’s hands finally make their way between your thighs. He presses his fingers to your clothed cunt, and you both sigh at the contact.

“Please touch me,” you beg, all the boldness gone from your tone now that he’s got you like this.

“I’ll do you one better!” he says, and moves himself down the bed, removing his hand only so he can remove your panties.

“Can I taste you?” he asks, repositioning you for his own easy access. You nod, tilting your hips up towards him. He puts your legs on his shoulders, and slowly creeps in.

His hot breath fans out over your cunt, his glasses fogging as he looks up at you, the way his cheeks and nose scrunch lets you know that he’s grinning like a maniac.

Without warning, he darts his tongue out, licking between your folds and only stopping when the tip of his tongue meets your clit.

You whine, needy and unexpected, and try to quiet yourself again. You feel him as he exhales through his nose, maybe laughing at your desperation, and moves his tongue; small, deliberate licks against your clit that have you hitching your breath with each one.

“Please,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut and gripping the sheets so tight you could rip them. Adrian dives in like a man starved, his tongue dipping into you and the tip of his nose bumping against your clit. He licks into you like your cunt is what keeps him alive, like the water of life. You moan, languid and loud; his big hands flatten out, one against your stomach and the other along the underside of your breast.

Where the fuck did Adrian Chase learn this? Maybe you don't want to know, maybe you just want to enjoy the skills for what they are. His lips move in tandem with his tongue, not hiding the slurping sounds his mouth makes; fuck, he worships you.

Your orgasm sneaks up on you, at first a slow bubble, and then a sudden boil. Your moans turn almost to screams as you shake under him, your thighs tightening around his head.

Adrian’s having none of that, though. He removes his hands from you, moving them to your thighs to hold them in place. Without the leverage of your legs, your back arches almost painfully, leaning into your orgasm as it shakes your entire system, Adrian just happily working you through it, gradually slowing down his mouths movements as your breathing becomes more and more regulated.

“Good?” he asks, when he finally moves his mouth away from you. Everything from his nose to his chin is soaked in you.

“Y-yeah,” you pant, still catching yourself.

“Good, then you’re ready for me,” he says, smirking as he untangles from your thighs and moves back up. He kisses your cheek, decidedly not letting you taste yourself at this moment. Somehow, in your haze, you hadn't noticed that he’d gotten rid of his pants.

You already feel him, heavy and hard, resting against your entrance, and immediately you need more no matter how sensitive you might be.

“I’ve been ready,” you tell him, and he chuckles.

“Not for this,” and he pushes in to the hilt. He gives you no mercy, like he said he wouldn't. He gives you no time to adjust to his size. You yelp, both in surprise and in pleasure, and he picks up his pace as if your noise was permission.

“Fuck, prettiest girl I’ve ever known, all laid out for me, all for me,” he babbles, his lips just barely brushing yours as he stays close.

“All for you,” your voice comes out in a moan, all control of your volume and tone lost; the fire already building in you again.

“Gonna give you everything, all for you,” he says, like a promise, his own voice strained.

He doesn't hold back in his pace, pushing in all the way each time, deep and hard, a slamming pace. He's not gentle, but the way that he looks at you is full of all of the affection and sweetness he holds for you. This is your best friend. This is… whatever he is beyond that.

“Adrian, kiss me,” you beg, wanting to seal yourself to him, to connect.

“But I might taste-”

“I don’t care.”

That's all he has to hear, and once the kisses start, they don't stop. He moves a little awkwardly at first, his pace faltering slightly to adjust for this connection, but he finds his rhythm again. He thrusts sharply, your hips moving to meet him as best you can, your bodies moving in sync with your pleasure. He quickens his pace, his kisses getting harsher, more bruising. Adrian is a kisser, you realize. He likes it like this.

“I’m gonna—,” he gasps after his harshest thrust yet, and you grab his hips, holding him close.

“Go ahead,” you say, breathless yourself and ready to lose your own composure.

He pumps into you harder, his hips snapping against you sure to bruise. Adrian’s hand leaves your hip to move his thumb to your clit, rubbing quick circles that choke out sobs from your throat. It's hard to hold on, both physically to his hips but also to your composure. Every thought of him, him, him, and the fire inside of you that fights to escape.

“Adrian, please,” you beg, voice watery and desperate, and he obeys, speeding up his movements until you scream, and shake, and lose everything. Your mind whites-out. No thoughts but the specific shade of green of his eyes.

And when you come back you feel full, sticky and hot. Adrian holds you tightly, still inside you, snuggling you close and cradling your body to him. He's shushing you and pressing kisses into your skin, muttering sweet nothings to soothe you. Fuck, thats never happened before.

“That was good?” you ask, breathless laughter in your tone.

“Now I know you have to be joking with me,” he says, pulling back slightly, “That was mind-blowing! Literally.”

He pulls away more, and you reach out to reel him back into your embrace. Adrian reassures you he’ll be right back. Even after all of this, the tiniest doubt creeps in, and when he backs out of the room, boxers in hand, you pull the sheets up over you tightly.

He comes back into the room with two glasses of water in only his boxers, a sight you want to get used to. He places the glasses down on the nightstand and throws the covers over the both of you, enveloping you in their warmth and his. Adrian runs like a furnace.

“Can you stay this time?” Your voice is small, vulnerable. Adrian’s warm hand cups your cheek, and he shimmies closer to you under the covers.

“How much does a flight to Gotham cost?” he asks, deadly serious.

You balk at his question.

“Adrian, you can't uproot your life for me,” you insist, feeling bad suddenly about the way you continue to cling to him, hands pressed into his back to hold him to you.

“Psh, who said that? I figure maybe Evergreen can survive without me for a week or so. I wanna take you on a real date,” he snuggles closer, curling the blankets further over you. Your own little world, a little bubble just for the two of you.

You’ll remind him that Gotham is currently surviving a week without you, too, in the morning.

“I’d like that,” you say, sleep sinking into the edges of your voice.

“Get some rest,” he says, sounding just as sleepy, his head feeling heavier against you, “I’ll be here in the morning.”

He is.

#adrian chase x reader

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