I need a polite and effective way to say "hey your heart is truly in the right place and your anger is often righteous but I think sometimes you’re getting recreationally mad about things that are frankly not worth the amount of energy you’re spending on them, and every time you do this you're driving yourself slightly more insane with nothing to show for it," and then I need a way to broadcast that message through a loudspeaker to roughly 30,000 people at once, and THEN I need a time machine to send that message to my past self lol. and maybe a second time machine in case past me tries to be clever and sabotage the version of me who comes through the first time machine
the dynamic between you and alt!adrian isn't complicated since coming back from the other world. it's more or less a relationship. quarantined from authorities and with the addition of your adrian, but mostly just the same as any other. there's a gnawing itch, though, that one day it will come to an end. [PART ONE] // [PART TWO] // [KINKTOBER'25] // [GEN. MASTERLIST]
pairing: alt!adrian chase x f!reader
tags: 18+ MINORS DNI, major angst, somno, dubcon bc of somno, established relationship, flashbacks, conflict, unprotected sex, // 12/13 — SOMNOPHILIA
word count: 5.4k+
a/n: i have had so much fun writing this impromptu series. i just fell so in love with the dynamic between reader and alt!adrian, there will be a part 4 up later but i'll leave you with this for now <3
The problems for another time were here, sleeping heavy in the bed next to you. When you finally caught up with the rest of the team, Other Adrian in tow, there was too much going on to truly sit in the decision to come back. Nazis, fascist society, Other Adrian apparently a tent pole for the resistance force.
A litany of dead bodies later, there was no choice. Yanking Other Adrian into the Quantum Unfolding Chamber behind you, spray of bullets destroying the trophy shelf behind him, and the door shut just in time.
In the months since, the team split up in the interim of a long-term solution. Chris and Leota stuck together, hotel hopping, while Economos and Emilia turned over Chris’ letter. With Judomaster’s firsthand account of seeing Chris disappear through the portal, it proved to be enough to stave off suspicion for the time being. A few perjured details to pull the wool over Rick Flag Sr.’s eyes, and Em was welcomed back with open arms, heading a task force to search for the missing device. And she would, eventually.
You and the Adrians went home, portal device tucked safely underneath your bed. ARGUS made it to Adrian’s house a day too late, police swarming the street outside, pulling Adrian and his mom for questioning. They had nothing, ripped the place apart, interrogated the Chases until mother and son alike drove ARGUS mad with their incessant chatter.
Once you knew they were released safe and sound, all there was to do was wait for the dust to settle. There was limited communication between your splintered groups, but the trust remained.
You refused to leave the house unless absolutely necessary, Adrian coming to you more than you went to him. It was hard to look at a woman you thought of as a second mom and not unburden yourself to her, even harder to keep her from another version of her son. A version more weather worn and possessed wholly in his discovery of you, but her son nonetheless.
It was weeks of hiding, but also weeks of a life you could get comfortable with. Other Adrian in your bed at night, splayed and reaching out for you in the morning. You brushed your teeth together, cramped in the tiny bathroom of your childhood home. He sat spinning on a barstool while you cooked, willing to chop vegetables or make a salad, something to contribute to the home.
And home, it really felt.
You were keenly aware that this was out of necessity, the scintillating high of your tryst in the other world clouding the decision making skills of your whole trio. Given the time, you don’t know that Other Adrian would’ve come back with you, really. When the dam broke on the reality of his world, he spoke with a conviction you’d only seen a few times in your own Adrian. His pursuit to rid the world of injustice, the team he’d built there. His loyalty stretched immediately to the team you and your Adrian found, but you didn’t know that he necessarily wanted to leave his own behind.
He didn’t ever ask to leave. Occasionally you overheard him talking to himself in the bathroom, sounded like recounting memories, and sometimes he talked to you about what must be going on “over there.” Reminisced over how good his counterpart looked tearing into the jugular of The Blue Dragon, drew you into kisses and undressing, the quick connection of your bodies as he cooed about how good you looked with your blade at Captain Triumph’s sternum. Excitement in the way he touched you, certain the Sons of Liberty must be wiping the floor with the remaining police force now that the Top Trio were out of the picture.
Other Adrian revered you, but the dynamic with your own slipped back into its usual rhythm. He backed off since being home, a kiss on the forehead if you fell asleep on the couch, typical contact you’d been used to since childhood, entirely platonic and still leaving you curious. Especially curious, now that you’d sworn something must’ve changed. Should’ve changed, right? There was no way he could just brush off the threesome like he’d brushed off that playground kiss. And yet, when he walked in the door after every closing shift, he sat at the far end of the couch.
“This is gonna be the first movie I’ve watched in like, five years.” Other Adrian remarked early on, your head in his lap, his hands playing with the hem of your shirt.
“Really?” You stared up at him, and he met your eyes, ducking down for a kiss.
“Nothing good is on since the government passed the One For All Act, it’s just a bunch of action movie reruns from the 80s.”
“That’s not so bad.” You remarked, reaching out with your foot to kick your Adrian, “Right? You’d know more than me.”
Adrian turned with furrowed brows, nodding, “Oh yeah dude, Star Wars and Indiana Jones on repeat? Killer.”
Other Adrian blinked at you both, shrugging.
You sat up on your elbows, looking between the two, “You don’t know wh—oh.”
“What?” Other Adrian asked.
“Indiana Jones literally fights Nazis, it’s incredibly badass.” Adrian explained, “And, well, yeah I guess Star Wars is out of the question too.”
He scratched the crown of his hair with one finger, “Stormtroopers are basically Nazis.”
“Oh, it’s about the Stormtrooper Collective? We have lots of movies about those fucking pigs.”
“What the hell is the Stormtrooper Collective?” Simultaneous with your Adrian.
He looked at you both like you have two heads, “It’s the military, you guys don’t have a military here?”
Adrian flicked his gaze to prod you to speak, “I mean, we do, but it’s mostly poor kids from hick states. It’s extremely predatory here.”
“Right!” Other Adrian’s eyes widened, glad to have found common ground, “So you get it. Everybody wants to be a cop, no-obody wants to be in the Stormtrooper Collective.” He shook his head, laughing.
You and your Adrian grimace at each other, and you settle back into Other Adrian’s lap, reaching for his hand, “I’m glad you came back with us.” You caught your Adrian looking quickly away as you pressed a kiss to his alternate’s palm, muttering against the skin, “Nobody should live without seeing Indiana Jones.”
Many nights passed like this, the three of you throwing on a movie or playing a board game, sometimes you’d sit on your phone while they played video games together. Other Adrian welcomed you however you wanted to exist with him, resting between his legs on the floor, or curled up in his arms on the couch. It felt very much like a real relationship, more normal than you ever would’ve expected from either one of them.
He was still an odd duck, chattering during sex, his train of thought jumping between dots you had to connect yourself through weird, distant relations. Some of the asynchronicities could be chalked up to the diverging history of your two worlds, but most of it was just him.
There was one night, both of you tossing and turning in your sleep until inevitably you couldn’t force it anymore. The barest shade of sunlight far off in the horizon casting a ghostly blue into the bedroom. He’d found solace in your body, pressing his mouth to your back, one shoulder-blade, then the other, up your neck to mutter into your ear.
“Do you ever wish the other me, your me, was here with us?” A deep kiss to the edge of your jaw.
The question caught you entirely by surprise, eyes heavy with exhaustion, the cold drifting through gaps at the edge of the blanket. You’re not sure what the truth would even be.
It was nice, that time spent with both of them in the familiar bedroom of Other Adrian in Other World. The memory slips into your brain sometimes when you’re with him, when he’s inside you, kissing you. Once or twice you’ve woken up with his hand coasting down your body, with his head between your legs. There was an agreement after the flurry of coming home and deciding what you wanted to be to each other, that at the very least you would make the most of the time you had. And when he wakes you in that way, for a second, just a split second, you’re calling his name with someone else in mind.
So the truth is confusing. You love this Adrian, how can you not? He’s been fawning at your heels since the moment you met, put his life on the line for you and the team, there was never a will they-won’t they because you did, and fast. Live-in boyfriend, just like that. And he did feel like a boyfriend, but you would never ask for the title, because you couldn’t count on him in your life forever. On figuring out how he could even exist out in the world, how enmeshing him in your life would change your dynamic with the team. Adrian but not That Adrian, both yours in different ways.
The prospect of permanence was something you couldn’t wrap your head around, and so, for however nice this was, you couldn’t count on it.
What you could count on was your Adrian as a best friend. That was a title you’d both worn for over three decades now. Obviously, you love your Adrian. There weren’t many moments in your life you hadn’t shared with him. He was as familiar as a birthmark, honestly, he could be classified as a kind of birthmark. It felt like an inevitability, sleeping with him, taking that step in your relationship. The doppelganger part was a surprise, but he, himself, was not. And it’s not that you lingered on the thought, not that you pined after him in secret. It just seemed an obvious likelihood, maybe bored or drunk or lonely, finding comfort in each other in a way you’d never before.
The reality was better than the scratching imagery in your head, his touch careful, tentative, the admission of his efforts gone unrecognized. Trying to kiss you, to fuck you, apparently, for years.
But then, once you were through that door, back home, nothing.
He knew you and his alternate were having sex, the two of them talked about it like the weather, but there was never mention of another instance with the three of you. Never even mention of just you and your Adrian—you’re pretty sure Other Adrian wouldn’t love that prospect, though. He held tight to some residual jealousy, kissed you a little extra when your Adrian was around. Hated hearing you call him that, still.
Balancing their tempers was not your job, but you extended the courtesy anyway.
You loved them, after all.
“I—I don’t know.” You turned to face him, curling into his grasp, “Do you?”
Other Adrian shifted onto his back, tugging you to lay on his chest, palm squeezing your shoulder. He took in a full breath, thinking before he exhaled his words, “Well, doesn’t really matter what I think, I’m not fucking him.”
You laughed, pushing yourself up to straddle him, a kiss hovering just above his mouth, “I’m perfectly happy.”
“You are?” He leaned up on his elbows, head cocked to the side.
“Yeah,” You mirrored his angle, “I had sex with you first, remember?”
You’d tried to cut the tension, but there was weight in the way he looked at you; honesty, fear.
“I remember, believe me, it was out of this world.”
“Literally.” You circled your forefinger at your temple, a sign universally recognized in your world as ‘crazy’ but Adrian frowned.
Before you could ask him if you accidentally just flipped him off, he’d sat up and slipped his arms around your back. A hand came around to cradle your head, guiding it into the crook of his neck.
“Adrian,” You’d asked, “Is everything okay?”
He nodded against you, “Would you ever want him here, your Adrian?”
At the time you’d responded with a truthful agreement, and put the matter to bed. Put yourselves to bed, his hands softer on you than they’d ever been, long kisses, slow thrusts. Adrian being Adrian, cryptic and unknowable no matter how well you knew him, even this other version. He was nothing if not unabashed with his intentions, so, yeah, at the time, of course you had no reason to doubt there was anything beneath the surface of him wanting the thrill of what once was.
Especially when the weeks continued to slip by in much the same fashion as before. Chinese takeout delivered to your front door on lazy nights, Adrian slowly taking over cooking duties as you taught him what he’d never had time to learn between terror plots and the fight for liberty. Movie nights in the living room, you’d even read them a few books over several days. A bedtime story for the five nights your Adrian had to stay, police nosing around after some concerned citizen reported Chris at their motel.
You piled blankets on the floor like childhood, introducing Other Adrian to the concept of a slumber party, sharing scary stories, making cootie catchers, all the traditional fixings of a proper sleepover.
There was nothing special after that night, nothing different. Maybe Other Adrian held you a little tighter, kissed you a little longer, not unusual considering the big difference between the two was that Other Adrian fell very quickly into his comfort with you. With touching you, being touched by you. Your Adrian always shied away from touch, too conscious of the space his body took up, always a centimeter away from grazing against you and on the move before you could close the gap.
Even now, as you stir in bed, nothing feels out of place. Exhaustion weighs your body down, keeps you from waking entirely as Other Adrian presses kisses down your arm, your stomach, his tongue prodding at the fabric of your underwear. He’s slow, keeping his hands to himself, gentle licks soaking the cotton as he laps at you.
You grumble in your sleep, settling deeper into the mattress, turning your head to the other side.
He pauses, trailing kisses back up your body once he’s certain you’ve stopped stirring, tugging your t-shirt gently up as he goes. It feels like he’s stamping every inch of your body with his lips, moving in a rows from your pelvis up to your tits, each soft kiss leaving behind a brand. You can picture what you’d look like if he was wearing bright lipstick, where you’d be covered in red, what little dots would be left without pigment.
His mouth closes around one of your tits, tongue wet and flickering over the raised nerve endings.
You can hear him muttering something against your skin, and you steady your breathing, waiting for him to make his way to your neck.
Barely audible, shaking, exhaled into your skin, “I’m sorry” again and again.
Stirring, you reach to drag your fingers through his hair, and he stares up at you with wide, worried eyes.
“What?” Your voice is caught in your throat, and you cough, “What are you sorry for?”
He keeps staring at you, the pout in his lips falling open, chin dropping as he fails to start several sentences.
“Adrian?”
His eyes squeeze shut halfway through you saying his name, and he starts shaking his head back and forth.
There’s no sleep left in your body in this instant, and you sit up with your back resting at the headboard, a hand running down Adrian’s back.
“Hey, hey, Adrian.” You whisper, “What’s wrong?”
He swallows hard, and opens his eyes, expression wrought with hurt. It’s the same look your Adrian had whenever he really betrayed your feelings. Guilt, pain, so deep and overwhelming just the sight makes you want to cry.
You don’t need him to answer. There’s really only one thing that could have him this torn up.
“You’re going back.”
Adrian sits up to face you, tucking his legs underneath him. He reaches for your hand, and despite the coarse pain in your gut, you let him.
“When, um, how?” You blink away tears before they can form. You will not cry.
“Do you remember that day you came home to a package from Harcourt? The, um, satellite phones?”
“Yeah.”
“She dropped it off herself and said she’d help me find a way to get back, if I wanted. In exchange for the portal device.”
“So, you want to go?”
“I think I have to, right? I love how few Nazis there are here compared to my world, but my life’s mission is to kill them all. The number’s only going to grow without me around, the Sons of Liberty probably think I’m dead already.”
You nod, reality still catching up to your body, a distant feeling. Not real.
“When are you leaving?”
“Harcourt said it needs to be done by sunrise.”
“That’s only a few hours away!” Sadness turns to outright panic, and you shove out of the blankets, pacing next to the bed, “Adrian, Jesus, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings!” He slides off to join you, and you bat his hands away as he tries to bring you to him, tries to stop you pacing.
“That’s so stupid!” You press your hands to your forehead, strands of hair pulling back taut as you try to force away the sickness swirling in your body, “I’m coming with you. I’ll watch you go, say goodbye, I can’t just—”
You could throw up, and you keel over, crouching down with your hands on your hips, squeezing the skin at your hipbones until it hurts. You continue pacing once you’ve steadied, hands still tight on your hips.
“No, no way, Harcourt would never let you.”
“Fuck her, she can’t stop me! You can’t, you won’t.”
“She knew you would say that, it’s why she’s coming to get me herself, she really cares about you.” Adrian shakes his head, approaching you in your blurred fury, hands on your shoulders forcing you to stop. His voice softens, “Hey.”
You stare at his bare chest, refusing to meet his eye, stiff in his grasp.
“Your friend is risking a lot for me, the one rule she gave me is that you are not allowed you put yourself in danger.” He stutters, “A-and I agree.”
There’s a long pause, and you can feel his eyes boring into you, hands shaking as they hold you in place. It takes even longer, your brain catching up to the moment, but you meet his eyes, panic cracking underneath your skin. If you really tried, you’re sure you could rip it off in one fell swoop.
“Can you come here?” Adrian flinches, resisting his obvious urge to pull you in.
And you can’t help it, his green eyes glittering in the moonlight, the frown carved into his face. You collapse into his grasp, arms clamoring for as much of his skin as you can grasp. Still, you won’t cry.
“I’m sorry.” He repeats it over and over, arms squeezing you before he lifts you just off the ground, swaying in the dark, quiet room.
Your room, it’s become.
It’s indescribable, really, what you’re feeling right now. You could try, but how do you sum it up in any comprehensible way? There’s heartbreak, in being left. Grief, in the permanence of leaving. Disbelief, at your attachment. And love, so much love it swells in your chest amidst the destruction.
“I love you.” He interrupts his cacophony of penance, pulling back to look at you, eyes flicking to your lips.
“Adrian,” You stretch out of his arms, finding your footing, but staying in the sheathe of his arms.
“I—” You pause, panic swirling in your brain again.
His hands come to your cheeks, calling your attention, “It’s alright, if you just love him.”
Shaking your head, you grind your teeth together while gathering whatever courage you can muster, “No, no. I mean, I do love him, of course I love him. But I love you. I love you too.”
He leans to kiss your forehead, “Obviously. I am him.”
You push him from you with a furious, “No!” and rest your fists against his chest.
“You might be packaged the same, sure, fine, DNA and all, but you’re different. I know. I see him, I know him. And I see you.” You let him hold you once more, “And I love you. All on your own.”
Adrian is kissing you before you can take in a breath, walking you over to the bed and enveloping you with his body. The kisses are deep, desperate, like he can swallow you whole and take you with him if he tries hard enough.
You let yourself be touched, swaths of fabric bundled underneath you, his lips across your neck, down either slope of your shoulders.
He cups your warmth with his hand, middle finger dragging the damp fabric of your underwear in slow succession before he prods you to take it off. One, two fingers sink into you, his lips hovering against yours as he takes in your breath, the soft skin of his lips faint and bumping just so as he pumps inside you.
You crane your head up, meeting his mouth, the quietest please as you kiss him.
“What?” He asks, reaching to smooth a thumb over your eyebrow. He catches on a bump in your skin, and darts to kiss it.
“Can we, um, can we skip the preamble?” Your hips hitch up into his hand, and you swallow down a moan, “I just want you inside me, I just want—”
You want him to stay, and you both know it, but the words never leave your chest.
“If this is our last time together, I don’t need anything else.” You reach down to palm at his boxers, tugging them off and away.
“Ohh, fuck, fuck it feels just as good as the first time.” He screws his eyes shut, “I’m so fucking glad I found you.”
You’re pulling him into more kisses, closing the space with quiet moans, with your hand on his erection, with anything to keep him from cooing those praises. You’re not sure you could really handle it, the ache in your gut already swarming through your nerves, wanting to hold tight and never let go. You understand, perhaps for the first time, how your Adrian must feel when you make a decision he doesn’t like. When Chris brushes him off, or he’s otherwise snuffed by the team. Sometimes he backs down, falls into line, but one of his defining traits is defiance. Initiative powered by obsession.
He moves like he knows what’s best for you, and right now you feel wholly possessed by the same notion.
You could cry, probably. You could beg and plead and follow after him if he goes anyway, but you’re sure asking him to stay would be enough. And a worse version of you would, a version that didn’t love him. For a minute, when you first met, you really just thought of him as “the other one.” Your Adrian, just slightly more askew.
But now, you swear you look at them and see two different faces. An entire man, on his own.
A life, a team, a purpose entirely divergent from you.
So you crowd the space with your mouth on his, split seconds to breathe, lips swollen and slick as you clamor for him on top of you.
He grinds himself between your folds, sliding past your entrance until you hitch your hips up and he sinks inside with no contest.
You both cry out in the dark room, bodies flush against each other, the slow rut of his pelvis atop yours. His weight settles quick from crushing to comforting, sweat suctioning your skin together.
More than comfort, more than pleasure, you feel complete. Full with him inside you, with your flesh tacking—jostled, not split, by his arrhythmic thrusts. If this has to be the last time, you could live with it. Could live, satisfied, knowing at one time you felt embodied by what this kind of love must truly be like, how this kind of connection could manifest in touch and desperation and the suspension of a world outside each other.
Adrian’s mouth broke from yours for the first time since he filled you, dragging down your cheek, teeth nipping at the skin of your jaw. He kisses your pulse, sucking a hickey into the tender muscle. And another. Another. Marking you as deep as he can, biting into soft tissue, and you can feel him unravel with every succeeding brand.
“Hey, hey.” You knot your fingers through his hair, pulling him back to look at you, combing one hand along the side over and over until his breathing steadies, “It’s okay.”
He shakes his head and lets his forehead fall against yours. Silent still.
“Adrian, hey, it’s alright. It is.” You coast your hand down the back of his head, pinching at the nape of his neck before repeating the action. Soothing strokes punctuated by the jolt of skin on skin, his hips steadily rocking inside you, focused on his breathing.
“All I want to say is ‘I love you.” He says, “It’s like, thoughts are bouncing off my brain but the only thing my mouth wants to do is tell you how much I love you.”
You smile, tilting up into a kiss, “I like hearing it.”
His rhythm picks up, voice faltering, “I definitely wish I said it earlier. Right when I first felt it, but I didn’t know that’s what I was feeling, actually.”
“When did you first feel it?” You let your eyes flutter closed, let him nestle back against your neck, hot breath and wet kisses along your skin.
“When you—oh, fuck—when you reached for me while you were fucking him. You-you grabbed my hand,” He laughs, and relief washes over you, the tiniest spirit of giddiness choking itself in your throat as you gasp, his voice at the shell of your ear, “It felt like I got kicked in the stomach, but good. Do you remember that?”
He presses a firm kiss to the spot, sliding a hand underneath your head to cradle you into him, your arms hooking beneath his to grab at his back.
“I remember, I remember.” You repeat until it fades into whimpers.
“I want to make you cum.” He says, “Is this enough? What do you need?”
You nod, “Yea-ah, this, it feels nice, just...touch me and I’ll cum. I’ll—shit, I’ll cum for you.”
“Wow.” Adrian groans, prodding your mouth open with his thumb, letting you slick him up before he slips it between your bodies.
The intrusion feels frustrating, your bodies separating with a harsh schlick, torsos peeling apart as he fixes a better angle. He’s still close, you can feel the heat off his chest, but you mourn the temporary loss.
He slips his thumb over your clit, circling the taut bundle of nerves in tandem with his stuttered thrusts. The pleasure does enough to make up for the separation, and before he’s brought his mouth back down to meet you, you’re spasming against him, arching up into his hand as the orgasm throttles your senses.
“Oh, fuck, that was fast.” He breathes, fucking you through it, his eyes coasting down your body as it writhes underneath him.
You’re clamoring for his crushing weight again before the convulsions in your abdomen stop, the harsh rutting of him inside you just serving to prolong your spasms.
“I told you.” You breathe out a laugh, and he kisses it away, more I love you’s just above a whisper.
His climax rushes through him no more than a minute later, and he cries out your name. His hips deadlock, but you hitch up against him, riding him through it as he tenses around you.
You let the silence crowd the room in the aftermath, turning to face each other, yanking a blanket up over your bodies.
It would take a wrecking ball to separate you two right now, and even then you might just succumb to your fate. Vice grip on each other, curled inward, two bodies occupying one space.
The sparse hours count down into minutes, then seconds, until Adrian pulls in enough breath to burst his lungs. You feel his chest expand, held longer than probably reasonable before it contracts, slow and steady out. He pauses whenever the sigh starts to shake, longer intervals each time, dwindling down to the last remaining air, unfaltering.
You both sit up and stare at your interlocked hands. He wrings yours as if they’re his own, pressing his fingertips into your knuckles, squeezing his thumb into the center of your palm.
“Do you think there’s another you back there?” He finally asks.
“I don’t know, Adrian, but I wouldn’t bet on it.” You pause, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows down your answer, a gentle nod.
“I’m glad you’ll still have me, at least.”
You duck into his eye-line, pulling him into a kiss, shaking your head, “I won’t, though.”
He stares back at you, tragedy in his eyes, but he nods in acceptance.
You watch him stand up and pull his armor from the closet, his back to you as he tugs each piece on. The mask he keeps in his hands.
“You’re gonna wipe the floor when you get back there.” You cross the room to join him, reaching for his hand and pressing kisses to each knuckle.
“I am.” He furrows his brow, working his jaw, conviction in his face, “But I’ll look for you too. Wherever you might be hiding.”
A tired kiss, you comb your fingers through his hair, “Just don’t forget about me.”
“Oh, believe me.” There’s some lightness back in his voice, bright eyes, “That’s basically impossible.”
“Unless you get memory wiped.” You cock your head, tugging the corner of your mouth up into a half-smile.
Adrian flicks his eyes up, thinking before his gaze settles back on you, “Mm probably not even then.”
You’re grateful for this last moment, this flicker of him before you part.
“I’m glad I made such an impression.”
“Understatement of the century.” He leans forward to kiss your forehead, tilting your jaw up to kiss the tip of your nose, and a long, languid kiss on the lips.
It feels final, and you’re certain he’s taking in just as much as you’re trying to. The wash of his tongue over yours, his nose slotted beside yours, the way he cradles your face with gloved hands. His lips are trembling against yours, and you can feel the panic in his breath, feel the way his hands shake as they hold you. You wrap your arms around him, cooing I love you between kisses to pull him back.
He whispers it a beat behind you, voices trailing off into open-mouthed kisses, memorizing hands and teeth clacking and the sound of each other’s breath.
Adrian pulls away at the sound of a car door slamming outside, his hand stilling on your cheek. He winces at the loud knock that follows.
“I love you. I do. Thank you for, for fucking, everything.” His eyes are wide as he laments his final exaltation, chaste kisses desperate, pleading between your lips. Whispered affection, lingering, longing already.
“I love you, Adrian.” You let yourself kiss him once more. Keep yourself from falling into it. One tight grasp to the back of his hair, a kiss to his cheek, eyes sliding closed, “You need to go.”
Cold air swallows the space around you.
“Hey.” Soft voice in the doorway.
You open your eyes to see him standing in the light of the hallway, a smile on his lips. He raises a finger to his temple and spins it around in quick circles, whispering, “I love you.”
It’s impossible not to let out a weak laugh, no matter how tight your chest feels. You match his gesture, whisper it back.
Eyes on each other, even as Emilia knocks at the door again, Adrian tugs the mask down. The ache in your stomach grows, and you want so badly to look away. To not see him go, but you grit your teeth and nod once.
it's been the longest winter of your life, the longest time of your life, and when you decide to try and reunite the group for a weekend trip in the woods, Adrian is the only one on board. he already calls you every day, a weekend alone might not be the worst thing in the world. maybe. [MASTERLIST]
pairing: adrian chase x f!reader
tags: 18+ ONLY, explicit, friends to lovers, weekend getaway, nip slip, light angst to mega fluff, caught masturbating, handjobs, blowjobs, adrian's a munch, facesitting, unprotected sex, happy ending, lowkey caught
word count: 7.1k+
a/n: it's been a long two years. bye love u.
Nerves rattle your prickled skin as you trudge up to the old cabin, feet crunching days old snow. It wasn’t that you were necessarily scared to be in a cabin—alone, in the woods—with Adrian, just that you were scared to be in a cabin, alone in the woods—with Adrian. In the best of times, the team was a family of shelter dogs learning how to play for the first time, and sure, he was by far the least intimidating, but you were skittish anyway. Shelter dog and all that.
Things had gone mostly radio silent since Leota’s press conference, small concessions like a coffee with Chris here, beer with Harcourt there, phone calls and phone calls and phone calls with Adrian always. That was something you could count on, and as the weather chilled he ended up being the only one to jump aboard your pathetic reunion plans. Nothing seemed to be going right for anyone, and as the frosted door handle shot ice up your wrist, this seemed like just another thing gone wrong.
The cabin is quiet, lofted ceilings echoing your entrance, resounding silence feeling sinister in the quieting sunset. You’d discovered this defunct safe house a few years prior, coordinates on some outdated documents from an agency that ceased to exist in the revitalization of ARGUS and scuffle of superhuman bureaucracy. Once or twice a year you’d drop in to make sure it was, in fact, still safe. Sometimes you needed the weekend. When the world felt disorienting, this could right the ship.
You roll dusty sheets off and away from the furniture, revealing plump Tuscan Revival couches with tasseled pillows and wrought-iron tables inlaid with beige mosaics. It was a lovely little ritual, uncovering this time capsule, hearing the generator hum to life, figuring out the water pump yet again.
Stepping into the hot shower was a well earned reward, steam clouding the room, settling the tension in your shoulders. You cut past the sick swirl of disappointment in your stomach, knowing the team seemed disinterested in what felt, to you, like a huge gesture. The sensation curdled into a kind of warm seasickness when you thought instead about Adrian, the hours upon hours you must’ve spent listening to him on the phone.
“You call your mom this much?” You’d asked him once, eyes skirting a book you’d read before.
“No, why would I?” He laughed, “I see her at dinner every day.”
It wasn’t exactly a surprise, he did work a meager food service job and you’re certain those paychecks went straight to the Vigilante arsenal. Still, the shameless admission got your attention back to the conversation.
“Aw, wait, you live with your mom?”
“Yes.” Point blank, almost mocking as he continued, “All my Vigilante stuff is there. What, am I supposed to transport heavy artillery to an apartment? That’s real smart thinking.”
“No, no.” You chuckled, “It’s sweet, actually, but is it the safest thing for her?”
“Did you hear me? Heavy. Artillery.” He raised his voice, leaving a beat between words, “I think there’s something wrong with your connection. I’m gonna hang up and call you back.”
“No—”
The memory made you laugh out loud in the shower, and you floated in and out of similar distinct conversations. The first time he made an objective statement about your good looks, when he seemed to know exactly what book you were reading for the fifth time, the surprise breadsticks left outside your bedroom window and the phone call that followed, feigned ignorance. You didn’t even have to pay attention half the time, but the longer your call history got, the more attentive you became without really meaning to. There was communion, companionship, conversations about nothing and here you stood, stomach flipping in anticipation over a weekend face to face after so long apart.
You were counting on the others to ease relations, neither you nor Adrian could be called socially adept in any scenario—he too chatty, you too sparse. Still, it was nice he came through, you supposed, no matter how harrowing his full attention may end up being. Nerves shake away the nice memories, and you turn the heat up, zoning out in the scalding stream until it turns cold.
Water pools on the floor as you step onto the stone tiling, terry cloth bathrobe loose around your shoulders, shaking moisture from your hair like a wet dog. You toss your dirty t-shirt on the puddle, scuffing your feet on the sleeves to dry them before daring to step foot on the decades old carpet. Who knew what kind of random viscera you’d pick up walking around here with damp feet.
The hallway upstairs looks out over the living room, and you lean on the loft balcony rail, head on your forearms. It was still quiet, snow falling in gentle wafts as the last slats of sunlight overlaid the house in golden stripes. A still moment like this was always inevitably interrupted by Adrian calling, and you instinctively turn your phone in your hand. You weren’t sure when he meant to arrive, and the safe house cell jammers kept you from even checking in.
What used to be peace now felt like loneliness without his voice as the punctuation.
—
You make your way to the bedroom closet where you’d left your bags, singing under your breath. It was probably overkill, the amount you’d packed, for just a weekend, but there was something about dutifully filling the dresser each time. A little sense of permanence where you’d scarcely ever find it, making this place something of a secret home.
You’re just squishing down the last of your shirts when a voice startles you.
“Wow, you’re being so responsible.”
You spot movement behind you in the mirror of the closet door.
“Jesus Christ, Adrian.” Turning to face him, you pull the lapel of the robe shut, crossing your arms, “Why didn’t you announce yourself sooner?”
He slides off the bed to walk over, shrugging, “You’re always telling me to stop interrupting you, I dunno. Hey, that was a nice little song you were singing. Cascada?”
“What? No, not every song is Cascada.” You search his face for any sign of faltering, some guilt, anything other than his immovable ease. There was nothing, just a pleasant smile and an indestructible sparkle in his eyes.
“You like Cascada, though.”
“Sure, but like, just the one song.” Running a hand through your damp hair, you catch a couple knots and turn away from Adrian to work on them in the mirror.
“Should I get into pajamas too?” He puts his hands on his hips, nodding in your direction. “I did only pack my sleep boxers, though.”
“Sleep boxers?” It was a lot easier to look at him through the mirror, to pretend your attention was split. You’re not sure you had the bandwidth to handle full force Adrian right now.
“Uh, yeah, sleep boxers. You think I fight crime in the same underwear I go to sleep in? That’s gross.” He tugs off his long sleeve polo, undershirt jumping up his torso, having come untucked as he stretches to wrest the buttoned collar over his head. Your eyes flit to the curve of his pelvis in the mirror, and you yank too quickly on a knot, hissing to yourself.
It did annoy you that he could be so ridiculous and still look...like that.
“I—just leave the undershirt on. It’s not strip poker in here.”
He laughs, a hand over his belly, “That would be some high stakes, one round and you’re donezo.” A pout overtook his lips, “Peacemaker would love it.”
You turn to leave the bedroom, shoving your hands in the pockets of the robe, “Yeah, well, they’re all too busy, apparently.”
Adrian trails behind you, “Have you heard from anyone lately? Adebayo let me bring her dog a hat last week, but there was yelling and she wouldn’t let me inside.”
“I—” You freeze in your tracks, and Adrian brushes against you as he stops short. You knew things were bumpy with her and Keeya, but they seemed to be on the right track when you’d seen her last. But then, when was the last time you’d seen her? You shake your head, continuing down the spiral stairs to the living room, “I haven’t seen anyone in a few weeks. Economos texts me which, is nice, but he’s obviously stuck at Belle Reve.”
“Tell me about it. He hasn’t answered five of my calls in the last two weeks.”
“Oh,” There was a sting, knowing Adrian’s attention wasn’t entirely yours, that perhaps Economos was a better sounding board for his nagging, if you were still trying to convince yourself that’s what it was, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah, I mean, I’m learning all these cool new things, and if you don’t answer, and Economos doesn’t answer, I’m just memorizing facts for what?”
“For the betterment of the self?”
“Yeah, right.” He laughs, and you spin on your heels at the base of the stairs to flick the mop of curls on his forehead.
“Whatever, at least your hair’s evolving. Looks good.”
“It does?” His heel slips off the last step, and you reach out for each other, your hand finding the base of his bicep, his hand clasped on your shoulder.
Adrian’s lifts his gaze from the floor to you, his mouth stretching from a startled ‘o’ to an incredulous smile, “Woah, imagine I just died.”
“You wouldn’t have died.” Taking your hand away, you roll your eyes.
“How would you know? Half a million people die from head height falls every year around the world.”
“Seems like bullshit.”
He raises his hands defensively, “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.”
“See, now me shooting you? Much more plausible.”
“Me? What’d I do?”
You give him a firm shove square on the torso, “I’m just messing around. Come on, I need a drink.”
—
Six beers and one pair of sleep boxers later, you’re both stretched out on your respective love-seats, three decks of cards dumped in a pile on the coffee table between you.
“Do you have uhhh 8?”
“Go fish.”
“Fuck.” Adrian has his wrist propped on the edge of the coffee table with his cards splayed, he’s laying on his back, and he strains to reach into the pile with his free hand, “We should just go back to playing War, Go Fish is just a game of chance.”
The night hadn’t been as awkward as you anticipated. You jumped between card games, Adrian rattling on about his coworker’s recent promotion, his latest busts, and all the times his mom asked to meet you. Two or three times you’d overheard her in the background of your phone calls, “Is it that girl?” She’d say, sweet motherly voice, and Adrian’s impatient response, “Yes, mom, stop.”
It was flattering to be “That Girl” to his mom, even if you were far from it currently and unlikely to ever be so. Adrian never talked about sex in his own words, only parroted anecdotes from Chris, who was apt to embellish. Even if, big if, there was some part of you that was curious about him from a non-platonic angle, it didn’t seem like that part of life crossed his mind. At least, not in regard to you.
The best you could hope for, the best you could achieve, was right now. Tipsy on a comfortable couch, the ego boost of winning something low stakes, and Adrian’s eager attention.
“War took two hours, no. Any queens?”
He grumbles, handing over three cards and following your hand as you lay out another set of four.
“Sevens?”
He hands over a card, “Maybe the team didn’t want to come because they didn’t want to just drink beer and get smoked in card games.”
“Hmph.” The statement burst your content bubble, and you throw your hand of cards in the pile, “If this is so boring for you, you can go back to Evergreen.”
Pushing up on the heel of your palm, you take your beer to the kitchen and slide onto a barstool. It’s lukewarm by now, but you take a swig and try to ignore the resurgence of disappointment. Try, at the very least, to let yourself settle into apathy.
“What? No!” Adrian leaps over the armrest of the couch, “I’m not bored, I just know those guys can be sore losers, sometimes. But not me, this is fun.”
“Look, Adrian, you don’t have to lie.” You rest an elbow on the back of the stool, spinning to face him. “Things are bad, I think, for everyone. I thought, maybe, this would be what we needed to get everyone back on their feet. Beer, stupid card games, time together. But you’re the only one who showed up, so, you’re just stuck here with me and really, you don’t have to be.”
“The last thing I am is stuck, I have all weather tires, and I called out of work to be here.” He speaks plain, as always, and you feel like a prick for putting your own insecurities on his intentions.
You’ve seen, more than once, how willing he is to build bridges with people who’ve pulled the rug out from under him. It’s a betrayal on your part to presume he’d ever be disingenuous with his interest, with his time. He won’t hold it against you, which only serves to turn your hurt to shame.
“I bet the other guys would be here if they could. Like, Economos, yeah he missed five of my phone calls but then he sent me pictures of five cool birds he saw.”
You mull in silence. You didn’t want to feel placated so easily. It was confusing and frustrating that you could bare a bit of your heart and have him treat it so kindly.
“I guess...maybe, I’m just more lonely than I thought without them.”
“Yeah, it was nice to be part of a bona fide superhero team. I gotta be honest—and don’t tell Peacemaker I said this—those corporate weirdos in the Justice Gang just seem like freaks.”
“Isn’t he like, trying to join them?”
Adrian laughs, leaning toward you and bracing himself on the stool next to you, “He has an audition in six months.”
“Audition?”
You both laugh into each other, your hand coming up to cover your face, Adrian readjusting his glasses as they slide down his nose.
Everything feels easy in this moment, whatever small hurt that blurred your brain has instead faded to a light delirium. Beer and nerves and the sight of Adrian’s wide smile all that you seem to need.
He straightens up, clearing his throat, trying to hide his grin, “I didn’t think I would ever say this, but it’s good Peacemaker isn’t here. I think he’s great in pretty much every single way, but he doesn’t respond well to playful banter like you and me.”
You sat in the statement for as long as was reasonable. ‘Like you and me.’
How nice, you thought, to have a mutual dynamic. So often you were just bouncing Adrian’s words back at him, deflecting his attempts at deeper conversation with cavalier witticisms and sometimes downright mocking. It was a pleasant surprise to know it’d become its own entity between you two, unique marker of the friendship you had apparently built. For a long time, you only ever thought of your connection to Adrian as part of the larger team that was the ‘11th Street Kids.’
You were grateful that missed phone calls weren’t ever held against you, that he showed up when it counted, that he seemed entirely unfazed by the moments when you really just had nothing to say at all. This was your easiest relationship to maintain, but you never wanted to use that as an excuse to take him for granted. It was some kind of accomplishment, you realized, having a relationship with him that existed independent of anyone else.
“I’m still gonna give him shit next time I see him.” You run a hand through your hair, hopping off the stool, “Wanna get back to the game? We can play War if you really want to.”
Adrian’s eyes flit to your chest, “Your robe is open. Is that on purpose?”
You cross your arms over your chest, “No!”
He looks from your chest to your face and back again.
“Why on Earth would I have my tits out right now? Stop staring.”
“I don’t know!” He takes a step back in defense, eyebrows raised, eyes closed.
You hasten to re-tie the robe, pulling the lapel as shut as you can get it, “That was real egregious, Adrian.”
“Hey, I’m a feminist! Your boobs are totally sick and all but it’s no different to me than when Pea—”
“You know what, on second thought it’s like 2 am, that’s call time for me. Goodnight, Adrian.”
“Wh—”
“Goodnight!”
You’re already to the base of the stairs by the time he opens his eyes again.
—
You were far from tired, the thick red comforter swishing against your body as you try and fail to settle into the mattress. The silk pillowcases frizz up the back of your hair, and the fan whirs off beat above you. The robe lay discarded beside the bed, abandoned in favor of a soft tee and basketball shorts you’ve had since high school.
You’d taken a moment in the mirror after shucking the robe, pondering your figure. Could your tits be called sick? You never would’ve used that word, or, really any word. Sometimes you looked in the mirror and made note of a deepened smile line, a rough patch of skin at the crown of your cheekbone, the ebb and flow of muscle tone over your time in and out of the field. Flattery descriptions of a body that did its job never seemed useful to you.
Sick, though, that was kinda nice.
Kinda nice coming from Adrian, his innate ability to speak to what he believed to be objective fact. Nuance and subjectivity weren’t his forte—anything he said was the universal truth as far as he was concerned. So, great, cool, your boobs were sick.
His voice wouldn’t leave you alone when you slid into bed. The brief, flickering giddiness before he realized it was just a slip up, the weight of his eyes as they pulled to your chest.
This lifestyle wasn’t conducive to long term connections. Sure, you could pull up to a bar and take care of yourself with some stranger, but to be seen in that way by someone you had an established relationship with was entirely alien to you. To look in the mirror and know Adrian’s truth was that you were attractive, that you had worthwhile tits, and more than anything that these things never seemed to eclipse your foundation, it left you with a strange marriage of discomfort and satisfaction.
You’d seen the way Chris’ attraction to Harcourt colored their dynamic in the team, and even though she’d come around to some sort of acceptance, it was still a steady through-line nobody could ignore. The last thing you wanted was for some overt sexual fascination to change the way people treated you.
It was a fear that one day they could, but a comfort that Adrian, at least, never would.
Hours passes in similar form, tossing and turning in half-sleep, listening to the faint music from the living room. Beer bottles clink every once in a while, and when the beer bottles quiet they’re replaced by the early birds waking up outside your window.
Sunlight can’t penetrate the thick Venetian curtains in the room, but you’ve given up on real sleep at this point.
Rolling out of bed, you duck behind the curtains and stare into the winter dawn. The snow is a pale blue, trees fading into the distance. There’s a robin perched on Adrian’s car, its orange belly bright against the powdered roof, head tilting before it flits off into the tree line.
The allure of fresh coffee pulls you from the bedroom, and you drag your feet down the hallway, admiring the steady snowfall from the lofted windows, a hazy glow cascading over morning shadows.
And then, less than a whisper from the living room below, “Fuck.”
You duck down to peer through the railing, squinting as your eyes searched for the source of the muted muttering below.
Adrian’s silhouette was faint, facing away from you and carved out by the thin highlight of damp biceps, a knit throw obscuring his waist. You can see the slow up-down underneath, one of his legs pulled up and to the side, his knee resting on the lip of the coffee table.
You grip the railing on either side of your head, crouching on your tip toes, stunned by the sight. His moans die as they reach his throat, but the choked whimpers shoot warmth through your body. It felt good—right—to be seeing him like this. A small intrusion, but harmless if he never knew, harmless if you kept it to yourself. Burned the image into your brain, kept it tucked away in your chest, in your stomach, between your legs. You fixate on the way he presses a hand through his mess of hair, the curve of his hips, up, into his hand, and the way he sounds when he says—
...Your name.
You slip and drop to your knees, bones knocking on the iron, and Adrian shoots up on the couch, sitting against the back and looking around. Fuck, alright, well, it’s fine. That’s one slip for each of you this weekend, one’s allowed. Tit for tat, might as well have some fun with it.
“Having fun?” You stand up and cup your hands around your mouth, leaning forward on the railing.
“Fun? No, what, you just startled me awake, you’re lucky you’re not an intruder.” He yawns and stretches on the couch, reaching for his glasses as you climb down the stairs.
“Yeah, talk about lucky.” Propping an elbow on the banister, you stare at him in the dark. There’s a bulb of sweat rolling down the side of his face, his curls stick to his forehead, and the blanket bunches over his waist. He knots a hand further into his lap, throwing his other arm back over the couch.
“Quite a sight first thing in the morning, I thought you might’ve been in trouble, what with the way you were calling my name.” You prod, relishing the flipped script, markedly one of the first times you can recall having him at a disadvantage. He was bad at being dishonest, cues of truth writ in his body language.
“No I wasn’t, I said...” He trails off, working his mouth into a few different rhymes and abandoning each one, “Hey, you should’ve knocked.”
He felt awkward for once in his life, and you swallowed the power like a stone, smooth and hard and weighty in your abdomen as you poked at him, “Oh yeah? On what wood?”
Excitement swirling in your head, you cross the living room to kneel in front of him, resting back on your heels, edge of the coffee table pressing into your spine.
“I—whoa,” His arm falls from the back cushion as his eyes follow you, vice grip on the blanket loosening, “Is this on purpose?”
You nod, and Adrian pushes up on his knuckles, posture straightening against the cushion, the pale glow sculpting every tendon in his neck.
Pushing up on your toes, you knit your fingers into the blanket and tug it down his lap.
He watches with innate curiosity, but you shy away from the eye contact, leaning down to his thighs to press kisses to either knee. His breath catches, and he re-situates a hand on the couch, fingertips digging into the suede upholstery.
“It’s okay, Adrian.” You grab his hand, bringing it to your lips and pressing his thumb against your bottom lip, teeth parting as his other fingers situate against your chin and he pushes into your mouth. The pad of his thumb presses into your tongue, and he shudders as you bite down, scraping back over his skin.
Before you can move, Adrian hunches forward to meet your lips with his, swallowing your mouth in a furious kiss. It’s messy, teeth bumping, noses smashed, but it settles into a firm wash of sloppy tongues and exalted breath. His hand curls around the back of your neck, fixing into your hair, and he gives you a slight tug upward.
You climb into his lap, breaking the kiss to hover over him, admiring the glossy, far-away look on his face. The hand against your neck grazes down your back, playing at the hem of your shirt.
“Can I see your tits again?” He traces a finger from the base of your spine around front to your bellybutton, grabbing at your hip on the way.
“Go on.” You settle onto his thighs as he pulls the shirt over your head, his mouth ducking to envelope your nipple, free hand palming over the other. His tongue circles the prickled skin, groans vibrating from his throat, breath hot and sticky as he leaves behind wet kisses.
“Fuck, fuck.” Adrian mutters, sucking a hickey between your breasts, “Thank you, this is so—”
“Sick?” You finish for him with a laugh, and he slides forward, slotting your bodies together. A quiet yelp escapes your lips, and Adrian spatters kisses up your neck, whispering behind your ear.
“Helpful.” He kisses the base of your jaw, his hips hitching against you, hands firm on your hips, “I can picture you clearly now.”
You let your head fall back a moment, grinding down onto his pelvis, shivering as his mouth drags down your throat. If ever there was a second that you had him at your mercy, it was long gone by now.
“It really was an accident.” You slip a hand between your bodies, pawing the erection over his boxers, fabric slick with precum sticking to your palm.
“Oh, I believe you.” He spreads his legs further, sliding one out from under you, gently prodding you to get comfortable over his thigh.
Bracing yourself with one foot on the carpet, you drive your forehead into his, fingers wrapping around his erection as he encourages you to grind into him. Your nails dig into the couch behind him, the rhythm of your hand on his shaft faltering as heat builds in your cunt.
Adrian pries two fingers into your mouth, sliding to the back of your throat. Spit pools over your tongue, slicking up his fingers as he pulls them out and closes his hand over yours, forcing you to keep rhythm on his cock.
You let your eyes flutter closed, let yourself fall into his shoulder, rutting against him until you can feel the fabric of your underwear soaking through. You bite down into his neck, and he cries out in surprise.
“Shit, sorry, did that hurt?” You pull back, running a thumb over the mark.
“Yeah,” He nods, but the grip on your hand tightens, “It was really hot, though. Just, lemme—” He yanks his shirt over his head, hand coming back to grab at the back of your neck, guiding you back in, “There. Full access.”
You kiss at his cheek, nipping the corner of his jaw, pausing your own pleasure to focus on how taut he grows under your hand. His Adam’s apple hums beneath your lips, and as you regain a steady rhythm both his hands find home on either side of your face, bringing you back to his lips. His thumbs crest over your cheekbones, tongue breaking into your mouth, all spit and hungry kisses and the firm knotting of fingers and strands of hair.
Squeezing the base of his shaft, you swallow down his heady moans, bringing your hand up to the underside of his tip, thumb flicking over leaking precum to slick up the bulb of his cock. Adrian chases your mouth as you force yourself back from the kiss, and the desperate parting of his lips lights up your body with a giddiness you’re not sure you’ve ever felt before. You placate with a thumb in his mouth, yanking the boxers down and away as you drop to your knees.
His eyebrows knit as he closes his lips around your thumb and you close your mouth around him, sliding your lips down to his base and licking stripes back up the length of his shaft, salt and sweat on your tongue, free hand coasting up his abdomen. The muscles flex beneath your palm, and you moan onto his cock, bobbing slowly as he loses his composure entirely.
You can feel him struggling to hold back, letting your thumb fall from his mouth with a string of expletives. His hands stay at his sides, white knuckles cratering the suede fabric.
A pit forms in your stomach at the absence of his touch, the part of you that admired his attempt at chivalry was overwritten by furious need. Your cunt aches, a breeze in the cabin cooling the marks and moisture he’d left behind on your tits. Chill wanting eats at your entire body. You swirl your tongue over his head, feeling him up, hot flesh straining over tense muscle.
“Hey, um, I’m—if you, fuck.” Adrian sputters, and a hand comes to the side of your face, encouraging you to pull away.
You meet his eyes, sinking down.
Warmth floods your mouth, and you can feel his cock jumping with the succession of his orgasm, waves of cum hitting the back of your throat.
Adrian pushes you onto the floor between the couch and the coffee table, cloaking you with his body like a weighted blanket, kissing into your mouth with renewed vigor. He mutters little platitudes between each kiss as he works his way down your body, you’re gorgeous and fuck, that was hot and scores more that you’re too dizzy to comprehend.
He pulls at your shorts, kissing at your hips when you hitch up to get them off, hands grazing back up your legs after he’s thrown the shorts off into the abyss.
This is more attention than you ever anticipated getting this weekend, even if sex was on your mind from the outset. Adrian liked to look at you, he talked a lot, and it was the most pleasant surprise that this attentiveness extended to the way his lips lingered over your body, the way he splayed his fingers out over your stomach and cupped you with his free hand, circling your entrance before a quiet, accidental ‘please’ from you concentrated the full spectrum of his focus to making you plead.
He latches his mouth to your cunt, lapping up your slit, saliva pooling on his fingers as he works you inside. It’s slow, almost torturous the way he presses his tongue against you. Subtle flicks of his tongue that just nick the nerves of your clit have you impatient, arching up into him. You knot your hands in his hair and fruitlessly signal your desperation. All you feel is the hard resistance of his teeth as he smiles up at you, pursing his lips to suck kisses between your folds.
“Fuck, Adrian, I need more.” You choke out, the back of your head falling heavy on the floor, a dull ache pale in comparison to the antifreeze in your veins. The shitty carpet yanks at your hair, and you stop pushing at Adrian’s head, opting instead to tug on the curly strands. “Please.”
A soft hum escapes his lips, and he circles the tip of his tongue over your clit, moving down as he presses it flatter against you. He breaks to nip kisses on your inner thighs, hands squeezing up your calves, “Would you sit on my face?”
“Anything.” You’ve given up the pretense of casual by now, if this ends up being just a one time thing fuck if you aren’t going to get everything you want out of it.
Adrian lays with his head nearly against the base of the couch, everything below the waist hiding underneath the coffee table, “C’mon.” He pats the cushion, a satisfied, dopey smile on his face, “Rest your head.”
You lean up on your elbows, laughing, out of breath, “What a considerate lay.”
It’s impossible to stop yourself from bowing down to kiss him as you crawl over, hand soft on his chest, heart jumping as he covers it with his own. This feels like an intimacy you aren’t used to, and you both settle into minutes of kissing, letting yourselves build from slow, languid kisses to exchanging the same air until you’re both gasping and he’s prodding you up to his face.
Sinking onto his mouth, you stretch your arms out over the suede, resting your head against your bicep.
He curls his arms around the back of your thighs and forces your full weight onto him, rocking your hips back and forth over the wet pressure of his mouth.
Your thighs buckle, hands scraping at the couch for something, anything to grab onto, and finding a throw pillow to dig your nails into. You bite the curve of the cushion, taking Adrian’s cue to ride his tongue. Grinding onto him, he groans and you crane your neck to see him tentatively stroke his tired erection.
“Don’t—” You try to speak between moans, but Adrian makes up the difference when you slow your hips, his nose prodding at you, a mess of saliva and arousal and you’re powerless to comprehend anything but the knot of pleasure that ties itself around your organs.
Breathing shallow, stomach flipping, you choke on whimpers. Where you falter, Adrian flourishes, both hands firm again on you, elbows spreading your legs apart, fingers splayed on either side of your hips. He drives you down, and you couldn’t decipher what he was doing with his mouth if you tried, but you know it sends rockets through you one after another.
Cacophonous moans crash over one another as your orgasm erupts into a cascade of shocks through your body. You can feel Adrian humming against you, his hands combing over your abdomen. He slides them around your back, tracing your shoulder blades, soft caresses converse to the filthy work from his mouth. He supports your weight when you start to lean away from him, his forearms a warm pillar of relief, fingertips curling over the slope of your neck.
Your breathing hitches, and Adrian keeps you on his tongue until you’re squirming away from his touch, the sensation curdling in your body, only an ache between your legs now. You fall away from him to the side, a leg splayed over his torso while you regain your composure, gaze fixed on the wobbling ceiling fan.
Adrian wriggles out and up next to you, pressing chaste kisses to the side of your breast before he flops onto his back, your shoulders sticking together, “I’m probably going to be hard for like, the entire morning, now.” There’s disbelief in his voice, no indication that you should necessarily do anything about this for him, just amazement to have experienced it at all.
Turning, you crane your neck up to kiss him, swallowing the whimper of surprise that falls from his lips as your hand coasts down his body and back onto his shaft.
“All that and you think I don’t want you to fuck me?” You tut, squeezing at his base, thumbing his head, making quick work to get his cock as hard as you had before.
“I didn’t want to get my hopes up.” He stutters, frozen underneath you.
You laugh into his mouth, and he reaches a hand up to your jawline, smiling with you before giving a quick pinch to your chin. His body envelopes you, knee slotting against your cunt, his other leg hooking underneath to spread you open.
“Oh!” Adrian hovers above you with a hand on either side of your head, “Do you need a condom?”
Leaning up on your elbows, you peck at his mouth, “If you need one, but I’m not fussed either way.” Grazing your teeth along his jaw, you bite into the sinew of his neck and suck a harsh hickey into the skin, whispering against him, “You can cum inside me for all I fucking care, Adrian.”
He buckles toward you, erection brushing the curve of your stomach, that beautiful, glossy look in his eyes once again.
You skate an arm around to his back, guiding his weight onto you, hips hitching up as you reach down and grab him. You slide the slick bulb of his cock along your cunt to line it up at your entrance.
As he fucks into you for the first time, Adrian tries to meet you with a kiss, but the sensation is overwhelming for you both, moans mingling in the space of your failed kiss, his hand coming around to cradle the back of your head.
The pressure in your cunt is overwhelming, every thrust hitting you with renewed sensation. He ruts against you, free hand on your hip, whining into your mouth as you tug on his hair.
“God, Adrian, you feel fucking ridiculously good.”
“I like—fuck,” He kisses your cheekbone, muttering, “I like how my name sounds when you say it.”
Overwhelmed as you may be, in this moment you feel safe more than anything. His hand cradling the back of your head, lips making their way over your face, the eager acceptance of your need and moreover the gentle encouragement of your affection. You would be lucky to have Adrian’s attention all the time, to be the person he always looked at like this.
He broke the moment to replace his cradling hand with a throw pillow from the couch, arms hooking underneath your thighs to hike you off the ground and fuck you on his knees. His eyes rake down your body, fixating on the way your tits bounce and the pout of your open lips.
You admire the glistening sweat on his abdomen, the tendons in his neck straining, glasses askew on his face. It’s a struggle keeping your eyes open, every pulse of pressure driving your head back into the pillow, screwing them shut, but you furrow your eyebrows to meet Adrian’s stuttering gaze.
“Kiss me.” You plead, and Adrian darts down to satisfy you, moaning as you wrap your legs around his lower back, hands on his shoulder blades holding your bodies together.
It’s never been so intoxicating before, kissing someone. Sex was sex historically, and kissing felt like a necessary introduction to casual intimacy where history didn’t exist as a crutch. With Adrian, this was every pause at the end of a conversation, all the times you let your touch linger as you stitched him up, one and a billion more moments of his eyes on you and yours on his and the rest of the world blurry in what felt, at the time, like nothing more than your usual social confusion. For so long, clarity felt like something you would earn when you figured him out, a well deserved reward for making strides toward camaraderie.
And clarity did come.
With his mouth on yours and the feverish bucking of his hips, you found yourself crashing into another hot white light, sensation burning behind your eyes, fuzzing your brain. You clamor for him, for the heat of your bodies together, for the security of his arms around you as spasms courses through you in electric waves.
Adrian obliges, sliding his hands underneath your neck and behind your back as you arch upward into the orgasm.
“I—ah,” He slows, “I can cum inside you? Really?” The words fall out of his mouth into a jumble of syllables, and he jolts as you whine an affirmative into his mouth.
“Yes, Adrian, please, please.”
Fatigue is creeping into your body, the lack of sleep catching up to the moment. Your grip on Adrian goes slack, but as he careens into his orgasm you card fingers through his hair, offering soothing platitudes as he fills you. There you go, and good boy, Adrian, and you feel so, so nice.
He settles onto your chest, arm heavy over your stomach, leaning into your touch as you smooth your fingers over the back of his hair, working out dried knots in the curls.
“That was...” You pause, bringing a hand up to comb through your hair and Adrian high fives you.
“Badass, definitely.” He presses a kiss to your chest.
“Yeah.” You laugh, yanking the discarded blanket over your bodies, “Totally badass.”
“This was a good idea. We always have great conversations, and it was sweet that you wanted to do a whole weekend of them, but you certainly can’t do that over the phone.”
“Well, you can do a version of it.”
“Yeah, but it’s not as fun.”
“Definitely not.” Pausing, you look down at him, “Does that mean you, um, want to...hang out more?”
“I would love that, I’d also be down to have sex more.”
You scoot to meet his face, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips, “Yes, I’m sure we can make that work.”
“Good, cause those are once in a lifetime tits, I’m not even sure my memory would do them justice.”
Laughing, you wipe exhaustion from your eyes, “I didn’t sleep at all last night, I’m gonna make coffee.”
Adrian sits up next to you, stretching his arms up, “I have sugar packets in my car. I’ll grab them.”
“Don’t worry about it, I have sugar and cream.”
“Mmm,” He grazes a knuckle over your cheekbone, shaking his head, “They just taste better in the packets.”
“Suit yourself.”
You both yank on clothing, and Adrian runs a hand over the indents left on your skin from the harsh carpet, shuddering at the texture.
As he trudges out the front door in a big winter coat, you hear a muffled, “Oh, hey guys!” from outside.
You tip toe to the door frame to peer out, expecting him to be greeting a squirrel or maybe a flock of birds by his car.
“Look who made it!” Adrian notices you as you notice them.
The entire team, sans Economos, sitting irate with their collars buttoned halfway up their faces.
Harcourt is the first to get up, “You guys having fun yet?” she says as she turns to offer Adebayo a hand.
Everyone stands in silence for a beat before Leota takes one step forward to embrace you in a loose hug, giving you a stilted pat on the back. She wipes her hand on her coat, forcing her lips into a smile.
the video I referenced is from when they played at Oakdale Theatre in Wallingford on Sept 15 in 2022. i cant link to it directly but you can find it in the venue's highlights on IG here (its somewhere in the middle) and it was reposted on twitter here (which is where i saw it originally)
while not abnormal, it was strange having jason out so long. you've managed to will yourself to perform menial tasks to pass the time, laundry, picking up your boyfriend’s books, sharpening his knives.
anything to fight the urge to be that girlfriend. in actuality, you're not, and you trust JASON TODD more than anyone.
you simply…miss him. in a different way than when he's out on patrol. no, tonight—while he's out with his friends—you selfishly miss him more than when his life's on the line. because at least then, he’s working. serving a purpose. and you can't really fault that.
but drinks with roy and dick? that’s leisure. that’s laughter and warmth and something you selfishly crave as much as you can. you try not to stare at your phone. somehow successful. but the moment you hear the front door open and the soft shuffle of boots against hardwood, you're practically at attention.
he stumbles a little—just a little—and kicks the door shut behind him. hoodie down, jacket open, trademark black tee, cheeks absolutely flushed. his eyes are trained on you, soft and glossy.
“hi, sweetheart.” he says, voice a little too loud for the quiet apartment. “miss me?”
you blink at him from the couch, blanket still pulled over your lap. “you’re drunk.”
he grins, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. “little bit.”
you tilt your head, watching him, skeptical. “you drove?”
“nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ as he drops his keys in the bowl by the door. “dick called us a ride. he’s annoying like that.”
“responsible, you mean.”
jason points to you, swaying just a bit. “that too.”
he trudges toward you with all the grace of a man who’s fought off armed gangs but now can’t quite coordinate his feet. the couch dips and groans when he crashes beside you. he immediately flops sideways into your lap with a dramatic groan, stifled by your sweatshirt and blanket.
“ugh. my girl.” he mumbles, face smooshed against your thigh. “missed you.”
you fight the smile curling at your lips, running a hand through his hair. “you smell like cheap whiskey, todd.”
“it was expensive whiskey.” he says into your leg, offended.
you hum, fingers dragging gently along his scalp. “you hungry?”
“nah. full of street vendor shit—buncha bad decisions.”
you laugh quietly, smoothing your thumb over the little scar near his temple. “you good?”
he rolls onto his back, head still pillowed by your thighs, blinking up at you like you hung the stars, “m’okay. just tired. and maybe a little tipsy...and definitely in love with you.”
your breath catches, eyes softening. he's too good at this—really. he says it so casually, so sweetly, it knocks the wind right out of your chest.
“…yeah?” you ask softly.
“mhm,” he coos, eyes fluttering shut. “love you so much it’s stupid.”
writer's note .☘︎ ݁˖ you mfs loved drunk!reader and jason so ofc i had to give you drunk!jason. he's hot and i missed writing for him!! i'm glad to be back from my break—i hope you like my first little writing back! if you do—consider reblogging and/or commenting <3
i only have you. take care of yourself for me. i take care of myself for you.
cw: descriptions of scars/bleeding/wounds
Leaning closer to the mirror, Jason picks at the skin of his cheek until he feels that familiar dry sting on his face and the thin stickiness of blood under his nails. It elicits barely a wince, he’s so used to the feeling. He watches blood flood inside the abrasion, the flushing, half-healed pink turning to a watery red.
He hears your footsteps approaching softly, but doesn’t look away from his reflection. He moves his attention to a fresh mark on his chin where the raised, jagged edges of the new scar have just started to scab— an undercover job; one where he had nothing but a thin layer of armor underneath his clothes, his helmet stashed away somewhere in the rafters. The skin is peeling at the corners, and he tugs at the bits of flesh.
“Jay.”
He finally tears his eyes away from the mirror; you’re standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with crossed arms. Your lips droop into a frown, teeth biting on your bottom lip.
“Hey,” he says. He focuses somewhere between your forehead and eyebrows.
“What are you doing?” Your voice is neutral, gentle.
“These fuckin’ cuts,” he mutters. “They’re itching like crazy.”
It’s a half-truth; yes, they do itch like crazy, and it does make him want to claw his skin off sometimes. But that’s not why he’s doing it.
It has become second nature for him, scratching and tearing and aggravating the wounds on his face. Something he does when he’s antsy, or idle, or deep in thought. Just as every other time you find him like this, you shuffle forward and place your hand over his.
Reflexively, he interlaces his fingers with yours, a small, guilty smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Can I help?” You ask, softly, while leaning against his side. You place a kiss on his shoulder, over the fabric of his sleeve; the shine of your lip balm leaves a mark.
“It’s nothin’ to worry about, baby. It’s almost midnight. I have to head out soon.” The back of his hand haphazardly wipes a single swipe across his cheek, but all it does is smear the blood over his face. His jaw tightens momentarily, and you can tell it burns.
“Come here,” you say, sliding yourself between him and the wash basin. You cup his face between your hands, dragging your thumb along his chapped bottom lip.
“You chew on your lips too much, Jay.”
He exhales slowly, sagging into your hold. On another day, he’d chuckle or playfully roll his eyes with a kiss to the pad of your thumb. Tonight, he can’t even meet your eyes.
You hop up unto the bathroom counter and pull him close to stand between your legs. There’s a clean washcloth hanging from the towel hook, and you run it under warm water, then wring it out. Jason flinches slightly when you reach out to his face, but settles back into your touch without argument. With soft strokes, you wipe away the thin line of blood, then drag the cloth across the rest of his face, careful not to aggravate the fresh mark on his chin. He remains still the whole time, gaze fixed on the mirror behind you.
“Does it sting?” You ask. He shakes his head.
“Can you look at me?”
Reluctantly, he raises his eyes to yours.
He doesn’t say it, but his eyes say enough, say the harsh assault on himself that sits on his tongue, fighting to break through his teeth.
“You’re so beautiful, Jason.” You trace your fingers along the lines of his features.
“You don’t have to do that.” He turns his face to the wall, trying to hide the frustrated tears that threaten to spill over. It cracks your heart in two, seeing the loveliest person you know blind to his own beauty.
“Jason,” you whisper, voice filled with desperation for him to hear all the words he won’t let you say. “Baby.” It’s a wish; a plea.
He’s never been good with words like these, starving for kindness with a mangled stomach. You learned this the hard way, after trying to force-feed him the intensity of your affection, thinking it would help him when it only made him sick. Now you dole it out in silent, digestible amounts; a squeeze of his hand here, a kiss to the forehead there.
He says nothing, but turns his head back to you. For now, it’s enough.
“What’s that for?” He nods to the bottle of opaque white water you plucked from your side of the sink.
“Rice water. It’s good for your skin, especially if you’re marinating under a sweaty helmet for hours,” you tease.
He grumbles out something along the lines of it’s well-ventilated, but nonetheless, he places his hands on either side of you to lean down towards your eye-level. You rub the solution between your hands and massage it into his face. He always seems to relax when your hands are on him; his eyes flutter shut and his lips part with a relieved breath.
You can’t help yourself—he really is so beautiful—and you steal a kiss to his nose.
“What’s that for?” He opens his eyes at the sound of you unscrewing yet another bottle.
“Oil. For the scars,” you say, tentatively.
His fingers twitch against the counter, but after a moment, he nods. You dab some of the pink oil onto your fingers, and carefully rub it into the jagged marks that decorate his chin, his cheeks, his jaw. He stiffens when you make contact with them, and you’re not sure you hear him exhale until after you pull away.
The bottle is replaced by a small tube of lip balm, and Jason tilts his head. “More?” One of his hands rests on your thigh and strokes up and down.
You tsk at him. “Can you just trust me?” You don’t give him a chance to argue before squeezing the tube and spreading the balm across his lips. His protests are muffled behind his mouth, which he keeps shut so you can work.
“Now I’m done.” You hop down from the sink, and he trails after you into the hall; you know he needs to stop at a safe house before starting his patrol, so you don’t let him linger in the bathroom with his hands on you— similar situations have made him very late in the past, and you’re not interested in getting another earful from his team.
His duffel bag of weapons and gear is already on the living room floor, ready for him to grab and go. A familiar thread of nerves and lonely pining run through your body.
“Okay, I’ll be back in a few hours.” Jason lifts the bag with one hand, and pushes a stand of hair behind your ear with the other.
“You better.”
He leans in to peck your lips, but you throw yourself at him for a fiery, desperate kiss straight out of a Hollywood movie. It surprises him enough to make the bag hit the ground as he wraps his arms around your waist to kiss you back with matching fervor.
He’s panting when you release him, face burning red and chest rising rapidly. Try as he might, he can’t hide the shy, flustered grin stretching across his face. “And what was that for?”
You shrug. “For good luck. Obviously.”
He blows out a breath, shaking his head. “Obviously.”
You run your hand up his arm and squeeze on his bicep. “Stay safe. Please.”
He smiles, leaning down to kiss your forehead.
“I will.”
heyyyyy guys. so lots has happened. we hit 1k😱😱I feel like a real life influencer now. Hey what’s up you guys welcome back to my YouTube channel, today’s video we are going to be fantasizing about emotionally unavailable men!!! U should totally check my recent post and participate in the celebration
This is based on this ask , read it for some more background, and the quote is from gabriela mistral’s letters to Doris Dana 👍🙏also this was not proofread don’t judge me🙏🙏
Thee divider is by cafekitsune I don’t feel like finding the post to link it I’m SORRYYYYY
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