bitch, i’m a poet.

“Come on, man, please,” you begged, voice thick with frustration. 

“No way. Nuh-uh. Not a chance.” 

You pouted like a petulant child, gripping your phone with white knuckles and pressing it harder against your ear. “Chris, it’s six numbers. You don’t even have to give ‘em to me in order. You’ll have plausible deniability! Help me out here.” 

He paused on the other line, considering you. 

“That would totally betray dad’s trust. I can’t fuck up again. Sorry, Birdie”

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped. “Fuck!” You kicked the edge of your father’s large oak desk. 

Chris sighed. “Look, I’ll be home soon and we can talk to him together. Don’t do anything stupid before I get back.” 

He’d always had a soft spot for you- his baby sister. It was hard for him not to immediately fold at your request. Even over the phone he could hear how far your lower lip was jutting out. Your lack of response was worrisome. 

“Okay?” He pointedly questioned, trying his best to sound stern. 

“It’s not stupid if I don’t get caught.” 

“You know that’s not what I-” You ended the call. Throwing your phone onto one of the gaudy leather lounge chairs, you paced around the dimly lit office and ran your hands over your tired face. Every so often your gaze snagged on the illuminated keypad next to the portal door. It was taunting you. Calling out as if it knew you didn’t have access anymore. 

Beyond the looming oak door was the answer to all your problems- your Silver Sparrow suit. Each stitch had been hand-placed by your father, August Smith. He brought it into this world, a labor of love created for his only daughter, and he apparently had the ability to take it out. Well, out of this dimension anyway. You knew he didn’t destroy the suit like he’d threatened to do years ago. He was too proud. No, it was carefully tucked away outside the confines of space and time. Waiting for you. If only you could get to it. 

August Smith was an organized man. Calculated, some would say. The Top Trio didn’t achieve their status as superheroes by accident. It was by design- Auggie’s design. A patriotic father and his two golden sons working together to save America from threats both foreign and domestic. A picture-perfect reputation created by August’s hard work and sacrifice. His children were trained from a young age in weaponry, tactical defense, and hand-to-hand combat. There was an expectation to be great or to be nothing. Chris and Keith- Peacemaker and Captain Triumph- were great. You, on the other hand, were nothing. 

Trophies and framed articles of the Trio’s victories lined the walls all the way up to the vaulted ceiling. Auggie had taken down any that mentioned you a long time ago. This was his sacred space- where he went to feel pride in his family’s accomplishments. The Top Trio had more accolades than space on the walls. There wasn’t room for you anymore, even if you had done anything of merit lately, which you hadn’t. 

Chris would be home any minute. You gave up pacing and settled in front of the keypad for what felt like the hundredth time that day. Think. August was smart. He’d make the code personal enough to him that he’d easily remember, but not obvious enough for anyone to guess- not even his own child, apparently. 

You didn't drive all the way from Vancouver just to meet a dead end as lackluster as not knowing a stupid fucking passcode. You had shit to do. Revenge to take.

Chris’s voice boomed from down the hall. Preparing to see your brother in person for the first time in three years, you perched yourself gracefully on the corner of the desk and waited. You needed him to believe you were better. It was your only hope at convincing him to help. Footsteps made your heartbeat quicken, suddenly anxious about lying to the one person who always gave you the benefit of the doubt. Damn, he was moving fast. It sounded like he was running through the house. Your eyebrow quirked in surprise as he rounded the corner into the office. He must be really excited you’re home. 

He ran right past where you sat, not sparing you so much as a glance. A second set of heavy footsteps approached and you ducked out of sight, not wanting to be caught in the office by your father who didn’t yet know you were home. 

Chris screamed as you heard the familiar beeping of the keypad and bubbling of the portal expanding. Two throwing stars whizzed past your head and buried themselves into your brother’s shoulders. The blades shredded the flesh away with an agonizing ripping sound. Crawling beside the desk, you took a peek at his assailant. What the fuck? 

At the office entrance, was Chris. Dressed in his Peacemaker garb, he was armed and ready to execute himself, following him into the storage chamber, jaw set in determination. You took a breath, not realizing you’d been holding it. The door. It was open. Its golden hinges expanded into a promising unknown. 

There wasn’t time to think out your next move- the door was on a thirty second timer and you’d already wasted twelve. It would shut behind you, locking once more, but that was a problem for later. No time like the present. 

The quantum unfolding chamber was cold. The kind of cold that forces your teeth to chatter. It didn't help that you'd slipped out of the office in just a tank top and leggings. You’d only been allowed here a handful of times in your life. It looked exactly like you remembered. Everywhere you turned was almost identical, the only real difference between doors being what lay beyond them. 

In front of you were racks upon racks of Peacemaker helmets and Blue Dragon armor. Jackpot.

beep beep beep…click.

The door to your father’s office slammed shut, effectively locking you out. You turned on your bare heel to check the knob, just to be sure. Locked. 

Chris screamed, alerting you that the conflict with what you assumed was a shapeshifter had escalated. Not your problem. Shapeshifters were relatively harmless creatures- more of a nuisance than anything else. He’d dealt with them before. Your brother could take care of himself. 

You wildly threw open cabinets and drawers- anywhere your suit might be tucked away. You found endless ammunition, gear, and more fucking helmets than you thought possible. The gunmetal silver bodysuit was nowhere to be found. This was a bust. And a stupid one at that. No suit, and you were stuck between space and time with no way home but your idiot brother. 

Chris’s jetpack roared to life and your neck snapped up to watch as his body propelled upwards onto a thick spike. Squeezing your eyes on impact, you struggled to keep down your dinner at the squelch of his organs being punctured. He crashed to the ground. Shit. That’s not good. 

As quietly as possible, you crept alongside the trail of blood the shapeshifter’s shoulder wounds left behind. A strong metallic tang settled in the air, making it harder to breathe as you approached the scene. Peacemaker was drowning in a pool of his own blood, sputtering and clawing at his doppelgänger’s petrified face. You clamped your hand over your mouth in shock. Chris was dead. Flashes of your last mission clouded your judgement. Not again. This can't be happening again.

He held himself in his arms, as though staring hard enough at his glazed over eyes would breathe life back into them. He scanned the body for any differences to his own. Something to differentiate this version from himself. A sixth finger, a weird freckle- anything to make it feel less like he’d murdered himself. There was nothing. 

A mangled sob startled Chris from the storm brewing in his mind. 

“What did you do?”

About ten feet away, you stared with eyes wider than his own. Wild gaze taking in the scene before you, shifting from Peacemaker to Chris and back again. He swore under his breath- a fucking witness. 

It was as though the thought dawned on both of you at the exact same time. Taking up the mantle of his dead self, Chris was now the hunter and you were his prey. 

Not-Chris was hot on your trail. You bobbed and weaved between doors and metal contraptions, doing your best to evade him. He wildly snatched at the air, never quite able to make contact. His lungs were burning, begging him to stop. The wounds in his shoulders tore deeper with each stride. Slipping in blood, he crashed to the ground and smacked his head hard. You’d ran him in a circle, leading right back to the murder scene. His body hurt too much to even try chasing you again. He sent a silent prayer that you wouldn’t tell anyone what you saw as he watched your retreating form, still running for your life.

Chris wondered if he was doomed to only bring death and destruction into the world. Here he was, preparing to roll his own corpse into a tarp to dispose of later. Hell, he almost just killed an innocent bystander. The other Chris, the one he killed, seemed to be a real hero- a summation of everything he had failed to become in his dimension. He wondered if this was an opportunity to step into a role he’d always wanted. Maybe Peacemaker died so that Chris could replace him. If that was going to happen, he had to be certain no evidence was left behind.  

──────•✦•──────

You weren’t sure how long you stayed hidden. Time moved differently here. Any tears you’d shed had long since dried up- numbness had taken over. Your brother’s body lay partially obstructed by a black tarp not far from where you'd tucked yourself away, out of sight from his doppelganger. Slowly, you crept over to take a look at his petrified face. His eyes bulged in an unnatural way. Relief washed over you, twisted with grief and guilt. You loved Chris, but the sibling bond you two shared was a complicated one. 

You weren’t exactly close. His struggle with addiction was hard to watch and even harder to ignore. For as long as you can remember he’d lied, cheated, and killed to satiate his earthly desires. Your father and brother didn’t seem to give a shit as long as he managed to show up somewhat sober for public appearances. He relapsed again six weeks ago. You only knew because the first part of his twelve-step program was to admit his wrongdoings to his ‘loved ones.’ It was an awkward phone call to say the least- more of a one-sided confessional than an actual conversation. You hoped that in death he would find some semblance of freedom. He may have sported Stars and Stripes, the symbol of total independence, but he was just as much a slave to the machine as anyone else. You’d always resented him for it.

Footsteps sounded alongside faint bickering in the distance. You scrambled to hide again. You needed to think. He was your ticket out of this hellscape. No way you’d wait around for your dad, or worse, Keith, to save you. 

Chris approached your hiding spot, urging you to press your back further into the freezing metal doorframe you were crouched behind.

"Dude, believe me, you don't want to meet yourself. It's chilling as fuck."

He got that right. Chilling was the only way to describe it. Watching Other-Chris kill your Chris was probably the most insane thing you'd ever witnessed.

"Well, yeah sure, if you kill yourself," a man with sandy hair and glasses accompanied him.

"I'm talking about before that, man. Looking into your own eyes, it just fucks you up."

"No way."

"Way, man. And to make things worse, I'm pretty sure that chick witnessed the murder…wait, suicide? Whatever. She saw me."

"Was she hot?"

"Why the fuck would you ask that, Adrian? I wasn't exactly paying attention, dude, I'd just killed my alternate self!"

Alternate self? You mouthed the question silently.

Adrian mumbled, "I was just asking, bro."

"Here it is."

They were right behind you. Coming to deal with Peacemaker's body, no doubt. 

“We gotta get rid of it,” Chris explained. “I don’t want my other-world dad and brother finding it.” 

Not a shapeshifter. Was it possible that Other-Chris was actually from an alternate dimension? With every door in here being a portal, it was entirely plausible. 

“Yeah, they’d probably come after you in our world if they did.” 

They were definitely from another dimension. Freaky. 

Chris shot Adrian a look. “What,” the man shrugged. “You said the door code was the same. They could totally hunt your ass down no problem.” 

You had to bite back a gasp- the door code. Other-Chris couldn't be a shapeshifter. He knew the code to open the portal. And that meant he knew the code to let you back into your house to keep searching for the suit you so desperately needed. 

The pair made quick work of sawing the body apart and burning it. You remained hidden as they cleaned up, needing as much time as possible to form a plan. If you were smarter, you’d have grabbed a weapon from your father’s stash. If Other-Chris’s door was protected by a keypad, you could wait until he finished the clean-up job and watch him type in the code. All you had to do was stay out of sight a little while longer. It should be easy enough. 

So, you sat and watched over your shoulder as Other-Chris and Adrian mopped the remaining blood. Once finished, they stripped off their coveralls and goggles, preparing to go home. Adrian was spinning his goggles on a slender pointer finger, impatiently waiting for Chris to pack up. Ever the klutz, the clear plastic eyewear smacked into the side of his face, sending them flying across the room. They landed right next to your bare foot. 

“Ow!” Adrian whined, “That hurt like a bitch.” Huffing over to retrieve them, he bent down, oblivious to your face just inches to the left of his own. His shirt rode up on his toned back, exposing a gun tucked into the waistband of his dad jeans. Goggles in hand, he turned to show Chris that he’d found them, but instead locked eyes with you. “Oh, fu-” he started, but you didn’t let him finish. 

Grabbing the gun from his pants, you released the safety, and thanks to the element of surprise, easily maneuvered your free arm around Adrian’s long neck. The gun kissed his temple, earning a squeak from his parted lips. 

“Hey, Chris?” He rasped, hands loosely grabbing at your forearm.

“What, Vij?” 

“She’s totally hot.” 

Chris whipped around so fast it looked painful. Abandoning the duffel bag full of bone saws, he put his hands up in surrender. 

“Woah, hey- let him go.” 

You pressed the gun harder against the man’s head. Excitement bubbled low in your stomach. You hadn’t held a gun in so long. The rush of feeling the metal, warm from Adrian’s skin, against your palm was enough to make you light-headed despite the somber context. 

“Hi, Chrissy.” 

“You know me?” 

A sharp laugh bit past your bared teeth. “I know you killed my brother.” 

Surprise flashed over Chris's face as he slowly stepped toward you in the same placating way one would approach a skittish stray dog. You tightened your grip on Adrian and instead pointed the gun at Chris. He froze. 

“Give me the door code and I won’t blow this idiot's brains out like you did my brother’s.” 

“Well, technically, he blew your brother’s guts out. Not his brain.” 

You and Chris looked at each other, puzzled by Adrian’s need to correct the person holding his life in their hands. 

“What?” 

“I’m just saying,” he continued, oblivious to the mood shift he’d caused. “The big spike thingy went through your brother’s back. I know it’s pedantic, or whatever, but it’s an important distinction because from what I heard, it was a pretty sick kill…like top ten for sure.”

He was buzzing with untapped energy so intense you could feel it vibrating beneath his hot skin. How was he so warm? You were freezing. If he was causing a distraction on purpose, you couldn’t tell. His awkwardly loose posture didn't change, confirming his sincerity.

“Shut up, Adrian!” Chris chastised, rolling his eyes and dropping his hands.

“Dude, I’m just trying to help!” His face contorted in offense in a way you’d only seen in cartoons.

“How do you think that was helping, man?'

They continued to bicker back and forth, insults hurling at a rapid speed. You pressed the gun back to the vein bulging at Adrian’s temple. “Shut the fuck up, both of you!” The room stilled. “Give me the code, Chris. And then we can pretend this never happened. We walk away.” 

 “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.” He shrugged, turning back to his duffel bag to reach for his weapon. 

Chest heaving with anxiety, your trigger finger shakily hooked around the lever. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You’d lost control of the situation so fast you had whiplash. 

Adrian noticed the hold around his neck loosening ever so slightly at your hesitation and took it as an opportunity to overpower you. He grabbed the gun’s slide and yanked downward, tipping your center of gravity. You were on the ground in seconds, Adrian’s strong thighs straddled your hips, his gun pressed to the back of your head. You thrashed violently, trying to buck him off, but he easily pinned one of your wrists with his knee and the other with his free hand. The icy floor stung your cheek and the smell of cleaning chemicals made every breath sting. 

“What do we do with her?” Chris asked. 

“I don’t know, man. She was shaking like a leaf. I don’t think she was gonna kill me. Are you sure we can’t just let her go?” 

Had your hesitation really been that obvious to Adrian? You were out of practice, sure, but you’d always prided yourself on being difficult to read. 

“Fuck! I don’t know! She saw me kill myself, bro. I can’t be leaving behind a witness. That’s like, the golden rule of murder.” 

“You think I don’t know the golden rule of murder? Bro, come on I’ve murdered way more people than you have. Shits not even close.” 

“Just let me see her.” 

Adrian pulled you to your feet, presenting you at gunpoint to his friend. Chris was finally able to see you plainly. The family resemblance was there. Different mom, maybe? You held your chin high, attempting to mask the uncertainty shifting within you.

Chris sighed. “We can’t let you go back home. No one can know what happened here. We have to kill you, I'm sorry.” 

The gun cocked at your temple. Your lip pouted ever so slightly and Adrian watched as it quivered almost imperceptibly. It was cute, he thought. 

“Let’s just take her with us.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before his brain processed what he was saying. That wasn’t abnormal for Adrian. What was abnormal, was suggesting not to kill someone. He’d never advocated against murder before, it was his favorite thing. 

The look on Chris’s face was almost comical. What had gotten into Vigilante? Had he been replaced by an alternate version as well? 

Adrian lowered the gun, “I mean, if she’s in our world, no one would even believe her if she told somebody you killed Other-Peacemaker. ‘Cause you’re alive! And we’re the only people who know about this place. I wouldn’t believe her! I don’t want to keep her alive because she’s pretty or anything. That would be weird. I’m not some kind of pervert or something-” 

“I get it, dude.” He ran his hand over his face, tired from the day’s testing events. “I can’t deal with this right now. Either we kill her, or we take her back and she’s your responsibility until we figure out what to do with her.” 

“No fucking way, you’re letting me pick?” Adrian seemed far too cheery about the decision. “She can stay in my basement. It’ll be so awesome.” Chris reached into the duffle bag and tossed over a pair of silver handcuffs. 

The pity in Chris's stare was sobering. “You’re gonna wish he killed you.” 

Here's the first chapter! I haven't written a multi-part fic in a bit, so I'm looking forward to having a reason to stay consistent! Let me know what you think:) I have the first five chapters so far. See you soon!

let me know what you think!

Adrian was stuck working yet another Friday double at Fennel Fields. This was his third in a row. Dave absolutely had it out for him- maybe he thought Adrian would quit if the hours became too insufferable. Every inch of the busboy's body was buzzing with pent-up energy. He hadn't been on patrol in a few days, too busy with work and A.R.G.U.S. related missions to hit the streets on his own terms. Only thirty minutes until close, and he'd be free to kill criminals to his heart's content.

Wiping down the same empty table for the tenth time that night, he watched as you rested your head on your hand and leaned over the hostess stand. Theresa and Taylor whispered to you across the small counter. Your lips curved upwards at something Taylor said- fucking Taylor, Adrian thought. He was always hanging around you, and it seemed like his mission in life was to make sure Adrian couldn't get too close.

You'd started at Fennel Fields six months ago. The moment you walked in the front doors for your first shift, Adrian was a goner. And he wasn't the only one. Everyone loved you- a social butterfly with a magnetic personality; you made friends with everyone you met. Even Adrian's weird ass. He thought you were the prettiest girl he'd ever laid eyes on. Your curves, your smile, your laugh, your hair, god your hair. It was all perfect to him.

"Adrian!" Your voice snapped him back to reality. Realizing he'd been staring at you for far longer than appropriate, he tried to quickly go back to wiping the spotless table. Wait, shit- you were talking to him. Looking back up, he tilted his head and smiled. "What's up, Buttercup?"

Ignoring the strange nickname, you waved him over. Theresa looked at you out of the corner of a judgmental eye. Taylor leaned casually against the half wall next to him, glaring at Adrian, who hurried over, nearly losing balance on his untied shoelace.

Out of breath from running over at breakneck speed, he puffed out a "Hey guys!"

You peered up at him through long lashes. "Are you coming tonight?"

"Coming to what?"

"I'm having everyone over after work." You chuckled at his dumbfounded expression. "I told you last week, and you said it sounded fun, remember?"

"Holy shit, I'm invited?"

You'd never seen more exposed teeth in your life. His smile was stretched from ear to ear. You couldn't help but reciprocate it despite Taylor's annoyed scoff. "Yes, Ade. You're invited. Everyone but Dave is because he's pissing me off lately and he's not allowed to ruin our fun."

"Woah, I've never been to a party before."

"Bro, aren't you like thirty? It's not a party, don't be weird." Taylor deadpanned as Theresa stifled a snort.

"I'm honored to be hosting your first ever party! I really want you to meet my roommate, Liz."

He basked in the light of your positive attention. Screw patrol- he was asked to go over to your apartment. While you were there. It was his dream come true.

"I like roommates! I'll meet the shit out of your roommate."

You laughed- a genuine, full laugh that wasn't at his expense, but because you thought he was funny. Adrian beamed. "I'll see you there." Walking out from around the stand and past him toward the kitchen, he was mesmerized by the sway of your hips. "Text you the address, 'kay?" You called over your shoulder. Taylor and Theresa scattered to finish closing up the second the warmth of your presence was gone, leaving Adrian to drool into his cleaning bucket. Close couldn't come soon enough.

Part of him was surprised when his phone pinged twenty minutes after he locked the doors with a text from you:

😇❤️🧜‍♀️: 1224 irving court apt. 6B. see u soon<3333

Holy fuck, that was a lot of hearts. His felt like it was beating out of his chest as he climbed the stairs of your ritzy apartment building. He could hear the voices of his coworkers from down the hall, muffled pop music sounding through your door. He knocked, but doubted anyone could hear over the noise. Should he just walk in? He didn't want to be rude.

"What are you doing, stalker?" Taylor pushed past him, knocking both his shoulder and case of beer into Adrian as he entered the apartment, the busboy hot on his heels.

Your apartment was tidy, well decorated, and dimly lit for the occasion. Ten or so people milled around, bouncing from the living room to the kitchen and back again. Alcohol flowed freely as everyone tried to loosen up after a long day of waiting tables. He was one of the last to arrive.

"Adriannnnn!" You squealed, perched on your kitchen island, surrounded by your usual clique of waitstaff. A few of them audibly groaned as he noticed you. Jumping down, you grabbed his hand and started to drag him into the dark hallway towards what he presumed was your room.

"I'm so excited you came!" You gushed, cheeks warm from the beer you'd just finished. "You've gotta meet Liz." His eyes nearly popped out of his skull- so did Taylor's. You'd pulled Adrian right past him and into the back bedroom, closing the door behind you.

"Ta-daaaaa!!!!!" You held your arms out to the side, proudly presenting a large reptile enclosure. "This is Liz!"

A fat bearded dragon lounged under a bright lamp.

"No fucking way!" Adrian exclaimed, pushing his nose up against the glass to get a better look. You giggled, flopping onto your bed. Rolling onto your stomach to get a better look at Adrian's amazement, you noticed how muscular he was. Still in his Fennel Fields polo, his arms flexed beneath the sleeves, balancing himself against the tank.

"How old is she?"

"How many crickets does she eat in a day?"

"Why'd you name her Liz?"

You were used to Adrian's rapid-fire questions when he was excited about something.

Humming, you thought for a moment, mind hazy already. "Two years old...a few crickets, but she mostly eats veggies.....and she's named Liz because I'm not very good at naming pets. My cat growing up was named Kitty, so..." You shrugged.

Adrian stood and began looking around your room. He wanted so badly to tell you about Eagly- Chris would definitely approve of any woman that named her lizard Liz.

He wasn't fully snooping- he'd do that another time. Preferably when you weren't home. You had a desk next to Liz's tank, cluttered with books and picture frames of you and your friends over the years. Above it hung a bulletin board collaged with magazine cutouts of clothes and models and famous actors you liked. Adrian paled. In the middle of the collage was a photo of him. Well, not technically of him, but Vigilante. Clipped from a newspaper and tacked to your wall- right across from the bed that you slept in each night- was a photo of him. Red sparkly heart stickers decorated the edges. His pointer finger lingered on the thin black and white image.

You popped up from the bed, only slightly embarrassed. "We should get back-"

"You...you li-like..." he couldn't find the words. Even if he could, there was no way he would have been able to string them together coherently. His brain turned to mush.

"Vigilante? Yeah. He's my favorite hero." Taking the tack out of his tiny head, you gently placed him in a dresser drawer on the other side of the room. Adrian swore he saw a flash of teal inside. Did you have a drawer dedicated to pictures of him? He'd definitely be coming back here to find out.

"You know he saved me once," you added. "Some asshole was following me home from the pharmacy one night a few years ago, and Vigilante totally kicked his ass. It was so hot." You sighed, cartoon hearts practically forming in your dreamy eyes. "I've been following him in the news ever since."

"Shut up, really?" His head was going to explode. Adrian truthfully had no recollection of saving you. He saved a lot of women in Evergreen from a lot of creeps. He'd give anything to remember. Throwing caution to the wind, he lunged for the super secret drawer. If he didn't see inside, he'd die.

"Wha-Adrian! No!"

Thanks to your slight inebriation, it was easy to dodge out of your grasp. The drawer slid open, shaking the dresser so violently a few knick-knacks toppled onto the carpet. It was obviously your underwear drawer, but he didn't have the mental bandwidth to process that at the moment because on top of the colorful cotton and lace panties were multiple framed photos of Vigilante. Eight or nine tiny, teal rhinestoned picture frames lay in a neat row. Each photo had been printed off from the Evergreen Sentinel's website. The time he was wanted for killing a bus full of pervy priests, the time he was wanted for beating the shit out of a graffiti artist, even the time he saved a cat from a burning drug dealer's house that he'd set on fire- every single headline he'd made was framed. You weren't just a casual fan. No, you were obsessed with him. A twisted sense of pride prickled up the back of his neck and flushed his already warm cheeks. Just as quickly as he'd opened it, you slammed the drawer shut.

Pushing him toward the door and back into the hallway, you scolded the nosy busboy. "Not cool, dude! I told you not to-." His lips captured yours, cutting you off.

The kiss was hungry. Teeth and tongues clashed, fueled by your burning embarrassment and his emboldened confidence. He pushed you against the wall right outside of your bedroom, unaware of the shocked onlookers in the kitchen. Pulling back for air, you gasped, head reeling.

Adrian beamed, "Vigilante's my favorite too." You pulled him back onto your parted lips, smiling into the kiss. He'd seen your creepy shrine and wasn't judging you- if anything, it seemed to make him like you even more than you thought possible. Maybe the alcohol was clouding your judgement, but you didn't care. Adrian matched your freak. Or, rather, you matched his.

The hallway light flicked on, clueing you into the audience you'd acquired. Taylor and Theresa were speechless, looking on in complete confusion. The rest of your coworkers awkwardly watched you untangle yourself from Adrian and rejoin the party as though nothing had happened.

He stayed glued to your side all night, stealing heated glances and possessively brushing his thumb over your hip, arm wrapped tightly around you. In the early hours of Saturday morning, guests finally trickled out of the apartment, finding their way home. As Theresa got in her SUV to leave, she eyed Adrian's silver Sebring and chuckled under her breath. No chance Adrian was coming for his car anytime soon. You'd sunk your pretty teeth into him and just like every guy before him, he was doomed to fall in love with you. Not slowly, but all at once. What Theresa didn't know was that unlike every guy before him, Adrian actually had a shot at you falling back.

I'm hoping to write more for Adrian! I recently fell down a rabbit hole on @vigilantexreader 's blog and I can't stop thinking of ideas for cute Adrian drabbles!

The sun crept slowly into the sky the next morning, flooding your small room with orange light. You had been up all night, unable to sleep despite how badly your bones ached for it. Butterflies had settled low in your stomach after meeting the beautiful Ser Duncan, your mind racing with excitement over seeing him again.

Knocking firmly on Daeron's door, you called to him. "Cousin! Wake up! We must make haste to Ashford." No answer. "Daeron?" You pounded a small fist against worn wood. "Aegon!" Nothing. You leaned your ear against the thick door, hoping to hear proof they hadn't left you behind. Just as you'd leaned your weight fully against it, the door swung open, causing you to topple onto poor Egg. A scream came from both of you, and a grunt from Daeron, whose head was buried beneath the thin covers of his bed.

"What the fuck, Egg?!"

"How was I to know you were leaning on it?!" The little boy burst into laughter at his cousin's betrayed face.

"You didn't have to throw the door open as if your life depended on the speed at which you were able to do so, you knob."

Egg opened his mouth in mock protest when Daeron threw a pillow across the room at his brother. "Shut it. Both of you," he mumbled into the bedding.

You stood, pulling Egg from the floor. "Daeron, get up. We need to leave now if we are to make it to Ashford before nightfall."

"Don't care."

"I do care," you hissed. "Father will go mad with worry if I'm not there on time. It's your job to ensure my safe arrival."

"Not my problem."

He was obviously still drunk. The stench of yesterday's ale hung heavy in the air, and he lay next to a puddle of his own sick. He was seen as a disgrace to House Targaryen- haunted by the ghosts of his dreams. It was difficult not to feel sorry for him, but you weren’t sorry enough to ignore the rage bubbling beneath your skin at his dismissal. You’d been traveling for almost a week now, with Daeron taking every opportunity he had to get pissed. 

"Right," you motioned for your smallest cousin to follow. "We shall leave for Ashford without you, then."

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

This was a terrible idea, you thought. Aegon sat pressed against your back; the scratchy burlap tunic he wore reeked of an indescribable stench that had you both scrunching your noses in disgust. Every step the horse took unearthed a new foul, fragrant note.

"What are you wearing?" You'd asked while mounting Glimmer. "Where is your doublet?"

Egg shrugged innocently. "I lost it."

There wasn’t time to consider how that was possible. Aegon often got himself into trouble, and last night at the inn was likely no exception.

The pair of you bickered in the hot sun for the better part of four hours before you spotted horses in the distance.

As Glimmer approached, you prayed to the gods that their owner was not nearby. You knew how vulnerable you’d made yourself on the open road, and you weren’t prepared for an altercation. 

"Shh!" Egg's mouth clamped shut at the command, and he peeked around your frame to see ahead. The three horses of a familiar hedge knight roamed lazily near a great elm tree. As you neared them, you craned your neck to see if anyone was around, eyes snagging on a pair of worn boots poking out from behind the tree.

Egg tugged at her sleeve, "That's the knight from the inn."

"Ser Duncan? How do you know the knight from the inn?” 

“How do you know the knight from the inn?” he pressed, an all too knowing look on his small face. 

“Oh shut it would you? The entire way here, you’ve been so annoying I can hardly stand to-”

“Princess?” Ser Duncan’s confused voice made you and Egg freeze, embarrassed to have been caught arguing. 

You sat up and turned to face him, cheeks blushing. “Ser Duncan! How fitting to see you on the road to Ashford.”

He was standing beneath the elm, his pants covered in loose grass. Dunk put his hands on his hips awkwardly as he looked you over. Squinting to see, he noticed Egg behind you. 

“Oi! Boy! Get down from there this instant! Lest you need a clout in the ear,” His tone was scolding, but his eyes remained kind- despite his efforts to seem stern. Duncan strode over to Glimmer and easily lifted your cousin from her back, setting Egg down on the dirt road. “What are you doin’ botherin’ a Princess, boy?”

“I was only helping her, Ser. I swear it!” Egg seemed eager to have the knight’s attention. Almost as eager as you. 

“I’m sorry, Princess,” Dunk turned to you, bowing his head. “The stable boy should not have inserted himself in your travels.” 

“Stable boy?” You cocked your head to the side, considering his words. Beside the tall man, Aegon was motioning wildly with his hands, begging you to stay quiet. Dunk looked down at a particularly wild movement, but Egg feigned innocence, smiling up at him. 

“Yes, Princess,” Egg started slowly, “I was seeing to your horse when you asked me to accompany you to Ashford as you are without a chaperone, remember?” The very idea that you would ever ask a child to join you in place of a chaperone was absurd, and Egg knew it. Luckily for him, Ser Duncan did not seem to find it odd. 

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion, but you decided there was little harm in going along with the boy’s game for now. If he wanted to be a stable boy instead of a Prince of the Realm, so be it. You could sympathize with his want of a simpler life. Ser Duncan scratched his head. 

“Where is your chaperone, Princess?” 

“Drunk,” you shrugged. “I could not wake him this morning, so I decided to gather my horse and go alone.” Egg cleared his throat. “With the boy,” you corrected yourself. 

“The road is no place for a Lady such as yourself. It’s dangerous!” Your heart melted at the clear worry on his face. “A young boy is not a wise travel companion.”

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Are you saying I’m unwise, Ser Duncan?” 

His eyes widened, “No! No, Princess! I- I would never say that. It’s just that…you really should have a proper chaperone. For your safety.” 

You loosened Glimmer’s reins, moving to dismount her. “Well, Ser, it’s settled! You will be my chaperone the rest of the way to Ashford.” As you began to slide down from the saddle, large hands met your waist firmly, helping you to your feet.

"As you wish, Princess. I am glady at your service." When you faced Duncan, his pupils were blown as his hands dropped to his sides. It was then that he noticed that he was covered in grass clippings, and his top priority became removing them as quickly as possible. Egg watched in disbelief as you ogled the knight. He looked ridiculous, turning in circles, brushing off his rear end, trying to look presentable. He was like a dog chasing its tail. You should be laughing, Egg thought. 

You bit your lip to keep from smiling. Assessing his horses, you question, “Are you of the hedge, Ser?” 

Duncan stops turning and stands to his full height, puffing out his broad chest. “Aye. I am a hedge knight, Princess. But I have sworn an oath to protect the innocent, and I will see to it you’re kept safe as we journey to Ashford.” He strangely gestured with his hand as if he were going to fold into a deep bow. His brow furrowed as if he were confused by his action.

“Seven hells,” Egg murmured. Duncan whacked the back of his smooth head, ears hot with embarrassment. 

“Shall we go then? ‘Tis only a two-hour ride from here. We can make it by supper.”  

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While the journey ahead was not a long one, an uncomfortable silence has settled between the three of you, making time pass slowly. Egg had tried and failed to start a conversation with his new favorite knight several times, but Ser Duncan seemed stiff as a board- his hands gripping the reins of his horse until his knuckles were white. Every now and then, he would look over his shoulder to make sure you were still trailing behind them unharmed.

You'd taken advantage of the silence, using the free time to watch Dunk's well-defined muscles ripple beneath his tunic every so often. His build was impressive. It was shocking that a man as large as he was unable to find employment within any of the great houses.

Bored, Aegon matched his horse's stride with yours, leaning over to not-so-quietly whisper.

"You can speak to him, you know."

"I think I'd rather speak to you." Egg seemed surprised. "Why does Ser Duncan think you are a stable boy?"

Guilt shrank his small body. "Don't tell him, please. I wish to be a squire. For a real knight. Not some boring Kingsguard father chooses."

You chuckle under your breath, careful not to be heard by Dunk. "And what about when we arrive at the tourney, hmm? Don't you think your father will have something to say about you trailing behind a hedge knight?"

"He won't know. I plan to stay with Ser Duncan as long as possible, cousin. He's a good man- I can tell. I will squire for him, and then by the time I am found out, it will be too late for Ser Duncan or father to deny my request."

You rolled your eyes. "That's your plan? It's terrible."

"All I need you to do is pretend you don't know me. Please." Unfortunately for you, Egg had mastered the art of puppy eyes.

"Fine."

"Oi!" Called Duncan. "Ashford's just up ahead."

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Here's part 2! I think there will be 2-3 parts per episode. I'm open to making them longer (like 1 chapter per episode), but then it will likely be one chapter a week as opposed to one every day or so.

Chapter 1: The Inn

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The air was suffocatingly thick in the Reach. The sun had only just settled beyond the horizon, and night brought no relief from the wet, hot winds rolling north from the Summer Sea. Daeron hastily ushered you and his youngest brother, Aegon, inside a dimly lit inn on the outskirts of the Dornish Marshes. Sweat clung to your crimson dressings as Daeron began ordering the innkeeper around. She was no older than your father, but looked worn down by the years of tending to the needs of others. She was a short and stocky woman who held the tired sharpness of a mother in her eyes.

“We require two rooms for the night. The boy and I in one, and the girl in the other.” Daeron barked in the most Princely tone he could muster in his drunken state. 

“I’m sorry, my Prince, but there are no rooms tonight. Tourney’s got us filled to the brim with knights and smallfolk alike.” 

“Move them, then.” Daeron’s words were slurring together, a product of the empty wineskin at his hip. “The Crown will see that you’re rewarded handsomely.” The woman squinted at him, unenthused. “Please,” he added in earnest.

You sat in the corner surveying the empty public house. It was unlikely the inn was short on rooms. If anything, you assumed the innkeeper recognized her cousin as Maekar Targaryen’s troubled son and was trying to save herself the headache of housing him for the night. That, or she wanted to see how many Gold Dragons she could shake out of the boy’s pockets before he turned away. Aegon pulling at your skirts brought your mind back into your tired body. 

“What, Egg?” you hissed, irritated. 

“I want to see to the horses,” he whined. “May I go?” 

“I don’t want to go back outside right now. Can’t it wait? I’m sure the stable boys are seeing to them just fine.”

“There are no stable boys! Glimmer will be frightened if she’s left alone too long.” Your horse, Glimmer, was a soft spot, and Egg knew it- the little shite. “You can stay here,” he offered. “I won’t be long, I swear it.” You sighed, knowing you wouldn’t be winning this fight in your current state of exhaustion. 

“Fine.” Egg cheered and made a run for the door. “Be back here before the hour of the bat ends, or I’ll have your head!” Your eyes narrowed at the back of his smooth head, suspicious of what mischief he had planned. 

Sinking into your chair, you rested her eyes while Daeron and the innkeeper finally agreed on a price for the two rooms, and he was served what was sure to be his first of many cups of ale.  

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The public house’s door creaked open to reveal the largest man you had ever seen. He had to bow his head just to clear the frame. His sandy hair was long and disheveled, and you could smell him from across the room. But something about him made you sit up straighter, your full attention on him as he awkwardly settled into a too-small chair. Across from the stranger, Daeron slept, drooling into his spilled ale. 

“There’s good lamb, roasted with a crust of herbs and some ducks my son shot down. Which will you have?” The innkeeper questioned in a bored tone. “Both,” the stranger eagerly responded, earning a snicker from the plump woman. “You’re big enough for it.”

That he was. She poured him a cup of ale, which he dwarfed in his enormous calloused hands. You swallowed thickly at the sight. “How much farther to Ashford?” He questioned.

“A day’s ride,” You chimed in, earning his attention. “Are you bound for the tourney, then?” You asked, nodding to his splintered shield. His cheeks turned a sweet shade of pink that made your stomach flip. You weren’t sure if he recognized you.

In all his years, Ser Duncan had never seen a maiden as beautiful as the one sitting before him. Your chestnut brown hair was haphazardly braided out of your pale face, perfectly displaying your soft features. Eyes as blue as the sea, cheeks as flushed as a rose. You wore a crimson dress, fitted with gold- real gold, he was sure. Sweat sinfully glistened on exposed collarbones. What you were doing alone in a place such as this, he did not know.

He’d been staring for far longer than appropriate. Righting the sword at his side and clearing his throat, he met your gaze once more. 

“Aye, my Lady. I mean to enter the lists tomor-”

“-I dreamed of you,” Daeron slurred, eyes cloudy with recognition as he accused the knight. A blade appeared in his hand. “Stay the fuck away from me. You hear?” 

“My Lord?” Ser Duncan looked nothing if not confused as Daeron rose from his seat and began climbing the steps to his room. 

“And her,” Daeron pointed the dagger at his cousin. “You keep away from her.” A gold piece was tossed from the staircase, landing heavily on the sticky table before he retreated for the night. 

You rolled your eyes at the knight. “Pay him no mind, Ser.” You moved to share a table with the tall stranger. “He knows not what he says when he’s drunk.” Duncan dared not to move a muscle, as if it might scare you away. 

“Your husband, my Lady?” He asked, a slight stiffness laced into his words. 

You laughed, “My cousin, Ser. And my travel chaperone.” Duncan nods, tension releasing from his broad shoulders. “We are making way to Ashford as well. For the tournament.”

“Is he a knight, then?”

You smiled. If he didn’t recognize Daeron’s silver hair, then he certainly had no idea of your station. “Yes, Ser. He is meant to enter the lists, but I’m not certain he’ll be able to mount a horse, let alone hold a lance, once we arrive tomorrow.”

“A tourney’s a dangerous place for a Lady. He should not drink so much in your company.”

“A fool’s wish,” you mused. “What is your name, Ser?” 

“They call me Dunk, my Lady. Erm- Ser Duncan, I mean.” He looked unsure of himself. "Ser Duncan the Tall."

"Tall you certainly are, Ser Duncan." You playfully brought his cup of ale to your lips, making sure to place them just close enough to where his had been to see the knight blush again. "Tell me, how does a man grow to be so tall?"

He laughed nervously at your devilishly curled lips, heat rising to his face. No woman had ever paid him much mind. He wasn't sure how to present himself.

You leaned forward, endearing yourself to him. Duncan knew that if he were to look any lower than your face, he'd be able to see down your tightly laced corset. He fought to keep his eyes locked on yours.

"I don't know, my Lady. I-" The innkeeper set a large plate piled with roasted meats on the table. “She’s no Lady of the Court, Ser. Address the Princess properly.” 

You fixed your mouth into a tight, annoyed smile at the woman nodding in your direction. It was nice being just a Lady for once. Ser Duncan scrambled out of his chair, scraping it loudly behind him as he took to one knee. "Your Highness," he bowed. "Forgive me- I have heard tales of your beauty, but I- I knew not what you looked like," he stuttered. "I am honored to be of service to you in any way I can, my La- er Princess. Your Grace." His eyes were the size of saucers- pupils blown and dazed as though he'd seen a ghost, chin tucked in submission to the crown.

You bit back a laugh at his nervousness. "Please, Ser Duncan. I'll have none of that." Lightly cupping his jaw, you forced him to look you in the eye once more. "Sit with me. Eat. There is no need for formalities here." She gestured to the empty room.

"Of course, Princess," he nodded, "As you wish."

You sat in silence after that. Duncan anxiously picked at his meal, unsure of how to eat in front of royalty. You amusedly watched him as he, several times, opened his mouth to speak but decided against saying anything. Sensing his nerves growing by the minute, you pushed out of your seat and bent at the waist in goodbye.

"I should retire, Ser." He started to stand, but you held up a hand in protest. "No need to get up just for me to leave you. I do look forward to seeing a lance in those strong hands of yours, Ser Duncan." He choked on his ale. As you turned to the staircase, he saw a strand of pure white hair woven into your messy braid. "Good night," he whispered, breathless.

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Let me know if you want the next part!

You were glowing—so much so that people were starting to notice. Barty's blood satiated you in a way you'd never experienced before. You had more energy, looked healthier, and felt more confident—everything was amplified up to one hundred after feeding off your boyfriend. The only problem? The effects were wearing off rapidly.

"Shit, B!" You scolded as Barty strolled into the mostly empty common room. "Pull up your collar, for the love of Salazar."

Two small puncture wounds were peeking out over his uniform shirt, and the bruising called attention to his neck.

"And why, Sugar, would I do that?" He pecked your cheek and flopped onto the sofa you were reading on, his head landing in your lap. "Gotta show everyone my girl can't keep her hands off me." You should be more upset. No one at Hogwarts knew of your...condition. But you couldn't find it in yourself to be mad at him when he was looking up at you with big, lovesick eyes.

You sighed. "I just don't need anyone noticing that they aren't hickeys." Your voice was soft, only for Barty's ears.

"Next time you'll have to bite lower then," he shrugged, pulling the book from your hands and tossing it onto the floor. He closed his eyes, completely oblivious to your gobsmacked expression.

"You know I can't 'bite lower,' you knob. And there isn't going to be a next time."

Barty snickered, relaxing into you. His eyes closed lazily as you ran your fingers through his hair. Humming softly, a puzzled expression crossed his face.

"Hey, Sugar?" He sat up to face you. "How come you've been so...perky lately? Not that I'm complaining, it's just..." he trailed off, unsure of how to put his thoughts into words that wouldn't offend.

You sighed, bending down to retrieve your discarded book and setting it in your lap. Looking around for any eavesdroppers, your voice is a whisper. "It's different, I know." You choose your words carefully. "After I...fed from you, I erm...feel different." Barty simply blinked, waiting for you to continue. "Human blood is the intended diet for my kind, B. It made me stronger. I just...I feel better than I ever have with animal blood. We aren't meant to deny ourselves in the way I do. That's why I've seemed so perky. Because I fed properly for the first time."

Your eyes couldn't leave your lap. You were ashamed to admit that Barty's blood had such an effect on you. It was unnatural. Even though you weren't technically human, you still felt like one. Humans weren't meant to feast on each other. It was an abomination. You were an abomination. The thoughts bounced loudly in your head, clouding your eyes with thick tears. When you dared to look up at your boyfriend, you expected to see horror in his eyes. Instead, horror crept into yours, as you were met with the widest, shit-eating grin you'd ever seen.

His reaction didn't make sense. Barty took in the sight before him- your tear-filled, confused eyes made him throw his head back and cackle. "What?" You questioned, hastily wiping at your reddening cheeks. "You're being mean, Barty." He lightly grabbed your wrist as you tried to get up from the sofa. He pulled you into him, shushing at your protests.

"I'm not being mean, Sugar. I'm flattered."

"Why on earth would that flatter you? It's disgusting."

"None of that, my love. You just told me that I made you feel better than you've ever felt in your life. Me. I did that. And I can keep doing it."

You rolled your eyes. Of course, that's all he heard. "No, Barty. You can't keep doing it."

"Who says?"

"I do! I promised Dumbledore that this type of thing would never happen while I'm attending school here. It puts me in a really bad spot if anyone ever found out-"

"No one will know." He interrupted, righting his collar to hide the evidence of your feed. "I will never tell a soul, Sugar. Honest."

You knew he wouldn't. If there was anything Barty Crouch Jr. loved more than chaos, it was a secret.

"Barty," you tried your best to give him a serious look, "that can't happen again. It's already wearing off, and it's hardly been a week. Your wounds haven't even healed yet."

Barty rolled his eyes. "Oh, my wounds!" he yelled, falling back dramatically, calling unwanted attention to your little corner of the common room. "She's wounded me! With her love!" You clamped a hand over his mouth, and he playfully bit your palm, earning a squeal from your lips. "When will you learn, Sugar?" He caged you against the cushions, ignoring the stares in your direction. "I would do anything for you. I'd bleed myself dry if it pleased you. These 'wounds,'" he mocked, "are a badge of honor. They're proof I provide for my best girl."

Your stomach was full of butterflies, and you felt lightheaded at his words. He was so close that you could hear his pulse thrumming beneath his warm skin, inviting your canines to lengthen. "Use me," he whispered against the shell of your ear. "I'm yours to use as you please."

"Let's go to my room, then."