Adrian Chase - Blog Posts

found an image i made forever ago

Help, i have a chronic obsession with nerdy and weird mfs

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱ About Me ⊰•*⭑

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

This is a never-ending editing mess of things I'm interested in and the things I post, changes are to be expected obviously

Current Life Events |

✑ Currently preparing for my first semester next year to study chemistry (and hopefully become a forensic medical examiner) also living with the fiancé :3

Reading ATM |

A Year Like None Other by aspeninthesunlight (Ao3)

3 part series

Deku? I think he's some pro... by Clouds (myheadinthecloudsnotcomingdown) (Ao3)

6 parts (not completed)

Master List |

-WIP

Interests |

My Hero Academia (NSC)

Harry Potter (Neville, Draco, F&G)

Our Flag Means Death (NSC)

The Owl House (and most other shows produced by the same people)

HTTYD (NSC)

Marvel/Avengers (NSC)

DC (NSC)

TWD (NSC)

TVD + Associated shows (NSC)

Horror (Slashers namely Jason, Ghost Face, Pyramid Head, etc.)

Genshin Impact

Roblox (DTF)

JJK

Music | Current Playlist

Re arranged slightly so now it’s more organized :D

My Adrian themed phone layout (slightly chaotic)

Feel free to use for Inspo or something :D

Masterlist Ver 1.0

This account stands with Palestine

Last Updated: Friday January 24

The ones without underline sadly don't have any pics from me yet srry

Peacemaker

-Adrian chase

Percy Jackson

-Luke castellan

-Percy Jackson

-Clarisse la rue

Criminal minds

-Spencer Reid

The Mighty Ducks

-Dean Portman

-Dwayne Robertson

Hamzahthefantastic

-Hamzah

Streamers

-PlaqueBoyMax

-Fanum

-LumasVa

-TinkyJohn

Swagger

-Nick Mendez

Outer Banks

-Rafe Cameron

-Sarah Cameron

-Pope Heyward

The Walking Dead

-Carl Grimes

-Glenn Rhee

Mid90s

-Ruben

-fourthgrade

Will be updated regularly!

fucking loser (affectionate)

okay but like how do you think Adrian would react to his partner squirting? I feel like he’d be obsessed with it😩

the word OBSESSED is ABSOLUTELY CORRECT

once he's with his partner he's like. okay i know everybody doesn't do this. so i can't be disappointed if it doesn't happen. it's not my fault. i can't just MAKE it happen. like he TELLS HIMSELF that but that doesn't mean it's NOT a GOAL

and then the first time you do it he like. just loses his WHOLE entire mind. like he loses his MIND. he wasn't keeping careful enough track of what, exactly, he was doing to cause it in the first place, and he tries to figure it out, but he was, like, just kind of being IMPULSIVE, you know, so then

then at that point it becomes a THING for him. like an ENTIRE OBJECTIVE. he tries a whole host of different things and studies porn like he's taking a class and attempts to figure out how to make you squirt literally as often as he can. my heart says he keeps a tiny journal or a locked note on his phone to keep notes about everything he tries and how it was received

long story short i fully believe adrian chase sees sex as both an enjoyable activity and a personal success and he would make it a LIFE GOAL for his partner to squirt as OFTEN as possible like he LOVES IT. one track mind sometimes. every track mind the rest of the time. no in between for him

HOLY FUCKING HELL IM AN ABSOLUTE WHORE FOR THIS

Chainsaws and Parking Lots

A/N: Adrian Chase x F!Reader Wordcount: 1.9K Warnings: Rough Smut. Blood Kink. Public Sex. Oral. Sex near dead bodies. Hurt/Comfort ish. Pain kink. Summary: Adrian never knows how to deal with tears. A/N: lol dis is wild and written in a daze

“I do bad things.”

“Correction,” Adrian exclaims. “You do bad things to bad people.”

You shoot a glare at him - your brows knitting together.

He loves the violence of you. He loves watching you tear people apart.

“What the hell did you use?” he murmurs - already hard - already half-blind with it. You turn toward him - your sneakers are stained red. You're not even dressed in your suit. Civilian clothes. Interesting. You wordlessly point to the gore-ridden tool that is nestled between the pieces and parts of dead bodies. Hot as fuck.

“Is that a chainsaw?” He places his hand on his chest - feels the thump thump thump of his own heart beginning to beat too fast. His cock twitches.

You nod mutely.

He wants to breathe i love you against your carnage-drenched hair. He wants to shove you against that tree by the road, ruck your shorts down and lick your pussy. He bets you get soaked - dripping with that punch of girl-flavor he finds addicting. Adrian Chase could eat pussy all day every day. He’s great at it. He thinks - or so he's been told by like three people.

“What I’d do?” you ask no one in particular. Your eyes are round and big and your voice is small and hushed as it slips from your mouth.

He gingerly pulls you away from the massacre you’ve caused. He wants to tell you how Tobe Hooper has nothing on you, but that might not fly. Your shirt is dark and soggy. Your cute white sneakers branded in arterial spray. He needs to be tactful here. He tries to think how Chris would react? If he’d react at all? They’re just extras. They just got in the way. They’re regrettable casualties except they’re not too regrettable because they did work for the mad scientist that we are currently hunting!

He controls himself. Shouldn’t come on too strong.

Instead - he pinches your cheek with his clumsy, gloved fingers. “You’re adorable.”

You blink at him - mouth parting in surprise. “That was - was not adorable.” He sees it - he sees your throat bob and your lashes flutter and your eyes go all glassy with tears. You swallow thickly and scrub a hand over your face. “You’re so fucking weird, Vig.”

He thinks that means that you're fine, but then he's wrong.

Your face goes flat before it collapses. You start melting down. Your chest heaves (he’s totally not looking). You press your hand to your stomach - choking on air.

Fuck. Shit. Fuck.

He could wax poetic about how the both of you are born killers - how this is strictly the job even though he’s about 92% sure he hasn’t been hired to do any of this in particular. You’re the Waller puppet with the enhanced strength and fighting prowess and he really wants to ask you if whatever experimentation you got as a kid made you like ten times prettier? No one should have tits and bone structure like that and also be able to wield a chainsaw like it’s a baton.

“Okay,” he murmurs as he studies your stricken face. “It’s alright?”

Great. Excellent job. He was making strides in human empathy.

You wrap your arms around yourself. Your face is still screwed up - still very lost and confused and he finds himself stumped.

“Chill out?” he advises as he steps toward you - palms-up like he’s attempting to gentle a bucking horse. “It’s fine. It’s totally fine.”

You chew your lower lip - expression anxious. “I didn’t - I didn’t mean to kill them all.”

“Okay...” He slowly peels off his mask. You’ve seen him before. “Just as an FYI, people tend to bleed to death when you cut off their body parts.”

You huff out a laugh. Your teeth vibrantly white against all that dark red. He wants to eat your mouth - your skin. He thinks you're going to cry again - maybe start sobbing.

He makes a decision - selfish as it is.

He can’t help himself. He grasps the curves of your hips and yanks you toward him. You go rigid. He presses his lips to your throat - wet and insistent. You sigh - relaxing into him - going to putty. He trails them up your jaw before he tucks your ear lobe between his teeth and bites. You shudder - your blood-caked fingers digging into the backs of his arms - trying to rip through his tactical suit.

He’s going to fuck you. He’s going to fuck you covered in blood because how fucking spectacular would that be?

You grip his face to wrench him down to your mouth. It’s a saliva-laden kiss. Messy and wet and tastes like metal. He doesn’t mind - not at all. In fact - he really fucking likes it.

***

“Fuck,” you gasp as Adrian rails you into the cold, hard pavement. He’s got you trapped beneath him - pinned like a pretty butterfly on stark paper (but not the alien variety)

He sucks in a breath when you hitch your knees higher over his waist. Your pussy clutching at him - tight and hot as a fist. “Um,” He kisses your cheek - drags his tongue along the ridge of your jaw. “This - like not to be weird - but this is probably the sexiest thing I’ve ever done.”

You arch an eyebrow and he draws his hips back - the head of his cock catching on the fluttering rim of your hole before he drives forward. “Shit, Vig,” you wheeze, which really kind of gets him going (not like he already was). He’s had to think about mile-long CVS receipts in order to keep himself from blowing his load. It’s nearly impossible because the air is swamped with that copper-stench of blood, there’s the evidence of your extremely violent tendencies just above your head, and the stimulating thought of them getting caught screwing in public next to a pile of dead bodies. Fucking cool.

He almost - almost - hopes that Chris would show up looking for them.

He lifts himself up slightly - forearms framing your face. He bears his weight - glancing down between you to watch as his cock disappears inside your sex - the thick of him obscenely shiny with your slick. Your thighs are splayed open - your shirt is hiked above your perfect tits where there’s more gore - more and more red just painting you like an abstract splatter piece.

You’re making really hot noises - high-pitched, breathy uh uh uh’s that stroke him off. “Can we like do this more than once?” he asks as he eases himself out of you. Your expression morphs into displeasure - your teeth click in your mouth. He’s already got you before you can complain. He licks his fingers and shoves two of them into your fucked-out cunt. He grinds his thumb against your clit - making you jerk.

“Sure,” you reply in between hitched moans. “Sure - fuck - whatever you want, Vig.”

He simpers. It could be sort of kind of romantic if he thought about it. The night sky is plumb-purple blue as a liver. The stars faintly twinkling behind the wash of smog that swells from the city. The subtle smell of decay and pungent oil from the chainsaw. His glasses fog up because of the cool temperatures while the two of you remain fever-hot. He finally has to remove them after they slide down his nose for the tenth time. He grins as he watches you writhe on his hand. Each pump of his fingers - straight to the knuckle - creates crude, squelching noises.

“You’ve got the juiciest fucking pussy,” he praises as his eyes bare down upon your exposed cunt - watching it bloom around his ministrations. He’s gotta get his cock back in there, but he also doesn’t mind this honey-slow pause - this moment that he can really look at you fully as he massages in and out and his thumb circles your perky little clit and he smiles at you in the cold dark of this abandoned parking lot outside an abandoned warehouse. “Can I lick it?”

You nod - furiously - desperately - and it really gets him charged up - to watch you splayed on your back - spread out and needy. Fuckk, it's nice.

He removes his fingers and lowers himself so that he can force your knees over his shoulders. Your heels knock against his suit - his spine. There’s your cunt - gaping and glossy and clenching on air. He glances up at you - the heave of your tits - the blood staining your face - caught up in your hair. You’re clean down here - just all wet from him and his fingers and his cock and -

“Adrian,” you plead and it rumbles through him - rides him hard - the delicious bite of your voice calling him by his name.

He goes to town - his lips kissing your parted entrance - his tongue thrusting inside you to taste your heat. You're soapy - the slim tang of salt and sweat and flesh. The brush of cordite and iron in the creases of your skin. He suctions his mouth over your clit - flicking it until you fist your hands into his hair and yank. He sucks a fold into his mouth - he nips the other. You’re panting - nearly grinding down against his face - potentially breaking his nose, which he genuinely wouldn’t mind because he’d be able to tell Chris that it happened because he was tongue-fucking you on the hard cold ground next to a bunch of dead bodies.

He licks and licks and worships. He traces the tip of his tongue over the tiny nub that throbs and swells and sometimes he teases his fingers inside you - relishing as they contract around his knuckles. He feels you come - a muffled scream against the back of your hand. The rush of your liquid - your pleasure - the sticky feel of it on his chin and jaw and the way your eyes dance over him - provocatively - sweetly -

“C’mere,” you demand and he goes - sliding up and over your body - his cock so hard that it bounces against his stomach - the rough texture of his suit. He buries you beneath him - frantically kissing you with his pussy-soaked tongue. Your thighs widen - your heels digging into his ass to maneuver him just right. He sinks back inside the molten ache of your cunt. You gasp at the stretch of it - the slight burn he imagines as he barrels into you without caution because he knows you can handle it. He fucks you hard - leveraging his weight - your nails digging into his throat - his cheeks. “Does it hurt?” He presses his face where your shoulder meets your neck - he laps at the spots of blood. “Is my cock hurting you?”

“Yes,” you sigh - hips bucking up and into him. He grabs a handful of your ass - forcing your thigh up higher.

“Let me get deep,” he mumbles as he takes you in long, tortuous strokes. He eases himself out - right to the tip - before plunging forward - forcing a whimper out of your mouth. “My little killer queen,” he calls you. The blood in his nose and the ripple and rock of the Queen song in his ears. The moon glinting off the chainsaw that rests not far from their tangled bodies.

You shudder - going tight around him. The burst of a surprise orgasm pushing through your core and curling around him as he tries to dream up more CVS Receipts and blueberry muffins with tentacles and his grandmother in a top hat, but it does nothing. He drags himself through the dripping clenching bite of your cunt - fucking you relentlessly as you take it like a champ. The sloppy, messy thrusts are met with your lips murmuring don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop, Adrian. Vig. Adrian.

His pace stumbles - he hits his high - fills you right up with spurt after spurt of his warm spend. He’s surprised - falling back on his heels while you sit up on your elbows. Your thighs hang open and he watches his own pearly spunk drip from your puffy, swollen pussy. Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

“You’re pretty good at that.”

He frowns. “At what?” He needs his glasses. He needs a burrito and idly wonders if you’d grab one with him and then let him eat you out again.

“Comforting.”

He forgot that’s how this started. “I’m totally an empath,” he smirks - slapping his hand across your cunt and making you yelp. You kick him in the chin. “Shit,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Okay - I deserved that.”

“You can make it up to me.”

“Fuck yes I can.”

you are the only one

pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns, gn sex descriptions, wears a dress/long hair/jewelry/make-up)

rating: e+

word count: 8,791

one-sentence synopsis: you and adrian have to pretend to be in a relationship for a mission, but you're already in a secret relationship, and this would be a lot fucking easier if adrian didn't look this good in a suit.

author's note: this was just indulgent!! just very self-indulgent!! also i started rewatching peacemaker and i'm unhinged!! i want us to wear fancy clothes and go bonkers on each other!! and he's not even real!! that is all!! sorry i wasn't very active tonight i was determined to finish this and upload it!!!!! and again, for pre-emptive clarity: features reader with gender-neutral pronouns, and gender-neutral sex descriptions, but the reader is wearing a dress, long hair, jewelry, and make-up because that's what i'd want to be wearing and i'm nb and really this is so so soooo self-indulgent so!!

read on ao3!

It’s not often that you actually get to go out on a mission that could be considered fancy, but, tonight, that’s exactly what you’re doing.

The basic rundown of the mission isn’t all that difficult. It’s Emilia’s responsibility to get close to your target, a wealthy older Swiss fellow who apparently needs to be very covertly killed. She’s meant to get close enough to do the job— it was recommended they poison him but, knowing Emilia, she’ll probably end up luring him away to just shoot him in the face or something simpler— while Chris serves as her backup.

They work well enough, especially with Emilia with her hair done and makeup in place and a shockingly stunning gold dress on. She doesn’t like to dress up; you rarely ever see her in clothes that aren’t also tactical and/or practical. The effect, as a result, is a little overwhelming, because she is beautiful and she so rarely shows that off. Chris is meant to be playing the role of her bodyguard, but he keeps just— staring at her. Which, you figure, is fair enough, because she does look incredible, and it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility for his character to be infatuated with hers, so nobody says anything.

It’s an open secret that they’re already essentially together, anyways. Not like with you and Adrian, whose relationship is still a secret secret, kept hidden under wraps. You worry often about what would happen if any of the higher-ups found out that you had started a relationship with somebody you weren’t even supposed to be working with in the first place.

They barely let Adrian join the team at all in the first place. You’re not about to go and fuck it all up for him just because you’re in stupid love with him.

Besides, he agrees with you that you should keep your relationship secret. Though, of course, he’s more worried about what he refers to as one of his “many, many, many evil nemeses” getting their hands on you.

“Babe, I’m a superhero,” he had said to you, like he was Superman or Captain America and not the masked instigator of half of Evergreen’s fights. To you, though, he’s a greater superhero than the rest combined, so you’d just nodded, unable to stop smiling. “There are so many people who would want to use you to get to me. Like, so many. I can’t let that happen.”

You both had your reasons, and, right now, those reasons were too important for the two of you to reveal your relationship. To you, it was enough that you were with each other at all. Eventually, you’ll have to do something— You’ve already told each other, “I love you,” eventually this is going to have to go somewhere.

Today, though, is luckily not that day.

However, a big part of you wishes it was, because you think you’re about to actually go insane otherwise.

Because John and Leota had opted to stay behind in your team’s new van and provide behind-the-scenes support, the tech and tactics John’s so good at and Leota wants to be better at, you and Adrian had been the ones assigned to monitor Emilia and Chris while you were all inside the lavish hotel ballroom together. The cover Emilia’s assigned to you is a married couple that’s visiting the city. You’ve been invited to this party— which isn’t really a party like parties you go to, but seems like more of a gala like you’d seen in movies— because a friend of a friend of “yours” is here. It’s all made up, but you’re used to going undercover. You can sell this.

It is the responsibility of you and Adrian to keep an eye on Emilia and Chris all night. Don’t let anyone get too close; keep track of any suspicious figures; make sure nobody gets hurt. Pretty basic. You could do a mission this easy in your sleep; you don’t even think you’re going to have to shoot anybody tonight. By the end of the night, you’re all supposed to go to the hotel rooms you’ve been assigned, sleep there, and regroup in the morning. When you’d asked why you all had to stay, Emilia said it was less suspicious than if someone checked later and saw you were the only guests who had neglected to stay afterwards.

So, really, it’s not that bad. You just have to have your friends’ backs, eat some nice food, and sleep in a fancy hotel room. Really, it’d be nice if all missions were like this.

The major problem here has nothing to do with the target, or the gala, or the mission itself. It has to do with your assignment, with Adrian’s assignment, with your roles together; it has to do with what you’ve been told to do, and what you’ve been dressed in—

—Which, you can’t be too mad about. Your clothes fit you perfectly, shimmering and ornate and just— fancy, much fancier than anything you’ve ever owned before, or even worn before. Even the fabric feels rich, so silkily textured beneath your fingertips. The material had practically slipped out of your fingers when you first lifted it out of the box Emilia had given to you. It was thin, nearly sheer; the material’s so dark blue that it nearly shimmers to black in some places, small drops of brightness beaded throughout. It drapes off your shoulders, hugs your frame tightly down your body. At your waist, the tight bodice of the dress flows into a looser skirt; a slit comes up the side of your right leg to stop shockingly high. The overall effect of the dress, when you put it on, is like stars in the night sky, or moonlight on water— light winking in and out of existence as you move, twisting in the mirror to examine it from all sides.

You’d protested the dress on instinct, telling her that you had no protection while wearing a dress like this, but she informed you that wearing a dress like this was your protection.

“You’re supposed to blend in,” she’d said, and then stepped in to adjust the front, checking the fit. “This is your armor. Now, turn around so I can button it and make sure it fits.”

It had fit you well enough, but Emilia had pinned it in a few places anyways, determined that it fit exactly right. It’s part of your costume, she told you; people as wealthy as you’re pretending to be would be wearing something bespoke, that fit them perfectly, so you have to, too.

The same had happened with Adrian, even if you hadn’t actually gotten to see his clothes yet. He’d been too embarrassed to show you then, even though you reminded him you’d see him in it eventually.

It’s not until you’re actually showing up at the coordinates Emilia gave you that you’ll get to see Adrian fully dressed.

You get there before he does, tragically, showing up in a parking lot you’ve all used as a pre-mission meeting spot before. It’s easy to find Chris, Emilia, Leota, and John already there. With your arrival, you’re all just waiting for Adrian.

When you get out of your car, already ready to go, John playfully whistles at you. You laugh, unable to stop yourself from actually blushing— partially because you’re not all that used to compliments on your appearance, and partially because you’re embarrassed, you never look like this in front of them. It feels strangely revealing, to be dressed so well in front of people who frequently see you at your worst; it’s like you feel like they’ll know it’s all fake, or something.

Chris and Emilia are dressed up, too, though, and they look incredible, and that doesn’t feel fake to you, so— maybe there is something real to their compliments of you. Emilia’s golden dress falls down her body like shimmering water, clinging tightly to each small dip and curve of her body. She has her hair straightened, sleek and shining and elegant; her makeup’s done even more beautifully and dramatic than normal, her eyes, just— stunning. She looks incredible. You’re not surprised seeing that Chris is having a hard time not looking at her. Even you’re having a hard time not looking at her.

For his part, Chris looks handsome, too. Emilia must have dressed him, because he actually looks muted, for once. She’s put him in all black, and he looks the perfect picture of an imposing bodyguard— even if he can’t stop looking at his supposed employer. You feel like you’re practically invisible next to them, even if you spent way longer than you would normally doing your hair and everything to make sure you looked as perfect as you could tonight.

For the mission. Obviously. Not for Adrian.

“You’re going to be taking this,” Emilia tells you, motioning you over to one of the two cars beside your team’s mission van. They’re impossibly nice, sleek and clean and new, a car you’ve never even seen before, let alone driven in. “Chase should probably drive.”

“What, don’t trust me?” you ask, examining the gleaming black exterior.

“No,” she says. “Because that’s not your role. He’s the head of the household, you’re—”

“The demure partner, I know,” you finish for her. “I read your whole bio you made up. You should be a playwright or something, it was pretty good.”

Emilia actually laughs, then says, “Glad you liked it,” and you can’t help smiling. It puts you at ease that she’s in a good mood. She’s relaxed, and you’re relaxing, and—

—And Adrian’s car is pulling up along the other side of the mission van. Your heart is instantly in your throat, the same way it usually ends up whenever you see him while there’s other people around. You always want so badly to go right to him, but you almost never can.

Tonight, the feeling is amplified, multiplied infinitely because of the way he looks. You have never seen him like this, never. Adrian’s usual wardrobe consists of one of only a few different options. He’s either in one of his favorite sweater-jeans combos; his Vigilante armor; shirts and shorts that are legally color atrocities; his work uniforms; or nothing at all, which seems to be his personal favorite when you’re alone at one of your places together.

You can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve seen him in actual formalwear. And this is more than just him wearing nice clothes because he’s trying to take you out to dinner somewhere he has to wear a tie. This is—

This is Adrian rounding his car in a suit. His clothes fit him so perfectly, and they’re so— so fucking nice, beautiful and dark. You can’t look away from him, from the broad spread of his shoulders in the well-fitting suit jacket, over his strong chest beneath the white dress shirt underneath, down his legs that feel impossibly fucking long in these pants, the way they’rethey’re fitted to his legs, tucked up around his body. His satiny-looking shirt is buttoned up to the top, a black bow tie in place at the center of his throat. He’s even combed his hair back, though the way his hair is curling can’t really be held back, already loosening in a couple places.

When you actually manage to focus on his face, he’s adjusting his glasses, a flush melting over his cheeks, spreading red up his ears. You linger over the dimples at the smiling corners of his mouth, the freckle by his eye, the tiny scars along his jaw. He’s cleaned the lenses of his glasses, you notice, and his eyes seem so bright through them.

His eyes don’t meet yours when you look at them, though. They’re below your eye level. They’re looking— right at you, burning over your body everywhere, moving from your throat down over your chest, your waist, your hips, your thighs, down and back up. You can’t stop yourself from blushing, too.

“Jesus, Adrian, put your eyes back in, you’re being a creep,” Chris says, and you snap back into yourself. You’re embarrassed, heart belatedly pounding. You hope nobody thinks too deeply about the way you were just fucking— eye-fucking each other in this parking lot.

“Sorry,” Adrian says. “I really— I wasn’t trying to be a creep, you just look stupid nice. Like, you should dress like that all the time, you look—” He huffs a little nervous laugh, says, “Ah, fuck, I’m being a little bit of a creep. I don’t mean to be. Uhh— This is— What if— Okay, so, this is me being normal and trying to be not creepy: you look really, really nice.”

You can’t help the smile that comes up at that. In the back of your mind, you wonder what Adrian would be saying if there weren’t people here and he could say anything he wanted. You wonder what he’d do, if he could do anything you wanted.

Your eyes flicker up to meet his again, and you make yourself be as normal as you can be, too, when you want to run and just— jump at him.

“You look really nice, too,” you tell him. “And you’re not being creepy, don’t worry. Not everyone has to be so distracted by Emilia that they can’t compliment anyone else.” You have to force yourself to smile at your own joke, to tear your eyes away from Adrian to look at Emilia instead. “Not that I blame him, obviously. You did a great job with all of us, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Emilia replies. “Literally ever.” She tosses the keys to the sleek car you’re standing beside to Adrian. “The location’s already keyed into your car’s GPS. Remember, watch us until eleven, make sure you see my signal, and then go up to your room like you’re sick and going to bed early. There should be pajamas and toiletries— like, toothbrushes and all that shit— provided for you by the hotel, and I’ll have clothes for you to change into in the morning.” She hands you a hotel key in the form of a card, says, “Sorry, you’ll have to share a room tonight to keep up the act, but it’s got a huge bed so just— build a pillow wall so he doesn’t hump you while you’re sleeping.”

“Got it,” you reply, smiling up at Adrian as he draws closer, trying to make it clear to him— without making it obvious to everyone else— that that’s not necessarily unwelcome.

His eyes catch yours, blown mostly black; his movements are stiffer than normal, and you can’t help reaching out to catch him by the shoulders. He stiffens impossibly further, back straightening, shoulders spread. You slip the hotel key card and your phone into the inside pocket of his jacket to hold for you before fixing his lapel for him. Your fingertips reach for his collar next, straightening it out for him. Just to keep touching him, you continue moving to pick at the sleeves of his jacket, loosening them up a bit, giving him a little more movement.

When you reach up to fix the very top edge of his collar, you can feel his pulse rabbiting in his throat, impossibly fast. His skin is warm under your touch, and you exhale with a hint of a shake to your breath. When you glance up at him through your eyelashes, he’s already looking at you. This close up, it’s hard not to drag your palms flat down his chest and yank his hips into yours and just— beg him to do— something, anything, but you make yourself just smile, even as the backs of your knees sweat.

“There you go,” you tell him, taking your hands off him. He exhales, but doesn’t step away, leaving it to you to do it.

You separate, making to head for the passenger side door, but Emilia says, “Wait, hold on,” and you turn back, brow furrowed. She’s fishing through the tiny bag she’s carrying before she holds something out. Adrian reaches out automatically, and she drops whatever it is into his palms. “There’s your wedding rings.”

“Congrats,” Leota laughs. Your pulse jumps, even though it’s fake, even though there’s no way Leota actually knows anything. “Should I have gotten you something?”

“Haha,” Adrian says, out loud. You glance up at him, bewildered. “Yeah, because— it’s fake, so— There’s no real— Anything. That’s super funny, actually.”

There’s a beat of silence before you try to salvage his brief mental lapse, saying quickly, “So, are you going to give me mine, or are we already divorced?”

Adrian’s eyes snap to yours. His fingers briefly curl around the matching rings in his palm before he steps closer to you again, reaching for your right hand. He pauses, reconsiders, then reaches for your left.

“That was my left,” he comments, humor and anxiety lacing his tone. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you reply. He takes your hand in his, slips the ring onto your left ring finger.

For a moment, the two of you just stare at it.

Then, you say, “Okay, let me,” and take his to do the same for him. You slide it on, then turn his hand over, running the pad of your thumb over the band. “This is really nice.”

“And here,” Emilia says, fishing through her bag. She motions to you, says, “Come here.”

You step closer, and she gives you another ring. This one is less of a band, and you realize it’s meant to be an engagement ring.

“Almost forgot,” Emilia says, and you want to just— lay down and breathe, for a second, but you have to make yourself be normal.

You slip it on, avoiding looking at Adrian again as you do so, while Emilia busies herself fixing a heavy jeweled necklace around your throat. You shift it where it sits, readjusting the weight against your chest; Emilia moves to your ears next, slipping earrings in that probably cost more than your own fucking car. You should definitely be getting paid more than you are.

“There,” Emilia finally says. She sweeps your hair up and back. “Alright, perfect. You actually do look really nice.”

“Thanks,” you reply, “though I could do without the surprise,” and she laughs again.

“We ready to go?” John asks, hauling open the back door of the van so Leota can climb in.

“Yeah, c’mon,” Emilia says. She pushes her keys into Chris’ hand, says, “You’re driving me,” before she turns to you and— you think— fucking— winks at you.

You’re not sure you saw it, before you have to move and get into the car. You’re pretty sure you didn’t, actually, but— it would be funny if you did.

You climb into the passenger’s side of the sleek vehicle, slipping down into the low seat, the material of it soft and warm beneath you. When you’re sitting inside, you tug the door shut and turn only to find Adrian already beside you.

“When we get there,” Adrian says, “You should let me get out and get the door for you. It’s— It’s probably what Jack would do.”

Your characters for the night are Jack and Morgan Curtis, a newly-married couple; you are just supposed to be a trophy partner, whereas Adrian’s character is meant to be some wealthy media investor. His bio also said he was very shy, and prefers to spend time alone with only his partner— which you assume is Emilia’s way of trying to avoid letting Adrian talk too much and allowing something to slip by accident.

“Okay,” you agree. Adrian draws his driver’s side door closed behind him, then exhales.

Looking down at the wheel, he says, “I’m not gonna crash this. Right?”

“Right,” you agree. He takes another breath before actually moving to start the car. When the engine snarls, pushing a light little vibration through the car, you can’t help leaning back a bit, getting comfortable in your seat.

Adrian glances over at you, then forcibly looks away, eyes snapping violently forward.

“P— Do you think they can hear me?” Adrian asks abruptly, voice dropping down.

You glance backwards, then towards him again, shaking your head.

“I want to fuck you so bad right now,” Adrian tells you in a rush, his head still down. He’s staring hard at the car’s little screen; you can see his pulse throbbing in his throat, his face pinking again. “Oh, my God, I’m so fucking hard right now, I’m going to go insane, I don’t know how the fuck I’m gonna do this without cumming in my pants.” You huff a tiny laugh, heat throbbing between your own legs. “No, I mean it, I’m serious, I’m so fucking— See, here, feel— No, wait, don’t—”

“Adrian, goddamnit,” you laugh, a little breathless. “We still have three hours until eleven o’clock. Fuck, we still have to get there.”

“Good fucking luck with that,” Adrian replies. “Can I even drive like this? Wait, hold on—” He reaches down, readjusts his dick in his suit pants. You look down, then back up quickly. He wasn’t lying; he’s very hard, and it’s impossibly obvious, when he’s grabbing it in his own hand. “Okay, f— fuck, there.”

You close your eyes for a moment, then look out the window, just trying to breathe. You hear Adrian take another deep breath himself before he’s buckling himself in and moving to start driving.

“Buckle up,” Adrian tells you. “It’s the law.”

You smile to yourself again as you do as he says. “Would you kill me if I didn’t?”

He considers your question for a moment before replying, “No. But that’s not an invitation to break the law, just because I have a soft spot for you, alright? Because people are gonna figure me out if that happens.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you reply, still smiling. He nods, eyes fixed ahead on the road.

The air in the car is— impossibly warm, and thick, and charged. At least, to you, it is— and you think it is to Adrian, too, because his muscles are all still stiff as he drives. He’s keeping all of his focus on the road, which, for Adrian, means his mind is definitely somewhere else, because he can’t really ever do just one thing at a time.

Eventually, you can’t take it anymore, and you tell him, “I think you look— insanely good tonight. And it makes me feel kind of crazy that nobody knows about us because part of me wants to just— kiss you so fucking hard—” You bite your words back, say, “I’m sorry, that’s not helping—”

“No,” Adrian replies, a little strangled. You don’t know if that’s a, ‘No, it’s not helping,’ or a, ‘No, please, keep going,’ so you risk leaning over the center console between you a bit. There are low blue lights in the car, casting his handsome face in sharp shadows, defined by the angles of his jaw, his cheekbones, his nose, his brow. He glances at you, eyelashes casting a shadow down his cheek.

You can’t really resist him, especially not now that you’re alone. You chance another shift, leaning up to gently press your lips to his lower cheek, close to the line of his jaw.

Adrian’s grip tightens on the steering wheel until his knuckles are white, and he says, “We have a mission, we have a mission, we have a mission,” over and over on a loop, like he’s trying to remind himself of that fact.

You pull away from him, making yourself let him go. You practically have to push yourself against the passenger’s side door in the car, near the comparatively-cold glass of the window, just to cool yourself down. When you turn back to Adrian, you see him glancing down at the GPS screen, then starting to make a turn. He flicks on his fucking directional, then executes a madman’s turn, winging around the corner.

You reach over, letting your fingertips rest just inside his elbow. The fabric is silky-soft beneath your touch, and you glide upwards until your fingers are gliding over his on the wheel.

Adrian takes that one hand off the wheel so he can turn it over in yours. After a beat, he glances down, then draws the back of your hand up to his mouth. He presses his lips to the fine bones in the back of it. After a beat, the kiss pushes a little firmer. The throb of heat between your legs is pretty much impossible to ignore.

Adrian separates you, then, letting your fingers thread with his as he draws your hand away from his mouth. Tangled up, your hands rest between the two of you. You stroke your thumb over the strong back of his hand.

“I wish I could give you road head,” you comment, and Adrian accidentally flicks on the turn signal again. Face pink, he turns it back off, eyes fixed ahead.

“We’re going to be there in two minutes,” Adrian tells you.

“I think I could still get it done,” you reply,

Adrian makes a strangled noise. “Please, I think I’ll die, and we’ll crash, and then you’ll die, but—” You let your fingers drift up the soft skin inside his wrist for a moment. “—But, you know, I’m actually a pretty good driver, and you’re pretty good at sucking dick, so maybe we c—”

“You have reached your destination,” the tiny, robotic voice of the GPS says, and Adrian bangs his fist on the wheel.

“Motherfucker,” he curses. “You fucking— cockblock GPS, you’re a bag of fucking dicks—”

A valet waves Adrian up, and he instantly changes his entire demeanor, beaming at the guy. He rolls his window down, says, “What’s up?”

The valet hesitates, like he’s not sure he wants to say something. He chances it, though, and says, “You have to— step out of the vehicle, sir.”

Adrian blinks up at him, then says, “Oh, d— Yeah, right. Yes, of course.” And then actually parks the thing to get out. He practically sprints around the car to get to your side before you can get your hand on the handle, jerking it open for you.

He holds out his hand to you, and you take it. You are, actually, grateful for his help standing; you wobble for a second, climbing out of the low car, but he steadies you, keeping his hand in yours, reaching to balance you by the shoulder. When he offers you his arm instinctively, you take it, looping your own through his.

“I wish I had more guns,” Adrian whispers to you as he helps you up the hotel stairs. The entire place seems old as shit, like it’s from a hundred years ago, all huge cream columns and beautiful statues and rich, lush carpeting. There are incredibly strange and intriguing paintings on the walls that you examine as Adrian scopes out the other guests. He’s doing what he always does, you know that: automatically looking for every way he could kill everyone in your immediate vicinity.

“I have a knife strapped to my thigh,” you tell him, voice low. He glances down at you in a snap, then looks up again, eyes scanning the lavish hotel lobby.

After a beat, he says, “Oh, shit. We’re supposed to be married.”

You’re about to ask what he means by that phrasing, exactly, but then he’s ducking down to press a kiss to your cheek. It doesn’t have any finesse, just a quick, smushing press, his glasses digging into your temple before he withdraws.

That’s when you get what he means. The two of you can be as close as you want tonight. Everything you usually suppress— every kiss you want to give him, every touch, everything— can come up and out tonight, spilling right out of you. You’re allowed to do any of it, all of it. The others will just see it as you being good at your job, if you do.

You turn to look up at him, reaching to touch the side of his face. He looks briefly startled, for a moment, before his eyebrows lift and he’s smiling. You guide him down into a soft kiss— your first like this— and your heart leaps up into your throat. You’re glad that it would be too obvious for you to have an earpiece; only Chris has one tonight. If Leota or John needs to tell you anything, Chris will have to pass you the message. That means you can’t hear them— and they can’t hear you.

You shift into him slightly. When you twist up, you can see the light of the chandelier above your heads reflecting over his face, in his bright eyes. You hadn’t even noticed it before; you’ve been too distracted by Adrian.

It says a lot, you think, that this is one of the nicest places you’ve ever been invited to go to, let alone been, and you’re too focused on Adrian to notice any of the finer details. Instead, you’re just captivated by him as you lean up into him, reaching up to thread your hand through his soft curls, feeling the light product he’s combed through it under your fingers.

“That’s true,” you reply, heart racing. You lean in closer, adding, “Husband,” and his cheeks flush pink. You drag your touch along his face, your thumb pressing into the freckle beside his eye.

All his breath punches out of his lungs, and he says, “Oh, my God, I think you found a new kink for me. I kind of want to be married to you so fucking hard— Oh, shit, should we get each other pregnant?”

“Adrian,” you whisper softly.

Adrian makes a soft whining noise, then hisses to you quickly, “No, my name is Jack, remember?”

You kiss the line of his jaw before releasing him. He doesn’t let you go far, reaching down to snag you around the waist. He’s a little too jerky to be subtle, but that’s okay, if he’s supposed to be shy and newly married. You think he’s giving off the honeymoon phase vibe pretty well.

“Well, Jack,” you reply. “You have three hours to keep it together before we can go up to our room. Do you think you can handle it?”

Adrian shakes his head automatically. “But I’ll try,” he tells you, impossibly earnest.

You huff another laugh, not sure of your own abilities, either. You push up into him one last time, drawing him into a proper kiss. He smiles, briefly, before you deepen the kiss, parting your lips so he gets the hint.

His hands reach up, threading into the intricate weave of your hair as he draws in closer to you, licking into your mouth for a moment. You feel the fleeting press of his hard cock against your thigh before he’s withdrawing again, chest heaving, practically yanked backwards.

Actually yanked backwards, you realize, as Chris and Emilia pass you by, and Chris subtly grabs Adrian by the back of the jacket and jerks him away from you.

“Keep it subtle, dude, you’re gonna freak ‘em out,” Chris hisses to him on the way past. You don’t think you’re supposed to hear that; judging by the way Adrian’s eyes dart to yours, you think you definitely weren’t supposed to. You wonder how long Chris has been trying to set the two of you up, not knowing you’re already together.

“Okay,” Adrian breathes. He shakes himself out as Chris and Emilia leave, passing you by to continue onward into the ballroom. Exhaling, tilting his head so his neck cracks to one side, then the other, Adrian attempts to refocus on the mission. He starts guiding you to follow after Chris and Emilia into the ballroom, saying, “Alright. Let’s do this. We can do this, I can do this. I’m a professional. I am not going to cum in my pants—” as you laugh at him, hoping desperately he’s right— about the both of you, honestly.

— — — — —

There’s only about half an hour left to go, and you very deeply, sincerely, genuinely don’t think you and Adrian are going to make it.

The entire night, the two of you have only been getting— closer, and closer, and closer to the edge. It’s by the grace of some fucking god you don’t even believe in that the two of you make it through the dinner part of the evening without anything illegal happening in public. His hand does push your skirt up to trace along the bare inside of your thigh more than a few times, but you keep enough strength of will to keep pushing him away.

You’re weakening more every moment, though. As the night wears on, the two of you really start losing your handle on yourselves. You can’t keep your hands off each other. The fact that you’re not only allowed to be doing this with each other, but encouraged to, is making the both of you a little bit unhinged.

You’d had drinks next before music had started and you’d been encouraged to dance. The night was coming to a close, and Emilia was drawing nearer to your target. You and Adrian are both half-keeping an eye on her and Chris, half-focused on each other.

Adrian had held his hand out to you, and said, keeping his voice low, “I don’t really know how to dance, but I’m willing to try,” and you just couldn’t resist that.

You’d taken his hand, and Adrian had drawn you close, and then it didn’t matter if he didn’t know how to dance. Just being close was enough, and the music had gotten slow, and you just— how the fuck could you say no to something like this? You’re usually not allowed to touch him in front of your friends, and now you’re basically being told to dry-hump him in a ballroom, for your job. It feels like a dream come fucking true.

Adrian lifts his eyes, watching Emilia as she finally gets close enough to the mission target to strike up a conversation with him. Adrian spins you, just slightly, so you can both watch subtly, sideways.

You both see as Emilia drops something in his drink without anybody looking, Chris’ bulk covering the only camera with eyes on her from the angle they scouted previously. You’re experts, you’re good at this.

Emilia turns to you then and inclines her head, then signals to you with a glancing motion along her hip. You nod your head in return, returning your attention upwards to Adrian.

“All set,” you inform him, voice low.

“Mission accomplished,” Adrian says, throat tight.

“Well,” you reply. “First mission accomplished.”

Adrian’s eyes are dark, his face flushing as you slip a little closer to him. One of his hands drifts down, slipping just beneath the slit cutting up your dress, gliding up your thigh to find your hip beneath the material.

The juxtaposition of the Adrian you usually know and this Adrian is just— incredible. You love everything about him, and seeing him dressed up like this is so— so— so. He’s such a fun guy, and goofy, and he’s an excellent murderer, but so rarely do you see him dressed up. It’s impossible how handsome he is; you feel a little wild, knowing that anyone else can see him right now. You want him all to yourself.

With the way he’s looking at you, so hungry as to seem fucking starving, you think he might just be feeling the same way about you. The edge of that thought has your skin prickling in the darkness of the ballroom, beat pounding through you. Your skin is prickling with heat.

“Sorry I’m not so good at dancing,” Adrian says. “I’m good at, like, other kinds of dancing, though. If you ever wanted to go out. I could definitely take you. Or I could learn— Aah,” he bites off near your ear when you slip your arms up behind his head., winding to tangle your wrists at the nape of his neck. “Oh, fuck—”

“I think you’re pretty good at it,” you murmur upwards to him. You take his hips in your hands, helping him move along to the rhythm with you.

You can feel Adrian’s heart galloping where he’s pressed against you. Yours is paced to match, thundering in your chest, up into your throat. Every shift of his body against yours with the music has your blood pulsing madly through your body, surging down to your core, beating between your legs. You can barely breathe when he drops his head down, cheek dragging along yours. You don’t care if it does anything to your makeup; it’s about to very severely not matter anyways.

“Oh, shit, I’m going to lose it,” Adrian murmurs near your ear. “Please, please, please, are we done? I promise we can go dancing some other time, but, fuck, I’ve spent, like, three hours just getting harder and harder and I think I’m going to fucking die—”

“Okay, yeah,” you breathe. “We can be done, I can— I can— What am I doing?”

“Playing sick,” Adrian says, dropping into your throat. “Pretend you’re about to shit yourself or something so we can get out of here.”

You huff a laugh, then draw away from him. You drag your hands down, over your own stomach, then lean into him. If anyone were watching, they’d see you weakening, leaning into him. They probably don’t know why your face is flushed all red and your knees are nonexistent, so you use it to your advantage.

“Oh, no,” Adrian says loudly, in the affected little voice he’s adopted for this character. “You don’t look good, darling,” and the endearment rolls off his tongue so well that a bolt of lightning crackles down your spine. “I think you should lay down, you look awful.”

He drops down and scoops you up into his arms. Apparently, it doesn’t matter to him that people don’t just— do that, scoop their spouses up off of the floor in ballrooms when they’re wearing fucking gowns, and there’s something about that that’s even more endearing than you thought possible. And— fucking hotter than you ever thought possible.

“Let me take you to our room,” Adrian begs you. It’s not so much an instruction as it is a plea. Hopefully, nobody’s actually paying enough attention to notice the exact cadence of his tone. “Make you all— all better.”

You have to fight back a laugh. Instead, you turn your face into his chest. If he’s going to carry you, you’re going to play up needing to be carried, weak in his arms. You know you’re not supposed to want to feel weak— and you’re not, and you don’t, but— but there’s something really comforting about letting him take care of you, and something erotic about how badly he wants to do it, and you’re just— overwhelmed by how much you love him.

You’re also overwhelmed by how badly you want him to fuck you, but you’re so close now, you just have to— focus on getting there.

Adrian carries you to the elevators, pressing the up button with his elbow. He’s watching the numbers ticking above the doors, for a moment, before he glances down at you. When his eyes meet yours, you can see intent blazing there, hard, dark determination.

He exhales shakily, and looks up again. Staring straight ahead, he says, “I want to totally just— obliterate you. You make me feel crazy. Like I was born to climb inside you.”

You clutch at his suit jacket with your fingers. He gathers the skirt of your dress up so he doesn’t trip on it as he carries you into the elevator, your hands slipping the top buttons of his shirt free. You glide your palm along his heated skin beneath, seeking his chest, and he exhales in a punch.

“Please, we’re so close,” Adrian says. “Don’t make me cum in my pants here, I really think I’m gonna make it—”

As the elevator doors are dinging shut, you draw Adrian into a searing kiss. Away from eyes that are supposed to think you’re sick, you let Adrian dive into your mouth. He licks behind your teeth, pushing over to the wall of the elevator so he can use the railing there to balance your body. He kisses you so hard his teeth drag along the seam of your lips when he draws back; he makes a sharp little sound, strong muscles moving in his broad arms beneath you as he tries to keep his grip while losing his control.

The elevator dings again, the doors starting to open. Adrian nearly staggers before he remembers what he’s supposed to be doing, and then he’s hauling you down the hallway.

“Get the key card,” he tells you, and you reach inside his jacket to pull it out, as told. “What’s the—”

“1018,” you read the room number off the card. He’s reading the signs on the wall, then taking off. After a beat, he turns, realizing he’s supposed to be going in the opposite direction. He’s moving faster than you think you’ve ever seen him move, and you reach up, dragging his head down a bit so you can suck a kiss into the column of his throat.

Adrian groans, guttural and primal, as he finds the door and nearly slams into it. You reach to push the card into the slot in the door, and then Adrian’s kicking it in, the two of you fumbling with and at each other desperately, spilling through the doorway into the room.

You barely have time to notice anything about the room. Later, you’ll get to spend the rest of the night alternatively fucking each other in the suite’s enormous bathtub, and in the shower, and over the balcony edge, and on the long sofa in the little sitting area, but right now, Adrian doesn’t even stop to look at any of that. He heads right for the huge bed in the center of the suite’s bedroom, not hesitating, single-minded in his quest.

You have to agree with his methods, because you’re pretty much out of your mind yourself, by now. The bed is enormous, taking up most of the space in the bedroom, lavish, heavy curtains hung around the entire thing. He kicks open the curtain at the foot of the bed in dragging jerks before he’s throwing you down on the mattress.

The covers are so impossibly soft beneath you, just like the sheer, silken material of your dress, and the satiny glide of Adrian’s suit over your bare, hot skin. He shoves you up until your head is on plush pillows, dragging himself down between your legs.

“Fuck,” he groans, already pushing your dress up. He gathers the sheer material in his strong hands, trying his best not to rip it as he noses along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He finds the knife holster you told him about; smiling, he murmurs, “Gotcha, you little fucker,” before biting the clasp apart with his teeth.

The holster comes off, and he lifts it in his hand. Sitting up, he evaluates you, then removes the knife from the sheath.

He drops down over you, bringing the knife up to the hollow beneath your throat so he can drag the blade down. You keep it as sharp as you can, and so it easily parts the material of your dress, splitting it apart, exposing you like he’s unwrapping you, all your skin on display underneath. Your heart throbs beneath the glint of your blade in his hands. You’d opted to wear nothing underneath to avoid lines in your form-fitting clothes, and Adrian moans when he realizes, dropping down to bury his face in your belly.

“Holy fuck, oh, fuck,” Adrian curses into your skin. He drags down between your legs, his hand coming up to push your thigh slightly further apart. His eyes coast over your center, starving. “Please, can I—”

“Yeah,” you breathe, and he drops down over you, hungry, desperate to get his mouth on you. His tongue is— fucking insane, because all that talking he does is not for nothing. He knows how to use his mouth, his lips, his teeth, his tongue. He’s devouring you like he’s dying without you, like this is the only thing he actually wanted in his mouth tonight.

Adrian’s hand glides up over the fabric of your dress, dragging up roughly to your chest so he can thumb your nipple. You cry out, back arching; tilting your head down so you can see Adrian, you almost sob.

He’s still fully dressed in that fancy fucking suit, but he’s humping the mattress beneath him like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. The unconscious movement just keeps— happening, his hips moving as his mouth works on you, lower lip dragging, and then his hand is dragging in closer, and you reach down to thread your hand through his thick hair. You can’t stop watching his dark head moving between your legs, and you can’t help it— You need to kiss him, now.

Watching him enjoy putting his mouth on you like this so much that he can’t fucking control himself, grinding down for friction because of how he feels giving you pleasure, you think you’re about to fucking pass out. You tug on his hair, and he lifts his eyes to you. Seeing the green shine of them meet you sends a jolt through you, and you say, “Pl— Adrian, please,” practically begging.

Adrian seems to get what you’re saying without you even saying it. He draws away from you so he can climb up between your legs, dropping down to brace himself on the bed beside you. He threads his fingers up through your hair, guiding you into a hard kiss; you can taste yourself in his mouth.

He makes a soft noise, then a harder one, reaching to push your dress further away so he can touch you anywhere, everywhere. His touch is practically tearing you apart; he is rending your dress in strips, destroyed where it lays in a pile along the edges of the bed. You hope Emilia won’t care, but you can’t bring yourself to care, right now. All you want is him.

Adrian guides himself to where he’s just had his mouth on you, where he’s just eaten you apart, sloppy and loose and wet. He almost seems to forget that he’s fully dressed himself.

“Fuck,” he curses, pushing back up onto his knees. He tears his jacket backwards off his arms, throwing it blindly backwards. His dress shirt joins it, bow tie practically ripped apart, buttons being torn off to fly and land in all random places across the hotel room. He practically breaks his pants opening them, but then, then he’s drawing his cock into his hand, melting with the relief of it. He groans, spine relaxing, wrapping his hand around it. “Oh, fuck, I’ve wanted this so fucking bad, oh, shit— I’m not gonna last—”

“I don’t need you to, just— Get in me,” you beg him, feeling so impossibly empty.

He doesn’t waste any more time. The mission was a success, and nothing else matters but the two of you, and you’ve been on the edge all night, and he’s finally, finally bringing his cock to your entrance and pushing in.

You swear, you fall apart around him. All your muscles start falling apart, and Adrian gathers you up in his arms, drawing you nearer. He fucks into you in a smooth slide.

Your name falls out of his mouth, and he falls over you, hand slamming down onto the soft sheets beside your head. His eyes find yours, and then he’s kissing you, finding a slamming rhythm with his thrusts into you. You grind up into him, grasping for him, grappling to get more friction. Mumbling his name into his mouth, you thread your fingers up through his hair, breath coming fast, faster. Heat and lust is gathering in your spine, pooling like lava, spreading like fire, and it’s all-consuming. It’s been building for so long that just feeling it is overwhelming.

When you look up at him above you again— at the strong lines of his face, at the dark sweep of his eyelashes above his light, bright eyes, at the shine of his this glasses still on his face so he can see you when he looks up at you, at the pink flush spreading across his handsome, sharp cheeks, over the freckle beside his eye, until you chase it up into his dark, sweat-slick hair— you’re falling apart. This is Adrian, the person you love more than anyone, and you just can’t fucking deal. He’s all you can think about, all you can feel, right now.

His hand comes up, dragging up your side, and you can feel the press of his wedding ring where it pulls along your skin. You’d forgotten about them, and it doesn’t matter if they’re fake; seeing it on your hand, feeling it on his, has you almost about to cum, just so close to the edge—

“Fuck, I love you,” Adrian says, like he knows. He drags you in for another kiss, says, “Oh, my God, you’re like— the hottest person ever, oh, God, I want to— I want to lock us in a room together until we die there, I just— I want— I want you forever, holy shit—”

The nonsense ramblings of his brain spill out of his mouth as he gets closer and closer to losing it. He’s falling apart, unable to keep his rhythm as his kisses along your throat grow sloppy, his grinds into your slick heat dragging and pulsing. He takes all of you, slams into you as fast as he can. He even pulls your leg up, hitches it so he can fuck deeper into you, and you drag him into another kiss.

It’s then that you tell him, “You have me forever,” and he cries out, kissing you with a loose jaw, unable to coordinate himself. He’s making out with you like he can’t breathe without you, his cock impossibly hard and thick inside you, taking you to pieces. “I’m yours, c’mon, Adrian, fuck—”

He yanks you back in for a half-biting kiss, your name falling off his lips in half-syllables down your throat as he cums inside you. He breaks off into gasping for breath, just trying to keep his mouth on you as he fucks you through his orgasm, unable to stop moving. It’s enough to drag your orgasm out of you, too; an explosion that sparks inside you, rocketing to blow a haze through your limbs and your mind until all there is is him.

As you come back into yourself, all you want is him, so you open your eyes to find him. He’s still keeping himself half-upright above you—

You realize it’s so he can look at you, his bright eyes fixed on you. He’s smiling, and you can’t help smiling back, automatic when you see him so happy.

“What is it?” you ask him.

“I kinda love you,” he tells you. It’s something you’ve said quite a few times to each other, now, but it still makes your stomach twist, your aftershocks rattling pleasantly through you. “I kinda wanna really marry you or something. Maybe we should— Maybe we should think about doing, like— relationship paperwork or something. Right? Like, something dumb like that, maybe? That says I’m yours and you’re— You’re mine, maybe—”

“Is that what you want?” you reply lazily, catching him. His red face goes even redder, caught, and you drag him in for a smiling kiss. He shifts slightly inside you; you both make soft sounds in response, broken off into each other. When you gather yourself, you ask, “You want me to say I’m yours? That I’m only yours, that—”

“Please,” he begs you, “give me, like— five minutes, babe, okay? I’ll get so hard, but right now— Oh, fuck, you have to stop looking so hot, you’re gonna make my dick explode—”

“Jesus fuck,” you laugh, and tug him into another kiss. He whines, dragging his hands along your sides, gripping you as tight as he can.

“Okay, two minutes, then,” he amends. Your next laugh disappears down his throat, and he’s already dragging you off the bed, intent on the bathtub he knows he saw on the way in here.

-

adrian chase taglist:

@deputyrook @bb-skyrunner @himboelover @pieriinova @gcldtom @violetrainbow412-blog @amysuemc @saturnngal @neptuneswritingwork @jewishdelis @myguiltypleasures21 @pinkygunslingy @chaseadrian @breathing-in-waves @rishlurh @goblynnrockz @theowritesstuff @themartiansdaughter @dallasvakarian @missscarlettangel @samantha24015 @hillaryroadheadcllinton @ohmybubbletea @buckys-estrella @witchywcmans @ladyrebel25 @eviejune @vigilantesluvr @qjuiq-odakyu @xothatnerdykid @awkwardfangirl2014 @thevalkyrior @mattsmanpain

FERAL. INSANE. LOSING MY MIND. THIS WAS EVERYTHING ‼️

under my hands

pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns, afab sex descriptions (vaginal/breasts))

rating: e+

word count: 4,334

one-sentence synopsis: from the moment you let a little secret slip in the bar, you're driving adrian out of his mind.

author's note: i got a bunch of very feral requests that made me so unhinged i combined them into one and then went completely bonkers so ENJOY!!!!!!!

read on ao3!

“I do, too,” Chris argues at the top of his voice, slamming his glass down on the bar tabletop. “What, you don’t fucking believe me?”

“No,” John replies. “I genuinely, honestly don’t.” He seems almost delighted that Chris’ face is going red with anger, even as he’s getting agitated himself. “You seem to forget that I, like, watched you in the hospital. I studied you. For a while. It was my job to know you. I know you don’t have any.”

“That’s such bullshit,” Chris says. He shoves away from the table, pushing up to his feet with such force that every glass and pitcher on the table rattles, making everyone shout and reach out with steadying hands.

“What are you doing?” Emilia asks, suspicion heavy on every word she speaks.

“I’m showing you my fucking tattoo,” Chris says, and starts unbuckling his belt.

“Whoa!” John shouts, as Leota calls, “Hell no, Chris!” across the table.

“What?” Chris demands. “You don’t fucking believe me, then I’ll show you—”

“You can’t pull your goddamn pants down in here right now,” Emilia hisses at him, like he somehow needs to be told that.

“Wait, dude, hold up,” Adrian says. “I think I have a pic on my phone.”

“Why?” you ask, and Adrian, already scrolling through his phone gallery, glances over at you.

“Because I took a picture,” he replies, returning his attention to his phone.

“You know,” Emilia adds, “I actually have a tattoo.”

“What?” John scoffs. “You do not.”

“You do?” Chris asks. If Emilia was trying to distract him, it’s working, because he’s reaching back between his legs to haul his chair in again, retaking his seat, leaning halfway across the table towards her. “Where?”

“Somewhere I am not going to show you right now,” Emilia replies.

There’s a beat.

“But maybe later?” Chris asks, and Emilia gives him a look that could have killed him if she had been slightly better trained.

“I have a tattoo,” you add.

Adrian’s head snaps up. “What?”

You thought that might get his attention back on you. His eyes burn through yours before they start skimming over your face, then downwards, coasting over your collarbones. He goes further before snapping back up to meet your eyes again.

“Where?” he demands, before insisting, “No, you don’t,” then asking, “Where?” again.

“Jesus, put your eyes back in your fucking head,” John admonishes him.

“You didn’t see it?” you ask him. It’s only a small tattoo, a tiny design you let your friend do on your hip. You’re not surprised he didn’t notice it, since you’ve only been together a handful of times and your hip is usually either covered by something— his mouth, or his hand, or his leg, or his own hip— in those times.

“No,” Adrian exclaims. “Where is—”

“God, please, not here,” Leota insists.

“Tell me,” Adrian insists immediately. “Tell me. You have to tell me. Where is it? I’ll—”

“We should probably start heading out soon,” John suggests, keeping the coolest head as designated driver and still managing to look halfway certain Adrian’s about to get them kicked out. He jumps to collect cash from everyone for their shared tab.

The entire time, Adrian’s eyes and heated gaze are fixed on you. Only briefly will they flit away before returning back. You’re finding yourself glad John’s the designated driver, because you’re sure Adrian would crash the car— or make you crash the car— if one of you were the ones driving back to the motel.

It’s only when you’re all actually back out at the cars you rented for this mission that you realize you can only ride in one together if there’s only one designated driver.

“Fuck,” John says, staring at the car. He sighs, then steps around the car to examine it from another angle. He sighs again. “Okay, well. Anyone willing to walk?”

“No,” Emilia immediately stops anyone from volunteering. “We can fit. We’ll just— We’ll share.”

“Sorry, we’ll share?” Chris asks.

Adrian turns to you. You can see the intention in his eyes in the moment before he speaks, leaping on the suggestion with, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll just— Harcourt, you sit with Chris, and— (Y/N) can sit with me.”

“Gross,” John comments. “No way.”

“I can sit with Chris instead, I guess,” you say. Adrian’s eyes snap to yours, blazing with a sudden snap of surprised anger.

“No,” Emilia responds first, too quickly, before Adrian even can. “I’m okay sitting with Chris, that’s fine.”

“If you’re sure,” you say, smiling at Adrian. His eyes are fixed on yours before they skate down again, still seeking. If only he knew what else is under here.

“Only if you promise not to do anything fucked up,” Leota warns all four of you. “I mean it, sickos.”

“Cross my heart,” you reply.

“Isn’t this illegal?” John asks Adrian, who waves him off.

“That’s not applicable here,” he tells him, already climbing into the car.

There’s barely enough room for you all, even with your stacking arrangement. In order to fit everyone in the tiny vehicle, John and Leota take the front seat— little more than a bench in front of the steering wheel— while Chris and Adrian are side-by-side in the back. They’re so broad that the spread of their shoulders practically stretches window to window. Chris, especially, is so huge that Emilia probably has the most space to sit just for sitting on him.

You don’t have a lot of attention to pay to Chris and Emilia, though. They’re focused on themselves— and John on the road, and Leota on her phone— so you can dedicate yourself to being as covertly gross as you want to be.

From the moment you climbed into Adrian’s lap, he was completely full-body tense. One of his hands holds your hip, keeping you in place, unknowingly stroking his thumb in tiny sweeps just over the small marks of your tattoo. His other hand is held over your thigh, fingertips stretched to the inside.

Underneath you, in the little rattling rental car, you can feel the initially half-hard line of his cock. He’s pressing up into your entrance through your clothes and his. Every time the car shifts even a little bit, the two of you even slightly jostled, you can feel him getting harder and harder. The thick line of it only gets more solid beneath you, his grip tightening with each passing second.

You can feel yourself getting more and more soaked in response. You clench our thighs together in his lap, desperate for any kind of friction you can get, but it’s not enough.

When John hits a pothole, Adrian accidentally shoves up into you, a quick there-and-gone grind that has you biting back a soft noise in the back of your throat. Adrian’s hands tighten so hard you can feel the indents of the bruises they leave.

You twist slightly, your eyes flying up to meet Adrian’s. He looks up at you from the other side of his glasses, a burning green fire that surges into your mouth and down your spine without a word being spoken.

Beside you, Chris makes a slightly-too-loud grunt of a noise, and Leota calls from the front seat, “That better not be what I think it was.”

“We’re here, anyway,” John says. You’re wedged against Adrian’s front still, arms tucked together, the hard, hot line of his cock striking just against your center, sending a jolt through you as the car comes to a stop. The heat of the car feels impossibly heated. You almost wish the ride wasn’t so short.

When you climb off of Adrian’s lap, all you can feel is how wet you are, how on edge you’ve become. Your underwear is soaked, and you haven’t even shown it to Adrian yet.

“Alright, here’s the room assignments,” Emilia says, fishing a bag of motel keys and a little notebook out of her bag. “John and Leota, me and Chris, Adrian and (Y/N).”

“Just because we’re not fucking one of y’all,” Leota grumbles. “We should get our own rooms for putting up with this.”

“Seconded,” John agrees. “I don’t mind, though.”

“I don’t mind,” Leota says. “I’m just saying. Why should we have to share just because they’re using it as an excuse t—”

“Goodnight,” Adrian declares, taking the key for your motel room with him from Emilia’s hands. Your bag and his have already been removed from the car’s trunk and slung over his shoulder.

“Goodnight,” you echo. You offer them a wave before jogging after him. It’s obvious— to you, and probably to anyone who can see him— that he’s rock hard right now. You follow him without hesitating, practically sprinting up alongside him to catch up with his long strides.

“You need to get in this room right now,” Adrian tells you, as soon as you’re within earshot. “I am going to lay you out, and I am going to find that fucking tattoo, and I am going to fuck you into the mattress,” he informs you, fumbling with the key in the motel room door. “And then I am going to—”

“I actually had a thought first,” you suggest.

Adrian all but breaks the door to the motel room in. He flings his bag aside, sets yours on top of it before he’s whirling on you to pick you up and haul you over his shoulder. Kicking the door shut behind himself, he locks it twice, the knob and the deadbolt.

“Put me down,” you insist, so he takes you to the foot of the only bed in the room and throws you down on it. You laugh as he tears his jacket backwards off his arms, already starting to climb up over you. “No, wait—”

“I waited long enough, I think,” Adrian argues. He takes you by the hips and drags you down to meet him, ducking down to press his smile to the hinge of your jaw. “Don’t you think I’ve been so good?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Don’t you think that’s why you should get a reward?”

Adrian lifts his head immediately, eager, excited. “What? Did you actually get me something or are you just teasing me? Like, obviously you’re a present in and of yourself, but—”

“Get up,” you tell him, and Adrian scrambles backward, up and off the bed.

You stand, hooking your fingers in the collar of his shirt so you can spin him, swapping your places. With your hand flat against the center of his strong chest, you push him to sit down at the end of the bed.

“Here or in the chair?” you ask him.

His excitement impossibly seems to double, triple, as he reaches up to skim his hands up your thighs. You push him away, stepping back and out of his reach.

“Decide,” you tell him, and start unbuttoning your shirt at the highest button, up by your throat. “Bed or chair?”

Adrian turns to look at the armchair by the curtains covering the windows at the front of the motel room. He’s clearly torn, but the novelty of the chair seems to win out for him, because he points towards it and answers, “Can we—”

“Yup,” you tell him, and he’s already scrambling. He nearly vaults over the length of the bed to get to the armchair, dragging it out and setting himself in it. When he turns back to you, he’s all eager anticipation and aroused confusion, waiting for your next move, trusting that you have a plan for him.

You do very much have a plan for him. You slip the next button loose on your shirt, threading them down one at a time. You have an undershirt under this top layer, so you’re not too concerned about revealing skin, not just yet.

“Are you going to show me your tattoo?” he blurts out, hands gripping the meat of his thighs as he watches you, struggling not to just reach out and touch. “Please, please, please, show me? I’ll do anything, anything you say, I’ll— I’ll fuck you,” he tells you, pleading, “I’ll fucking— I’ll make you feel so good, you won’t fucking believe it, just— Just show me, just— I have to know, I have to—”

“Shh,” you quiet him, reaching out to set your fingertips over his lips. He’s silenced, eyes flickering up to meet yours. “I’ll show you if you don’t touch until I say. Okay?”

“Yes,” he agrees. There’s no moment of hesitation. His nails dig into his jeans, tight in his hold of his own thighs. His knuckles are going white, he wants to hold you so badly.

You smile as you reach the last button on your shirt and slip it back off your arms and onto the ground. Adrian’s eyes are already coasting down your body, searching every newly exposed bit of skin for a mark, though there isn’t much yet to see. You reach next to untuck your undershirt, taking the edge of the fabric in your hands so you can ease it up and over your head in one long, sinuous roll. Your muscles all work together to reveal you from the waist up.

“Oh— Motherfuck,” Adrian curses automatically. “N— No, you fucking did— not, where did you get that?”

“I just came across it,” you tell him, reaching for the button on your jeans, pushing them apart.

“Can I?” Adrian asks, grinning, and you laugh.

“Maybe.” You ease the zipper down, then spread the fabric so he can get a glimpse at your underwear before you lean to push your pants down in a curl that has Adrian leaning forward, hands sliding forward to hold tighter the joints of his knees. “When I saw it, I just thought, you know— That looks so familiar.”

You kick your boots off, then remove your jeans, letting them join the rest of your clothes. When you lift yourself back up, shoulders back and spine straightening, you can feel the heat working over your expanses of exposed skin just the way Adrian’s eyes are.

“And then I thought,” you tell him, stepping closer. “‘You know who would enjoy this?’ You lean in a bit to whisper, grinning, “‘Adrian.’”

“You were right,” he insists.

“I figured,” you reply.

His grip slides up his thighs and back down again. His cock is impossibly obvious in his jeans, a hard, thick line you can see from here. He’s studying the lingerie set you’ve been wearing under your clothes all day in preparation for this moment. The set is mostly black, sheer enough that nothing beneath is concealed, but both the top and the bottom of it each have a thick teal v stripe cutting in with a thinner silver stripe matching just above, following the sharp lines in wrapping curves around your body. It’s a near identical match for his Vigilante armor, practically painted onto your skin.

The v cuts across your chest on both sides, streaking across your nipples. They’re visible through the sheer material still, and the budded peaks of them grow obvious as you become more flushed under Adrian’s unrelenting stare. The v on the panties cut down in stripes across your hips, laced in a scoop down your waist. It looks like the v is pointing downwards, as if Adrian needs more direction than he already has.

“Fuuuck,” Adrian draws out in a long curse before he whines. “Please, I— Fuck, you look so hot, motherfucker, nobody’s going to ever fucking believe me—”

You laugh, and Adrian’s words cut off, flying up to your mouth, then your eyes again. He tracks your every movement as you draw closer, taking a step nearer, then another, then another. You pause before him, considering, just barely in touching distance but not yet touching.

It looks like he’s actually sweating. You lean in nearer, letting your hands come to grip the arms of the armchair, holding you up without touching his body. Adrian’s nearly shaking, trying to keep himself still. It’s an impossible feat for him on a good day. You haven’t told him yet, but he’s already held out longer than you expected him to, which means he does get his handsome reward.

He is my handsome reward, you think to yourself, a thought so absurd and sappy you resolve to tell him— but later, when he can appreciate it properly.

“Do you like it?” you ask him.

“Do I— Sorry, do I fucking like it?” Adrian demands. “I want to— Can I—” He groans, insists, “I have to fuck you, please, plese, please—”

“Hold on,” you half-laugh. It’s impossible to be fully humored when you’re clenching around nothing, wanting friction on your clit, wanting him to fill your cunt, aching for him. You take the last step closer to him, reaching to brace yourself with a hand on his strong shoulder.

His face is burning red as you climb up onto his lap again. You have a much better angle this way than you did in the car, settling your knees on either side of his thighs, wedged into the armchair with him.

You let your other hand come up to thread through the hair at the back of his head, guiding him into tilting backwards to look up at you. He looks like he’s about to fall apart, his hands trembling where he’s gripping the arms of the chair, now. His heart is racing so quickly that his pulse is visible rabbiting in his throat, an obvious pound-pound-pound you can see throb.

You drag your hand down to cup his jaw, tilting him up into a soft kiss. You just barely press your lips to his as you lower down onto his lap again. He’s so hard now that, even through his jeans, you can get friction on him through your panties.

The fabric is soaked, and drags against Adrian’s denim over his cock to make him cry out your name, teeth biting into your lower lip.

“I’m trying to do something here,” you tell him against his mouth, half-mumbled before you draw back again. “I watched YouTube tutorials on lap dances, let me do this.”

“I’m so sorry, I don’t think I’m going to make it that long,” Adrian tells you in what sounds like mostly a genuine apology. “Please, can I touch you?”

“Soon,” you promise. You lift up off of his lap, missing the touch as soon as it’s gone, but you’re dropping down again only a moment later. You grind down on his cock in rolls, gripping his thick hair in one hand, his strong shoulder under the other.

“Oh, my God,” bursts out of Adrian’s mouth. “Oh, my God, oh my God, oh my— Oh, my fucking God—”

He comes forward, seeking the closest piece of skin he can reach. The flat of his tongue drags up the curve of one breast, moving to mouth at your nipple through the sheer fabric of the black-silver-teal bra. His teeth scrape up over the hard bud of it, and a shock shoots through you.

“I’m sorry,” Adrian apologizes in a rush, his words hot and wet against your skin through your lingerie. “I’m sorry, I forgot you said not to touch, I had to touch, I’m so fucking sorry—”

“It’s okay,” you tell him, smiling. You reach between your bodies to push open the button on his jeans to open them yourself. “You can touch now.”

His hands fly upwards, grasping your waist and tugging you inwards in a sharp jerk. Your breath whooses, tightening your hold in his hair. “Where the—”

His mouth glides up your throat, his hand following, He’s cupping your breast in his hand, thumb brushing over your nipple. Your back arches, and you grind down over him, desperately seeking friction.

“Where the fuck is your tattoo?” Adrian demands, pulling back enough to start searching over your skin again, trying to find the mark.

You don’t answer with words, but you do guide his hand to your hip, and he gets the hint easily. Before you know it, he’s grabbing you up by the hips, hoisting you to throw you down on the bed all over again. He yanks off his clothes so hastily his shirt half-rips, but he doesn’t even seem to notice, dropping them in scattered piles across the floor.

It must be such a relief for him to get his cock out; you watch him finally slip the last of his clothes off to leave him bare, taking himself in hand, and he moans out loud in the next second.

“Oh, fuck,” Adrian bites out. He jumps back up onto the bed over you, shoving you up the mattress, diving into your throat to suck a rough mark there beneath the cut of your jaw. He rolls his hips into yours, then glides down, searching. He’s kept his glasses on, focused as he examines every inch of your skin.

He follows his eyes with his lips, tongue following, teeth biting, mouth sucking. He’s practically fucking your leg by the time he reaches your hip, tugging the fabric down, and cursing, “There you are, motherfucker—”

You huff a breathless laugh as Adrian bites your inked skin, laving his tongue over the mark to soothe you when your back arches, a cry ripping up out of your chest. He rises up on his knees, eyes stroking up over you as he frantically strips his own cock at the sight of you.

“Holy fucking shit, I want to— I want to take fucking— I want to take, like, fucking boudoir photos of you and frame them and put them up all over my fucking house but if anyone else ever saw them I’d have to fucking kill them so maybe I shouldn’t—” Adrian’s babbling, and he only stops when he drops down to take your nipple in his mouth again over the fabric. He makes a half-whine, half-moan that shoots straight down to your cunt.

Adrian’s free hand wriggles down between your thighs to tear the fabric of your lingerie aside. He doesn’t bother taking off the panties, just getting them out of the way so he can drag his fingers up through your slit. There’s wetness everywhere, slicking his path; he dives deeper, finding your entrance, pushing in just a bit.

He takes your wetness to his cock, uses it to ease his glide. Within seconds, he’s dragging his mouth up to the hinge of your jaw, biting in as he pushes into you in a hot slide, his hips meeting yours.

“I think I’m going out of my fucking mind for you,” Adrian mumbles into your skin. “Oh, shit, I think I’m losing it, I fucking— I think I love you—”

“Adrian—” you say, your heart jolting as your cunt tightens, feeling his cock pulsing inside you. You’re impossibly filled, pushing up to roll into the friction of him, grinding up frantically to get the last shocks you need to push you over the edge.

Adrian drags you in closer, fucking you up in his lap before he shoves you back down onto the bed. He’s already losing his rhythm, the teasing you drew out for so long— from the night at the bar, to the short ride here in his lap, to everything you’ve done since you got into the motel room— finally coming to a head. He can’t stop saying your name, begging you, face flushed, glasses knocked askew as he drags you into another kiss.

He’s gasping, then, and his lunatic pumps into you and the crazed way he’s grinding against you has you knocking over the edge. You collapse into a melted pile in the bed, his arms the only thing holding you together as his cock splits you apart.

You tell him, “I love— I love you, too,” because it’s all you can feel, your chest and heart and cunt full of the emotions. You’re coursing with it, and he slides his hand up to guide you into a biting new kiss.

“Fuck,” he says, from his throat into yours, more a vibration than a word or even a sound. In the next instant, he’s over his own edge, holding you tightly in place on his cock as he fucks you through his orgasm. You’re overstimulated in the best way, completely dissolved, chest heaving, aftershocks rattling through your mind and body like white lightning that takes you over in rattling waves.

You reach out for him, bringing his throat to your mouth. A gust of a sigh breezes out of your chest when you brush your lips over his throat, then drag your tongue up the strong cut of muscle to his jaw, working lazily and sloppily at his skin.

He huffs a shaky laugh, murmurs, “I can be ready to cum again in, like, ten minutes at the most if you keep that up.”

“That’s not incentive for me to stop,” you mumble, working aimlessly against his skin.

He turns to face you, letting his face drag along yours until he can pull you into a long, open-mouthed, loose-jawed kiss, licking behind your teeth. You let out a shaky moan, and he smiles into the kiss before separating you. He pecks the corner of your mouth, then the tip of your nose.

“Maybe I don’t want you to stop,” he tells you. His eyes skim down again, a blaze of heat down your body before his calloused fingers trail up to grip your hip again. “You are— Oh, fuck— I love you—”

You smile, drawing him into a long kiss that has him grinding up into you again already starting to fill thick and hard again before he’s even pulled out of you.

Against his lips, you ask him, “Do you mean it?”

“Do you?” he replies quickly, and you nod, grinning. He flushes up to his ears, says, “Hell yeah,” and dives in, threading his fingers through your hair to drag you in again.

-

requests used:

"Hiii hope you're great. DRINK WATER💕💕 anywayy I was hoping you can write a one shot of the gang in a bar after a mission and they started talking about tattoos and reader has a hidden tattoo. Adrian wants to find it so badly. He begs and talks so dirty he'd do anything to see it 😭🥴 thank youu" (anonymous)

"Adrian chase/vigilante x reader (has a vagina) >explicit Ok but what if you all have to take a smaller vehicle and he offers to have you sit on his lap because it's either him or someone else and he cant let you sit on anyone else's lap and you end up sharing a room (optional: oblivious mutual pining + oblivious cuddling + awkward mornings) and some like rough Adrian. Please 0nly do what you feel comfortable with" (@delirious0pandemonium)

"Help! I’ve fallen into an Adrian Chase shaped hole and I can’t get up (nor do I want to). Just wanted to say I have been LOVING your fics and present to you an idea - showing up to Adriana place with a coat on, then opening it up to reveal a lingerie set in his colours/matching his armor (like black bra with the teal v stripes) and him going feral. That’s it, that’s the ask." (anonymous)

"i would take pictures of you like this so bad but if they got leaked and you were exposed without your consent i would rip out my own eyes out in retaliation" (@nobodys-baby-now)

"Could I have an Adrian x reader, where he comes home and the reader surprises him with a lap dance? I would love to see how you write his reaction. :)" (anonymous)

-

adrian chase taglist:

@violetrainbow412-blog @bigassbisaster @amysuemc @sunflowerfive @papitas-con-sal @saturnngal @neptuneswritingwork @jewishdelis @myguiltypleasures21 @pinkygunslingy @violinchick @r3tr0sp3ct @chaseadrian @breathing-in-waves @rishlurh @x-milf-hunter-x @goblynnrockz @theowritesstuff @jaysfav @themartiansdaughter @dallasvakarian @missscarlettangel @pieriinova @samantha24015 @hillaryroadheadcllinton @ohmybubbletea @buckys-estrella @witchywcmans @ladyrebel25 @eviejune @vigilantesluvr @bb-skyrunner @qjuiq-odakyu

SUB!ADRIAN THATS ALL I GOTTA SAY JUST SUB!ADRIAN😩‼️

Be Good For Me - Adrian Chase x Reader

Masterlist

A/N: Im so sorry for whatever the hell this is i don't know what came over me no i am not ok do not ask i've just been thinking about him all day so uh . yeah. this has been in the drafts for a while but i just decided to finish it today so </3

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT JUST PURE UNAPOLOGETIC FILFTH HONESTLY, use of restrains/being tied up, thigh-riding, orgasm denial, hand-jobs, vaginal sex, dirty talk, sub!adrian :)

Word Count: 2.2k

••••••••••••••••••

Adrian's cock was rock hard, probably harder than it had ever been before. His wrists were tied to the bedposts (the restraints not too tight, but tight enough to ensure that he couldn't just slip himself out of them), his legs spread wide for you as he awaited your return. Shaking, sweat glistening on his skin, his face contorting in a pained pleasure as he bucked his hips into the empty space.

If he listened closely enough, he could hear you singing along to a catchy pop song in the kitchen. He imagined that you were dancing around, a smirk on your lips as you thought about your boyfriend, alone and tied up in your room, his cock vieny and angry and desperate for you to relieve him.

That thought alone was enough to illicit a whine from his throat.

Adrian knew what he signed up for when he agreed to let you restrain him. Truthfully, it was something he had fantasised about. Sure, he liked to be in control sometimes, but there was nothing more he loved than to submit.

He just never expected you to be this ruthless.

You had been pushing him to edge for the best part of an hour, only to pull away completely at the last second and leave him writhing and desperate for more.

This time, you had been gone for almost ten minutes, and it was killing him. He was so desperately horny, and he was getting pretty fucking pissed off about it as the minutes ticked by agonisingly slow.

"Fuck!" He spat out, glancing down at his cock. The tip was swollen and leaking with precum.

Only a moment later, he heard your footsteps coming down the hallway. You pushed the bedroom door open, leaning against the side frame, a mug in your hands. You wore only a button-up shirt you had stole from his drawer. "Did you say something?" You asked casually.

"I..." All words were lost on him. "No." He answered finally

"That's funny, because I thought you did." You raised your eyebrows at him, your features breaking out into a grin when you saw his eyes flick between the your face and the mug in your hands. "Oh, it's coffee." You replied, lifting the mug. "I would have made some for you but you... y'know, kinda have your hands tied." Oops. You couldn't resist. The look he gave you was deadly, but what the fuck could he do about it? His hands were literally tied.

You raised the mug up to your lips, taking a sip of your coffee, smirking when you heard a groan come from his throat, his eyes now firmly trained on the shirt which had ridden up your thighs.

You gave him a sweet smile, "Oh, just look at you, baby. You look so sweet like this. I wish you could see yourself." You mumbled, making your way over to the bed, placing your mug down on the nightstand.

You stood over him, reaching down to push his hair away from his forehead, smirking when he glanced up at you, his eyes filled with hope.

So, he tried his luck. "Please. Please touch me. P-please... I can't... I need you to touch me. I've been so good for you." His tone was frantic, a pitch higher as he desperately tried to plead his case.

He truly did look so cute like this, that much you couldn't deny. He was a beautiful boy anyway, but there was just something about seeing him all tied up, pupils dilated and lips agape as he begged you that made him all the more pretty.

You chewed on your bottom lip, your gaze glancing down to his cock, swollen and hard and waiting for you to bring him to his release. Surely it wouldn't hurt to touch him, just for a minute.

"Well... you are being so good for me. So patient..." You whispered, climbing on the bed, moving to straddle his waist, sitting yourself just above his cock. "Tell me what you want from me." You demanded, your hands running up his toned chest.

"I just want you to touch me. Just touch me. I just need to feel you. Fuck! Please!" He begged in that whiny voice.

"You want me to touch you?" You spat into your hand and reached around slowly. "You want me to touch you... here?" You asked sweetly, your fingers now wrapped around the base of his cock, his hips bucking up into your touch instinctively.

"Yes! Fuck-... Yes, please." He corrected himself quickly, knowing he wouldn't get anything from you if he wasn't polite about it.

"Such a good boy." You mumbled, your thumb rubbing circles on his chest as your other hand remained stationary on his cock. You could see he was desperate to move, desperate for any kind of friction. So, you relented. "Okay. I'll touch you. But you have to promise to be good. Don't cum until I say you can, do you understand?"

Adrian let out a low hum, but it wasn't enough. You needed an answer. "Adrian... do you understand?" You repeated, a warning in your voice.

"Yes." He panted out, squeezing his eyes closed.

"Good."

You began fisting his cock, slow and steady, watching his every movement as you pump your hand up and down. You keep track of his reactions. The way his eyes screw shut, the way his brows furrow together when you run your thumb across the head of his cock. The way his jaw clenches and his breathing starts to sound more like panting right before he cums.

He looked fucking beautiful like this, completely at your mercy. It took everything in you to not just allow him to cum there and then, just so you could watch every single twitch of his lips and every expression that flashed on his features as he came.

But you weren't about to allow yourself to break so easily.

You pulled your hand away at the last moment.

"Fff- Oh, fuck. No. No. Please. Come back. Please." His hips met the air, wrists tugging against the restraints as he searched for that last bit of friction to push him over the edge. He moaned and whined, his legs shaking, writhing underneath you, a plea for you to give him anything more.

"You were about to cum." You stated simply.

"N-No... I wasn't!" He protested weakly, still panting under you.

"Don't lie to me. You were about to cum. I told you that you weren't allowed to do that until I said so, didn't I?"

"Y-yes! You said that!" He spat. Oh, he was seething. He had gotten so close, so close to just letting go and cumming in your hand. He didn't care about the consequences anymore. Whatever you dished out afterwards, he was prepared to take.

"Watch your fucking tone." You scolded.

You moved to stand up then, but a strangled whine from his throat caught your attention. You looked down at him, eyebrows raised, daring him to speak. And he did. "Fuck... No... Please don't go. P-please don't leave me here again. Fuck. You're so beautiful. You're so pretty. I want you to stay here. I wanna look at you. I wanna see you cum. Please... Just- Fffuck--.... use me. Just don't leave. Not again."

"You want me to use you to make myself cum?" You let a slight smile grace your lips as he nodded quickly, mumbling, "Fuck. You're lucky you're so cute..." as you inched down his body (not missing how his eyes flickered down to the wet patch you had left on his lower stomach) eventually settling on his thick thigh. Your legs were situation on either side, and your hot, sopping cunt was pressed against his skin.

You began to grind your hips, pressing your cunt down against his thigh. One hand slipped up to your shirt, popping the buttons open slowly until your chest was exposed to him.

Adrian just watched you quietly with hooded eyes and parted lips, almost in awe of you as you rode his thigh. He watched the way your breasts bounced as you rolled your hips against, the way you let quiet moans slip through your lips whenever your clit brushed against his skin.

You leaned forward, angling yourself in a way that meant your clit was pressed firmly against his skin. He was being so good for you, so patient and pretty and perfect, watching you fuck yourself on his thigh. You couldn't help but breathe out a laugh when he let out a yelp as your fingers curled around his cock unexpectedly, stroking languidly, keeping in time with your own movements.

The pressure on your clit was delicious, and you could feel your orgasm building in the pit of your stomach. His quiet moans and whimpers, his hips bucking up to meet your fist, only spurred you on, urged you to grind your hips down faster against him, watching him watch you come undone on his thigh, his eyes flickering from your face, your chest and your cunt.

When you came, you came hard. You threw your head back, eyes squeezed shut, letting out an almost pornographic moan as waves of pleasure ripped through your body. Adrian groaned underneath you, your hand now loosely gripping his cock while you rode out the rest of your orgasm.

Adrian wanted to touch you. He wanted to touch you so bad. It was taking everything in him to not force himself out of the restraints, hold you through your orgasm then fuck you dizzy.

"Oh, fuck..." You panted out, your head tilted back, looking at him through your eyelashes. "That was so fucking good..."

I wouldn't know, he wanted to say, but he kept it to himself. He was sure he had softened you, broke you down. He was sure you would be kind to him now. And he was right.

"Do you wanna cum?" You breathed out, shifting back up until your cunt hovered just above his cock.

"God, yes." Adrian moaned out.

"Do you think you deserve to cum?" You inquired. Hell, you were becoming impatient now. You wanted him inside of you.

"I-I don't know... Do you think I deserve to cum?"

"Yeah. I think you've been good for me. So good." You ran your finger across his lip before leaning down, kissing him softly.

Then, you sank down on to his cock. Slowly, slowly, slowly. You sighed in relief at the feeling of your walls stretching out to accommodate him. You loved to tease him, to keep him on the edge, but there was nothing you loved more than feeling him inside of you.

Adrian, on the other hand, was about to lose his fucking mind.

He knew he wouldn't last long, not with your tight cunt squeezing his cock just right. He had been waiting for this all night. Waiting for you to slide yourself on to his cock and fuck him until he came.

"Oh fuck... Fff-... I love this cunt. I love being inside of you. You're so beautiful. So perfect. Treat me so well." He babbled as you sat still on his cock, "So good to me. My perfect princess. Looking after me so well. F-fuck... Please... Let me cum. Wanna cum inside this sweet pussy."

A few rolls of your hips and he was cumming inside of you. He remained quiet at first, and you watched his face twist, his neck straining, eyes squeezed shut until he let out a guttural moan from the back of his throat. It wasn't long until he was bucking his hips into you, cursing and pulling at the restraints, moaning your name along with 'i love you's' and 'thankyou's' as he shot rope after rope of his hot cum inside of you.

You pressed your lips against his as he rode out his orgasm, mumbling that he was your good boy and you loved him and that he had been so, so good for you.

Reaching up, you tugged the restraints loose, allowing his hands to roam freely once again. He wrapped his arms around your body, clutching you tight against him, whimpering against your shoulder while you peppered kisses on his cheeks, forehead and nose.

"You good?" You whispered, sitting up once his whimpered moans had died down and his breathing had settled. He was still inside of you, still rock hard, though you weren't surprised since you had had him on the edge for almost an hour.

Adrian glanced up at you then, a dazed and lazy (yet still shit-eating) grin on his lips. "Fuck yeah. Never been better. Ready to go again, actually."

You raised your eyebrows, but not in shock or disbelief. More because you expected that response from Adrian. "You wanna go again?"

"Fuck yeah, I do."

"You're insatiable." You mumbled, leaning down to press your lips against his, his hand coming up to cup your face. You had planned on running him a hot bath, making him a cup of coffee and cuddling up to him with a shitty Netflix horror movie, but Adrian's plans differed wildly from your own.

"Hey, can I fuck you this time?" He asked excitedly, sitting himself up against the bed frame.

"....Fine."

••••••••••••

tags because im a big dummy and i forgot (if you've already seen this then ignore </3)

@juniebugg @bvcksmurdock @neptuneswritingwork @cressida-clearwood @withahappyrefrain @all-the-captains @lindenvale @tinalbion @ladamari68 @flower-slut00 @milfodyssey @madmax2191 @andromacher @myguiltypleasures21 @osnapitzandi @flutterskies @emmaflag17 @trash--blog @jlclvsjpm @papitas-con-sal @thedamchii @abbynx @lunaticsandidiots @skateb0red @fenderenderender @possessedxparrot @transias @aprilfire18 @the-a-word-2214 @winterrfalconn

YES YES YES THANK YOU!

honestly so happy that you delivered on my breeding kink ask because this was just perfection!! but also very glad you didn’t crash!! I mean I would’ve probs had the same reaction tho bc I mean breeding is my #1😌

and idc what anyone else says, for sure, without a doubt in my mind, Adrian has a breeding kink

omg he’d want to constantly have you filled and full of him cum or child and the thought makes me go absolutely feral, like insane, foaming at the mouth, screaming and creaming 😩‼️

and trying every single day??? my man is determined, and I’m so glad he is, wouldn’t want it any other way

also dad Adrian??? yes yes yes 100 times yes, he’d be such a good dad, like the best, his kids would be his whole world 😭

anyways thank you for writing this🥰

idk if you talked ab this before but thoughts on Adrian having a breeding kink👀

and another

pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns, has a vagina/womb)

rating: e+

word count: 1,813

one-sentence synopsis: ever since you decided to try for another baby, adrian has been determined to make it happen, without pause.

author's note: i'm sorry but i got this message while i was driving and i gasped out loud and almost crashed my fucking car holy fucking shit. i also sent screenshots of this message to a couple of my friends, one of whom said, "of course adrian has a breeding kink. any character you touch automatically gets a breeding kink by osmosis." and then i was like so of course adrian has a breeding kink and let's talk about it. and i started writing a headcanon thread but then i basically started writing fic and now i just wrote a fic. i'm so sorry. i love breeding kink i love pregnancy tropes i'm sick in the head i'm not sorry!!!! (i am sorry for my long-ass author's note though)

read on ao3!

Adrian’s on you the second you’re in the door.

This isn’t a surprise, nor is it unwelcome. You laugh, telling him, “Adrian, I just got home from work, I’m all sweaty—”

“And?” Adrian asks, breath ghosting over your skin as his lips just barely lift from your throat to speak. “What, you want to shower so I can get you sweaty all over again? Waste of water.” With his teeth hovering over your pulse point, he tells you, “Conserve.”

You huff another laugh, breathless this time. Adrian kicks the door shut behind you, twisting to shove you up against it. His hands are already tearing your coat apart, pushing the buttons through their holes with a haste that nearly rips the threads holding them together. He’s already introducing teeth to your throat, his large hands hot where they glide up under your shirt.

This has been your homecoming every day for— weeks now, actually. As soon as the two of you decided to try for another baby, he was determined to try every. Single. Day. Usually, multiple times a day. Sometimes even multiple times a time. He’s told you over and over that he’s intent on giving you as many babies as you want, as many babies as he wants— which is apparently infinite, and you’re drunk enough on him and the way he makes you feel that you’re willing to give him that in return.

Adrian reaches down, scooping you up with his hands tight around your thighs. You hitch up onto him, wrapping your legs around his waist. You cup his jaw in your hands, pulling his face up to bring him into a bruising kiss.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Adrian breathes, drawing you up and away from the door.

He uses his sheer strength to carry you up the stairs, to your bedroom down the hall, where he nudges the door shut gently and throws you down on the bed. The frame creaks; Adrian reaches up to steady the headboard with one hand gripping the curved top of it.

“Shh,” he shushes the bed before ducking down to kiss you. He uses his grip on the frame to brace himself, dropping to take your lower lip between his teeth for a moment before separating again. He pushes up and off of you, stripping his shirt off over his head in a rush. You honestly don’t know why he bothers wearing as much clothes as he does when this happens every day.

Adrian is desperate to get his hands on you like it’s the first time he’s ever done it, like he’s never going to get to do it again. He gets you bare under him, his hot skin sliding hot over yours, enjoying the rub of his coarse body hair over the friction burns you’ve already gotten from him in the same spots for the same reasons over the last few weeks.

Last few weeks, months, years. He loves to do this to you, with you. His cock is already hard, gliding slick over your thigh, and he reaches between you to find your entrance already wet.

His fingertips dip inside you, his eyes flickering up to meet yours above the rim of his glasses, through the thick fringe of his eyelashes. He grins, says, “You want me to fuck you so bad already, don’t you? Look at you.”

“Yeah,” you tell him, writhing slightly, twisting on your back to push your hips, hoping for more friction from him.

“I want to fuck you so bad, too,” Adrian says, looking down to his fingers slipping inside you. He fucked you before you went to work, and you relax easily around him now. He draws you up, burying his face in your belly, mouthing at your flesh with hot breath and biting teeth and slickness. His fingers fuck into your cunt, and breath punches up out of your lungs, rasping. “Oh, fuck, look at you. I want to— want to fill you up, want to give you my baby, want—”

“Yes,” you breathe, head dipping back into the pillows. He’s twisting his wrist, getting his thumb on your clit so you inhale sharply, hands flying up to grasp desperately at him. You twist your fingers in his hair, your other hand reaching without success towards his elbow, wanting him to push harder, deeper.

“You’re soaked,” Adrian comments with admiration, staring down between your slick thighs. “Fuck. Can I fuck you? Please, can I fuck—”

“Yes,” you tell him, “I want— Go ahead, you can—”

Adrian’s already slipping his fingers out of you, and you’re crying out, wanting to draw him back in. He doesn’t waste time, slotting himself between your legs. He lines his cock up with your hole, pushes into your tight heat like he never wants to be anywhere else.

His head falls forward, burrowing into your chest. You kiss the top of his head, your hands going to his back, gripping his shoulders. Adrian gathers you into his arms, wrapping around to your back, pulling you in close, dragging his mouth up to spread the flat of his tongue over your nipple before he introduces his teeth.

“I wish you were pregnant all the time,” Adrian tells you. “You should never not be pregnant. It’s, like, what you’re made for.” He pushes deeper into you until your hips are flush with his, until he’s pressing so deeply into you that your core is throbbing. He lifts his head, bright eyes meeting yours, sweat smudging his glasses. “God, you don’t know what you fucking look like. You don’t know how you make me feel, knowing that I’m the one doing this to you, that you and I love each other so fucking much—” He lifts his head, bites into another kiss with you. Muffled, his lips to yours, he continues, “—that I just can’t stop fucking— breeding you, that I can’t stop filling you, seeing you like—”

His hand threads up, climbing your side to tangle in your hair, and you fold into him, collapsing like a house of cards. He takes his as his cue to start fucking you in earnest.

He lifts your leg to adjust your angle together, and this new slant gives you friction against it, lets you grind against him until there are sparks rocketing through your core. You grapple for him, and he fits himself into your hands, biting a bruise into the soft underside of your jaw.

You can feel the chaos in the way he moves, his madness, his hunger for you. It’s obvious in everything about him: what he says to you, what he does to you. He never wants you to stop carrying his children; you never want to stop carrying his children. It really is like you were made for each other.

“Oh, fuck,” Adrian bites off into your throat. “Can I— Can—”

“Yes,” you tell him, and he’s losing his rhythm, fucking you with abandon. His hips snap into yours, ferocious in his claiming of you, his determination to take root in you. You can’t help the prick of tears in the backs of your eyes, the burn in your nose, the smile that touches the edges of your lips. This is, you think, one of the best feelings you can feel. There’s very little you’ve found to top it, anyway.

Adrian mumbles your name into your skin, curses and praises and rambled nothings as he drags you over the edge and pulsing into your orgasm. You gasp out, shaking, trembling like you’re collapsing, a dying star inside you. You drag him in closer, unable to release him.

“Please,” you beg him, “please, please, please—”

He gathers your head in his hands and pulls you in for a long kiss, spreading you open, licking behind your teeth. The searing heat of him consumes you as he cums, floods you, fills you.

You’re gasping for breath, clinging to him, as he says, “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” kissing along your hairline, smearing sweat along your skin.

Your chest heaves as you struggle to breathe. Adrian’s hand glides down your chest, between your nipples, to settle over your belly. His thumb strokes over your navel, his face dropping to kiss your flushed skin.

“Hey,” you breathe to him. He lifts his head, glasses askew, hair rumpled, waiting for you to speak. “Guess what?”

“Uhh— Is this a rhetorical guess what or a real guess what?” Adrian asks. “You really want me to guess? Because my brain, it’s not working at top—”

“Adrian,” you cut him off. He refocuses on you just as you tell him, “I’m already pregnant.”

For a second, he just blinks. Then, he laughs, surging up to kiss you again, one hand sliding up to grip at your hair. He’s still rooted inside you, and the rough movement jostles you. You bite off a noise into his mouth; he draws back, pressing a soft kiss to the bite he’s left on your lower lip before separating.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands. He kisses your cheek, your nose, your lips again, before he says, “Oh, fuck yes, fuck yes, fuck yes—” He laughs, then delightedly cheers, “Fuck yes!”

“Adrian, be quiet,” you tell him, unable to stop laughing yourself at his obvious joy, at your own corresponding glee. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t get so much as a hi, how are you before you were taking your dick out at the door—”

“I did not hear you complaining at the door,” Adrian says, smiling.

You’re about to respond when there’s a hard bang-bang-bang-bang against your bedroom door, a tiny palm flat against the wood.

“Are you home, Daddy?” your daughter demands from the other side of the door. You don’t know why she asks when she just heard his voice, but it makes you laugh, dropping your head back.

“If the two of you wake up the baby, I’m going to be pissed,” you promise Adrian. He ducks to kiss your cheek again before slipping out of you.

“I got her,” he assures you. “You stay here, you take care of our baby until I can come back and celebrate right—”

You have to shove him off when he ducks down to kiss at your throat again, your daughter slamming on the door, demanding his attention all over again. Sure enough, you can hear the baby start crying in the nursery across the hall.

You grab the pillow from up off the bed beside you, bringing it up over your head and burying your face in it. Adrian ducks to kiss your hip.

“Okay, I promise, I’ll deal with them,” he says. You smile as he drags his face up over your belly. There’s nothing different yet, but he still presses a kiss there, says, “Love you,” and jumps up off the bed.

-

adrian chase taglist:

@violetrainbow412-blog @bigassbisaster @amysuemc @sunflowerfive @papitas-con-sal @saturnngal @neptuneswritingwork @jewishdelis @myguiltypleasures21 @pinkygunslingy @violinchick @r3tr0sp3ct @chaseadrian @breathing-in-waves @rishlurh @x-milf-hunter-x @goblynnrockz @theowritesstuff @jaysfav @themartiansdaughter @dallasvakarian @missscarlettangel @pieriinova @samantha24015 @hillaryroadheadcllinton @ohmybubbletea @buckys-estrella @witchywcmans

FERAL. FOAMING AT THE MOUTH. GOING INSANE.

These Moments w Adrian has me in a literal headlock it’s so good. if ur ever open to posting a part 2 where reader n Adrian actually get to kiss id scream, cry and die probably and be eternally in your debt. bUT only if you’d like of course! I’m loving this blog <3

jawbreaker

these moments, pt. 2

[read pt. 1 here]

pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns, gn sex descriptions)

rating: e+ (canon-typical violence and gore, explicit sexual content)

word count: 4,365

one-sentence synopsis: the next day doesn't quite go according to plan, but that doesn't mean that you and adrian don't end up getting what you want from it.

author's note: okay i fucked up making this a drabble. i hope everyone forgives me for only posting this today because it's like 4k+ of adrian slaughtering aliens and then fucking you into a desk like a maniac so i think it's worth it. anyways i hope everyone else likes this too!!!! enjoy!!!!!!

read on ao3!

“Duck!” Vigilante shouts, and you drop to the ground automatically, hands over the back of your head.

Only a second later, there’s a short, sharp whistle flying over your head. An explosion rocks the ground in front of you, and you don’t waste any time leaping back up to your feet, hauling yourself back into a sprint.

Vigilante catches up at your side, keeping a fast pace with you as you run. He turns around, trusting you to navigate a path through the trees as he takes aim at one of your pursuers and fires. You hear a choked-off scream behind you and a thud as a body falls, and you don’t break pace, taking Adrian’s arm to jerk him out of the way of tripping backwards over a root.

A gunshot rings out, and a bullet whizzes past the both of you. Adrian laughs, whirling to flip off whoever made the shot with one hand, taking aim with the other.

"You missed, motherfucker!" he calls out gleefully. He fires twice, then leaps and pushes himself into a twisting side flip so he lands facing forwards, sprinting along at your side again.

Adrian whoops, holding his hand up for a high-five, and you smack your gloved palm to his.

"Fuck yeah!" he shouts. He transfers his gun to his left hand, reaches out with his right so the two of you can thread your fingers together between you. You keep navigating forward, your vision tinted dark by the visor in your helmet.

You’d had every intention of cornering Adrian alone when you woke up this morning and making good on your promise to finish what he’d started last night, but you hadn’t had a very gentle wake-up call. Instead of waking up to swap shifts, you’d both awoken to Chris hurtling into the camp, shouting that they’d been seen and everybody needed to move now. You and Adrian had grabbed what you could, yanking on clothes and masks and holstering weapons before sprinting off into the woods with everybody else.

Now, you feel— admittedly relatively well-rested, since the sun’s up and you actually got a bit of decent sleep. Your adrenaline’s pumping, and you’re not entirely sure what’s going on, but you know you’re almost to the van, and nobody’s hurt, so you’re counting this as a win so far.

At your side, Adrian tilts his head just slightly. You look towards him for a fleeting second, and he’s releasing your hand.

“Keep going,” he says, “I’m following. I’ll be watching you.”

You do as he says. He keeps you in his peripheral vision, starting to jog backward again so he can keep his eyes on the trees behind you. There’s a bang, and he’s pinpointing the noise in the same moment you feel the whizz of vibrating air as a bullet flies over your shoulder, just barely missing your throat.

You yelp, and Adrian snarls, calling, “Who the fuck shot that?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, taking aim and firing his own weapon once, twice, th— unloading his gun, actually, and then holstering it and pulling out another one.

“Hey!” Adrian sprints up beside you, demanding to know, “Did that fucking hit you? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m okay,” you promise him. He slows slightly, just enough that he can balance reaching out to touch your masked face with his gloved hand. You may have several layers of tough fabric between you, but you swear his touch still burns there. You can feel the heat of his eyes through the visors, as strong as his touch; you can see and feel him without seeing and feeling him.

“Okay, good,” Adrian says. He draws away so he can pull a knife into the hand your face was just in. “Keep it that way.”

“Over here!” Chris calls, and you change direction, hauling Adrian by the elbow to pivot him along with you. You come skidding into the clearing just as John brings the van screeching up.

“Get in!” John calls from inside. Emilia hauls the door open, turning to help Leota up into the back of the van. She grabs your hand next, yanking you up. Adrian comes rocketing in beside you, jumping off the ground to send himself crashing through the van without her help.

From outside, something rocks the van, and you turn to see people— who are definitely no longer strictly people, but morphing into huge reptilian beasts you’ve never seen outside of a movie theater before today— converging on Chris, the last of you into the van.

Nobody else has noticed yet, and you act on instinct, running and jumping back out onto the ground. Behind you, Emilia shouts your name.

“What the fuck?” you hear Adrian say. You ignore his voice, running to meet Chris with your gun drawn just as one of the mutating creatures pins him to the ground. You cock your gun, take aim, and fire, splattering blood and gore across your face and Chris’.

Behind you, there are pounding footsteps. You’re sure you know exactly which one of them was stupid enough to leave the van; you don’t need to look back to know it’s Adrian.

You offer Chris a hand to help him to his feet just as another creature comes launching down out of the trees. You draw your gun, but then, you hear a vicious snarl behind you— or, two vicious snarls: a man and a machine, and you almost would laugh, if you weren’t halfway through trying to save your own life, and the rest of the team’s. You drop to the ground, grabbing Chris and yanking him down with you, already knowing where this is going.

Adrian comes flying over the both of you a second after you fall flat to the ground, his chainsaw growling louder than the shrieks of the reptilian creatures. The machine howls as Adrian pushes it through the alien’s body, splitting the creature in half with a gory spray.

Even over the machine, you hear Adrian laugh, saying, “That’s what you get, motherfucker!” He turns around, finding you climbing to your feet. He holds the chainsaw up, blood soaked into both him and it, dripping off to the ground. “I fucking did it! Did you fucking see that? Oh, fuck, that was so fucking cool—”

You point above his head as another creature starts coming. You see the person the creature used to be before it starts mutating, and it looks like that lookalike Adrian had been suspicious of yesterday, the one who looked like Adam Driver and Jason Schwartzman had a baby, which is— kind of poetic, in its own way.

Adrian turns immediately when you point, trusting you, as always, to guide him. He shreds the creature with the buzzing saw as it tries to come down on him, splitting it from the skull down. Laughing, he leaps past it to tear through the trees, seeking out the creatures with a vicious delight.

“Jesus Christ,” Chris says.

“Yeah,” you agree, smiling inside your mask. “He’s something else, isn’t he?”

There’s an incredulous silence from Chris for a moment before he says, “You two belong together,” and it sounds like an accusation or a joke, but you can’t help but feel like it’s a compliment. Your grin widens.

“You should tell him that,” you say. “It’d mean a lot coming from you. Good references, you know.” You offer him your hand again, and he takes it. There was a time not so long ago he would’ve brushed you off and stood on his own; you can’t help but take this as growth, both for him as a person and for your friendship.

Chris claps you on the back when you start heading for the van, the both of you sprinting again, the urgency of the situation not lost on you. You’re sure that’s all the thanks you’ll get for saving him, which is okay with you; growth comes in pieces.

Emilia and Chris are just offering you hands up into the van when Adrian comes sprinting back into the clearing. His chainsaw is gone, and he’s running at top speed, shouting, “Go, go, go! Go! It’s Godzilla, go—”

Behind him, sure as fucking shit, the creatures have started joining together to form one huge fucked-up sort of reptile creature. One of the creatures that hasn’t yet become part of the mass leaps at Adrian, and you scream, but he’s already twisting against it. He jumps up, swinging himself around onto the thing’s back with an arm around its throat. He snaps its neck, tucks and rolls over its body as it falls.

The next creature that grabs him sees a knife slid up into the soft underside of its jaw before Adrian’s lopping its head off, and the next— and last— that snatches at his ankles with its teeth gets the last of his violent rage.

Adrian twists around, hauling himself up so he’s wrapped around the creature from the front, knocking it flat on its back. He pulls back, then starts beating the shit out of the lizard monster, raining blows on it until it's an unrecognizable mass of blood and flesh, dead on the ground. When it’s stopped moving— long after it’s stopped moving— Adrian picks himself up off the ground and chases after the van, leaping into it just as John revs the engine and starts driving back through the trees.

Chris and Emilia are shouting back and forth at each other, arguing about what they should do about this thing, but you just watch Adrian as he gets to his feet in the back of the van. He reaches up to tug his mask off of his face, sucking in a deep breath when he does.

Adrian turns to evaluate his options among the weapons set in the mount along the inside wall of the van. He spends only a moment there before plucking one of the compact rocket launchers from the selection. He only pauses to slip his glasses on before he situates himself in the center of the van. Humming to himself, he gets to one knee on the floor, unfolds the machine in quick snaps, loads it, and peeks into the sight.

He’s still humming to himself as he aims and fires directly into the huge monster’s mouth. You watch him as he grins, eyes fixed on the beast; it’s only then that you turn to see it, too, as it suddenly bursts into an explosion of scales and flaming chunks of lizard insides and a shower of blood that patters on the top of the roof like rain.

In the aftermath, Adrian laughs, exclaiming, “Oh, shit, I think this is the coolest day of my fucking life! Did you see that shit? Holy shit!”

He runs a hand back through his hair, leaving blood streaked through it. Eyes wild, he whirls, seeking you out where you’re holding yourself upright by the driver’s seat.

Adrian stumbles over to you, the van jostling under him as he tries to walk. The van doors slam shut behind him, Chris reaching to haul them closed, and the inside of the van is at least quieter now, even if your blood is still rushing in your ringing ears.

You look up, heart pounding, as Adrian reaches up and tears your mask off, too. You inhale deeply, getting your lungs full of fresh air, seeing Adrian unfiltered.

“Hey,” Adrian says, then drops down, gathering you close to him. He cups your jaw in his gloved hands before realizing he still has his gloves on, curses, “Fuck, hold on, let me just—” and yanks them off, getting his bare hands on your bare skin, heedless of the blood he’s smearing, leftover from his gloves.

He’s a fucking maniac. You just watched him tear through all those people— and monsters— and that fucking giant— thing, whatever that was— with glee. This is the coolest day of his life, he’s just told you. Mowing down people with a chainsaw, blowing up an alien mutant, massacring hordes like he’s a dark fucking Superman or something.

You couldn’t be more in love with him. You couldn’t be more turned on by him. He’s making you feel insane. You think you might be unhinged, but at least, in that case, you both are, together.

“Hey,” you reply, heat gathering low in your belly, an electric charge that sparks up your spine to explode in your chest.

You tilt your head up, lifting your chin, and even Adrian gets the hint on that one. Heedless of the rattling van, holding himself up with one hand braced against the roof above him, Adrian reaches up with his other hand to cup your jaw in his hand. His thumb sweeps along your cheek, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before he smiles. He smiles, like he didn’t just kill all those things, like he didn’t just take all those lives, and you can’t help smiling back.

Adrian drops his head so he can brush his nose against yours, just for a moment. It’s like all the anticipation from yesterday is coiling inside you again. The intensity of not only that, but of the amount of the time you’d even been waiting before— It’s been so long that you’ve wanted Adrian, and he’s been just out of reach, drawing closer and closer but never near enough for you to just— grab.

Finally, he’s here, right within your reach, and you reach up to thread your arms around his neck, trusting him to keep the both of you upright even as the van bumps out onto the road. You don’t care about your audience, or the gore, or any of it. You just care that you finally have him, that he’s holding you like you’re something so precious after you just watched these hands annihilate entire lives.

You part your lips without thinking, eyes flickering from his eyes down to his mouth, waiting for him to draw you together. He exhales shakily, then finally, finally, finally drops down to kiss you.

It’s everything, everything you ever wanted from him, everything you’ve ever needed from him. He tilts his head just slightly, loosens his jaw so he can part your lips further and lick into your mouth immediately. Only a moment later, he withdraws, and kisses you bruisingly hard. A flare of heat rockets down through you, and you kiss back as hard as you can, letting him consume you. He bites at your lower lip, he glides along your tongue, he presses closer and harder into you, the two of you gasping for breath but unwilling to part.

After so long not doing this, you never want to stop doing this. The only reason you do stop is Chris saying, “Okay, Jesus, just— Stop fucking humping each other, this is disgusting.”

“You’re covered in guts,” Leota agrees.

“They’re licking each other,” Chris argues, like that’s the bigger issue.

You draw away, not quite paying enough attention to them to laugh. You do smile, though, eyes flicking up to meet Adrian’s again. His pupils are blown dark, leaving only a ring of bright green around their edges as he looks you over.

“Where are we?” Adrian asks.

“We’re, like, two minutes from headquarters,” John tells him.

“Pull over,” Adrian says. Another flare of heat explodes in you as he keeps his eyes fixed on you. He drops his head down, close to the shell of your ear, promises, “I can’t wait to fucking just— Touch you, I want— I want to fuck you— I’ll fuck you against a tree if I have to—”

“He said two minutes,” you reply breathlessly, even as the image of Adrian forcibly stopping a van so he can fuck you against a tree because he can’t wait two minutes after waiting literal months knocks your heart into an even faster breakneck pace than it’d been in before.

“Fuck,” Adrian groans out. He slams his fist against the roof of the car, then glares at John through the rearview mirror. Pointing at him through the reflection, he says, “Two minutes.”

“Jesus Christ, okay, I’m driving,” John snaps back at him.

“That was so fucking cool,” you tell Adrian. He looks back down at you, all delight again, written across the flushed strokes of his face.

“Wasn’t that just—” Adrian is briefly speechless, trying to figure out what he wants to say, and ends up making a noise instead, a wordless, excited shriek of a noise before he’s diving back in to kiss you again. Against your lips, he starts speaking again, says, “I’m feeling so fucking good, like, my blood’s fucking pumping, I really blew that thing up— Hey, what the fuck was that?” Adrian asks, twisting away to ask Emilia. “Do you know what the fuck I just killed?”

“Nothing good,” she answers, and Adrian fist-pumps in the air before twisting back for another biting kiss.

John screeches into the parking lot at your little innocuous office-building headquarters, where you and the 11th Street Kids are used to hiding in plain sight. When Chris kicks open the back of the van, Adrian throws you over his shoulder. You inhale in a sharp gasp, startled. His arm wraps around your legs, his hand holding your hip as he hops out to the parking lot.

Adrian shoves open the front door of the office, striding past the conference table to take you into the mostly-empty back office. He kicks the door shut behind him with a hard slam, sending it rattling in its frame. He brings you right to the desk, using his free arm to sweep everything on it onto the ground so he can throw you down on top of it, flat on your back.

In the next second, Adrian’s wrestling out of his uniform, tearing the clasps on his chest armor apart to send them peeling to the ground. He kicks it all aside, climbing up and over you onto the solid wood desk, stripped down to his boxers, skin slick with sweat. He glides up over you, finding the zipper on your own tight uniform, drawing it down in a sharp tug that bares your skin in a heated rush.

“Did you like that?” Adrian asks, pushing your uniform back off your shoulders. He tears your clothes down off of you, your hot skin meeting the cool desk in a flash that leaves prickles all over your flesh. “Wasn’t that awesome? What’d you—” His mouth finds your throat, teeth and wet heat that draw back a split second later. “What’d you think?”

“I think you’re amazing,” you tell him breathlessly. He shoves you further up the desk, sets himself between your legs, spreading your thighs apart. He licks over you, the flat of his tongue just— tasting you, for a moment— and your head knocks back into the desk, your back arching up. “Oh, fuck— I think you’re so amazing, you’re incredible, Adrian, I’m—”

Your voice breaks off with a sharp cry, and your hand flies up to cover your own mouth and muffle the noise. Adrian reaches up blindly, tugging sharply at your elbow to free you.

“Let me hear you,” he orders you. His hands come to your thighs again, spreading you apart, drawing your leg up over his shoulder to hook there.

When you push up onto one elbow to look down at him, you can see him already looking at you— looking down at you, spreading your legs further apart so he can reach between you and spread you apart. His face is flushed, cheeks red, up to the tips of his ears; he tugs his glasses off and tosses them aside before he drops back in again. He tilts your hips for you so he can dip in again, getting a better angle to lick inside of you. His other hand comes up to work you at your core, threading up above his head to get his fingers on your properly.

Your hips buck up of their own accord, and Adrian shoves you back down. His nose brushes along the inside of your thigh, and you make a strangled noise that rips up out of your chest, falling back again. You slam your bare palm down flat on the desk.

“Fuck, Adrian,” you curse as he keeps his mouth busy on you, jaw working, eating you like he’s trying to devour you. You can feel rocketing heat gathering stronger and stronger, coiling tighter and tighter at your core. You’re near tears, practically crying from the edge, from the near-overstimulation, wanting so badly to have him forever, to never have this end, to have this end now.

You’re throbbing, and you reach down, grasping blindly at him, fisting a hand in his hair. Adrian lets you guide him up, just slightly, before he twists to bite at the inside of your thigh. You cry out, face twisting sideways into the desk, leaving a smear of sweat and tears.

Adrian turns to lick into you one last time, tongue deep inside, keeping you spread wet and open, before he draws back to stand again. It’s only for a breath of a second before he kicks out of his boxers and slides up your body again, the hard, hot line of his cock gliding wet up your thigh, pressing hard into your belly when he drops down to kiss you.

“Oh, fuck, you’re the fucking— best person I know,” Adrian tells you, and you huff a laugh, smiling as you throw your arm over your face. “No, hey, c’mon, hey—” He reaches up, lifts your arm, tugging it up so he can see your face again. He cups your jaw, kisses your cheek, the corner of your mouth, your lips. “Oh, fuck, thank you. Thank you for letting me do this, I want—” He bites your lower lip again, his kiss bruisingly hard. “I want you so fucking bad, can I—”

“Yeah,” you tell him, “Please, just—”

He seals his mouth with yours again, dripping sweat, smearing streaks of dried pink blood across your slick skin. He guides the head of his cock to your loose hole, wet where he’s worked you open until you fell apart around his tongue.

You grip the strong cut of his jaw now as he licks into your mouth like he’d like inside you before, and you grind up into him, desperate for friction where you want it most.

When Adrian pushes in, he groans your name, biting it off into your mouth before he drops to bury his face in your throat. His jaw keeps working, mouth open against your skin as he thrusts into you in a deep, hard push, his hips driving to meet yours.

He doesn’t hesitate, lifting up so he can take your hips in his hands and start fucking you in earnest. He bows over you, pushing you as far back as he can get you to go, lifting your leg to hitch up again so he can change and deepen his angle in you. You swear he can feel him fucking up into your throat, devouring your body with his, hungry for every inch of you. You can hardly believe that twelve hours ago, you’d never kissed him before; you think you’ll never be able to stop kissing him again.

Adrian keeps repeating your name, saying, “Fuck, oh fuck, you feel so good, you feel so tight, you’re so hot, you’re so—” He bites into the meat of your shoulder, clings to you, doesn’t let you go. You dig your nails into him, clinging to him, and he impossibly speeds up. The desk drawers rattle under the force of him fucking you into the desktop, and you fall apart under him. “Oh, fuck, I can’t— I can’t—”

He drags you up for another biting, hot kiss, keeping his eyes open like a freak. You do the same thing, keeping that eye contact as you rocket closer and closer to your edge. Your blood is boiling, has been for fucking hours, and you’re finally, finally there, shooting over the edge.

“Adrian, fuck—” punches up out of your throat. You’re overwhelmed with the heat that overflows through you, your mind whiting out.

Adrian’s teeth find your throat again when his hips fuck deep into you and still, his shoulders shaking, your name muffled by your own flesh as it pours out of his mouth into your skin. After a few moments, he shifts, thrusting again to fuck you through the rattlign aftershocks, riding each wave of his orgasm through your body.

When he finally stops, he drops to press into you like a heavy human blanket, burying his face in the space behind your ear, kissing along to your jaw. Every kiss is wet, sloppy, open-mouthed, dragging into the next.

“Sorry,” Adrian apologizes. “I made a mess.”

You laugh breathlessly, reaching up to thread your hands through the sweat-slick hair at the back of his head. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind a little bit of a mess.”

Adrian lifts his head to look you over, then grins. “You look like you got got.” His fingertips trail over your throat, down your shoulder. His touch dips into the bruises and bites he’s left behind all over you. “Fuck, that’s so hot. Hey, if you don’t mind waiting, like, ten minutes, I think I could probably fuck you again—”

“Adrian,” you tell him, “We are a fucking mess, this is— not the time, we should—”

Adrian drops to drag his tongue flat over one of the deeper bite marks in your shoulder, sending a spark rattling down your spine, spreading like a haze through your insides. You exhale sharply, grabbing at his hip.

“What’s up?” Adrian asks, smug, delighted with himself.

“Just— Shut up and get back up here,” you say, and Adrian drags up to kiss you again, slick and lazy, still smiling.

"You don't tell me what to do," he says. He's unable to stop grinning. "I tell you what to do," but he still draws up closer and kisses you again.

-

adrian chase taglist:

@violetrainbow412-blog @bigassbisaster @amysuemc @sunflowerfive @papitas-con-sal @saturnngal @neptuneswritingwork @jewishdelis @myguiltypleasures21 @pinkygunslingy @violinchick @r3tr0sp3ct @chaseadrian @breathing-in-waves @rishlurh @x-milf-hunter-x @goblynnrockz @theowritesstuff @jaysfav @themartiansdaughter @dallasvakarian @missscarlettangel @pieriinova @samantha24015 @hillaryroadheadcllinton @ohmybubbletea @buckys-estrella

the way I wanna dom adrian chase SO bad😩

You know the "break the bed during sex" trope? How do you think Adrian would be if that happened to him and his partner?

break the bed

(afab gn!reader) (nsfw 18+)

a/n: this is absolute filth. thank you for the prompt ily anon <3 (also i havent been assed to proofread anything rn sorrryyyyy)

In hindsight, it was absolutely mind boggling that the calamity and you and Adrian were making hadn’t prompted a nosy neighbour or passer-by to call the cops.

“Oh fuck yes- Oh fuck yes- OH FUCK YES!” you cried as Adrian fucked you into the bed relentlessly, the lewd sounds of skin slapping punctuating each and every thrust.

“Fuck-Fuck-SHITYOUFEELSOFUCKINGGOOD” Adrian whimpered, his cock slamming into you at a merciless pace as his white-knuckled hand gripped the headboard.

With each thrust, you wailed.

With each thrust, he growled.

And with each thrust, the bed frame began to wobble and screech.

The two of you were too far gone to notice the bed’s dwindling stability, even less so when Adrian hit a particularly erogenous spot hidden deep inside you, prompting you to rake your nails down his back and draw fresh blood with another shrill “FUCK YES ADRIAN DON’T STOP!”

Adrian bit down on your shoulder hard, his curly hair mopping the sweat of your face as he buried his face in your neck to leave harsh, wet, open mouthed kisses, biting and tonguing and moaning against your skin.

“M’gonna fuck you till you can’t walk anymore. M’gonna fill you with my cum and fuck it into you till you can’t even fucking think anymore.” Adrian growled, his possessiveness quickly drawing your orgasm near.

Your hands finished wreaking havoc on the porcelain skin of Adrian’s back, one of them grabbing him by the ass to hoist your hips up even closer to his, rolling them as best as you could under his brain melting pace to push yourself over the edge.

“Adri- ADRIAN! Fuck- I’m gonna-“

Your other hand made the mistake of pressing itself against the headboard to leverage yourself as Adrian was, pulling his body towards it with every thrust so that every last inch of his cock would be inside you. You could feel your legs start to quiver involuntarily as your cunt clenched around him, signalling the start of your undoing, and the very notion of you cumming underneath him brought Adrian to his own orgasm.

The second your hand pushed back on the frame, the entire structure came crumbling to the ground, the mattress falling lopsidedly atop the pile of wooden planks and metal beams.

Adrian was too swept up in the moment, too enraptured by how you made him feel, hence why he continued to fuck the both of you right over the edge, wailing and groaning through the rumbling in your ears and the stars in your eyes and the dust of the disaster settling around you.

“So fucking good-“ Adrian snivelled into the crook of your neck, never ceasing his thrusts as he began to leak out of you and onto the mattress, “-Pussy feels so fucking good cumming around me- Fuck!”

In due time, the two of you settled into a bewildered silence, puffing and panting as Adrain lay on top of you with his semi-hard cock still nestled inside you.

It was like Adrian hadn’t even noticed what’d happened as he wrapped his arms around you, holding your sweaty bodies tightly together as he enjoyed the slick sensation of skin-on-skin and pressed small, sweet, kisses along your jaw.

Your lack of reciprocation soon caught Adrians attention, and he lifted his head up just enough to look at you with those big, innocent green eyes with not a thought behind them and a creased brow.

“What’s wrong babe, you okay?” Adrian asked, eyes scanning your face for missed signs of injury or upset.

“Adrian, we-“ you chortled, so shocked but so impressed that he’d missed the event entirely, “-We just broke the fucking bed.”

“What?” Adrian gasped, curls bouncing as his head frantically whipped around in every direction to take in his surroundings.

And just as you had explained, the mattress was teetering on top of what was essentially a deconstructed ikea flat pack. To put it mildly, Adrian was very pleased with his discovery.

“FUCK YEAH DUDE, LET’S DO IT AGAIN!”

✦　₊　˚　♡ .　₊ ✦ .˚　♡ .　₊ ✦ . ₊　˚　♡ .　₊ ✦ .　˚　♡ .　₊ ✦

vigilante taglist: @redpool @lothiriel9 @darththrog @kingdindjarin @trash--blog @bbwithaknife @nottobegaybutmen @torchbearerkyle @666abby6666 @allukanezuko @fanofverymanythings @hypnoash @chelseaxteens @ellabellabus07 @vlkyriesgf @panickinanakin1 @caramelkatsukis-bitch @leaf-dont-leav

This is a fucking work of art omfg

hotel room service

MY MASTERLIST

pairing(s): adrian chase x afab!reader

summary: An off night, a hotel room, a bottle of peach Jim Beam, and Vigilante. What could go wrong?

words: so many (9.8k)

tags: explicit (18+ MINORS DNI), smut, some dubcon elements, shower sex, praise kink, sub!adrian, technically switch!adrian but *gestures vaguely*, alcohol consumption, drunk sex, oral (f receiving), slight blood kink, mentions of contraception, cowgirl position, gagging, friends to lovers, character study disguised as smut, james gunn said the visor is prescription and i take that as canon, reader uses prescription lenses, yes i did name this after the pitbull song

additional notes: i had too much fun writing this, which is probably why it was over 20 pages long lol. apologies to anyone who doesn't experience being drunk the same way I do because I write from my own experiences

taglist blog: @rosemareblogs

“Working hours” with this black ops group are loosely defined at best, and entirely nonexistent at worst. And don’t even get started on pay, because you think at this point that you’re only getting comped whatever the pay is for your cost of living, and that’s only really when you’re on the clock. They’ll pay for the hotel room and sometimes the food, but besides that, you’re on your own.

But, back to those working hours. You don’t know when they stopped, but maybe it was around the time your roomie decided to crack open a bottle of whisky and pour out half of it for you into one of the plastic solo cups they provide with the coffee pot. God knows you’re not working anymore, you’re just sort of sitting idle while he rambles about the room, gesticulating with the bottle. Like he does.

(Plus, you don’t think he’s even being paid for this? Adrian is just here for the fun and because he’s available, and the rest of the team just let him tag along because he’s useful. The thought makes you smirk a little bit.)

You admire his profile as he talks, one finger pressed to your smiling lips as your eyes trail him back and forth, thinking he might eventually hypnotize you. He’s so… expressive. And he has dimples and curly hair, which you’ve always been a sucker for. He hasn’t even taken off his suit; blue on silver on black, with a red visor on the mask discarded on the table. You had watched him remove it, and carefully tried to hide the fact that you were staring as he pulled his wire-rimmed glasses out of a hidden pocket.

You’re very pointedly staring now, sizing him up like your next fucking meal (alcohol does that to you), and Adrian keeps on blathering in one long spiel, pacing in circles like hasn’t even noticed your hungry gaze (alcohol does that to him).

“Is that prescription?” you ask, cutting him off in the middle of his sentence, which you’d barely been paying attention to. Something something Twilight, something something cultural reset.

Adrian stops pacing, looking at you with a deer-in-headlights expression. “Huh?”

You nod at the mask laying on the table by the door. “The visor. Is it prescription?”

He swivels to look at the mask, and then back to you with an almost bashful laugh. “Uh… yeah?”

“That’s sick.”

“Really?” Dimples. You take another sip of your whisky to calm yourself, and it burns at the back of your throat. Objectively, you should not be feeling this way about your pseudo-coworker, who also happens to be somewhat of a lunatic. But, y’know, he’s… sweet. To you. Which is the odd thing, but you’ve gone beyond worrying about the details at this point. You’re hunting alien butterfly creatures that live in people’s brains, you can get past a couple character flaws.

“I mean, yeah.” You lick your lips, which have taken on the flavor of the peach liqueur in the whisky. “I wear prescription lenses, too, but they’re a bitch to keep clean on the job. If I could afford prescription hardware, I would. Good on you.”

“Yeah, I mean… yeah, it is fucking cool, thank you!” He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners and making you clench your jaw with how badly you want to reach out and kiss him long and hard at that exact moment. “I was starting to think no one else would notice how genius it is. Y’know, I don’t even think Peacemaker’s noticed, which is totally not very best friend-like of him, but it’s fine, I’m sure he’ll come around eventually, the guy constantly has a lot of shit on his plate. Like I remember one time, me and him got stuck in a Winnebago that was rolling downhill toward a cliff like something out of Looney Tunes because some idiot crack dealer locked us in there with his load, and-”

He’s pacing again, and the amber colored liquid in the square bottle he grips by the neck sloshes against the glass as he continues waving it around emphatically. And you’ve zoned out again, because now you’re thinking about his hands, and how nice they’d feel on your body. You’ve seen him beat the shit out of people, you know he’s packing some major force in those fists, but you haven’t felt them on your own skin, or had the experience of having them wrapped around your throat for yourself.

“-then, y’know, Eagly’s a fucking badass, I don’t know if you’ve seen him in action, but the little dude can take a guy out in like one peck. Like do not get caught on the wrong end of those talons is all I’m saying. Anyways, he swooped in and yanked the fucking wheel, so the Winnebago flipped. I mean, can you imagine! A bald eagle rolling a camper. That shit’s gotta be, like, legendary-”

And his quads as he walks, Jesus Christ. You’ve never been super partial to burly, buff guys (sorry Chris), but there’s something to be said for muscle in the right places. Adrian’s legs are nice, you can tell just by the way the fabric of his pants stretches around them when he turns, and fuck his ass is so tight. You nearly salivate just staring at it, thinking about how much you’d love to dig your heels into it, or squeeze it to urge him on as he fucks you.

Your eyes snap down to your solo cup of whisky, and you frown. When did you drink half of it?

“-but like I’m sure you know Eagly pretty well because he loves you, I can tell. He kind of scooches closer every time you sit near him, it’s really cute actually, I mean, I would scooch closer whenever you sat near me too except I feel like you’d punch me in the dick, good thing my suit’s got a reinforced crotch-”

“Wait, what?” You blink up at him, your brain sort of fizzling out and then rebooting as you stare at him. What did he say?

Adrian doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, the guy who made it was like, ‘That makes no sense, you’re gonna have the worst time trying to take a piss in this,’ and I said, ‘No, dude, have you ever been karate kicked in the nuts before? Shit hurts.’ I still had to pay extra-”

“No, no, what was that shit about scooching closer? To me?” You squint at him. “Babe, are you trying to tell me something?”

He blushes. You know he’s joked about not feeling emotions like other people do, but you wonder how true that really is, because he goes beet fucking red like he’s having trouble breathing as he stares down at his shoes. “I, uh- well, I mean, yeah, I’d scooch closer to you. Theoretically. If- if you wanted me to. And if you weren’t going to punch me in the dick.”

“Why would I punch you in the dick?”

“I don’t know, it’s like… it’s an understandable reaction to someone getting in someone else’s personal space!”

“No, it really isn’t…”

“Well, how was I supposed to know you wouldn’t punch me in the dick?”

You throw up your hand in an exasperated gesture. “When have you ever seen me punch someone in the dick?”

He screws up his face. “UM, I don’t know, you punched Peacemaker in the dick!”

“What? When?”

“When he tried lifting you onto the truck that one time!”

“That was a misunderstanding, I kneed him because he didn’t give me a heads up!”

“But you did it!”

“Well, the last thing I would want to do to your dick is punch it, all right?”

You both stop and stare at each other for a long moment. You think you might have stopped breathing, too. Yeah, you are definitely tipsy at this point, but you raise a slightly shaking hand to take a casual sip of your drink, as if you aren’t staring at him with bulging eyes like you’re possessed.

He opens his mouth and closes it a few times before he comes out with a response. “Okay.”

You blink. “Okay?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, okay. I mean, what other stuff would you do to my dick?”

“Uh… stuff.” You jerkily stand, nearly sloshing your drink as you try to get your bearings. You set the cup down on the bedside table and turn to look at him with the most awkward, pin-straight posture you could possibly muster, like a high schooler trying to pretend they aren’t drunk in front of their parents. “I’m going to take a shower now. Yeah. I am. I’m going to do that.”

“Oh. Okay.” Adrian looks down at the bottle in his hand, and then shuffles a bit to the side so that you can pass him.

“I mean, unless you wanted to shower first?” You pause at the end of your respective bed, and turn to see him turning down the covers on his own by the window. “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting in bed,” he says flatly, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He reaches up and undoes a latch on his armor that frees the chestplate, and lifts it over his head in one swift move, leaving him in his tight fitting black undershirt.

You stare at him, scatterbrained until you manage to scowl at him, and the two knives he wears crossed against his lower back. “You’re going to sleep with all your weapons?”

“Yeah.”

“With all the dirt and sweat and fucking blood from fighting?”

“Yeah.”

“You can’t just… you can’t just get in bed with your outside clothes on, dude!” you splutter, leaning your thigh against the end of the mattress before you, and slow your speech carefully as you declare, “It’s… unsanitary.”

“Oh, and who are you, the sleep police?” Adrian turns to sneer at you. “I thought you were going to take a shower.”

“Well I was, but that was before I knew you weren’t planning on it!” You throw your hand out at him. “Why?”

“Because! If I go to sleep with wet hair it dries all weird, okay? Get off my dick!”

“I’m sure you’ll look just as pretty regardless, Adrian,” you tut condescendingly at him, rolling your eyes as you turn on your heels toward the bathroom. “Do what you want, or fucking join me if you change your mind, I don’t care.”

You don’t register the full weight of your words until you turn on the tap. But, by that time, you also don’t get to see the way Adrian stares at the door to the bathroom like you’ve just presented him with the key to the city.

You very rarely opt for lukewarm showers, but you certainly do now. With the way your blood is humming through your veins like electricity, and you feel hot just from the sight of Adrian’s muscles in that tight fucking shirt, you feel a cold shower is in order. Well, colder, anyways.

The water pressure is complete bullshit, of course. It pathetically trickles out, and it takes longer than usual for your body to get completely soaked. In that time, you lean against the tile and hold your head in your hands as the water drips down your face. How the fuck are you supposed to sleep in the same room as this guy? Between the way you’re just aching to jump his bones, and his inability to stop talking, you don’t think it’s a possibility tonight.

You wonder what he would sound like when you ride him. You wonder if he would finally shut up, or if he would switch to talking to you like a lover instead of a drinking buddy. You wonder if he would beg, or if he’s more dominant than that.

You’re imagining his head between your thighs. You’re imagining what he’d look like with your hands tangled in his hair. You’re imagining the feeling of his mouth on your skin, the calloused planes of his palms on your breasts and beneath your thighs. You’re… you’re shaking.

The white shower curtain rips open, and Adrian steps in beside you, naked as the day he was born. “Hey, can you pass the soap?”

“What the fuck?” You turn your head to look at him with a bewildered expression, simply refusing to tear your eyes away from his face because you do not want to cross that line and have the image of his dick imprinted in your brain while you try to get to sleep tonight. “Adrian, what are you doing?”

“Well, you said to join you if I changed my mind.” He shrugs, his smile the absolute picture of innocence, but his eyes still rake slowly down your body before finding your face again.

You blink, searching for a proper response to that. His eyes are green. Jesus Christ, that’s three for three: dimples, curly hair, and green eyes. He’s trying to kill you.

“I was being sar-” you cut yourself off with a sigh, “yeah, you know what, I did say that. Shit. Fucking… okay. Whatever. Here.” You fumble with the tiny complimentary body wash tube and thrust it toward him. “Go apeshit.”

“You have a really great ass by the way.”

“Adrian.”

“What? You do. I’m just being honest. I’m not even saying that because this is the first time I’ve seen you naked, I always thought your ass was nice, there just wasn’t a good time to say it.”

Your face is burning. You turn your back on him and try your hardest not to clap your hands over your eyes or do something equally embarrassing. You don’t think Adrian is even fazed by any of this; he wasn’t wearing his glasses, either, and you don’t know how strong his prescription is. You imagine pretty strong, if he needs it in his visor. Maybe there’s a good chance he can’t see the exact details of your tits. Maybe-

He touches your shoulder, and you feel lather running down your back as he starts massaging circles into your skin.

“Are you washing me?” you wheeze, your voice coming out an octave higher, and you really do cover your face again this time. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, and you can’t focus on anything other than the touch of his hand on your shoulder blade.

“Uh, yeah? I wash your back, you wash mine, right?” He sounds cheery and completely content with everything that’s happening and, despite the sheer oddness of all of it, you don’t really want him to stop. You guess that’s why you haven’t told him to get the hell out, yet.

Maybe you’re just as much of a lunatic as him. “‘Scratch,’ Adrian. It’s fucking ‘scratch.’”

He pauses. “What?”

“It’s ‘I scratch your back, you scratch mine.’”

“That makes no fucking sense.” He shakes his head in your periphery, his hand resuming its circular motion against your back, moving across to your other shoulder. You feel the soft, wet glide like a molten lava trail.

“Of course it makes sense! Why would it be ‘wash?’”

“Why wouldn’t it be ‘wash?’”

“Because it’s about doing your friends favors,” you argue in a wobbly, strained voice as you shiver while his fingers slide down your spine. It raises goosebumps on your skin, despite the heat in your veins and the cool of the water. “Friends don’t wash each other’s backs, genius.”

“So, we’re not friends?”

His hand pauses again just at the curve of your lower back, where it extends down into your tailbone. You bite your lip, and you can feel his eyes on you, the touch of his gaze almost as real as his hand is. Your thighs clench together involuntarily. You simpering little… weak, desperate thing, you are not going to beg for him to touch you. That’s not it. That’s not how this should go.

But, you could turn around and touch him, too. You could probably kiss him, if you were feeling really adventurous. He just basically implied that he wouldn’t be opposed to fucking you, right? That was where the conversation had been going earlier, if you hadn’t been such a pussy. Neither of you is nearly as subtle as you think you are.

You manage to chew your lip enough to tear a gash in it, and salty, coppery blood hits your tongue. You’re losing it, standing on the precipice of something way bigger than the two of you. You’re just an inch away from becoming more than just friends with Adrian, if you don’t reel it in quickly. Your hand comes up to slam against the wall when his fingers, which seem to be discontented to remain idle, start tracing little shapes on your lower back. A star. A diamond. A heart.

“N… No, I- I mean, we are. But I don’t think we’re going to be, if you keep it up.”

He grunts carelessly. “I’m having a hard time not keeping it up, really.”

“What do you mean?” You turn around, and his hand glides across your lower back and to your hip, because he refuses to stop touching you now (not that you want him to stop, either, if you’re being honest with yourself). Your eyes flick down, and you know exactly what he means, because he’s hard as a rock.

And also thick, and long, and veiny, but hey. What did you expect?

Your eyes linger on his erection for a long time, and drag your gaze slowly from the burst of dark hair at the base of his cock, up the line of his torso and to his chest. His pale skin is riddled with little scars here and there, from small injuries that weren’t serious enough to slow him down. He has a faint spray of freckles on his shoulders, suggesting that he spends at least some time in the sun. It makes you inordinately flustered to think of him doing some sort of outdoor activities to get that toned body of his.

You clear your throat as you find his gaze again. “Next dumb question,” you say, and he gives you a wide-eyed, vaguely awestruck look that makes you way more confident than it ought to. “Are you gonna fuck me, Adrian?”

His eyelashes flutter. His cheeks are painted with that sweet pink blush again, like he’s been entirely oblivious to the fact that he’s had you melting for him since he cracked open the bottle of Jim Beam. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“I think it’s a fucking fantastic idea, do you?”

“Yeah, I do.” And he grabs you by the face to kiss you, and crowds you back against the wall. You give a surprised yelp into his open mouth, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck as your back hits the cold tile. He grunts and brushes his soap covered fingers across your cheeks. “Did you bite your lip?”

“Yeah.”

“...Was that because of me?”

You whimper weakly as he slowly, and very purposefully, traces the length of your bottom lip with his tongue like he’s savoring the taste of your blood. “Yeah.”

“That’s so fucking hot.”

He yanks you up off of your feet, making you squeak and hold in a nervous laugh. Your leg bumps the faucet handle, and the water turns ice cold just as Adrian scrambles to hook your legs around his waist.

“Shit.” Adrian hisses and smacks the wall beside your hip once or twice before he finds the faucet, because he doesn’t stop kissing you. He’s sloppy and rushed and overexcited, but at least he gets the water running warm against as he presses you up against the wall. “I’ve never done this here, have you?”

“Shower sex? No.” You bite his lip as he hitches you up by the back of your thighs, and he groans as his hips jerk up toward yours. “But I think you’re doing a good job.”

“Wait, fuck. Do we need, like, a condom…?” He blinks at you with a glassy look in his eyes.

“IUD. I have- it’s all good, you’re fine.” You knock your head back against the wall with a whimper high in your throat as he brushes his cock against your entrance. You can feel the world spinning as you tangle your fingers in his wet hair, giving it a small but sharp tug. “Now, if you don’t fuck me I’m gonna-”

You choke when he drives the full length of his cock into you, pushing your hips back against the wall. Your nails scratch down his neck and across his shoulder blades as he splits you open, your legs tightening around his waist while simultaneously trying to spread wider to accommodate him. Adrian spits a curse into your neck, his teeth grazing a vein there as he ruts up into you, filling you so completely that a cry dies in your throat.

“God, fuck, Adrian,” you sob toward the ceiling, only too aware of him moaning loudly against your skin. He feels better than you had imagined, stretching you out so perfectly that your toes curl as you try your hardest to draw him forward with your legs alone.

“I knew you’d be perfect,” you catch him whispering into the crook of your neck, just barely audible over the trickle of water over your head.

He doesn’t even give you time to adjust before he starts pistoning his hips into yours, jolting you up the wall. Your skin squeaks against the wet tile, and his grunts echo in the curve of your neck. Tears might actually be streaming down your face, but you wouldn’t be able to tell them apart from the warm water coming from the showerhead.

Adrian’s hand comes up to brace against the wall beside your head, and he surprises you. “You really think I’m pretty?” He asks with such a genuine note of hope in his voice that you think he must be serious.

“I think you’re fucking gorgeous,” you breathe, whining when he nips at your jaw with his teeth. You interrupt your train of thought with a series of hoarse cries, because Adrian picks up the pace with less precision, and more just forceful thrusts that drive all the way to the end of you and make you see stars, regardless.

“You’re the most perfect person in the world and I wish I could paint because the only thing I’d be painting is just you over and over and over-”

He’s blathering into your shoulder, his mouth brushing your skin as it moves and his hips slamming yours back against the wall hard enough that you’re definitely going to be feeling it in the morning. Every bit of desire you have for him surges up inside you like an inferno catching on, like every stroke he makes is stoking that fire within you.

“-so pretty everyone wants you I can’t believe you would let me touch you or even kiss you but you’re letting me do this to you and it’s all I’ve wanted to do since I first saw you-”

It occurs to you to tell him that you’d let him do anything he wants to you at this point, as long as he just doesn’t stop fucking you- but that’s yet another line you refuse to cross for the sake of self preservation. You’re already drunk, and confessing the true scope of your feelings to him in this state would just be a recipe for disaster.

Oh god, but he’s like a reckoning. You shake your head to compose yourself and scratch your nails along his neck before you take his face in your hands and draw him up to you. His pupils were already blown out, but you think they nearly eclipse his irises when his hips falter and he sucks in a sharp breath. His dark hair is thoroughly drenched, and water drips down his face in little rivulets that you trace with your fingers just before you draw him to your lips.

You feel his small moan vibrate on your lips, and that’s enough. Your legs spasm, and your orgasm suddenly snaps within you like a rubber band, every muscle in your core tightening down on his cock as you see a burst of white behind your closed eyelids. It snuck up on you just as much as it did him.

“Holy fuck-” Adrian loudly gasps against your lips with a startled jolt of his hips, his full weight crushing you up against the wall. His nose nuzzles yours, so intimate in a way that you hadn’t expected from him, and with a few shuddering huffs of breath you feel him come with a rush of warmth deep inside you.

You’re floating somewhere above awareness when he slouches forward, his forehead resting against yours and his eyes closed as he takes deep, steadying breaths. It takes you a moment to realize that he’s just holding you, with his fingers digging into your thighs like he’s just trying to ground himself in your body.

You raise a shaking hand to smooth his wet hair back from his face. “Earth to Adrian. You still with me, babe?”

He grumbles something entirely non-coherent directly in front of your face, and blinks his eyes groggily open at you.

“The alcohol’s catching up with you, huh?”

He nods.

“Guess I’m washing your back, anyways. C’mon.” You wiggle out of his grip, and you’re only too thankful that you’re smushed up against the shower wall, or else you may have easily slipped and ate shit on the tile. The alcohol is fucking with your head quite a bit now, too, and your movements are a little jerky and uncoordinated as you try to help him get cleaned up.

He’s uncharacteristically quiet. The rest of the shower takes place in complete silence, actually, with the exception of the little grunt he makes when you urge him to bend down so you can get his hair for him. You catch him looking a little dazed as you turn off the water, and he gives you an unfocused stare when you toss a towel at him. You wonder if you actually succeeded in frying the guy’s brains just by fucking him.

But then, back in the room as you clumsily dig through your bag to pull out a night shirt and a pair of underwear, Adrian shuffles directly to his bed and tosses his towel aside before clambouring into it, bare ass to the wind. He flops down face first, and shoves his feet under the turned down comforter.

“Adrian… what are you doing?” You say for what feels like the millionth time this evening.

“‘M going to bed,” he drawls into the pillow. His entire body shakes as he hiccups, and then turns his head to the side to look up at you with his big green doe-eyes that make your heart do a somersault in your ribcage. “You should tooootally join me. There’s-” hiccup- “lotsa room. We could go again.”

You blink at him as you semi-stagger, semi-walk toward the bed, stooping to pick up pieces of his uniform strewn across the floor as he had, presumably, just ripped everything off as he made his way to the bathroom. “Mm, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Uh, you said it was a great idea,” he argues as you toss his clothes into a pile at the end of the bed.

“That was before the whisky kicked in and we were both staggering… fuckin… drunk-” you accidentally whack your foot against the corner of the bed and bite your lip as you fight not to crumble to the floor. “One of us has to be responsible.”

“I’m-” hiccup- “responstable.”

“Uh-huh.” You stop as your eyes land on the mostly empty Jim Beam bottle on the bedside table. You’re almost positive it had been at least quarter full when you left him to go take a shower. “Adrian, did you drink all that?”

He blinks his eyes open and follows your pointing finger to the bottle. “Oh, yeah. Hhhuuuhh… had to… I lost the cap so we can’t keep it.” When you march forward to snatch it off the table, he grunts dismissively. “Gotta… get rid of it.”

“Guess that’s why you’re worse off than me.” You shake your head and drop the entire bottle into the trash bin. “Aren’t you gonna put something on to sleep in?”

“I don’t have anything.”

You snap your head towards his sprawling, naked form. Your eyes linger on his ass for way too long. “You didn’t bring a single thing to wear?”

“Why… why would I bring a change of clothes to kill bad guys?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know! Anonymity!”

He grumbles into the pillow, “I have a mask.”

“Fuck the mask. You can’t sleep in the mask.”

“Sure I can. I fuck in the mask, I can sleep in it. S’a free country.”

You blink, your eyes flicking between Adrian and the mask on the table. “Dude, you fuck in that thing?”

“Hell yeah I do. I could fuck you in the mask. Could do it right now. Go get the mask.” Despite the conviction of his words, he’s slurring them, and his face is still pressed into his pillow as he lies motionless on the bed.

“I… don’t think that’s gonna happen tonight.” You sigh as you toe forward and grab the end of his comforter, drawing it up over his body. “We’re both way too drunk. We probably… probably shouldn’t have…”

Adrian flops over to look up at you as you, essentially, tuck him in. There’s a note of hurt in his voice when he mumbles, “You regret it?”

You pause, staring down at his expression of confusion and betrayal. Do you regret it? You can’t deny that you hadn’t been hesitant to have sex with him for a litany of reasons- one being that you work with him, and another being that he’s a loose cannon on the best of days. Not exactly relationship material, you think.

Or, you thought, but now he’s gazing up at you with these wide, dumbfounded eyes, and you’re tucking the comforter up beneath his chin, and he turns his face down and kisses your knuckle even though he looks mildly hurt. And yes, you liked the sex very much. You liked it so much that you can’t trust yourself not to do it again if you don’t shuffle off to your own bed immediately.

“No,” you tell him firmly, combing your fingers through his wet hair as you draw back. “I don’t regret it, but I think we both need to sleep this off.”

“Okay,” Adrian says quietly, his expression relaxing, but his arms come out from under the comforter and he reaches for you with grabby-hands. “Sleep with me?”

You catch one of his hands and give it a gentle squeeze. “G’night, Adrian.”

You hear him sigh in disappointment when you shut off the bedside lamp. His hands audibly plop down onto the mattress as he rasps, “Night.”

You wake from a dreamless sleep sometime in the early hours of the morning, and your throat is bone dry. Smacking at the nightstand a couple times, your phone manages to illuminate and tell you that the time is only 1:30.

You blink sleep away from your eyes and try to see through the dark as you stumble into the combination vanity, closet, and kitchenette. You knew you brought a water bottle or two, it can’t be that hard to find-

“Hey, what’cha doing?”

You hardly even startle at this point. You’re slowly becoming acclimated to the idea that Adrian is just constantly awake and witness to your every move, which isn’t as disconcerting to you as one might think. “I’m looking for the water. Did you see where I put it?”

“Uhhhhh mini-fridge?”

You reach blindly under the counter and yank the little fridge open, once again smacking around until your hand lands on the shape of a water bottle. “You want some?”

“Yeah, you could spit it into my open mouth-”

“Adrian.”

“What? It would be fucking sexy.” Adrian grunts, and the light clicks on from the main room. Then, he wolf-whistles just before you straighten up from where he’d caught you, bent over in front of the fridge. “Y’know, I was right. You have a really great ass.”

You grumble a half-hearted thanks under your breath as you approach his bedside and thrust a water bottle at him. “I see you’ve sobered up a bit.”

He waves a hand at you dismissively. “Pshh, I wasn’t that drunk.”

“You were drooling all over your pillow.”

“Maybe I always do that.”

“Yeah, okay.” There’s a long pause, wherein you perch on the edge of your mattress and chug an obscene amount of water. Adrian watches your throat work until he, too, succumbs and lifts his bottle to his lips.

An uncomfortably heavy silence settles between you two, only permeated by the quiet sipping of water and the cheap motel AC unit kicking in. It’s entirely unlike him to be silent and still for more than a couple of seconds, but he’s just sitting there looking despondent and running a hand back and forth over the white comforter, periodically lifting his bottle to take another drink. He doesn’t even really look tired, and you wonder if he ever got to sleep in the first place.

You know that the tension in the air is so thick because you have yet to address the giant fucking elephant in the room; and to address it is to have the most awkward and intimate conversation you can possibly imagine with Adrian, of all people. As much as you love his sense of humor, the idea of baring your soul to him is almost enough to have you running into the bathroom again, and locking the damn door this time.

But, in true Adrian fashion (because damn it all to hell if he ever lets something be), he beats you to the punch. “So, are you? Sober now, I mean.”

You chew your lip again, and reopen the gash you’d put there before. “Yeah. I am.”

He nods, pursing his lips as he looks down at his lap. He was right, his hair does dry… well, not weird, but just rather unruly if he goes to bed with it wet. Dark curls stick up at odd angles, a cowlick on the back of his crown standing straight up and begging you to come over and smooth it down. More curls fall across his forehead and nearly touch the top of his glasses. He blinks slowly, and severe shadows from his lashes cross his face in the golden light of the bedside lamp. You snap your gaze away, cheeks the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.

“So… was that a lie? About just needing to sober up?”

Your thumbs twitch on your bottle. To tell the truth, or to lie? You feel like your mouth just stays dry, no matter how much water you drink. “Look, Adrian, I-”

“Also, I have, like, no pride and a ridiculously thick skull, or- or whatever Peacemaker calls it. So, you don’t have to beat around the bush or anything for my sake, you probably won’t even hurt me-”

“Adrian, I like you too fucking much, don’t you get it?”

That fully shuts him up, and he locks his jaw as he fixes you with a startled look. You suck your bottom lip through your teeth, perturbed at the taste of blood still apparent on it, and dig your heels into the carpet.

“The last thing I want to do is hurt you. You’re… one of my closest friends, all right? But I’m afraid that if we keep going like this, I’m not going to want to be friends anymore. And I think I’ll fall in love with you really quickly, and that might be a really bad idea for both of us. You just…” You shake your head, your voice dipping in volume as you stare bashfully down at your feet, “you have no clue how much I want you all the time, baby.”

“Why would it be a bad idea?” he asks you plainly.

“What?” You pick your eyes up off the floor to squint at him, finding him staring at you challengingly, a flush already on his cheeks.

“I mean, honestly. Name a single reason why it would be a bad idea. Bet’cha can’t.” Adrian throws his empty water bottle across the room, and it makes a gentle tap against the side of the television before skittering to the floor. “I think we’d fuck like rabbits and then I’d wake up every morning and make you pancakes, because I’m really fucking good at those, but you’d have to make the eggs because I always burn them. And I think we’d kick ass together as a cool superhero power couple, and I’d carry your gun for you if you got tired, and I could show you where all my hidden knives are. And you could also do anything you wanted to me, like any time, and I’d be totally fine with it and probably also turned on by it, as long as you call me baby like you just did.”

“Are you serious?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m super hard right now. Probably should’ve warned you, I have a thing about that-”

“No, smartass, I mean are you serious about the other stuff?” You tilt your head at him. “I never really took you for the domestic sort.”

“Tsch- yeah! I’m, like, super domestic. I’m like one of those domestic...ated... cats?” He trails off as you step forward and crawl onto his bed, up his legs to straddle his lap.

“Cats?” you repeat with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m… I…” Adrian’s eyes flick across your face, down to your shirt and bare thighs on either side of his, your knees pressing the comforter taut across his lap and (very prominent) erection. “I don’t know, I have trouble thinking when you’re on top of me-”

Nodding, you reach forward and take his glasses by the wire earpieces, and pull them from his face. He goes stock still, his lips parted in awe as you slide them onto your own face, and give him a sweet smile. “I like your glasses. They look good on you.”

“They look good on you.” His voice cracks. “Can you see in them?”

You blink at him, and then turn your head to look across the room. “A lot better than I thought I would. I think our prescriptions are similar.”

“That means you can also wear my mask.”

You look back at him, and find that he has his million-mile stare on, like he’s completely lost in thought. You smirk. “Do you want me to wear the mask?”

He blinks, and it’s like you’ve flipped a switch and turned his focus back on. “Uh… no. I mean, yes. Maybe later. I want to look at you.” His eyelashes flutter so fast you think he might take flight for a second. “You’re so fucking beautiful I could stare at you all day.”

“You can touch me, too. Don’t be shy.”

He practically vibrates with anticipation as his palms glide up your thighs, hot and big and just a bit rough. His eyes are everywhere at once; your lips, your eyes, your chest, your thighs, where your hips disappear under your oversized shirt. His fingers catch the hem, and he curls it between them.

“You should totally get naked, too. It’s super unfair that I’m the only one naked right now,” he says breathlessly, nodding the whole time like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you.

“So, do it.” You shrug, trailing a finger up his chest. “Take it off, baby.”

Adrian fists the hem of your shirt and rips it in half up the middle with a loud tear. You gasp, shivering as the garment falls from your shoulders and leaves you in just your panties. “Adrian!”

His eyes are trained on your tits. “What? It’s not like you need it tonight, anyways, and tomorrow we’ll be home…”

“What if that was my only shirt?” you retort.

He looks up at you. “Was it?”

“Well, no-”

“Then there’s your answer. Now, can I go down on you? Because I’ve wanted to for a really long time and I think it’s super hot that you’re wearing my glasses so it’s like I’m watching myself eat your pussy.”

He has such a hopeful expression on his face that you have to hold in a manic string of laughter as you nod at him. “Yeah, sure. Are you going to tear up my underwear, too?”

“No, I wanna keep those.”

“That makes perfect sense.” You shake your head before you kiss him deeply, and his tongue dips into your mouth as he rolls over with you, briefly getting tangled in the sheets before he roughly kicks them off.

You run your fingers through his hair, snickering as he climbs between your legs and his hands deftly tug your panties down your legs. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Depends on how incriminating it is.”

“I’ve never come from someone eating me out before,” you admit quietly, a blush furiously heating your cheeks until you fear that if you touch your face you might burn yourself.

Adrian fixes you with a deadpan stare, and a slew of emotions cross his face before he lands on something relatively serene and says, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

He nods and grins, like this is the most casual conversation in the world, and his green eyes bore into yours. “Yeah. You should probably, uh… hold on, though.”

You frown in confusion. “To what?”

He rocks back on his knees, picking up your arms by the wrists, and he very simply places your hands on his head, with a little smile that conveys, ‘it’s no big deal,’ but the tenderness with which he does it sends another message, altogether. Your fingers weave between soft, unruly curls, your fingernails digging in just a bit when he lowers himself down between your thighs, and you come to the conclusion that this is just how he is. Tenderness, closeness, hidden behind casual sighs and dismissive shrugs.

You’re learning. Slowly.

His breath finds you before his lips do, where you’re wet and swollen and slippery like you haven’t been touched in your fucking life. But he has once already, and still his mouth feels like a searing hot brand between your legs. In fact, you nearly jump out of your skin at the first brush of his tongue through your folds, your hands tightening on his hair and tugging as you buck your hips up against him.

Adrian grasps your hips and slams them down against the mattress. Sometimes you forget how fucking strong he is. His slight frame really doesn’t give justice to the force behind those lean muscles, because he holds you in an iron grip that you can hardly wiggle out of. It makes you feel small, in a way, that he holds you hostage to his tongue and won’t let you move away from or towards him.

A long, miserable whine rips out of your lips before you can stop it, and you could blush at how pathetic it sounds, except that Adrian mimics it with a groan against your cunt. Your head is flung back against the pillows, but when you just barely tilt up to glance down at him, you find his green eyes trained directly on you. They start off wide as moons, and then narrow like he’s challenging you to look away as he drags the flat expanse of his tongue slowly over your clit, curling the tip just as it skims the mark.

“Oh, fuck you, Adrian, you’re so fucking good,” you grit out through clenched teeth. Your nails dig into his scalp and he shudders, briefly nuzzling his head up into your touch before he dips down to give you his tongue again. Your breath hitches, and your eyes flutter shut when he sucks on your clit long and hard. “So… s-so good… good boy…”

The moan that Adrian makes is overtly pornographic, and his hips snap once against the mattress so hard that the bed shakes beneath you. He breaks away from you to rest his forehead against your thigh, squeezing your hips tightly in his hold as his hot breath billows across your sweat-damp skin.

You loosen your fingers in his hair to stroke it softly, subconsciously struggling to flatten the cowlick at the back that you’d noticed earlier. Adrian’s eyes are squeezed shut, his shoulders heaving while he tries to steady his breath through his nose. “Did you just come?”

The tips of Adrian’s ears glow pink. He gives you a little nod and then a feeble, “Couldn’t help it.”

So, he can’t just take his praise in stride, he has to react to it with fervor. “That’s really sexy of you,” you blurt out, your voice ragged and just this side of adoring.

He returns with a quiet mmm, rumbling across your skin as he drags his open mouth along the sensitive flesh of your thigh, his eyes drowsily shut. It takes him another moment to catch his breath, but once he does, he’s right back at it again. Dipping his head down and absolutely going for it with no signs of letting up, and you have to suck in a deep stream of air and scramble for a hold on him somehow.

“Oh- oh my fuckin-g god-” your voice comes out without thinking, wrung thin and anguished, as your foot plants itself in his shoulder. Adrian simply grunts, paying no mind to the fact that you’re effectively kicking the living shit out of him as he sucks so hard on your clit that you threaten to break his vise-hold on your hips.

He was right that you needed something to hold onto, because you feel like you might leave the ground. He works at you relentlessly, devouring you with his lips and tongue and teeth like he can’t get enough of you, his fingertips pressing so hard into your hips that his nails are turning stark white.

“Fuck, you’re so squirmy,” Adrian groans when he pulls away from you for half a second, and struggles to hold you down when you try to chase his mouth. “Should I tie you down?”

“Do you have anything to tie me down with?” you mutter breathlessly toward the ceiling.

A beat. “Nope. Stay still.”

You fight not to jolt as the next touch of his mouth on you. He dips his tongue into your channel, seemingly trying to draw your arousal out of you that way. You start whining when he finally nuzzles his way back up, giving you soft, teasing licks to your clit that edge you closer and closer to the release of the swell of heat you feel building in your core. Your volume turns up a notch when his tongue starts drawing little circles around the swollen flesh.

And when his lips come down to latch onto it and gently suck, you know you’re just shy of howling. His soft groans vibrate onto your skin as you scratch at his head and pull on his hair, and you eventually find yourself babbling, “Adrian, please, I’m gonna come, please pleasepleaseplease-”

He sucks harder, moaning like it turns him on just to hear you say it. You heave a few rapid breaths, and then come against his face with a cry that crackles and breaks in your throat as your head arches back, baring your neck forward. Your heels digging into his back, hands scratching, hips flailing like you can somehow escape the barrage of hypersensitivity he’s putting you through.

You really fucking hope no one is in the room next to yours.

His fingertips stick to your skin once he releases his grip on you. He’s practically glowing, grinning from ear to ear at you from between your legs, and it’s a better image than you had imagined.

You drop your head back with a breathless chuckle. “Okay, Mr. ‘I Have No Pride.’”

“I made you come,” he chirps happily.

“Yeah, you did. It was really good, too.”

“So, why didn’t anyone else?” Adrian pushes his head toward your touch when you stroke your hand gently through his hair.

“I dunno. They weren’t applying themselves, I guess.”

“That’s stupid. You’re, like, the hottest person ever. Hotter than Doja Cat,” he grumbles petulantly, and you can tell by the look in his eye that he’s dead serious. “Want me to kill them? I should kill them.”

“No.” You trail your fingers down the curve of his face, going for his chin, but he turns his face and sucks your two fingers into his mouth before you can manage it. You stop dead as the pad of his tongue swirls around the digits, and he blinks up at you innocently, despite the lewd connotations of the act. “N-no, I… hhhhh… you’re distracting me.”

He bats his eyes at you, and he slowly pulls back along your fingers until they pop out of his mouth, covered in saliva. “How am I distracting you?”

“You’re- you… you little shit.” You grab him by the chin and draw him up from between your legs. He clumsily crawls up the length of your torso with his cheeks smushed between your fingers as you hiss, “I’m going to fuck the ever-loving shit out of you, I swear to god.”

“You know, that sounds slightly menacing when you say it like that,” he slurs, his jaw working against your hold.

“On your back, Chase.”

He grabs you before you can protest, and rolls back over so that you plop down on top of him, your hand still jammed up against his jaw. A blast of air comes out of your lungs in lieu of laughter, and Adrian snorts, shuffling his hips so that he moves back against the pillows.

“Okay, look, I really really really like you,” he says as you pick yourself up, straddling his lap, “but if you’re too good at this I might accidentally fall in love with you. Just to let you know what you’re getting into here.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yeah, and I think I might actually, um, ask you to move in with me, like, immediately. Like tomorrow. Do you rent or own? Doesn’t matter, I can put your name on the lease. Maybe if you own a house it can be income property-”

You cast your eyes down and find him, remarkably, hard and leaking precum as he continues babbling about living situations. You tilt your head, letting him get his stream of consciousness out there in the open, as your eyes catch on a dark wad of fabric beside his pillow. Your underwear, which he’d gingerly set aside instead of tossing across the room like you thought he would.

“Hm, Adrian?”

He blinks up at you, his eyes wide and dilated. “Yeah?”

You pick up the wadded up underwear. “You wanted to keep these, right?”

He licks his lips. “Um. Yes.”

“Hold them for me, then.” You grab his jaw and stuff them in his mouth, his eyes nearly popping out of his skull as he makes a noise of protest, but then actually moans when, presumably, he tastes you on them. “You’re so fucking cute, I haven’t even tied you up. You just want my taste in your mouth, huh?” He nods. “Yeah. Pretty boy.”

He predictably moans again, his hands grasping at every part of you they can reach; your arms, your breasts, the expanse of his palms gliding down the curve of your waist and settling on your thighs. You grab one, lifting it and settling his palm against your throat.

“Hold this for me, too?” You ask him sweetly, giving his bewildered expression a devilish smirk in return. You rock forward, sliding your dripping pussy along his erection, and his hand tightens on your throat just a bit. “That’s it.”

You pick your hips up, reaching between your legs to position him where you want him, and when you sink down onto his cock, the underwear in his mouth does nothing to muffle the obscene groan that he makes. His hand flexes on your throat, and his eyes close and open a few times as he tries to maintain a certain amount of control. Something tells you that he’s not really used to taking it lying down.

You’re already decently sore from the way he effectively fucked your brains out in the shower. This is just ensuring that you’re going to be feeling it for the rest of the week, but you can’t help yourself. You take him in all the way, making agonized noises the entire time, and then jolt your hips down a little more so you can feel him bottom out.

“Fucking hell, baby, you’re something else,” you snarl down at him, and his eyes go wide again as you squeeze him, every bit of your aching strength bearing down onto his cock until he whines loudly through the fabric and his fingers tighten on the sides of your throat. “Oh, god, I could ruin you. You could ruin me. I want you to, it would be so easy for you, I wouldn’t even be able to walk in the morning.”

And you’re moving, picking up your hips and letting them fall back down in slow, deep strokes that have him writhing, his free hand in a death grip on your thigh. You raise your hand to press against the back of his on your throat, your fingers weaving in between his, and he flexes them back a bit to make room.

Even when he’s gagged, he’s noisy. Keening and grunting at you, his jaw tightening every once in a while and the tendons of his neck jumping out at you when your hips meet his. Dark curls hang down his forehead, damp with sweat, and you can’t help but feel like the shower was useless.

No, not useless. It brought you here.

Adrian bucks his hips up suddenly, meeting you halfway when you take a particularly long time on the downstroke. You gasp, tightening your hand on his, and your nails dig into his chest.

“Oh, you want me to ruin you, don’t you?” You murmur at him, baiting him to do it again. And he does, just like you hoped he would. You pick up the pace in retaliation, letting the lewd sounds of your skin hitting his fill the room. “Silly boy, I knew you would.”

He whimpers, blinking up at you slowly, his face screwing up and tightening in earnest when you rake your nails up and down his chest. He makes a couple pathetic, weak groans in the back of his throat like he wants to convey something to you, but he’s not reaching up to remove your underwear from his mouth.

(You wonder if he even remembers that he can.)

“You gonna come for me?” you ask as his whimpers increase in volume. His cock is so hard, twitching and dragging thick inside you, and his chest jumps with every desperate, ragged breath he takes. “Yeah, you are. Go on, baby, make a mess.”

Adrian gives you a curt shake of his head, and paws at your thigh for a second before his hand slides forward, and his thumb touches your clit.

“Oh fuck, Adrian-” you lurch forward, pressing your throat hard against his palm, your legs seizing up on either side of his hips. He makes you come again with a single fucking touch, and it burns through your core like fire, almost more satisfying than the first because you’re able to feel him inside you this time, something warm and hard and thick to come on.

Apparently, that was all he needed in order to let go. His back arches a bit as he jerks his hips up into yours, and he fills your pulsing cunt until his shallow breaths rattle in his throat, his eyes squeezed so tight that you see a tear collecting in the corner of one. He lays with his head driven back hard into the pillow, whimpering and whining like he’s been mortally wounded.

Too sore to move just yet, you pull his hand away from your throat and kiss his palm. Adrian’s eyes flutter open, and he finds you with a glazed-over stare, like he might either see you or see through you. Still letting out soft whimpers with each harsh exhale.

“Oh. Sweetheart,” you giggle, and reach forward to pull the wad of underwear from his mouth. It comes out with a long string of his spit attached to it, and you give him a cheeky smirk as you break the string with your finger and lick it off, rather than wiping it on your skin.

“You… you’re…” You swear his eyes nearly roll back in his skull before he closes them, trying to collect himself. He takes a deep, long breath, and then splutters, “Willyoumarrymeactually?”

You give him your biggest, goofiest grin, a little bubble of laughter wedging itself deep in your chest. “Get a little more whisky in me, and we’ll see what bright ideas I have then.”

“Okay.”

You lift yourself off of his softening cock, and the release comes with a dribble of his cum sliding down your thigh. He groans, but with one look at him you know that there’s not going to be any more action for the rest of the night.

You shift to the left, and his hand smacks down onto your thigh. “Mmmm no, you sleep with me.”

“Yeah, obviously. But you came all over the sheets earlier, genius.”

“Oh.”

He takes a deep breath in and opens his eyes in time to see you taking his glasses off. You blink a few times, your eyes having adjusted to the slight difference in your prescriptions, and refocus on his face to find him gazing up at you adoringly.

“I’m gonna take a guess and say you don’t sleep in these, too?” You wiggle the glasses at him.

He licks his lips. “No, not… not usually.”

You set the glasses on the bedside table, and then slowly slide off of him, off the bed and onto shaky legs. You take his hand and tug just a bit. “C’mon, pretty. Into my bed.”

He follows your lead without a fuss, making the two step journey to the other bed and plopping down face-first.

“D’you wanna get pancakes when we wake up?” he asks around a yawn as you nudge his ass, prodding him to scoot over.

You nod furiously, even though you know he can’t see you as you switch the light off and climb in beside him, curling up against his warm back. “Pancakes sound fucking delicious.”

“Not as delicious as your pus-”

“Adrian.”