Concomitant

concomitant

prompt: "you don't want me? don't lie to me."

pairing: kang the conqueror x (f)reader

word count: 559

warnings: eighteen+ content, spoilers for quantumania, implied smut, kang being kang, my usual poetic flare.

note: shoutout to my bby @tom-whore-dleston for giving me even more of an excuse to write for this hunk of a man, i may have reworked your req and made it so reader took janets place with the whole 'fix my ship' storyline, so i hope that's ok!

“You don’t belong here.” The stark contrast between the heat from his gloves and the heat of your skin makes you shiver as he runs a finger along your jawline. His face so close to yours that you can see just how deep the scars that mark his face run. How dark and rigid they are against his skin.

You wish it would make your stomach curdle.

Wish it wasn’t making more questions and feelings start in your belly and go lower. Further into a region that has become too accustomed to stories of greatness and realities of time you can only dream of seeing, to offer you more than this realm you've reluctantly made your home. Your body has grown accustomed to his longing glances over a new discovery, the grazes of fingers when you're working together, his mission—his presence—giving you a purpose. Something you hadn't felt in years until he came into your life.

Until he crashed and landed, lost and bruised, just like you.

Until he lit a fire in your blood, making you feel cloudy and irrational in your thinking, urging you to go down a path from which you may never be able to return.

“Come with me.”

“I–”

“You can.” He finishes for you. Smothers any words of protest or conflict with the look he’s giving you. With the way he’s touching you so gently, so unlike the conqueror you’ve seen from his mind.

The very thing that gives you pause. Reason to recoil from him even when you don’t.

Instead, there's an ache between your legs that keeps you immobile against him. Keeps you in his clutches, in his trance.

“There is nothing here for you.” His fingers leave your jaw, move across your collarbone, and down your chest, leaving you breathless the lower they go. “I can give you everything. Show you infinite realities. "Give you everything you've ever wanted," he says, his palm splaying just below your belly button. Your nails dig into the tethers of your makeshift home, to keep yourself from falling completely in his arms, hands—to your knees from his promises. "All those images of me you've played in your head at night when you think no one can hear the noises you make," his lips feather-like against your ear. “Come true.”

Embarrassment stings your chest. Sends your insides in a twist and pull against each other as your head shakes. A denial at the tip of your tongue, ready to end this and be done with it all. To send him on his way, away from your home, away from you and the temptation he’s luring you into, like an unsuspecting traveler falling into a sinkhole they’ll never get out of.

“You don’t want me?” He tsks, smirks against your ear. His voice low and authoritative: “Don’t lie to me. It will only take longer to get what we both want.” His hand moves across your clothed mound, fingers putting the lightest of pressures on your pelvis that has your hips moving forward involuntarily.

“Join me, and I’ll give you everything.” His mouth finds yours. Seals your fate with his tongue, giving way to every promise he’s willing to keep if you take his hand and watch beside him as he wins a war he’s ultimately made you a part of.

As he burns the world.

Tags

nsfw fic rec kang kang the conqueror i gotta be honest w y’all I’d totally turn a blind eye to what this man does as long as he ruins me I’m being so fr rn bc he could literally do whatever he wants tbh I’m a kang apologist my man did nothing wrong anyways I need him in my bed asap

Te Lo Ruego

miguel o’hara x fem!reader

nsfw masterlist | main masterlist

word count: 0.8k

summary: miguel is desperate for just a taste

warnings: SMUT (18+), minors DNI, miguel being a munch and pussy drunk, that’s it, it’s just him being desperate to eat you out <3 also, spanish (translation at the end)

A/N: I read two words and was inspired to write this…took me about an hour and now this is all i’m thinking about, please enjoy // as always, feedback is greatly appreciated, reblog and lmk what you think! <333

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miguel ohara anyways thank youuuu <3 sara:writes BC WHY IS HE SO????? i can’t take it anymore fr my only outlet is writing very self indulgent fics te lo ruego:reply

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buckys-lover

2 years ago

The only way I’d want Eddie to die is if I sucked his soul outta his dick. Send tweet.

Tags

eddie munson bro would lose his mind if I gave him head my bj game is out of this world

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buckys-lover

2 years ago

home is where you're mine

premise: in nevarro you and din can finally breathe and spend your days christening every surface of your home.

pairing: din djarin x (f)reader

word count: 911

warnings: eighteen+ content, established relationship, riding, unprotected p in v, tiny little taste of possessive!din, domestic life, public-ish encounter, 'etyc' means dirty, 'mesh’la' means beautiful.

note: did i have an absolute panic attack over actually writing in the mando world instead of doing an au? yeah yeah i did, but thanks to my bbys @psychedelic-ink and @pedrito-friskito i got over it and wrote this filth <3.

The skin on Din’s neck feels as hot as your body does. The sun, having gone down hours ago, did little to cool the warm air—the humidity that’s clinging to your body and making sweat gather at your brow and run down your spine as your breath heaves your chest with your ministrations.

There’s an ache in the heel of your foot that you ignore. That does not deserve a second thought, maneuvering around, or changing of position when this one feels too good.

When Din is letting you take control, letting your fingers move to the only skin visible and hold onto it like a lifeline. Like you’d float away from the building pleasure if you didn’t have something, some kind of contact that wasn’t his gloved hand bunching up your dress at the top of your ass so he can grip and pull you down onto his length. The only helping hand he’s giving.

Since the two of you had made—what you hoped was—a permanent home in Nevarro. Until another bounty called Din away, now giving you a place to safely wait for his return. A cabin big enough for the three of you. A space that wasn’t covered in scrap metal and piles of weapons or debris.

You know, in truth, that you’d live under any conditions if it kept Din on your side. The child on your hip or by your feet.

But this place felt special. Like the three of you could finally take a deep breath and let your guard down for half a second without feeling remorseful over it.

The porch had quickly become Din’s favorite spot to relax. To put his feet up and watch the sky, the terrain—Grogu, as he basked in the daylight and played with his food.

Which is where you found him tonight after the child had drifted to sleep and the two of you were alone. The planet seemingly quiet when it knew the two of you needed it. When you leaned against the doorway and Din held out his hand to you. Pulling you into his lap. A calming silence shared between the two of you as you took in the stars.

A moment that seemed too good to pass up. To not continue to take advantage of the space you had been given to have Din inside of you.

No need to sneak around or find a darkened corner.

It’s as if the two of you needed to break in every surface within the new space. Home.

Your cheek pressed into the wall, a counter, a table. Your fingers leaving indents in the fabrics of seats, beds, and blankets. It was only right that you carry on that same streak in Din’s favorite spot.

“Should we-” he began, the shake of your head cutting him off as your hips rocked against him. As he grew the more your sweet whimpers fell, and your fingers danced along the beskar of his chest plate. “Etyc,” his gloved hand coming down to tap at your ass, making you grin.

It didn’t take long for you to free his cock and position him at your entrance. To get yourself this close from the motion of your hips, the angle making the fabrics of his pants rub against your clit with each gyrate. Each time he bucked up into you just a little harder than the last.

You let out a gasp when the warmth of his glove covers one of your breasts. His fingers pull down the—now—flimsy fabric from your shoulder to reveal it to him. To rub his thumb over your nipple in circles that make your moans grow in octaves.

“Mesh’la,” Din groans.

If this were in the darkness of your room, your roles would be reversed. Your vision cut off from him while he saw you in full. Running his mouth along your body. His teeth nipping at your breast until your body was pushing against him for more, to be filled by him.

And if you asked him to take you to your bed right now, he would. Happily. He’d draw out your orgasm by making you fuck his tongue, pulling away when you were at that precipice only to shove his cock inside your trembling walls. Repeating the actions until you’re begging him to let you come.

You have many nights for history to repeat itself, though.

Right now, you’re so close, and the way Din’s hips are moving in tandem with your own lets you know he is too. That neither of you could move even if you truly wanted to because your pleasure is too much. Coming to that crescendo that makes you see a galaxy behind your eyelids when you can feel him twitch against your clenching walls from reaching your climax together.

The gloved hand at your breast trails up the column of your neck, gripping your chin to bring your forehead to the warmth of his helmet before splaying the palm over your mouth. “The sounds you make when you come are just for me.” He grunts, your hips moving in unison one, two, three more times before you’re both coming. Your moans fall into his hand. Caught and absorbed by the fabric as your body clenches and trembles against him. The deep bravado of the groan he tries to bite back shakes your chest as you lay against him. “Mine,” mixed into the jumble of words he spews breathlessly.

Tags

din djarin HE’S JUST SO that’s the dream omg i need him nsfw fic rec laur!!! I personally need to take him every way possible and everywhere having a home w din???? want him so bad fr also I’m so down horrendous for that gif

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buckys-lover

3 years ago

The Putz and The Perv [professor!Jonathan Levy x Fem!Reader]

Summary: Showing off your anatomy in the anatomy lecture hall.

Word Count: 8.2k

Rating: Explicit 18+

Warnings: Exhibitionism, age gap, infidelity, drinking warm Jack Daniels like a true college gurl, taking the Lord’s name in vain, 1[one] singular use of the word “cunt”, whoops now there are two cunts. Okay now there’s three. Penis in hand, penis in mouth, penis in love?? Your immersive experience may be hindered if you speak yiddish and or have a cashew allergy.

Authors Note: Heh, anatomy, get it? I think I’m clever. Validate me and I’ll love you forever. Also don’t you ever, don’t you dare, don’t you even wish to dream to think to send me requests for shit. Because this is what happens. This is from the Scenes From A Marriage universe, but can be read as a standalone thot piece.

You’re a pervert. You’re fucking disgusting. You tell yourself that it’s harmless, this thing you’re doing, but really, the only people who would agree with you on that are other perverts.

You should have dropped this class weeks ago. It doesn’t even line up with your major anymore. You’re still undecided- flitting around the disciplines, last semester it was Art History, this semester it’s Psychology. So you took a somewhat safe bet with Anatomy, thinking it’d be a nice, neutral choice while you figure out what it is that you really want to do. This shit isn’t safe, or nice, or fucking neutral. It’s nuclear, and you’re making it worse every fucking class period. Look, anyone can teach you anatomy. There isn’t a specific skill to the memorization of the origins and insertions of each muscle. You just have to sit down and memorize them. Any teacher would do. And, fuck, it is just so inappropriate of you to be doing what you’re doing. You should leave the poor man alone.

But, god, why- why is he so sexy? Without trying to be? How powerful is his magnetism that his outfit of loose corduroy trousers and Costco Dad sneakers does nothing to mitigate your attraction? It’s objectively fucking horrible. But there’s something hot about it too, like, the fact that he doesn’t care how fucking hot he is. Or, more like, he’s treating his hotness with great responsibility. Not flaunting it or accentuating it with tailored looks, but putting on the first outfit he grabbed at a goodwill in an attempt to bring gravitas to the thing that he’s teaching. He’s going to have to find much baggier clothes for that to work on you. Like a monk’s robe, maybe. No, no, not a monk’s robe. Now that’s opening up a whole new can of worms, of vows of celibacy, forbidden attraction, and, yeah let’s not go there-

Also, yes, okay, you see the ring. Of course you see the ring, you fucking pervert. Because of fucking course he’s married. He’s married and probably very happy and fulfilled. In any case, he definitely doesn’t need you sitting in the front row of his lecture hall with your short skirt, flashing him your lack of panties. Pervert.

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jonathan levy scenes from a marriage nsfw fic rec omg i loved this so much and im actually taking anatomy and ab psych this semester literally just came home from and anatomy exam okay that’s off topic now but wowowowowow what I’d give to get down on my knees for that man😩‼️

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buckys-lover

2 years ago

hello, and good day king adonis!

a mix of nsfw and sfw alphabet with loki!kang please. 🤭 (idc which letters).

-☆.

N/SFW ALPHABET | HE WHO REMAINS

━━. songs loading...

#. CW! X-18 + PG. talks of kinks. idk, i feel as if you should've seen one of these by now. mentions of pregnancy and kids.

#. LETTERS! fluff; j. t. y. v. l. nsfw; n. d. v. i. s.

. SFW

J = EALOUSY [How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?]

he can't really get jealous since you two live in the middle of the fucking multiverse. but if there was an instance where he was jealous, he'd simply wrap his arm around your waist and keep you close to him.

T = TINY ONES [How do they feel about kids? How would they act with kids?]

oh trust me he wants kids. he's been lonely for quite some time, and he wants a family now that your with him. like in my other post, he's the kid(s) favorite. he's so adorable and treats them really well. cuddle sessions with the kid(s) happen regularly. literally the cutest father to ever exist.

Y = ANK [What do they do that makes their partner mad? That makes one wanna yank they ass?]

he throws, and i mean THROWS your damn child on a daily. and your kid finds it funny but its scary ASF. that, and slapping your ass every minute of everyday. its annoying😭

V = ALUE [How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?]

he values the relationship so much. he's quite literally wanted to have someone live with him for a while. being stuck in the middle of the multiverse alone with no one to talk to but ms.minutes?!?! its excruciating. if there's a fight, he's apologizing first and tries to figure things out fast, because he cant stand you being mad at him. you quite literally trump anything else. minus, well the multiversal war incoming. he's gonna try and stop that and love you. but you know, kinda stressful.

L = LOVE LANGUAGE [What is their love language? Gift giving? Quality time?]

100% quality time. like i've been saying. lonely. cuddling is just...yes. literally won't leave you alone. "sweetheart, i have to-" "dont care. im getting my hugs." just being near you is enough, tbh. babe is a little touch-starved, that's all.

. NSFW

N = NO [Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs. Risks they would never take?]

hurt you. in like, any way. it'd make him feel like his variants. don't do that to the poor old man. he's pretty down for anything, except for things dealing with body waste and hurting. like, scat? hell no. watersports? nope. i mean, if you accidentally pissed during a fucking orgasm, well that's normal. but playing with piss?!? thats a hell the fuck no.

D = RUNK [How dazed or drunk can they get during the deed? How fast does this happen?]

very. a minute into pounding into your pussy and his eyes are dilating. he gets pussy drunk, reeaal fast. and his thrusts get sloppy cuz your walls are squeezing him so fucking tight. trust he's in love with your pussy.

V = OLUME [How loud they are, what sounds they make?]

medium. groans and moans in your ear, but never too loud. he leaves the screaming to you lol. when his voice gets raspy becuase of you though?? fuck its hot.

I = NTIMACY [How romantic are they during it?]

very romantic. he's sappy. its a bonding experience that he hasn't had in who knows how long. trust he's shed a tear one time. he's a soft and rough type ngl.

S = SKILLS [How skilled are they? Have they had experience?]

yes and no. he hasn't had a sexual interaction in who knows how long. he was probably talented when he didn't take station in the middle of nowhere, but he's probably forgotten some things.

#NOTES! bbg. you know you rq every other day right? 😭. ive seen ☆ in my last 5 requests bae. but since its easy i'll do it damn. good day to you. i changed my format...again.

Tags

he who remains sfw alphabet nsfw alphabet the nsfw drunk bit got me😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 bc omg you’re so right and it’s the hottest thing ever also he’d be such a good dad😭 kang nsfw fic

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buckys-lover

3 years ago

IM SUCH A FUCKING WHORE

oh my jesus christ i just got the vision of jotun!loki holding you by your waist and using you like a fleshlight while he just moans wildly and you cry. he’s using you like he’d use his fist when he’s all needyyyyy. 🥵🥵🥵🥵

i think you should know that i was writing this and an ad for a christian podcast came on my tv, so the universe knows that i need some divine intervention after this one fkkfkdjd

𝓁𝑜𝒸𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝓊𝓅 ‘𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓎𝑜𝓊’𝓇𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝑜𝓃𝓁𝒾𝓉 | ꠹!ꪶ. ꪶ.

fandom marvel

featuring jotün!loki x human!reader (f)

rating NSFW / MINORS DNI

content warning SIZE KINK, monster fucking, breeding kink, belly distension, dacryphilia

summary he’s never had a toy as much fun as you

word count 600 / drabble

attention not proofread. please reblog 💗 do not copy/repost/translate

Oh My Jesus Christ I Just Got The Vision Of Jotun!loki Holding You By Your Waist And Using You Like A

his hands grip you like a constrictor’s strangle, fingers holding the power to fracture ribs if he were to squeeze too hard.

and you dangle— you dangle from his fist like a limp doll, arms and legs swinging wildly; you catch blurred visions of his massive feet planted on the ground beneath you, but you’re locked in suspension about six feet above them.

the only sounds louder than the squelching coming from your abused sex as he impales you with an overwhelming amount of cock is that of your sobbing, and his primal grunting above you.

“Mm,” the hum is guttural and devilish, “my sweet, diminutive plaything, master is so very sorry that he can’t be gentle with your warm, tight body, but inferior beings must learn their places before they are rewarded.” his words are slurred by a symphony of perverse moans, hardly holding you steady so he can desecrate you from the inside out. instead, he swings you back as powerful hips ram forward, driving inch after seemingly never-ending inch of girth into your body. it stretches around him, tension creating a protuberance in your midsection that presses against his fingers. “Yours is — ah, stretching around your new master’s cock, or trying to, at least—“ the giant’s composure is a fragile one, easily lost when your walls convulse around him in a frenzy. his moans reverberate against each wall of the room, all around you, reminding you that there was no escape from this ravenous beast. “I do love a nice, warm, human cunt but yours—“ he pauses, voice breaking, and throws his head back to expel a husky, lewd howl of pleasure, “—yours is by far the softest, little pussy I’ve ever conquered.” a hoarse chuckle follows his statement and the head of him, bulbous and throbbing, presses hard against your entry to your womb.

you squeal, eyes wide; the sensation of being more full in this moment than you ever had before wrenching the pathetic and shrill sound out of what air was left in your lungs. squirming in his grasp, the struggle only emphasizes your fullness, and makes your captor giddy with sadistic delight. “It’s too much!” you cry out. your arms haven’t the strength to fight him anymore, or to try and push yourself out of his clenching fist, they won’t even move an inch.

“Ah! Let me guess,” he gasps, breathy and excited, “By the sound of it— I’ve reached your cervix, yes? Tell me, little one, have you ever been so stuffed? So plugged with cock? I would wager you haven’t, yet your soft cunt spasms so welcoming and encouraging me to continue, I’ll bet you’re fertile and ready to breed right now and you didn’t even know it.” then, tilting your body upright, you slouch back against the coolness of his sweat-slicked abdomen, hands falling loosely and your sides and legs dead. perching you atop his shaft, you’re bouncing before you know it, filling you nearly to bursting with each descent, and you can do nothing but sag and take all that the monster was determined to give you.

tears streak your cheeks; the sheer velocity of his ravaging bringing you to your breaking point. “Now, now, there’s no need for tears, plaything.” Loki croons, but contradicts his statement by forcing a psyche-shattering amount of cock into you. “Be a good, little cocksheath for me,” he croaks, colossal chest heaving. his breathing is ragged like a beast when he ruts, base and merciless, “and perhaps I’ll give you the honor of bearing my Jotün royalty from your warm, Midgardian womb.”

Tags

loki perfection everything ahhhhhhhhh jotun loki nsfw fic rec this was just

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buckys-lover

3 years ago

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

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WOWOWOWOW !!!!!! i’m 👊🏼👊🏼 omg vigilante adrian chase bc this is all i want I'm. going insane over this. I LITERALLY nsfw fic rec EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS WAS JUST PERFECTION OMG ADRIAN WOULD TOTALLY LOSE IT LIKE YOURE BOTH DOLLED UP AND HES JUST GONNA EXPLODE OR SMTH BC WOW YOU LOOK SO GOOD AND HE LOVES YOU SO MUCH AND JUST ITS ALL TOO MUCH I MEAN CMONNNNNN JUST ALL OF IT IM JUST NOT COHERANT RN GIMME THIS JUST ONCE WITH ADRIAN AND ILL DIE HAPPY

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