Lemon:)

just here to read posts tbh

[bfbkg]

hellooo this is me reminding u to write about sleepy bkg leaving ur apartment at night and begging for more kisses 🫡🫡

GO HOME! (2.5k)

— bakugou katsuki x reader

your boyfriend doesn’t want to go home. cw: suggestive, swearing, pretty tame

“i can hear you not putting your shoes on!” you shout from your kitchen, refilling up your water bottle by your sink.

it’s nearing eleven pm on a weekday and you’re nearing the end of your bedtime routine. after finishing your final session of tussling in bed with your boyfriend, you sleepily got to showering and doing your skincare while bakugou was tasked to go back home.

you’re screwing your lid back onto your bottle, bag of popcorn under one arm as you step into your foyer. you find your boyfriend slumped in your chair for putting shoes on, doing exactly not that.

bakugou katsuki is in his thick grey socks, a random pair of black joggers he left at your flat and his oversized khaki hoodie. he looks handsome, always does, but this time he’s appearing a little disheveled. a flower wilting as the clouds begin hiding the sun.

you’re his precious sun with the energy to keep him happy and at peace, till he’s forcefully pulled from your grip.

his hoodie is unzipped, the right side awkwardly longer than the left from being dragged on in a tantrum. his white tee underneath is creased from yanking it over his head with a guttural sigh. he’s even got a water stain on it from hovering over you when you washed your face in the bathroom.

he’s got his head in his hands, legs spread with his travel duffle by his feet. he hasn’t even managed to grab his shoes off your neatly organised rack by your door.

you potter over to him, shaking your head softly with a sweet coo.

bakugou does not want to go home.

“baby. go,” you hum, dragging your slippered feet across your floor.

you tuck your body between his open legs, putting down your bottle and snacks to lightly tickle under his chin. you receive the harshest glare you’ve ever experienced from him, though it’s still miles below the ones he gives at work. 

calloused hands find the bare backs of your soft thighs and lightly, he squeezes.

“you fuckin’ hate me,” he huffs, but his pout comes through. all his features softening under your attention, minus the twist in his brows. “gettin’ rid of me like this.”

you don’t miss the hickies on his neck, two maroon bruises because all you’ve done together these past few days is kiss, cuddle, eat and have sex. since bakugou became your boyfriend, he often forgets about his own apartment. his home is much larger, much more luxurious with built in speakers in the ceilings and a double headed shower. but he always lingers in yours, though he never outstays his welcome. even now.

“i don’t want you to leave but you need to pack for your mission tomorrow,” you smile, taller than him as he sits.

he feels delirious when he stuffs his face in your cotton soft stomach. you smell freshly showered, clean, cosy and like home. bakugou feels like his heart has been stabbed with a fork. he already misses you and you’re right in front of him.

it’s like he’s fighting the devil on his shoulder, to just stay over again tonight and get up early tomorrow. he can grab his shit from home and go straight there. he knows that plan will throw his whole day off tomorrow. also you hate waking up early.

he blinks at you slowly, like a cat that loves what he sees.

for you, it’s easy to get hot from his touch alone and that stare makes you nudge in closer to him. you want to sit on his lap, kiss down his neck again, despite being all over him an hour ago.

“you want me to piss off so you can watch love island,” he breathes, looking up at you with the sweetest ruby puppy dog eyes. there’s a scratchy tone to his voice, sleepiness clearly taking over though he fights it to spend a second longer with you.

you know for a fact you’re the only person in this universe that has seen katsuki like this. that thought alone makes you want to call up his job and say he can’t come in tomorrow. say he’s sick so you can cuddle his big head in your lap. who would you even call? the hero commission? his sidekicks? he is his own boss.

“i do have a load of episodes to catch up on since you’ve been here,” you say sweetly and he eyes your snacks, then your water bottle placed on the shelf beside him.

he’s a grumpy baby in a twenty seven year old, muscled man’s body. he scrunches his nose at the mention of that show. he hates all reality tv, so he says, even though he ends up asking you for details throughout every episode.

“just say you hate me,” he grunts, tilting his head up for a kiss.

you don’t give in just yet.

“i love you but you’ve gotta go. you’ll be even grumpier without sleep in the morning,” you smile.

he rolls his eyes. ever the dramatic one. “yeah, yeah. i get it. love you too.”

you stand there for a few moments. his grip on your thighs getting tighter, his chin in your stomach. he rubs his cheek against your palm, his stubble prickling against you with every move.

“you need to put your shoes on—,”

“you look so pretty like this,” he murmurs, even biting down on his bottom lip.

you narrow your eyes at him. you know exactly what he’s doing and it usually has a hundred percent success ratio.

he pulls off you, keeping his hands on your thighs to look down your body. stupidly, it causes you to look down at yourself too.

your soft pastel pink  boy shorts because you get hot at night. your comfy low cut navy strappy top, that has seen better days but you have no need to replace yet. your nipples poke through the fabric and you don’t miss bakugou’s gaze wafting over them with his tongue poking his cheek.

he looks as if he’s about to moan or take a bite out of you. you can’t tell yet. you don’t mind either.

“katsuki, stop it. you were supposed to leave an hour ago,” you look to your clock beside your front door. “an hour and a half ago.”

bakugou grits his teeth then relaxes by kissing the strip of your stomach between your vest and shorts. he releases the quietest whine.

“i wanna stay here with you.”

even though he’s being dramatic, you’ll see him in less than a week, every word releases tingles down your spine.

you press a kiss to his lips, to which he eagerly pushes back. his hands sneak up to your waist holding you with purpose. it’s only a peck but everything he’s feeling is translated through.

“you’re killin’ me,” he says onto your lips.

“it’s not me, baby. you have the world to save tomorrow. you can make love to your girlfriend when you get back,” you say tenderly, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

“i’m givin’ you a good fuckin’ when i see you again.”

“you always do,” you shrug playfully and bakugou chuckles, shaking his head in resignation.

“fuck. fuck my life,” he grunts to himself, pulling his slides off your shoe rack and shoving them onto his feet.

“it feels like you’re obsessed with me, kats,” you giggle to yourself, stepping back so he has space to stand up and sling his duffle over his shoulder.

he raises one eyebrow, a huffy laugh releasing from his throat.

“hm? you think?” he takes his hand through his hair, a light pink blush on his cheeks from your attention. “‘course i fuckin’ am. i’m comin’ right back to get you when i’m done.”

you lift up on your tiptoes, hands on his pectorals, “if you say so.”

“i do say so. i am sayin’ that,” he mumbles, hands finding your ass to lift you with ease.

you wrap your legs around his waist so he doesn’t have to bend to kiss you.

“next thursday, okay?” he kisses the corner of your lips, feeling your cheeks rise. “and still text me. i’ll have my phone on me in the evenings.”

you smooth down his eyebrows with your thumbs.

“yes, dynamight sir,” you drawl, but you lean in to peck him, a noisy kiss that has him chasing after you. he moans softly.

“another.” he whispers.

with your arms wrapped around his neck, you give his bottom lip a nibble, one that causes an exasperated groan. then you slot your lips over his, pushing your tongue into his mouth to tangle against his. it’s long, wet and pulses throughout your body.

you push your chest against his as if you’re trying to merge into one, bakugou’s fingertips sinking into your ass cheeks.

it’s you that pulls away, landing two kisses on his lips for good measure.

“baby, no.” he complains.

since you’re the only one with self control here, you tap his shoulder.

“put me down now. you’ve got to go.” you say controlled and bakugou throws his head back in annoyance, “need you wide awake on the field so you don’t get hurt. i don’t wanna see a scratch on your pretty face when you come back.”

that gets him putting you down, your feet finding the floor. since getting with you, he’s much more mindful of his recklessness and getting hurt. bakugou doesn’t want to scare or upset you. you’ve become his beacon of light, his conscience and answer.

“my pretty face?” he grips the handle to his bag, a smirk rising. he’s still taking in his last few seconds.

you nod, “yes. come home safe to me.”

“i always do. don’t have to doubt me, princess.”

the pet name gets you rolling your eyes to hide how it makes your stomach do flips. he undoes both your door locks and slowly opens it with his shoulder like it weighs a tonne.

as if it’s becoming real all of a sudden, you throw yourself into his chest, wrapping your arms around him in a cuddle under his hoodie. you feel complete once you stuff your cheek between his pectorals and you squeeze him tight as thick arms cradle you in. katsuki’s always warm and toasty, a tall standing mattress for you to fall asleep on.

despite you urging him to leave, it doesn’t mean your heart doesn’t ache.

“i’ll miss you,” you say, eyes squeezed shut.

you’re just as dramatic as him, you just hide it better. you’ll see him next week.

“i’ll miss you. gonna think about you when i’m on the camp site shittin’ in the woods.”

your laugh makes bakugou’s chest swell.

“you’re so annoying.”

he shrugs.

with all the power he’s ever possessed in one single time, bakugou lets you untangle from him.

“i’m gonna go now.” he looks down your empty corridor, “i could stay over tonight and leave in the mornin’—.”

“you’re not waking me up at three.”

he turns to you with a frown.

“fine. another kiss, to wish me well,” he demands.

that you can do.

a smush of your lips, you gripping his tee as his hand cups your chin.

“another. for good luck.”

you huff playfully but still you give him another kiss. one that has you opening your mouth and letting him slot his tongue in between. it goes on longer than you mean, with you dragging him closer and his hands land back on your hips.

it’s when he groans without realising, a hardening bump in his waistband pressing against your stomach.

“go now!” you say, pushing him off you and bakugou drags a palm down his face.

“fuck,” he breathes, shaking the horny off his body. not the time. “i’ll see you next week. lock the door behind me. all of them.”

“i always do!”

he flickers down your body, one step into the corridor. 

bakugou bites down on his bottom lip, “i love you. can’t wait to see you again.”

you awe, gripping the door and peeking out, “i love you too. i’ll keep you updated. even send you some selfies.”

bakugou nods rapidly, “please. i won’t be able to reply quickly but i will.”

“okay, i’ll see you later.”

he’s about to step away, he swears he is though he looks back at you peeping at him.

“one last kiss then i’m outta your sight,” he promises.

you eagerly pull out from behind the door, “last one! then you have to go!”

“yeah, yeah, yeah—,” he’s rough in the way you love, placing a palm flat on your back to pull you into him. you practically fall into his arms but quickly you’re up on your tiptoes.

it’s a kiss with the energy that it could be the last one you ever have. a hero going off on a mission and leaving his beautiful girl back home. though this isn’t one of his high risk ones, heck he’s going on his own because he’s so capable. yet still the day he returns feels like forever away.

you practically eat each other's faces, unable to stay appropriate down to your last moments together. you twist to the left as he goes right, holding the back of his head so he stays close. he’s not shy to push his cock into you, letting you know all the ways he will miss you.

it’s loud and messy. it’s trying to remember every inch of him so you can recall it in your nights alone. it’s bakugou groping every part of you he can get his hands on so he can mark you as his.

your blonde sucks on your tongue and you don’t mean to palm him but he ruts into you at the contact. you moan as pleasure sparks beneath your skin, the length of him growing cupped in your palm. you’re wondering if there’s time for another session even though he was meant to leave two hours ago.

the kiss only ends because you’re both breathless, using your last breaths to connect with the other. there’s giggles from you and three extra pecks before you force yourself to step away, using your front door as a shield from your riled up boyfriend.

you watch as he adjusts himself, rolls back his shoulders in a stretch and tries to screw his head on straight.

“goodbye now. for real, kats.”

he nods sharply, stretching his jaw side to side. “bye baby. i’m hard now.”

“that’s your own fault for begging for more kisses,” you grin.

he pouts, “how couldn’t i when you look like—,”

“bye katsuki. my tv is calling me!”

“fuck,” he groans, holding onto his bag strap and throwing his head back, “bye princess.”

comments n reblogs are appreciated. part 2 comments are deleted.

[lemongirl5910]

he's so cute and grumpy omg😭

[sadponyguerrillagrrrl]

tim wright period cramps moodboard

[totallycorrectdariaquotes]

Ever since I was a little girl I knew I won’t be participating.

Daria

[veiled-nocturne]

I think many of us get so caught up in altars, divination, and research, that we can lose sight of what is in front of us. This happened to me for a long long time, before I finally said, “The Gods truly are everywhere.”

They are with us always. They live through us. And most importantly, they will always be there through all things we see and do. No altar for them? No worries, simply connect. The world is our altar.

☆☆

Hestia, the heart of the home, providing you warmth.

Father Zeus, laughing heartily as booming thunder and storms rage.

Mother Hera, watching and guiding when you are in relationship troubles.

Aphrodite, smiling when you feel extra beautiful/handsome.

Ares, proudly beaming when you stand up for yourself and others.

Apollo, advising you to take extra care when you’re sick, or listening to every tune.

Dionysus, urging you to find pleasure in all things.

Artemis, stern and protecting of the wild, watching over the animals as you go throughout your day.

Hephaestus, there when you finally finish that project you’ve been putting off.

Poseidon, earth shaker, who makes you feel that extra glee when you go out swimming.

Hermes, chuckling as you go to the store and travel.

Demeter, calming and reminding you to be grateful always.

☆☆

And even more so if you honor a titan?

☆☆

Selene smiles upon you at night.

Helios will greet you in the morning.

Nyx and Asteria, bringing the darkness, but not frightening.

Gaia, the Mother Earth, the stability beneath your feet.

Uranus? He gives you those cloudy days.

☆☆

The gods are in EVERYTHING. You don’t need an altar to honor all the gods. You just need to find them.

[lemongirl5910]

thank you for this post ot brought me some clarity 🫶🏽

[vigilantexreader]

everything has changed

Adrian Chase x fem!Reader

synopsis: You and Adrian talk things out, and though things are still tense, a major development in the case leaves you and the rest of the pack hopeful that this nightmare will end soon.

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, omegaverse dynamics, alpha!Adrian, omega!reader, more overprotective!Adrian, a tiny but of smut (hello angry sex) but mostly plot

word count: 4.2k

notes: sorry not sorry for last week LMAO we were due for some angst, please forgive me. things can only go up from here, right? Thank you as always to my beta readers @embeanwrites and @snowyathena

Masterlist | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve | thirteen

Adrian gives you space that night, for a few hours. At least, that’s what he tells himself. That he’s giving you space. There’s also part of him that just can’t bring himself to face you. But he also can’t bear to stay that far. So he sits on the floor outside the bedroom door, and he listens.

He hears dresser drawers opening and closing, hears the ensuite shower running, hears the rustling afterward as you pull your pajamas on and adjust the covers.

He doesn’t deserve to sleep in bed beside you tonight, but he’s a selfish bastard. Once you fall silent, once you’re lying in bed alone, he creaks open the door carefully and waits. If you yell at him—if you tell him to stay away—then he will. He’ll sleep on the floor right here outside the door.

You don’t shout. You don’t even look up. He knows you’re not asleep yet, but you stay quiet anyway, and don’t protest or kick him the hell out when he slides beneath the covers next to you. He lets out a shaky exhale of relief. You’re mad, yes, and maybe you haven’t forgiven him, but—you still love him enough, trust him enough, to let him into your nest. He hasn’t fucked this up beyond repair.

But then you roll onto your side, away from him. Putting distance between your bodies, instead of curling into him like you usually do. And he knows he has a lot of apologizing to do for what he did tonight. The things he said.

He swallows past the lump in his throat and lays down next to you, facing in your direction, watching the rise and fall of your back as you breathe. He chokes down a desperate plea for forgiveness he doesn’t deserve right now, and then he flops onto his back and stares at the ceiling, hating himself, until sheer exhaustion lulls him to sleep.

You aren’t in bed when Adrian wakes up in the morning.

He’s moved in his sleep, subconsciously scooted closer to your side of the bed. His arm is draped over the empty space where you slept, hand clutching at the sheets, hugging your pillow to his chest instead of you. His heart twists violently, and he’s struck with the same terrible fear and guilt that he felt last night as the memory of your argument rushes back.

But—you’re still here. Still home, at least. Adrian sits up and strains to listen through the tiny crack of the open bedroom door. He can hear you padding around the kitchen, something sizzling in a frying pan, the clatter of plates as you take them out of the cabinets.

He gets up and walks toward the sound. You immediately look up at him when he enters the kitchen, and he stops in his tracks like a spooked animal. If you want him to, he’ll turn right around and walk back to the bedroom. Give you some space.

But then he realizes—there are two plates in front of you. And you’re loading them up with chocolate chip pancakes, his favorite. Something hopeful lights up inside him as you push a plate across the counter in his direction hesitantly. Your guard is still up, and it kills him. That you feel like you have to be on guard around him.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, eyes welling with tears as he stares at your chocolate-chip-pancake olive branch. You’re offering him a grace right now that he doesn’t feel like he deserves. “I’m—I’m—I didn’t mean to—command you, or control you, like that, baby, I didn’t—I’m so sorry—” His voice cracks.

Your face softens a bit when you see how torn up about it he is.

“I know you didn’t mean it,” you say. “I know that, Alpha. But—” You bite your lip. “But you still did.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, a broken whisper. “For—for doing that, for yelling, for all of it. I don’t want to fight. Not with you. I’ll fight the rest of the world with my bare hands every day for the rest of my life, I’ll kill anyone I have to, as long as I get to come home to you at the end of the day, I never want you to doubt that, I—”

“I don’t doubt that you love me, Adrian. I have never doubted that.” You pause and let that sink in, easing some of the tension in his shoulders.

Adrian watches you talk with wide, wet eyes and a trembling lower lip. Because he knows that whatever you’re feeling, it’s not that simple. And he’s not emotionally intelligent enough to read your mind, not when it comes to things like this. So he stays quiet and waits.

“I do doubt sometimes that…that you trust me,” you finally say hesitantly. 

“What?”

“You fight for us all the time,” you say. “I love that you fight for what you think is right all the time. It’s one of my favorite things about you. You go out on patrols because you want to make our city, our home, safer. You go out on missions because you want to make the whole world safer. You are fighting, all the time, for me and our pack and the whole fucking universe. But you don’t trust me to fight with you.”

“That’s not—” Adrian protests, but you hold a hand up and his mouth snaps shut.

“I was so…” You pause and try to puzzle the words out. “I went on that mission with Emilia, and I felt more important, more useful, than I have in months. I felt good. And I came back and all I wanted was for you to be proud of me, but instead you were mad at me.”

You go quiet and look at Adrian expectantly, and he realizes it’s his turn to talk. He takes a moment to process what you said, turning his own response over in his mind before speaking.

“I was terrified yesterday,” he says. “When I got back to the office and I couldn’t find you, and then—when Economos said you were—I just kept turning over every possibility in my mind. Everything that could go wrong. You being hurt, and me not being there.”

“I live like that all the time,” you point out. “I watch you walk out into the field and pull risky stunts and get yourself shot constantly.”

“It’s different,” he starts. “I can heal. And you know where I am. I always, always tell you. The not knowing—” He swallows roughly. “That kills me.”

“That’s fair,” you allow. “I should have told you. I’m sorry. I knew that you would freak out, and it would distract you on your mission, and I didn’t want you to get hurt. So I chose not to tell you, and that made everything worse. I won’t do that again. I promise.”

“You won’t go on another mission?”

“That is not what I said,” you say. “I am not going to sit back. Not on this.”

“The rest of us have it handled,” Adrian insists.

“You aren’t listening to me,” you say sharply. “Adrian, I am not just…a prize you get for doing a good job. I’m not going to stay here shrouded in bubble wrap while the rest of you fight. If I am needed out in the field—and I am needed out in the field, at least until Fleury gets back on his feet—I will go. I want to, and I deserve to, fight for our future and the future of our pack just like you do.”

Adrian is quiet for a moment as he soaks in your words.

“You do deserve to fight,” he says. “But I also need you to tell me when you do. The not knowing…I can’t live like that.”

“You’re right,” you admit. “When I’m out on a mission—I won’t keep it from you. You’ll know where I am. I’ll text you updates, the same way that you text me while you’re gone. I’m sorry, baby. I was trying to keep you from worrying, and I just made everything worse. I promise I won’t do that again, okay?”

“Okay.” Adrian swallows. He’s already apologized, but—he needs to say it again. “I’m sorry, too. For freaking out. For yelling at you. For commanding you last night. I never wanted—I never wanted to be like my brother, and here I am being—”

You sigh. “You’re not like Gut, Adrian. You’re not. I know you’re not. You did something hurtful to me last night, and I just—lashed out. I said something hurtful because I knew it would hurt you. You’re a good man, and a good Alpha. I just need you to…loosen up, a little bit.”

“Okay,” he whispers.

“Are we okay?” you check, and Adrian hates how hesitant you sound.

“We’re okay,” he says softly. “We’re more than okay. I love you.”

Your hand comes up to his face, fingers carding through the hair at the nape of his neck, and you tilt your chin up. He takes the invitation, leaning down to kiss you, deep and thorough, roughly hauling you up into his arms. Your legs wrapping around his waist. He’s hard, pressing insistently against your center as he speed-walks to the bedroom and shoves you down onto the bed.

Adrian strips off your clothes and touches every inch of skin he can reach, silently reassuring himself that you’re here with him, that you aren’t hurt. Then he rips his own clothes off and chucks them aside, wearing an expression you’ve never seen before. Some complex mix of desire and fury. But still, when he grabs at your hips and pulls you against him, he waits. You nod, but he shakes his head.

“Words, Omega,” he says, voice rough. “Because I’m not in the mood to play nice right now.”

The tip of his cock drags through your wetness, and you lift your hips until he notches at your entrance.

“Fuck me,” you say. “Do it. I can take it, I can—”

Adrian shoves inside you in a rough thrust, manhandling you in a way he never has before. You gasp at the sudden intrusion and clutch at the bedsheets, as he rails into you, deep, erratic thrusts that light your nerves on fire and have him grunting like an animal.

You touch him right back, but it’s not the soft touch he’s used to. It’s your nails dragging down his back, it’s you biting at his lips, it’s your fingers gripping him so hard that he thinks you might actually leave a bruise that lasts, for once. It feels like you’re still fighting him, here in your bed, even as your legs wrap around his waist and drag him in deeper.

“Never again,” he grunts, eyes watery and red. “You are never fucking doing that to me again, do you hear me?”

Every touch makes him feel desperate. He’s never loved anyone or anything the way he loves you, he thinks, as you find your release and your head tilts back. His eyes land on your neck, on your mating mark, and he can’t help himself. As he comes, his teeth sink in, break the skin all over again, because some Alpha part of him needs to remind you who you fucking belong to.

You’d made him a promise, today. That you wouldn’t go on a mission without telling him again. He’s just grateful you didn’t ask him to make any promises in return.

Because if you did, he’s not sure he’d be able to keep them. And he thinks you can tell.

Things between you and Adrian still feel raw when you return to work on Monday. Adrian is itching to reach for your hand to hold, but…you didn’t let him open the car door for you like he usually does. You just got out and started walking.

You might have apologized to each other, you might have tried to fuck it out of your systems, but the underlying tension that caused the whole blowup argument is still there, simmering, volatile, just beneath the surface of your every interaction.

It doesn’t help that everyone stares at the two of you as you walk in the door.

“Fleury,” you say, when you see him seated at his desk. “What the hell are you doing here? You got shot a couple days ago.”

“Last time you got shot, you and Adrian had a midnight rendezvous in the middle of his first rut,” Fleury retorts. “I think I’ll survive sitting at my desk for a bit.”

“Hmph,” you mutter. “Come on. My office. Let me look you over, at least.”

“Good thing he’s in a rolling chair, huh?” Ads says brightly, trying desperately to erase the tense atmosphere that followed you and Adrian like a stormy cloud. She starts pushing Fleury in the direction of the infirmary.

Adrian watches you walk away, pressing his lips together in a thin line.

Chris walks up to him, a little wary. “Hey man. All good?”

“All good,” Adrian lies, entirely unconvincing.

“I’m sorry,” Emilia says, right behind Chris. “I knew it was a bad idea before we even left, but—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Adrian grits out. Emilia nods.

“Okay. I understand. But just so you know…she did a great job. Remembered all her training. I don’t know if she told you, but she’s the one who got the kill shot. Right to the head, from a dozen yards away.”

Adrian swallows. You hadn’t mentioned that. He’d known that you were practicing, putting in your time in the weapons room, sparring with Emilia and Rip. It settles him a little bit, hearing from Emilia, perhaps the most capable agent in the pack, that you’d done well. Maybe you would have told him yourself, if he hadn’t freaked out. He imagines it—you coming home, wide and smiling, excited to tell him about your killshot, wanting him to be proud of you. And he is proud. He’s proud, and he loves you, and he—he can’t live without you. That’s what it comes down to. 

He’s proud of you, but—how could he ever tell you that? If he did, you’d take it as an open invitation. To go on more missions. And that’s the last thing he wants.

He’ll go out and kill bad guys any day without blinking, but when it comes to you doing the same thing—it makes him afraid. He’s a fucking coward when it comes to you.

“Okay,” is all he says, when he realizes Chris and Emilia are waiting for him to respond. “Thank you. For looking after her.”

“Always,” Emilia nods. “That’s what Alphas do. We protect our pack members.”

“You know,” Chris starts, but he’s interrupted by the door to the conference room slamming open. John stumbles out, his laptop in one hand, an empty Redbull can in the other. There are dark circles under his eyes, and it looks like he hasn’t slept in a week.

“Jesus, Economos, you look like shit,” Emilia says.

“I’ve managed to hack my way into every file that was on Dev’s computer,” John says, eyes wide and wild. “And I did it. I found an address.”

“An address?” Chris repeats. “You don’t mean—the address? Sullivan’s headquarters?”

“Fuck yeah, that’s exactly the address I mean,” John says.

Adrian’s heart starts thundering. Finally, he thinks desperately. Finally, I can do something about these assholes once and for all, and you’ll be safe, everyone will be safe.

You, Ads, and Fleury filter back into the room.

“What’s going on?” Ads asks, looking between everyone.

“John found an address!” Chris says.

“What? Where?” Ads cries.

“It’s taken me a while to get through the cloud drive. Leon is the owner of this file. It’s just shared with Dev. His personal document security is fucking shit. I can’t believe none of them have called him on this. It’s sloppy, it’s lazy—”

“Get to the point, John,” Emilia demands. “Where are they?”

“Sorry, did you spend several weeks glued to a computer? Let me have my fucking dramatic reveal, Harcourt! I deserve that much!”

“We don’t have time for drama right now! Spill!”

“Star City,” John says. “You know that asshole Green Lantern?”

“I met him once. Dresses like he’s Robin Hood at a Renaissance Faire. Fucking nerd,” Chris says.

“You’ve been to a Renaissance Faire?” Fleury raises an eyebrow.

“Adrian made me go!”

“Everybody fucking focus!”

The entire room falls quiet and stares at Adrian. Because he has never been the one to ask everyone to focus. In fact, he’s usually the one fucking around so much he gets yelled at. But now, he takes a deep, shaky breath, looks directly at John, and says, “Explain. Star City. Where in Star City? How big is the building? Do they live there, or just work there? What—”

A hand settles on his arm, squeezing softly. Adrian stops and looks at you. His heart feels like it’s climbing up his throat just so he can puke it out onto the floor, but the churning inside him stops when your hand trails down his arm to entwine your fingers. It’s the first time you’ve touched him like this, soft and gentle, since you argued.

“It’s okay,” you say quietly. “We have time. We can make a plan. When Sasha and Rip get back from their mission, we can all go. Together.”

For the first time ever, the word grates on his nerves. Together.

The plan is simple. 

“We’ll do some quick recon,” Ads says. “We send out two people to observe for a day. Make note of their routines, the weak points in their security. And then we go back with the entire team and ambush them, the same way they fucking ambushed us.”

You’re listening carefully, eyes bright and glittering. Adrian knows exactly what has you so enraptured. The entire team, Chris says.

Adrian grinds his teeth. There’s no way he can talk you into sitting this one out.

“Who are we sending?” John asks. “For the recon?”

“Me and Chris,” Emilia says.

“Recon work is not my speciality,” Chris frowns. “Judomaster would be the best choice. We can just wait for him and Bordeaux to get back in three days, and he can go with you.”

Emilia tries not to show it, but she’s pissy. Adrian would snort if he was in the mood to be amused right now. She’s feeling just as impatient as he is, apparently.

But surprisingly, she doesn’t fight Chris on it.

“Fine,” she says. She glances around the room at everyone. Her eyes meet Adrian’s, and his brow furrows. “We’ll wait.”

“No,” Adrian says suddenly. He stares daggers at Chris. “Aren’t we supposed to protect the pack? You told me—that night when I wanted to kill my fucking douchebag brother. You told me to funnel my energy toward this instead. To protect us from the big threats. The big threat is here, and we finally know where we have to go to take care of it. We should not be waiting. Even if all we do is eliminate Leon Sullivan—we’ll leave the rest of his team scrambling, without a leader.”

“They’re not a pack, like we are,” Chris says. “This isn’t a cut-the-head-off-the-monster situation. They don’t need to run off and find another Alpha and reorganize. They’re all lone wolves. The only option is to take them out all at once, or keep picking them off like we have been.”

Adrian stews silently, but doesn’t argue further.

“For now, we can start prepping. Get together the weapons and ammo we’ll need,” Chris continues. “We’ll make sure we’re twice as armed as we usually are, just in case. We can check on our weapons and ammo stock? Put in a rush order on anything that’s damaged, or that we’re running low on?”

“Good idea,” you say.

“I’ll try to see if I can find a floor plan of the building,” John says. “It looks from the outside like a warehouse. If it was ever listed on a real estate site, we can get a good idea of what it looks like on the inside, too.”

“Then everyone can head home and get some rest,” Ads says. “It’s been a long couple of weeks. I want everyone on top of their game before we head out to Star City. We can’t afford to make any mistakes.”

Adrian looks at you. You’re already watching him.

“We can do this,” you assure him with a smile. 

“I know we can,” he says. He tries to smile back. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Everyone heads their separate ways after the meeting. You head off to the infirmary to pack med kits for everyone. Emilia, Ads, and John work on sketching out a layout of the building. Chris starts heading to the weapons room, and Adrian, on autopilot, just follows his best friend, his mind reeling.

He keeps turning the address over in his mind. The names and faces of the enemy.

He keeps thinking of the way Emilia looked at him. We’ll wait, she’d said.

Adrian doesn’t want to wait. He wants to go now.

Who’s going to stop him?

He watches Chris start boxing up weapons to bring to the van, and he starts doing the same. As he works, he tucks a few extra guns and grenades into his own bag, right next to his Vigilante suit.

“You’re quiet,” Chris comments. Adrian just hums noncommittally. “Adrian. Look at me.”

Adrian glances up and meets his best friend’s eyes.

“I don’t know what fucked-up shit is going on inside your head right now,” Chris says. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and your Omega, or what. But whatever rash, dangerous shit you’re thinking about doing, drop it. Now. We have a plan. Stick to the plan.”

“I will,” Adrian says. The words taste bitter.

In the months since he’s become an Alpha, Adrian has always kept his initial promise to Chris and Emilia. Never disobeyed his pack leaders. He doesn’t want to be pack Alpha, he just wants to be your Alpha. 

But right now—he doesn’t want to fucking listen to Chris’s advice or orders from the others. He can’t. There’s something inside him that won’t let him stand by right now. He can’t explain it, but he needs to act.

When you both go home that night, you can feel the anxious tension radiating from him as he sits stiffly in the driver’s seat of the Vigilante-mobile, as he robotically eats his dinner without really tasting anything, as he stares mindlessly at the television and doesn’t absorb a single bit of information.

“Why don’t we just go to bed?” you suggest, when you see him zoning out for the tenth time in half an hour. Adrian just silently nods, still pensive, still thinking.

He watches you go through the motions of your nighttime routine with escalating anxiety. He lets you shave his face, as has become your routine, a soft little shared moment that he always treasures. He feels your soft hands on his face, and your lips on his cheek when you kiss him, and he closes his eyes and makes his decision.

As you shuffle into bed, he stands on his side and just watches you get comfortable. You look up at him, confused.

“Come on,” you say, patting the empty space beside you. It’s an inviting sight. One that is so fucking hard for him to resist, but—

“I don’t think I can sleep,” he says. “I think—maybe I’ll go on patrol. Burn off some energy. Is that okay?”

Your face softens into a smile. A concerned smile, with your brow furrowing just a little between your eyes, but a smile nonetheless, which makes his heart clench. “Of course that’s okay, Ade. If that will make you feel better, of course.”

“I think it will.”

“Do you want me to come?” you ask.

“No, that’s—no,” he says, shaking his head. “Go to sleep, I don’t want to be the reason you’re up late. You’ve been so tired. I saw you yawn like a billion times today.”

You’ve been exhausted, it’s true. Trying to take care of everyone, manage everyone’s emotions. You chew on the inside of your cheek worriedly. You usually like being awake for Adrian when he gets home, to nurse any wounds from his patrols, no matter how insignificant. But he sees the moment you give in.

“Okay,” you say, and Adrian feels a sick, guilty sense of relief wash over him. “You promise you’ll wake me when you get back? Let me look you over?”

You don’t suspect a thing, and that makes him feel a thousand times worse. You trust him so fucking much, and he doesn’t deserve it. Because he’s lying to your face right now. He wants to throw up. But he swallows it down, all those terrible feelings, all the guilt and the lies, and says—

“I will wake you when I get back.”

You watch him change into the Vigilante suit, and he gives you one last wobbly smile before he walks out the door. Then he bends down to kiss you, long and hard and deep. 

“I love you, Omega. So fucking much.”

“I love you too, Alpha,” you whisper. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Adrian can’t bring himself to say anything in return.

Then goes on a quick patrol. Kills a graffiti artist. It makes him feel better. A little less like he’s lying to you, at least, because he did go on patrol.

He’s just not coming home afterwards.

Adrian tag list: @justalotoffanfiction @danversxwasabi @clowninavan @adoresami @a-young-g0d @bastardstevie @am-3-thyst @xoxocamis @morguegrl89 @somethin-sparklyy @secretjesterr @seeingdubs @lovenerdywhitemen2 @jeshomie @aerionshipthrust @deamlucem @tlfg-adrianchase @brianna-merlim @amart-e @countvonklit @pieolsen @gingerjane15 @dosyrosyposy @rentaldarling @vigilcourt @hot-bean-juice @sepaaaaa @residentsuperhero

alpha!Adrian tag list: @lil-rigatoni @basicanti-socialb-tch @directbing @bunch-of-bens @trelaney @obsessedcontentconsumer @unfortunatewriting @selina00kyle @elodiebeau @zombicupcake3 @quietlybitchy @jeshomie @mrsxchase @b1tch1mapoet @abbot-fanatic @kookiesbunny @pieolsen @mermaidseance @whymesswperfection @svnze @romxnticist @sammy-4103 @cynical-p0rc3lain

[lemongirl5910]

'but—you still love him enough, trust him enough, to let him into your nest. He hasn’t fucked this up beyond repair.'

I felt like crying cuz of this oh my FUCKING GODS😭😭

reading the smut bit after waking up with hella period cramps had me looking at it like

BUT THE END. YOU LIAR. I TRUSTDD YOU ( you never said anything but still) I am BROKEN

they are becoming a BROKEN HOME

WHATS WITH ALL THE LYING OMFGGHSJBSJCBSJ

istg I'm not sure they will make it out of this and I will CRY next week because reader will wake up ALONE.

and yk what that means?

WE WAKE UP ALONE.

😭😭😭😭

its okay tho I forgive bc you ate like always! love uuu

[lemongirl5910]

urge to write my dream out into a fanfiction is growing by the second

[lemongirl5910]

dreamed I had Adrian Chase in bed with me and it was perfect. we cuddled and kissed and I miss him😭

[dirtyl0ver]

Hey queen😇 Instead of makeup sxx after an argument how would the creeps react to their s/o giving them the silent treatment. Becauseeee ik we all love our sexy men but they lowkey need to learn a lesson… and im just stubborn like that when somewun makes me upset 💀🙏

They'd hate it lol 😭

The Creeps When Their S/O Gives Them The Silent Treatment

Toby

The fight was stupid. Something small that snowballed, and now you’ve gone quiet, refusing to look at him or answer when he speaks. Toby hates it. His tics pick up immediately, shoulders jerking harder than usual as he trails after you around the house like a lost puppy.

At first he tries words, voice cracking with his stutter. “C-come on, baby, talk to me… I didn’t mean it like th-that.” When you keep moving past him without a response, something in him shifts. He goes soft instead.

He starts small. Grabs your favorite soda and sets it down near you with careful hands, lingering like he’s hoping you’ll acknowledge it. Later, when you sit on the couch, he drops down right beside you, closer than necessary. His arm snakes around your waist after a minute, and when you don’t push him off, he gets bolder. Toby curls fully into you, face pressed into the crook of your neck, warm breath tickling your skin.

“You’re k-killing me here,” he mumbles against your throat, voice muffled and shaky. One of his hands rubs slow, soothing circles on your side, the same way you comfort him when his tics get bad. His body twitches every so often, but he holds on tighter. “I h-hate when you go quiet… makes my chest feel all weird and empty.”

You stay silent a little longer, stubborn, but he doesn’t give up. He nuzzles closer, pressing soft, almost pleading kisses along your jaw and temple. “Please? I’ll do a-anything… just l-look at me, baby.”

The warmth of him, the gentle clinginess, and the way his voice cracks eventually break you. You sigh and lean into his chest. Toby lights up instantly, arms squeezing you like he’s never letting go. “There you are,” he whispers, relief thick in his voice as he buries his face in your hair.

Tim

You go silent and Tim feels it like a wall slamming down between you. His face hardens. For the first few hours he matches your energy with his own brooding silence, jaw clenched, movements sharp as he stomps around the house. The tension in the air is thick enough to choke on.

Eventually it gets to him. He grabs his jacket. “Porch. Now,” he grunts, not really asking.

You follow him outside into the cold night air. Tim lights a cigarette, the flame briefly lighting up the hard lines of his face. He takes a long drag, then holds it out to you without looking over. You accept it, fingers brushing his. The two of you sit on the wooden steps, shoulders almost touching, passing the cigarette back and forth in the quiet.

After several minutes of smoke curling up between you, Tim exhales heavily. “This silent shit sucks,” he mutters. “I know I fucked up, alright? Didn’t mean to push it that far.”

He bumps his knee against yours, a small, tired gesture. When you finally mutter something back, even if it’s short, the stiffness in his shoulders eases. He takes the cigarette back, then surprises you by wrapping a heavy arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. His jacket smells like smoke and him.

“Next time just yell at me instead,” he says, pressing a rough kiss to the top of your head. “Hate not hearing your voice.”

Brian

Silent treatment is Brian’s specialty, so when you turn it on him, he hates it. His first instinct is to give it right back. He becomes a ghost in his own home: quiet footsteps, no unnecessary words. He does his tasks with that calm, detached precision, eyes passing over you without lingering, like he’s proving he can play this game better than anyone.

You feel the coldness of it after a few hours. The silence stretches, heavy and uncomfortable. Eventually you cave and ask for something small. “Brian… can you get the box from the top shelf?”

Without a word he crosses the room, tall frame reaching up easily. He sets the box gently in your hands, his fingers brushing yours for a moment longer than needed. The touch is warm, a tiny crack in the ice. He doesn’t speak, but his eyes soften just slightly when they meet yours.

You try again later with another small request. He helps every single time, wordless but attentive. A blanket draped over your shoulders when you look cold. A mug of tea left beside you without fanfare. Each act is silent, almost detached on the surface, but the care is there in the details - how he adjusts the blanket so it covers you properly, how the tea is made exactly how you like it.

Finally, when the weight of the silence becomes too much, you break it properly. “Brian… I hate this.”

He pauses what he’s doing, turning toward you slowly. For a long moment he just looks at you, expression unreadable. Then he steps closer, one hand coming up to rest lightly on your arm, thumb brushing your skin in a rare show of softness.

“I know,” he says. “I hate it too.” He doesn’t pull you in or overwhelm you with words, that’s not his way, but he stays close, letting the silence finally shift into something gentler. His hand lingers, steady and reassuring, until you’re ready to talk more.

Ben

Ben does not handle the silent treatment well. At all.

He starts annoying on purpose. Whining dramatically from across the room. “Baaaabe. Hello? Earth to my favorite person?” He drapes himself over the back of the couch while you’re sitting there, sighing loudly every thirty seconds. “I’m literally dying over here. Respawn me with attention, please.”

When that doesn’t crack you, he gets fidgety, guilt creeping in. Eventually he crawls onto the bed beside you, hair a mess, expression genuinely sorry for once. He pokes your side gently.

“Okay, okay… I was a dumbass. I’m sorry,” he says, voice softer. “I hate when you go all quiet like that.”

You glance over and he gives you that crooked, sheepish grin. “So… we good now? Can I make it up to you?” His eyes sparkle with mischief. “Lemme eat you out. On my knees and everything. What do you say?”

You smack his arm and he laughs, rolling on top of you in a tangle of limbs, pressing sloppy kisses all over your face and neck until you’re laughing too. “There’s that sound I missed,” he mumbles against your skin, still grinning.

Jeff

Jeff reacts with his usual sharp edges first.

“Fine. Be a bitch then,” he snaps when you refuse to answer him, voice cutting. He storms out of the room, door slamming hard behind him. You hear him moving around the house for a while, restless and pissed.

But he comes back. He always does.

Later that night you’re lying in bed, still wrapped in silence, when the mattress dips heavily. Jeff stretches out on his back right beside you, close enough that his arm brushes yours. He doesn’t speak at first, just stares at the ceiling. Then he turns his head, looking at you with that dangerous, crooked smile - the one that’s equal parts asshole and charm.

“C’mon, baby,” he drawls. “You gonna freeze me out forever? I know I’m an asshole, I can't help it.” He shifts onto his side, facing you fully. One hand comes up to tuck your hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness. “Don’t make me beg.”

When you finally crack a tiny smile, his grin widens. He scoots even closer until his forehead rests against yours, breath warm on your lips. “There’s my girl,” he murmurs, voice dropping. “Hate not hearing you talk shit back to me. Don’t do that silent crap again, you hear me?”

He stays right there until the wall between you melts completely.

Jack

Jack notices the shift right away. His dark voids linger on you a little longer than usual, head tilting slightly in that quiet, thoughtful way. He seems a bit confused, like he’s not entirely sure what the right amount of space is, but he respects it completely.

He doesn’t crowd you. He moves around the infirmary or the house with his usual careful precision, still doing small things to take care of you from a distance: leaving water or snacks where you’ll find them, making sure the lights are dimmed when you’re in the room.

The silence stretches, but it never feels angry with Jack.

After some time, when you finally step closer or speak, he turns to you immediately. “Are you ready to talk?” he asks, voice low and calm, no pressure at all.

When you nod or reach for him, Jack pulls you in. His arms wrap around you with that careful, solid strength, cool skin against yours as a low purr starts rumbling deep in his chest. He rests his cheek against the top of your head, holding you close.

“I... missed your voice,” he murmurs quietly. His hands rub slow, soothing strokes down your back.

The purr deepens as you relax into him, letting you know without words that he’s willing to wait as long as it takes.

[spltlvlhous]

[vigilantexreader]

everything has changed

Adrian Chase x fem!Reader

part twelve

synopsis: When one of your packmates goes down for a count, you step up to help out. Adrian has...a big problem with that.

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, omegaverse dynamics, alpha!Adrian, omega!reader, I am so sorry y'all, #angst, the children are fighting, overprotective!Adrian

word count: 5.7k

notes: Thank you as always to @embeanwrites and @snowyathena for the beta. dont hate me <3

Masterlist | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve

Normally, Adrian is the antsy one. The one who can barely sit still, the one who worries endlessly over you and your safety. But watching everyone else get sent out into the field…

It’s eating you alive.

You’re not an idiot. You know that you’re still doing important work back at the office. You also know that your Alpha, no matter how much you love him, is selfishly grateful that you are staying out of the line of fire.

You aren’t the only one. John stays at the office, holed up in his cubicle on his computer all day, still trying to debug some corrupt files from Dev’s laptop, hacking into his personal accounts to see what other information he might be able to find to help the team. You could help at first, with the simple things, but now he’s trying much more complex computer bullshit that flies right over your head, and you could tell your presence was slowing him down more than helping, so you just give him space now.

Ads keeps busy, too. It seems like she’s constantly on the phone. She’s a people person, great at making connections and building relationships that will benefit the future of Checkmate for years to come. Good at making small talk in a way that you never have been. You’d been able to reach out to a few people you knew from past jobs years ago, but—it wasn’t exactly working out. You’d realized it less than a week into the project. Society has come a long way, but Omegas still struggle to be respected even in normal job fields. With something as dangerous as your black ops, potential Checkmate business partners aren’t so reassured when an Omega is their initial contact.

Which leaves you doing basic intern bullshit, like refilling the snack cabinet and going on coffee runs and making sure the office is clean and comfortable for everyone as they file in and out in this cycle that feels like it will never end.

It has given you a chance to spend more time in the training room. You’re determinedly practicing everything Emilia has taught you every day, and even when she comes back from a mission exhausted, she will always spend a few hours with you sparring to keep you in good field shape. Not that you’re using any of the skills in practice, right now. Still, it’s nice to be prepared.

You’re in the training room on your own, beating the shit out of a punching bag, when you’re interrupted by your phone ringing. You pause, wipe the sweat from your forehead, and answer a little breathlessly.

“Hey, Em.”

“I’m twenty minutes out from the office,” she says, and a chill runs down your spine at the tone of her voice. “Fleury took a bullet to the leg. I packed it as best as I could, but you—”

“Fuck,” you say. “Fuck, I’ll prep the med room. Is he conscious?”

“Unfortunately,” you hear Fleury say weakly.

“Still well enough to be sarcastic with me,” you tease. John and Ads look up, alarmed, as you rush through the office toward the infirmary. You shout an explanation over your shoulder. “Fleury got shot.”

“Ah, shit,” John says, scrambling up from his desk and heading to the front door. “I’ll wait up front for them.”

As you prepare some emergency supplies, you can’t help but feel a little relieved that you can finally be useful. Your skills as a medic are coming in handy. Then you feel instantly guilty for even having the thought, because yes, you get to help, but that also means someone you love has been injured. Then you feel angry, that people are out there trying to hurt your family, and your determination to be helpful flares anew.

It’s a never-ending cycle that always leads back to one thing: you want to get out of this office. 

You’re instantly on autopilot when Emilia and Fleury get back to the office, doing your job efficiently, not letting on your frustration. But it simmers stronger than ever.

You want to go out there with your packmates and help.

“He’s okay. He’ll be out of commission for four weeks, at least,” you report when you finally leave the infirmary. “He’s sleeping now.”

“Fuck,” Emilia sighs. She, John, and Ads had given you some space to work once Fleury was out of the immediate danger zone, and it was clear that he wasn’t going to die of blood loss. Still, you had heard her anxious footsteps pacing in the hallway the entire time. She doesn’t let it show overtly, but you can tell she’s upset that one of her pack members got hurt.

“Did you accomplish the job?” Ads asks. “The person who shot him—”

“Dead,” Emilia says shortly. “I made sure of it. But…” She hesitates. “She was prepared. That’s the reason Fleury got hurt. We thought we were under her radar, but we weren’t. She knew we were there the whole time. Sullivan’s team is starting to catch on. They’re on guard.”

“She’s dead, at least,” you say. “That’s good.”

“Not good. I mean, yes, one more person down, but—the woman I killed gave up some information, before she died. A lead on Selena Falko. Apparently she’s Leon Sullivan’s second in command.”

“You have a lead,” John says, confused. “Isn’t that good?”

“It’s time-sensitive information. She’s going to be in northern California on Friday. But she’ll only be there for two days. It’s a ten-hour drive. If I’m going to kill her—”

“You need to leave now,” you finish. It’s nearing the end of the day on Wednesday now. If Emilia wants to be in position, she needs to go, but—

“Everyone else is out on a mission,” Emilia says. “No one is due to get back until Monday, at least. I’ll need to go on my own.”

“No,” you say. “Absolutely not. I don’t give a shit if you’re the pack Alpha, you do not work alone. Not on something like this. Especially when you just said that Sullivan’s team knows that we’re onto them.”

Emilia frowns. “You’re right. Ads, you gotta come with me. Start packing.”

Ads hesitates. “I’ve been making really good progress, building this list of new contacts. I’m waiting for some really important calls right now, if I’m out on the road with you, I won’t be able to—”

“She can handle it!” Emilia insists, gesturing at you. “She’s—”

“No one wants to talk to me,” you say sharply. “Because I’m an Omega. I haven’t been calling people for weeks, Emilia, because if I’m the first person from Checkmate they talk to, they look at us like we’re weak.”

“Okay,” Emilia sighs. “I’m sorry. Then put the networking on hold, and we—”

“I don’t think—” Ads starts.

“Ads, this is important—we have no idea how long Selena is going to be in the area, we need to—”

“This is important too, Harcourt!”

“Selena Falko is an immediate threat,” Emilia cries. “We can’t just—”

“Stop!” you shout, and everyone in the room falls silent. Your heart pounds, because—this is your chance. And you need them to listen. “Fleury is going to need someone to stay with him for a couple weeks. He can’t be living alone right now, and it’s not fair to make him sleep at the office. Ads, you can continue your work remotely from his house. And I will go with Emilia to take down Falko.”

The silence stretches out, a little uncomfortable, but you refuse to be the one to break it. Not when you can see the gears turning behind Emilia’s eyes. You stare her down. You know you can sway John and Ads to your side. Your pack Alpha is the one that needs convincing right now.

“Adrian is going to lose it if you come with me,” she finally says.

“I am a black ops agent,” you say firmly. “Just like the rest of you. I am more than capable of doing the job. You’re going to be doing all the heavy lifting anyway, Emilia. Falko is close. Just a county over, you said right? We’ll be gone for a few days at most. Back before Adrian even has a chance to freak out about it.”

Emilia bites her lip. “No. It’s—I’ll just go on my own.”

“No the hell you won’t,” you say, your frustration growing. “I will go with you, or you do not go at all.”

They all stare at you.

“Are you sure?” Emilia asks. “This is—if you come on this mission with me, no matter how small, and you don’t tell your Alpha about it—he’s going to be pissed. At both of us.”

“He’s my Alpha, not my owner,” you say. “Emilia, you have been training me. You know exactly how much I’ve improved over the last few months. You know exactly how capable I am of backing you up on this.”

Emilia sighs. “Fine. Adebayo stays with Fleury, you come with me. It’s your fucking funeral.”

Three days later, on Saturday afternoon, the door to the Checkmate office swings open wildly and bangs against the wall. Adrian walks inside with an extra spring in his step, grinning ear to ear, Chris following right on his tail, also in a particularly good mood. They’re back two days earlier than expected, because their asshole target had the decency to live at the beach and own a boat.

Tossing a body into the ocean with a cinder block tied to its feet is so much more efficient than dismembering and burning.

Which means less time doing his least favorite part of killing—cleaning up—and more time doing his favorite thing in the whole world. Being with you.

Adrian makes a beeline for your desk, like he always does, and frowns when he sees it empty. Your computer screen is sleeping, so you’ve been away from it for a while. Maybe you’re in the training room. He starts heading that way, trying to follow the trail of your scent, but you’ve been spending so much time at the office that it’s all over every surface. When he peeks inside, the training room is empty. The weapons room is empty. Your office in the infirmary is empty. A glance outside the window tells him you’re not sitting out in the courtyard.

A terrible anxiety starts churning in his stomach. 

“Where the fuck are you,” he whispers to himself.

He starts walking back toward the main office floor with determination, poking his head into the break room on the way. He’s looked literally everywhere else. You’re in the break room, you have to be in the break room.

You’re not in the break room.

John and Ads are, though, and they look up, startled, when the door slams open. Adrian is too anxious to see you to be gentle with doors right now.

“Hey guys!” he says, forcing a bright tone to hide the growing panic inside. “Where’s—”

He cuts himself off when he sees the looks on his friends’ faces. John has gone white and looks like he’s about to puke. Ads is biting her lip, wincing.

“She’s…not here,” Ads says delicately, and Adrian’s stomach swoops again with nerves. John gets up and moves to scramble to the doorway, but Ads grabs him by the sleeve. “Do not leave me alone to deal with this—”

“Deal with what?” Chris asks from over Adrian’s shoulder. “Watch out, Vig, I need a fucking coffee—”

John and Ada pointedly do not answer Chris’s question. The silence hangs in the air for too long. Adrian’s stomach is trying itself into knots.

“Deal with what?” Adrian repeats.

“She’s not here,” John squeaks out.

“You said that already,” Adrian says, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “Like, she went to the store or something?”

Chris turns around with his cup of coffee, takes in the tense scene before him, and sets it down on the counter. He looks suspiciously at Adebayo.

“Spill, Ads.”

She looks between Chris and Adrian nervously.

“Fleury got shot,” she says calmly. “He’s out of commission for the next four weeks.”

A sense of relief washes over Adrian, and he lets out a long breath, shoulders slumping. You’re with Fleury. You’re just—doing your job. Handling the treatment and recovery of an injured team member.

“Fleury is okay?” Chris checks.

“He’s okay,” Ads says. “But Emilia—”

“Emilia is hurt?” Chris cuts in, alarmed. “Why was that not the first fucking thing you said to me—”

“Emilia is fine!”

But Ads looks sideways at Adrian as she says it, and his stomach starts hurting again. Something is wrong. He can feel it, now, the way everyone is dancing around it, refusing to answer him, and he needs to know where you are rightfuckingnow.

“Where is my Omega?” Adrian asks, his voice tight.

“She’s on a mission with Emilia!” John blurts. 

Everyone stops talking at once and stares. Adrian feels his blood run cold.

For a moment, he says nothing. Just stares right back at the rest of them, shell-shocked, because there’s no way you would do this to him. Go out and risk your life on a mission without even telling him you were going. The idea is so laughable that he actually starts laughing, but the joke isn’t that funny at all, really, so it’s a fake, forceful laugh.

“Nice one, Economos. Really. She would never—”

“Where did they go?” Chris asks Ads, and the serious tone of his voice makes Adrian’s desperate laughter die instantly.

“She wouldn’t,” he says. The words are shaky, tinged with anxiety, like repeating them will make it true. His eyes flick back and forth between all of his friends, and the terrible, panicky feeling roars back in a flash. “She wouldn’t—”

“She did,” Ads says, careful and quiet. “Emilia had a time-sensitive lead.”

They’re not kidding. They’re not—

All of his panic transforms in a split second into white-hot rage, an anger like he’s never felt, fueled by fear and worry and hurt, because what if you get shot, again? What if he loses the best thing that’s ever happened to him? How could you fucking do this to him? How could his friends fucking let you?

“What—what the fuck do you mean?” Adrian explodes. “What—-why—”

 “Fleury’s hurt. With him sidelined, Emilia couldn’t go on her own, so—”

“So why the fuck didn’t you go with her? Why would she—what the fuck, Ads!”

“Vig,” Chris says. “You gotta calm down—”

“Fuck you,” Adrian spits. “Did you fucking know about this?”

“No,” Chris says sharply. “I didn’t. And frankly, Adrian, I’m also pissed, because she and Emilia should have known that you’d react like this, and now I’m the one dealing with your bullshit.”

“You’re back early. She didn’t want to tell you, because she thought it might distract you from your own mission, and she didn’t want you to get hurt. And they were assuming they’d return before you, and you wouldn’t have to know at all,” John says. 

“Not helping, John!”

It is, in fact, not helping, because now Adrian is spiraling even more. He can’t believe that you wouldn’t tell him about something this big, this important. You know him better than anyone else in the fucking world. You knew how much this would hurt him, and you still did it. 

The sting of betrayal is sharp and cold, like he’s been stabbed right in the heart. The very heart he’d given over to you, trusting that your gentle hands would love it, protect it. The same way he loves and protects yours.

Adrian realizes everyone is looking at him warily, like he’s a bomb about to explode. Maybe he is. Maybe he’s just going to fucking self-destruct, and the only person who knows how to diffuse the situation is the one who lit the fuse in the first place, and he doesn’t know what to do. What to say.

No. He does know what to do.

“Where did they go?” Adrian asks.

No one says a word.

“Where did they go,” Adrian repeats, not a question anymore at all, but a demand for information. “You know what—fuck it. I have her location—” He starts to reach for his phone with trembling hands.

“Northern California,” Ads says.

“Give me the keys, Chris,” Adrian says, holding out his hand for the van keys. Chris does not hand them over. “Chris, give me the fucking keys.”

“No,” Chris says after a moment. “I can’t do that.”

“Why the fuck not—”

“Because look at you, Adrian! You are not fucking stable right now. I know you want to protect your Omega. But if you interrupt them mid-mission, if you go in there guns blazing, you are going to be the reason she gets hurt. You have to fucking trust her!”

“Trust her!” Adrian scoffs. “Trust her the way she apparently trusts me?”

“Maybe you need to think about why,” Chris says. “Why she didn’t tell you. Because she knew you would react like this. Because if you were here—would you have let her go without a fight? Or would you have sidelined her? Again? What happened to the guy a few months ago who told me and Emilia we were being overbearing Alphas for not wanting her to go out in the field?”

“He was wrong! I was wrong! She almost fucking died! And if she—if she—” Adrian’s voice cracks. “I know what it’s like now. To have her. To be hers and have her be mine. I can’t lose her. I won’t.”

Suddenly, the shrill ringing of Adebayo’s phone breaks through the thick tension of the room. She pulls it from her pocket.

“It’s Emilia,” she says, a little wary. She looks back and forth between Adrian and Chris like she’s not sure if she should answer it.

“Pick up,” Chris says.

“Hey,” Ads says. “Are you—” She pauses and listens, and her shoulders slump with a little relief. “Okay. Okay, that’s great. We’ll see you later.” She hangs up and addresses the others in the room. “Selena Falko is dead. They’re on their way back now. Should be here in six hours or so.”

Adrian exhales with sharp relief. You’re okay. Your mission is done. You’re coming home now. But still, he can feel the trembling in his hands, the wobble of his bottom lip. The fire of his anger has been doused, and it just leaves him—sad? Anxious? Guilty? He isn’t sure what the feeling is, only that he hates it. Only that he wishes you were here.

His phone is burning in his pocket. He wants to talk to you. He never wants to talk to you again. He wants to yell at you, to make you hurt the same way that he’s hurting right now. He wants to cradle you in his arms and keep you away from the rest of the world forever to make sure you are never, ever hurt again. Conflicting desires war inside him.

Chris watches his face carefully.

“Go home, Adrian,” Chris says. “Ads will take you. I don’t think you should be driving right now. Someone should go check on Fleury anyway.”

“Okay,” he says hoarsely. “Yeah.”

He’s quiet the entire ride. Ads doesn’t dare to break the fragile silence. There’s nothing she can say to fix the way he’s feeling right now, anyway.

Adrian doesn’t know what to do with himself when he opens the door to the apartment and you aren’t there. He’s never spent any time here without you, he realizes. The place feels empty without your presence, and something pulls at his heart when he thinks about you being here all alone for days or weeks at a time, waiting for him to get back from missions.

He doesn’t like being alone. He spent years being alone, patrolling all night by himself, heading back to his dingy Vigilante lair in his mom’s basement to patch himself up. He hasn’t been truly alone like this in weeks, not since he moved in with you.

He hates it.

Muscle memory guides Adrian, robotically, through the motions of his after-mission routine. He takes a thorough shower and thinks about how you should be standing here under the hot stream of water with him, or at least sitting on the bathroom counter listening to him yap. He doesn’t have anyone to yap to. There are words crawling up his throat with nowhere to go.

He gets dressed afterwards and goes to the kitchen, makes himself a sandwich that he can’t bring himself to eat. He’s not hungry. His stomach is still churning with worry, with anger. He dumps the food in the trash.

He stands in the door of the bedroom and thinks about getting into bed and going to sleep. But he knows he won’t be able to. It’s been so long he barely remembers how he ever slept on his own, without your warm body resting beside him, without your arm flung around his waist, without the weird little endearing noises you make in your sleep.

So he turns to the living room. He sits on the couch. And he waits.

It’s late when you and Emilia return to the Checkmate office. You’re fucking tired, but also exhilirated. It had been really fucking nice to finally put your field skills to use. To finally prove yourself in the way you’ve been wanting to for months, since you first got hurt. The two of you had taken out Selena Falko in record time, and you’re in a fabulous mood.

Still, no matter how fulfilled you’re feeling, you’re also exhausted. The office work you’ve been doing every day is a lot less physically draining. How Adrian has the energy to come home and continue to bounce off the walls of your apartment after missions and patrols is beyond your comprehension.

You and Emilia are planning to drop off your bags. A med kit that you didn’t have to use, because neither of you got hurt, thank god, you did not want to have to explain away a black eye or broken arm to Adrian. Some clothes, some weapons, and other field equipment are shoved into other backpacks and duffle bags. You shove through the front door and make your way toward the infirmary with the med kit while Emilia trails behind you with a bag of weapons to return to the training room.

“Oh, hey, Chris,” you say when you pass by him, waving. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you. It’s only once you reach the door to the infirmary that you stop in your tracks and turn around.

Emilia stands there, wincing at the sight of her mate standing in the middle of the room with crossed arms and an unamused frown. Your heart sinks in your chest when Chris turns that disapproving stare in your direction.

“Oh, fuck,” you sigh.

“Yeah,” Chris says. “Oh, fuck, alright.”

“When did you get back?” Emilia asks.

“This afternoon,” Chris says. He looks at you pointedly. “Adrian was real fucking excited to get to go home and spend an extra day with his Omega before we had to leave for our next assignment.”

“He knows?” you ask weakly.

“Did you really think Economos would be able to keep a fucking secret like that?”

“Shit.” You drop your bag at the door to your office and start rushing to the door without another word.

You need to get home. Now.

The sound of the front door unlocking snaps Adrian out of his daze instantly, his heart rabbiting in his chest, his head snapping to look toward it so fast he nearly gets whiplash. It creaks open slowly, and you step inside hesitantly, your footsteps soft and quiet, like you’re afraid to wake him up at this late hour. 

Like he could fucking sleep without you. He didn’t even try.

Your nervous gaze sweeps over the room, and the second your eyes meet his, Adrian scrambles to his feet. He’s reminded of the day he saw you in the office after his first rut. His heart pounded the same way so loud in his ears that it drowns out the rest of the world. He stood there awkwardly not knowing what to do with himself all those months ago, and now—

He doesn’t know how to react now, either. You’re staring at him, wide-eyed, a little guilty,  like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t have. You’re also worried, because you can see it. His hands are shaking. His whole body is shaking, he’s worked himself up so much.

He’s got so many fucking emotions swirling around inside him, all fighting to be felt at once. He feels like he’s going to puke out of sheer relief that you’re standing here in front of him, whole and unhurt. He feels like he wants to yell at you for the rest of his life for making him worry like this, making him sit with this terrible, awful anxiety. He feels fucking pissed off because you went on a mission and didn’t fucking tell him. 

You approach him slowly, reach out to touch him, and for the first time in a long time, you hesitate, unsure if he’ll want that.

Then he reaches for you, almost on autopilot, because that’s just what he does now. He reaches for you. He seeks out your touch in a way he never has with anyone else, and he really fucking needs it right now. Needs not just to see, but to feel that you are okay, and whole, and with him. 

Adrian pulls you into a hug so tight it hurts, restricts the airflow to your lungs, his strong arms wrapped tight around your shoulders, one hand fisted in the fabric of your shirt and the other gripping at your hair to tug you in for a rough kiss. You return it immediately, mouth opening for him, teeth clacking together, and he bites your bottom lip so hard it draws blood, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop.

You smell wrong, and it puts him on edge. Your scent is there, like it always is, but there’s also—gunpowder, and sweat, and something else. You haven’t showered off the mission yet, the lingering air of death, because you and Emilia fucking killed someone and he wasn’t there—

“Adrian—” you gasp, and he shoves away from you suddenly, clutching your shoulders with a grip so strong you already know his fingertips will leave bruises.

“You—you—” he stumbles over his words, relief and anger warring on his face. “I cannot believe you—how could you fucking—”

“Shh,” you hush him, hands cupping his cheeks. “It’s okay, baby, it’s—”

“It’s not okay,” Adrian says, his voice thick, but then he’s kissing you again. He can’t help it. He’s just so fucking relieved to have you back in his arms, after spending the last six hours turning over every worst-case scenario in his mind. You, stabbed or shot or killed by your target, and he can’t—

Adrian shoves away from you again, steps back, turns away from you. He rubs his eyes with his fists, squeezing them closed tight, determined not to let out the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. He can’t fucking look at you right now. He will melt if he does. Take one look into your soft eyes and drag you into the bedroom and fuck it out of his system. He doesn’t want to do that. He never wants to fuck you when he’s angry, and he’s not exactly in the mood to be gentle right now.

“Adrian—”

“Do you have any idea—” he starts, but his voice cracks. He hates it. He wants to breathe deep, to think before he speaks, but logic isn’t driving the bus right now, and instead, he raises his voice, whirls around to face you, and yells, “You fucking lied to me!”

It’s your fault he feels like this. All torn up inside. He scowls.

“How could you do this to me?” he spits. It’s vicious, the way he says it, and you step back, away from him.

It’s your turn, now, to scowl, even as your heart races, indignant anger flooding your veins. “Do what to you, Adrian? I didn’t do a damn thing except what was necessary to help our pack—”

“You were supposed to be back at the office! Do you have any idea what it felt like to come back and look around everywhere for you, only to be told by Economos that you were out on a fucking mission? A mission you were never supposed to be on in the first place, because—”

“Because why?” you demand. “Why was I never supposed to be on a mission, Adrian? Because you don’t fucking trust me to do my job? A job which I did very well, by the way, because Emilia and I eliminated another threat to this pack, and have I gotten a single thank you? No! Nothing but accusations—”

“It is my job as your Alpha to make sure you are safe and happy,” Adrian cries.

“And what happens when I’m safe, but I’m not happy?” you ask. “What happens when I watch everyone go out in the field over and over again and it breaks me a little more inside every single time because all I want to do is get out there and help?”

“You—”

“And Emilia needed my help,” you continue. “I was not going to let her go out in the field alone. And what the hell happened? You used to be on my side about this shit. You used to fight with me, fight for me, to get to go out in the field with the rest of the team.”

“It’s different now!”

“It’s not different now. It’s not. How many times are we going to argue about this? I know you have this biological Alpha need to protect me, but you need to get the fuck over it—”

“You almost died!” Adrian yells. “You almost died, and I watched you bleeding out, and you are too fucking important to me, and I won’t risk it!”

You yell right back. “I am still the same person I was before we ever started this! Before you were ever even an Alpha in the first place, Adrian, you knew the type of person that I am. And I will always, always choose to help when someone needs it. Nothing about me has changed just because we’re fucking now! You don’t get to just put me on a shelf like a trophy with a mating mark!”

“Is that all this is to you? We’re just fucking?” Adrian is breathing heavy now, his face flushed red with anger.

“Obviously not! I love you Adrian. You know I love you. But Jesus fucking Christ, if I wanted an overbearing dickbag for an Alpha, I would have mated with your fucking brother,” you snap.

Adrian jerks back like you’ve slapped him in the face. He wishes you would have. It would have hurt less. 

You turn away from him to stalk angrily toward the bedroom, intent on slamming the door in his face. Then the words rise up out of him, so fast and unexpected that he can’t stop them.

“Don’t fucking walk away from me,” he shouts.

You stop on a dime. Not of your own accord. And you turn over your shoulder, pissed.

“Did you just use your fucking Alpha command voice on me?”

I didn’t mean to, is his first panicked thought, and the words are on the tip of his tongue before—he stops himself. His face hardens. Maybe he did mean to.

“I did,” he says. “I didn’t mean to, but—I’m not fucking sorry, you—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You’re outraged now. “You are fucking unbelievable. Does it make you feel big and strong, Alpha? To make me do whatever you fucking want?”

The way you say it rattles him. Alpha, not like you always have—like a treasured title—but like an insult, like something pathetic and wrong.

“You wanna try that again, Omega?” he grinds out, trying desperately to hold on to his temper. You don’t even answer him. You’re still trying to walk away. Walk away from him. Your feet are rooted to the floor, and you struggle to try and pick them up. It pisses him the fuck off. “Stop.”

You freeze in place, and now, you don’t even look pissed anymore. You look—upset. Afraid. The room falls dead silent.

“You promised me you wouldn’t ever do this again,” you whisper. “After your brother. You did it to protect me, then, and I didn’t blame you. I forgave you. But you’re doing it to control me, right now, just like he did, and I’m not sure I can forgive you for that.”

Adrian’s heart plummets in his chest when the clarity washes over him.

“No. I—no, baby, please, I didn’t mean to—I—” he stammers, rushing toward you, hands landing on your shoulders. Then he lets go of you like you’ve shocked him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Omega, I—” He shouldn’t be touching you right now, he doesn’t deserve to be touching you right now, he—

“Undo it,” you say, your voice cracking. “Now. Let me go—”

“I—I don’t—” Adrian doesn’t know what to say to undo what he did. The power of an Alpha command wears off on its own, after a while, but—“You can go,” he tries. You slump with relief when your feet finally pick up off the floor, and you nearly stumble and fall. Adrian catches you before you can hit the ground, stomach twisting with guilt.

“I’m done talking about this,” you say, yanking yourself out of his grasp. Your voice is quiet and hoarse. He hates that your voice sounds like that, that you’re tired from yelling, yelling at him. “Goodnight, Adrian.”

You turn away from him and head to the bedroom, the apartment dead silent except for your footsteps padding on the floor. Then the door shuts behind you with a gentle click, and Adrian starts to cry.

Adrian tag list: @justalotoffanfiction @danversxwasabi @clowninavan @adoresami @a-young-g0d @bastardstevie @am-3-thyst @xoxocamis @morguegrl89 @somethin-sparklyy @secretjesterr @seeingdubs @lovenerdywhitemen2 @jeshomie @aerionshipthrust @deamlucem @tlfg-adrianchase @brianna-merlim @amart-e @countvonklit @pieolsen @gingerjane15 @dosyrosyposy @rentaldarling @vigilcourt @hot-bean-juice @sepaaaaa @residentsuperhero

alpha!Adrian tag list: @lil-rigatoni @basicanti-socialb-tch @directbing @bunch-of-bens @trelaney @obsessedcontentconsumer @unfortunatewriting @selina00kyle @elodiebeau @zombicupcake3 @quietlybitchy @jeshomie @mrsxchase @b1tch1mapoet @abbot-fanatic @kookiesbunny @pieolsen @mermaidseance @whymesswperfection @svnze @romxnticist @sammy-4103 @cynical-p0rc3lain

[lemongirl5910]

Three days later, on Saturday afternoon, the door to the Checkmate office swings open wildly and bangs against the wall. Adrian walks inside with an extra spring in his step, grinning ear to ear, Chris following right on his tail, also in a particularly good mood..

the way I knew we were cooked.

“Don’t fucking walk away from me,” he shouts.

NO. HOW COULS YOU DO THIS TO ME??! I THOUGHT YOU LIKED US?!?!?! WHAT DID WE DO TO DESERVE THIS HUH?!

anyways I slightly tweaked out while reading this but I guess that makes your writing good ig.... I just kinda hate you rn... this is very sad and depressing and they better make up next week or I will be catching hands😔

ps: loved the chapter like always and I've already forgiven you dw🫶🏽

ps: they better make up or I will he haunting

LOVE YOU 🫶🏽🫶🏽

[evilwizard]

say no more

[larval-tear]

somewhat horny: i have to get Fucked!

quite a bit horny: can we pretend i’m an elven prince and the necromancer’s curse turns me into a demon on the full moon and the only way to cure me is to have my Womb filled by a chivalrous knight . and can you make sure you say soem shit like ‘forsooth’ and ‘by my honor’ and stuff. mngh

hornier than anyone has ever been: i need to kiss someone and get married

[vigilantexreader]

everything has changed

Adrian Chase x fem!Reader

part eleven

synopsis: You and Adrian return to work, and try desperately to still carve out time for one another while the pack works to take down your enemies.

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, omegaverse dynamics, alpha!Adrian, omega!reader, heat/rut talk, piv sex, knotting, mirror sex, a little bit of smut for you but then we are back in plot mode baby, 11th Street Kids

word count: 5.7k

notes: thank you as always @embeanwrites and @snowyathena for the beta. we are in the final stretch now y'all it's third act conflict time

Masterlist | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven

Adrian wakes to an empty bed. He stretches, breathes deep, and smiles, content, when he catches your combined scents in the air. When he opens his eyes, he can see the ensuite bathroom door cracked open and hear the water running from the sink tap. He sits up, gets out of bed, and pads across the hardwood floor, seeking you out like a north star.

Inside the bathroom, you’re examining your reflection in the mirror, a tiny smile on your face as your thumb brushes over the fresh scar against your skin. Your face lights up when your eyes meet his in the mirror, and you turn around to face him. He can’t help but smile back at you, approaching you slowly, picking you up and setting you on the bathroom counter so he doesn’t have to bend down to kiss you as thoroughly as he wants.

“Mm,” you hum, pleased as his tongue touches yours, delves into your mouth. He takes his time, kisses you slowly. He’s got all the time in the world now. You’re his. For good.

But when you break away for air, he can’t help but stare at your mark and swallow nervously. It’s been three days since he marked you, and you marked him in return. Even now that the wound has healed over—now that it’s bright and shiny, standing out stark and silver against your skin, telling the world you’re his—he’s worried you’re going to change your mind. Realize that he’s not enough for you.

In that brief moment, as he fears that you’re regretting it—regretting him—you kiss him again.

“I’m really, really happy right now,” you tell him. “And I love you a whole lot.”

It’s like you can see right through him, to the messy, tangled emotions inside his heart. He’s happy, too. He knows you know that. But you can also see him spiralling, wondering how long that happiness will last, because it never has before. Because this bond with you is the most important thing that’s ever happened to him. And he is so, so grateful, but he’s also terrified.

“I love you too,” he says hoarsely. “Even if—even if you decided one day that you didn’t anymore. It would kill me if you left, but I would let you go, because I love you that much. And all I want is for you to be happy.”

“Stop that,” you chide gently. “I’m never gonna leave you. You’re mine, Adrian.”

“I am.” He nods, and a little weight lifts off his shoulders. He loves you. He trusts you. And he will do everything in his power to give you the world, to keep you safe, to keep you happy. Because he never thought he would have this. Because you deserve it.

You kiss him again fervently, let your lips trail to the side to nibble on his jaw, rough with stubble.

“You’re all prickly again. Time for a shave.”

“I’ve been a little busy,” Adrian deadpans, pressing a teasing thumb against your clit over your underwear. You squirm at his touch. “My priorities were elsewhere. They still are.” 

He doesn’t even have to ask—he can smell it now, sense your arousal like it’s his own. It’s not as strong as it has been the past few days. You’re approaching the end of it—your heat, his rut. It comes in surges, like rushes of adrenaline, the way your heat causes crashing waves of need. They’ve calmed into ripples, but they’re still coming, and he can scent how damp your underwear is.

You lift your hips and shove the fabric down to your ankles, a pleased sigh escaping you when Adrian’s fingers finally touch you without anything in the way. Your head falls forward, mouth latching onto the spot where his own brand-new mark has healed over, and he feels the vibration when you groan into the juncture of his neck.

He pulls you off the counter, your feet dropping to the floor, hands brushing up and down your torso beneath the shirt you’d been sleeping in, goosebumps trailing in their wake. Why you even bothered getting dressed, he has no idea. He’s just been completely naked for the last three days.

“Turn around,” he murmurs in your ear. “And bend over for me.”

“Here?” you ask, bemused. “The bed is like, twelve feet away, baby.”

“I want you here,” he says, hands gripping firmly at your waist and turning you around. He meets your heated gaze in the mirror. “Just like this.” He presses a quick kiss to your shoulder, holding your stare the whole time, and relishes in the way your pulse flutters and your chest rises when you inhale sharply.

Slowly, you do as he first asked, bending over, clutching the edge of the counter. Adrian’s cock is already half-hard—it has been for days—but staring at you, his hand jerking at himself, it takes him no time at all to get himself ready for you.

“You’re so beautiful,” Adrian says, kissing up the line of your spine. “All mine.”

“All yours,” you echo, and he hears the slight strain in your voice, notes the way your legs are shaking.

“You need my knot, Omega?” 

He steps closer, until his front is flush with the soft expanse of your back. One hand drifts beneath your shirt to cup at your breast. The other drifts downward, fingers spreading you open. You gasp.

“Please,” you whine. “God, please, Alpha, I need it—”

Adrian lines himself up, the thick tip of his cock notching at your entrance, and pushes inside with a quick, hard thrust that shoves you against the counter.

“Fuck,” he grunts.

He’s fucked you a dozen ways over the last few days. Soft and sweet, murmuring loving, sappy things in your ear. Hard and fast, nothing but animalistic grunts and groans. Now, feeling you push back against him, feeling your pussy try to suck him in deeper, he recognizes that you need the latter. He sets a brutal pace, one hand on your waist, the other on your shoulder, slamming into you over and over again.

“Oh god,” you groan, biting your bottom lip. “So—so close, fuck, Adrian—”

He quickens his pace, staring at you in the mirror, watching your face for cues, waiting to feel you convulse around him. It takes less than a minute for you to topple over the edge, already oversensitive, crying out with wordless pleasure. He follows you almost instantly, shoving his knot inside you with one last hard thrust, spilling inside you.

Adrian’s arms circle you from behind in a tight hug, and he kisses the back of your head.

“Okay?” he asks breathlessly, chest heaving.

“Yeah,” you say, breathing just as hard. “Fuck. Thank you.”

He wants to kiss your thanks away, to show you that he doesn’t need it—that he is the thankful one, that if he did nothing else with the rest of his life but take care of you like this, he would die happy. But you’re facing away from him. He remembers now why he doesn’t tend to like fucking you from behind. And on top of that, with him knotting you like this—

“Fuck,” he grumbles. “I just have to stand here for like twenty minutes now, don’t I?”

“Why did you think I told you we should move this to the bedroom, babe?”

But even as you say it, you’re giggling at him, and he can’t help but smile and lean forward to kiss every part of your face he can reach.

For two more days, you stay home together, ignoring the rest of the world in favor of cultivating the fresh bond between you. Every touch, every kiss, feels like an electric spark in the best way, and Adrian can’t get enough of you, even in the moments when your lust calms into something softer, less intense. He feels warm and content and happy in a way he has never felt before.

But then…it’s over.

The happiness doesn’t fade, exactly. It never will, he thinks, as long as he has you, and now—he has you forever, so he’ll always, always be happy and loved and a part of you. But as the haze of your heat and his rut fade away, the other emotions creep back in, threatening to pop the bright bubble he’s been living in for the last week.

You can sense it too, the last morning. You notice the way Adrian’s eyes grow distant as he lies in bed and looks at the ceiling, and the tightening of his jaw as he clenches his teeth, just a little, thinking about the challenge that still awaits when he returns to work.

You run your thumb over his jawline, a featherlight touch, and the tension in his jaw disappears, replaced by a soft smile. He turns his head to kiss your palm.

“Tomorrow?” you ask, soft and a little regretful. He doesn’t need to ask what you’re talking about. He knows.

Your heat is over. His rut is over. 

Which means it’s time to get back to work. There’s one last obstacle preventing him from being truly relaxed, because as long as Leon Sullivan and those other assholes are out there, his pack is at risk. You are at risk. And that’s just not fucking acceptable.

“Tomorrow,” he sighs, a little forlorn. But he looks up at you, leaning over him with a content smile, and the corner of his mouth quirks up.

Because yes, he’s going back to work, but he’s going back to work with you. His mate, officially. And sure, everyone knows already, but it still feels—new. Exciting. Maybe that’s the weird, proud Alpha instinct simmering silently inside him, needing to show you off to the world.

“How did the mission go, anyway?” you ask. “We’ve been kinda busy, we haven’t talked about it. Anything important I should know?”

Adrian turns it over in his mind. There was something he was supposed to tell you. What was it?

Then he remembers, and he can’t help the way he winces. Not at the memory of the pain. At the prospect of telling you.

You give him a look. Not surprised. Exasperated.

“You got shot, didn’t you?”

“Sorry, babe.”

The next morning, walking into the Checkmate office, Adrian couldn’t wipe the obnoxious grin off his face even if he tried, with you tucked into his side, his arm slung over your shoulder. 

His gaze keeps landing on your neck. You’re wearing a low-cut top today, just for him, he suspects, so he can keep glancing at your mark. Or maybe, just maybe—you want to show it off to everyone else, too. He knows he left his own polo shirt unbuttoned at the collar, just loose enough to let the rest of the pack see the imprint of your teeth. His cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, knowing that any minute, everyone is going to know that he belongs to you.

Chris is the first one they see. He doesn’t say a word, just claps Adrian on the shoulder and smiles. The younger Alpha delights at the silent approval from his best friend. Emilia approaches from just behind Chris, and you step out of Adrian’s arm to hug her. 

Adrian is so high on cloud nine he’s not even jealous watching you hug another Alpha. He doesn’t need to feel possessive, not when there’s a clear indication right there on your body that you are his. He just beams as Emilia says, “I’m happy for you guys.”

“Thank you, Em,” you say.

Ads comes into the office a few minutes later, John trailing just after her with fresh coffee for the whole team. She squeals when she sees you and nearly drops the tray of drinks she’s holding, scrambling to put it down so she can hug you, too.

“Congratulations!” Ads says, her smile bright. “I’m so, so happy for you. I wanted to—I don’t know. Celebrate. Get you cupcakes or flowers or something, but John said it would be weird.”

“It is weird,” John mutters. “They don’t need sex marathon cupcakes, Ads.”

“Obviously I wouldn’t put Happy Sex Marathon on the cupcakes, John—”

“We got coffee and donuts instead,” John continues, ignoring her.

“Yeah, because sex marathon donuts are so much less weird than sex marathon cupcakes,” Chris says.

You roll your eyes. Adrian just happily reaches for two donuts—strawberry frosted with sprinkles, obviously, because that’s his favorite, and a chocolate one for you, because that’s your favorite, passing it your way. He starts munching away, smiling to himself.

“I’m happy to see him in a good mood,” Ads says to you in a private aside. “I thought he was going to lose it on that mission, he missed you so much.”

“I missed him too,” you admit.

“Come on,” Emilia says. “Let’s get to the conference room. We’ve got some updates, let’s get you both up to speed.”

“Give them a minute to settle in, Harcourt,” Ads protests.

Emilia shakes her head, only slightly apologetic. “We’ve got work to do. A lot of this is time sensitive, Ads. We’ve got to get the ball rolling.”

Adrian’s smile falls a bit, and suddenly, he doesn’t want to finish his donut anymore. He feels a bit sick, actually, and he regrets even eating it in the first place, because his stomach instantly starts churning with worry and anxiety. He chucks it into the nearest trash can.

The week away from work, wrapped up in you, feels like it happened years ago instead of just yesterday. It wasn’t enough. It will never be enough, the time he has with you. It’s strange. He never thought he would care about anything, anyone, more than work. More than being Vigilante. But he suddenly feels like he would give it all up in a moment if he could just relive last week over and over and over again for the rest of his life.

You notice the distant, sorrowful look in his eyes.

“I’m worried about him,” you murmur, still standing next to Ads. “He was so relaxed yesterday. It’s like—a punch to the gut, for him, walking right back into this mess. He didn’t even finish his donut. He loves a sweet treat. Strawberry is his favorite.”

Her eyes flick between you and Adrian, sympathetic.

“Once this is all over,” she says. “We should all take a vacation. Close up the office for a bit. No one thinks about black ops or killing people for at least two weeks. We deserve some rest. I’ve already talked to Emilia about it.”

“That’s a good idea,” you agree. “I just hope that we get that vacation sooner rather than later.”

“Go on,” she says, nodding in Adrian’s direction. “I think your boy needs some loving right now.”

You walk up to Adrian, step right into his personal space and plaster yourself to his side. His arm falls around your shoulders automatically, and he tugs you close. You kiss his jaw.

“You okay?”

“Back to work,” he says regretfully, when you offer him a questioning tilt of the head. He brushes your hair out of your face as you nod.

“Back to work,” you repeat. “Together.”

You take your usual seats at the table in the conference room, right next to one another. Emilia stands at the head of the table next to John, who has his laptop hooked up to the projector screen.

“Right,” John says. “To recap everything you missed, while you were, uh. Ya know. Um.”

“They were fucking, Economos,” Chris says. “You don’t need to beat around the bush about it.”

“Not everyone wants their sex life on full display! I’m trying to be respectful! You know—sometimes I think this entire pack is too far up each other’s asses. No one has any privacy.”

“In this particular case, everyone is supposed to know about the fucking,” Emilia comments wryly, gesturing at the silver outline of your teeth just above the collar of Adrian’s shirt. “That’s kind of the whole point of the shiny new marks on their necks.”

Adrian’s chest puffs up with pride, even as his cheeks flush. He can’t help it—he just smiles, wide, and looks at you, and you’re looking back at him with the exact same look on your face. A little shy under the attention of your friends, but eyes sparkling with happiness.

“Okay, okay!” John concedes. “Whatever. We are not here to talk about how they railed each other six ways to Sunday and bit each other’s necks like vampires last week. We are here to talk about Leon Sullivan and his cronies.”

Adrian sobers up almost instantly, a deep frown taking over his face. His brow furrows, a little wrinkle appearing on his forehead. You want to reach up with your thumb and brush over it, wipe it away until he’s instead, his eyes crinkling in the corner just the way you love, a mark of happiness on his face instead of concern.

“What about the others?” you ask. “Rip, Sasha, and Fleury? Don’t we need to wait for them? Where are they, anyway?”

“They’re out in the field right now,” Emilia says. “Hunting down Hilary Young.”

“What—how—where?” you ask, confused.

“Her information was in that document,” Adrian says. “Right?”

“What document?”

“Right, sorry,” Ads says. “You weren’t here when we got back. When we broke into Dev Mason’s apartment, we found a file on his computer.”

“It contained names, dates, job assignments and locations,” Chris explains. “For Leon Sullivan’s entire team. Dev was his tech guy. He managed the finances and the schedules. So we know, with confidence, which members of his team are going to be where for the next two months, at least.”

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

“Hilary Young is on assignment in Seattle right now,” Emilia says. “The most local to us. So we sent Judomaster, Bordeaux, and Fleury to track her down.”

“Are they…” you pause, considering how you want to ask the question. “When they track her down. Are they going to kill her? Kidnap her and take her here for leverage? What’s the plan?”

“Their orders are to stay under the radar as much as possible, but shoot to kill when they have the opportunity,” Chris says. “These people are out to hurt us. We’re gonna make sure they’re all dead before…something bad happens again.”

The room falls awkwardly silent for a moment, and you rub at a phantom pain in your shoulder, remembering. Adrian watches the movement like a hawk, and his jaw ticks. 

He tries really, really hard not to fall back into the memory, but he can’t help imagining the scars hidden beneath your clothes. He’d kissed those healed-over bullet wounds a dozen times in the last week, wishing he could make them go away. Wishing the only scar marring your skin was the one he left behind on your neck.

“They’re going to pay,” Adrian says, voice low. “For what they did to us. To you.”

Adrian has changed. He’s more now, than he was all those months ago when he held you in his arms and watched you bleed. That near-feral, fresh Alpha feels so far away. He remembers the haze of panic, the possessive growl rising up in his throat. The all-consuming need to protect you hasn’t dissipated. The instinct has just grown stronger, more refined, crystallized in his mind and his heart.

Because it’s not just him. You are more now. You’re not just another member of the pack anymore. You’re his mate. His responsibility. His to protect. You’re the person he loves most, more than anyone or anything else in his life, and nothing is going to stop him from making sure he never sees your blood outside your body ever again.

“They are going to pay,” Emilia agrees, fire in her eyes. “These are people I thought we could trust. People who I have fought alongside in the past. It’s fucking despicable that they would do this to our family. We won’t let this slide.”

“So the plan is to—pick them off one by one?” Adrian asks. “Follow them to their mission locations and take them out?”

“Pretty much,” Chris nods.

“In the meantime, John will keep digging, to see if there was anything else in Dev’s files that could help us tackle this problem from the root,” Emilia says.

“From the root?”

“Their operation is much larger than we originally thought,” John says gravely. “Those names we had—those are just the people who used to work at ARGUS. We thought they were just lone wolves. Mercenaries that operated mostly independently, in an interconnected network.”

“That’s not the case?” you ask, your brow furrowed with worry.

“No,” Ads says. “They’ve recruited from other agencies, too. We thought they were working together more…loosely. Just to target Checkmate, and our pack, and wipe us out as competition before splitting up and going separate ways. But they’re building their own agency.”

“You’re kidding,” you scoff.

“Which is why we need to start as soon as possible. John and Ads have put together a schedule for us,” Emilia explains. “Adrian, you and Chris leave in a few days. Your target is Lydia Grimmaldi. She’s on assignment in Idaho.”

“What the fuck is in Idaho?” you ask, confused. “Is there, like, a secret criminal network in a cornfield or something? Who hired her?”

“Actually, Idaho is more well known for their potatoes, not their corn,” Adrian says conversationally.

“Jesus Christ,” John mutters. “No. There is not a secret criminal network in a cornfield.”

“Damn,” Adrian says, genuinely a little bummed. “I wanted to kill some cowboy drug dealers.”

“What’s in Idaho?” you repeat, trying to keep the conversation from heading too far off the rails.

“We aren’t the only competition they’re trying to eliminate,” Emilia says. “There are independent contractors scattered throughout the country. She’s going to be there targeting someone else—a man named Jamie Torrente. Mercenary. Adrian and Chris are going to get to her before she gets to him.”

“Which will also, hopefully, build us a new bridge,” Ads says. “This network of theirs is much more widespread than we originally believed. We’re going to need to do a complete overhaul of our contacts database and cut out all the people we know are working with or connected to Sullivan’s company.” She looks to you. “You and I are going to get started on that. We can’t rely on or trust old connections from ARGUS. And once this is all over—well. Checkmate will still need business, and it’s important to plan.”

“Are you sure I can’t—”

“You are one of the only soft-spoken members of the team,” Ads points out. “I know you want to get out in the field, but—do you really want Fleury to be the first point of contact for new connections and leads?”

You wince. “Okay. Heard.” Ads is right, you know. This is one of your strengths—you’re a carer. A people person. It’s an opportunity for you to leverage your skills as an Omega. To build a better future for the company as a whole, while the others tackle the problems of the present.

Adrian lets out a quiet, private sigh of relief. You’re staying here. In the office. He’s still going to worry about you. He’s always going to worry about you. But if he knows you’re going to be here, safe, at home, he’s going to worry a little bit less.

“The others are due back from Seattle tomorrow evening, as long as everything goes to plan today,” Emilia says. As long as Hilary Young is dead, she means. “Once they’re back, they’ll take a day to recover, and then we’ll start prepping for the next targets. We’ll be working in teams. Me and Fleury, Judomaster and Bordeaux, Chris and Adrian. You and Ads will focus on your work, with John’s help. Any questions?”

There’s one glaring hole in the plan that you can’t help but notice.

“This won’t work forever,” you point out, worrying your bottom lip. “If, like you said, Sullivan’s team is much bigger than we thought—it will take us a while to kill them all, even split up in teams. And it’s not sustainable to travel up and down the coast and halfway across the country every time we have a lead, just for one person. And even if we make them look like accidents, they’ll catch on after the second person we eliminate. They aren’t stupid. They’ll know they are being targeted, if they don’t already, because of Dev.”

“I’m still working my way through Dev’s files,” John says. “I’m hoping it will turn up something more useful. An address for their headquarters, or a name for their company—anything for us to go on, to help us find them.”

“That’s all we’ve got for now,” Emilia says. “But we can’t just sit by and do nothing.”

She meets Adrian’s eyes when she says it. It’s like she can see through him, like she knows exactly how much he’s itching to kill.

“When do we leave?” he asks.

Things move rather quickly after that. The next day, Judomaster, Bordeaux, and Fleury come back from Seattle with solemn but determined faces, and you know it means that they were successful on their mission. One more threat to the pack is eliminated, but instead of celebrating, everyone has no choice but to throw themselves right back into work, because there’s so much more to do before you can all just—breathe. 

Two days later, Adrian and Chris head out for their assignment in Idaho. The day after that, Emilia and Fleury are off to Arizona, and soon after, Judomaster and Bordeaux are leaving for another assignment. You, Ads, and John stay back at the office and do what you can to support everyone remotely.

You grit your teeth every time someone leaves on an assignment. You know that the work you are doing here is valuable and important. You and Ads have been reaching out almost nonstop to potential allies, trying to build new lines of communication to support Checkmate once this is all over. But it still eats at you to watch the revolving door of pack members going out on their individual assignments, coming back to the office for a quick rest, picking out a new target and leaving again a day or two later.

It’s eating at Adrian, too. Walking away from you will never get easier, he thinks. He had hoped, maybe naively, that it would get easier once you were mated, but every time he walks out the door and gets in that fucking van with Chris, it breaks him a little bit to leave you behind, to step further out of your reach. To be without you, even when it’s only a couple days at a time. 

Things are always intense, when two people first bond, and emotions are already heightened for everyone on the team right now. So Adrian—Adrian feels like a walking live wire. Like one wrong word will set him off.

For the first time in his life, he’s living for the moments between jobs, when he gets to crawl into bed and sleep through the night beside you, instead of falling asleep to the sound of Chris’s snoring through thin motel room walls. It’s hard when the killing isn’t just for fun. When it’s personal.

At least he feels like they’re at least making progress. With every person that dies, a little weight lifts from his shoulders. This last kill—someone who wasn’t even on the original list of traitors, because apparently every time he turns around more enemies pop up—he and Chris did everything they could to get more information out of the guy before Adrian killed him. All he needs is an address. A location for this new company that Leon Sullivan has decided to start, this dick who has decided that Adrian and his pack are his enemy. Then he’ll fucking—bomb the place. Go in guns blazing and kill everyone inside. He doesn’t care. 

Checkmate is not above bribes, threats, torture. Adrian is just so fucking angry that he even has to. It’s draining the joy out of something he loves. Killing people is like, his favorite fucking hobby, so the fact that he doesn’t feel like doing it tells him that something is seriously wrong.

This should be a happy time in his life. He should be enjoying his fresh bond with you, getting teased by the rest of the pack, getting scolded by Harcourt or Economos for whisking you off to his tiny supply closet workshop to make out with you because this connection with you feels so much deeper and stronger now, and he can’t get enough of it, can barely keeps his hands off your hips, his lips off your neck.

Instead, he has to steal spare, tiny moments whenever and wherever he can. He is happy, he tells himself. He loves you, and he’s grateful for every one of those moments. He just wishes he didn’t have to dig through all of this chaos in order to find them.

The second he gets back from his mission assignments with Chris, he makes a beeline for you. He’s feeling particularly needy after this last one. It was a long ride in the van, and he’s feeling antsy, and he just wants you. 

He literally sweeps you off your feet and throws you over his shoulder the second he reaches you. Your belly swoops as you laugh.

“Welcome back, baby,” you giggle. Adrian grins as he shoves open the door to his tiny office and plops you on the workbench. He hasn’t even changed, he’s still in his suit, but his mouth latches onto your neck almost immediately.

“Need you,” he says, pulling your shirt up over your head, smiling into a kiss when your legs wrap around his waist to pull him in closer.

Neither of you notice the door opening, too lost in one another’s touch, but John’s exasperated voice draws you out of your bubble.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he says. “Why is everyone around here so fucking horny all the time—do I need to get a spray bottle and start training you like cats? Jesus fuck!”

“Maybe you should just learn how to fucking knock, Economos,” Adrian says, a little pissy.

“Maybe you should just learn how to lock the fucking door, Adrian,” John retorts.

Adrian growls, a surge of protective instinct crawling up inside him. Probably because his mate is half-undressed and vulnerable, and John’s being snippy. Economos is not a threat, Adrian knows that, but he still feels like one.

“Give us a minute, John,” you say, and he rolls his eyes and slams the closet door behind him as he goes.

“Sorry,” Adrian grumbles.

“It was an accident,” you say. “I missed you. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Adrian says, but it feels almost like a lie. He corrects himself. “Maybe I’m not fine. But I have to be fine. So I’m fine.”

There’s still something angry in his tone when he says it. You run a calming hand through his hair. He closes his eyes.

“It’s okay if you’re not fine,” you say quietly. “I know Vigilante is a killing machine, and he’s gotten a lot of attention the last two weeks since we’ve been back, but Adrian is somewhere in there too. And you’re allowed to have feelings.”

“I’m…frustrated,” he allows after a moment. “I just want to be with you. I want to enjoy the fact that I am bonded to the love of my life, and be with you. This should be like, the happiest time of my life.”

“It is a happy time,” you tell him softly. “I am happy with you.”

“I know you are,” he says hoarsely. “I am happy too. I am so fucking happy. But we should be stressing about stupid shit like this. Like sneaking around the office and trying to fuck in the break room. Not stressing about all the people we still have to kill before—” He cuts himself off.

“Before what?”

“Before I can let this be real,” he says. “Before I can accept that it’s here, and it’s mine, and no one is going to take it away from me. Take you away from me.”

“I’m not going to let that happen,” you say firmly, but even your voice has a little wobble to it that breaks Adrian’s heart.

He’s not the only one stressed, he knows. It’s getting to you both. Watching him walk away for every one of these short missions is as hard for you as it is for him to actually do the walking. 

You’re shouldering a lot more burden than you’re letting on. You think you’re good at hiding it, but Adrian sees the emotional labor you’re doing, for him and for everyone else. The little touches you’ve added to the break room and other office spaces to make them feel more homey and comfortable, since everyone is spending so much time here. Treating any mission wounds, no matter how small or inconsequential, with your soft, practiced hands. You look at the mounting emotional distress of the entire team like it’s a problem you’re personally responsible for solving.

Adrian tries, desperately, not to be a part of that problem for you. To put on a brave face, act like everything is fine. But the longer they go without apprehending the last of the assholes who are threatening his pack, the more agitated he gets. He tries not to let it show. He doesn’t want to be one more thing on your plate, one more person you need to worry about or take care of, but he knows that you know. It shows in the way he looks at you, the way he touches you, the way he kisses you. Like he’s afraid every time might be the last time. Like all the time he has with you is borrowed.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice cracking a little. “I was so excited to see you, and now I’m just—working myself up about everything, again, and—”

“How about this,” you say. “How about, when we’re together, just the two of us—we don’t talk about this. When we are alone together, we focus on this. On us. Your office here, and home, they’re safe spaces, and we don’t let the bad stuff creep in when we are here. Deal?”

Adrian swallows and nods, a tiny smile growing on his face. He leans in to kiss you. “Deal.”

Adrian tag list: @justalotoffanfiction @danversxwasabi @clowninavan @adoresami @a-young-g0d @bastardstevie @am-3-thyst @xoxocamis @morguegrl89 @somethin-sparklyy @secretjesterr @seeingdubs @lovenerdywhitemen2 @jeshomie @aerionshipthrust @deamlucem @tlfg-adrianchase @brianna-merlim @amart-e @countvonklit @pieolsen @gingerjane15 @dosyrosyposy @mylcvemineallmine @rentaldarling @vigilcourt @hot-bean-juice @meg-winchester @sepaaaaa @residentsuperhero

alpha!Adrian tag list: @lil-rigatoni @basicanti-socialb-tch @directbing @bunch-of-bens @trelaney @obsessedcontentconsumer @unfortunatewriting @selina00kyle @elodiebeau @zombicupcake3 @quietlybitchy @jeshomie @mrsxchase @b1tch1mapoet @abbot-fanatic @kookiesbunny @pieolsen @mermaidseance @whymesswperfection @svnze @romxnticist @sammy-4103 @cynical-p0rc3lain @the-maladaptive-daydreamers @moyo5653

[lemongirl5910]

ohhhhh the sweetness AGHHH THE CUTENESS 😭😭 WHEN WILL THE CATCH A BREAK

[riotsgrl]

★ ROUND 1! | bakugou, k.

pairing: katsuki bakugou x reader

summary: a sparring session with kirishima gets a little out of hand, and being the only medic able to deal with katsuki bakugou, you’re left with the aftermath.

content: fluff + SMUT - mdni ! boxer!bkg + medic!reader. kiri feature! blood & injury. feelings!!! tension. lots of banter. clear consent. semi-public. making out. thigh riding. slight marking / hickeys. fondling. titty sucking. fingerfucking. cum eating. bkg does not get off but he is fine w that. there is a quite a bit of build up before the smut lol. wc: 5.2k.

note: #needthat

masterlist. | header art credit: @ ami_ranthao on tiktok !

In the ring, he came alive. An absolute powerhouse, brute force and flawless technique bleeding together to create Katsuki Bakugou, one of the best up and coming boxers of your time. Everyone was a little enamored— a perfect face paired with such a vulgar tongue, an ego backed with the skill to match.

His win-or-nothing attitude led him to the top, but also caused complications with his medical staff. A few too many outbursts had scared them into backing down, allowing him to keep pushing despite his injuries.

 Until you were hired a few months ago.

The first day you were assigned to him, the other medics had either snickered or grimaced, having each had their own share of bad luck with him. It seemed to be some rite of passage among them. When you met him, you understood exactly what the others had meant. There was enough fire behind that stare to send anyone skittering away.

But, to their surprise, you had returned back in one piece, with a perfectly bandaged Katsuki trailing behind you; glowering, with something like an irritated smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but tended to.

You were the only medic that could handle him.

Which is why you were spending your Saturday evening with your knees drawn to your chest on a bench at the edge of the boxing gym as he sparred with his close friend, and fellow boxer, Eijirou Kirishima.

The sound of their collective panting filled the air, the thud of fists against skin echoing off the walls as they tested each other.

Quick jabs, hits to the ribs; it was push and pull as they were nearly on equal ground, two decorated professionals with national titles.

You had to keep a close eye— track his movements to take note of any injuries, run over how exactly you would deal with each one. It was your job to.

But, admittedly, you found your gaze wandering against your will lately. More often than you wanted to admit.

It was difficult to ignore the way his biceps flexed with each jab, how soft blond tufts fell over his face, stuck to the sweat lining his forehead, the low hang of his boxing shorts highlighted his abs straining with each motion.

"Fuck!"

The sharp curse broke your trance, eyes snapping up, immediately alert.

Eijirou's hands flew over his mouth, his fighter's stance softening, hesitant hands reaching out towards his friend whose head was angled down, fighting to not reel.

"Woah, man, I am so sorry—"

Katsuki slapped his hand away, wiping at the blood beginning to drip down his nose with the back of his hand, unyielding eyes meeting Eijirou's.

"Keep it goin', Shitty Hair. And you,"

He didn't bother to look at you as you approached, keeping his burning stare on his opponent while waving you off with a harsh motion of his free hand. "Get back."

His bite was nothing new. You didn't bother to fight the eye roll, stepping closer to assess the extent of the damage. "Don't be dumb. Let me look."

"You deaf or something? Beat it."

More blood trickled down, coming over the curve of his lip. You had worked with Katsuki long enough to know that he pushed himself until he was battered, had nothing left to give.

Your job was to keep that from happening.

With a sigh, you grabbed him by the crook of his elbow.

"You are gushing blood. Come on—"

"Get your fuckin' hands off me, you piece of—"

"Again, don't be dumb—"

Eijirou blinked between the two of you, watching as you wrestled to keep Katsuki's arm in your grip, ineffectively attempting to drag him away. With a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes, he began to take backwards steps towards the bench where he kept his water, knowing there was little else he could do in this situation.

"I'm gonna take five. Go with her, man."

Feeling Katsuki's resistance give in just enough, you tugged him towards the med bay, giving Eijirou a grateful look over your shoulder. You hoped he didn't feel too guilty. Sparring was never supposed to get this intense, after all. But, mistakes happened.

You offered soft apologies under your breath to the few nurses on the same late shift as you were with a tight smile as you rushed past them to guide him into the room at the very back, shutting the door behind you.

It was just you two now.

Katsuki was still panting, worked up from the fight. There was probably enough adrenaline in his system to keep him from feeling the real pain of his affliction.

You pushed him back onto the bed against the wall to your right with a hand over his chest, feeling the warm muscle rise up and down under your palm before you turned to rummage through the cabinet, fishing out a medical kit with a crease forming between your brows.

"Are you trying to get yourself put on medical leave before your match next week?"

He didn't say a word, only the sound of his heavy breathing filling the room as you felt his glare against your back.

You sighed.

"Right before I get off too..."

"Yeah," He scoffed, a mocking edge to his voice. "'Cause I did that shit on purpose."

"You kept pushing. That was stupid and you know it, the best athletes know when to call it quits."

Katsuki scoffed, his jutted lower lip pursing as you set down the kit beside him, opening it up to fish out some gauze. "Maybe we should get you in the ring. Since you're such an expert."

You pushed his thighs apart with an unimpressed look, standing between them to get as close as you could.

A hand went behind his neck, gently tilting his head down so the blood wouldn't trickle back into his nose, go down his throat.

You carefully pinched the sides of his nose bridge to stop the blood flow, wiping away at what had escaped with clean gauze.

“You love making my life harder,” you muttered under your breath. “Can’t you just admit I'm right? Say you’ll be more careful?”

“The day I say that shit you can put a gun to my head.”

You rolled your eyes, but he continued.

"I don't say shit I don't mean," he sighed out, abs flexing as he winced slightly. “If your meddling ass didn't get in the way, I would've won.”

“Or you would've gotten your ass beat, but whatever.”

“I've had worse. A fucked up nose is nothing."

"Is that supposed to be a good thing?" you raised a brow, getting a new piece of gauze. "You never know when to stop, Katsuki. That's your issue."

The room settled into silence only the hum of the AC, your shifting, and the quiet, reluctant winces that slipped past as you tended to him.

His eyes never left you.

Sometimes, you wondered why.

Why he allowed you to treat him, why he let you get close. But you shook yourself out of those thoughts, reaching down to grab an ice pack. No time to get sidetracked, not now. Especially on something that was very likely nothing.

"Bleeding stopped."

He didn't respond, eyes downcast as you alternated between pressing it to either side of his nose bridge.

When he finally spoke, his words were quick. Quiet.

"I was going for his blind spot."

Said like he had to explain himself to you, or maybe himself.

But he didn't have to. You knew that his slip ups were extremely rare, he never made the same mistake twice— he beat himself up over every error, obsessed over earned perfection, victory.

His high standards for himself were what got him so far, but you knew they got to him. That, quietly, he sometimes needed reassurance, like anyone would.

“I know you were.” you finally responded, voice gentle, without pity.

"Eijirou's right side was open and he was getting tired. That was the right move. You would've gotten him."

He blinked down at you, as if assessing your honesty before a slight smile touched his lips. He gripped the edge of the small bed a little tighter, leaning down closer.

"Knew you were starin'."

Your heart jumped in your chest, but you pushed it down.

"Well, that is my job."

"It's your job to watch for injuries. Not stare."

You couldn't help what came out of your mouth next.

"Maybe I was staring at Eijirou."

"You think you're so funny."

"I think your ego's inflated."

"Wanna say that again?"

You pressed the ice a little too harshly into the side of his nose, drawing a small groan from him.

"Save it, Katsuki."

You packed up your kit and gathered the bloodied gauze to throw away, rinsing your hands before coming back to assess your work.

Blood clean, no signs of continued bleeding. A small bruise forming under his right eye from the trauma, expected.

It took everything in you to ignore the weight of his eyes, how he looked at you with an intensity reserved for his opponents in the ring. Calculating, searching. You could feel the burn crawling up the back of your neck. Professional, keep it professional.

You nodded a little too quickly, turning on your heel. "Yep, all good. No more sparring, but you can go back now."

He tugged you by the back of your shirt collar before you got too far, pulling you back between his legs, face only inches away from yours.

"You don't want that."

The sudden proximity along with his words made your heart spike, as if caught.

What did you want? The question made you uneasy.

(Or, maybe it was the answer that you knew deep down that made you want to crawl out of your skin.)

You pushed back slightly, deflecting.

“I want you to see Dr. Tanaka as soon as you can. I'll make an appointment for tomorrow morning since he left for the day. I think your nose is broken.”

“No it's not.”

It wasn't. If it had been broken, you would've known from one look, you would have been angrier with him. But that was your out, your excuse to get away. And he had called your bluff, gaze unmoving.

"Don't play dumb right now."

“I'm not playing dumb." the words came snappy, brave; but you were just so close, that fire faltered. His hand that had gripped the back of your collar had shifted carefully to the front, so close to your neck that you were afraid he might feel your heart try to burst out of your throat.

"You're just…" you trailed off, struggling to find your words. "…difficult. You're being difficult.”

"Difficult?" a dry sort of laugh. "You're the difficult one. For someone smart you can be pretty fuckin' dense."

You bit the inside of your lower lip, eyes darting between him and the door.

You knew what he meant. This back and forth between you was nothing new. But when it got too real you had always gotten away, said something and acted like nothing had happened once you cooled down.

The sounds outside seemed to be getting louder, closer. These doors didn’t have locks. Anyone could come in, find you like this. One of the nurses checking in, a gym goer looking for band-aids.

“Or maybe you do know. Hm?”

The question pulled you from your thoughts in an instant, made your eyes snap to his— first mistake. Once his crimson stare bored into yours, you couldn’t look away.

Could you have been that obvious? You thought your moments of distraction were fleeting, imperceptible to the average eye.

He had never commented on it before, slipping back to his normal self even after your closest calls.

But you should’ve known better. Katsuki Bakugou was not average in any sense of the word.

(Of course, he noticed. Of course he did.)

You sputtered something before you could think, just wanting to hear something other than the sound of your own thoughts.

"Some…someone could—"

"No one's gonna come in." his voice flat, dismissal easy. All matter of fact as he craned his neck down closer to you.

"Unless you want Eijirou to come in. Since you were, what, staring at him, right? That what you want?"

"What?!" the word was almost a squeak, high and taken aback. "That's not— "

You fought the strange heat crawling up your face by shooting him a look, eyes narrowing.

"Katsuki. I was joking."

He hummed.

(Unbelieving? Amused? A bit of both?)

"Sure you were."

You opened your mouth, then closed it. The deflections that had once come so easy were heavy on your tongue. There was no joke, no eye roll, nothing you could say to slip away. Not this time.

You sighed, next words defeated.

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to be real with me." you could feel his breath against your lips; hot, charged. "Tell me you don’t want this, that you haven't thought about it.”

“Katsuki…”

It came out weaker than you wanted. Small, kind of breathless. Almost pleading.

For what— to let you go?

(To keep going?)

He kept egging, eyes not once leaving yours. “Say it. I'll stop.”

And you knew he would. Because he was being serious, you could tell by his voice— how it was low under his breath, softened. 

For you, he was being intentionally careful.

Just the thought made you want to cave. But the entire reason your relationship worked, why you were able to handle him, was because you didn't give in.

"There are rules about this sort of thing—"

"You think I give a fuck about bullshit rules?"

"Yeah, I know you don't." you gave him a look. "But I do. I could lose my job, you could get me fired, or…"

You swallowed back the rest of it.

He didn't have to know how it made you afraid, testing the fragile nature of this relationship. How giving in meant that all of this could shatter, that this could all amount to one big mistake.

Katsuki blinked, taking in your expression. He looked off to the side for a beat, lips pursing in thought before, carefully, he took your hands into his.

"You know I won't let that happen. I don't see any of the other shitty medics here."

You snorted a little. Because you did know. You cocked your head to the side, a small smile tugging at your lips. "They're not shitty."

He didn't retaliate, just raised his brows slowly. The truth of his words wasn't what mattered, it was the implication behind them.

(You're the one I see. You.)

His earlier words rang in your ears.

Tell me you don't want this, that you haven't thought about it.

You couldn't, because you had.

Countless times— whenever you watched him hover over his opponents, keep them locked underneath him, the heat in his eyes, a cocky smile on his lips.

He wormed his way into your mind, more often than not, late at night. When sleep couldn't find you and your bed felt exceptionally cold. Empty.

(Him. You imagined him.)

Denying all of that was exactly what you should have done. That would have been the rational thing to do, the smart thing.

But as you traced his face, followed the soft curve of his cheeks against the otherwise harsh lines, watched the furrow of his brow deepen ever so slightly, as if he, of all people, was nervous— you couldn't fight the feeling anymore.

Because you wanted to kiss him, and you wanted him to kiss you— more than anything.

Hesitantly, you brushed your thumbs over the bruises on his knuckles.

“No, I… I do. Want this, I mean."

Something in his expression shifted. Surprise, for a brief second, before that cocky gleam in his eyes that you had seen when he was in-action settled over his face. Only, a little different. (A little sharper, hungrier.)

"Yeah?" he pushed closer, nose just barely brushing yours. "You want this?"

Slowly, you nodded.

"Yes."

His gaze darted from your eyes and lips before the sliver of space between you finally disappeared.

The kiss was tentative, careful. So unlike him that it caught you a little off guard.

Soft. His lips were so soft against yours.

He kissed you like he was trying to figure out the shape of your lips, go slow enough to savor the moment, commit the feeling to memory. The hand near your collar came up to cup your jaw, angle your face just right.

You had thought about what this would feel like for longer than you would ever admit. Did he think of you the same way? Were you what he had expected?

When he pulled back just enough to breathe, he drank in your expression; your pretty lips plush and parted, wide doe-eyes blinking up at him.

He groaned, "Fuck it."

You yelped when calloused hands gripped your arms, hoisted you up like you weighed nothing, thick biceps flexing as he pulled you down to straddle his thigh.

You planted your hands on his chest to steady yourself on instinct, unable to process it for a second. Your thighs were around his leg, his hands at your waist, holding you in a way you had only ever thought would exist in the secret fantasies you let yourself indulge in. The small bed creaking under your combined weight. His chest rising and falling under your palms.

Sometimes, you forgot how strong he actually was. How he wasn’t just some other annoying, short-tempered guy— his body was molded to his profession; brute strength and jagged lines carved from a life in the ring. His shoulders broad, a tapering waist, arms nearly the size of your head. He could probably pick you up and snap you in half if he really wanted to. Your stomach flipped at just the thought.

Before you could open your mouth to speak, he flexed the muscle of his thigh; deliberate, testing. Sharp eyes watching as your face flushed at his bare muscle pressing up against your core.

Your breath hitched, warmth pooled down between your legs, heart beating in your ears as his large hands slid down to rest over your hips, holding you steady— pulling you down closer.

"Feel good?"

Your ears burned at the mocking edge to his voice. You squirmed, caught between wanting to slap that smug look off his face and slowly seek more friction by grinding down.

You didn't have to choose, not when his hands slowly guided your hips down, back and forth against his hardened muscle. You bit your bottom lip between your teeth, clearly embarrassed, ineffectively fighting the whimpers that threatened to slip past with each movement.

His gaze never once left you, taking note of every little reaction.

Heat crawled up your face at being watched so shamelessly.

Leaning forward, you distracted yourself by pressing soft kisses up the side of his throat, staring to grind down on him yourself, your tongue darting out before gently sucking soft marks into his skin.

He let out a strained sigh, tilting his neck back just enough to give you more access.

You hooked your arms loosely around his neck, pecking across his jaw. Your fingers curled into the hair at his nape, giving it a soft tug, pulling his head back so his eyes met yours.

Pupils blown, eyes heavy with want, hair falling over them all messy and disheveled.

You didn't know how you had gone so long without this, how you could have ever wanted to keep your distance. Now that you let yourself have a taste, you didn't think you could ever get enough.

Tugging him to you by the hair, you pulled him to kiss you again.

This time, it was feverish, insatiable. Months of tension and denied desire pouring over all at once.

He kissed like he was still chasing you; like he had something to prove, like he wanted you to feel that you were his favorite taste. A clash of tongue and teeth, nipping at your bottom lip. Each time he pulled back to breathe it lasted less than a beat before he rushed back to steal the soft sounds that slipped past your lips as your hips continued to buck against his thigh.

But the fabric, it was in the way. No matter how hard you grinded down on him, there was too much between you and what you wanted, and the frustration was showing. Your slight sighs turning into small huffs, brows pinching against your will.

The next time Katsuki pulled back, you didn't let him kiss you again. The small string of saliva between your lips broke as you spoke, softly panting. "I want 'em off."

He looked down at your request, pinching the fabric of your pants between his index and thumb. Eyes looking up into yours carefully, like he was uncertain if that was something you really wanted.

You nodded, a little frantic.

"Off. Please."

He got straight to it. Getting them off wasn't pretty, but a controlled sort of desperate.

His movements were precise as always, fairly smooth, but you could feel that something was simmering under his palms as he moved you around to get them off just right, even more so when they finally rested over your bare legs, eyes slightly dazed as he gave the flesh a tentative squeeze.

You bit your lip at the feeling, skin burning under his touch, wanting it all over you.

You glanced down at your shirt.

"This too."

He scoffed, but there was something like a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "Fuckin' bossy."

His hands slid under the hem, bunching the fabric up over your chest, too impatient to get it all the way off. He reached back to unclasp your bra, letting it fall to the floor as he took in the shape of your bare chest, the way your nipples hardened at the cool air of the clinic.

For a beat too long, he just stared.

On instinct, you wondered if something was wrong, if there was something about you that was weird or unappealing, the feeling twisted in you. But before you could tug your shirt back down, he cupped your tits with both hands, feeling the weight of them, squeezing slightly.

"Been waiting for this shit for so fuckin' long, y'know that?" He groaned out, leaning forward to bury his face into them.

You whimpered as he pressed wet kisses across the skin, thumb brushing over one of your nipples while his tongue lolled out to lick over the other, sucking it between his lips.

You began grinding down on his thigh again, the feeling so much more intense with just your panties on. You shifted your hips to find the angle that felt best, rubbing yourself down against the hard muscle of his thigh beneath you, solid and perfect, the friction sending sparks up your spine, your breaths coming out in shallow pants.

Each roll of your hips made your breath come a little faster, especially as his mouth pulled off one of your tits to give the other a fair share of attention.

Your nails dug into his shoulders when he nipped at your chest, sucking harshly, catching your sensitive peak between his teeth just to hear you whine. His tongue was hot against your skin, wet and needy.

Katsuki could feel your arousal starting to coat his thigh, soaking through your panties, smearing over his leg with every drag of your hips. Smiling against your chest, he pulled back with a soft pop, looking down at the glistening mess you left behind.

He moved a hand down between your bodies, slightly nudging your hips up with his leg to give him enough space in between to feel you over your panties, the fabric evidently damp as his index and middle finger stopped right above your clothed clit, pressing against it just slightly, enough to pull a shaky sigh from your lips.

"All this from just my thigh?"

There was a smug, slightly demeaning tone to his voice, like he was surprised you were so wet, as if it wasn't his fault. It made you want to throttle him. Or kiss him. Or both.

Your brows furrowed. "Shut up."

He only chuckled, drawing a line down your clothed slit. All slow, agonizing. Self-satisfied at the soft whimper that slips out of you.

"It's a simple fucking question. Haven't even touched you properly yet."

You huffed, mustering your most serious expression to meet his eyes. "God, just quit teasing, Katsuki. You're being mean."

He raised his brows, that smile on his face only widening. "You think this is mean?"

Finally, finally, he hooked his fingers into your panties, pushing them aside. The first touch, skin-on-skin, made you gasp. He dragged his fingers between your folds, coating them in your slick, slow and deliberate, before circling your entrance.

"I can show you mean."

His eyes were locked between your legs, watching his own fingers move. "Look at you," he murmured, almost to himself. “Fucking soaked."

He pushed one finger inside, slow enough that you felt every inch. You whimpered softly, walls fluttering around him.

He groaned softly, watching your face contort, feeling himself get even harder in his shorts.

"Tight," he breathed. "Gonna add another. That okay?"

You nodded frantically, beyond words.

The second finger stretched you more, made you bite down on your lip to keep from moaning too loud. He worked them deeper, curling them slightly. Your chest heaved at the intrusion you fought to not cry out, your nails digging into his shoulder as he hit just the right spot.

"There?" His voice was rough, satisfied. "That the spot?"

You couldn't respond, forehead falling into the crook of his neck, clinging to him as he curled his fingers again, rubbing that soft patch inside you with devastating precision.

Once he found it, he didn't stop, pumping his fingers in and out, hitting it with precision each time.

You grinded down into his hand, feeling the heel of his palm press up against your clit. You chase the feeling, shameless. Lost in the sensation, the overwhelming feeling of him all around you.

You mumbled into the skin of his neck incoherently about how you were: "Almost… 'm gonna…"

You could hear his voice right by your ear. Hoarse, determined.

“Yeah?” his efforts nearly doubled. “Close?”

You could only nod, coherent thoughts gone from your mind, only a desperate haze of want.

"Yeah. Yes. Please, please more…"

He kept at it, silently savoring your desperate sounds.

You wrapped your arms tight around his neck, moans muffled into his skin as the tightly wound up knot came undone. Your breaths getting heavy in your lungs, head getting fuzzy, eyes fluttering shut, nails having left angry red lines down the skin of his upper back.

He ran a hand up and down your back as you collapsed against him, coming down from the high. He let you rest against him, breathing from a moment before pulling you back with a small kiss to the side of your head.

"Look at me."

It didn't sound like a request.

"Hm?"

You watched with hazy eyes as he slowly pulled his fingers out of you, the loss making you whimper. They glistened under the harsh light of the clinic, coated with the evidence of what he'd just done to you.

He held your gaze as he brought them to his mouth. His tongue darted out first, licking a long strip up the slick-covered fingers. Then, he took them fully into his mouth, sucking them clean, eyes never once leaving yours.

Your breath caught in your throat. Heat flooded through you again, despite having just come. Tasting you off his own fingers like you were the best thing he'd ever had— it was almost too much.

When he finally pulled his fingers from his mouth with a soft pop, he smirked at your expression.

"Tastes good," he said simply, like commenting on the weather.

You clenched around nothing, already missing him inside you, feeling spent but somehow needing more.

"You're shameless."

"Last I checked, I wasn't the one humping your thigh."

Your face burned, a small, angry sort of pout settling on your lips.

He snickered, hand sliding up to your waist, giving it a small squeeze. "Little too late to get all embarrassed. Shit was hot."

"Uh huh…" You gave him a look, "Um. Thanks, by the way... that was—" You trailed off, not knowing how to express what you feel just the right way. "Good. It was good."

Katsuki snorted. "Just good?" you rolled your eyes, but leaned into his teasing with sweetness, something he didn't quite expect.

"Much better than good."

He searched your eyes for a beat, a hand coming up to brush back some of your hair. Then he pecked your lips— soft, almost sweet — before tugging your shirt back down carefully.

That was when you slowly realized, he was wrapping this up. But… he didn't cum?

He didn't cum.

"Hey, wait you didn't—"

He knew what you were talking about, the strained bulge in his shorts was nothing short of obvious.

"Does it look like I care."

His dismissal of his own need threw you off.

"Katsuki, that's not fair. I can't just—"

"Sure you can. You just did."

You turned his head towards you, pulling him into a soft kiss, parting his lips with yours, trying to not get lost in tasting yourself on his tongue. Gently trying to urge him to let you have him the way he had you.

You try to convince him, urge him to let you return the favor, do something.

You ran your hand over the bulge in his shorts, traced it gently, wanting. He groaned against your mouth, the sound strained in the back of his throat, like he was holding himself back. "C'mon, Katsuki," you palmed him over his shorts, wanting to hear more. "Let me? Please?"

He looked like he could give in, his jaw tense, eyes screwing shut as your finger hooked into the waistband of his shorts, drawing out a breathy sigh. You froze when the intercom crackled above you.

"The gym will be closing in ten minutes. Please begin wrapping up your sessions and make your way to the exit. Thank you."

You blinked. Fuck.

"…I can be quick?"

That was a lie. Ten minutes wasn't nearly enough time to do what you wanted to.

He waved you off with a snort, tugging your hand away from his throbbing cock, taking it upon himself to adjust the hem of your shirt with more care than you thought possible from someone like him.

"Relax." He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. "Shit’s not a big deal. Can take care of it in the shower."

The mental image of him standing under the shower, hand wrapped around his cock, thinking about this — you — made something low in your stomach tighten.

You must have made a face, because he huffed out a laugh.

"But if you want to make it up so bad," He leaned in closer, nose brushing yours. The soft curve of his lashes was so much more apparent this close. He pressed a final, lingering kiss, grinning softly as he spoke. His voice low against your lips, promising. "We'll go for round 2."

may blabs: baby's first smut dont throw tomatoes at me.. ok

btw if u ever genuinely have a bloody nose do NOT tilt your head back. that blood will go down your throat and if it gets into ur stomach u could throw up and that is not good so do NOT do that ✌️✌️

big special thank u to the mutuals ( @updownandbatty & @cupidkats & @hushedlotus ) AND irls i bothered w this fic… u are goated ❤️‍🩹

again, art in the header is not mine, credits to the artist !!!

taglist: @nanakamii 𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ :

masterlist ★ taglist form ★ want to send in a request?

[https-ayamei]

@lemongirl5910 I think this is the fic you're looking for?? Have fun reading queen🙂

[lemongirl5910]

THANK U @https-ayamei 🙏🏽🙏🏽

[lemongirl5910]

guys....😔 I lost a fic😔 I closed tumblr and it's GONE pls help me find it

it was bakugo x reader where he's like a boxer and readers his medic and he gets hurt while sparring with kirishima and it's all like blehh I'm not hurt and bro stfo let me patch you up and it's supposed to end in smut but I never GOT THERE😭

pls let me know if you know it🙏🏽🙏🏽

[vigilantexreader]

everything has changed

Adrian Chase x fem!Reader

part ten

synopsis: Adrian needs you. You need him. It's about time to make the bond between you permanent.

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, omegaverse dynamics, alpha!Adrian, omega!reader, Adrian in rut, reader in heat, marking/biting!!, piv sex, use of sex toys, this chapter is literally just SMUT lmao please enjoy

word count: 6.4k

notes: it's time for the moment you've all been waiting for😈😈 thank you as always @embeanwrites and @snowyathena for the beta <3 still working on this bad boy the google doc is like. 70k now idk when that happened

Masterlist | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten

“What the hell do you mean, I’m in pre-rut?” Adrian demands. “I think I would know, I remember what it fucking felt like—”

But even as he says it, he realizes Emilia might be right. He’s been pissy and agitated and aggressive all week. He’d written it off as stress. Being apart from you for the first time, being stuck in close proximity to another Alpha in that tiny ass van, being this close to taking down the assholes that had hurt his pack, all while knowing your heat was on the horizon.

“Holy shit,” Chris says. “I thought he was just being annoying because he missed her. And I don’t smell it on him. It’s not—as strong, as last time.”

“Yeah, because last time was the first time,” Emilia reminds them.

“I need—I need to go,” Adrian realizes.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Emilia says, rolling her eyes.

“Wait, wait,” Adrian says, looking at Chris with panic in his eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” Chris asks, alarmed.

You’d talked about it before he left. Waiting until you were both in sync. Your heat and his rut at the same time, so you could mark each other properly. And now—that was happening way sooner than he expected.

“If I’m in rut—we said—the next time that we were synced up we would—” Adrian stutters. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing Chris—”

Everyone’s staring, watching Adrian spiral into a panicked meltdown, and Emilia looks around the room.

“Get back to work!” she orders. “Adrian, Chris. Break room, now.”

“But I need to—” Adrian looks at his friends with wide eyes.

“Go, Adrian. Talk it out with them. I will make you a list so you can go to the store and grab all those things we talked about,” Ads says, already reaching for a notepad. “We got you. I promise.”

“No, I need to—she needs me, I need to go—I can’t—”

“You will be absolutely no use to her if you are freaking the fuck out like this,” Emilia says plainly. “You need to calm down before you go anywhere. I don’t want you getting in a fucking car accident on the way there. Chris can drive you to her apartment if you need. Breathe.”

Adrian follows the other two Alphas into the break room with shaking hands, trying desperately not to hyperventilate.

“Adrian,” Chris says calmly. “Everything is going to be okay.”

“We said we would mark each other,” Adrian says, his voice thin. “I don’t—I thought I had time. I was going to do research. I was going to prepare. I don’t want to hurt her—”

But even as he says it, he feels the urge rising up inside him. He’s wanted, for years, to make you his, and now he can do it in a way that matters. That really matters. A way that’s permanent.

“You don’t have to, right away,” Chris reminds him. “Circumstances have changed since the last time you talked. I don’t think she would be mad if you still wanted to wait, Adrian.”

“I don’t want to wait,” Adrian says. “I want her. I just don’t want to fuck it up!”

“The important thing, Adrian, is for you to talk to her about it,” Emilia says. “It’s a decision that the two of you make together. And from what I’ve seen—she wants it just as much as you do. She’s been walking around the office all week looking at your empty desk like she wants to cry, because she’s fucking missed you so much—”

Adrian wants to cry when he hears her say that. “Really?” His voice cracks.

“She loves you,” Chris says. “You know she does.”

“What do I—” Adrian swallows nervously. “What do I have to do? I don’t want to do it wrong.”

“I’m not going to lie to you,” Emilia says, her tone serious. “Marking hurts like a bitch. You’re literally going to bite her. Break skin. It’s totally normal for it to be painful. But afterward—” She glances at Chris, and a tiny half-smile dons her face.

“Afterward,” Chris finishes, “when the bond sets in. It’s all warm and nice and—” He clears his throat. “I’m not getting sappy right now. I told you yesterday, no more fucking sappy conversations. It’s nice, is the point. It only hurts for a minute.”

“So as long as that’s something that both of you want,” Emilia says, “you will be just fine.”

“It is,” Adrian whispers.

“Then as soon as Ads gets back,” Chris smiles, “you go home to her. And I don’t want to see you back here for at least a fucking week.”

You’re curled up in bed, nursing your cramping belly, when a sound at the front door of your apartment puts you on guard. You tap on your phone screen, but when it lights up, you have no messages. Adrian would have texted you he was on the way, and your heart drops in your chest.

Someone is breaking in. The blankets wrapped around you, set just so to make up your nest, get tangled around your legs as you stumble out of bed as quietly as you can and reach for the gun in your bedside drawer.

Someone stumbles into your apartment, the door slamming behind them, and you shove open the bedroom door with gritted teeth, gun at the ready.

Adrian, who has just burst through the door in a panic, juggling half a dozen bags between his suitcases and everything Ads had picked up for him at the store, nearly drops everything when you burst out of the bedroom, half-dressed, looking at him like a deer in headlights and aiming a gun at his head.

“What the fuck?” he says, scrambling to pick up the loose items slipping out of his arms while returning your shocked stare.

“Jesus Christ, Adrian! You scared the shit out of me. Why didn’t you tell me you were on the way home? I could have shot you!”

“I didn’t think!” he blurts. “Economos—he said you went home early because you didn’t feel good, and I was worried that maybe your heat had started, and I broke, like, three traffic laws getting over here because I didn’t want you to be alone—”

Your face softens. “I’m okay, baby.”

“—but I’m glad you’re taking your safety seriously, baby, I mean, if I was a home invader—stellar reaction time. And I would have been fine, anyway, even if you’d shot me,” Adrian rambles. “So really, you should just—shoot first, ask questions later—”

Another bag tumbles out of his arms and onto the floor, and it sends you back into motion. You set the gun safely out of the way on a side table and hurry forward to take something from Adrian before everything spills out onto the floor, but he manages to gather it up, even as he continues his senseless, nervous rambling. 

“Sorry, I’m a mess,” he’s saying. “I was in such a rush to get here—but I had to stop at the store, too—you made that nice care package for me during my rut and I wanted to do something nice like that and Ads helped me make a list but then I lost the list almost immediately so I think maybe I bought too many snacks and soft things and painkillers, I spent like, $200 at CVS—”

You shake your head, smile, and reach for his face, stretching over the pile of things between you. Then you kiss him, and he gives up trying to hold it all, half a dozen bags thumping to the floor, miscellaneous groceries rolling out of plastic bags, because he’s got something more important to hold. 

You.

His hands come up to frame your face, gentle but eager, and he kisses you back like he’s been starved, because he has. A week without you is too fucking long, he’s decided. It doesn’t matter that he talked to you every day, multiple times a day. Nothing compares to this. The way you fit against him, fold into his arms like you belong there.

When Adrian smiles into your kiss, it’s so wide he’s not even kissing you anymore, just laughing against you, because he’s home. He trails that smile along your jawline, peppering happy kisses on your skin, until he’s nosing at your neck for a deep inhale of the comforting scent he’s missed so much. He had things that smelled like you—he slept with the picnic blanket every single night—but there’s nothing like scenting you unfiltered, straight from the source.

He breathes in. Something is off. It’s not your impending heat, though he can smell that, too, a hint of extra sweetness that makes his mouth water. He frowns when he realizes.

“You don’t smell like me,” he says, grumpy. He’s gotten so used to the trace of his own scent mixed with your own, and after a week apart, it’s missing, washed away by sweat and showers, dissipating from the distance.

“What, did you not want me to shower while you were gone?” you laugh, squirming at the way Adrian’s tongue tickles your neck as he immediately sets to work fixing the problem, licking every inch of bare skin he can reach. 

“No,” he growls. “Want everyone to know you’re mine.” And he does. Standing before you now, with you on the verge of your heat and him on the verge of his rut, he feels it more intensely than he ever has—the ever-familiar wave of want and need, possessive and protective desire that’s impossible to tamp down.

As Adrian continues to lick at your neck, you breathe deep, and that’s when you catch his scent, deep and thick and familiar, all pine and gunpowder and musk. It brings you right back to that night outside Chris’s trailer, back when all this first started.

“You’re—” you gasp, and Adrian hums against the skin of your throat. “You’re in rut? When—how long—”

“Not yet,” he says. “But—soon. I didn’t even realize until I got back to the office and Emilia said something. I just thought I fucking missed you. No wonder I wanted to kill Chris all week every time he looked at me wrong.”

His arms circle you tighter, and you let yourself go lax in his embrace as your knees give out, knowing he would never let you fall.

“Are you okay?” he asks, a little panicky, and you huff a laugh.

“Yeah,” you say hoarsely, wincing a bit as another cramp overtakes you. They’ve been terrible all day. “Just—hurting, a little.” He frowns, brushing a thumb over your cheek, tracing under the dark circles under your eyes. You haven’t been sleeping well. But then, neither has he.

Your heat was already affecting him from miles away, and now that you’re within reach, Adrian is practically vibrating, his pulse racing beneath his skin. He chalks it up to the fact that he’s nervous. That he’s on the cusp of his rut. He wants to be good for you, to do good for you.

“Can I make it better?”

“You already are,” you whisper, kissing him again, leaning in closer. “Take me to bed, Alpha.”

Adrian swallows. “You—you want—now?”

“No,” you say softly, shaking your head. “I’m tired. Just want to cuddle. Sleep. Nest. Be with you.”

“Okay,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek as he picks you up and carries you back into the bedroom.

Adrian looks with soft, happy eyes around the room, noticing all the little ways you’ve unpacked his things and mixed them in with your own. Sees his spare glasses on the nightstand on what has become his side of the bed. Sees his hairbrush sitting on your dresser, his clothes hanging in the open closet. He feels like he already belongs here, in your apartment.

Because he does. He belongs wherever you are.

When he sets you on the bed, he starts to get back up, but you whine and hold on tighter to him. He kisses the side of your face again.

“I gotta change, baby,” he says. “I’m still in my mission clothes. Let me go get some pajamas—”

“No,” you pout. “Just take them off.” He furrows his brow, but catches on when you start pulling off your own shirt. “Want you close.”

“Whatever you want,” he says softly, reaching behind his neck to pull off his collared shirt, kicking off his sneakers and shucking off his jeans a moment later. 

He crawls into the nest you made—our nest, he thinks—in nothing but his underwear and lets himself curl around you, tucking you into him as close as he can, legs entwined, arms wrapped tightly around your torso. You shuffle in his arms until you’re facing him, hugging him right back, your nose pressed directly into his neck where you can inhale his scent, strong and thick and comforting.

After a minute, he starts to feel a weird hum against his skin, and then he realizes it’s audible, too, a gentle purring noise. It’s coming from you.

“Are you purring?” he asks, bewildered. He knows that Omegas can do that—purr in the same way that an Alpha can growl. But he has never heard you make this sound.

“Yeah,” you say, a little embarrassed. “Sorry. It happens when I’m really relaxed. Happy.”

“No. Don’t be sorry. I want—keep doing it. Please. I like it,” Adrian insists, a tinge of awe to his voice. You’re so fucking happy that he’s home that you’re purring.

It makes him feel all fuzzy, calming the anxiety that has been building up inside him the whole week he’s been away. He treasures it, the soft and gentle sound you make, the vibration against his skin, a quiet rumble. He treasures the shy smile that curls against the skin of his neck.

In less than ten minutes, both of you are sound asleep.

When Adrian wakes in the middle of the night, he can smell it the second he breathes in.

Your scent, thicker and sweeter than he’s ever smelled. He can feel it, too, the way your skin burns hot against his own, the damp layer of sweat covering your body. You’re shifting uncomfortably in his embrace, pressing your thighs together with a wordless whimper that you try to muffle with the back of your hand.

You are absolutely, 100% in heat.

“Omega,” he whispers, petting a calloused hand down the side of your body, goosebumps rising on your bare skin. “Let me—”

“Go back to sleep,” you manage to say, your voice strained. “You’re—you just got back from a mission, I know you’re exhausted, baby, we’ll—worry about it in the morning.”

“Um,” Adrian says, confused. “No.” 

His hand covers the soft skin of your belly, fingers dipping beneath the seam of your underwear, brushing over your clit. You gasp, hips shifting, legs spreading wider to welcome his hand, and he feels how wet you are, so far gone already that your underwear is soaked with slick. One of his fingers dips down to your entrance and he feels another gush, leaking right into his hand. If he wasn’t awake before, he’s wide awake now.

“You are clearly uncomfortable and I can fix it. Right now,” Adrian continues, voice quiet in the dark bedroom as he kisses you behind your ear and works you over gently. “I’m never gonna let you suffer when I can do something about it, baby.”

Even as he says it, he can feel his own body responding to you. His skin is just as hot to the touch as yours.

You’re writhing, wanting, beside him in bed, and desire floods through him, just as hot and strong and overwhelming.

Your heat has started, and it’s triggered his rut.

His cock grows hard impossibly fast, prodding against your thigh, and you whimper again. Adrian grunts when you reach for him, pausing your hand before it can wrap around him and squeeze, because if you do, this will be over before it even starts, and—this is it. His heart starts pounding with nerves. It’s happening, now, and you still haven’t even talked about it.

“But before I can take care of you,” he says, pausing his ministrations on your clit, making you whine with frustration, “we need to—talk about this.”

“Wh—what?” You stumble over the word, your breath shaky.

“Look at me, Omega,” he says, firm and soft. Your eyes flutter open and meet his, pupils dark. Adrian’s eyes dilate as he takes in the look on your face, head tilted back, lips full and wet when you lick them. He kisses you softly. He can’t help it. 

He’s never wanted you as bad as he wants you right now. Every fiber of his being is screaming at him to give you what you need. To pull your underwear aside and fuck you until you’re gushing slick, clenching around his knot, holding him tight and hot inside you. Until his teeth sink deep into your neck and he tastes blood.

Which is exactly why he pulls back and takes a deep breath, shoving away the thought. You make a strained noise of protest, trying to chase after his lips.

“Need you,” you rasp desperately. “God, Alpha, I need you so bad.”

He closes his eyes at your words, clenches his jaw. Your hand reaches up to trace along his jawline, grasping his chin between your fingers, trying to pull him back down to meet you, shifting your body beneath his. He gives you what you want, settling himself over you, letting his weight press you into the soft mattress, and opens his eyes when he feels like he’s gotten control of his urges.

“Look at me, Omega,” he repeats, his own voice just as raspy as yours. You do as he says, eyes locked on his, half-lidded, hazy with want. He’s sure he looks the same. 

There’s no way he’s marking you without having a conversation first, and he had been so caught up with finally seeing you last night after a week apart that it never came up. But there’s also no way that conversation is happening right this second. You’re too far out of it, swimming in a hot haze of desire that’s clouding all your other thoughts. You won’t be able to give him a clear answer, won’t be able to fully consent to it.

Not until he takes the edge off for you.

“Do you have a toy?” he asks, hands clenching into fists when you rock yourself forward. You groan when your clothed core meets the barrier of his underwear instead of his bare cock.

“Toy?”

“A fake knot.”

“Yes, why?” you ask, confused, a little note of distress creeping into your voice. “Don’t want it. Don’t need it. I have you. I want your knot Alpha pleaseIneedit—” You start rocking again, more frantically, trying to latch your legs around his waist and pull him into you.

“I need you to trust me, baby,” he whispers, kissing you again. “I’ll knot you. I promise I will. But not yet.”

You make a discontented sound, and Adrian kisses at your jaw, running a hand over your body to calm you. Your breasts, your belly, your thighs. You shift uncomfortably again, trying to press them together, desperate for friction.

“Where do you keep it?” Adrian asks. It’s talking every bit of his self-control to ask. “The toy.”

“Mm,” you whimper. “Dresser. Bottom drawer.”

“I will be right back.”

You let out a small cry at the loss of Adrian’s weight on top of you as he detaches himself from your grip and crawls out of the blankets, crossing the room to the dresser. He finds what he’s looking for easily, the blue silicone knot tucked next to a vibrator and some towels. He grabs it all, bringing it back to toss on the end of the bed.

“Hips up,” he says gently, taking a towel to spread beneath your legs so you won’t have to change the sheets later. At the same time, he pulls your damp underwear down your legs, leaving you bare to him. He keeps his on.

You watch him with wide eyes through the dark as he climbs back onto the bed and reaches for the toys.

The vibrator clicks on with a gentle humming sound, and you bite your lip and whine when Adrian presses it against your clit. He uses one arm to hold you down, keep you in place, while the other holds him up above you so he can kiss you without crushing you into the mattress.

After that quick kiss, Adrian settles back onto his knees. You start to protest, wanting to hold him there, in place above you, but then he’s lowering himself onto his stomach in front of you. Another sharp, sudden cramp in your abdomen making you inhale sharply, face screwed up with pain.

“H-hurts,” you stammer. “Please—”

“My poor girl,” Adrian says. “I’m gonna make it better, I promise.”

Then he’s using his other hand to spread you wide, dipping his head down to lick up your slit. You taste even sweeter than he remembers under the full force of your heat, and he groans as he delves his tongue into your opening, tossing the vibrator aside so he can devour you more fully, his nose nudging at your sensitive clit.

“Fuck—Adrian—”

His hand reaches for your opening, and he sucks on your clit as he slips one finger inside you, then another, and your hips buck up uncontrollably at the sudden touch, your body already trying to suck him in deeper. Your high-pitched moan makes his chest swell with a primal kind of pride, telling him exactly how good he’s making you feel.

Adrian groans himself at the feeling of your wet walls clenching around his fingers, and he realizes you’re already tipping over the edge into orgasm, chest heaving, thighs trembling. He starts to slow his movements, but you shake your head, gasping.

“Don’t stop pleasedon’tstop—”

His own hard cock and raging arousal getting harder and harder to ignore as you beg for him. He prods his fingers gently inside you, seeking out your most sensitive spot, and he’s rewarded with a moan.

He remembers his first rut, when all he wanted was this. You, laid out in front of him, wet and ready and wanting, and finally having it—god, it’s so tempting to just toss the vibrator aside, shove his underwear down his legs, and take you hard and fast until you’re screaming his name.

No. Not his name. His title. You’ll call him Alpha, tonight.

Another desperate noise from you brings him back to himself, and he shakes the thought away, moving his hand faster, digging his fingers deeper.

“Please,” you beg. “More—I need more needyoutoknotme—”

Adrian turns his head to the side to suck a bruise into your thigh as he reaches for the toy, warming it in his hand for a moment. He rises up, lets you grab him by the shoulders and yank his mouth down to your own for a fierce, rough kiss. You gasp against his lips when the thick tip of the toy prods at your entrance.

“Ah—mm—”

Adrian lets you go at your own pace, your hand grabbing at his wrist, guiding him as he pushes the toy inside you. Your mouth falls open as it stretches you, fills you, until the fake knot is resting at your entrance. You aren’t stretched enough for it to pop inside quite yet.

“Okay?” Adrian checks, watching your face carefully for any sign of discomfort, but all he sees in your eyes is lust. You nod, holding his gaze, and he thrusts his hand slowly, relishing in the way your eyelashes flutter as your head falls back against the pillows.

With every pump of the fake knot, you shift your hips, planting your feet to meet each pounding thrust. It drags against your walls, slides easily because of how wet you are. Adrian is fascinated as he feels it. He knows, in theory, that Omegas produce more slick during their heat to make it easier to accept a knot, but—you’re soaking the toy, soaking his hand, soaking the towel he’d laid beneath you on the bed. He wants to fucking—lick it up. Lick you, all over, all night. He practically salivates at the thought.

He can tell you’re getting close when your hand tightens on his forearm, nails digging so deep into his skin that they’ll leave a mark, a sharp pain that only serves to spur Adrian onward, moving the toy faster.

His other hand comes to circle his own cock, dipping beneath the hem of his underwear. He jerks at himself in time with the toy, watching it split you open over and over again, until finally, the knot pops inside your stretched entrance. You clench around it, crying out as you come, writhing with pleasure, still gripping Adrian tight.

Just a moment later, Adrian follows you over the edge with a desperate sound of his own, making a sticky mess of his underwear when he comes, collapsing next to you and rolling you into his tight embrace, ignoring the uncomfortable wetness and just focusing on you as you start to come back to yourself.

Once it’s over—once your heaving breaths settle back into calm, regular patterns and your thighs stop trembling and your fingers stop digging so hard into his shoulders—Adrian kisses your cheek. You turn your head so your lips touch his, your hands cupping his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones in gentle strokes.

“A little better?” Adrian asks.

He lifts himself a little further away from you to take you in, all glistening, sweaty skin, hot to the touch. But your eyes are clearer now than they were before, some of the fiery desire quelled by your orgasm, your body locked around the silicone knot that soothes the worst of your pain and discomfort.

“I’m okay,” you say hoarsely. “Why—why didn’t you—”

“I needed to talk to you first. Before—before I knot you,” Adrian says, flushing red-hot. “When we talked before I left I agreed to help you through your heat, and I’d mark you later. Once we synced up. But that was before—before we knew. That I’d be in rut too.”

Your confusion softens into understanding, and you kiss him again.

“I want you,” you murmur. “I don’t want to wait anymore. I would have let you mark me even if you weren’t in rut. I asked you to.”

“Well, that’s—I already told you, I’m only biting you if you bite me back,” Adrian says. “And now—we can do that. Tonight. But I still wanted to ask. Double check that it’s something you still want—”

“Yes,” you interrupt, before he can ramble anymore and talk himself out of it.

“I thought so, I just—while you were, uh…really horny, just now? I think you might have said whatever the fuck I wanted just so I’d knot you. That’s not real consent.”

“So ask me now,” you whisper. Adrian clears his throat.

“Will you?” he asks, his voice just as quiet. “Mark me? Let me mark you? Be my Omega, officially?”

“Yes,” you say again, louder, firmer. You lay a hand on his chest, just above his heart, and slide it up until it rests at the juncture of his neck. Your eyes land on the spot, eyes darkening, and Adrian can see your desire simmering beneath the surface, can scent the slick pooling between your thighs as you lick your lips.

“Are you sure?” Adrian asks, voice trembling with nerves. “Harcourt said—she said it will hurt. I don’t want to hurt you.”

In that split second, you remember the words he told you two months ago, huddled together on the ground beneath the window of Chris’s trailer. 

“I couldn’t sleep, knowing you were here all alone. Hurting,” you had said.

“I can take it,” he’d responded. “I can take it because I know you’re waiting for me at the end of it.”

“I can take it,” you echo now, wrapped in his embrace, warm and safe in a nest of blankets, heart so full of love it feels like it might burst. “I can take a moment of pain. Because I know what’s waiting for me at the end of it.”

Adrian’s brow furrows, but then you kiss him, long and soft and deep, and whisper the answer to his silent question into his mouth.

“A lifetime with you. As many years as I can get.”

“You can have all of them,” Adrian says, his throat so tight he almost chokes on the words.

You fall asleep in Adrian’s arms not too long after that, absolutely exhausted. He’s not surprised. It’s still the middle of the night. When he glances at the clock on your nightstand, it’s nearly 3 a.m.

Not just your nightstand, he reminds himself. Not just your bed, or your home. It’s his, now, too. The realization makes him smile to himself at the dark ceiling, even as he shifts uncomfortably in his wet underwear.

He untangles himself from your arms carefully so as not to wake you, and turns you over just as gently to remove the wet towel from beneath you on the bed. He uses it to clean himself up, and pads out into the living room stark naked to toss everything into your washing machine. 

On the way back to bed, he picks up everything he dropped in the living room earlier, the contents of plastic grocery bags spilled out across the hardwood floor. He sets most of it on the counter, but brings back one bag’s worth of food and electrolyte-enhanced water. The last thing he wants is for you to be hungry or dehydrated, and he knows exactly how much it can take out of a person to be endlessly horny for several days straight.

When he finally climbs back into bed, you turn toward him even in your sleep, letting out a pleased sigh once your face is pillowed against his bare chest. He runs a hand through your hair, settling back into the pillows, and closes his eyes.

It’s late morning when Adrian wakes up. He wishes he could say he woke feeling refreshed, happy, content. He wishes he could just lay with you, calm and comfortable as sunlight trickles through the window blinds, casting rays of light over your beautiful face, could cuddle back up to you and go back to sleep and forget about the world.

But he’s hot. He’s feverish. His dick is so fucking hard it hurts. He tries to breathe through it, eyes twisted shut to bear the agonizing rush of need that rushes through him. A strangled noise escapes his throat when he breathes in your scent, thick and sweet, and it makes everything worse. His desire cranks up a dozen notches more, if that’s even possible.

It wakes you up, the sound, and he feels instantly guilty for disrupting your rest. But he can’t bring himself to protest when you blink away the haze of sleep and look at him with nothing but soft, clear, loving eyes. Last night, you had needed him, and he’d been so focused on you that his own needs fell to the wayside. 

Right now, though—he needs you. A wild, primal need that consumes him. And you know it.

“Is it bad?” you say, your quiet voice just calm enough not to shatter the peace of the morning. Your hand grazes lightly over the skin of his chest, through the trail of hair leading down from his belly button to his hard, leaking cock, which jumps at your touch, dribbling precum over the skin of your fingers.

“Oh, fuck,” he pants, his voice strained. “I’m sorry—”

You swallow his unnecessary apology with a kiss, and Adrian opens his mouth under yours, craving more of you, wanting nothing more than your tongue in his mouth and your hot, wet cunt wrapped around him.

“Don’t be sorry,” you whisper. “I got you, baby.”

“I love you,” Adrian says past the lump in his throat.

He suddenly feels emotional as he remembers the last time he felt like this. So desperate for you, so hot, the agony of his first rut that felt like it would never end. How badly he had wished you were there with him when he jerked himself off or rutted against a pillow.

“I love you too,” you whisper back, and he fists a hand in your hair to drag your mouth back down to his.

You’re with him now. He’ll never have to be alone like that again.

“How do you want me?” you ask him. “I think traditionally—people do it, well, doggy style. If we do that, you can mark me first, and then I can mark you later—” 

“No,” Adrian manages, gritting his teeth when you touch his aching cock again, trying desperately not to come and end this moment before it even begins. He doesn’t want to roll you onto your belly, to fuck you while he can’t even see your face, though his dick twitches at the mental image of you bent over, ass in the air, waiting for his knot.

Instead, he pushes you over onto your back, looks into your eyes, and says, “We do it at the same time. Together.” He nips at your neck, a playful bite. A promise of what’s to come. 

“Together,” you agree. “You lover boy.” You smile, and he knows he’s made the right choice. He wants to see that smile, wants to kiss you, wants to whisper pretty words in your ear. Not fuck you like an animal.

“Your lover boy,” he says, and he tries to grin in response, but another bolt of agony shoots through him. He grunts through the pain, and your brow furrows with concern.

You take his hands and bring them to the soft skin on your belly.

“Take what you need,” you murmur, spreading your legs wide for him. He palms your thighs, thumb brushing over the deep bruise he’d sucked into your skin the night before.

“I didn’t prep you—”

“Don’t need it,” you say breathlessly, lifting your hips impatiently, coating his cock in your slick. You’re soaking wet, and he hasn’t even done anything. His breath catches.

You want Adrian just as bad as he wants you. You need him just as bad as he needs you.

He doesn’t deny either of you any longer.

His cock stretches you open with an easy slide, and he watches it disappear into your body, listens to you groan. He was going to give you a moment to adjust to the size of him—he’s bigger than the toy he’d used on you last night—but something takes over him when he feels you gripping him warm and tight like this, and he can’t help it.

He thrusts into you hard, and you gasp, legs circling his waist, heels pressing into his ass to drag him in impossibly closer, deeper. He sets a wild rhythm, too far gone for anything else but pure instinct, letting his body, for the first time, take what it wants, because you’ve given him permission. Because you want it too.

You’re absolutely soaked, and the noises of him plunging into you over and over again, wet suction and skin slapping on skin, make your face flush even hotter. Every sloppy thrust finds the sweet spot inside you, drawing tiny noises from the back of your throat. Adrian lets out his own whimper at the sound, and groans into your ear when he feels even more slick gush out of you, drenching his leaking cock.

It’s messy, it’s raw. The scent of your combined arousal grows thick in the air, saturating his every inhale, so much that he feels heady, intoxicated with it. It’s all he can think, all he can feel. Just pleasure and heat and you.

“Please,” Adrian chokes out. “Need you to—come for me, Omega, wanna feel you, want—want you so fucking bad, holy shit—”

“Ah,” you gasp when he wraps his arms around your torso, lifting you up, changing the angle, hitting you even deeper. You can do nothing but lay there and take it, clutching at his back with a whine.

He kisses you, sloppy, and then his forehead drops to your neck as he pants into your skin, groaning long and low. Then he feels it—your teeth on his neck, the sharp point of your canines, a teasing graze. His lungs feel tight, his stomach swoops with nerves, but god—he wants this he wants you he wants—

His mouth lands on your neck in return, and he can feel the way his canines have elongated, sharper than usual. Ready to break skin. But he waits.

“Please,” he begs, lips moving against your damp, sweaty skin, inhaling the scent of you right from the source. “Please, please—”

His thrusts grow erratic as hot pleasure rushes down his spine and he comes, trembling arms giving out when his knot pops inside you, locking you together. He collapses on top of you just as your orgasm rushes through you and your teeth sink into his neck, a sharp pain that he barely notices because he’s still coming, spilling thick ropes of white inside you, lost in the pleasure and the connection.

There’s only one thought left in his mind—he needs to make you his. Permanently.

Adrian bares his teeth, digs them in to your skin, and hesitates. He’s waiting for you to tense, to change your mind, to wince at the pain. But you don’t do any of those things. You just curl closer into him, tilt your neck further to welcome his mark, make him feel trusted, show him that you know—you know that he will protect you and love you and never, ever hurt you.

He lets his teeth sink into your skin.

The sudden euphoria that rushes through him  when the bond sets in is like nothing he’s ever felt before and nothing he will ever feel again. He can’t explain it—how deep it runs, this new connection with you. How warm and loved it makes him feel. It’s almost too much; it’s like he’s choking on it—his love for you.

He expected it to feel fragile, like something he would need to protect, to defend, but—it’s strong, raging like a fire in his chest, and he sees those flames reflected in your eyes when he finally releases you and pulls back.

Adrian alternates between kissing you and licking at the fresh bite mark on your neck, soothing the lingering sting. You’re still lying still beneath him, with his full body weight resting on top of you, smiling up at him with wet, bright eyes.

“You’re mine,” you whisper, tracing your fingers along the red, bloody mark you’d bitten into his skin. 

In the next few hours, it will heal into a silver, crescent-moon scar that tells the world he belongs to you, just like yours will tell the world that you belong to him. That you belong to each other.

“You’re mine,” he echoes hoarsely, beaming back at you.

Adrian tag list: @justalotoffanfiction @danversxwasabi @clowninavan @adoresami @a-young-g0d @bastardstevie @am-3-thyst @xoxocamis @morguegrl89 @somethin-sparklyy @secretjesterr @seeingdubs @lovenerdywhitemen2 @jeshomie @aerionshipthrust @deamlucem @tlfg-adrianchase @brianna-merlim @amart-e @countvonklit @pieolsen @gingerjane15 @dosyrosyposy @mylcvemineallmine @rentaldarling @vigilcourt @hot-bean-juice @meg-winchester @sepaaaaa @residentsuperhero

alpha!Adrian tag list: @lil-rigatoni @basicanti-socialb-tch @directbing @bunch-of-bens @trelaney @obsessedcontentconsumer @unfortunatewriting @selina00kyle @elodiebeau @zombicupcake3 @quietlybitchy @jeshomie @mrsxchase @b1tch1mapoet @abbot-fanatic @kookiesbunny @pieolsen @mermaidseance @whymesswperfection @svnze @romxnticist @paint-chips @freak-collecter @the-maladaptive-daydreamers @moyo5653 @sammy-4103 @cynical-p0rc3lain

[lemongirl5910]

oh my goodness 😭

“A lifetime with you. As many years as I can get.”

“You can have all of them,”

UHM HALLO?!?!?😭😭 I loved this sm omg

[dogpuppy]