Summary: Cooper agrees to escort you into town after you save him from going feral, AFTER he collects the bounty he is after. Neither of you expects the connection you form along the way.
WC: 9.2K
Warnings: canon typical violence, menstruation, blood kink, cunnilingus during menstruation
Next Part
Darkness is just beginning to settle over the horizon as you wander into the crumbling remains of what once may have been a small settlement. Your steps are light, measured and well calculated to make as little noise as possible. There is only the light of the moon and stars to guide you. The pack hanging over your shoulders is dreadfully light, a testament to your struggle for survival, constantly edging the line of desperation. Though your supply of food is near nonexistent, at least you have plenty of water, which is of some small consolation.
Climbing over a half remainder of a once solid concrete wall, you duck inside the shadow of a building. It has more holes than walls. You drag one hand along the cool, rough surface, acting as a guide as your eyes continue to adjust to the slow dimming light. But your eyes are still able to perceive enough to recognize the sight of a rifle barrel aiming towards the center of your chest as you round a corner. It is a beat later that you take note of the man wielding said rifle.
A ghoul.
Back to the wall, he sits with knees bent awkwardly up, tattered leather trench coat clinging to him in a way that suggests both shield and shroud. In any other circumstance you would find some delight in his appearance, looking as though plucked straight from one of those Pre-war western films, the hat, spurs, leather duster and all. The steady aim of the weapon in his hands however, keeps you suspended in a freezing sense of dread.
“Wait!” You are quick to throw your hands up, palms flat and wide spread and facing the ghoul, hoping he will see you as anything but a threat. “Please, I’m just passing through,I don’t want any trouble.”
“Trouble seems to have found you,” the ghoul’s accent is thick, a heavy southern twang grown raspy and dry from years of radiation born rot.
The business end of his rifle does not lower, but his eyes flick across you up and down before focusing on your gear.
“What’s in the bag?”
You consider lying, truth a dangerous thing to be so easily thrown around, but lying feels lethal in the moment. “Maybe two or three days worth of food, water, a few medical supplies,” you settle on half truths, enough that there is nothing to hide written in your expression. “Really not anything worth shooting me over.”
The ghoul snorts out a laugh, “Out here, everything’s worth shooting someone over,” the ghoul drawls, but the gun does not fire. Though laughter abruptly mutates into a cough, dry and wheezing as if his lungs were trying to shrivel up and spit themselves back out.
It does not take you much more than a quick once over of the ghoul to understand what is happening. While hunched over in his coughing fit, you dare to move a few steps closer, squatting down to be near his level. But a quick jerking motion of the rifle stops you, deadly stare halting you as the coughing subsides.
“I can help,” there is a wobble in your voice, fear evident. Your heart feels as though it could pound right out of your chest. He chokes on a scoff, but still you persist. “If you let me, I can help. I have what you need.”
“Touch me, and I'll bite your fucking fingers off,” the ghoul snarls back, waving the rifle at you, but there is less bite to his tone. As if he was weighing his options and finding you were his best chance of survival. “Like hell you even know what I need, might accidentally kill me instead.”
Fingers creep slowly toward the pouch at the strap of your bag, slow as predator stalking prey, the ghoul’s bloodshot eyes tracking your every twitch. The vial catches moonlight as you extract it, semi translucent yellow liquid sloshing around inside. Germaine’s voice echoes in your head, hollow memories reminding you the importance of keeping the vials on hand. Your throat tightens, heart aching at the thought of him. Two winters since you lost him, yet here you are, still hoarding these lifelines whenever you had the caps to spare. A habit too hard for you to shake.
With a desperate rasp, eyes narrowing, the ghoul lunges for the vial, but trembling fingers miss, closing around empty air inches from your hand. The rifle barrel dips, bobbing up and down, scraping against the dirt. Before he recovers, you are on him, one hand clamping around his wrist, twisting until tendons strain beneath your grip. Not enough to snap bone, but enough to make him hiss. Your free hand goes for the rifle, wrenching it away, sending it clattering somewhere into the shadows beyond.
Yellowed teeth flash in the darkness, like daggers, a snarl bubbling up from his throat. Boot heels scrape for purchase, leg twitching up to kick you, but your knee drives into the muscle of his thigh with a thud. It takes only a single hard shove at his chest to send him toppling over, back hitting the dirt. One leg swings over the ghoul’s chest, knees digging into his ribcage as your weight settles onto his hips. Each breath is a struggle, chest heaving beneath you as the ghoul fights his failing body. It is not a fair fight by any means.
Dry lips curl back, teeth flashing in the moonlight. “Get the fuck off me.” The ghoul’s hips twitch weakly beneath yours, resistance dissolving into another fit of coughing. Violent convulsions shaking his entire frame and vibrating up through your thighs, sending heat creeping up your face.
Patting down the ghoul’s coat, your fingers dip into each pocket but come up empty. “Where is your inhaler?” The ghoul’s eyelids droop to half-mast, pupils contracting and dilating as if struggling to keep focus on your face.
Head lolling to one side, the ghoul jerks his chin toward a corner where weathered saddlebags slump against the wall. Stretching, two fingers hook into the cracked leather and drag them close enough to dig through. Beneath layers of junk and supplies, your fingers close around a familiar shape before your eyes confirm it. The smooth plastic curves of an inhaler.
You hold it up in the dim light, the chamber glints. Empty. As the ghoul’s breath grows shallow, his chest barely rises.
Grinding your teeth, you give a rough tap to the ghoul’s leathery cheek. “Stay with me.” His eyelids flutter, bloodshot eyes rolling back. Your fingers fumble with the vial, clicking it into place with one hand while your gaze never leaves his face. “Alright,” your voice cracks, “take a big breath on three.”
Rocking back, thighs trembling against the ghoul's ribs, you ease up the pressure from his chest, just enough so that you can slide a hand beneath his neck. Gentle fingers cradle his neck, spreading to provide support as you lean into him. The fight once raging through the ghoul has diminished, jaw slack, mouth parting without protest as you raise the inhaler to his cracked lips. On three, the plunger clicks, pressing down and releasing a yellow mist that disappears with a heave of the ghoul’s chest, drawing it deep into his lungs. You repeat the action twice more, until the vial hits empty.
Beneath your thighs, his chest begins to rise in a steady smooth rhythm, the rattling of his lungs fading into nothing.
Cracked lips part. “Why the fuck are you helping me?” The ghoul’s words slur at the edges, eyelids heavy, fighting to stay open. Pinprick pupils track your movements, though obscured by half closed lids as your weight shifts atop him.
Your mouth opens, then closes again with an exhale, shoulders sagging beneath some unseen weight. The tips of your fingers trace an absent pattern into your thigh. “Guess I just don’t enjoy watching a ghoul rot away when I know I can do something about it.”
The only response given is the slow, even rise and fall of the ghoul’s chest, jaw going slack, head rolling to one side. You count each breath, watching for any twitch that could mean danger, any sign that he might lunge forward.
When your legs begin to cramp, muscles singing their opposition, you slide off the ghoul, settling cross legged beside him in the dirt. Behind you, the road stretches long and empty, darkness licking the edges of broken asphalt. Your pack lies within arm’s reach, ready to cut and run, yet your fingers curl into the dirt at your sides, rooting yourself in place as surely as if you had grown from the earth itself.
Moonlight casts shadows across the ghoul’s still form, softly illuminating the high ridges of his cheek bones. Uncertainty coils like a knot in your gut, instinct screaming at you to leave, to high tail it out of town before the ghoul wakes, possibly even more volatile than before. But a foolish feeling of hope, perhaps, or a stubborn spark of compassion that refuses to be snuffed out tugs at your heart. Though torn between the fear of anger and violence that could come and the tantalizing possibility of the companionship of another living being, you fear walking back into the lonely darkness even more.
Heaving a sigh, your back presses to the cool surface of concrete, resting your eyes, but not daring to fall asleep. There you wait for the sun to rise alongside the ghoul.
Dawn cracks, splitting the horizon with soft speckles of orange when the ghoul’s body jerks upright. Something catches in his throat, not quite a cough, but not quite a growl. The cold metal of the rifle muzzle presses into your peripheral vision. But your eyes stay on the empty vial balanced between your fingers, staring at it as if it would start sharing secrets if you stare long enough. Numbness has long since crept up your legs and ass from sitting cross legged in the same patch of dirt for hours, leaving you unbothered to move away from the danger.
“You’re still here.” Each syllable drops from the ghoul’s mouth like a heavy stone, as though the words were of some personal offense.
Flicking a thumbnail against a ridge of dirt beneath one of your fingernails, your shoulders rise and fall with a sigh, gaze fixed on a point just beyond the rifle’s sight. “Figured someone ought to be here to roll you over if you started foaming at the mouth.”
Pushing himself up with a grunt, the ghoul’s stiff joints crack with protest, popping like the snap of dry kindling. Using the back of a tattered sleeve, he drags an arm across cracked lips. “Think you’re funny, smoothskin?” Pupils contract to pinpoints, knuckles going white around the rifle grip. Challenging you.
“Never,” your tone is flat, not moving a muscle in your face.
Your attempt at humor earns what you could almost call a laugh from the ghoul, the corners of his mouth pulling just a fraction upward. Relief hits you like a supersledge as his shoulders lower half an inch, sliding the rifle into its holster across his back with practiced motions. Though his gaze lingers for a moment, eventually the ghoul relaxes, head turning away in silent acknowledgement you are no longer perceived as a threat. Not missed by your keen eyes is the way you are still kept in his peripheral, back never turning to you.
Busy fingers rifle through saddlebags, patting pockets, counting possessions before slinging them over his shoulder. “Missed out on a chance, kid,” the drawl of his voice is smooth, almost enough to put you at ease. “Could’ve rolled me and split, would’ve been the smart option.”
Rolling a pebble between your thumb and forefinger, your shoulders rise and fall with a shrug, but you keep the ghoul in your own sight. One hand rests just close enough to the weapon on your hip. “Never claimed to be smart.”
The air between you crackles with unspoken words. Jaw working side to side, the ghoul’s eyes briefly narrow. “You want something,” his tone flattens, matter of fact. “Nobody’s that stupid without reason.”
Resisting a flinch, your eyes dart away, finding interest in a hairline fracture running up the concrete wall, branching out like lightning. Sweat beads at your hairline. Fingers tap against your thigh, drumming a nervous rhythm.
“I’m assuming you are out of vials,” you breathe slowly, striving for calm. From your peripheral vision, you catch his neck snapping around, tendons standing out like cords. Reaching into your pocket, glass clinks together as you pull out two of the yellow cylinders, allowing them to catch in the dim light. “I’ve got more than enough to share...but I want something in return.”
Across from you, the ghoul’s upper lip curls back, exposing time worn yellow teeth. Hazel eyes flick between your face and the vials in your palm, battling the need with the desire to shoot the glass out of spite.
Hands clench, finger twitching once toward the rifle. “You realize,” voice dropping, he leans forward until you can smell the lingering inhalant on his breath, “I could bash your skull in and take the whole lot.”
Swallowing hard, your shoulders square up as you force your voice to steel. “Try it,” knuckles turn white, fist closing tight over the vials. “Make a move against me and I crush them.” The hammering of your pulse betrays your certainty that if he lunges, you are already dead.
The words linger like smoke, but something shifts in the ghoul's gaze, a slight thaw around all those hard edges. Maybe you are not as foolish, as expendable as first thought. Maybe you could prove your worth. Just maybe.
Spurs jingle as the ghoul's foot taps a rapid rhyme against the dirt. “Well?” Voice snapping like a whip before softening as he draws out the words, the ghoul studies your face. “You gonna spit it out or not? Don't got all damn day.” Shifting his weight, he crosses his arms. “What is it you want?
Swallowing hard, you fight the heavy feeling at your tongue. “I need to get to town...” The words hang in the air like dust motes. Silence stretches until you can almost see your words floating away. “Alive, and preferably in one piece.” Fingers twist a loose thread at the hem of your shirt. “Company would help.”
Head tilting back, the ghoul fixes his gaze on the spiderweb of cracks along the ceiling. Expression stern, as if locked in negotiations with ghosts of its past.
Hazel eyes narrow, the ghoul’s gaze circling back to you. “You got a death wish?” Voice scraping like boots on gravel.
Throat tight, your mouth feels dry. “Not today,” but the corner of your lip shifts upward.
A muscle in his jaw twitches, gaze traveling from your face, to the vials still in your hand, down to your well worn boots, and then back up. Silence stretches on, the sound of your heartbeat filling your ears.
“Fine, but I’ve got a job first,” whatever space that lies between you closes, the ghoul entering your bubble as he locks with your eyes. Watching you, testing you. “You do exactly as I say, when I say. Do that, and I will get you to town when the job is done.”
“Deal.”
With a grunt, the ghoul pivots on his heels, stalking toward the exit, debris crunching beneath his boots. Never bothering to check if you are following. Your knees pop as you scramble upright, palm catching a jagged edge of concrete. A red bead wells within your palm, but you wipe it on the leg of your pants as you lurch after him.
Outside, the sun has yet to fully rise, rust orange bleeding from the horizon through surrounding skeletal buildings. Footsteps fall into rhythm with the ghoul as you manage to catch up, a cadence that feels oddly familiar. Like muscle memory from another life.
The job turns out to be a bounty, a revelation that should not be a surprise given the way the ghoul carries himself. As if carrying all the confidence of someone never expecting to see tomorrow, no longer bothered with the concern of fear. Gutted cars and barricades of forgotten debris block the path, but the ghoul cuts a line straight through without a care in the world.
But you follow after him like a lost puppy, stuck on his heels, but always at least two paces behind. Conversation comes and goes in short waves, as if unsure if he feels in the mood for talking or brooding. You give him your name at some point, prompting you to ask for his in return.
A bark of a laugh is your response, a sound that gives you a small emotional jab of pain. “Let’s not be tryin’ to get all personal darlin’,” the southern drawl is extra thick in his voice, sounding all the more condescending. “This here is a business relationship, nothing else. Don’t go thinkin’ I care more than that.”
Nearly tripping over yourself in attempts to respond, you receive only a half turned glance that seals your lips for another mile. Worse than being seen as a job is being seen as a burden. But you choose not to divulge that information.
Halfway through the next day, after hours of dragging feet through cracked asphalt and the sun beating down your neck, you see the ruins of a town ahead. A single gas station at the center of town stands as the sole point of interest. When the distance closes, you feel the ghoul’s hand clamp onto your shoulder, fingers digging in as he yanks you behind a concrete barricade, knees scraping on the way down. A palm remains on your shoulder, forcing you to stay low, out of sight. Squinting, you follow his line of sight, spotting movement on the far side of the street.
Breath catching, you watch a figure in tattered combat gear hunch over an overturned toolbox, rifling through the contents with surgical precision. Something is hovering above. An Eyebot, chassis full of dents and roughly patched with century old license plates. To the right, a Mr. Handy, jets whirring, armed with a rotary saw and flamer. Behind them all, sunlight barely reflects off rust tainted paint as a Protectron shifts its weight with a mechanical groan.
“Is that the bounty?” You keep yourself pressed flat against the ground, but you try to turn to look at him.
No answer is given. Instead he unholsters the rifle from his back and fixes you with a stern look, “Stay put. Don’t move unless you enjoy laser burns. Got it?”
Afraid to speak, lest you catch unwanted attention, you give a wide eyed nod and watch the ghoul’s eyes narrow before he vaults the barricade with a dancer’s grace. Despite the heat, you shiver. Through a fracture in the barricade, you watch him move in a zigzag, disappearing into the maze of ruined storefronts.
Five minutes pass before the silence cracks. One bullet tears through the bounty's thigh, spraying the street with a mist of blood, another glancing off his clavicle, shattering the bone. Though you look, you are unable to spot the ghoul or the barrel of his weapon.
Before another bullet can finish off the bounty, the three bots shift, moving to provide cover as the man struggles to drag himself behind the chest. The Eyebot spots the ghoul first, stalking out from a doorframe full of shattered glass.
A tight feeling enters your chest, watching as the Mr. Handy charges first, saw extended and spinning with lethal intent. Sparks fly as the blade hits brick, only missing the ghoul by inches as he ducks and rolls to the side. It is enough of a distraction for the bounty, as he seizes the moment by daring to peek his head above the safety of his cover, firing a shot that misses by a mile.
From below, the ghoul draws the revolver from his hip, blowing off the Mr. Handy’s arm with an explosive shot that sends bits of metal falling like drops of rain. Though thrown back in the blast, the bot persists, arms rotating as a cone of flame erupts from another limb. Laser fire singes stone as the Eyebot struggles to lock aim on the ghoul ducking and weaving as if partaking in some deadly dance. Watching the Protectron lumber that direction fills you with a sickly feeling of dread.
You don’t remember standing, but suddenly you are exposed, a pistol with not nearly enough bullets to matter in hand. Two of your eight rounds fly striking the Eyebot. For a moment it sputters, bobbing in the air as smoke begins to bellow out from the seams before ultimately it falls to the ground with a loud clang. Unfortunate for you, this draws the bounty’s attention. A few seconds is all you have to dive behind a fallen mailbox before a bullet strikes the air where your head had just been.
Pressing yourself flush to a broken slab of sidewalk, your head rocks to the side, locking eyes with the ghoul for a fleeting second. From the ground you slide your pistol forward, shooting a single round at the Mr. Handy that does minimal damage. But it does pull focus on you, giving the ghoul opportunity to flank. Giving himself space, the ghoul shoots the fuel tank, causing a small explosion. The bot hisses like escaping steam, limbs trembling before self immolating.
That leaves just the Protectron and the bounty.
Electricity sparks to life from the center of the robot’s metal hands. Just before those claws clamp around his shoulders, the ghoul pivots and fires. Not at the Protectron. The bounty leans out from his cover, revolver in hand and taking aim. Before his finger can squeeze the trigger, the hand is gone, only a bloody stump below the wrist.
The stench of burning flesh assaults your nose even from yards away as the Protectron grapples the ghoul, shocking him. Breaking cover, your knees scrape asphalt as you sprint, emptying the last of your rounds into the back of the robot’s head. Not a budge. You could reload, you have the ammunition, but the trembling of your hands leads you to believe more would end up on the ground rather than in the gun. Out of other options, and crunching on time, you grab the first sturdy object in reach. A thick shaft of rebar.
With as much heft as you can manage, a loud crack resonates as you bring the bar down over the back of the Protectron’s head. A large dent is left in its wake, but it is still locked around the ghoul. Over and over you bring down your makeshift club onto the bot until the metal gives way, crunching and splitting.
As soon as the sparks cease, no longer cooking him alive, the ghoul plants a boot on the main body of the Protectron and kicks it over without ceremony. Smoke wafts from twin burns on the arms of his leather duster, somehow only slightly blackened. When your eyes meet, you are expecting some sort of token of gratitude or appreciation for the aid. But those hazel eyes harden into an unreadable look, the ghoul practically shoulder checking you as he brushes past you without care.
During the struggle, the bounty has managed to drag himself further behind the overturned tool chest, as if that somehow would shield and spare him. But a wide smear of blood marks his path.
“Wait wait wait!” The bounty throws his hands... well, hand up as the ghoul stalks up to him, sobbing as he tries to push himself further away by bracing his legs against the dirt. “Please, I can pay you! Whatever they are offering I can-”
A gaping hole blown into the center of his chest cuts off whatever plea the bounty was going to offer, blood trickling from his mouth as he gives one bubbling gurgle before sagging. Lifeless. When the ghoul pulls a bone saw from his bags, you have to look away, staring at a wall, the sky, anything but the mess.
“Thought I told you to stay put,” he growls, pausing before getting to work on the body. “Coulda got yourself killed making a stupid move like that.”
Something rises up in you, heat flushing your cheeks as the hairs on the back of your neck stand. “That’s a pretty shitty way of saying thanks for saving my life,” screw the bloody mess, you turn back on the ghoul with ire in your eyes.
He laughs. But those eyes are sharp, looking you over, slowly tracking lower and lower until they pause. Tracing the same path with your own eyes, you see what has caught the ghoul’s interest. A stain blooming deep red down your inner thigh. As much as you want to convince yourself it is a wound, some cut from a stray bullet, you know better.
“Fuck,” you continue to stare at the patch of blood, as if doing so would make it dissappear with willpower alone. “FUCK!”
“What, you get shot in the dick or somethin’?” The ghoul is grinning, a mean look that is full of teasing, but with just a tiny ounce of something more.
“No...just..,” between two fingers, you pluck the fabric of your pants, the tacky feeling of it wanting to cling to your skin. Tears sting your eyes. “Fuck.”
Rather than elaborate further, you scramble away, shoving past the ghoul in a rough move as you search for shelter. A public restroom. The door barely clings to the hinges, but it will do. Slamming the door, you stuff yourself into a stall, ripping off your belt and pulling at your waistband to survey the damage.
Blood, yes. Enough to soak through the entirety of your underwear and through the thick denim of your pants. Enough to leave the fabric sticky and growing cold. Sitting on the floor, head in your hands, you bite back the urge to cry, choking on humiliation.
Three deep breaths. Removing the lid off the back of the toilet provides a small ounce of relief, finding only mildly questionable water. Stripping everything below the waist, you dunk your underwear, scrubbing at the fabric until your hands begin to ache, wringing the pinkish water out into the bowl.
“You know,” the suddenness of the ghoul’s voice just outside the stall makes you freeze. “It is considered rude walkin’ away from someone while talkin’.”
“Go away,” your voice is halfway between a groan and whine, similar to that of a dying animal.
The following silence leads you to believe the ghoul has granted your request, but then the door comes slamming inwards, forcing you back up onto the seat of the toilet. Standing in the doorway of the stall, the ghoul stares down at you. Bloody underwear are still clutched tight in your hands, your thighs slightly parted and leaving nothing to the imagination. You can feel his eyes scanning you up and down before you think to cover yourself.
There is a moment where all you do is lock eyes with each other, as if having a full conversation without uttering a word. No joke, no gross comment or leering sneer. Just standing there, looking, eyes almost appearing softer.
“Ten minutes,” the softness of his voice surprises you, almost making you question if this is even the same ghoul. “Then I’m gone, with or without you.”
You watch as he turns to leave.
Just before he is out the door, he pauses, barely glancing back over his shoulder at you. “Cooper.” He does not elaborate, does not wait for you to question the sudden name. Just walks out the door as soon as it is out of his mouth.
When it dawns on you, the significance of the name, you can’t help the way the corners of your lips pull upward. He gave you his name. A trade off of sorts. Seeing you in such a private, exposed, vulnerable state, but giving you something he would consider of equal worth.
As you begin to redress in now damp but slightly cleaner clothing, a wad of scrap cloth between your legs, you find yourself feeling safer than you have all day. Maybe, just maybe, the ghoul is not as bad as he wants you to believe.
Something shifts in the atmosphere between you in the first mile away from the macabre scene you leave behind. Nothing drastic. Perhaps newfound mutual respect, or at least understanding. Not as concrete as trust, but a level of relaxation in the air, loosening muscles that were once coiled and ready to strike. You would never acknowledge this change out loud, almost sure that it would set you back. The ghoul would certainly not. But it is there all the same.
Though given his name, in a strange act of deference, you never utter it, choosing to keep it sealed behind your teeth no matter how much the urge burns whenever his ruined face glances your way. It feels dangerous, something not quite allowed. Feeling like the kind of thing reserved for behind closed doors.
Silence is still common, but in a day’s worth of travel you find conversation to be less of a rare commodity. It feels...comfortable. Far too late you realize that you might want this to last longer, for your time with Cooper to last longer. But a dark mass on the horizon stands out against the smear of violent pinks and oranges of the sky, taking shape the closer you get. A town.
Relief and dread mix in your gut, making it flip and churn with unpleasant sensation. Reaching town will provide food, water, maybe even a roof over your head for the night. But it also means the end of the road.
The final approach to the settlement is still a few hours walk through the broken wreckage across flatlands. Cresting a low ridge, you spy the town perimeter. A haphazard fence of welded metal and stacks of scrap cars, watch towers standing at each corner and the main gate.
If the ghoul notices how your pace slows in the final stretch, he makes no mention of it, only gives a quick side glance.
“You made good time,” the ghoul eventually gives, scanning the horizon as if searching for something else to say. “Didn’t think you’d last the trip.”
There should be a sting from his words, but there is none. You take them as intended. Off handed praise.
“Thanks,” you allow yourself a small smile, meeting his eyes. After a few seconds he looks away, as if the sun was in his eyes.
Together, you close the distance to town, feeling the tension gathering, the world closing and ready to crumble down on your small circle of peace. A pair of guards stand at the gate, surly but professional, waving you through with only a second glance. Once you have cleared the gates and are off the main path, the ghoul stops walking.
“Looks like this is where you pay up and we part ways,” his tone is easy, but the words still feel like a punch to the gut.
Not trusting yourself to speak, you give a small nod, digging through pockets and producing four yellow vials. Cradled in your palm, you hold them up in offering. “As promised,” you find your voice, but it is soft enough to be barely above a whisper. “Thank you for getting me this far.”
Moving gently, he handles the vials with such care you half expect them to shatter anyway, long fingers sliding them off your palm with surprising delicacy. A thumb brushes the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, a gesture so careful it seems accidental. You almost expect him to say something soft, almost. Instead the ghoul grunts, tucking the vials inside his coat and turns away muttering, “Don’t get yourself killed.”
You want to say something, anything that would make him stay, but there is nothing else that you can offer. Coat tails catch dust as the ghoul walks away, slipping through the crowd and disappearing with such ease it is hard to believe he was ever there in the first place. For longer than you would like to admit, you stand at the gates, ignoring the stares of locals. Eventually, you push yourself to move, because it is all you can do.
Finding the general store is easy enough. Pushing open the heavy door greets you with the clatter of a bell, the smell of musty fabric and gun oil hitting you with full strength. Inside the walls are lined with dented shelves, but blessedly stocked with enough clean water and packaged food to supply a small army. Behind the counter sits a man, peering down at a battered ledger with one good eye, his only eye.
“Can I help ya?” He smiles at you, and although it is more hole than teeth, it feels warm and welcoming.
“Just looking for food, water, maybe some medical supplies,” you say, already moving towards a shelf stacked top to bottom with boxes of pre-war food. The shop owner grunts, gesturing with his hand at the shelves.
After a few minutes, you return to the counter, setting down enough supplies to last you two weeks at least, a month maybe if you ration. It forms a moderate pile. You watch with vague interest as the man begins to add up your total, but something resting within a case behind him catches your eye.
Fading light flickers off glass, casting speckles of yellow across the ceiling and walls. “How much for those?” You point toward the three vials, the shop owner turning to follow your line of sight.
The man smiles, waddling with a bum leg to the case to retrieve the vials and sets them amongst your stack of supplies. “Tell ya what,” he watches your face for a moment before nodding, as if contemplating something and coming to his own decision within a fraction of a second. “For the whole lot, call it three hundred even.”
You have seen the same amount of vials alone sell for triple the price. Either this man is a fool, or is incredibly kind. Seeing the prices marked on some of the other items behind the counter, you have a feeling it is the latter.
“Deal.” Counting out the caps, you slide them across the counter, and pack away your purchases into your bag. The vials you keep tucked in the pocket of your coat.
By the time you finish and step back out onto the street, the sun is already sliding down behind the hills, orange having faded into a deep purple. For a few minutes you wander town, absentmindedly wondering where the ghoul had gone off to before you can catch yourself. Best not to dwell and let the feelings grow. At the far end of town is a motel, neon signs flashing in waves of red and blue.
The main lobby is empty besides a frail woman, looking thin enough a strong breeze could blow her over. But the shotgun resting on the countertop near her hand likely keeps trouble away well enough.
“I need a room,” you muster up a smile, resting your hands on the counter.
“Sorry, kid,” she begins, sighing and looking past you as if you were the least interesting thing in the world. “Just had a ghoul come through, booked the last one.”
Air leaves your nose in a hot rush, heaving your own sigh as you push off the counter and storm back out the way you came. Outside, the temperature has already begun to drop, a chill running down your spine underneath the dying light. For a moment you consider finding a place undercover to curl up for the night, but you lack the willpower to move. So you stand there, watching the faint fog of your breath.
“Fancy meetin’ you here,” a familiar voice calls from your right, pulling your attention. The ghoul leans against the wall, one boot propped up behind him, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk gracing his face. Hazel eyes catch in the neon light as they sweep over your dejected posture. “Let me guess, no vacancy? Seems I must’ve got the last room.”
“It would appear so,” taking three steps toward him, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth, you struggle to meet his gaze. When you finally look up, your fingers twitch and twist at your waist. “Was thinking...maybe we could work out another deal.”
Skin pulls tight over Cooper’s cheek bones, the corner of his mouth quirks upward and brow ridge lifting in clear question. Pulse quickening, a flush crawls up your neck that has nothing to do with the night air.
“Just picked these up from the general store,” you reach into your coat pocket, producing three vials, palm tilting to let them catch in the neon light. The yellow liquid glows bright against surrounding darkness. “Share your room and they are all yours.”
Lips curl at the corners, grin slowly spreading across his face as teeth begin to dully gleam in the darkness. Narrowing eyes flick from the vials in your palm to your face, and back again. Pushing off the wall, boards creaking beneath his weight, he closes the distance between you in two strides. A palm turns upward between you.
One of your hands slips beneath his, steadying it while you place the vials gently into his awaiting palm. Fingertips brush as you curl his fingers closed around the glass. Even through the leather of his gloves, you feel his warmth despite the night chill. Your thumb moves up, brushing a sliver of exposed skin at his wrist. His eyes find yours, pupils wide.
Abruptly, you release him and look away, appreciating the red glow of the motel signs hiding the color of your cheeks.
“Well, come on then,” he mutters, already turning toward the motel entrance, pausing at the doorway until he hears your hurried footsteps as you follow.
The door swings open to reveal a room with peeling wallpaper and a single bed, so worn down that a few springs poke out one side through the threadbare sheets. A couch sits against one wall, sagging in the middle in a human shaped depression, and held together by mismatched patches of fabric covering decades worth of tears. Behind the closed door on one wall, you assume you will find a bathroom. Your eyes focus on the mattress, small, but wide enough for two.
Tossing the room key onto the nightstand, Cooper begins to shrug off his bandolier and holsters, coat following suit. They hit the floor with a soft thud. “Couch is yours.”
Your shoulders drop an inch, swallowing hard, fingers tightening around the strap of your pack before setting it down beside the couch with deliberate care. Something in your chest aches as you watch him claim the bed with casual indifference, one hand pressing into the mattress to test its give.
Ducking into the bathroom, you mutter something about taking a shower, but Cooper is already halfway horizontal, boots thudding one after the other against the floor as you close the door. Pipes groan and spit a thick rust colored substance before water finally cascades down. Twisting beneath the spray, you let the water work the knot between your shoulders. Fingers press into your lower abdomen, massaging slow circles as another cramp ripples through you. When the tightness loosens, you reluctantly turn the squeaky knob, the pipes groaning protest.
Wrapping a fraying towel around yourself, you crack open the bathroom door, stepping out when all you hear is the slow rhythm of the ghoul’s breathing. Lying near diagonal across the bed, Cooper rests with one arm flung wide, the other curled against his chest. On the nightstand rests his revolver, safely within reach, and moonlight catches a sharp metallic edge peeking from beneath his pillow.
Pulling clothes on over damp skin, fresh cloth between your thighs, you ease onto the couch. A spring digs unpleasantly into your thigh. You shift positions three times before finding one that isn't entirely uncomfortable. Outside, boots scrape against gravel, a bottle shatters, someone laughs. More distant, a pack of dogs howl. Eyes drift, tracing over Cooper’s shadow on the bed, over the curve of his shoulders and hollow of his throat. Limbs grow heavy, darkness slowly swallowing you whole, dragging you into a sleep sweeter than you have known in months.
Heat greets you in sleep, dreams finding you back in the wasteland, only this time the sky is crimson and the ground sizzles with every step. The ghoul, Cooper, is with you, gripping your hand tight. You tell him to let go, but he only pulls, dragging you closer until heavy breath wafts over your neck. Kisses sear down your throat, burning all the way down your spine and leaving the prickling sting of need.
A hand spreads across your sternum, the weight gentle at first, but growing, pressing until you both lower to the ground. It isn’t enough pressure to hurt, but you can’t move, not even to touch him in return. Mouth moving lower, Cooper does more than kiss, something that burns with fiery intent. Nuzzling your throat first, he then bites your neck. Not enough to break skin, just enough to hurt, echoing the shadow of a threat that lets heat bloom under your skin.
The ghoul laughs when you gasp, the sound breathy and bordering a moan. “What’s the matter? Scared?” Ending in a growl, he runs a palm down your belly. “Or is it somethin’ else?” Words wouldn’t leave your lips even if you could find them.
Dipping lower, a thumb hooks into your waistband, dragging it down, leaving you feeling exposed yet helpless to stop it. Not that you want it to stop. You want it, even as you burn with the knowledge that blood awaits below. Cooper finds it, of course, wants it even. Making a show by dragging a thumb through your folds, bringing the wetness to his lips to lick clean with a flourish, eyes never straying from your face.
With a gasp, you wake, heart pounding, chest tight, and wetness between your clenched thighs that has nothing to do with menstrual blood. Already your hand is trapped between your legs, pressed over your clit. You must have been grinding against your palm in your sleep, friction already feeling all too much while not enough as you try to shift. Need throbs along with the beat of your heart.
Unable to shake the dream from your mind, you resume palming yourself, chasing your pleasure in desperation. Tension is there, ready to draw tight and snap at any moment. It is almost embarrassing how badly you want to cum. Ashamed by the reality of being so close to the edge from just a dream.
Springs creak, a soft whisper of sound coming from the bed, but you ignore it. Until a voice soon follows. “You gonna keep that up all night, or you gonna finish and let a guy sleep?”
Hand half buried between your thighs, you freeze, caught between humiliation and pure need, wishing the floor could just open up and swallow you. Breath trapped in your throat, your eyes flick to the side, just making out the shape of him through the dark.
“Don’t stop on my account,” there is the soft rustling of sheets as Cooper shifts, turning to watch you, head propped on his hand. “If you’re going to make that much noise, might as well finish. Some people are tryin’ to sleep.”
“Sorry...” When you find your voice, it is little more than a wheeze.
A beat of silence. Cooper sits up on the bed, elbows resting on his knees as he leans even further towards you, face hidden in shadow. But you see the flash of teeth as he grins.
“Need some help with that, darlin’?” Though the tease is clear in his tone, Cooper almost sounds out of breath.
Swallowing hard, you glance back up at the ceiling, mind racing with so many thoughts, so many questions. Was this still part of your dream? But your mouth works faster, the only sound coming out is a soft, “Yes.”
“That’s what I thought.”
You don’t remember standing. Shivering from the cold, nerves and adrenaline combined, your legs feel like jelly, wobbling unsteadily on your feet. You feel as graceless as a child. But you reach the bed, standing at the edge of the mattress between Cooper’s spread legs, unsure if you should lie down, sit, or run away.
Something in your eyes must betray your nerves, a clear outcry for guidance, for in a surprisingly tender moment, the ghoul reaches out to grab your hands, thumb stroking your knuckles. A gentle tug has you moving forward, knees hitting the mattress. It is enough to spur you back into motion. On hands and knees, you crawl the rest of the way up the bed, rough sheets rasping at your shins.
Cooper scoots closer, swinging his legs up to kneel at the foot of the bed. Resting on your back, knees pulled halfway to your chest, you watch as he pulls off his leather gloves with his teeth, tossing them without care to the side. Rough, warm palms wrap around your ankles, sliding up the length of your calves, up your thighs, before hooking into the band of your underwear.
“Wait,” shame has you reaching out, closing around both his wrists to keep him still when you feel the slightest tug at the fabric. Maybe in your dreams he was all too eager to find the mess that awaits him. But reality? Not so likely. “I’m still bleed-”
“Shut up,” the tone of his voice lacks heat, simply unbothered, undramatic, as if telling the dark to stay dark.
Putting you enough at ease to release your hold, letting out the breath you hadn't known you were holding as Cooper gives your hips a firm yet gentle squeeze. Steady hands drag your waistband down, exposing you to his eyes inch by inch. When free of your ankles, he drops the garment over the side of the bed.
Hands are once more upon your burning flesh, teasing up your calves before hooking under the crook of your knees. Spreading your legs wide, the ghoul grins, staring at his newly revealed treasure until you feel the itch to squirm under the weight of his gaze. You want to, but those hands finally move to secure your hips, anchoring them in place. Fingers dig into soft flesh, holding you open as if he owns you.
Warm breath fans across your folds, sending a jolt up your spine that has you bucking against hands keeping you down. A sudden irrational fear flickers through your mind that he is going to eat you alive, but you are too far gone with need to not risk it. Tensing, you expect him to be rough, hot and heavy from the start, but Cooper surprises you. Gently, the tip of his tongue traces up and down the outline of your labia, ending with a long upstroke that ends with a teasing pass at your clit.
Gasping as his tongue flattens, wide and steady pressure working you from bottom to top, you clutch at the sheets. Humming against you, the ghoul circles your clit before enveloping it in his mouth for a brief, teasing suck. If he was not already holding you down, he would be now, hips fighting to arch and buck against the heat of his mouth.
Shame hasn’t fully left, and you think to ask reassurance that he really does not mind the strong scent of iron, the heavy taste of copper on his tongue. Every time your mouth opens to ask, he tongues you harder, delving into your depths or paying extra attention to your clit, as if he could taste your words before they can escape your lips and chooses to replace them with other, sweeter sounds.
Beneath you, the mattress shakes. Trailing your eyes down, you watch as Cooper grinds his hips against the bed, desperate for friction, getting off at the taste of you on his tongue. That knowledge pushes you even closer to the edge.
Something in you feels brave, willing to take a chance, test a theory. “Cooper,” voice little more than a breathy moan, you test his name on your tongue.
Whatever you are expecting, it is not the way he grins against your heat. Eyes snap to yours, maintaining eye contact as he curls his tongue in a way that has your toes curling. It is all too sweet, stars painting your vision.
The cry that leaves your lips as Cooper pulls away should feel humiliating, sounding so pathetic and desperate for him to come back. Unintelligible pleas and whimpers leave you, hands reaching for the ghoul’s, but instead closing around empty air.
“Greedy one ain’t you?” Streaks of red paint Cooper’s lips as he leans back, hands working his belt and pants open to free himself. “Shouldn’t be havin’ all the fun just by yourself.”
Another moan escapes past your lip at the sight of Cooper’s hard, heavy length the moment he is free from the tight constraint of his pants. The tip is flushed a deep pink, already leaking in a steady stream. Wrapping one hand around himself, the ghoul gives himself a few slow pumps, the other hand sliding up your inner thigh to caress where hip and leg meet.
No other warning is given before two fingers slide knuckle deep into your already dripping entrance. You groan at the sudden stretch, the fullness. Working you open, Cooper crooks his fingers just right to make your vision blur, knees quake.
Pleasure burns through you like a roaring fire, bringing you to the ridge of ecstasy, feet digging at the mattress for purchase, to brace yourself for the fall. Those fingers know how to play you right, as if strumming beautiful music on a guitar. When you feel a third finger slide in, you scream, raw and ravaged.
As sudden and helpless as being shoved off a cliff, your orgasm hits like a tidal wave that drowns away everything but the feeling of your walls clamping around the ghoul’s fingers. You convulse, back arching and hips bucking wild to drive those fingers just a little deeper. Cooper works you through the peak, thumb adding pressure to your clit that has you sobbing. Even as you come down, not stopping until you are squirming away from the overstimulation.
“Let me,” you are barely able to work words past your lips, throat raw and hoarse from the steady stream of moans and final climactic scream. Hoping the message is clear enough through action alone, you reach for the hand stroking himself now in a faster rhythm, seeking to find his own end.
If you were not so keenly aware of everything that is Cooper, you would miss the way he briefly falters, caught off guard by the brush of your fingertips on his shaft. But he recovers quickly, grinning wide as he pulls his hand away.
“By all means,” you think he has more to say, but whatever it is gets lost when you close a fist around him. All that comes is a hiss through clenched teeth.
Bracing against the mattress, the ghoul snaps his hips up to meet your fist in sharp thrusts, your timing right to meet him at the base every stroke. It doesn’t take long for his rhythm to fumble. When your fingers tighten their hold it drags a groan from him, the extra friction driving him wild.
Then you are watching as Cooper raises one hand, gazing at the three blood stained fingers with a look lost somewhere between hunger and lust. When his tongue peeks out to flick, just to get a taste, you stare with jaw slack, barely remembering to keep up the motion of your hand. Plunging all three into his mouth, the ghoul sucks your flavor off his fingers with a sinful moan. It seems to be the final thread that snaps, for not a second later you feel the first spurt as he paints your mound and belly. Marking you.
You keep up the motion of your hand until you feel him begin to soften and pull away. While you sag boneless into the mattress, Cooper tucks himself away behind his zipper before collapsing beside you. Subtle heat ripples through you as his eyes examine his work, a finger dipping into a puddle just above your pubic bone. With the same finger, he runs one last teasing stroke up your length, circling your clit to reward himself a final shriek.
Both of you lie there for a moment, out of breath and quaking with the aftershocks because it is all you can do. It is almost tender. As your head lolls toward him, the ghoul hooks a finger under your chin to tilt it up, eyes only cast on your lips. When rough, warm lips press against yours it feels as if your heart skips a beat.
All too quick the moment is over. Just as you begin to kiss back, pressing a hand to his chest and running it up to his neck, Cooper leans away. Something churns behind those blown wide pupils, a conflict of emotion you can’t read. But then you feel a nudge, followed by another, and suddenly you are falling. Landing on the floor with a soft thud, you blink, mind taking too long to make sense of things, turning back to the ghoul with wide, questioning eyes.
“Back to the couch.”
“But..” You want to argue, to question, but Cooper is already turning away, rolling to lie on his back in the center of the bed. Leaving you in a whirlwind of emotions that you try to piece together. Shame? Used? Rejected? None of them really seem to align with your feelings, as though connection was made before stalling at the next hurdle.
Huffing, your hands fumble around the floor to gather your underwear, pulling them up over your legs. A handkerchief rests on the nearest nightstand. Snatching it, you use it to wipe the drizzle of cum off yourself and then let it drop to the floor. Your legs are unsteady as you stand, forcing you to take it slow on your adventure back to the couch. When you finally hit the cushions, it is as if exhaustion punches you in the face, quickly coming to claim you. As you let it drag you away into heavy, dreamless sleep, you smile. With over a dozen yellow vials stashed away in your pack, you may just be able to convince Cooper to let you tag along a little longer.
Warnings : SMUT , P in V , Porn w/ Plot , Yandere Themes , Stalking , Dub-Consent , Mutual Pining , Exhibitionism , Switch ! Jabber ofc
AN! : I’m a little peeved about the ‘headcannon’s’ goin around about jabber being dumb. So, imma write a college fic where he’s a super smart yandere chem major. Eat that.
Jabber would like to consider himself, a genius.
He was at the top of his class, already secured an internship in his field, and with the amount of credits he’s accrued he might just graduate early.
But..
There was one enigma he just couldn’t get a grapple on…
You.
On the outside, you were just like everyone else.
Average grades, small friend group, and a decent looking face.
There was something about you he just felt was.. different.
And, like any project he’s completed before, he was bound to get to the bottom of it.
It only started to take shape that time he decided to follow you into the library.
You specifically snuck into the right corner of the building. The one he’s frequented when there was specifically grueling test coming up.
The Science Section.
Nobody sat here. Hell nobody even stayed here long enough to sit!
Everybody he knew of would just grab what they needed and leave.
That’s why, he was surprised to find you sat there on the small sofa, next to some other boring looking guy.
The couch you both sat on was facing away from the entrance to the small sectioned off room.
He thought of many ways he’d approach you, start up casual conversation to get a gauge of your demeanor, throw in a few ignorant jokes to get you comfortable, then maybe hint at another time you’d meet togeth-
Wait.
The guy’s looking back in his direction.
He whisked backward, his back hitting the bookshelf he was tucked behind.
Ignoring the weird expression from the girl beside him, he held his position. Watching.
You scoot in closer to the man, your head falling onto his shoulder.
Jabber rolled his eyes, a fucking study date ? You don’t even take chemistry, biology. You don’t know a thing about science. He would know!
You leaned up, whispered something in his ear, and he shuddered.
Jabber needed to get closer. He couldn’t hear what was being said.
He walked, as casually as he could, to stand right outside the entrance, pretending to look for a book on the shelf outside the room.
“ Nobody comes in the section, don’t worry Dom. “ You whispered.
Jabber could hear a faint clicking sound, and soft whimpers.
“ But, this is weird, this is wrong, I- I don’t know if I like it. “
“ D’aww, “ you cooed, nipping the cusp of his ear making him stifle a moan, “ your cock says other wise. “
Jabbers heart skipped in his chest.
He glanced over to see you stroking Don- no- Dom’s cock in your hand.
Of all the times he’d followed you around campus, not once have you done something like this.
He closed his eyes, already imagining what’d it feel like to be in Dog- er- Dom’s position.
“ You scared ? “
He’d shake his head, “ No, of course not. I want somebody to come in here, tell em to enjoy the show. “
He’d snake his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer.
“ Kiss me already. “
You’d squeeze him harder.
“ Ah~! “
“ What do we say ? “
“ Please, please kiss me. “
“ What ? “
Jabber blinked, turning around to face some tall, lanky guy with bonde hair, black clothes and badly cut eyebrows.
He swallowed, “ You say somethin’ ? “
“ Can you move ? You’re blocking the book I want to get. “
“ Shit are manners outdated nowadays ? Sheesh. “ Jabber shoved past him.
He began to walk out of the library, not before giving one final glance into the section.
You met his eyes.
You winked at him.
He couldn’t fight the maniacal smile spreading across his face.
You woke up early one morning to get a head start on your day.
Made it into the wash room before everyone else, made a small breakfast, sending a picture of it to your group chat.
Zanka | Damn you trying to lose weight ? That’s nothing.
You | Not intentionally, I’m in a bit of a rush lol.
You face timed Zanka, to see him applying a thin layer of eyeliner over his eyelids.
“ I wish you’d go all out, stop being chicken. “
“ I’m not a chicken, I’d just rather not stick out more than I already do. “
Though you and Zanka had very different aesthetics, with his dark makeup and even darker clothing, you still became fast friends at the beginning of the school year.
“ Need help finding what to wear again ? “
He was also a fashion major. Go figure.
“ Yeah just give me a sec. “
Back in your own room, you started getting dressed while listening to Zanka drone on and on about some fabric he couldn’t find.
As you pulled your pants up your legs, something outside your window caught your eye.
There was a tall, light skinned man with dark brown locs leaned up against the building next door.
He was facing a different direction, but you could still see the shape of his eyes.
Staring right up at you.
“ Hellooo ? You dressed yet ? Let me see. “
You felt a shiver race through you, your chest feeling colder all of the sudden, making you cover yourself.
The man scoffed, biting back the smile spreading across his dimpled cheeks.
You turned away, pulling an oversized cardigan over your head and picking up the phone to give Zanka a quick look.
“ Meh, that’s good I guess. Wear your doc’s too. “
“ Yeah, ok I gotta go now. “
Before you let him respond, you hung up.
Looking back out your window again, the man was gone.
You sighed.
You didn’t know how to truly grasp the handsome toxicologist’s attention.
Until…
He glanced, and then he double takes.
You.
You were sat in the middle row of his chemistry seminar.
His first thought was to casually sit next to you, and pretend he didn’t know what color panties you had on today.
But- he decided against it.
And sat directly in front of you.
You blinked.
That.. wasn’t what you wanted him to do.
You huffed, you’d already pulled some strings to get this class on your schedule, the last thing you’d want is for your plan to backfire.
You stared holes into the back of his head, licking your lips at the thought of it between your thighs.
You tipped your foot out, trying to graze your shoe against the back of his chair when-
“ Hey, did you finish last weeks exam ? I definitely failed. “
Jabber flinched, turned to see Momoa slump into the seat next to him.
Had he not felt your eyes boring into him before, he definitely felt them now.
“ Y-Yeah I did, had some extra time on my hands y’know. “
He faught the urge to look back at you.
Were you jealous ?
Did you think she was his girlfriend ?
Did you-
Momoa tapped him, pulling her headphones to the side, “ Did you hear me ? “
The table behind him rattled.
The classroom fell silent as you exited the room.
Jabber caught the way you glared at him before leaving.
That night, in the safety of your bedroom, you touched yourself, daydreaming about all the different ways he’d fuck you.
Would he be gentle? You hoped not.
You hoped he was rough and brazen.
Uncaring whether your roommates would hear you.
You hoped he’d take you in front of that green haired bitched who dared to lay her hands on him.
You grunted, your mood was ruined.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow’s the day you finish this.
Jabber skipped behind you as you stomped toward the library, bitting back excited laughter.
( This should be good.. REAL good! )
You slipped into the science section quietly, leaning back against the sofa.
Jabber glanced around him to make sure no one else followed, and slipped into the secluded room with you.
He eased back on the sofa next to you, trying not to brush his leg with yours.
There was an earie silence between you both, jabber shaking with excitement about the unknown. The unexpected.
“ You bastard. “
He stilled.
“ How long do you wanna keep doing this ? “
He blinked.
You turned, grimacing, “ Stringing me along when you know I want you ? “
“ You can’t be serious. “
You froze, eyebrows raised.
He faced you, disgust written all over his face. “ Weren’t you just jerking some dickhead off right where we’re sittin’ ? “
“ That- that was different. “
He chuffed.
“ That was to get your attention! “
“ You already had my attention! I’ve been watchin’ you for weeks, you’re only just now noticin’. “
You blinked, then smiled.
“ Really~? “ You hummed.
“ Mhm.. I know what time you get out class, your favorite food, I even started tracking your cycle. “
You crawled up to him, pushing him down and on his back beneath you.
“ And how’d you manage that ? “
“ I pay attention in biology sweetheart. I know that your follicular phase is up, and right now you’re ovulating. Waiting on somebody to stuff you full. “
You swiped your tongue out to wet your lips. He watched.
“ Maybe, but what if I already got somebody for that ? What makes you think I want you ? “
“ Dom’s gone sweetheart. I may or may have not have seen him throwin’ up his lunch in the bathroom yesterday. Somethin’ about food poisoning ? “ He faux questioned.
“ And, what makes you think I need you ? I already got a wet hole to fuck apparently. “
“ Not anymore. I think I heard she got her schedule mixed up! She probably will miss class for the rest of the semester I’d say. “ You feigned remorse.
He chuckled, “ You’re a little evil aren’t you beautiful ? “
“ For you, I’d be any-damn-thing. “
You were on him, smashing your lips against his in a bruising kiss.
He didn’t have much time to react, with the way you sat up on top of him.
You felt his hands begin to roam, sliding them up your shirt to unclasp your bra.
You shoved his arms back, using both hands to pin his wrists.
“ What’s wrong ? Don’t want this anymore ? “
“ Shut up, and don’t touch me unless I tell you you can. “
“ Fuck, yes ma’am. “
You ground your hips against his crotch, feeling his cock poke you through his sweats.
He kept groaning and grunting so loudly, he must’ve forgotten you were both in a library.
You clamped a hand down over his mouth, just as someone walked up to the entryway.
“ Need something ? “ You smiled at them.
The red haired girl, who you know as Riyo, blinked at you. “ Yeah. I do. “
Jabber began to rut his hips up against yours, gently grinding his cock against your covered cunt.
Through the layers, he could feel you soaking through your shorts and onto his sweats, creating a wet patch right a long his covered shaft.
“ What book ? I can get it for you ! “ You beamed, with a slight shiver.
Riyo looked down at the couch to see Jabber’s hands bunched and his locs spilling over the edge of the armrest, his long legs draping over on the other end.
“ Y’know what ? I can get it another time. “ She turned on her heel, walking off into the distance.
As you saw fade farther away, you turned your attention back down to Jabber, rutting himself unashamedly against you.
“ Fuck, fuck, you feel good, “ he pulled his wrists free of your hands, grabbing onto your hips. “ You’n know how long I’ve been waitin’ on this. “
“ You keep acting up like this you be waiting for a long time. “ You groaned between grit teeth.
“ Fuck this.. this isn’t enough. “
He shoved you back, fitting himself on top of you, pushing your legs back to your chest.
His cock was just a few thin fabrics away from sinking into your tight wet cunt.
The thought of being this close to it and not being able to fit himself inside was torture.
His favorite kind.
He whimpered patheticly, the slick sound of too wet fabric was too loud in the quiet room.
He heard footsteps approaching, but could feel his orgasm getting just as close.
“ Fuck!- What ? What the fuck do you need from this section of the library ? “ He ground out.
The tattooed blonde man, blinked at him, “ This is my study spot, if you must know. The only spot nobody sits at. “
“ Yeah well, find another one bruh I’m fuckin using it. “
You stifled the giggle in your throat, instead opting to push up against him, pulling your shorts and panties to the side to drag the soppy material of his pants against you.
He grunted, “ Get outta here before you see somethin you don’t want to. “
The man kissed his teeth, muttering to himself as he trudged away.
“ As much as I’d like to put you up on display while I fuck my cum into you, I’m not really in the sharin’ mood. “
He felt the hot flesh of your bare cunt against him, using a free hand to free himself of his wet clothes.
He cock fell against you heavily, you didn’t even get a chance to fully admire it before he was guiding it inside you.
“ Fuuuuck!- You’re so right pretty girl, tryna make cum first or somethin’ ? “
You couldn’t respond.
The feel of him sheathing himself inside your aching slit was euphoric.
Your mouth fell open on a silent cry, his hips shaking with restraint.
“ I can’t, need you too bad- “ Was the only warning you got.
Jabber, uncaring of who would hear the slight slapping of your wet flesh meeting, swooped his hips in and out of your too welcoming cunt.
It was beyond is imagination, how good you truly felt.
The ridges of your wet flesh clung to him so desperately, he feared you’d suck the life out of him.
He silently cursed himself for the burning sensation felt in his gut. He was getting so close so fast.
“ Tell me you’re close. I don’t wanna finish- mmf~ without you. “
Your whole body shook, reaching a hand down to swipe messily at your clit. “ Y-Yes please, keep going, just like that. M’almost there. “
Jabber could head the faint whispers of nearby students, choosing to ignore them over the silent moans and cries you sang so sweetly to him.
“ Fuck- inside ? Can I ? Please baby ? “
You nodded frantically, shivering hard with your orgasm.
He followed behind you soon after, choosing slam his mouth down on your own, moaning lowly down your throat.
You both lay there, covered sweat and the proof of your love making.
“ Hi. “
You both sat up quickly, pulling apart and making an even bigger mess of the small sofa.
Mr. Corvus, the campus Librarian stood at the entrance of the section now, surrounded by students who held their phones up laughing and whooping.
“ For obvious reasons, I’m gonna have to ask you both to leave. Don’t forget to see the school dean about your suspension. “
You and Jabber shared a look, before scrambling to get dressed.
The walk of shame out of the library was a little less embarrassing as Jabber held your hand.
“ I don’t regret it. Do you ? “
You sighed. “ No, but I could go for another round. “
Jabber smiled widely, “ I knew I was right about you. “
god .. sex with izuku before bed as a means to put you to sleep. rolling you onto your tummy as his lips kiss down your spine and teeth nip at your shoulder blades, his breathy laugh tickling the shell of your ear because he’s so amused at how much more whiney and needy you are when you’re on the brink of exhaustion.
“shh angel, don’t think,” he’d say from behind — pulling you up by the hips until your back arches perfectly, face smooshed into the lavender scented sheets ( he claims it’ll help you sleep better ). izuku tuts when you squirm, wiggle back onto his cock as he pumps it to full hardness and gets ready to fill you to the brim. “none of that, let me do the work, okay?” he’d add as a warning, because you may be sweet when you’re sleepy but not sweet enough to avoid using your manners.
and when izuku pushes in, thick all the way down to his base and filling you until you feel him in your lungs — your mind blanks, the haze of exhaustion taking over. he holds you up nice and strong when you start to sway from the weight of his thrusts, making sure he hits deep enough to pull dizzying orgasms for you. fingers slow and doting on your clit while you gush and whimper words that no longer make sense.
izuku works the tension out of your muscles, relaxes you one orgasm at a time — each stronger than the last while the heavy warm of him on top of you, owning you guides you to sleep. you’ll be slick between the thighs by the time he’s done with you, spooning you while his dick twitches amongst the seed spent inside your welcoming, wet cunt — his soft praises coasting their way through your dreams.
something about Robert Robertson being far too sensitive to stimulation post coma. He’ll wince as he walks into the SDN building in the morning because the light reflecting off of the linoleum floors are just a bit too much, and maybe turn the volume down on the break room tv (it’s already at 40% but oh well), oh and definitely when you’re at home later, both of you taking out your frustrations of the day on each other, don’t pay attention to the way his lip quivers as you suckle a hickey onto his pulse point and don’t comment on the way he whimpers and mewls when you grind your hips onto his already leaky cock, voice shaking as he lets out a small “holy shittt.”
Ignore the fact that he can’t seem where to put his hands as you ride him into the couch (you guys were far too horny to stumble the few feet it was to your apartment’s bedroom). He’ll definitely blush hard, cock twitching inside of you if you tell him how good he’s fucking you and god forbid you call him pretty because he’ll blow his load right there.
Don’t worry though, Robert being the munch he is will make sure you cum at least twice after this, and by then he’ll be hard enough to flip you over onto your stomach and fuck you in prone bone because maybe if he doesn’t have eye contact with you it’ll be better? Spoiler alert it isn’t. He ends up spilling inside of you 5 minutes later because Robert is the most sensitive when it comes to your pussy
christopher smith (dcu) with feminine, afab, metahuman!reader. nsfw. you and chris were old fuckbuddies; he swings by and reminds you (with three orgasms) how good a fuckbuddy he was. + masterlist.
. . . the sound of your voice hits him like a truck as he goes through the voicemails left on his phone.
“chris, hey… listen, i’m a little bored right now and i was wondering if you could come over. i’ve got a new set i’ve been wanting to show you, anyways. call me back, babe.”
he doesn’t hesitate to hit the play button again and again, just to hear the sultriness of your tone. just to imagine how you were probably lazily playing with yourself when you sent the message, fingers covered in your own slick as you half-prep yourself for him... between jail, the whole suicide squad business, and being in the hospital for five months, smith had forgotten all about you, his superpowered fuckbuddy.
his dick remembers, though, hardening half-way as he plays the voicemail back for a fourth time. briefly, chris wonders if you remember him.
only one way to find out, right?
. . . so now smith’s here, standing in front of your door. he knocks three times, then waits. there’s some soft noises from behind the door before you open up. you look… different. older. hotter, he thinks.
“christopher?” your eyebrows raise in surprise as you take him in. he’s changed very little from the last time you saw him; same old costume that he always seems to wear, same old overconfident and smug facial expression. at least he’s not wearing his silver helmet. he’s got more muscle on him than you remember, though. for several seconds, your gaze naturally settles along his biceps. then you force yourself to make eye contact with peacemaker.
the brunette just grins, leaning in your doorway. “still bored?”
“what?”
smith only scoffs, as if you were being silly. “the voicemail. i mean, i know you left it a while ago but— c’mon, can’t be too late to cash in on some ass, right?”
your mind races as you try to remember the last time you called chris. it’s been… literal years. two, maybe three? four? you stopped reaching out when you realized he wasn’t going to reply. and now he’s here, responding to a (probably desperate) voicemail that you left ages ago. “you’re joking.”
he’s not. “i would never joke about wanting to fuck your brains out,” he says firmly, shifting some in your doorway. he adjusts his pants, which causes you to glance down briefly and… how is he already so hard?
you bite your lip, memories of what you and smith used to get up to flashing through your mind. even so, you shake your head no. “we can’t. i won’t, i mean. fuck off, chris,” you mutter, beginning to close the door.
chris is quick to keep the door open, however, using his foot as a wedge. “why the hell not? c’mon, we had so much fun. remember that time on the plane? or behind the dumpster? or in my trailer?”
“i’ve got a boyfriend,” you blurt, interrupting peacemaker from reminiscing further. you cross your arms in an attempt to be stern. “we’ve been dating for a few months.” he’s a good boyfriend, too. it would be wrong to cheat on him. you couldn’t sleep with peacemaker.
“yeah? we fucked for years,” smith hisses. he pauses before peering past your head into your place, looking around. “where is this guy, anyways?”
“working.” you try pushing chris’ foot out of the way so your door could close, but it’s a halfhearted effort. you shouldn’t sleep with peacemaker.
“not here? not pleasing you?” he asks, voice low. the brunette takes a subtle step closer to you, smirking. “c’mon. for old time’s sake. he doesn’t have to know.” his hands reach for your waist, his grip on you all too familiar. firm but not forceful; smith never forces you into anything. mostly because he never has to.
this time isn’t any different. you scoff. you pretend that you don’t miss him, too. you let smith inside, shame giving way to excitement as you feel him rub your lower back in approval. you were definitely going to sleep with peacemaker.
. . . it isn’t long before the two of you are naked and fucking on the couch in open missionary. chris had insisted on “seeing your pretty face” since you’d been apart for so long. the whole thing is wordless; just grunts, groans, moans, and heat. so much heat. like an animal, he pounds into you with reckless abandon, stretching you out around his fat cock. the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air— he’s rough, only because you have the durability to handle it thanks to your superpowers.
your orgasm comes first, surging through your body as you moan his name. the brunette on top of you finishes shortly after, groaning against your neck. he stays in for a second or so, kissing whatever skin he can manage to press his lips to, before sliding out and moving to stand. he gently pulls you up, chuckling at your confused expression.
“i’m not done with you yet— been in prison for four years, sweetheart, with just my hand. i‘m just getting started on this pussy,” he explains, dragging you along to your kitchen. with ease, smith lifts you up and sets you on your countertop. the cool sensation of the counter against your ass sends a shiver through your body, your toes curling briefly. “fingers or tongue?” he asks.
you can barely reply, still panting from your orgasm. cum dribbles from your quivering cunt down your thigh as you look up at chris through half-lidded eyes. your lips open to reply, but all you can manage is to keep panting like a dog. “ah..”
one of his hands reaches for your hair, gently tugging back. peacemaker leans in as your head rolls, nosing your neck as if to smell you. you wouldn’t be surprised if he was smelling you. he’s like an animal, sometimes… of course, right when you string a coherent thought together, beginning to come down from your orgasm, smith lifts his head. “c’mon, pretty girl, use your words,” he teases, biting down on the outer shell of your ear. he doesn’t hold back, pushing his canine down on the flesh of your ear.
“fingers!” you yelp out, “fuck, fingers. fingers, chris.”
“atta girl. knew you could do it,” he laughs, pressing a kiss to your (now stinging) ear. “there’s nothing you can’t handle.” the brunette flashes a smile at you before lining three fingers up to your entrance. he pushes gently, slowly coating his fingertips with a mixture of your slick and his cum.
you squeeze your thighs shut, though, before he can slip his fingers all the way inside. “three’s too much,” you whine, gripping his wrist.
“bullshit. if you can take my dick— which you did, and you did very well, princess— you can take three fingers.” smith only has to wait a moment or so before you open your legs again. his three fingers line up to your entrance once more, rubbing gently along your cunt before slowly working themselves in. “nice and easy, see,” he murmurs as he pushes them in, grinning as you whimper. “you got it, gorgeous. look at that, all three in, knuckle-deep, and no one’s hurt. right?”
you look into his eyes as you nod, biting your lip. all you can focus on is the feeling of your cunt clenching around his fingers. chris was right in assuming you could take it; your pussy adjusts to his fingers rather quickly. it isn’t long before you squirm a bit, searching for friction.
“that’s it,” he coaxes softly as you start to fuck yourself on his fingers. smith leans down once more, this time pressing a kiss to your temple. he smiles against your skin as he begins pumping his fingers in and out of you. “feel that? bet your boyfriend doesn’t do it like this, huh? i bet he’s a fucking pussy.”
“chris,” you begin, only to be cut off by peacemaker curling his fingers, causing you to moan. you try your hardest to cling to your dignity, but it’s hard to do when your walls are clinging to peacemaker’s fingers. “chris, please.”
of course, he just laughs, pecking your lips. it’s amusing, the way you pout when he mocks your current boyfriend. arousing, too. the more frustrated you get, the more fun it is to make you moan. smith glances down at your chest, lowering his head to lick at your left breast. “and look at these,” he coos into your skin, “oh, i’ve missed these tits. so beautiful.” he looks up at you as he begins to suckle on your nipple, tracing his tongue in circles before wrapping his lips around it and humming just to watch you squirm.
“fuck— nghh,” you groan, back arching your breast further into his mouth. one hand of yours is holding chris’ head, fingers tangled in his hair. the other is gripping the edge of the counter, cracking the granite slightly because you can’t bring yourself to control your strength.
chris pulls back, leaving a saliva trail on your tit. he smirks before muttering, “relax. you’re gonna break the damn counter, princess.”
“fuck off, chris,” you grit out, eyes closing for a moment. “fuck. c’mon, make me come before i tear the damn counter out.”
hot. still, he can’t resist the urge to tease you. “i dunno… it’s been years, i’m not even sure i know where your sweet spot is.” smith aims his fingers around for a few pumps, pretending to search. he slides his fingers in a little deeper each time, pressing around. “here? maybe here? where is your little sweet spot, huh?”
your response comes in the form of a groan, your head rolling back as you rut into his fingers. he’s so close it’s infuriating, fingertips just barely grazing your prostate as he “searches”. you tear up, letting out a whine of frustration.
the sound of you whining, as pathetic as it is, gets him to relent his teasing. “i’m just joking around. i could never forget how to make you scream,” chris finally admits, kissing your neck. he curls his fingers again, targeting your sweet spot, ramming his fingers against it and causing you to choke on your own gasping.
“ack— haahh, chris, fuck me, oh fuck— chris, chris!” you moan out as your second orgasm rips through your body. it’s a warm wave that crashes hard, causing your eyes to roll back and your legs to twitch as you come all over his fingers. smith pumps for a few moments more, letting the squelching sound echo through your home before he pulls his fingers out.
“ah, look at that. pretty little pussy, covered in cum. i bet you’d lick it off my fingers if i told you to,” he remarks, gently patting your thigh. smith waits until your eyes slowly make their way back over to him before he licks his fingers clean. “mmm, tastes so good,” he moans around his fingers, putting on a show only to laugh when you look away in embarrassment.
things go quiet between the two of you until you speak again. “chris,” you start, only to be cut off.
“want round three, pretty girl?”
you swallow thickly. peacemaker shouldn’t know you so well after all these years. and yet… “yeah,” you murmur.
the brunette grins, thanking god above for your super stamina. “anything for you, baby.” he scoops you into his arms, walking towards the bedroom. smith sets you down on the bed before laying beside you on his back. “which pillow’s your boyfriend’s?” he asks. when you point towards the left one, he rests his head on it. then he pats his thighs, “c’mere.”
you don’t hesitate to crawl over, gently taking hold of his dick and stroking it a few times. you move to hover above his cock, lining yourself up before slowly sinking down on it. the action causes the both of you to moan softly in unison, a lustful harmony.
you rest for a few seconds before raising yourself up and sliding back down, beginning to ride him. all the strength you had left was being used solely to force him deep inside you. as if he were a toy, you stretched yourself out on him, moaning out his name as you force his tip to press against your prostate. your toes curl at the sensation, a heat building rather quickly in your lower stomach. more. it’s all you can think about as you ride him: more, more, more— deeper, harder, louder, hotter—
“fuck, are you trying to get pregnant or something?” he groans out, teasing you as if he hadn’t already came inside before. chris grips your hips, holding you still as he thrusts up into you. “bet you don’t let your sissy boyfriend come inside, right? is that right, pretty girl? tell me— holy fuck— would you let him come in you like i do?”
“no!” you gasp out, feeling him press hard against your sweet spot. you grind yourself against him, your entire body running hot. the room feels like a sauna, and you’re sure you’re slick with sweat all over.
“but you’ll let me come inside this pretty pussy, won’t you?” smith goes on, fingernails pressing into your skin.
“yes— fuck yes, chris!”
the room fills with sounds of sex as you and chris grow overstimulated and close to coming. words begin to fail you both. smith babbles a little, but it’s no use. soon enough, all that leaves your lips is just noises, raw and animalistic. he thrusts deep, hands gripping your waist so tightly it almost hurts. you can feel a familiar sense of pressure building up, causing you to whimper.
then, finally, you come.
it wrecks you. the first orgasm was rough, the second was harsh, but this one? it drains you of any energy you had left. you slump, your legs twitching around chris as you curl forward. the brunette slides his dick out of you clumsily, laying you down beside him. juices dribble down your thigh as he begins fisting his cock beside you, sitting up just enough to aim at your face— it comes out in thick ropes, splattering along your lips, nose, cheeks, and chin. he grunts as he comes, still pumping before crumpling beside you, panting like a dog.
“you look so hot right now,” he says as soon as he regains the ability to speak, turning towards you with a grin.
if you had the strength, you’d slap him. instead, you stare at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath. then, slowly, you turn your head to look at him.
“chris,” you manage, your voice breathy, “fuck off.”
2.4k ish words… yeah this is going on ao3. i think this is the longest thing i've written so far. lol. happy peacemaker s2 eve guys <3 i’m so excited i cld shit!!! there's like not a lot of peacemaker x reader stuff tbh which kind of surprises me? guess i'll have to populate the tag myself... i'll post vigilante hcs tomorrow for the new season but don't expect anything close to this thing (can i even call it a blurb anymore??).
summary: not that you would ever want to admit it, but you and Adrian are somewhat of a slow burn. Until you aren't...
warnings/tags: Season 2 spoilers in the plot. Minors DNI, 18+, slow burn, (tentative) friends to lovers, thin veil of hatred, explicit, smut, piv sex, cowgirl position, public sex, mentions of contraception, swearing, banter, Adrian talking throughout because when does that man ever shut up?
word count: 4.1K
A/N: this is my first Adrian fic, ugh I'm obsessed. Please be nice, I don't usually write the explicit stuff.
___
Adrian is yelling at his mother again. For fuck knows reason.
You, Adebayo, John, and Adrian are in his super secret lair, or whatever the fuck he calls it, to think of a plan to get Chris out of jail.
Things are looking absolutely diabolical, and it’s beginning to feel like the 11th Street Kids were up the shitting creek without a paddle.
“And I like the pink Pop-Tarts, Mom, honestly you’re so useless!!” Adrian yells up the stairs before slamming the door.
“Dude, you really need to give your mom some slack.” Ads sighs, leaning against a crate full of stacked money.
“Yeah, you’re such an asshole.” You say. You’re sat in Adrian’s chair, a face of stone and glaring at the boy.
John adds, “They’ve got a point.” He’s perched on one of the work benches, looking tired and bored.
Everybody in your crew has something about them that's a little off or weird, or even outright psychotic. But Adrian? Well, there's a special place in Hell for him.
Not because of his violent tendencies, or due to his lack of conscience, or because he was literally a sociopathic murder, but because he was fucking annoying.
Sometimes he was tolerable, sometimes you could actually refer to him as a friend in a very loose we’ve-saved-the-world-together kind of way, and yet sometimes…
Today you just couldn’t cope with his bullshit. And he'd been testing your patience All Day.
Adrian spins on his heels to stare at the three of you in disbelief. “What does that mean? What did I do?”
“You’re a dick, man.” You say.
The guy walks over to you and crosses his arms, muscles flexing in his vest, and pins his attention on you. “Yeah well at least I’m not a whore.”
An immediate uproar comes from Ads - something about the comment being way out of pocket - and you stand up to face off with Adrian, “What the fuck dude? I haven’t got laid in like a year.”
You don't know why you admit it, you just want him to shut up.
Adrian makes a face, eyes wide and trying to recover his side of the argument, “Okay so you’re a dickless whore.”
John sighs in the background, but he knows better than to get involved - you could handle your own.
You shove your finger into Adrian’s chest and take a step closer to him, “That is such a contradiction and everything that comes out of your mouth is bullshit.”
You move, trying to walk past him and be done with whatever stupid explosion is happening between the two of you, but Adrian won't move, keeping you where you are.
“Yeah well-,” he stutters, looking for the right words to try and one up you, “your face is a contradiction!”
He looks defiant, as if that was the mic-dropping, endgame answer to end all arguments. Ads shakes her head and John sighs again.
“How could that possibly make any sense? He asks.
And Adrian steps to the side, shrugging as he does so. His tongue darts out to lick his lips before saying, “Uh, you know…because she’s- we all know she’s so, uh, beautiful it’s freaky. Right? Like we were all thinking it…”
His voice trails off at the end and you stare at him, absolutely dumbfounded, as the tops of his ears go bright red.
There’s a beat of silence that stretches on for too long.
“What the fuck, Adrian?” Ads breaks the stunned quiet.
Adrian’s eyes avoid yours at all costs. “Nothing, nothing. It was a joke.”
“Can we get back to solving our problem please?” John pipes up, and you’re grateful for his segue. You needed a reason to pick your jaw up from the floor and that was the perfect one.
The four of you move on to hatching a plan and you try to move the very awkward conversation to the back of your mind.
-
The day Checkmate is born to life, the 11th Street Kids throw an office party, including the new comers you’ve picked up along the way.
You’ve all fought long and hard to be where you are, but it’s only the beginning.
There’s cases of beer, piles of chips and other snacks on desks, and you’re pretty sure you’ve seen Eagly drinking something from a red Solo cup.
Your life couldn’t get any weirder, but you love it the way it is.
“What’s up my girls?” Ads approaches where you and Harcourt are sat, and the woman passes the two of you a bottle. You both gladly accept and greet your friend with a warm welcome.
She pulls out a desk chair to join you both. “So, I hear from Chris things might be going well for the two of you?” Ads asks Harcourt with a smile, and the blonde woman rolls her eyes.
“Ugh that man can’t keep anything to himself.”
You laugh, “Come on Em, it was bound to happen eventually. It was like watching a car crash in slow motion.”
Emilia stares daggers at you and you freeze up slightly. You forgot how terrifying your friend could be sometimes. Then she relaxes and takes a swig from her drink.
“Whatever.” Her eyes drift past your head to something behind you and a smirk plays on her lips, “If you want to talk about slow burns…”
Adebayo follows Emilia’s line of sight and chuckles. She nods her head in your direction and before you can turn around to see what they’re talking about, a pair of hands slide over your face to block your view.
“Guess who!” Adrian’s voice comes out from behind you.
“Hi, Adrian.” You say monotonously. Not because of him this time, but because of Harcourt’s implications of the two of you being a slow burn.
You feel yourself trying to ignore a warmth in your throat.
He removes his hands and spins your chair to face him. He’s looking down at you all pouty, “How did you guess it was me?”
Harcourt sighs, “We all know what you sound like. You’re the only one who’s annoyingly cheery all the time.”
Adrian’s pout only deepens, “Well sorry.” He’s all sarcastic and defensive, and you think it’s kind of cute, just a little bit.
“Anyways,” he continues, pout wiped away and replaced with his usual grin, “anybody want to take an office tour with me? Economos said no.”
The girls behind you quickly volunteer you for the role, making a big gesture about how you were just saying you wanted to take a look around.
“There’s lots of dark, empty rooms to explore.” Ads says as she basically pushes you out of your chair. She even takes your beer from you, winking as she does.
You make a face, and mouth about how you’re going to kill them both later. Harcourt gives you a satirical thumbs up.
“This is great!” Adrian says, and you focus your attention back to him, “We totally don’t spend enough time together. Mainly because you’re mean and always say no.”
He leads the way, taking the pair of you away from the main room. Chris watches the pair of you go, and gives you a raised eyebrow in response, with a smirk nonetheless. You flip him off behind Adrian’s back.
You know what everybody thinks about you and the Vigilante boy. But in truth you don’t even know what was going on between you and Adrian.
You act mean towards him, give the guy a hard time, and in return he’s incredulous towards you and gives the banter right back. You can’t decipher between flirting and bullying with him.
And yet here he is, still wanting to be around you.
The pair of you walk in dark halls, the hopes of finding a light switch abandoned, as Adrian tries to tell you facts about bears.
“You know I think I could take you in a fight. I’ve fought a bear once.” Adrian says nonchalantly, changing the conversation at breakneck pace.
“You fought a bear?” Your voice is riddled with disbelief, but you’re not quite sure if his psychotic behaviour draws the line at fighting animals.
“Yeah, I mean- kind of.” He says as if that’s a definitive answer. “I saw one in the woods once and shouted at it. He ran away after that.”
You nod, “Right.”
You’re walking the halls now, more like slowing meandering around in the low-light instead of taking a tour. You’re letting Adrian lead the way, and you can hear the faint sounds of the party coming from the main room.
“I’m not saying I think you’re a bear or anything.” In the dimness, you catch him wiping his hands on his jeans in the corner of your eye. “But I think I could take you. I’ve just never had the chance.” He pauses, “Did you know that bears can actually-”
You stop where you are, in the middle of the dimly lit hallway. Adrian misses a beat, then turns to face you, head cocked to the side. “What’s up?”
“You think you can take me?” You shrug off your jacket and it falls to the floor as you raise your fists towards him.
It’s ridiculous, but most things that involve Adrian usually are. Plus anything that stops him from spewing incorrect animal facts is a bonus.
The guy actually bounces on the balls of his feet, “YES! This is great- this is so fun. Ugh, I knew you were fun!”
He’s like a kid at Christmas as he focuses on you, steadies his feet, and then he lunges.
And god he’s good. You forget under all that goofiness there’s a man who has the ability to murder people.
But you give as good as you get - matching his pace, dodging his fists, laughing as you connect a kick to his side.
All the while Adrian is chatting, because of course he is. About how good you are, how Harcourt would never do anything like this with him, how he wishes the pair of you were hanging out like this more often.
The latter catches you off guard, and that’s where you fuck up.
Adrian takes the opportunity, fast. He’s grabbing at you and moving you before you even get the time to land a punch.
Your body finds the wall - cheek and chest pressed up against it - while Adrian has one hand pinning down your wrists above your head. His body is used as a weight, flushed against yours so you don’t move.
Both of you are panting for air, and the warmth of his breath fans your exposed cheek.
“I knew I could fucking get you.” His voice is breathy from the movement, and involuntarily you think he sounds like he’s been fucking, not fighting.
You’re not sure where it comes from. It's completely inappropriate and disrespectful, but then again his body is pressed up against you and you realise you’ve never been this close to him before.
“Fuck you and your incessant talking, Chase.” You bite back, trying to keep yourself in the present. Your words only make Adrian squeeze your wrists tighter.
God, you forgot how strong he was. His frame was small but damn he had muscle.
“You’ve never called me by my last name before. It’s kind of hot." He says, still in that panting voice, and your brain can’t take it.
And you think back to the time he called you beautiful, in his own, weird way. You think of all the times he’s made comments like that, or looked at you too long, or drunkenly tried to hit on you, where there’s been that same hint of something.
Then you get a terrible idea.
You want to prove you’re not as easy to beat as he thinks. You want him to stop having the upper hand, instead you want him to suffer, just a little.
With his body pressed against yours, so much so that you can feel his crotch area against your ass, you start to hinge back, pushing yourself into him.
“Uh, hey…” Adrian’s confidence faulters, confusion riddled in his words, but you don’t stop.
You keep pushing and pushing until you feel him trying not to buck his hips against you on instinct, until his hand loosens against your wrists, “If you wanted to get me alone you should have said-”
You don’t let him finish whatever he was going to say. Instead you free your arms, pushing yourself off the wall and spin, pulling the knife you keep in your waistband and holding it directly against Adrian’s crotch with intent.
“Fuck!” He yelps at the sudden movement, the sudden change of pace. In the dim light you can see his eyes are wild - full of confusion and panic.
You don’t want to admit it, but you’re enjoying that look.
Adrian’s Adam's apple bobs in his throat before he wets his lips to speak. “If you think this is going to turn me off, you’d be wrong.”
Out of all the things you thought he was going to say, it wasn’t that. It throws you off so much that you almost decide to pull the knife away. Almost.
Instead, you laugh. The pair of you are still intimately close, stood in this dark hallway. Your heartbeat is pounding in your ears and you have one hand on knife that’s held against Adrian’s dick. At some point his hands found your waist, and now they both hold you there, trapping you in place.
“Don’t laugh.” He pouts, “You being mean to me is basically foreplay to me.”
“Are you serious?” You laugh again, “So if I do this?”
You push the knife against him deeper, knowing it won’t do much at this angle against the thick denim of his jeans.
But it gains a noise from Adrian. An honest to god whimper that delights you more than you thought it would.
You had always found Adrian attractive, sometimes you believed it was his only redeeming quality, and there were times where you had wanted to let his drunken hit ups become something, anything. You had wanted to feel him on top of you, had imagined going on a date with him, trying to teach him how to be a better man. Trying to domesticate him like a feral cat.
The whole thing was absurd and you knew it was only a fantasy - it would never happen. Ever.
But now he’s looking at you with those big puppy eyes, and you can feel his dick getting hard against your hand and-
“Sometimes when we argue, I have to fight the urge not to grab you and fuck you then and there.”
His admission breaks your thoughts. And as if by saying that, Adrian opens the floodgates to his mind.
“God, if there’s anything I want to be doing more than fighting crime at any given moment, it’s you.” He starts, “I want to be doing you. Fucking you, ruining you, romancing you- knowing every single way to make you cum and making you do it loudly so that everyone knows you’re mine. You said you haven’t been laid in a year and I promise you’ll never go without again. I’ll be there whenever you need me, ready to please you- to serve you. I’d do anything.”
You don’t know what to do with this admission but stare at him in shock. He fills your silence with more rambling.
“I think you’re utterly gorgeous and I want to take my time studying you. I’ve had so many fucking wet dreams about you I’ve lost count and honestly I don’t think that my mind is capable of imagining how hot you actually are. I would die just to see you naked. Just to watch you sit on my cock and, oh shit..."
Adrian stops talking and sighs out a long, shaking breath.
“Fuck. Have I said too much?”
You drop the knife and pounce on him.
You grab his shirt to pull him closer to you, to bring his lips to yours with a crashing force of two waves that are desperate to meet.
The pair of you slam against the opposite wall so now he’s pressed up against it, and hands roam skin as tongues and mouths explore each other.
Adrian moans lightly the entire time, only deepening the maddening heat in your core.
Fuck were you really doing this? Was all it took some violence and Adrian’s babbling confession to make you want him?
Adrian answers your internal thoughts by reaching his hands around your body to grab your ass, roughly.
He pulls away from your kisses to mumble against your mouth, “Fuck, you’re so hot. Please let me fuck you.”
What happens next is a blur.
You find yourself nodding as you kiss him, all hot breath and handsy, and clothes come off quicker than you can hesitate about your actions.
First its your top, then his, and then you're kicking off your shoes and pulling down jeans as Adrian kisses your neck and mumbles about how he can't believe you're letting him do this.
You've seen him shirtless before, but feeling the warmth of his skin against yours unravels your brain, and you begin to wonder how you haven't spent all this time pining after him. He's objectively the most attractive guy you know.
"How should we-?" He says between kisses, "you know?"
You unbuckle his belt and tug at his jeans, "Pull them down just a bit. Get on the floor."
Your voice is more wrecked than you anticipated, and what was meant to sound like an order comes out as a pleading request.
Adrian obeys with little questioning, pulling you down with him until he's on the floor and you're straddling him across his lap, only his and your underwear keeping you apart. But that doesn't mean you can't feel him, fuck no. He's hard, and bigger than you expected and you can feel the heat burning in your fucking core-
Your train of thought gets lost as he desperately presses a hand against your back to bring you closer and he kisses you with so much passion the air leaves your lungs. It lets out a moan, one that Adrian matches once he hears you.
His tongue finds yours again, and his hands eagerly squeeze you at your waist as your fingers latch onto his curly hair.
"Please," Adrian begs into your mouth, bucking his hips into you, "please."
The fact that's all he can manage is enough to send you over the edge.
You move your fingers from his hair to the waistband of his briefs, taking no time to pull them down to free his obviously hard dick.
Which is also veiny, and long, and exactly like you thought it would be after seeing the rest of his body. You linger on him for a while, throat bobbing and eyes hungry.
You move your underwear to the side and reposition yourself to hover over him. Adrian's glasses are askew and a little fogged up, and you've never wanted him more.
"Jesus, you're so gorgeous. Please. I hope you're on the pill or something, but like, I don't care."
You slowly move down to meet him, already wet enough to sink down onto his tip until you say, "We're good. You're good."
And he takes that as his invitation.
His hips roll up to meet yours and the full length of his cock stretches you out and forces you to collapse over him, your chest coming to meet his as the air leaves you once again.
Your fingers dig into his muscular shoulders as you move your body to match his ruining pace. You want to flatten yourself against him, hold on for dear life as he ruts up into you, but you feel like you've already lost control of yourself. Your mind swims as Adrian mutters curses and compliments into your neck, and you can't stop the noises that drag themselves up from your throat.
"Fuck- Adrian," his hands tighten on your hips as you moan his name, "If I had known you were this good, I'd have done this sooner."
Your toes curl as he responds to your wrecked voice - driving deeper, moaning loader, moving faster. The sounds of your bodies seem to echo across the dark hallway, and you pray the rest of the group can't hear you from here because he's fucking you in a way you've never experienced.
"You are everything." He breathes into your neck and you move your face to look at him. The readjustment gives him more leverage, and he pistons into you without warning, rolling another wave of pleasure through you. Adrian's eyes are hazy, pupils blown, and he's biting his lip to control his lewd moans, and oh you are close.
"Ades," your breathing hitches and he must sense what's coming because he nods frantically, curls bouncing across his forehead, as he drives upwards into you. "Please."
"Anything for you." He barely gets the words out against your neck as your legs spasm and your orgasm finds you fast, taking over your body as it explodes through you. Every muscle tightens and you squeeze your eyes so tightly you think you see stars. "Holyyy-"
Adrian can't finish his sentence as a gasp rips right through him, his arms wrapping around you tightly as his hips jolt upwards again before sputtering out, one roll at a time.
For a few seconds you can only hear the sounds of shuddering breaths, and you can't tell which one of you is breathing harder. You're pretty sure your legs are shaking, and one of Adrian's hands on your back rubs slow circles as you both come down from the high.
It's surprisingly intimate, and suddenly you're brought back to your body and the situation you're in.
You slowly sit up, feeling Adrian release you. Even in the dim light, you can't mistake the tenderness in his eyes. "We should clean up," you whisper, your voice far from steady.
He nods, and his hands slides from your waist to your thighs as you move, letting his cock slide out of you, along with his load. You lean over to your jacket, thankful to know there's a random tissue shoved into one of the pockets, and sort yourself out.
"That was-" Adrian begins, pushing the sticking hair from his forehead and sighing deeply.
"Yeah, it was." You answer as you slide your underwear back in place. You pass the tissue to Adrian and stand up on quivering legs. You find his shirt and drop it by his head. "This ones yours."
He takes it, crumpling the tissue into a pocket of his jeans, which are still around his thick thighs. "Are you referring to the top, or are you talking about you? Because I'm hoping it's both."
That gets a laugh out of you, one that's real and light. "I'm sure with a bit more of that I'll let you know."
You pick up your jacket and your knife, and worry about how long the pair of you have been away from the group. God, you hope nobody suspects anything. Even if that was just the best sex of your life, from Adrian fucking Chase of all people, you didn't need the team to know.
Adrian begins to move behind you, redressing. "Received and understood." He says, and you can practically hear the smile on his face. "Oh, and I loved when you called me Ades, if you couldn't tell already. Like, please call me that all the time."
You're pulling your jeans back on, about to say something too embarrassingly cheesy and love-sick for your own good, as someone rounds the corner, "Eagly are you down here buddy? Why is it so fucking dark-"
A switch flicks on the lights of the hallway.
Chris stops dead as he sees the pair of you, eyes flicking from your shirtless body to Adrian's just-fucked-tousled hair and undone belt.
"Shit!" he yells before turning his back to you. "I was in jail for barely ten minutes, when did you guys start fucking?"
Beside you, Adrian gives you the dorkiest smile you've ever seen before passing you your top. In the light you can see how flushed his face is, and it seriously does something to your heart.
Oh that boy was going to be trouble.
You pull your top on as Adrian laughs and checks his watch, "Uh, like twenty minutes ago?"
"Oh, too much information!" Chris says, looking back briefly to flip Adrian off. "Why were you fucking in the dark- or fucking here at all, actually?"
"What? You asked, dude. If you didn't want to know, you shouldn't ask questions like that. It's very confusing." Adrian says as he zips up his jeans, "And, for the record, I didn't know where the light switch was, okay?"
You smooth down your clothes and walk past Chris with a smile, and you can hear Adrian's footsteps behind you as he follows. "You're probably going to spend forever hearing about this now. Sorry not sorry, Chris."
The man sighs, looking between you and Adrian as he falls into line with you to head back to the main room and the rest of the group. "Honestly, if Adrian talks about you instead of owls or crows or whatever-the-fuck, I can live with that."
I can see Adrian ( Vigilante ) being a sucker for overstimulation. Both giving and receiving *drools*
He had you up on the kitchen counter, you sat facing him as his cock speared in and out of you slowly.
“ You’re so hot and sticky inside babe, feels like my cocks melting. Feels like lava is melting around it. Mmh, it feels so gooood.. “
He came a few times already, his last one a few minutes ago, but his cock didn’t let up. Still just as hard as when you first got started.
“ Kiss me already A’, you talk too much. “ Your cheeks burned.
“ No I don’t, “ he leaned forward, connecting yours and his lips in a sloppy open mouthed kiss, just to pull back again. “ you like it when I tell you what I’m doing to you. I like it when I tell you what I’m doing to you. “
“ Dragging every inch of me in and out of you, feeling my cum from earlier still pool inside you, ohh~ it’s almost too much. “
He licks your lips, tongue slowly traveling down your chin and neck, collecting the sweat perspiring on your skin.
“ Touch me please. Grab me and scratch me- but! Not too hard. The little cuts burn the most. “ he whined.
Reaching a hand up to lightly drag your nails down his back, you used the other to dig your nails into his hip, pulling him into you harder. He groaned.
“ I kinda like when you hurt me. Makes me feel really good. M-might cum again. “
You untentionally clenched around him, making his hips stutter.
You were close. This one about to be your fourth orgasm for the night. Your ass was numb from sitting on the counter for too long, but it paled in comparison to the pleasure Adrian was making you feel.
“ You’re playing dirty! Ahh~ so so dirty.. do it again. “
When you did it for the second time, it made you finish. Shaking and convulsing against his chest.
He continued to fuck your cum back into you, a ring of white around the base of his cock that continued to plow into you making a wet sticky sound.
“ Fuck I can’t- can’t hold it anymore! “
He came inside you with shallow thrusts, shooting barely any seed left to paint your insides.
He panted, “ If I wasn’t so empty, I’d start moving again. “
You felt his cock finally soften inside you.
“ No my love, you’re done for the night. “
Adrian paused, pulling himself out and watching as his and your seed spilled out of you.
“ Yeah, I’m done. But, you could probably give me another one can’t you ? “
His fingers found your clit, circling it slowly. Watching as your legs began to shake and your eyes fluttered.
He slid two fingers in, and your mouth fell open with a shaky sigh.
Warnings: SMUT (public sex, oral f receiving, adiran's a munch, piv)
Summary: Adrian wants to have car sex?!
Word Count: 2,000+
A/N: I accidentally posted this on the 1st instead of the 3rd, so if you’ve seeing this again, I had to delete it. Sorry to everyone who liked, reposted, and commented. I didn’t even get to read what you said I just panic deleted it🥲
“Wanna have car sex?”
Your head whipped over to look at your boyfriend who was still driving like he didn’t just ask you such a vulgar question.
“What?”
“Do you want to have car sex?” He repeated like it was obvious.
One moment you two are talking about how cool it would be if Chris’s suit was teal to match Adiran’s and the next he’s asking you if you wanna have sex? You almost reminded him about how illegal it is, but couldn’t help to stop and see where this was going. “You serious?”
“Yeah.” He pulls into the Chuck E. Cheese parking lot.
Besides the red sign and a few street lamps, the parking lot was dark and empty.
“Here?”
“Please, baby? It’s almost midnight, no one’s around.” He parked the car and turned to you. “My cock is really hard.” He gave you those puppy eyes through his silver glasses. The glow of the sign turned everything red, harshening the shadows, and making him look hotter if that’s even possible.
“Yeah, okay.” A smile curls on your lips as his eyes light up.
With a big ol’ grin on his face, he quickly lunged across the center console, grabbing your face with both hands and planting a kiss on your lips. Everytime he kissed you, he made it as special as the first. He’d never take it for granted, not when he was risking life and limb everyday.
After the kiss, you both quickly slide into the back seat shedding your clothes as fast as possible. Adrian couldn’t keep his lips off of you, kissing every inch of your face and neck.
“I’ve been hard since my mission earlier. I killed like 5 drug dealers.” The evidence grinded into your already soaked panties.
“Ugh, Adrian, you said you wouldn’t talk about killing people during sex anymore.” You groan as you kick his jeans off.
He pauses kissing your neck to look at you. “I know, I’m just trying to say that killing makes me horny and I missed you.”
“Adrian.” You chided him. If you didn’t stop him now, he’d be talking about his kill count until you cum. It’s happened a few times.
“Okay, okay!” He dives back down to suck more hickies into your neck. His hand slides down your body rubbing your clit through your panties. “So wet.” He growled.
His index finger hooks around the lacey material, pulling it to the side.
“Please.” You whimpered, bucking your hips for more. “Need you inside me.”
“God, I wanna taste you so bad.” He sighs, watching how his middle finger pushes past your lips, brushing against your opening, collecting your wetness, and sliding up to your clit.
He massaged tight circles into your clit, causing you to let out those pathetic needy moans he loves. A smile grew on his face as he watched your reaction. Adrian was obsessed with making you feel good. Some days you’ll even quiz him on animal facts while he eats you out, mumbling the answers into your pussy. You only did it on special occasions and he fucking loved it.
“But I need you to fuck me.” You whine
“Just a quick taste.”
He grabs your legs, tossing them over his shoulders before taking your hips and lifting your entire lower half up to his mouth. He didn’t give you any soft licks like he normally did, instead, he nuzzled right into your cunt and let his tongue invade every inch. It was sloppy and needy. He didn’t give a fuck if his face was covered in your slick, he fucking loved it. The metal of his glasses were ice cold compared to the heat that was generating between your legs.
“Adrian!” You squirm and squeal.
You were folded in half, left to his whim. Your hands desperately try to find purchase, clawing and grabbing at the leather seat and headrest.
“Fuuuuck,” he groans into your pussy. “So fucking good. You can try it when I kiss you.”
You wouldn’t be able to stop moaning if you tried. His tongue was absolutely ruthless. In random intervals, he lapped from bottom to top, swirled his tongue around your bud or flicked it, or he’d flat out plunge right into your sopping cunt.
The sight and sound alone could send you over the edge. The way he closed his eyes to concentrate on you, his glasses fogged up, the squelching of your pussy every time he nuzzled deeper into you.
“Oh god! I’m getting so close!” You cried out, your walls clenching around his tongue. “Adrian, Adrian! Oh, Adrian please! Adri- HEY!” You snap out of your haze of bliss when he suddenly pulls away.
“I just wanted a taste.” He shrugged and laid you back down.
A frustrated groan leaves your lips. “Not nice.”
His brows furrow, the fog in his glasses slowly going away. “I’m very nice to you! You’re my best friend!” He pushed down his underwear, letting his cock spring free and slap against his abs. “I don’t stick my tongue in anyone else’s pussy. Plus this week alone you’ve cum 9 times and we’ve only had sex 4 times. Most men can’t make their girlfriends or wives cum once a week.” He grimaces at the thought before he presses his tip against your cunt and slowly pushes in.
You let out a long moan as your walls stretch to accommodate his size. It slightly burns, but in the addicting way that only your boyfriend could create. He gives a few experimental shallow thrusts, making sure you’re good. Once your face doesn’t show any signs of discomfort and only sweet gasps come out of your lips, he tosses one of your legs back on his shoulder, and starts plowing you.
“Men who can’t make-ngh their girlfriends or wives come- ngh should honestly be shot.” He grunts out between violent thrusts that make the whole car shake and squeak. “And guys who won’t eat pussy... I mean, why wouldn’t you!”
You’d beg him to shut the fuck up if you could, but the babbling of random symbols was the extent of your ability to speak.
Adrian falls forward a bit, placing a hand on the door and the other on your thigh. “I’d eat you out any day- oh wow! Wow, you’re really tight right now, fuck!” He moans. “ I love how you taste, though. I’d choose you over ice cream, or sushi, or mashed potatoes, or…”
As he lists off every food to exist, you weakly bring your hand up to cover his mouth. Except the way he was hitting your g-spot right now was blurring your vision into a thousand stars. So, you end up bumping his glasses and nose in a desperate attempt to stop him.
“…or pasta, or beer-“
You give up and grab his jaw that was still slick with your taste, and yank him down to kiss you.
That did the trick.
Adrian immediately moans into the kiss. Without his mind focused on rambling, his strokes became more precise. His hips rolled against yours perfectly, brushing against your clit in the process. Your fingers tangle in his curls, pulling a low moan from him.
Despite it being a cold night, the car was hot and sticky. By the way your boyfriend was hammering into you, you would have thought it had been months since you two last fucked. One of your hands presses back against the dewy glass of the window as you desperately try to buck back into him.
“Shit! You’re tight!” He winces and breaks away from your neck.
He leans back again, wanting to watch how he splits you open, and god, was that a sight. One of his all time favorite, right after fucking his cum into you. Your pussy gripped his dick with every drag, coating him in your glistening juices. You were starting to cream, creating a ring of white sin around the base of his cock, dripping down his balls that slap against your ass. It was an absolutely vulgar sight, but one he’ll forever be in love with.
“So fucking pretty.” He whines, watching the sight.
“Adrian! Ah!”
“You like it like this? Like it in the back of my car?”
Eyes barely open, you lazily bob your head, barely able to focus on anything but his dick mercilessly hitting that special spot deep inside you.
He notices your toes curl as you get close to your climax. He turns his head and kisses your ankle that rests on his shoulder.
“So deep- AHGN! Like that! Yes, yes!” You gasp for air as he knocks it out of your lungs with each thrust.
“I love you.” He mumbles into the skin of your calf as he continues to ruthlessly plow you. “You’re my best friend.” Adiran leans back over you again to kiss you, muffling the moans rolling off your tongue. “Say it.” He begs against your lips. “Tell me you love me — that I’m your best friend, and I’ll let you cum. I’ll let you cum so hard.”
The desperate tone of his voice and the way he traded his steady pace for fast faltering thrusts was your way of knowing he was on the edge
“I love you, Adrian.” You whimpered against his lips. “I love you so much. Ngh! Ngh! You’ll a-ah-always be my best friend.” Your heavy lidded eyes looked into his. His glasses lopsided on his nose, just barely hanging on.
“Fuck, fuuuuck! Cum. Cum all over my cock!” He gritted his teeth, holding back just long enough for you to cum first.
Your pussy squeezes and throbs around him as you cum. The car fills with your high pitched moans and gasps while your orgasm rips through you, making the entire world disappear except for Adrian. The throbbing of your pussy was the final straw. He came moaning and babbling your name, desperately fucking you, prolonging your highs as long as possible. You could feel him twitching inside you, emptying every drop into you.
You stay like this for a few minutes, needing the time to catch your breaths and come back to reality. When you eventually do, you notice how the completely fogged up, a few sneered hand prints left behind.
“How was that?” He sighs into your neck, giving it a kiss before sitting up.
“Really fucking hot.” You hum, your voice sounding raw, now.
Adiran gives you a big smile like he just saw a manta ray. Fixing his sideways glasses back into place, he asks, “Yeah? You liked fucking in the back of my car?”
You smiled back and lazily nodded, watching him carefully slide out of you and pull his boxers on.
“Good, I can schedule it again.” He sits back and turns his attention to the window and draws faces into the fogged up windows.
Your aching body protests as you sit up. “Schedule it? What?”
He looks back. “You didn’t think we were doing this illegally, were you?”
Your brows furrow at him. “Adrian, what are you talking about?”
“I rented the parking lot out.” He goes back to drawing on the window, writing We Fucked Here. “I gave the Chuck E. Cheese franchise owner 100 bucks to use the parking lot for an hour and a half. Plus, I added signs around the place so no one comes around. I’m not a monster.” He snorts, finding the idea of doing this illegally ridiculous.
You were completely shocked. It makes sense he would go through these hoops to ensure no laws were broken, but still insane. ”Oh my god!”
“What! It’s the only way we could have car sex legally unless you want to do it in my mom’s garage!”
You shake your head and chuckle quietly to yourself. Maybe you were the fool for thinking he’d actually break the rules. It’s Adrian, the same boyfriend who prided himself on killing graffiti artists and god knows who else.
Adrian simply continues to draw on the windows, only wearing his boxers still.
“An hour and a half?”
He checks the clock on the dashboard. “We still have time if you wanna go again.”
“Yeah, okay.”
A/N: First Adrian Fic🥰 I might have to do more if it’s received well so lmk!
Permanent Tag List: @what-iwish-you-knew @infuriatinglyoptimistic @harriedandharassed
Pairing : Adrian Chase / Vigilante x Alternate Adrian Chase / Vigilante x POC ! Fem Reader
Warnings : Peacemaker S2 Spoilers! , Reader is mentioned to have Brown Skin , SMUT , P in V , Slight Breath play, Threesome , Double Penetration , Cunnilingus , slight M/M , Alternate Adrian’s slightly dominant , a little unserious because I mean hey it’s Vigilante
AN : Just seen the most recent episode and I gotta say.. my love for vigilante has skyrocketed lmao. 2 of them ?? I couldn’t resist.
“ This is insane. “
It was already bad enough that you were pulled into this- morally questionable, antihero, group of criminal rejects via Adrian, your handsome air-headed boyfriend, who happens to be “best friends” with Peacemaker.
And now, you’re again being dragged into a beanie baby closet turned dimensional portal, in Adrian’s basement turned hideout.
“ This is crazy, this is fucking batshit crazy. “
“ Babe, you’re not paying attention to the quiz. C’mon keep up! “ Adrian said cheerfully, reaching out to grab your hand.
You, mesmerized with the hundreds and thousands of dimensional doors surrounding you, didn’t even notice his hand and walked right into it.
“ O-oh, sorry. I’m just- I can’t even wrap my head around where the hell I am.. what were you saying ? “
“ Alligators have four stomachs. “ Adrian proclaimed proudly.
“ That’s cows. “ Economos deadpanned.
“ Well shit.. even I didn’t know that. “ You added.
Adrian let go of your hand and trailed silently behind you.
You couldn’t even pay attention to the conversation at the moment, too busy scrutinizing the alien-like creature, making sure it didn’t follow as your group walked farther and farther away from it.
You felt light touching and brushing across your back and shoulders. After glancing behind yourself you noticed Adrian again, brushing the coke off of your clothes.
“ I can’t believe we’re doing all this for your so-called best friend. I bet he wouldn’t even go this far for you if the roles were reversed. “
“ Now sweetheart, “ he walked up beside you, looping an arm around your waist. “ Of course he would! Hell I knew about this place before all of these guys! He really is my best friend. “
You rolled your eyes, “ Best friends don’t just up and leave their friends behind without another thought. You were inconsolable last night!- “
Adrian scoffed, “ Babe you don’t remember? I wasn’t crying, that was you crying for me because you were so upset on my behalf! You had snot everywhere! “
“ Just- tell her the code. Please. “
Adrian read Hardcourt the code, unlocking the door leading you all into the surprisingly lavish looking study.
You glanced over a picture of who you assumed was Peacemakers brother, standing in-front of a gate to some kind of deportation facility.
Black and brown faces lined the other side of the gate.. his proud smile as he stood in front of them. A placard was in the background that looked to be the American flag but different-
“ We’re definitely going to go see if there’s another me out there. There has to be! Me and Peacemaker being best friends is probably always going to be a constant. “
“ I mean, why don’t we just stay here forever? “
“ What ? “ You and Adebayo said in unison.
“ Everything I like is already here. Peacemaker, Eagly, you guys, another me ? If there’s Manta Rays and Crows here too I’m good to go. “
“ After we get Chris, we’re going back. Then there’ll be no reason to stay. “
Adebayo tried her hardest to warn him, but his mind was set. He grabbed your hand and tried to walk out with you, but she grabbed your other.
“ Please tell me you don’t agree with him.. it’s safer to stay here and wait! “
The image you saw in that study did sound off alarm bells but.. part of you was a little curious about the other Adrian as well. And you couldn’t let him wander off on his own..
“ I don’t agree with him a lot of the time, but he’s gonna go with or without me. And I’d rather he go with me. “
Letting her hand go, you look back at Adrian to see his eyes crinkle through his red visor, smiling.
“ We’ll be right back, this won’t take long! “
You both were walking down the street of a familiar looking neighborhood, not exactly the same as the one you know. It was just.. too quiet.
A car is approaching when Adrian shoves you into a nearby bush unexpectedly.
“ Agh!- what the fuck? Why?! “
The car passes by quietly.
“ We probably shouldn’t be seen out in the open in a different dimension I think. “ Adrian shrugs.
You blink at him owlishly, as he steps through the now flattened bush, crossing the street to what looks almost exactly like his house.
You follow up behind him, keeping a clear eye on your surroundings. Because he, was otherwise preoccupied.
He giggles, pointing at the various creepy garden animals.
“ You’re a chipmunk in my world! Haha! “
He opens the door to his home, without unlocking it, and walks right in. You trail behind him silently.
He continued to laugh and point out all the differences in his ‘other’ home, grabbing a box of “Cherri-ohs” out of the kitchen.
When you both walked past his parents in the living room, he burst into laughter again, “ My dad’s not gay here! Hahahaha! “
Unbeknownst to both of you, his ‘mother’ looked up at the last moment, catching a glance of your fading brown figure.
“ Did you see someone hunny ? “ She asked his ‘father’.
He didn’t respond.
You both headed down the stairs, Adrian giddy and ecstatic, but apprehension clouded your mind.
What would you find in here ? Who would you find in here ? If Peacemakers lookalike tried to kill him, who’s to say that Adrian’s won’t do the same ? If the both of you died in this dimension, what’d happen to your own ? What would your family do?-
“Babe ? Hellooo ? Look look- it’s open! “
The keys to his room in your dimension, also worked in this one.
“ That’s cool and all babe but, what if he’s not like you ? What if he’s even more fucked up and a ruthless mass murderer ? “
He guffawed, “ That’s not even close to a different comparison you just described me to myself. And if he is more fucked up than me? I’d give him a high five ! “
He walked in slowly, keeping an arm out in front of you to act as a shield.
“ Uhh.. Hello ? “
The ‘other’ Adrian, Adrian 2, was sat at his work bench dressed in the same black, white, and blue costume.
He turned, then jumped out his seat, brandishing a pistol immediately. “ What the fuck ? “
“ Who are you, and why are you here ? “
His facial expression was hard and focused, but he clearly looked like the same Adrian you know.
“ Oho dude, hold on hold on, “ Adrian passes the box of non-Cheerios to you, and snatches off his mask. “ It’s me! I’m you from another dimension! My keys worked to get in here! “
His face still held the same stoney expression, not lowering the gun until he glanced at you, double taking.
He placed the gun down behind him, jaw dropping as his eyebrows raised. “ No way. “
“ I know right ?! Isn’t this amazing ?! Dude I’m freaking the fuck out right now ! “
“ How’d you?- “ Adrian 2 stuttered.
“ See man, it’s a really long story but I gotta tell you it’s kinda weird to see my- sorry- our dad not be gay. “
“ How’d you get free ? “
Your Adrian fell quiet as Adrian 2 slowly approached you both.
He put his guard back up immediately, pulling you back behind him and sticking his other arm out to distance Adrian 2.
“ Whoa man I know you’re me but, you aren’t like a weird racist piece of shit version of me, are you ? “ Adrian said, tone now serious and devoid of humor.
The hand that was behind him holding you, slowly reached for the pistol in his back holster.
There was a moment of eerie silence, the tension thick enough your shoulders felt heavy. The fear of the unknown finally weighing in on you.
When he suddenly says, “ I just, can’t believe you’re alive. “
You blinked, “ Huh ? “
“ When they took you, they knew to do it when I wasn’t there. They knew I’d fucking slaughter every single one of them. “
It was Adrian’s turn to blink, “ What are we talking about again ? “
“ Is she, “ Adrian 2 finally looked into your Adrian’s eyes, “ is that your girlfriend? From your dimension? “
“ … Yes. “
He sighed, and it felt like the tension had lifted an octave. Still there, just not as heavy.
“ Sorry man it’s just.. sit with me ? “ he beckoned you both to follow him to the tattered couch up against the wall.
You and Adrian shared a look, then followed.
They both sat on either side of you; your Adrian to the left, Adrian 2 to the right.
Thankfully, the frames of their glasses were different colors or you wouldn’t be able to tell them apart.
“ This.. is freaky. “ You turned to look at Adrian 2, then back to your Adrian.
“ I know right ? Other me, what’s the best Pokémon ? “
He looked away from you then back to his doppelgänger, “ Infernape! “ “ Yess! “
“ What’s the best thing to press your face against ? “
“ Shag carpeting. “
“ Yes! “
“ But what’s the worst thing to softly touch you ? “
“ Agh human skin. “
You were too caught up in their easy back and forth until you heard that, “ Ouch! I’m mildly offended. “
“ Well, it’s different when you do it babe. “ Adrian admitted.
“ It’s only uncomfortable when I don’t consent to it or know why it’s happening. “ Adrian 2 admitted.
“ Yes! That’s how I feel too! “
“ If it weren’t for your glasses I wouldn’t be able to tell you two apart. I could end up going home with the wrong Adrian. “ You said, looking between them. Eyes lingering a bit on Adrian 2.
“ Well, then the other me would just have to open another portal to come with you too! I’m sure Peacemakers got another one of those portal purses here too. “
“ Babe it’s not a purse- “
“ Fuck that guy. “
You both turned to look at Adrian 2, surprised.
“ What ?? But he’s our best friend ! “
“ Maybe in your dimension, but here, he’s the reason my fiancées probably dead or worse. “ Adrian 2 said gloom stricken.
Your brows furrowed, “ Is she.. is that why you thought I was her ? “
“ Yes. I miss her everyday. But, seeing your beautiful face has given me a lot of hope. “
“ I’m sorry. “ You reached out to him, grabbing hold of his hands. You don’t really know why, but seeing him so disheartened and upset made your heart hurt. It didn’t help that he looked just like your boyfriend when he was sad.
Your Adrian watched as you comforted him, rubbing his hands comfortingly, like you do to him.
“ This is fucking jarring. It’s like watching me and you in third person babe. “
He leaned forward, whispering in your ear, “ You thinking what I’m thinking ? “
“ What ? N-no! Look at him ! Is he making a ‘wanna have a threesome?’ face? No! “ you whisper yelled back at him.
“ I am sitting right here in front of you guys. “ Adrian 2 deadpans.
“ I’m sorry, don’t listen to him. “
“ Why ? You wouldn’t want to ? “ Adrian 2 says.
You blinked, letting go of his hands to hold yours up in surrender, “ I don’t know how the mood shifted so quickly. “
“ Just answer the question babe. Be honest, hm? “
“ Would you want us? Want me? Twice? “ Adrian whispered in your ear. Sending ripples of goosebumps down your neck.
You swallowed. Yes. You would want that.
But, you were apprehensive. They may look the same, but will this Adrian treat you like your own ? Will he caress you the way your Adrian does ? Does he know all your soft spots ? Is he just as attentive ?
…
“ Fuck it. “
There’s only one way to find out.
You reached out, grabbing hold of Adrian 2’s cheeks, puckering his lips into an open mouthed kiss.
“ Fuck yes that’s what I’m talking about. “ Adrian exclaims beside you, licking stripes up and down your neck.
You groaned into the kiss, and Adrian 2 took that as initiative to plunge his tongue into your mouth, taking lead of the kiss.
He was a lot more aggressive than you anticipated, your Adrian usually just follows your lead and does whatever you tell him to.
“ Babyyy, cmon don’t forget about your other boyfriend ! “ He whined.
You pulled away from Adrian 2, his mouth still slack with a string of drool attaching you to him.
He looked dazed already, his eyes unfocused and his cheeks dusted red.
You grazed his chin with your nails, pulling him back in for another kiss, your Adrian groaned.
“ So fucking hot.. I like to watch but I wanna participate too. “
He gently guided you away from Adrian 2, pulling your back flush against his chest, and maneuvering your face to meet his.
“ Come here pretty girl.. “
His kisses were soft and teasingly slow, trying his best to savor this moment.
He moved to rest a hand on your neck, silently asking for permission.
When you nodded, never breaking the kiss, he added light pressure to the sides of your throat, making you let out a breathless whimper.
Adrian 2 watched in awe, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. One had gripped his slowly awakening cock, the other reaching out to slide up your thighs.
You chortled, Adrian released you, pulling back to give you air.
“ Mgh, get these off please.. “ you asked Adrian 2.
His eyebrows raised, but he obliged.
Shimmying them past your hips, he noticed you had on a pair of Adrian’s boxers.
“ Awe, I had those on yesterday! “ He smiled at you fondly.
You raised a brow, “ Yeah ? Now take em off of me. “
A chuckle rose from Adrian 2’s chest, and he wiggled the boxers off of you too. Tossing them into a small pile on the floor.
“ Fuck it, get all of this off at this point. “ Your Adrian said.
He yanked your top off, leaving you bare and exposed to both their hungry gazes.
Adrian 2 was the first to move, pressing his hand into your chest to lean you back against your Adrian, positioning himself to be face level with your sopping slit.
“ Look at you sweetheart, already leaving a little puddle and I haven’t even touched you yet. “
“ She’s very sensitive, doesn’t take much to get her right where you want her. “
“ Oh what am I gonna do with you ? “
“ Fuck me hopefully. “ You puffed, impatient.
Adrian 2 blew cold air on your slit, making you tense slightly, when he teasingly flicked your clit with his tongue.
“ O-Oh ffffuck!~ “
Your Adrian reached for your hands, giving you something to anchor your self. You squeezed when Adrian 2 gave your button a light nibble.
“ A-Ah~ n’eed moreee~ “
“ She likes it when you tongue fuck her. “
You gasped at Adrian’s crude comment, and again when Adrian 2 did as he said.
“ Like this ? “ He muffled against you, the vibrations making you shiver.
“ Yeahhh but tense your tongue and rub your nose against her clit. “
Adrian 2 hummed, making you groan deeply. “ Yesss just like that. F-fuck.. “
You were impossibly wet, it smeared onto your thighs and onto Adrian 2’s cheeks, down his chin.
You looked down at him; his eyes were closed behind his slightly fogged glasses.
Curiosity piqued, you pulled them off and tossed them aside. He had the same dark blue eyes as your Adrian. They were open now, staring up at you as his lips closed around your bud and sucked.
You hissed through clenched teeth, body shaking, tits jumping.
Your Adrian reached out to grab hold of both of them, thumbing at your nipples.
“ Ooo got an idea, let me take mine off too and switch places with him. Then you can try to guess which one is which. “
You sighed, running your fingers through Adrian 2’s curly brown locks, “ Wouldn’t have to guess since you already told me. “
His hands stilled. “ … Ook, then close your eyes ? “
“ Baby. “
“ Ok ok fine.. but my cocks fucking achinggg right now. You haven’t noticed me fucking your back through my suit ? “
No, you hadn’t. He was grinding his clothed crotch against your lower back, albeit just slightly.
“ Both of you, take everything off. “
Your Adrian didn’t hesitate, lifting your back a little to get off the couch and start stripping.
Adrian 2 only pulled away for a moment to pull off the top half of his suit.
He was too engrossed in your center to pay attention to anything else, let alone his own aching cock. He was too focused on pleasing you.
He had slid both hands underneath your knees, lifting them to gain better access to your cunt, and your ass.
“ Wha-What are you- ooh~ Adrian~ “
He was making embarrassingly loud, slurping and smacking sounds as he lapped at you. Pulling one hand from your knee to work two of his fingers inside you.
You whined, “ Mmffffuck~ m’gonnacumgonnacum- “
He stopped.
“Ahah~ whyyy? Fuck! “ You thrashed in frustration.
“ Uh-uh you can’t cum yet, not till I’m inside you. Waited so long to have you again, not gonna waste it. “
“ Wellll technically she’s mine but I don’t mind sharing with myself. “ Adrian shrugged.
You both looked over to him, standing in full nude except his socks.
“ Baby, why take everything off except your socks ? “
“ The floors dirty and I don’t want to get floor dirt on the couch when I get back on it! “
“ .. Alright come here. “ He crawled back in behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle, reaching a hand deep enough to flick your clit lightly.
“ Mmm if I can’t cum yet, what can I do ? “ You said, looking up at Adrian 2 through your lashes.
“ You can start by stroking other me off. Get him just close enough, but don’t let him cum. “
“ What the fuck, me ?? Why can’t I cum ?? “
“ Because we’re all gonna cum together. “
“ Ha, you said come together. “
“ No, I meant the other cum. Cum, with a ‘U’. “
“ Yeah well it still sounds like- “
“ Oh for fucks sake! “
You reached behind your back, palming your Adrian’s sticky shaft. His cock had been left unattended for so long his pre had left him slick to the touch.
His whole body shook, it had been a while since you two had last been intimate. It wouldn’t take much to get him to the edge.
“ Light strokes princess, I can’t cum yet so take it easy on me please ? “ He whimpered.
“ Aww I don’t know if I want to. “ You pouted. “ Kiss me. “
While you were distractedly pleasing your Adrian, Adrian 2 worked to stick another finger inside you, working you open.
The scene playing out before him was sinful.
Watching himself clash teeth and tongue with you, a breast in one of his hands, your clit being flicked with the other.
Your hand griping his cock, as cum slipped over your fingers.
He shuddered, he’d missed you. Maybe not ‘you’ you, but his version of you. It made him want you more.
“ Fuckkk please stretch a little moreee~ “ He groaned, trying to ease a fourth finger inside you.
You felt a slight stinging sensation, making you squeal and look over at Adrian 2, but not pulling away from your Adrian.
“ M’sorry babygirl, I just wanna make sure it all fits. “
That made you pull away, ignoring your Adrian’s following lips landing on your cheek, “ Make what all fit ? “
“ I- I want.. I want us both to.. fuck you at the same time. “
“ Huh ? “ You said.
“ Fuck yes! That’s always been a fantasy of mine! But Peacemaker thought it was too weird to do it with me. “ Your Adrian said.
Adrian 2 rolled his eyes, “ Who cares about what he wants, you have me now. And we’re definitely gonna do this- I mean, if you want to ? “ they both turned to you.
You swallowed, “ Will it hurt ? “
“ Maybe a little, but with enough lubrication and the right angle, this could feel fucking amazing. “ Adrian 2 acquiesced.
“ Fuck, I’m so empty I don’t even care. Just fuck me already, one of you, both of you- ‘doesn’t matter! “
Your Adrian moved behind you, lifting you up and onto his lap as he lay down flat. Adrian 2 positioned himself between the both of you.
He looked down; you were soaked to the point, your arousal dropped down onto your Adrian’s cock- that stood proudly between your folds.
“ Looks like you’ve already provided the lube… “ Adrian 2 said absentmindedly.
“ Mmm fuck, g’na move a little. Cock so hard it hurts. “ Your Adrian babbled.
He slowly rocks his hips, his cock’s pre’ mixing with your juices.
Adrian 2 bit his lip, “ Need help getting indside ? “
“ Y-Yeah, please ? “
He gabbed your Adrian’s cock, squeezing a little, making him jump and groan, then guiding the head of him inside you.
It went in with a swift *pop!*. You jumped gasping, “Whew shit- fuck I’m so wet, s’gonna slip out. “
“ Ohhh fuck sweetheart, you’re g’na make me cum alreadyyy. “ Your Adrian whined, slowly fucking up into you.
“ No, not yet. “ Adrian 2 cut, stroking his cock to the scene in front of him. “ I gotta get in too. “
He pushed his tip up against where your cunt’s entrance and Adrian’s dick connect, trying to fit his way between.
“ S’too much, “ you reached out to touch his chest. “ wait a little please ? “
“ C’mon, you can take it beautiful, look at her, she’s just beggin’ for another thick cock inside her. “
You looked down, Adrian’s cock was working you open slowly but surely, you shivered.
“ M’gonna- “
“ Go ahead, I’ll allow it. “
You came hard, it wracked through you down to your toes, making them curl. Just when you thought you couldn’t feel anything better, Adrian 2 slid inside.
“ Ooooffuck that’s it. S’fucking tight little cunt of yours can barely take it all. “
“ FuckFuckFuck ‘other’ me wait- don’t move- “
Adrian 2 couldn’t wait for either of you to adjust, he immediately started an even pace, his cock rubbing against yours and Adrian’s flesh.
“ Shit!- “ Your Adrian tensed when he came, his cock stilling as Adrian 2’s cock continued to plunge into your shared mess.
“ Fuck, both of you can’t hold out for shit. Now, m’gonna make you both cum again for me. “
You and Adrian’s moans ricocheted off the basement walls, unashamedly.
Your Adrian started moving again, his once softening cock getting even harder than the last time.
“ Fuck, babygirl, you close ? I’m so close I’m gonna cum again in any second but I- fuck!~ really wanna cum with the both of you! “
“ Hn~ yeah~ m’close, but just a little more ‘kay ? “
“ I can give you more, fuck I will give you more baby, as much as I as you want. Anything you want. “ Adrian 2 leaned over you, slamming his hips down into you, fucking you down onto Adrian’s spasming cock.
His face scrunched. “ M’gonna claim you all over again. When I come inside don’t get up yet, let it fertilize inside you, get you pregnant, then- “
“ Fuck no! My cum’s gonna be- agh!~ The first to get her pregnant! “
They both picked up the pace, making your whole body rock between them.
“ Doesn’t matter ugh!~ Whose it is, it’ll still be Adrian’s! “
They both shook as they came, you watched in awe as they moaned in unison, voices mixing but still holding the same candor.
Your Adrian was the first to shake out of it, noticing you hadn’t finished yet, “ Don’t worry my love, I won’t let you go unfinished. “
He pulled himself out first, then reached around to your front, flicking your nub at an unreasonable speed.
You squealed, “W-Wait, not sss-so fast! “
Adrian 2 still being inside, grunted, “ Fuck- if you don’t stop squeezing so hard M’gonna dry-cum. “
You panted, blowing his curly hair, “ F-Fucking do it, we both came twice but- ah!~ not you. “
He growled, pinning you further down, ignoring your Adrian’s petulant groans.
He started shoving himself even deeper inside you, the mixed mess of cum between you making a wet sloppy sound.
Your Adrian grunted, “ Fucking- “ and pinched your clit.
“ Ahh~?! “ You screamed. Clear, liquid like fluid, gushed out between you and Adrian 2.
He choked, “ So- fucking sexy. Agh!~ “
Again, for the second time, he shook with his last orgasm, whimpering like a wounded dog.
“ My back is killing me, you both weigh a fuck-ton so get the hell off me ! “
You pealed apart from each other, covered in sweat and cum, the ragged couch now damp with your love making.
“ Fuck.. you guys never told me what you came here for. “ Adrian 2 said dreamily, staring at your tired, naked form.
Your Adrian shot up, “ Fuck! How’d we get so carried away ?! “
You looked between the both of them, shrugging.
“ Who would pass up the opportunity to fuck two Adrian’s ? “
Been re-watching Peacemaker and I can’t stop thinking about Chris being a big, whiny, ! Service Top with his big tits and biceps. Curling his muscular arms around your waist while he yanks you back into him. Oh, and he gets a little mean when he’s feeling possessive.
Always pawing at you, all soft touches and kisses all over your body.
And he’s just so big.
Everytime he bends down to kiss you, towering over you, broad shoulders shielding you, you can’t help the way it makes your thighs squeeze together.
Rubbing his big hands up and down your back, “ Ohh, I see. You asked for a hug on purpose huh? “
He’s so talkative too; “Mm baby, your body’s so soft, I just wanna bite you, everywhere. Leave marks all over you, mm please let me? “
“ Can I touch you here princess? Does this feel good? Yeah? Mhm? Ohh fuckkk.. “
“ Ah~ your tight lil cunt is sucking my fingers in. Shit.. I’m not even inside yet and I’m already close.. “
When he finally, finally, slides inside you, his moans sound over your own.
You’d think the roles are reversed!
You only had to tell him once that his moans make you wetter- and he hasn’t shut up since.
He’s fucking you doggy style, but moaning like you’re the one fucking him. “ Every stoke inside you- omf~ feels like I’m being fucked instead. “
“ C’mere sweet thing, I- ugh~ I wanna hear you- I wanna- mmfh~ hear how good I’m makin’ you feel, ugh fuck yes. “
Sometimes reminding you, “ Don’t think cos I’m vocal I still won’t wring that pretty little neck of yours. Leave marks everywhere, every time I touch you. “
He wraps his bicep around your neck, flexing it and pulling you back against his hips at a brutalizing pace.
“ I’m gonna ruin you for any other sad sack of shit that calls himself a man. Every time you fuck someone else you’ll daydream of me. “
“ You like that ? You like how I tear you apart from the inside, engraving the shape of my dick in your pussy- agh fuck~ I didn’t think I could get any harder. “
content warning: power imbalance, smut, hand jobs, blow jobs, biting, comeplay, jealousy, toxic relationships, angst, sexual inexperience, normie!reader, one-sided francoise night/reader, possessive behavior
notes: most normal person in this is eli and he dies immediately, so! whole family crazy asf. i need you guys to know that i suffered immensely to write this fic, please reblog, comment + like. tell me things you enjoyed, stuff you’re curious about!
word count: 10.2k
preview: You have a monopoly on his thoughts the way a problem does: irritating, inexhaustible, insistent on being solved. And unlike problems, you do not yield to solution.
When Isaac kills Elijah Sinclair, he uses his hands.
It is not intentional. It is not because hands were optimal, not because some primal urge overrode protocol. Isaac, a man whose temperament inclines less to sentiment than to salvage, does not brood on the improvidence of the act. Sinclair, however pedestrian in wit, is still an auxiliary subject: a mobile container of fluids, tissues, cells, each with its prospective yield. Isaac Night is a man of science and the point… the point is never mourning the foregone; it is extracting what remains available.
This is how he rationalizes Elijah Sinclair’s imminent death.
The plan itself had been deceptively simple in design: the clean insertion of a needle into the Normie’s neck; the swift sequestration of the subdued subject to the clocktower; the gradual extraction of all the biological dividends that could be extricated from him. Isaac had charted the situation with the precision of someone who prefers the predictability of protocol over improvisation. Every step is taken into consideration, he leaves no stone unturned, every variable listed, every outcome predicted. Until there was a flaw, unforeseeable, subtle. Recognition. The human variable was a persistent anomaly, refuses to be tamed by protocol or procedure.
Sinclair loiters against his car, posture slack insouciantly. As Isaac approaches, those indolent eyes hone in on him, the flicker of nascent recollection animating them.
“Do we know each other?”
Isaac’s reply is cool and detached, “y’know, I can’t say that we do.”
But it doesn’t take long for Sinclair to snap his fingers as though nabbing the tail of a fugitive thought. “Shit, you’re one of them.”
Isaac’s eyelids close briefly, sighing in irritation. The smile does not reach his eyes when he opens them. The Outcast spiel is a customary one, one he’s overly familiar with.
Sinclair grins, backs of his legs pressed to his vehicle. “Don’t know what she sees. Whatever magic tricks you’re pulling, she’ll move on. And when she does? She’s got me.” His teeth flash, unknowingly sealing his fate.
Isaac has endured such tirades before: the tedious chest-beating of men whose hormonal surplus seemed to drown out whatever vestigial faculties they possessed, but this time it needled. Against his better judgement, he registers offense, as if some furtive nerve had been struck. That tolerant smile stiffens, his expression compressed to a blade’s gleam like something poised to cut. Sinclair drones on, blissfully ignorant, his declarations pelting the air.
Inside Isaac, something curdles. The churn starts low in the pit of his stomach, thick and bilious, climbing until it presses against his chest. A sickness of recognition, a bodily recoil so instinctive it arrives before reason.
Sinclair is still rattling off, but Isaac does not process a word. His lips twitch into a snarl, and suddenly he lunges, his body moves without consultation of mind. Choler inhabits his thought; his telekinetic faculties forgotten, his hands clamp around Sinclair’s throat. The man flails, claws at him, shouts, panics. Isaac does not let up. He drives him down, feels the frantic pulse beneath his fingers, the gasps turning into wet rattles before they fully cease, watching the life drain from those glassy, taunting eyes.
Francoise appears not long after, her gasp arriving before her words. She hurries to Isaac’s side, hands hovering uselessly, twitching with the impotence of broken tools. “What did you do?” she hisses; not out of pity for Sinclair, but out of dread for her brother. Thoughts crash through her in succession, but the one that sticks, stubborn and unshakable, is you.
Isaac looks at the corpse with the tranquil neutrality of a man regarding a finished equation. The solution is reached. There is, for the moment, peace.
The days feel lighter for Isaac, a paradox that he accepts without interrogation. Sinclair is excised, subtracted from the equation and you don’t seem to notice (or if you notice, you don’t seem to care). This indifference intoxicates him: indifference is not loss but aperture, a clearing into which you step, and in stepping, you draw nearer but not outward into anything like suspicion or grief, but inward, toward Francoise, toward him.
Francoise has always been porous to Normies, her predilection is a deeply rooted yearning for the narcotic lull of ordinary life. She craves the safety of the cocoon you provide. She has always been taken with you. Your elaborate wardrobe, your array of cosmetics, your unapologetic admiration for your culture and traditions. Every gesture, every habit that distinguishes you from her cloistered world becomes for Francoise a guide, a template she wishes to replicate. She shadows you with the fervor of an acolyte, following you in your footsteps.
Isaac sees it though with a clarity, the subtle thrill lurking beneath Francoise’s carefully measured concern, the way her eyes catch a secret light, a silent hungry delight at the thought of Sinclair’s absence and all the stolen moments it promises: more time basking in your company.
He understood it then in a way he had not before, remembering how she deliberately abandoned her carefully scheduled arrangements, those long discussions where they had planned to excise the monster from her. You had been siphoning her attention, drawing her into a gravitational field not of his making. The sensation was a loss of control: a resource slipping from his fingers into someone else’s custody.
Isaac observed all of this in silence. Irritation had needled at him: Francoise had once again tethered herself to someone else, and you, unreasonably, had allowed it. He had half expected you to recoil once you sensed her dependence, that familiar unease others betrayed in her presence. But you did not recoil. You accepted her attachment, even accommodated it.
You crossed the threshold into his laboratory with a natural ease, the kind that speared his irascibility before he even fully registered it. Francoise sat, calm, expecting you, a silent enabler to your intrusion into this sanctuary. Every step you took seemed to claim the room, pressing against the arrangement of instruments and glassware, drawing his attention in ways both vexing and quietly disarming.
Francoise, as curious as she was, had importuned you with a myriad of questions which you answered effortlessly and he was content to observe.
You’re ensconced in the quietude of the lab, where Francoise hummed in tandem with the ticking of the tower, your fingers moving with deliberate care, weaving your hair into intricate braids.
“Does it really take that long?”
You had laughed, a bright, lilting sound that echoed like startled birds in the lab. “Girl, yes,” you said, letting a small, melodramatic groan escape as if the very air around you weighed on your limbs. Your arms stretched with aggrandized languor. “My arms are killing me.” Then, inching forward, you dip the ends of your hair into a bowl full of boiling water.
“Why are you doing that?”
Isaac was the one who answered, “It’s a sealant. The heat softens the fibers.”
A look of surprise crossed your features, then a smile spread on your lips like a gradual sunrise. “So, he does talk,” you said, tone imbued with mirth, as if you had just uncovered a rare specimen in his own lab.
“Oh, I’ve been talking,” Isaac said, voice clipped, a tad cruel, but measured. “Though I suspect your brain filtered most of it. Frankly, it’s remarkable you even comprehend the basics of—” His gaze drifted over your hair, assessing, calculating, then he fell silent, leaving the thought curtailed, pointed in its implication.
You blinked, slightly peeved. “Discussing your little experiments in jargon you think I won’t understand isn’t the same as having a conversation.”
“These ‘little experiments’ are more than you’ll ever amount to in your entire life.”
“Isaac, you promised,” Francoise admonished.
He relented with a tight smile, “I didn’t think you’d be interested, is all.”
You narrowed your eyes for a moment, then to Francoise: “I’m getting ready for my cousin’s wedding on Saturday,” your gaze lingering on Isaac while he attended his work. “They’re always long but no one is turning down free food.”
You place the steaming bowl aside, lifting the next instrument of your meticulous ritual. Pipette in hand, movements measured, ceremonious, steadying the tip at your wrist. Francoise leaned in, elbows resting on the counter, her face cradled in her hands, eyes tracing your hands with a gentle fascination. “You keep it on for an hour, right?”
You paused, the pipette poised in your hand, then let a faint, almost vindictive twitch unfurl at the corner of your lips. “Why don’t we ask Isaac?”
His head snapped up. His earlier derision had drawn out your own, and now he was fully alert. For Isaac, it was not insignificant. He was accustomed to observing from the periphery, yet your voice pinned him like an insect under glass, his name in your mouth felt sharp, unfamiliar in its warmth.
“The longer you keep it on, the more pigment shows through.” The words came out clipped, almost brusque, as though he was shutting down an intrusion rather than answering a harmless question. But the way your eyes caught his own made him restless, because you did not seem chastened — you seemed entertained.
“Wow, Francoise,” you intoned, and he pinpointed the tone immediately. “A real genius, huh? You know what… maybe I do have it all wrong. I’d just about give it all up to be holed up in some tower after graduating, nothing but dusty old books to keep me company. Maybe then I’ll amount to something.”
“Don’t be mean,” Francoise chided, the suppressed giggle hidden behind her fingers, tangibly delighted at the exchange, but Isaac felt something else: a faint sting of irritation braided with something lighter. You were teasing him, and he did not know whether he resented it or welcomed it.
Your affront sounded more playful than offended. “What! Am I not allowed to return the favor?”
And then you grinned at her.
“She’s perfect,” Francoise breathed one night, holding the top you had lent her to her nose, inhaling your scent as if memorizing it, her voice hushed and full of reverence as though she were sequestered in a confessional booth.
Isaac said nothing. He did not fully comprehend Francoise’s mercurial wants but he loved her, and love, in his practice, meant endurance: allowing her indulgences until novelty exhausted itself. She always grew bored.
Except not this time.
Francoise did not loosen her grip, instead she tightened it. She curled herself around you like a cat discovering its sunbeam, unembarrassed by the dependency, and what was even worse, was that you permitted it. He half expected recoil from you, anticipated the familiar recoil others exhibited when confronted with Francoise’s appetite for attachment. Yet you did not retreat. You absorbed it, you accommodated it.
And Isaac, though he ought to have resented this trespass, found himself instead suspended in that same clearing, lighter, because though Francoise clung, you did not shake her off, and where she clung, he remained proximate too.
At first, Isaac explains you to himself in the same terms he explains all phenomena: a series of variables, an arrangement of surfaces and behaviors to be observed and classified. He notes the gentle slope of your features, mentally indexes your reactions and how you interact with the people around you. He tells himself these are social signifiers, external codings no different from plumage in birds or chemical markings in insects. Useful to note, irrelevant beyond that.
Francoise’s descriptor of you is skewed by limerence. Isaac does not share his sister’s delusion.
He sees you as you present yourself: you are not particularly kind, allowing your capricious moods to dictate the climate of an entire week. You surround yourself with deplorable company and you move among them with a kind of predatory ease. Vindictive, quick to anger, and gifted with a memory that hoards every slight, you navigate life with an ineradicable degree of spite, and wait for your opportunity to repay it.
But the longer he watches, the less his notes remain detached. Observation metastasizes into fixation. He records the tilt of your head when you laugh, the cadence of your footsteps on corkscrew steps, the way you treat Francoise’s eagerness not as weakness but as invitation, how your speech pitches when you’re pleased. None of it belongs in a ledger, all of it fundamentally banal, and yet he cannot stop compiling it. The data accrues, becomes a constellation.
This is how Isaac falls: incrementally, with a slow suffocation of resistance, the realization that every effort to explain you only fixates him more tightly to you. You have a monopoly on his thoughts the way a problem does: irritating, inexhaustible, insistent on being solved. And unlike problems, you do not yield to solution.
His body knows before his mind concedes.
And still, he does not say anything. His affection conducted in the surreptitious privacy of glances and observations.
Your aggravation proliferates when a week passes and you still haven’t heard a word from Eli. He has never been indispensable but his presence has at least provided a pulse of attention to punctuate your days. The arrangement between you had always been casual. He offered you a measure of interest without any strings attached, and you in turn granted his closeness. He had accepted your stipulations without protest: you were not a couple, nothing exclusive, you were free to come and go as you pleased.
But the premise, fragile as spun-sugar, carries its own implicit clause. Whatever this was could dissolve at any moment, and you both knew it. A gossamer-thin tether, already strained, that would snap the instant Eli’s attention strayed elsewhere.
You never pretended otherwise. You liked the attention but you did not need it. Eli required more than you were willing to give, and so you gave him nothing beyond the bare minimum. When his silence stretches on, your irritation exacerbates out of principle. The absence disrupts the arrangement: he was supposed to orbit you, not the other way around. You don’t like to be left in the dark.
“What?” Your voice cleaves harsher than intended when you catch the sidelong glance of one of the Outcasts lingering nearby, their gaze grazing over you like nails on a chalkboard. “Do I have something on my face? No? Then move.” The words slice, leaving them scuttling aside, but the irritation lingers, a residue you can’t quite shake.
Francoise waits just beyond the ornate iron-wrought gates, and she, in tune with your emotions, registers the disturbance. She hovers in that nervous space between wanting to fold herself into your arms and fearing she has somehow incurred your displeasure.
Something is wrong.
“Is everything okay?” she asks, voice tentative, her body edging closer toward yours as if her closeness begets reassurance.
“Francoise!” Relief bursts out of you in the form of her name. You pivot toward her, your exasperation already on exhibition. “Eli ghosted me. I knew I shouldn’t have given that loser a chance.”
In hindsight, she knows she should have prepared for this. The past week has been perfect according to her: your attention was on her. But she hadn’t counted on the moment when his absence would make itself known to you.
She falters, words stalling, then seizes one of yours and it’s something you’ve said before. She polishes it into a consolation of sorts. “Boys are stupid, especially Eli,” she declares. The mimicry is uncoordinated, like she doesn’t know how to wield it properly, but it carries the force of devotion, and she hopes that’s enough.
It is. your anger assuaged by the balm of her regurgitated words and you grin, and loop an arm into hers. “Who?”
Her answering grin is immediate and she leans into you, her shoulder grazes yours, testing how long the contact can linger before you begin to register it as anything other than innocuous.
The clocktower augments your intrusion, every footfall ricochets too loudly, every intake of breath announces itself as an unwelcome arrival. Dust hangs in the air, visible in shafts of fractured light, so thick you could pretend it’s not dust at all but the residue of lives half-lived here and abandoned. The machinery ticks and grinds as if out of spite, its rhythm stubbornly irregular, reminding anyone foolish enough to listen that time is not a comfort but a cudgel.
You do listen. You can’t help yourself. Each metallic cough and gear’s groan inserts itself into your bones until you are sure you are clanking in sympathy, a moving cog in Isaac’s private cathedral of steel.
“His organs are intact. No reason to discard a body,” Isaac intones, voice measured, as if tallying reagents rather than adjudicating life and death. The words land with the calm of inevitability, yet beneath them wreathes the mild satisfaction of someone who has eliminated a variable he would not tolerate.
“The police, Isaac,” Francoise hisses, panic fraying her whisper. “You know she’s noticed, right?”
You freeze mid-step. The words snag like a hook in the chest, drawing attention to yourself you had not volunteered. She’s noticed. The pronoun presses into you, intimate and accusatory, and the knowledge is heavy, unavoidable.
Isaac tilts his head, curiosity lacing the question more than fear: “Has she?”
Francoise’s insistence is urgent: “We need to get rid of the body. Now.”
A wire catches your foot; you stumble, clatter into a machine. The sudden noise shreds the conversation, leaving only the tension between them.
Isaac’s voice reaches you first, low, coaxing, intimate in a way that only you could receive without alarm. Your name leaves his lips in croon: “I know you’re there. It’s okay, you can come on out.”
You falter, weighing all potential exits. The lift is a joke: sluggish as molasses. The stairs are worse, corkscrewing out of reach on the far side, requiring exposure, the long trudge of prey pursued. That leaves only forward, the coward’s bravado of pretending you chose to step into the open.
So you do. One foot, then another, your pulse skitters like a jackrabbit’s, frantic enough you half expect the sound to give you away. You fix your eyes on Isaac as though that might anchor you.
And Isaac smiles. He tilts it at you the way a butcher might soothe livestock, smoothing the animal’s panic before the knife descends.
“Hello,” he says, gentle as a lullaby, deceptively soft.
It was soothing, for a moment, to let your eyes unfocus, until the comfort betrayed you. The respite lasted only long enough to betray the ambush: Francoise’s hasty concealment had been exactly that: hasty. Inept. The cadaver had not been spirited away so much as tucked under the rug like a child’s misdeed. Two legs protruded, pale and insolent, broadcasting their existence as if to taunt your credulity. And with that glimpse, panic resumed its racket, a trapped bird smashing itself stupid against the bars of its gilded cage.
“What the fuck did you do?” you blurt out, and unthinkingly you inch closer even though every nerve in your body is screaming at you to stop.
Isaac steps closer, carefully. “You missed quite the performance.”
You let out an exhale of disbelief, taking a step back when another wire catches your foot; you stumble. He is there instantly, catching you, the press of his chest against yours almost unbearably close. You push, he yields slightly, just enough to let you think you’ve won, then recovers with fluidity and you make eye contact with Eli’s corpse.
The body is no longer a body, but a stage for putrescence. The skin slackens and peels, colours blooming in shades of gangrenous green, jaundiced yellow and violet. The belly balloons, swollen like a womb distended with nothing but gas. What seeps from the mouth is not speech but a dark syrup, thick, unctuous, as though the body excretes its own silence.
You notice the lack of miasma in the air. The thought arrives slyly, intruding without your invitation: Isaac must have treated it, preserved it, as though he could defer the inevitable disintegration of meat but the same meticulous nature had not been spared for Eli’s appearance. He sullies your remembrance of him, whether this is intentional or not, you don’t know.
Inside your chest, emotion riots, a tangle of instincts clawing to take precedence. But there is no grief. You wait for it, demand for it to crawl up like a corpse from the grave, but it refuses you. What surges instead is the greater obscenity: the awareness that you do not feel bad.
You tremble; your knees refuse to cooperate. You fold. Isaac instantly holds you in his arms, folds with you, transforming your collapse into an act of grace, pinning you to him in a way that feels nothing like salvation and more along the lines of possession. Your head rings; the room tilts. You don’t notice him parsing your face, watching each expression alight and vanish, indecision written in microsecond shifts, until one emotion fixes and solidifies: fury. You wrench yourself free, twisting in his hold.
Your hand moves to slap him.
A hand grabs your wrist midswing, but not to stop you. Only to moor you, to remind you that you can let yourself go, that it’s okay. You twist, shove, and he allows every movement, every strike, his calm presence amplifying the ferocity of your actions, rabid like a wild animal.
The fist that cracks against his cheek he does not anticipate; until now your movements have been nothing but flailing, noise without aim. This lands. He reels, surprise splintering the composure he dons like a labcoat. For a moment, displeasure flickers like a light switch, before he reins it in, recaliberates, and straightens, the gesture reabsorbed into poise as though the lapse had never existed.
You shove again, sharper this time, and he leans into it. He lets the force guide him closer rather than push him away. His hands hover near yours, twitching in anticipation. When you strike, he doesn’t block outright; he catches your wrists just long enough to redirect, to guide, to invite.
You vaguely hear your name being called by Francoise, but the blood rushing through your head stymies it from reaching you.
You twist, try to push him off balance, and he flows with it, arms brushing yours, fingers grazing your forearm, a brush of skin that sets your nerves alight. Every motion is a tease: he does not overpower, does not end the fight, only shapes it, letting your strength meet his without ever fully conceding control.
The clocktower groans, a cacophony of iron and pendulum, gears grinding like the teeth of an unrelenting predator. Your fists strike again, and again, each impact a declaration of your anger, a corporeal litany. Isaac remains a study in endurance, his calm, his unyielding patience, is intolerable to you.
You shove him into a console of his making; your arms ache, your lungs scream for air, and still, he yields nothing, only the merest concession, a lean here, a minimal shift there, as if every motion of yours were a statement he is eager to receive, not evade. Your unmitigated rage finds no outlet in resistance, and the intensity of that absence roars louder than the machinery itself.
And then, a voice, fracturing, cutting through the tumult: “Stop!”
Francoise.
She bursts from where she had been rooted stagnant, a sudden flare of humanity in the mechanical cathedral, her eyes wide with alarm, fingers pressed to your chest in a futile attempt to stave off further contact. “Enough!” she cries, a demand you’re not used to hearing from her.
Your gaze snaps toward her, chest heaving, pulse hammering in your temples, and for a heartbeat the violence wavers, suspended between the two of you like a held breath. Isaac's composure is absolute, if not a little breathless. You can’t figure out why he didn’t use his powers.
She steps between you, hands bracing against your shoulders, eyes searching yours with the gravity of one who loves fiercely and fears loss. “You can’t,” she says, voice trembling but resolute.
The words strike, a counterweight to the frenzy, and you falter, muscles trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline but then you remember her earlier words and the anger builds back up. “You,” you seethe and she lets go of you as though she’s been branded by a hot iron. “You were a part of this.”
“No!” Francoise cries out vehemently, dismay coloring her voice, upset that you would even think that of her.
Isaac’s gaze sharpens, registering the familiar, perilous signs of his sister’s spiraling emotions, the hurt and frustration twisting in her, the precursor to an unabating storm. He does not attempt to temper your anger, only inclines his head slightly, measured and deliberate. “It was me,” he admits.
The admission presses against your ribs like iron. Anger, disbelief, and exhaustion collide, and your body tenses, ready to fling itself from the suffocating weight of the room. You don’t wait for another word, don’t pause for explanation. With a brisk motion, you wrench yourself free from the halo of his calm, brushing past Francoise, who recoils instinctively.
Isaac does not move to stop you, eyes following you out of the room.
Isaac has long since come to terms with the fact that he is not a man prone to impatience, particularly when it comes to his work. Time in the lab is a measured thing, a patient stretch of hours spent wrangling with the irreducible laws of nature. This, he can abide, but he has no patience when it comes to you.
And so, naturally, he abandons the pretense of patience altogether. If you will not come to him, he will go to you.
There you are, in the midst of one of your familiar haunts, where your voice cannot help but rise above the others in a self-assured manner. Isaac knows that grin on your face before it even reaches full bloom. It is a weapon, a prelude to some particularly biting rejoinder, the very sort that will leave your companions awed.
His eyes scan the scene: a group of dim‑witted sycophants crowd around you, content in their own reflections, their banter tumbling over itself in a kind of vacuous reverence.
But Isaac is never one to defer to this kind of thing, no matter how effortlessly you hold the stage. And when your smile falters, a slight dip in its angle, he knows that you are already constructing the perfect dismissive response in your mind.
The sneer of your lips is a cutting, almost surgical thing. The moment he approaches, you notice him, your eyes narrowing with practiced coldness. A subtle act of disapprobation. The smile vanishes altogether, replaced by the arch of a brow, the quiet, reflexive distaste only someone who truly knows you can read.
“What are you doing here?” you ask, and Isaac bets that your words are not an inquiry, but a challenge.
He almost feels the air tighten between you, the expectancy that follows in the wake of your question. He smiles, offering the barest gesture of politeness to your companions, letting his eyes flick over each of them with the efficiency of a man surveying a series of chess pieces.
“Are there laws prohibiting me from talking to an old friend?”
“Isaac,” you warn, though he is certain it is meant more to preserve the fragile illusion of control than anything else. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Really?” Isaac’s voice drops an octave, lowers itself into something intimate and prodding. “But we have so much to talk about.”
There is a pause. A breath. A beat of recognition. “I promise it won’t take long,” he continues. It feels false even as the words leave his mouth. The tone suggests as much.
You falter, words stuck somewhere between your throat and your chest. “Okay,” you manage at last, a fragile concession to the moment. Turning, you offer the girl you had been speaking to a tentative embrace, brief but full of warmth. In that rush of motion, you do not notice the almost imperceptible slackening of Isaac’s smile, a subtle fracture in his usual composure. “I’ll see you guys later,” you add, your voice a fragile thread attempting to stitch together civility from the disjointed fragments of your exit.
When you turn to Isaac, he smiles pleasantly. You wait until your friends’ voices recede into the distance before you lay your caveat bare. “We’re going somewhere public,” you say. “I’m not letting you second‑location me.”
“Believe me, if I wanted you dead, it would have happened already.”
You shake your head, scoffing in disbelief. “What the hell, Isaac?”
“After everything,” he says, and he sounds a little breathless when he does, “you’re still surprised.”
You find nothing to say to that.
He tilts out of the way, head inclining in a parody of courtesy. “Lead the way.”
The walk is brief but unbearable. He keeps exactly half a pace behind, a shadow with impeccable posture. You resent how unhurried he looks, hands folded behind his back like a man out for a stroll, while your eyes flick constantly to shopfronts and alleys, already plotting exit strategies. Twice you think about bolting, but you recall his abilities and reconsider this option.
There’s a quaint cafe not far that you like the pastries of, and the roads on the way there are semi-populated, the evening is encroaching fast and you want to get out before night takes over.
Isaac, however, has other plans. He takes off his coat, placing it onto the seat next to him and sits down leisurely. “Didn’t know cafes stayed open this late,” he comments off-handedly, sliding the other menu across the table as though he’s issuing paperwork and exploring the contents of his own, he grimaces, rictus-like. “I’ll need a minute. What about you? You always liked the food more than the drinks.”
“Isaac,” you exasperate, “what are we doing here?”
“We,” he emphasizes, “are eating. I’m hungry.”
“You just made a face, you don’t like anything on the menu.”
He grins at you, pleased at the observation. “Coffee, then. What about you?”
“I don’t know, Isaac,” and you lean closer, your tone hushed, “maybe you can start with telling me why you killed my fucking boyfriend?”
Isaac’s grin drops, his lips curl into a sneer. There is no gradual dispersing of his smile, he does not try to conceal the fact that he is displeased with the new denomination you’ve pinned on Sinclair. “He,” Isaac hisses, the syllables rife with contempt, “was not your boyfriend. You’ve never called him that before… don’t tell me you’re getting all sentimental now.”
You straighten up, taken aback at the level of vitriol suffused in what Isaac was saying. You haven’t been at the end of the genuine mockery from him for some time. You don’t say anything for a moment, using this opportunity to survey the man sitting across from you and slowly, you begin to piece things together, eyebrows smoothing out from your furrow: you note the clean pressed shirt, his usual unkempt hair, relatively tamed into a slickback style.
Your body deflates, your eyes scour over the menu. “A croissant.”
For a moment Isaac’s face arrests: blank, trying to make sense of the conceding, the sudden turning down of the argument.
He delicately drums his gloved fingers on the table, once, twice, vetting over your face before rising to make his way over to the counter. You take the reprieve greedily. Your brain careens into theories, trying to make sense of what’s happening. Your brain is already allocating conjectures that don’t align with your perception of Isaac Night because that would mean…
It would mean that he likes you.
Or, your brain reasons, as an addendum, and it seems more plausible than anything else: he’s avid in his manipulation, utilizing this avenue does not seem like a stretch for him.
When he comes back, he places down a plate in front of you and gives you a bottle of water.
You look at the croissant dubiously, then back up at him and you reach for the bottle of water, slowly unscrewing the cap and then you decide to try something. “I don’t go on dates with someone who’s murdered my boyfriend.”
His body goes still.
You let the provocation hang in the air and then twist the knife with a voice lacquered in something almost affectionate, almost cruel. “I can see why you’d be jealous of Eli. He fucks good.”
It’s effective: it manifests with a brief tick in his brow. Isaac’s riposte is whip-fast, mouth quirks into an irritated smile, his gloved hand waves its dissent in the air. “Not anymore, he doesn’t.”
Your chest tightens, your pulse you can feel drumming against the cage of your ribs, threatening to unravel the careful composure you have been cultivating since entering the cafe. You lift the bottle of water to your lips, sipping in an almost abstemious fashion, though the dryness of your mouth makes the act feel desperate, necessary only to delay the impending vertigo of anticipation. Each swallow echoes faintly in the empty booth, a small percussion to the taut silence stretched between you and him.
“Isaac. Why are we here?” You try again.
He seems to be weighing his options. “Francoise misses you, she’s worried you’re going to go to the police.”
The words hover, heavy, almost tangible, settling into the booth like dust motes in the late afternoon light. “And you? Are you worried?”
“No, because you’re not going to the police.”
You bristle at the assured tone he governs. “You-“
He interrupts you with the kind of quiet authority that compresses the air between you, folding it into his will. “If I was going to kill you, I would have done it already and if you… were planning on turning me in, I wouldn’t be here right now, sitting across from you in a booth.”
With the stillness of a guillotine held in the air, suspended over your thoughts, waiting for the inevitable drop, your body responds before your mind can fully comprehend: your pulse flares, your fingers curl reflexively around the rim of the glass, knuckles blanching.
After a long interval, he speaks again, quieter this time, his voice a delicate tremor against the weight of his usual composure. “I don’t know why I kept it,” he admits, the phrasing cautious, as though he were stepping into uncharted territory of confession. “But I wanted to see how you would react.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you know?”
You swallow.
“I think I’m a bad person,” you disclose in tu, there is an unidentifiable emotion swelling in your chest, you think it's a surfeit of love, you think it's grief and he smiles so fondly at this admittance.
“No, you’re not,” he says with such conviction, like he’s known you for your entire life. “For you, the pain will come later. It always does and when it does, I’ll be there.”
Strangely, the dynamic falls back into place, even with the fraught tension permeating the air, but you elude it. Francoise wants a picturesque relationship, neat and framed, a diorama of smiles and sanctioned affection, and so she welcomes you back with open arms, though the edges of her calm betray the sawtoothed undercurrent, the eruptive hyde-teeth she barely restrains. You notice the way she hesitates just long enough for the shadow of irritation to flicker across her features when your attention drifts to her brother rather than anchoring itself to her: a near capitulation to the truth: you are a force she cannot domesticate.
Isaac’s disposition contains a modicum of warmth, as if it were a catalyst to be titrated with care rather than a spontaneous effusion. Maybe it had always been there, lurking beneath the contours of his gaunt face and the strict geometry of his gestures, and maybe you had simply not been attending to it, too absorbed in the calculus of his habitual severity. When your gaze brushes over him now, the smile that had previously read as cold, as infinitely calculating, takes on a tenor of tenderness, subtle but undeniable, a shift almost imperceptible unless one had been trained in the recognition of infinitesimal change.
He does not approach you with words or overt gestures; rather, he is content to occupy the same space. It is as if the conversation at the cafe never took place, folded neatly into some recess of history, and yet the residue of it lingers, like a faint chemical trace that insists upon recognition even when denied.
It annoys you.
So you rope another poor soul into the equation. If it worked last time, it’ll work this time. If jealousy was the catalyst last time, then you’d use it again.
This time, though, you calibrate the variables differently. The substitute is not some random Normie, but one of his own: an Outcast, a gorgon, to be specific.
Obviously, there is no curiosity on your part. Isaac has already conducted the reconnaissance, delineating the abilities of every Outcast who used to pass through the school like insects pinned and labeled in a specimen drawer. You know the gorgon’s capacities as well as he does. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is the performance of curiosity, an exhibition mounted for a single spectator. So you ask questions you already know the answers to, laugh at demonstrations that hold no surprise, lean forward in what looks like fascination and the gorgon’s apprehension morphs into something panegyrized as he preens under your attention.
You lay it on thick when you see that Isaac is around.
You lean closer to the gorgon, letting your voice drop to a conspiratorial murmur, inviting him to a side of town the Outcasts hardly frequent.
He frowns. “That side of town?” The serpents in his hair shift nervously.
You step closer, letting the warmth of your body press into the space between you without closing it entirely. Fingers hover near his hand, brushing the edge of his sleeve, the faintest contact that sends a ripple through him. “I mean,” you murmur, slow and teasing, the innuendo thick in your tone, “we don’t have to go all the way.”
Despite the act, the blush that spreads across his face pleases you.
You lean in, intent on closing the distance, when the sensation arrests you. At first it’s nothing, a dulling as though your limbs belonged to someone anaesthetized. Then the numbness cements, pinning you where you stand. You think for a second that the gorgon has accidentally revealed his faithful serpents to you but in the corner of your vision, Isaac’s treacherous hand retreats, casual. The recognition lands with a thud heavier than the paralysis itself: he has chosen to exert what he shouldn’t. Powers weaponized against you.
Isaac releases you the instant he has you, and yet for you the seconds dilate into something approaching eternity. The betrayal stings.
Your face becomes a blank canvas, stone-cold.
“Are you okay?” the guy you had been flirting with asks, worry threading his voice like a hesitant chord.
Your smile is a blade, a knife of politeness masking everything beneath. “Yeah… give me a second.” The words are casual, but the meaning is precise: your attention has already shifted. Then you move, deliberately, stalking toward Isaac as if the world had condensed to a single trajectory. You already know where he’ll be. Every step you take is laden with purpose, carrying the weight of unspoken warning.
The laboratory door swings open, and his voice cuts through the space, biting: “Finally—”
“No,” your reply slices across him, firm and resolute. “You don’t get to talk right now.” The simplicity of the sentence belies the command embedded within it. It is an assertion of presence, a reclamation of control.
Isaac’s grin doesn’t reach his eyes, it feels like he’s mocking you. There is a new hardness in his eyes now.
“You’ve never done that to me, you’ve never—” Your voice falters on the edge of vulnerability, as if the sentence threatens to betray more than you intend. But you recover almost instantly, smoothing your features as though ironing out an inconvenient crease. He will not have the satisfaction of seeing you unsteady. “You’ve never used your power on me,” you say, each word deliberate, clipped, a statement for the record and the anger — the anger has no interest in moderation. It arrives as a deluge, an inundation that drowns its accompanying emotions on contact.
“I thought you liked me!” you blurt out, a paroxysm of your rage, body heaving and in the back of your mind embarrassment prickles.
Isaac leans slightly forward, lips pressing into a hard line. “If you know… why flirt with others?” he snarls. “You knew I’d notice. And yet… you still chose to test me. Felt heavy, didn’t it? Frozen in place… not being able to move.”
Your stomach twists uncomfortably.
He sees it. The tension in your shoulders, the stiff set of your hands, the way your eyes incensed with both anger and something else he cannot control.
Isaac pauses, the acerbic curl of his mouth fading, his body subtly shifting back. “I suppose, I’d say that we’re now even,” he says.
“We’re not even,” you say, and you feel a degree of clarity you hadn’t before, everything falls in place and all those messy emotions finally click into place. Everything comes pouring out. “You’re holding my transgressions against me, but you’re the one who spent all that time watching, not making a move, and when I thought— just when I thought when we’d made progress, you go back to how things used to be. And you’ve killed someone who loved me, genuinely loved me. I don’t understand, you don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to want me either.”
“I do,” he interjects, abrupt, unpolished. “I do want you.”
The confession is raw, stripped of ornament. It should soothe; it doesn’t. Instead, it hangs in the air, plaintive and insufficient, the bluntness itself is an insult.
“You didn’t love him back, though,” Isaac murmurs, and the phrasing, though blunt, is not accusatory. It’s diagnostic, confirming what he already suspects, and yet there’s a tremor of hunger beneath it.
Your seethe betrays you, and he sees it instantly, yet he does not recoil. Isaac never recoils. He inclines closer, as if your anger were proof of vitality, evidence that you are still gloriously alive to him. He amends, not to erase the sting of your emotion or to spare you from the weight of his observation, but to show you the purity of his intent. “It’s okay. I don’t think of you as any less for it. You don’t have to defend yourself to me.”
Your brows furrow, trembling as if unsure which emotion to settle on.
“Emotions are strange, aren’t they?” he asks. “We are a slave to them… an emotional weakness that we can’t make sense of. They strip us of any rational thought.”
His words drift, as though no longer addressed solely to you.
Then his attention snaps back. “And yet…”
You wait, fraught, breath caught.
“I won’t pretend it was there from the first time I saw you. I was content to leave you alone. But I’ve tried — silence, distance, time.” He lets the words fall one by one, like evidence being laid out. “None of it worked. I care about you.”
His mouth twitches, a flicker of something near a smirk, as though the absurdity of it entertains him, not laughter, but the grim satisfaction of witnessing a truth finally acknowledged. “Or ‘like you,’” he amends, crisp, unyielding, “as you so simply put it. Call it what you will. It is yours, and you have it, it doesn’t matter if you accept it or not.” He speaks with the unshakable authority of a theorem. There is no apology, no petition, only the sterile, terrible fact, luminous and undeniable in its unadorned lucidity.
“Take off your gloves,” you command.
Isaac’s brow twitches, a telltale sign of confusion. “What?”
“Your gloves, Isaac. Take them off.”
He hesitates. Then, slowly, he lifts one hand to his mouth, teeth catching the leather, tugging it loose. The second comes away without the same ceremony, stripped clean in a single pull, now that one hand is bare.
He folds his hands behind his back.
Your pulse accelerates.
“Show me you want me.”
A breath escapes him as though it were expelled by force, a subtle surrender. He laughs breathlessly. “Tell me how and…” he steps closer, into your space, hands reaching for yours, voice lilting facetiously. “I’ll position myself accordingly.”
It should feel like a cop-out, but for someone like him, it doesn’t so you take it as it is. You notice his throat bob in anticipation, the prospect of rendering him nervous excites you, though no other prodromal signs of nerves are apparent.
Your hands go to unbutton his pants, slowly - you’re not exactly teasing him but you want to savor each and every single one of his reactions, like he has been doing with you.
When you reach for his cock, he’s not as prepared as he thinks he is, his hands brace themselves on your shoulders, anchoring himself down.
“I’ve done this before,” he admits, unabashedly, as if confessing to having once jaywalked in an empty street rather than unveiling something that slices straight through your composure.
The words hang in the air, and hypocritically, you feel jealousy, nauseating and uninvited, swells at the back of your throat. It is never subtle. It doesn’t creep. It pounces, claws bared, leaving you with that sour-metal taste of humiliation you can neither spit out nor swallow. It has no rightful place in your mouth, not after you had paraded around attempting to rouse his own jealousy and succeeding.
A small part of you questions Isaac’s composure, how he had kept it together after watching you flirt with other people. Then, a small thought, unbidden comes to you: he hadn’t. It’s a thought that shouldn’t please you as much as it does, but emotions are a complex thing, you never understood yours.
And so you lash out because that is what jealousy does — it renders you wild. Your mouth curls before you have decided, your tone a deliberate laceration, like you’re trying to diminish him for his lack of experience: “What, a handjob?”
The word detonates obscenely between you. It is not sophisticated. It is the linguistic equivalent of grinding a cigarette butt into silk sheets, a deliberate desecration. A term with all the grace of an instruction manual, stripped of glamor. It is teenage fumbling in the dark, static on a radio channel when you drive through a tunnel. That is why you select it. You would rather defile the moment than admit it wounds you.
“No,” he rectifies, and there is no shame in the correction, Isaac isn’t flustered by it. “Getting off.”
The clarification, calm and scrupulous, strips the barb from your sneer. And then he adds, soft, lethal: “I was thinking of you.”
The words land with a violence no volume could achieve. It is the casualness that ruins you, the lack of ceremony, as though this revelation were nothing more than a grocery item mentioned in passing. And in that moment, you are undone, because jealousy has been outflanked by something more dangerous: possession.
The breath comes rushing out of you, and you feel his nose nudge against your cheek when he smirks. “You’re beginning to understand what it was like for me.”
You don’t need to confirm it. He already knows it to be true.
“You’re making a mess,” you stay instead, highlighting his plight, then your voice dips into a ridiculing coo when you tighten your grip, around him and Isaac’s mouth gives a betraying quiver. “You won’t last if this is how much you’re dripping all over my hand.”
You draw your hand back, deliberately unhurried, and the pause becomes its own provocation. Into your palm you spit, you spread it along the expanse of your hand with the sweep of your tongue and you think, he must like it because his eyes follow the movement of your tongue with rapt attentiveness.
“I don’t even think I need to do any of this,” you remark. For all the affectation of effortlessness, you want him to see how much command you wield: that you can take or withhold, that your ministrations are elective, not compulsory.
When your hand returns, his body answers before he does. His cock jerks against your palm, obstinate, as if it has resolved on its own that you will be complicit. His eyes, when they meet yours, have shed the whites entirely; they are devoured by stygian, pupils flooded wide in that primitive dilation that reduces man to animal. He looks at you with the focus of hunger that annihilates any social decorum.
The faint twitch of his lips denounces his struggle: whether to bare teeth or smirk. He is poised on the hinge between violence and reverence, both impulses colliding in the same breath. It would be comic if it weren’t so electric: the posture of an animal that pretends restraint, though its whole body is already lunging.
“Kiss me,” he rasps, the words emerging not as request but compulsion, scraped raw from his throat.
“Always so demanding.”
He scoffs, “oh yeah, it’s me who’s the demanding one.”
You smile, and then you tug him into a kiss.
You’d meant to be gentle, you remind yourself, you’d meant sweetness but it’s obliterated under the sheer force of his want. He kisses like he’s starving, like he’s trying to eat you whole, every bite at your lip proof he doesn’t know how to take without tearing.
“I was going to be so nice to you,” you manage between breaths, your voice mockingly mournful, though the words are smeared by the press of his mouth still chasing yours. He groans against you, chest heaving, as if he can’t bear the thought of you withholding even now.
You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, see the gloss of spit and red, and laugh at how quickly composure is drowned in the filth of wanting. “If you don’t know how to kiss, then don’t try to take over.”
“How else am I supposed to learn?” he snaps back, lips trembling, teeth pressing into yours again, the words defiant.
You twist your head slightly, teasing, letting him catch only part of your mouth before pulling away again, leaving him whimpering and pressed into empty space. “You learn by listening,” you murmur, dragging a finger along his jaw, over slick spit and damp skin, “not by shoving yourself forward like a fucking animal.”
He whines, low and unrefined, and you tug him back anyway, mouths colliding in a tangle of wet insistence, spit stringing, breath mingling.
He cants his hips into your fist, rutting like the motion itself has stripped him of any shame. The pressure drags another spill from the head, a hot, translucent rope that clings stubbornly before surrendering to gravity. It slides down the length of him in erratic trails, gathering at the thick root where it mats into the dark curls, gluing hair to skin. Every fresh pulse adds to the mess: sticky gloss coating the shaft, slicking your palm, stringing between your fingers when you squeeze tighter.
You can feel it tack against your skin, the slippery resistance that makes each movement louder, wetter, indecently audible. He’s soaking himself in his own undoing, smearing your hand, and still he can’t stop thrusting into it as if desperation might wring him clean.
There’s something almost abject in the sight: not the sculpted body he pretends to own but a leaking, straining thing, his cock a faucet he cannot close, his breath fractured in tandem with the obscene slickness gathering everywhere.
“Close. I’m—“
You feel the twitch in him, the way his hips sputter almost without thought, the slick pulse at the tip that tells you he’s about to come. “No,” you say firmly, and your hand eases just slightly, enough to let him register the denial.
He shudders, nearly trembling against you, a raw guttural sound spilling from his throat. His grip on you tightens, hips pitching forward even as you pull back, desperate for the friction he can’t quite get. The slick sheen of him glistens under your fingers, dripping where your palm once held him, hot and sticky and utterly uncontrollable.
You watch, fascinated, as his body fails him: thighs quivering, jaw twitching, lips parted in tattered gasps. He tries to will himself into stillness, to obey the command, but the need has grown beyond reason, beyond restraint. Every shudder, every whimper, every slick strand left on your palm screams his want and how deliciously futile it is to deny him.
“Isaac,” you tap his cheek, a gentle slap along the slick, damp skin. For a heartbeat, if the haziness won’t clear up, but your voice brings him back.
“There you are… not yet,” you hum. “Need you to hold on a little longer. Wanna spend more time with you. You can do that for me, can’t you?”
His chest heaves, the slick sheen on his lips betraying his need, yet his eyes rekindle with defiance. He licks his lips, jaw tight. “I can,” he says, voice clipped, pride weaving through the desperation, even as he trembles under your hand, you can see the stubborn insistence of ego refusing to vanish entirely.
You incline your head toward the chair, and he eases himself down, weight settling with a quiet, deliberate shift. Your hands find the waistband of his pants; he lifts his hips, helping, and the fabric slides off in a slow surrender.
Your throat feels dry at the sight before you. Legs slightly apart, the thick flesh of his thighs pressing into the chair, taut and glistening with heat, every line of him straining just enough. Your fingers twitch, hovering, before they reconsider the course of their action, making their way over to his shirt instead.
He tenses.
You pause.
“Too much?”
“Wasn’t expecting it,” he concedes. “You can keep going.”
You do, slowly, so he can stop you if he needs to. Your fingers brush against the clockwork heart, and the instant reaction sends a hot flush through you, cunt throbbing, slick and pulsing. His hips jerk sharply, fucking into the empty air, cock drooling.
You mentally file the reaction away.
Then you get onto your knees, ignoring how the cold floor feels biting into you.
You lick at the trail of hair at the bottom of his stomach, feeling his cock twitch beneath you, then you ghost your lips to the thick of his thighs and bite into the flesh. His hands grip the arms of the chair, knuckles white, muscles coiling, the hitch of his breath, ragged, uneven, as he bends into the bite.
“Fuck- don’t… don’t stop,” he rasps.
You ease up slightly, pretending reluctance, teeth grazing the tender skin there. His thigh jolts with a mind of its own, smacking your jaw with a wet, insistent thud. Each twitch sends a shiver through you. His breath comes in rough-hewn pulls, uneven and ragged, chest rising and falling like a storm-tossed wave, each hitch a wordless plea, a demand tangled with want that claws at your restraint.
You feel the weight first. A hot, sticky heaviness pressing against the side of your cheek. When you glance up, you almost laugh at the sight: Isaac, head tilted, eyes trained on you, watching with unnerving clarity. His hand wraps around the base of his dick, guiding it, slightly grinding his hips against your face, smearing your cheek with the wet sheen dripping down his length.
It’s obscene how much there is, thick strings of slickness dragging across your skin, glistening in the low light, smearing your lips, your jaw. Every slow push leaves another sticky trail, and he hums low in his chest as if testing you, painting you with his mess.
The weight drags along your cheekbone, the corner of your mouth, hot and slick, precome drooling so freely you can feel it slide, wet and warm, down your chin. The smell of him, saline, musky, floods you, and every grind of him against your skin makes your cunt throb, your thighs clenching tight against the cold floor.
You laugh a little breathlessly, and bite again, harder this time, marmoreal teeth pressing into warm, resistant flesh, tasting the tension under his skin.
Isaac bears it. His jaw flexes, molars rasping as if he’s grinding them to dust. His voice is low, gravel-thick, cutting into the air: “You can bite harder than that.”
You lean one side of your cheek into his thigh and look up at him, a laugh in your eyes. “Don’t want you cumming all over my face.” You spare him the humiliation of letting him know that he’s already drenched half of your face with his precome already.
“Isn’t that the plan?”
“The plan was in my mouth.”
The words barely leave your lips before he snaps, hips spasming hard, cock pulsing slick and hot against your palm. His jaw clenches, muscles bunching like coiled steel, and a low, guttural sound rumbles from deep in his chest, an amalgamation of a growl and a groan. Every fiber of him tenses, hips snapping, skin slick with the heat of it, wetness dripping freely over your hand.
Your hands clamp onto his hips, holding him to the chair. You let your mouth descend, slick from your spit and his slick, and the instant you take him in, he howls, a gravelly, ragged sound torn from his chest, hoarse, full of need and surprise. You moan at the sound, and the way his hips try to twist in the chair, has you grinding your cunt against the heel of your foot, each roll of your hips is insistent.
You dip your head, letting your tongue trace the raised ridge of a vein. Each pass is an exploration without haste, following the taut line beneath the skin that pulses with the weight of his blood. The heaviness feels comfortable on your tongue, the warmth of him presses against your mouth.
His hips jerk again, harder, faster, and you hum around him, lips and tongue slick and warm, responding to every pulse, every frantic moan. You hadn’t expected him to be this loud, he’s taut, even as his body betrays the sheer need he’s trying to control, and you ride it, every wet, hot tremor mirrored in your cunt, grinding against your own heel as your pleasure spirals.
When he notices that you’re faltering, mouth slack, breath catching in little hiccups while he thrusts shallowly into your mouth, he tilts his head, trying to figure out what you’re doing, eyes narrowed as he studies you with a furrowed brow and when the realization flickers over his face, his mind sharpens. His hands clamp gently on your cheeks, palms steadying you, thumbs tracing the contours of your jawline before coercing your face up to parse it, raptly watching your eyes roll to the back of your head, your hips stuttering as you come with a muffled cry.
“Fuck!” His voice cracks at the sight, wrecked and desperate, rutting into your mouth, wild and feral. His vision blurs, the world tilting and darkening at the edges, and a guttural, strangled moan tears from him as he comes hard, teetering on the edge of blacking out, swallowed by the rawness of himself. His moans are strangled, half-choked, spine arching, every nerve screaming as the tremors of his release shudder through him, leaving only the primitive pulse of himself, trembling, panting, devoured by the urgency that drives him beyond thought.
His come, thick and saline in taste, spills down your throat, the excess fluid leaking down your jaw and onto your clothes. Your senses reel, but you come back to yourself faster than he does, mind clearing even as your body still trembles. Your tongue laves over him and he shudders involuntarily, a concatenation of micro-convulsions racking his body while his hands shake against you.
You let yourself shift, releasing him from your mouth when you feel like he’s had enough, the tremor of his body a residual echo, raising yourself up to his open mouth.
You playfully kiss his peeking tongue, mouth wet, and when you retract to admire his face, you catch him licking his lips, eyes still blighted with voracious want. His bare hands act on their own, possessing their own thoughts, clambering desperately on your hips, drawing you in closer. He doesn’t do anything except feel, knead the skin over fabric, before impudently inching towards the hem of your shirt, nails digging in and attempting to get closer to flesh.
You ignore the ache to be filled, that gnawing hunger tugging at your core. “Alright, you’ve had your fill,” you say, vaguely amused, eyes raking over his dishevelled countenance, taking stock of his condition. You’re not surprised by his eagerness; Isaac wants to push his body beyond human constraints. His body doesn’t agree but he rarely operates in congruence with the flesh that holds him.
You draw back slowly, letting the space between you feel like a soft exhale.
He opens his mouth to voice his dissent.
You stop him, using the length of your fingers to brush back the tendrils of his curls, loosened by exertion, damp with sweat. “There’ll be time for everything,” you promise and the inference of the words has him stilling before he leans into your touch.
Sweet lil Personal Assistant ! Itadori , that’s always so good to you, and does whatever you ask of him and more. So it shouldn’t surprise you when he tells you to take what you want from him.
He wanted nothing more than to make you happy.
At your beckoned call, every hour of everyday.
It used to be annoying at first.
You thought he was just a kiss ass, always being so nice and compliant to get on your good side.
But after a few months, he eventually grew on you.
You didn’t mind that he rode your heels as soon as you entered the building.
His mouth running like a treadmill trying to catch you up to speed with any and everything that’s happened before you got there.
Didn’t do anything but smile after he handed you a hot coffee you didn’t ask for.
Didn’t even think twice before he reached out to wipe the cookie crumbs at the corner of your mouth. And of course, he gave you the cookie.
You appreciated him for all he does for you.
Going out of his way to make sure you have a good day at work everyday.
Until, one day, you didn’t.
He caught on immediately when you stormed through the automatic doors in the lobby, a deep frown settled on your pretty face.
He paused his conversation with the front desk consultant, jogging over to catch up with your urgent stride.
“ G-Good morning ma’am, how’s your day so far?- “
“ How do you think ? “ You bite, not even sparing him a glance.
Yuji shrunk a little, despite being 2 feet above you.
It wasn’t a major shock seeing you mad. It’s happened before.
Sometimes because of him.
But he knows for sure it wasn’t his fault this time!
You were madder than you’ve ever been.
You charged for the elevator, two of your employees already inside, who was nice enough to stop the door from closing.
Once you were inside, you didn’t even thank them, just mashing the button for the top floor, your office.
Yuji clambered inside after you, thanking them for holding the door, and squeezing his thick folder to his side.
He glanced down at you, seeing you tapping your black heel against the porcelain floor, and decided to brief you on todays agenda.
All the while, you never looked at him.
Not even humming a sound of acknowledgment to let him know you were listening.
But, he continued to ramble. Convincing himself that you heard him.
“ Ok. “ Was all you said in reply.
The doors to the other employees floor opened, them awkwardly sliding in between you and Yuji to get out.
Once the doors closed again, and you and Yuji were alone, he prodded.
“ Ma’am, I can see somethings bothering you and.. and I want to help. “
You didn’t respond at first, looking at him for the first time today for only a second before staring back at the elevator doors.
“ No. Don’t worry about me. Just do your job. “ You grumbled.
“ But ma’am, this is my job. To look after you, to help lessen the pressure on you- “
“ Your job- “ You snapped at him, whipping your head to give him a hot glare, “ Is to do as I say. And I said don’t worry about it. “ You huffed.
“ But.. “ Yuji pressed, “ I can’t. I can’t not worry about you. “ He said, looking down at his shoes.
“ What?- “ The doors opened to the top floor, your office.
Yuji always found it fascinating how the entire floor was just.. yours. There were two rooms off to the left that were his office and a conference room, but the rest was just for you.
Instead of finishing your question, you huffed again, storming out of the elevator over to your desk.
As always, Yuji was on your tail.
You plopped down in your seat, the leather complaining at the sudden pressure.
Yuji shuffling to your side, bending and bowing awkwardly, trying his hardest not to invade your space.
“ I’m just gonna, put this- “ he gently placed his folder on your desk, “ right here and, “ he opened it slowly, as if it were a bomb.
“ *Sigh* What- What are you doing ? “ you sigh, closing your eyes to calm your anger.
“ .. trying, not to upset you further ? “
“ Just- move. “ You pushed his arms aside, flipping through the documents he had tried to display so neatly.
He stepped back, taking in your every move.
Your hums, your brows knit in thought, the way your chest rose and fell with each annoyed sigh.
“ God.. “
“ You say something ? “
“ Huh ? No no, I just- “
“ You really want to know what’s upsetting me ? “
“ I- well- I wouldn’t be mad if you told- “
“ Me and my would’ve been husband broke up this morning. “
Yuji blinked, “ Oh.. I um.. I’m sorry to hear that. “
He didn’t even know you were married- or well, about to be married. You never even spoke about a “boyfriend”.
“ He wanted a traditional marriage. The man being the breadwinner and the woman staying at home. I.. couldn’t see that for myself. For either of us, since I provided for both of us. “ You scoffed.
“ I watched and listened as he got down on one knee, preaching about how good a life we’d have if I just said yes.. yes to confinement. To a life I wouldn’t want. “
Yuji watched as your expression changed, from anger to.. disinterest.
“ I can’t believe I let that shit get to me. I know who I am. I know what I want. This.. “ You trailed off, looking around your office, top floor in one of the tallest buildings in your city, “ this, is what I want. “
Your eyes landed on Yuji, not noticing his eyes focused elsewhere.
“ I apologize. “
He gulped, meeting your eyes, “ Hm? What for ma’am ? “
“ I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You’ve been nothing but considerate of me and my attitude. “
You stood, facing him directly.
Yuji steeled himself, not knowing what he was afraid of but didn’t want to be unprepared.
Then, he felt your arms encircle his middle. Your head in his chest.
“ Thank you, for being here to support me. “
His face burned hot with- embarrassment? Excitement? Fear? He didn’t know!
He clasped his arms around you, ignoring your slight jump of surprise, nuzzling his nose into your scalp.
He didn’t care. He wouldn’t squander this opportunity for the world.
“ Ma’am, I don’t think we’ve ever.. hugged before. “
“ I’m sorry!- “ you were pulling away, “ was that too forward of me? I’ll let- “
“ No no, “ he squeezed your sides, moving to look down at you, “ this is fine! You’re fine. “ he emphasized.
Your eyes widened, a half smile playing on your lips, cheeks flushed.
Yuji’s mind was running a million miles, he was trying to etch every detail of this moment into his brain.
A different side of you, one he had yet seen, was unveiling itself right before his eyes.
His heart hammered, he was staring. If he didn’t break the silence now, this intimate mood he’s creating will prolong itself.
“ You know, you have beautiful eyes Ma’am. “
He screamed internally, that was not what he meant to say!
“ Really ? Thank you, Itadori. “
“ Yuji, please call me Yuji. “ he half begged.
“ Yuji, this tone of voice you’re using, it almost sounds like you’re begging for me. “
He swallowed, “ I am, god you know I am. “
His legs felt like they were trembling. He was flirting with you, flirting with his boss, the CEO.
He’s heard the common chatter among the office staff-men. How they wish to be the ones trailing behind you. How they wish they were in his position.
A spark of pride shoots through his chest, “ I’ll do anything, for you. “
“ … Like what ? “
He drops to his knees with a loud thud, objects around the room shake slightly.
“ Anything. “
You looked down at him, eyes half lidded, bottom lip pulled between your teeth.
You hummed to yourself, lifting your foot to dig your heel into Yuji’s thigh.
“ Take off my shoes. “
He complied happily, quickly. Rubbing your feet after.
“ Pull off my stockings… panties too. “
He eagerly slipped his hands up your skirt-
*Slap!*
He grunted.
“ Slowly. “
“ Yes ma’am. “
He glided his hands up your calves, the back of your thighs, and over your hips.
Gingerly thumbing the waist band of your stockings and underwear.
“ Ma’am, I wanna, *Gulp* I wanna taste you. Can I ? Please say I can. “
“ I love it when you beg. “
“ I’ve always wanted to know, to know how you taste. How you smell, how you feel under my hands. Please, please let me feel you, all of you. “
A thrum shot up and down your spine, down to your toes.
“ Yes. You may, but!- you’ll do it slow. As I tell you to. “
“ Yes mistress- I!- I mean!- “ He stammered.
“ No, mistress is good. I like it… continue. “
Slipping your stockings down, panties following behind, he gawked at the string of slick still connected to your sex and underwear.
Your skirt just barely covered your center, leaving him swallowing dryly at the thought of what lies underneath.
“ Please, please let me. “
“ Speak plainly, Yuji. What do you want sweetheart ? “ You hummed sweetly.
Yuji’s gut bubbled with butterflies, a flame spreading below his navel. “ I- want to taste you. But, keep the skirt on? You look so good in it. Wanna see you bent over in it. “
You chuckle low and sultry, licking your lips at the thought. “ Okay, but let me get comfortable alright ? “
You turned away from him, him whining at the loss of your attention. Shoving the documents sprawled across your desk to the side, paying no mind to the ones fluttering to the floor.
Yuji, entranced, reached his hands out grab and squeeze the globes of your ass, massaging the flesh between his fingers.
“ Did I say you could touch me ? “ You chided sternly.
He hesitated, before pulling his hands away. “ No, ma’am. “
You waited a beat, looking behind you at his dumbstruck dark red face. Eyes glued to your behind.
“ Lift my skirt. “
He snatched it up onto your hips, taking in the sight of your bare ass right in front of him. “ Ok.. this is happening. This is definitely happening. “
“ Do you want to stop?- “
“ No! Hell no. Do.. do you? “ he looked up at you with wide pleading eyes.
“ No, “ you said, bending at the waist, your breasts flat against the table.
You reached back, spreading yourself apart for Yuji’s hungry gaze.
“ How badly do you want me ? “ You teased with a slight wiggle of your hips.
The sight spread before him was like a feast fit for a king, your sex, dripping wet from the thought of being with him, of feeling him.
He groaned, his hands reaching up but stopping half way, “ You have no idea.. “
“ Say the magic word ? “
“ Please? Please please pleaseee! “ He was fighting against himself.
“ Yes, fuck yes. “ You urged.
He needed no more incentive. He lunged head first between your thighs. Hot, wet tongue landing square onto your slit. His hands came down to land synchronized slaps against your ass.
You yelped at the sudden sting, a welcomed feeling. You didn’t mind a little brattiness.
He slurped loudly. Making it his mission to taste every ooze of slick your cunt had to offer. And gods was it better than he’d have imagined.
“ Mmm~ just like that. Keep going. “
He kneaded his hands against you, noting every divot and mark of flesh. His eyes rolling behind his closed eyelids.
Slowly, he inched his tongue inside you, slowly fucking you with the soft appendage.
“ A-ah~?! “ You shook with arousal. A new sudden sensation sending shivers across your body.
Yuji was hypnotized. His senses overwhelmed with you. Everything that was you. He felt his mind melt, his cock jolt. He wanted to gorge himself, but, he had to remember:
He was doing this for your pleasure.
“ M’close, Yuji. But, I don’t- m’hah~ wanna cum like this..! “ You groaned out.
He hummed in response, plucking himself away to catch his breath. “ Whatever you want mistress. Just say it, I’ll provide. “
“ Unzip yourself, start stroking. “
He freed himself with only one hand, keeping the other glued to your ass, his thumb pulling your labia to the side.
His spat in his hand, soft clicks echoing across the room as he stroked himself. A low hum of approval at the sight of your pulsing clit.
“ Stick two fingers inside. “
“ Magic word ? “ He half chuckled, half grunted.
“ N-Now! I need it.. “ You demanded weakly.
He only smiled and complied. “ Yes ma’am. “
You felt him prod slowly at your entrance, testing the waters before diving in completely.
Then, you felt a slight stretch. The girth of his two fingers more than welcomed.
You groaned low and loud, pushing your hips back for more leverage.
“ You can do it, you can use me baby. Go on, take what you want. Take me. “ Yuji rambled. More to himself than to you.
You ignored him, more focused on your own pleasure.
You both were worked up and sweaty, all hot breaths and moans into the air.
Yuji was close, but he didn’t want this to end so soon. He edged himself, grunting loudly at the loss of an orgasm.
Your hips faltered slightly, “ Oh? You’re- ugh~ close ? So soon ? “
“ I can’t help it, I’ve only dreamt of this moment maybe a million times.. and now that it’s happening- agh~ I can’t help myself. “ He whined.
“ Can I ? Can I cum ? Please mistress ? Please ? “
“ Only after, ooh~, only after me. “
You rocked you hips back harder, your rhythm a little uncoordinated.
Yuji helped you along, fucking you against his fingers faster, his other hand jerking himself at the same pace.
You both came at the same time, bodies rocked with euphoria.
He watched in a daze as cum spilled around his hand and slacks, silently cursing.
You were moving, his fingers still inside.
“ W-Wait! Can’t I.. can I.. I want to.. “ He was slowly inching forward.
Before you could protest, you felt his mouth replace his hand, lapping and slurping up your juices languidly.
You half whined, “ I’m sensitive..! Let me recover first. “
“ M’just cleanin’ you up, “ he smacks his lips, let me will you ? “
You weakly shoved his shoulder, he slowly pried himself away.
“ Sweetheart, you gotta let me go. We’re.. we’re still at work. “ you looked up at the mess you both created.
He frowned, standing at his full height, bending over you.
“ There’s still an hour or so until we have to make that meeting, you know. “ he slightly thrusted forward, letting his still hard cock push against your backside.
“ On second thought.. maybe we could go for round two.. do you have a condom ? “
He fished out his wallet from his pant pocket, pulling the condom out and ripping it with his teeth.
Warnings : SMUT , Car Sex , Semi-Public Sex , Jealousy , Quirkless AU , Bakugou is Asian-American , Reader is a spoiled brat ofc , Minor Self-Insert if you squint (sue me.)
AN : A quicky cuz I missed y’all n I missed writing. Based off the song I’m Baby by Ambré. And the reader being black is not a key factor. Enjoy the fic anyway.
“ Hurry up, it’s hot as fuck out here. “ he complained.
“ Nobody told you to get out the car grumpy. “
“ You said you’d be quick.. “ he mumbled into the receiver.
You rolled your eyes, adjusting your AirPod in your ear, shuffling your purse higher on our shoulder.
You opened the cold freezer door inside the bar, “ What you wanna drink? “
“ .. I said a Orange Fanta. “ he grumbled, crossing his arms as he leaned against his car door. Watching people walk by like a guard dog.
“ You and that attitude gon’ get ya ass beat. “
He chuffed, “ Oh really ? “
You grabbed his and your drinks, “ Yes, really. “
“ Just hurry your ass up, I don’t got all day. “
You grabbed a few bags of chips and jogged over to the counter.
“ Hey how you doin today? “ the cashier greeted.
“ Fine, yourself? “
“ Good now that you’re here. “
You smiled awkwardly, not knowing how to respond to their obvious flirt.
“ It’s hot as hell outside huh? “
“ Yeah I’ve been sweating nonstop. “ You said fanning yourself.
“ Who’re you talkin to? “ Bakugou asked into the phone.
“ Really? You look fine to me. “ the cashier said, looking you up and down while ringing up the sodas.
Their stare made you itch, your orange sundress starting to feel tighter around your waist.
“ I’ll.. take that as a compliment. “ You said, reaching into your purse to grab your card.
“ Alright I’m coming in. “ Bakugou growled, pushing off his car to walk into the store.
“ No, stay outside, I’m coming now! “ You grabbed your card back from the cashier, snatching your plastic bags to hurry out the store.
Just out the doorway was your boyfriend, angry expression glued to his face.
“ See? I didn’t even take that long- “
“ Who were you talkin to? “ He huffed, taking his hands out his pockets to grab the bags from your hands.
“ It was just the cashier Katsuki. “ You said, rolling your eyes.
You walked past him, “ Wish you wouldn’t talk to pricks like that. “
“ Is it a crime to be friendly? “ You said, waiting for him to unlock the door to his car.
“ When the person you’re talkin to is hittin on you ? Hell yes. “ He said unlocking the door for you.
You rolled your eyes, wondering why you even asked.
As soon as you plopped down into his car, the ac hit you head first.
You sighed contentedly, reclining the chair back as Bakugou hopped in, tossing the bags in the backseat.
“ Hm. “ He grunted, handing you your sprite.
You cracked it open, tossing your feet up onto the dashboard, drinking leisurely, ignoring Katsuki’s eyes on you.
“ 怠惰なお尻。/ Lazy Ass. “
“ You made me this way. “ You responded, burping loudly.
He burped back in response, “ You’re pickin up on my japanese? “
“ You say stuff so often I start to remember what it means~. “ You hummed. “ You speak japanese a lot when we’re- “
“ Ok get your nasty ass feet off my dashboard, “ he chuckled, pushing your legs down. “ Don’t we gotta go to the mall? “
Once you both arrived at the mall, you were surprised with how packed it was.
“ I thought we got here early! What’re all these people doin here? “
“ Baby it’s the middle of the summer. You know it’s gonna be packed. “ Katsuki responded, grabbing your hand. Intertwining his and your fingers.
You thought it was sweet how much he craved physical touch. Whether a little or a lot.
“ Aww, don’t wanna lose me in the mall babe? “ You teased, poking your lip out at him, lightly swinging yours and his hands.
He stopped swinging, glaring down at you, “ No, I don’t. You gotta habit of running off like a kid in a candy store. “
You shrugged, “ Guilty as charged. “
You both were in the mall to find some clothes for your trip.
You were going to Japan, Katsuki’s home country.
The trip was originally planned to visit his parents since they moved back, but you both agreed staying with them the whole time would be.. a bit much considering how his mother can be.
“ Don’t pick any skimpy shit. I don’t need my friends ogling my fiancé. “
Oh, that’s right!
You were announcing your engagement to them too!
“ When do you ever say the word ‘ogle’? Sounds weird coming from you. “
He gave an unamused snort.
With your glittery engagement ring, you lifted your hand up to stare at in awe.
“ You couldn’t wait to put a ring on it huh? You’re obsessed. “
He scoffed, smirking. “ Get over yourself. “
You both walked in and out of stores. Every time you acquired an extra bag on your arm.
“ なんてこった。/ Oh My God. I’m gonna go broke b’cause of you woman. “ Katsuki shook his head, checking his account balance on his phone.
“ Stop whininggg, you spent the same amount on me as you did yourself. “ You said, sipping the last drops of your sprite.
Katsuki glanced at the 3 bags in his hand, and glanced back at the 7 in both of your hands. “ Yeah, because all my shit cost me over $300. “
“ I like nice things, you knew what you signed up for when you put this rock on my finger. “ You looked back at him, waving your ringed finger as you walked ahead. Making it a point to sway your hips a little.
He sighed heavily, eyes glued to your dipped hips and fat ass, almost forgetting why he was mad at you in the first place.
He unlocked the trunk, “ Just put your bags in. “
You both spent the rest of the day ripping and running around the city, finishing errands, and spending more money.
Walking back to the car from the market, you looked at the food Katsuki bought.
“ Whatcha’ cookin this time? “
“ Just fried chicken. “
“ You got breasts for me? “
He rolled his eyes, “ I got breasts for both of us, spoiled ass. “
“ Oh ok, do you like breasts more than thighs? “
“ What? No! Everybody with a brain knows wings are better. “
“ So, do you like breasts or not ? “
“ *Sighh* Yes. I like breasts woman. … wait. Are we still talkin about chicken?- “
You burst into a fit of giggles, the grocery bags in your hands hitting your legs, making you wobble.
“ You’re so fuckin childish. “ Katsuki grumbled, frowning. The chuckle coming from his chest said otherwise.
You tossed the grocery bags in the backseat, and hopped up front.
Katsuki was starting the car up, when the song you were listening to starts playing through the speakers.
“ Why does my shit do that? Automatically connect to your phone? “
“ Maybe ‘cause I drive it so often.. “ You said, more-so to yourself.
“ What’d you say?- “
“ I loveeee this song, don’t you ? “ You cut him off, singing along to the song.
“ Love it when you call me ‘baby’, love it when you call me ‘baby’.. “
Katsuki watched you, as you sung and nodded your head to the music.
He found it ironic how the lyrics related with you, and your attitude.
“ Why’re you starin at me like that? “ You hummed, a light giggle in your throat.
Without a second thought, he reached his hand out to grab the side of your face, pulling you forward into a wet kiss.
You groaned petulantly, playfully slapping his chest, “ Don’t kiss me with your slobbery lips! “
He ignored you, pulling you back in for another kiss.
This time with a hand on the back of your head to keep you from running away.
Not that you really wanted to.
Once Katsuki’s tongue slid into your mouth, and intertwined with your own, your brain buzzed.
You both hummed in unison, the song long forgotten.
He reached his hands down to your waist, gently tugging you forward.
You broke away, “ We’re in a Walmart parking lot. “
He stared down at you with hooded eyes, “ Worse things happen in Walmart parking lots. “
He tugged you up and over the console, seating you down on his lap.
“ I’ve been wannin’ you all day.. “
“ I want you too.. but we shouldn’t. “ You whispered, grinding gently on his hardening cock.
“ But we want to. “ He leaned forward, connecting your lips again.
You moaned into each other’s mouths.
Katsuki maneuvered his hands up your dress, yours moving up his shirt.
You broke away for a second to pull each others clothes off, then reconnected.
Katsuki broke away, just to stare down at your exposed breasts pushed up on his naked chest.
“ Y’so warm baby. “ He looked over your shoulder, down at your ass swallowing your thong. “ An y’so sexy. “
He grabbed two handfuls of your ass, squeezing the flesh into his palms.
“ Breasts or thighs? “ You asked, kissing slowly down his neck.
“ Your askin me this now? “ He gave a swift pop to your left cheek.
You yelped, giggling, “ Yes, I am. “
He lifted your head up, “ Ass. “ A pop to your right cheek.
You wiggled on his lap, “ I knew it. “
You ground down on his lap, feeling his dick poke you through his shorts.
“ Y’Wanna get in the back seat? I’wanna watch that ass slap against my thighs. “ He groaned.
“ We can’t the bags are back there. “
“ Fine. Fuck it. We’ll do it like this. “ He lifted you up a little with one hand, as he worked to free himself from his shorts with the other.
“ You don’t wanna wait? “ You timidly asked, watching him stroke himself, pearls of precum forming at the tip.
“ Hah, nah I can’t wait. “ he pulled your thong to the side, your slick immediately dripping down onto his tip, inviting him in. “ You can’t either. “
He prodded lightly at your entrance, waiting for you to sink yourself down onto him.
As soon as the tip popped in, you both groaned like it was your first time all over again.
The song was at it’s end by this point. The last few notes ringing out through the car.
“ I love it when you call me, baaaby. “
You lifted yourself and dropped back down, starting a leisure pace to get adjusted.
“ Y’so big, ah~ it hurts a little. “
“ Yeah ‘cause we didn’t prep. You were so hungry for it I couldn’t deny you. “ Katsuki smiled cockily, his huffs fanning your flushed face.
“ Get over yourself. “ You huffed back, dipping your head into the crook of his neck, speeding up a little.
“ Ughh~, there you go baby, ride that dick. “ Katsuki’s moans into your ear were like jet fuel.
You ignored the slight burn in your thighs, moaning over the slaps of skin on skin, your playlist skipping to another song.
“ Fuck, fuck, ah~ I love you, mmhah~! “ You whimpered into his ear.
He slid his hands under your thighs, lifting and dropping you down on his cock like you were weightless. “ I love you too baby, I love you too. Fuck your squeezin down so hard. “
Katsuki continued to mutter dirty words in japanese into your ear, never faltering in his pace.
Your nipples and his bumped together a few times, making you both shiver into one another.
You felt the knot in the pit of your stomach began to pull, “ M’close ‘Kat, hah~! m’so close..! “ You squealed, legs growing tense from overuse.
Katsuki’s hands and thighs stung from how hard your ass hit them, but the throbbing in his cock distracted him from the pain. “ So am I. Hold it baby- agh~ together. We cum together. “
He lifted his hands up to your waist, letting a hand grope your breast before suckling it into his mouth.
You wailed pitifully, “ I’m cumming ‘Kat, I can’t hold it! “
He looked up at you with fox eyes, puffing air through his nose, and pulling you down onto him harder. “ Cum baby, cum sweetheart, M’ right behind you. “
You cried out, feeling your slick gush around Katsuki’s cock, still bouncing on him, helping him along.
And he followed right behind you with a loud grunt and bite on your nipple, making you squeal and squeeze around him.
“ A-ah~ stop, m’sensitive. “ He said, your tiddy still between his lips.
“ Then let go of my nipple! You gonna rip it off. “ You whined.
He licked it a few times, the sting abiding.
“ It’s like high school all over again. “ He mumbled absentmindedly. Laying his cheek on your breast, smoothing his hands over the prints he left on your behind.
“ Yeah, except this time we’re about to get married. “ You hummed, running your fingers through his unruly hair, your ring getting caught on a strand.
“ Can’t wait to marry my baby. “ He playfully kissed all over your chest, making you giggle and squeal, still trapped on his lap.
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