hi i'm rabs! my pronouns are she/her and he/him, feel free to use either one!
this is my first active blog since my previous one was only used to navegate through tumblr. i am brazilian and don't have much confidence in my english yet, so i don't know if i will write any actual fics but i'll probably post simple concepts here and there!
───── ` An ordinary confession turns dangerous when the adrenaline rush from your latest crime and your fascination with the priest's beliefs in forgiveness loosen your tongue, pushing you to lose control of impulses in the process, pushing him to discover who you really are.
You've had your hands under the warm stream for far too long, and you're as aware of it as you are of your own breathing, which confirms that everything has gone according to plan.
The bathroom is still fogged, slightly obscuring your vision as your eyes shift from your hands to focus on the mirror in front of you, now reduced to an opaque blur of light and shadow. Even so, when you look back at your hands, they're perfectly visible under the stream, revealing how wrinkled they are in some areas from the excessive time in the water combined with the heat.
You scrub them anyway, that's what you should always do.
The soap lathers between your fingers, bubbles scattered across your wrinkled skin, and a pleasant aroma clings to the creases of your palms. You still haven't rinsed off the excess soap, turning off the water stream as you methodically work to clean everything you can't see.
First, your nails, using your thumb to remove any dirt that might be lurking beneath each of the others, then your cuticles, eliminating any residue that might have lingered there as a remnant of the atrocity committed moments before. When that's done, you move on to the delicate skin at the base of your thumbs, then rotate your wrists under the water after turning it on again, turning your hands over to check the backs, delicately inspecting for any scratches that will need to be thoroughly cleaned.
You squint, obsessively checking the lines on your palms, actions so unnecessary yet vital to you, hoping they'll reveal an imperfection if you missed a spot.
They never do.
You could have done all that in the shower, obviously, but you always have to make sure you follow the same steps out of habit…
Find, plan, catch, tie, damage, cut, maybe play, then dispose, clean, wash your hands, shower, and wash your hands again.
From short steps you move to long ones, washing your hair twice and thoroughly, rinsing your body until your skin burns, and then a little more, to make sure the evidence is completely gone, already bagged, discarded, reduced to a memory not worth holding onto for more than a few months.
But even when you get rid of all the mess, the feeling lingers in the most satisfying way possible because it's not guilt or fear; it's not worth focusing on guilt, since you consider that the reasons you do all this don't deserve even a trace of guilt, so only a pleasant residue remains, somehow.
An irrational feeling that something remains embedded under the skin, too deep for the water to reach, and that's why you take the time.
You press the soap harder into your palms, an action that doesn't match your breathing, because your breathing remains controlled, indicating how relaxed you are.
And the beautiful thing about this is that there's discipline, as with everything, and as there always should be.
Without discipline, there's haste; haste leads to panic, and panic is disaster; disaster can lead to mistakes. You learned this the hard way in the past when you almost got caught for lack of discipline.
The water is getting lukewarm, and you adjust it so that it only runs hot without looking, letting muscle memory guide your hand, and the skin on your fingers stings; that's good; the pain indicates the existence of sensations that you sometimes lack.
Finally, you stop, not because you feel clean, no, no. Your brain keeps screaming that you're still covered in the grotesque red mess that person spilled on you, you just stop because there's no point in continuing until you hurt the hands you need. For now, you dry them with a towel you'll wash tomorrow, patting instead of rubbing, careful to avoid irritation.
When you look in the mirror, your reflection is barely visible through the dissipating steam, and you have the same expression on your face as during your extracurricular activity. This is reassuring, as there's no tension in your jaw or nervousness in your features; instead, you see a neutrality that could border on emptiness.
You feel like smiling at memories that still manage to surprise you. After a night like this back then, you felt shock, horror, sadness, or even regret; normal reactions that indicated you were still sane. Now, none of that is necessary because you are aware of every single thing you do with your own hands.
You leave the bathroom and head straight to your closet, already thinking about what to wear.
Following your usual routine, you choose dark clothes for the night, nothing too flashy, and above all, something comfortable and warm to combat the chill of this season. You're not trying to impress anyone, but that doesn't mean you won't dress decently for your much-anticipated date.
The clothes feel good against your skin, soft and cozy, and you like how you smell; a small smile spreads across your face. Once you're ready, you leave your room intending to go down to the basement—you always have to check it before leaving the house.
You unlock the door with the key you always carry and descend the stairs. They creak familiarly like all the damn basement stairs in this town.
Upon reaching the bottom, you turn on the light and survey your surroundings, scanning every corner, but you end up wrinkling your nose at the smells—horribly corrosive and dangerous. Chemical after chemical, so strong they sting the sensitive flesh inside your nose, gross. You can't force yourself to like these toxic products that damage your skin so easily, even without direct contact, but it's not like they created these substances to please customers with pleasant fragrances.
The aroma compels you to head back upstairs without delay, trusting that the ventilation will do its job and you won't have to combat what lingers in the air with other chemicals.
Before leaving through the front door, you check that you have your phone, your keys, and the other keys. You turn off your phone right there, just in case, because using a phone in the church is considered disrespectful, and hearing a notification in that sacred place would be enough to ruin five minutes of your time there.
Of course, the issue of unexpected notifications can happen especially during Christmas, when suddenly everyone wants to contact others after forgetting they exist throughout the year.
So phone off is better.
Outside, the cozy night envelops you, its temperature perfect for taking a deep breath of pure contentment. You get in the car, glancing around a couple of times before starting the engine.
The drive is short, taking your time to admire how the festivities have taken over Chimney Rock, adorned in red, lots of green, and white with touches of gold for those who prefer elegance to the ordinary. With your hands firmly on the wheel and your eyes alert, the streetlights pass at regular intervals, illuminating and liberating you time and again, creating a tranquil rhythm.
The advantage is that most people are gathered with their families or out of town, spending time with loved ones, making it more secluded and, most importantly, free from potential witnesses.
Many things run through your mind as you drive, among them the paranoia that has returned for the twenty-fifth time today; thoughts about that person you hope no one misses; and the dear priest you are about to see.
Ah, him. Such sweetheart, the light that illuminates your comforting night and warms you. There's nothing better than interacting with that special someone after getting rid of someone else's special someone... It makes you think about how you'd feel if someone did the same to you, and you'd definitely take care of that before someone else stole your power to do such thing.
Ridiculous thoughts, drowning yourself in situations that will never happen. You stop dwelling on it until all that's left is the road, the hum of the engine, and the soft click of the turn signal as you merge onto the right route that will take you to Our Lady of Perpetual Grace.
Upon arriving, you park a little behind what's considered the church's facade and take a few seconds to admire how beautiful it looks at night, adorned according to the season, giving it an even more alluring touch than it already is, and you appreciate how the night has weathered it; it's a comforting sight.
You leave your belongings inside your car, trusting that no miserable soul would dare steal your things from a car parked on sacred ground. Then you get out, closing the door and pressing the lock button twice to be sure, and head towards the main entrance.
It seems solitary, silent; the cobblestone pavement comforts you with every step, and as you enter, you contemplate the dark forest in the distance, the dark vegetation that makes up most of the spaces of God's house. The well-maintained natural areas demonstrate the care and dedication shown to them. You wonder if the priest hired a gardener or if he still tends the plants himself as he did before, after the events of the past.
A young couple in love passes you as you enter the main church, silently grateful for the lack of crowd. Your eyes search for Father Jud, but there's only that well-dressed older woman sitting a few rows ahead; a stranger is kneeling with his back to you four rows behind her.
You cross yourself, gazing at the imposing hand-carved wooden cross, and then take your seat in the back rows, as you always do in the evening.
During the ten minutes that pass, the stranger who had been kneeling in prayer reverently leaves, only for the well-dressed lady to do the same shortly after, offering you a warm, familiar smile that you immediately return.
You seem to be alone in that moment; your only companions are the soothing scent of incense and the exquisite architecture of the church. You gaze at the stained-glass windows shimmering in the moonlight filtering through them, and the imposing, ancient organ near the altar.
And after what seems like hours, a person comes out of the old confessional; it is the gray-bearded man you always find here at this time, said individual looks relieved and happy, later in a breath, the reason for your presence is revealed next to him.
Father Jud is impeccably dressed, sporting that smile that slightly crinkles his eyes, always adorning his handsome mouth. Tonight, his liturgical vestments are primarily white, making you search inside your memory for the exact meaning of that color until you recall that it symbolizes purity, the glory of Christ, worn for solemn celebrations, especially at this time of year. He's also wearing the stole of confession, creating a divine contrast with the white fabric and it should be inappropriate to look so striking in those garments.
Snapping from your thoughts which are slowly becoming impure, you notice the interaction between the man and the priest. That stranger extends his hand to take the priest's, and Jud takes it cordially, squeezing it with his other hand in a warm embrace. They smile at each other and say something you can't quite decipher—unfortunately.
The man moves away from him, and it's your turn to leave your seat.
As you approach, Father Jud finally notices you, and a foolish grin spreads across your face as he looks pleased with your arrival. Your footsteps echo through the church as you draw near, and he gestures a greeting.
“Welcome, how are you tonight? Merry Christmas, by the way,” he begins so cordially.
“Hello, Father, Merry Christmas to you too. And everything is fine, thank you for asking. I see you’re doing well as well,” you say politely, and he smiles back.
“I couldn’t be better. I’m glad to hear you’re well.”
You both stare at each other, not knowing exactly what to say because his sweet gaze swallows you whole and suddenly, your feel your cheeks burn, he clears his throat then, breaking what could have become an uncomfortable silence.
“You’re here for your confession, right?” His question hangs in the air for a moment.
“Yes,” you reply, taking a few seconds to consider how late it is. “If you have time.”
“Always,” he answers without hesitation, extending his hand for you to go to the confessional first. “After you.”
You obey his silent command; the booth welcomes you with its familiar, dark ambiance. The typical aroma of the place fills your nostrils, and you both take your seats, the fine wood separating his face from yours. You don't need to see him to clearly imagine his expression, always calm and open to everything without reservation. Your next step is to clasp your hands in your lap, look at the floor, and lick your dry lips before beginning to speak as the ritual requires.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned... It has been two months since my last confession.”
Two months since the last victim before tonight's.
“Welcome back,” the priest murmurs after your pause, “you can continue.”
“Uhm, I've harbored uncharitable thoughts, judging more often than I'd like to admit, and because of that, I've often felt superior instead of compassionate.”
You inhale. “I've lied too—to many people, especially my loved ones.” It's a safe admission, something gentle to start with. “But not in big ways, just small lies to avoid conflict and simplify things. Even so, it doesn't change that they're lies believed by the people I care about. Besides that, I've... hidden truths that I know would be uncomfortable for others. I haven't been honest, in other words, and that leads me to lie.”
Jud hums softly in acknowledgment, encouraging you rather than rebuking you. “And how did those lies make you feel?”
You ponder the question carefully.
Here you allow yourself to be honest and try to spit out the word that’s on the tip of your tongue.
“Efficient,” you answer truthfully, and then add, “but empty, and I do nothing to change it. I guess I’m afraid to face what telling the truth might cause.”
A faint smile touches your lips before you suppress it because you keep the priest in mind, how attentive he is to your words, thoughtful, his brow furrowed not from possible suspicion, but from concern.
“Lies have a way of emptying us, even the smallest ones that don't do much harm on a grand scale. In the end, they distance us from others, and from ourselves.”
You nod, even though he can't see it. The priest continues speaking. “But they are still human, and the fact that you feel empty can indicate regret, and that's good. At some point, it will motivate you to try to improve because you are aware of what you do and what you would like to improve on… All of that is part of being human, the drive to improve.”
There is a respectful silence when he finishes speaking, each word echoing in your mind like a lesson. You sigh, then murmur, “I hope to improve soon. I want to work on it, I think I just need to find the motivation.”
“Precisely,” you can almost hear his smile as he says that the moment you finish speaking.
You continue with the confession.
“I’ve also neglected my prayer,” you add. “I’ve been distracted, less present in my devotion to God, I’ve let it go.”
It’s not a lie; your mind has been very busy, but not with God.
“That’s perfectly fine. Never think that you should feel obligated to the Lord when you carry your own unnamed burdens. As long as you dedicate the time you can to Him, He will always hear you. Sometimes we simply can’t always be present, and that’s understandable, our minds are on different things all the time. That doesn’t make you guilty or that you’re doing anything unforgivable.”
Make you guilty or that you’re doing anything unforgivable.
Those words echo unpleasantly in your mind, and everything you haven't felt for a while now begins to surface beneath your skin. The need to contradict his opinion mingles with everything you want to say, everything you want to confess. If only he knew why you've been so distant from God lately, why you confess senseless lies.
Long seconds of internal debate pass, wondering whether you should stick to what's acceptable, or whether you should throw it all away and say what's yearning to escape your lips.
The second option wins.
What if...
“What if the reason I've been distant from my faith is something unforgivable?” slips out before you can think more clearly about your words, but Jud leaves no room to accommodate your mistake.
“Doesn't change anything. You can be forgiven... There's nothing you could do that would make you undeserving of forgiveness.”
Therein lies one of the things you admire about him, something that draws you in without you being able to resist it: the way he believes without questioning details, without demanding proof, letting himself be guided by his faith, and how it changed his life after anger consumed him that time years ago.
He believes in forgiveness the way you'd want to believe in Santa or unicorns. He trusts the concept of absolution the way others trust in gravity, and you've wondered, more than once, how far that trust extends.
“No, no I don't agree. I'm sorry, Father, but I can't see it the same way you do,” you say, speaking more quickly.
And he doesn't interrupt you.
That's also characteristic of him; he has that instinct to listen first before saying a word. He lets a thought finish developing, even when it leads to something uncomfortable. You can almost hear the subtle change in his breathing after the outburst, the silent recalibration of his attention.
“I see,” he murmurs, his curiosity leading him to ask. “Can you tell me why, please?”
You swallow, and for the first time tonight, the movement isn't entirely fluid.
“Because forgiveness implies equivalence... It assumes that all wrongs exist on the same scale and that with enough or acceptable remorse, everything can be leveled, even erased in some way.”
Jud reflects. “Forgiveness isn't erasing,” he says. “It doesn't deny the harm; instead, it acknowledges it. The only thing it denies is that it's the final word.”
“That can't be dangerous?”
“Dangerous?”
“Yes.” Your fingers curl slightly in your lap, “suggesting that everyone deserves the same end... That intention or consequence doesn't matter as much as the willingness to say 'I'm sorry.'”
The air between you thickens with the rising tension.
“Are you saying,” Jud asks carefully, “that some people are unforgivable?”
“I’m saying,” you choose your words with surgical precision, “that some actions are so definitive that they remove the person who committed them from the moral equation. They no longer belong in the same category.”
“That’s not for us to decide,” he says quietly.
A sharp feeling resonates beneath your ribs.
“Why not?”
“Because we aren’t God,” Jud replies. “Because when we start determining who is worthy of grace we place ourselves above it, and only those who fit our criteria are deemed worthy, while those we fail to understand are considered undeserving.”
“Or,” you reply, “we acknowledge reality.”
“Now, I don’t agree with the way you see it; that sounds pessimistic.”
You almost laugh.
“Well, I think it’s better than believing that everyone can be redeemed just because we want the world to be orderly.” You frown at what you’re about to say.
“Some people only cause harm, and they don’t repent; since they just consume without any consequences because they’re at peace with themselves and no one holds them accountable.”
“And who decides that?” he asks.
You answer without hesitation. “Someone has to.”
The ensuing silence is no longer comfortable.
Jud's voice, upon returning, has shifted to a firmer tone. “Taking justice into our own hands doesn't purify the world. I hope you realize it only wounds it further.”
You feel your temperature rise, turning into anger.
“And doing nothing preserves it? Allowing certain people to continue breathing, to continue hurting others, just because intervening would make us uncomfortable?”
“I didn't say anything like that.”
“That's what you believe in.”
You hear his laughter from the other end. “When did this turn into an argument?” He bites back to continue. “I believe no one has the right to take a life.”
“That’s funny. I remember you took one back in your boxing days, and even—forgive me for this, Father—but I know you were happy with Monsignor Wicks’ absence.”
“What happened in the past has nothing to do with my beliefs. I’m at peace with what I did and anyway, I don’t agree with taking a life. My past self was stupid, driven by repressed anger and committed and atrocity I know how to live with because I'm honest with myself. And I’m at peace with the situation with Monsignor Wicks.”
Now it’s your turn to laugh. “Sure, sure, that’s why you wanted to get rid of him like a cancer or something.”
Jud closes his eyes in frustration at the pointless line in that video that needs to be deleted from the internet, and there's no point in continuing the argument because you won't change your mind just because of what he says.
“Alright, you win. What are you getting at?”
“Where's the line?” you ask. “At what point does forgiveness stop being virtuous and start being negligent?”
“There's no line like that," Jud replies. “Life is sacred. All of it and that's what I think, I can't convince you of anything.”
“Oh fuck you, Father,” you spit out, not giving a damn about where you are.
“Jesus Christ, I know you haven’t mentioned it fully, but this is obviously directed at the fact that you think you don’t deserve forgiveness.”
A bitter smile curves your mouth.
“Have you harmed someone?”
You remain silent, waiting for the tension to fully fill him.
“I’m going to take that as a yes, and you think you’re beyond forgiveness,” he says.
“Yes.”
“That angers you,” he adds, perceptive as ever, “because I don’t agree.”
Your jaw tightens.
“Because you won’t agree,” you correct. “You insist on seeing goodness where there is none. You offer mercy to people who would never extend it to others.”
The priest finally understands, and in an instant, the firmness in his tone is replaced by the gentleness of compassion, so necessary to let you know he’s there for you.
“Listen,” he says softly. “I don’t know what made you believe you’re like the worst person in the world, and I don’t know what’s inside you or why you’ve decided that defines you completely, but I do know you.”
As expected, you let him continue because allowing his voice to penetrate your ears and reach your brain is a wise decision.
“I’ve known you for almost two years. I see you here often, and I’ve watched how carefully you navigate the world. I see goodness in you. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t believe it.”
Naive, so fucking naive it makes you want to break down without a care for the consequences. It’s the certainty with which he says this, the absolute and undeserved confidence with which he declares you good, that makes you want to chuckle hysterically and open up as you’ve been wanting to.
“No,” is all your mouth manages to say for the moment, “no, you don’t know me.”
Jud straightens up; you can feel it. His attention sharpens, his pastoral concern giving way to something more alert.
“You think you know me,” you continue, the words loosening up, flowing faster. “Because I stay still, I speak politely, because I know how to sound thoughtful, and all that normal shit when it's about manners.”
Your hands separate, one pressing against your thigh, holding you tight.
“Please, Father, you only see what I let you see,” you say. “What you see is what fits in here.”
“What—”
“I hurt people,” you say.
Jud inhales deeply, but still doesn’t interrupt.
“With a lot of intention.” Your voice stabilizes as you speak, as if the confession itself is aligning you. “I choose, then I plan and follow through. Sometimes I can lose control, but I’m careful most of the time to make it more satisfying. If I let anger take over I have to use more towels, it makes me sick too much mess.”
Jud’s voice, when it comes out, is low. “Have you taken a life?” It’s a stupid question, but it’s not like he can say anything else when a thick lump is forming in his throat.
“I’ve taken more than one,” you continue, because once you cross the threshold, there’s no reason to stop. “And I don’t regret it like you want. I only regret the inefficiencies because I truly enjoy the result.”
You take a long breath, relieved by how good it feels to say this out loud, and there's so much energy beneath your skin. You want to say so many things and you have to look him in the eyes when it happens. The need to see the fear in his pupils is palpable, to witness the sweat on his face as his surprise leaves him unable to do anything, the delicious sight of him being wrong and blindly believing you without looking more closely at what was in front of him, what he could have noticed if he'd had even a shred of malice.
But the "could have" doesn't matter here because you're already leaving your side of the confessional to head towards him. You enter the small space making him flinch in place when he sees you, muttering a curse under his breath, and he has the expression you were expecting.
Big eyes staring up at you as if he were witnessing his doom, cold sweat beading on his freckled skin and his pretty pink lips are slightly parted; he looks shocked, you're not surprised. Your heart beats fast as a reaction of the way he looks better when fear overshadows him, you'd like to keep him like that forever, but you have to act fast before he can alert someone.
“So sweet to me.” You purr, invading his personal space and he instinctively pulls away in the small spot. You reach out to reach his face, and you see the confusion flicker in his bright eyes at the gentle touch you want to offer, it doesn't align with everything you've said.
When your warm hand makes contact with his cheek, Jud breathes heavily and you wonder if your action might have caused a different reaction, but the dim light prevents you from seeing. You place your other hand on his other cheek, causing him to frown, he's terrified by how you're holding him because for a second he thinks you're going to break his neck, but you're only holding his head to command him to move away from his seat.
It's worth noting that you did have fleeting thoughts of what you could do with both hands on his face. The priest rises from his seat, and it's terror that compels him to kneel before you, leaving you feeling fulfilled and powerful, so aroused.
Jud remains on his knees because he doesn't know what else to do with his body. The confessional feels impossibly smaller now, the air thick with fear, and something warm creeping in, a feeling that confuses his reactions. Your presence fills the space completely, and he can't look anywhere without seeing you. Your shadow looms over him, and he has no choice but to look up at you.
He wishes he hadn't started looking at you differently if he had known you were like this.
“You—you don't have to do this, please, please let me go, you're still young, don't let this mistake ruin your life.” some words had to work to get out of this.
“... And I don't want to hurt you.”
That confuses you for a millisecond, but then you realize what he means. “Right, I forgot you’re a boxer. Well, you can break free, can't you? Why haven’t you?”
He closes his mouth, you see the conflict on his face, and you smile slightly, “Of course, you don’t want to, God. I also forgot that you are so desperate to be good that you aren't capable of hurting someone who may or may not hurt you right now because you believe they can improve as people like you did.”
He closes his eyes, worry already stealing what little calm he has left. “Please...”
Your hand burns against his face, touching him as if you own him, your thumb caressing his cheekbone and moving down to feel the first hairs of his short beard, so close to his mouth, close enough to make him shudder at a kind of physical contact he doesn't remember ever feeling.
He realizes your intentions when your thumb traces the corner of his mouth, not touching him as you want yet, just close enough for him to feel you more deeply.
Jud's lips part instinctively, a silent betrayal of everything he thinks he should be, the priest tells himself mentally that it was to beg for mercy because he still doesn't know what you'll do to him.
You watch him, fascinated.
“You know what the worst part is?” You fill the silence that was becoming overwhelming, and he gasps slightly at the sound of your voice again. “It’s not that I’ve taken the 'sacred' life from a forgettable face, that’s the least of it. For me, the worst part is that I can sit across from you and hear you tell me I’m good.”
Jud gasps, his hands clutching the clothes covering him.
“You believe in me,” you say. “You believe in forgiveness so much it’s kind of obscene, Father. You don’t even need to know who I was before to decide who I am now.”
Your thumb presses lightly against his lower lip at last, just enough to feel it yield, just enough to feel a slight tremor run through him.
His mouth reacts before his mind, so submissive to your touch.
“That faith,” you admit, lowering your voice and admiring his lips, “is what caught my attention. Not you as a man—don’t get your hopes up—but what you represent is what both fascinates and disturbs me. The idea that someone like you can exist, that a goodness like yours remains untouched… It draws me to you.”
The priest pronounces your name for the first time tonight, tense in place, and you move your foot towards where his crotch is supposed to be hidden beneath his sacred vestments, and you can feel it under your shoe when you press.
You didn’t expect him to be aroused by such a sin.
A desperate whine escapes him, unstoppable as you press down giving him a bit of pain and that little pathetic sound lands against your thumb like a confession of his own making.
You got what you wanted, and you press harder against the shameful evidence of his undue lust. Your thumb finally enters his wet cavity, pressing on the muscle, feeling his lips close around your finger.
“You are everything I am not,” you continue, pushing your finger deeper and deeper, forcing him to make a choked sound and look back at you. His eyes are glossy now, unfocused, fixed on your mouth as if it holds answers that end in ruin.
“You see good where there shouldn’t be any, and I…” you sigh. “don't.”
Poor thing started sucking on your finger, consumed by desire while he's losing in your voice making him feel confusion, and above all, arousal. Rosy cheeks now visible under the light that finally decided to work correctly.
“That's why I dislike when you tell me I can be saved,” you concluded, pressing against his erection, and he began to move his hips against your foot, letting fear be corrupted by carnal desire. “Because if you can forgive me, what does that make me?”
synopsis: you can't stand patrick on or off the court. but when mrta decides to throw an end of term mixed doubles tournament, you're forced to share one with him. lucky you!
tags: 18+ MDNI, hate sex, enemies to fuckers, mild degradation, penetration (p in v), reader denied orgasm, creampie, very brief hair-pulling, patrick being an ass (but reader isn't exactly a ball of sunshine either)
wordcount: 3k
YOU TRAIN like your life depends on it. It does, in a sense. Failure at MRTA means leaving. Leaving means you’re nothing.
That’s why you hate him. Not because he was talented—though he was, unbearably so—but because he doesn’t respect the academy. He doesn’t respect the grind. Where everyone else claws their way up from the bottom, he coasts. He doesn’t care who he steps on. You don’t care who tries to stop you. Collision is unavoidable.
Patrick doesn’t like you any more than you like him. He resents your discipline, your silence, your ruthless refusal to acknowledge him and bow down at his feet like the rest of your peers do. You resent his indifference, his casual cruelty, the way he treats effort like it’s just something beneath him.
And it’s only natural that rivalries form in a school that’s practically a filtration system, separating the hopeful from the chosen. Something ugly brews between you. Resentment turns into fixation. You start to notice things you should be indifferent to: the precision of his footwork, the brutal elegance of his backhand, the anger beneath the surface that seems to be the driving factor behind every shot.
He notices things too: how you never flinch, how you play through pain, how attentive your eyes are on the court. You study each other in the same way a predator would size another up.
As far as you’re concerned, doubles are a joke at MRTA. The academy is built for single players. No one as good as you cares about teamwork. Needing someone else on the court is just another weakness, right?
Which is why the announcement is like a punch to the gut.
Mandatory mixed doubles season.
Everyone would be assigned a partner, and nobody would get to choose. Pairings would be final until the end-of-season inhouse tournament, paired off into junior and senior groups.
Your name is at the top of the board. Beside it? The last name you’d ever want to see.
ZWEIG.
Fuck your life. You and Patrick had never so much as rallied together, and now you were expected to share a court—expected to trust each other—to win together. Impossible.
He doesn’t want you as a teammate and you don’t believe in them. Mixed doubles is for soft players, for people who adjust, compromise, cooperate. You are not soft. He is not willing. But both of you are too prideful to yield.
So when your names are called, both of you decide to suck it up… for now.
—
Mixed doubles practice is scheduled for 7:00AM. You show up at 6:45. Patrick shows up at 7:17.
You’re already hitting serves when he walks onto the court, unbothered, sneakers scuffing obnoxiously loud against the acrylic court. He doesn’t bother to look at you, let alone acknowledge you, as he drops his bag and stretches his arms above his head. The dramatic put-out sigh he lets out is just the icing on top of the cake. You can tell this is going to be the worst two weeks of your life.
“You’re late,” you say as you turn to level him with a narrow-eyed glare.
He takes his time crouching down and unzipping his bag. “No. I arrived when I meant to.”
“So… late?” You deadpan.
“If we’re going to do this,” he says, eyes finally flicking up to you. “Don’t waste my time narrating things I already know.”
God, what an asshole.
“You think this is a waste of time?” A hypocritical reply, really, considering you think the exact same thing. At least you have the decency to be respectful, though.
“I know it is.” He picks up a racket, standing tall. “I already have a doubles partner. And he’s not a girl.”
The way it rolls scornfully off his tongue makes your blood boil. “Interesting,” you scoff, already set on edge. “I thought you’d like that. Gives you someone else to blame when you lose.”
“You think we’re going to lose?”
“Unless you start showing up to practice on time, yeah.”
His expression doesn’t change, but something in his posture does–shoulders lowering, stance centering. “Racket up, then,” he says. “Let’s see if you’re as useful as you think you are.”
Warming up is mostly uneventful. For the sake of your sanity, you keep to yourself as you both empty the ball basket—Patrick uses yours, of course. Why would he get his own when you’ve done it for him? By the time one of your classmates asks sheepishly if you want to play against them to learn their own partner’s style, you just want to get today over with.
So you move to the baseline. He stands closer to the net. You don’t discuss signals, don’t plan formation, don’t agree on anything. He never asks your preference. You don’t offer it. You suppose if you’re going to make this work, you have to know how bad it really is.
You serve first—heavy and flat, the kind that has your opponent launching to fire back. Patrick cuts off the return with a volley so violent you’re actually impressed, given how early it is.
Point. Easy. No reaction. A few more like that. No mistakes. No words exchanged.
It doesn’t take long for you to notice something: he never calls balls. Doesn’t bother with court communication. He just lunges for anything he wants, assuming he just gets to take it. You let it go for three points before testing him—firing a crosscourt ball that gets returned just out of his reach. As you suspect, he goes for it anyways.
And as you also expected, he misses.
“I had that,” he mutters irritably, squaring his shoulders.
“No,” you fire back. “You wanted it. That’s not the same thing.”
Patrick scoffs, taking a step in your direction. “If I go for a ball, I get it.”
You meet him halfway. “If you go for my ball again, you won’t be able to hold that racket.”
The tension between you feels taut. For a moment, neither of you move, your opponents shuffling awkwardly on their side of the net. The hatred is real, but worse than that is the energy crawling beneath it. Then he does something so utterly strange it baffles you.
He has the audacity to smirk.
“Fine,” he says. “Your side, my side. Clear boundaries.”
“... Exactly,” you reply warily.
He steps back, hands raised in surrender. “But just so you know,” he adds, “boundaries never last very long with me.”
“Neither will partners, if you don’t get here by 7am tomorrow.”
He grins. “Guess we’ll see.”
—
For one delusional moment, you actually think things are going well between you. You fly through the first few rounds of the tournament. Whether that’s because of your teamwork (definitely not) or your individual skill, you make it to the semi-finals, playing against Art Donaldson and his partner.
It’s safe to say it does not go well.
You leave the court before the umpire even finishes announcing the score. Patrick doesn’t bother shaking hands with your opponents, leaving his best friend baffled and watching you both storm off. The match was an absolute disaster. Not a chaotic win like some of your others have been. No, a loss in two sets that was pure and utter humiliation: fighting on court, screaming across the baseline, your classmates loving every second of your inevitable collapse as a team. It doesn’t help that Art knows Patrick’s playstyle and had prepared in advance to work against it.
When you asked him how to combat his regular partner, he just shrugged it off and said come on, have you seen him? Art’s easy fuckin’ money.
Right. Easy money. Patrick shoves the door to the girls locker room open behind you so hard it rebounds off the wall.
“What the fuck was that?” He snaps, stalking after you.
You spin on him. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, I’m already started, babe,” he shoots back. The condescending name makes your skin crawl. “What was your problem out there?”
“My problem?” You bark out a laugh—a cold, sharp sound. “My problem is I’m playing doubles with someone who doesn’t know what the word partner means. How the hell does Art put up with you?”
He crowds into your space, specks of saliva against your cheek as he hisses down at you, “Don’t blame this on me because you cracked under pressure. I saw how she was getting to you in the second set. We could have easily tied up.”
“Because I cracked?” You say incredulously. “I was the only one playing, asshole!”
“You were playing wrong,” he snaps. “You don’t get to make every shot your shot.”
“You weren’t taking any of them! Pussied out because I yelled at you for it on day one, huh?”
“You kept cutting me off.”
“Because you were too fucking slow!”
His jaw clenches. “Say that again.”
“Too. Fucking. Slow.”
For whatever reason, you know you’ve hit a nerve. Not that you care—he deserves worse. But the moment you catch the shift, the moment his eyes turn from hostile to lethal, your stomach twists.
Another step towards you, and his voice drops lower. “You think you’re better than me?”
“I know I work harder than you,” you say. “I know I care more than you. I know I don’t fold every time—”
He slams his racket into the wall next to you. Somehow-–adrenaline, probably—you manage not to flinch.
“You don’t know shit about me,” he says.
“I know you’re an asshole that keeps messing up my game.”
“We’ve been winning—”
“We? We’re not a we, Patrick!”
“We are now. You’re stuck with me.”
“Not after that loss. Face it. We’re out, so you can fuck off and leave me alone.”
You shove past him, but his hand snaps out to catch your wrist. Your gaze flicks down to where it encompasses you, grip firm and unyielding when you try to yank it away.
“Let go—”
“Don’t walk away from me,” he says.
“I don’t owe you shit. You can’t even keep up with me.”
“Oh, yeah? Watch me.”
You open your mouth to snap back, but before a word can leave, he grabs your jaw and kisses you. Not carefully, or slowly, or with permission. He kisses you like it could somehow take back the fact you just lost out there.
You shove him away. He comes right back. Hands slide into your hair, teeth grazing your bottom lip, breath hot against your mouth in a bruising kiss he’s been holding in for weeks. Months, even.
By the time you come to your senses enough to break away properly, you’re out of breath and your chest feels tight. Patrick Zweig. Patrick fucking Zweig just kissed you. “This— no. This is a mistake.”
He stares at you, lips red and swollen, eyes wicked. “Yeah. But I’m gonna make it again.”
Your hands hit his chest again. Not to shove him off, but to pull him instead. You fist his shirt angrily, dragging him closer. Hating him, wanting him, all of it blurs together in a post-match haze of adrenaline. He licks into your mouth and all-too-willingly you let him, lips parted and moaning against him.
One of his hands slides down to palm your ass over your skort. Then he smacks it, and your gasp of surprise is stifled into him.
“You’re such a dick.”
“And you’re a prissy little bitch. But here we are.”
It’s a stumble of greedy hands and tangled limbs until your back hits the wall. The way you arch into him is entirely unceremonious, palms sliding up beneath his shirt. It clings to him like a second skin, drenched in sweat and frustration. His abs are hot beneath your touch, and you can hardly bring yourself to be annoyed about how fucking hot his body is. Not when you’re getting to touch it—maybe you’ve had a wet dream here and there about doing this. Not that he needs to know that, because this is absolutely a one time thing that you’ll come to regret as soon as his hands aren’t on you.
“I hate you,” you grit out. “God, we could have won that—”
“I’m about to fuck you against a wall and you’re caught up on some bullshit tournament? Christ, you are a stuck up loser,” he mutters.
You sputter to reply, but it dies on your tongue before you can cuss him out properly. His hand has managed to find its way between your thighs, pressing against your cunt over your skort. He cups you roughly, laugh muffled into your jaw as he mouths sloppily at it.
“Stuck up and wet.”
“It’s sweat, asshole—”
“Right. And I’m Federer.”
He pushes the fabric aside to find you soaked and aching. You bite back a whimper as he circles your clit slowly, eyes glinting as he studies the way your lip catches shamefully between your teeth.
“Can’t believe this is fucking happening. I mean, I’ve thought about it,” he says, slick fingers rolling against the swollen bud while your hips jerk pathetically against him. “Shutting you up with my cock in your mouth when you’re being a good little girl in class and an annoying brat on the court. I didn’t think you’d let me.”
“I’m not letting you do anything,” you scowl.
He laughs condescendingly. “No?”
“No. This is just… we aren’t…” It’s impossible to get a word out with the way he’s toying lazily with your pussy.
“We aren’t…?” Patrick prompts.
“Go fuck yourself.”
“Wish I could. But you’ll do instead.”
He spins you (though you both know you go willingly) to face the wall, cheek smothered against it as his palms press hard into your soft inner thighs to force them open wider. At least this way you don’t have to look at him properly. Don’t have to see his stupid smug face when your back arches for him and he pushes his shorts down to free his cock.
You’ve heard rumours. Patrick big dick Zweig. What you were certain was an exaggeration becomes blindingly real as his fat tip drags through your wet folds. If you weren’t too prideful, you’d ask him to finger you first.
But you barely manage a stuttered “w-wait—” before his tip breaches your tight cunt, pushing into you inch by inch. The sound you make is practically a breathless sob as he presses deeper, one hand on your hip while the other grips the base of his cock like he’s measuring how much he thinks you can take—another thing you’d be pissed about if you could actually see behind you right now.
Eventually, he seems to decide fuck it, hilting himself entirely into your tight heat. You moan pathetically, fluttering around him as he groans behind you.
“There we go. Jesus, you’re tight. Are you a virgin?”
“You’re asking that now?”
“I’m a gentleman.”
“Your logic is astounding,” you bite out. “And no, I’m not a fucking virgin.”
“Good. Then you can take this.”
Patrick begins to move—slow at first, but still punishingly deep—each pull and snap of his hips dragging moans of pleasure out of your mouth. Your fingers claw at the wall, unable to find purchase against cracked paint. He’s relentless. He keeps hitting that spot inside you, cock dragging against it with each thrust, lighting up your spine. You reach down, trying to snake your hand between your legs to rub at your neglected clit.
But before you can nudge the fabric out of the way, he tuts disapprovingly. He catches your wrist, pinning it to the wall next to your head.
“You think you get to cum after that embarrassing fucking performance out there?”
“I told you that wasn’t my fault,” you snap, voice breaking as his hips snap into you without breaking rhythm once. It’s a miracle he has this much energy after spending the last hour getting decimated on the court.
“We both know that’s bullshit,” he grunts, his other hand twisting into your hair. Your breath stutters as he pulls your head back, teeth grazing the sensitive skin beneath your ear. Every deep stroke has your thighs trembling, cunt clenching weakly around him as his cock bullies into you. “That’s why you’re gonna let me fill this pretty pussy without getting yourself off.”
Your dignity is quickly crumbling with each roll of his hips. As much as you want to tell him to fuck off and stumble out of the locker room before he can finish, you’re drunk on the feeling of his big cock inside you. On his breath hot against your neck, panting and grunting into your ear while he holds you in place.
“Asshole,” is all you manage to gasp out.
He laughs into your neck, but it breaks off into a groan as your walls clench around him. “That’s—ngghhh—yeah, that’s it. Degrade me more, baby. Make me fuckin’—ah, cum. Oh, I’m gonna—”
When he finally stills, you feel the hot pulse of his release flooding your cunt. It should be an unpleasant feeling. You’d never let any of the shitheads at the academy fuck you raw, and yet here you are allowing Patrick Zweig to creampie you like a slut in the girl’s locker room. Oh, how the mighty fall.
You’re shaking when he releases your wrist and pulls out with a wet pop. He doesn’t bother to help you stand up properly. Instead, he wipes his cock on your ass cheek once, twice, leaving a glistening trail down to your trembling thighs like his own personal signature.
Patrick steps back, tucking himself back into his shorts. “I’d say it was nice playing with you, partner, but it really wasn’t.”
You grunt a weak sound of agreement, slowly straightening up. Your spine hurts, and you can feel him dripping out of your sopping hole as you meekly adjust your skort to cover you properly again. Not that you expected aftercare, or very much from him in general, but some part of you is disappointed by the way he heads straight for the door, leaving you with nothing but his crumpled racket and the warmth of his cum inside you.
He only lingers long enough to throw over his shoulder:
Sweet Adrian discovering something new about himself. . .
Tags: GN/AFAB reader - Cruel reader - Pervert reader - Sub/top Adrian - Light watersports - Riding - Unprotected sex - Humiliation - Kink discovering - Drabble I fear
Evil.
That's the only word Adrian could use to describe you right now.
He knows you have a cruel side, a bit mean, since he doesn't have to be an expert to notice that you're sometimes cruel to him, but the truth is, he likes it. It doesn't make him too different from you because he can also be cruel, a trait heavily linked to his raw, unadulterated honesty.
But this time you crossed a huge line, and it all started with a movie, just an innocent date night, since that's what normal couples do: watch movies, eat and drink.
And not surprisingly, drink is the key word. Adrian was so engrossed in the incredibly mesmerizing scenes of the movie that he wasn't paying attention to the constant glasses of water you brought him, one after another. The worst part was that he was thirsty from his excessive consumption of sweets and popcorn with abnormally high salt levels.
He didn't notice your morbid rotten in lust gaze observing his profile and the way his throat worked as he swallowed water, letting out a pleasant sound as it went down his system relaxing everything in its path and putting an end to his thirst. Your eyes lit up when he turned his gaze laughing out loud at the funny and childish scene in the movie, seeking some kind of approval which you gave him by laughing too.
Everything was going perfectly until the movie credits rolled, and suddenly the teasing started. You took the initiative, and he let you because he really liked it when you touched him; it made him feel wanted in a positive way, and receiving the attention of one of the people he cherishes most and with whom he needs to connect every single day, obsessive ly even. You were both bonding like a normal couple where he wasn't in control.
And while his mind and part of his body were surrendering to you, he completely forgot something he should have done minutes before.
One thing led to another, and between kisses and squeezes, he whispered that he needed to go to the bathroom. But it was something he probably didn't even understand he'd said, since he seemed to be on autopilot thanks to the way you were biting his neck and doing that strange thing with your tongue on his pulse that made him forget his own name.
After more whimpers, moans, desire, and a change of position, Adrian realized how much he needed to go to the bathroom just as you were on top of him and his throbbing cock was being squeezed by your cunt.
His brain clicked when his needs managed to connect with it and it was just amusing to see the expression on his face, if before he looked pretty with red cheeks and a contoured expression of pleasure beneath you now he looked like a delight dripping with worry.
He didn't realize that the situation was making his skin hotter, he didn't realize how the agonizing tingles in his bladder traveled straight to his cock finishing right on his tip inside you and oh poor thing started shivering under you.
“Don't move—” He murmured softly between his lips, squeezing his eyes shut and licking his lips as dryness set in, his hands gripping your thighs as you smiled, testing the waters.
“Why not?” you asked, feigning ignorance, then tried again, shifting your hips slightly forward. His reaction was explosive, his hips jerking and his back arching. He gasped, and you bit your lower lip at the sweet sensation in your soaked cunt, squeezing around him to feel him twitch.
“I told you not to move! Please, please, I—I…” he started whining, pouting desperately as you began to move your hips back and forth, ignoring his pleas.
Seeing him so ashamed, so broken, wasn't something you'd see every day. Broken by you, maybe, but ashamed about something? God, your skin tingled at the sight of him so adorable beneath you, his chest rising and falling, trying not to show his discomfort. Your warm hands suddenly rested on his abds, on the lower part, and his eyes snapped open, he was already determined to tell you.
“I need to— I need to go, I wanna go, please I wanna go, get off I'm—" he started to sob, not a single tear had fallen yet, but the glimmer of them were visible in his green eyes eclipsed by the black of his pupils. You laughed cruelly and dug your fingers into his lower belly making him mewl, trembling completely, and he felt the limit about to be broken until he heard your words.
“Not yet, hold it,” you purr, leaning in until your chests touch, and Adrian starts huffing and crying like a wounded puppy, so hurt by the hot, feverish skin contact.
“No! I can’t—I can’t hold it anymore!” he keeps whining, and you smile, playing your last card.
“Yes, you can.”
“F—Fuck, how?” He closes his eyes, throwing his head back as your overwhelming heat starts clenching even more around him, trying to milk him. Your weight is pressing harder on his body, on his sensitive bladder.
“Because you’re on your back, the sheets are touching your pretty ass, so how can't you hold it, Adrian?” You wish you had a camera to capture how his cheeks redden even more and the first tears finally escape. Now every tremor in his body is more visible, and he can’t believe he forgot that part.
You used his little problem against him so effectively that he's now aware he won't be able to complete what he wants to do unless you have mercy for him and decide to get out if him.
Instead, you start moving your hips again, faster and more urgently, seeking your own pleasure as you pant against his sweaty neck, and you feel closer thanks to his humiliation, that delicious feeling forming inside you.
Adrian doesn't know if he's ended up in heaven or hell, drooling and sobbing like he's in heat, hugging your body on top of him as if his only purpose were to make you melt against him, strong hands gripping your back, holding you until you're sore, everything feels twice as sensitive, so tingling, more overwhelming, his cock is pulsing and marking your walls with a milky mess, so wet and needy, the heat is as unbearable as his full bladder.
Even though his body screams at him to do it already, his mind reminds him that he has to continue, and his head fills with thoughts that make him leak right inside the sloppy tightness.
How much longer can he last, how hot will it be, how good will it feel to spill inside you but in a different way, how much will it burn...
But no matter how tempting those carnal thoughts are, his lips still let out that pitiful please that makes his throat burn, and the moment comes when he can't resist anymore.
You only hear his muffled scream against your skin after he buries his face in your neck, and then you feel a heat filling your insides, and for a second, you can't tell if he came, or finally released himself in some other way.
🖋️ ` I've been wanting to write about Gut Chase, in my head he looks like Max Irons playing the typical mean kind of golden boy with shitty big brother attitude and it turns me on, I write dark things, so I might do something to involve him. Part of this is due Stroma looking like him somehow from my point of view, or maybe I just want to fuck Max Irons, both coexist.
Anyway, I have been busy, which means I'm posting very poorly written slop because I want to keep tormenting you people. The requests will be delayed more as expected.
Summary: With Rick Flag Sr on the run, everyone at Checkmate bands together to track him down in order to find Chris. One of your pit stops takes an unexpected turn one sleepless night when you and Adrian are sharing a bed.
Warnings: Adults Only. MDNI. Reader is in her 30's. Reader is a little bit mean, but she's sleep deprived — it's justified. One bed trope. Spoilers for the end of season 2. Post season 2. Slightly sad Adrian :((. Clitoral stimulation. Fingering. Dry humping. Reader tugs on Adrian's hair and he really likes it. Whining, groaning, whimpering (MEN NEED TO DO THIS MORE). Adrian finishes in his pyjama pants. Being caught, kinda. Cliffhanger ending.
->I do not give permission for my fics to be copied or fed into any AI software, please respect the wishes of writers and just enjoy the source material that has been provided to you.<-
Part 1// Part 2 // Part 3
"Adrian, if you turn over one more time, I swear to god I will personally put you on a spit and turn you into a rotisserie chicken myself since you clearly want to be one so badly!"
It would be just your luck that you'd pick the short straw on this one, ending up having to share a room with possibly the most egregiously annoying man you've ever met.
All you want to do is sleep. It's been days of non stop fighting and torturing information out of anyone with any kind of affiliation to Rick Flag Sr for information on where he is and more importantly — where he's taken Peacemaker.
You've been surviving on cat naps in the van while on the road, copious amounts of caffeine and spite to keep you going, but you were long running on fumes and at the end of your tether.
Harcourt had insisted on stopping somewhere with actual beds for the night which is how you ended up in this shitty motel 6, no one had bothered to wake you up from your nap while they were picking 'room buddies' so when you did wake up to Adrian insistently nudging your shoulder, you were already pissed, more so when you heard who you'd be bunking up with.
On the other side of the wall you hear Eagly squawking and John loudly telling him to be quiet, at least you know you're not the only one with a menace for a roommate.
"I can't sleep-uh! Do you think Peacemaker is okay? Do you think he's still alive? Oh my god, what if Rick Flag sent him to a dimension where waxing your chest isn't a thing?" Whiny. One question after the other, after the other, completely ignoring your threat.
You whip your head in his direction, scowling in the dimly lit room, the cheap curtains barely blocking out the flickering neon lights outside. "How the fuck would I know? Wait hold on… Chris waxes his chest?"
"I didn't say that! I just meant hypothetically if he got sent to a dimension where chest waxing isn't a thing— hey stop laughing! You cannot tell him I told you that! He swore me to secrecy!"
"Alright fine, secrets safe with me." Your stifled laughter subsides gradually. "Seriously though, we'll find him, okay? Emilia and Ads aren't just going to let this go, as much of a dick Chris is sometimes, he's still one of us. He'll come back." You're not sure what exactly possessed you to attempt to comfort him, call it a desperate need for him to shut up and go to sleep or a momentary lapse in your ability to ignore Adrian's ramblings, or maybe it was just the restlessness you recognized in him that mirrored your own personality; a deep-seated need to keep going until you physically can't any more.
Adrian sighs beside you, hands clasped, resting on his stomach. "I know. We got him back once, right? We can totally do it again. Yeah. Yeah, no, he's fine, he's coming back."
The uncertainty in his voice is clear, your eyes trace his side profile as he stares up at the ceiling, watching his Adam's apple bob as if he were swallowing down the bitter aftertaste.
"We really should try and get some sleep, Adrian." Your voice softens now, not wanting to upset him further by talking about Chris. "Is there anything that helps you switch off usually? Maybe I can play some white noise on my phone or something?"
"Honestly? On nights I can't sleep I put on the Vigilante outfit and walk around until I find someone committing a crime, you'd be really shocked to know how many people litter at 3am! It's like, a fuckton actually!"
"You've killed people for littering?"
"Duh?" He sounds confused, like it should be obvious to you and actually, by now it should be.
"Oh yeah, okay, stupid question I guess? My bad."
Things are silent for a few minutes, tyres screeching on asphalt in the distance, drunkards yelling at each other outside the bar across the street, you feel your eyes drooping again, finally, finally you'll get some sleep.
Nope.
"What about you?"
"Huh? Wha-? What about what? Goddammit Adrian I was about to fall asleep!"
"Sheesh, sorry! You're so crabby when you're tired! All I was asking is what do you do when you can't fall asleep? It's not like I can just put on the Vigilante suit here, I don't know my way around this town, what if I get lost or something?"
Barely raising your head off the pillow to check the time, the red numbers glowing back at you saying it's a little after 1am. Your brain isn't fully functioning, sleep deprived and foggy, your lips move before you have a chance to even register what you're saying.
"I don't fucking know? I jerk off, usually works."
Manic laughter erupts from him, like he's laughing at a joke he doesn't understand and he's trying to act like he does, it jolts you wide awake once again, teeth grinding in frustration.
"Adrian! Shut the fuck up!" John's voice bellows next door, followed by what sounds like a heavy object thudding against the wall.
"Ohhh that's a good one! Well, if you feel like you need to do that right now, be my guest."
"What!? No! I'm not going to masturbate while you're in the room Adrian, all I need is for you to put a sock in it for fuck sake."
He raises his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, that's fine, I was just saying, if you needed to, I'm not like, a prude or anything, gotta do what you gotta do, right? I mean, I can do it for you, if you wanted." It's stated so casually, like he's offering to get you a cup of coffee or a stick of gum, like it's a normal thing to offer to do for someone who's not a lover.
You gawp at him, expression somewhere between disbelief and fluster. "No! Jesus Christ Adrian, I don't need you to… no!"
"Okay! I was just offering, like a bonding thing, y'know? Friends do that stuff all the time."
"First of all, no they don't. Secondly, I'm good, thanks for the offer, but no thanks." With a huff, you turn onto your side, facing away from him now, eyes glued on the peeling wallpaper beside the bed.
Adrian snorts indignantly. "Jeez, what kind of bonding do you do with your friends then? Must be boring as fuck sitting around playing scrabble and stuff."
Ignoring the comment, you roll your eyes before closing them, trying hard to stop thinking about his off the cuff suggestion, willing yourself to focus on something other than the proximity to him, the bed feeling just that little bit smaller now.
You're just tired, delirious, he's not all of a sudden looking really good to you, you definitely don't want him to touch you like that, it hasn't been almost a year since you got laid, don't do it. Seriously, this is the same guy that eats all your desk snacks and then blames it on Eagly.
Suddenly your thoughts aren't all about counting sheep, mentally making a pros and cons list of reasons to take him up on his proposition. Sure, Adrian's good looking, you have noticed that, of course, and you trust him, you've known him for a while now, but this would just make things weird, right? Does he even know how to do no-strings? He's very needy with people he likes, you wouldn't want to give him the wrong impression that this could mean any kind of relationship would blossom between the two of you. How would that even work? And why are you even wondering that?
Your control is ebbing, slipping away fast, like an incoming collision you can do nothing to stop, just standing by helplessly as everything goes up in flames.
"One rule, no kissing and it's just tonight, okay?"
There's a shifting behind you, cheap box springs noisily protesting beneath. "Technically that's two rules."
"Adrian." Your stern tone shuts him up immediately, shifting yourself backwards until you bump against his thigh, he takes the hint, curling his body around your own until his hips sit flush against the curve of your ass.
Reaching back blindly, you find his hand to bring it up to your breast, encouraging him to grope at you over your shirt. You feel the twitch behind you, a stirring in his pyjama pants and a hitch in his breath.
Adrian's touch is anything but masterful, clumsy and fumbling when you take your hand away, as if it's been some time since he's done something like this, if the rate at which he's getting hard is anything to go by then that's not entirely farfetched.
You're not going to have sex with him, that would be an insane idea – as if letting him jerk you off to sleep is any better.
"T-this okay or? Your tits feel really good by the way, like, really good. Speaking of tits, did you know the blue tit bird doesn't actually have a blue chest? I dunno why they'd call them that if it wasn't factually correct, British people are super weird. Fuck I'm so hard, sorry about that."
"Adrian, please god no yapping about birds right now and yeah, that feels good just go a little slower, ahh that's it, like that" Arching back into him, a soft sigh falls from your lips, nipples peaking under your shirt, sensitive as the cotton brushes over them with every squeeze of his palm.
His breath is hot on the side of your neck, mumbled curses just about audible when you roll your hips back experimentally. "S-shit, woah, okay. No bird talk, g-got it." Adrian's hand slides down your sternum, kneading at your soft stomach, your shirt bunching between his fingers. Momentarily you think he might ask if he can take it off for you, and though you're not sure why, you'd say yes.
He doesn't though, instead his hand wanders lower, finding the elasticated waistband if your sleep shorts, fingers dipping beneath to feel the soft trail of curls that cover your mound.
"Adrian? You can move you know? I don't mind."
"Oh. Well, yeah, no, I was totally gonna do that, but I, uh... I don't want to come in my pants before I've even got you off so…"
You chuckle, an airy sound, turning your head to glance at him over your shoulder. Bad move, the tip of your nose bumps against his own, making you realise just how close your face is to his, still, you don't pull back, your breath ghosting over his lips as you speak. "Very thoughtful of you, also kinda ho-oh!"
You're cut off by your own small gasp when he snakes his hand all the way under, stroking a single digit over your clit in a gentle and maddening swipe.
"Holy fuck, you're so wet, so warm. Tell me how you like it, wanna make it good for you, okay?"
You nod shallowly, eyes fluttering back open to see him staring right at you, watching the way your expression morphs when he applies just a little bit more pressure. "Just keep going, little more, yeah… yeah that's good."
Adrian's breathing picks up, fanning over your cheek as you wrap your fingers around his wrist, anchoring yourself to him, keeping him where you need him most. He tries a few different patterns and rhythms, listening to all the cues from you, each time your breath catches in your throat, watching your lips part as another pretty little moan slips from you. Your foreheads touch, resting against one another, achingly close to giving up your rule.
You inch backwards, meshing yourself against him tighter before rolling back against him again, this time he doesn't protest, instead he rewards you with a shuddering whine that has you clenching desperately around nothing.
"F-fuck that's… that's good… you feel so good." His breathy voice threatens to be what finishes you, it would be so easy to just slant your lips over his and let this moment spiral out of control.
Instead you turn your head, dropping it back against his shoulder, pushing back into him in rhythm with his fingers on you.
You feel every inch of him, the thick length of him poking into you, separated by only a few centimetres of fabric.
You need more though, you feel so empty and his cock is even more of a reminder of that fact.
Sliding down beneath your waistband, you move your hand from his wrist to lay over his own, guiding him lower until he gets the hint, slickened fingers dipping inside you just an inch before pulling back, grazing your g-spot while the heel of his palm works over your clit.
It frustrates you how easily he was able to work you up, how despite the clumsiness beforehand, he found all the secret spots with ease, knowing how to make you tick better than most men ever have.
When you moan for more, he gives it to you, sliding a knee between your thighs, opening you up wider for him as he sinks those two fingers in deep.
Reaching back with your free hand, you snake your fingers into his hair at the nape, mussed, soft curls greeting you as you grip them lightly, tugging hard enough to elicit another delicious whine from him.
"Oh my god. So fucking tight. Do that again, clench for me I wanna feel it." He pleads.
Tugging again to get the same response from him, he quickly realizes it's the noises he's making that are responsible for your reactions and he decides to lean into it, lips grazing your ear as he groans and whimpers unabashedly.
The rickety bed creaks beneath you as the rhythm picks up, his fingers pumping inside you faster, each roll back of your hips making his cock leak more and more, the wet patch seeping through to stain your shorts.
Your biting back your moans, nails digging into the back of his hand as you rapidly lose your grip on your self control; pleasure taking over you.
It's no use though, not when you're on the cusp of ecstasy, not when you can hear every slick pump and slap of his hand against your cunt, dripping down his knuckles, coating his palm.
Adrian feels the flutters, he hears the way your moans get more high pitched and harder to hold back, he's barely holding on himself, restraining from blowing his load before you've met your own sweet release.
Your head thrown back, hips stuttering chanting his name is what does it, he buries his face in your neck, groaning against you as he spills inside the confines of his pyjamas.
You feel dizzy, inner walls clamped tight around his digits that remain deep inside you, heavy breaths out of sync and shaky, totally relaxed and blissful, so much so that before you know it, before you even realize his fingers have slipped out of you, or that he's sucked them clean, you're drifting off, pulled under by the weight of post-climax exhaustion. Maybe you were dreaming it, but you could have sworn you felt Adrian's lips against your forehead, gentle and barely there for a moment before the feeling was gone altogether.
Rapid knocks startle you awake, rapping hard against the door to your room, instinctively grabbing your gun from the bedside cabinet. Behind you, you feel Adrian do the same, up and out of bed, stalking over to the door to look through the peephole, gun raised and ready.
"Wake the fuck up, we got some information about a possible whereabouts for Rick Flag! Moving out in 20 minutes!" Emilia's sharp voice calls through the door, not exactly the wake-up call you were hoping for, though if she hadn't, you're pretty sure the whole 'one time thing' would turn into a two time thing.
Adrian had been surprisingly normal that morning, going off to get dressed in the bathroom to give you privacy and space in the main room, rattling off excitedly about all the things he wants to tell Chris when you finally get him home. You were grateful for that, no awkward silences or small talk, or the need to reiterate that it's not going to happen again, just Adrian being his usual overbearing self, too much to handle before your morning dose of caffeine, though this particular morning, you didn't care about that.
You sit beside him in the van, an easy smile on your face that masks the lingering feeling between your legs, a reminder of the night before.
It's not long into the journey though when you notice that John keeps looking over his shoulder at the two of you, darting between you with a knowing smirk — the fucker heard everything last night.
Economos must see the realization dawn on you, tapping the side of his nose in a silent gesture that says he'll keep it a secret. For now anyway.
Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment or reblogging if you enjoyed this fic, it really does help to encourage me to keep writing 💜
If you'd like to be added to the taglist for the next parts, please lmk!
plot: adrian has homework to do after the party, but since he never did what you asked him to, he asks a little advice from chris before realizing that is just best to improvise.
content: solo!adrian chase [ x f!reader - he is making this video for the reader from the spin the bottle oneshot ] ; college!au ; smut ; MDI ; exhibitionism ; this is perverted don't @ me ; masturbation ; spit as lube ; a lot of whimpering and whining and moaning ; milking it ; brief panties sniffing ; using panties to masturbate ; sub!adrian undertones
i said it was going to be a drabble, but then i googled it and it is supposed to be 100 characters long and i wouldn't manage to do that lmao
word count: 1.7k
there was also a request for this college!au universe, soon i will make it
comments, likes and reblogs are welcome!
english is not my first language
i hope you enjoy it
♡masterlist♡
tag: @whatislovevavy
"Dude", Adrian said softly. He was sitting next to Chris, on the passenger seat while his friend was driving him home. Chris hummed in response, asking Adrian to continue, "have you ever…", he took a deep breath, "recorded a video of yourself? An adult video, I mean."
Chris scoffed, "Alone or with company?", and he looked at Adrian when he stopped on a red light,
"Alone."
"Of course I have", he grinned, "Wanna see it?"
"No, thanks."
Chris seemed hurt, "Why not?"
Adrian chuckled, "Stop trying to shove your dick in my face, dude."
"I asked politely if you wanted to see", he defended himself and continued driving, "Why do you ask?"
"I was wondering what to do…"
"Oh… well… you just record yourself jacking off", he shrugged, "There is nothing more to do really."
"But what are you supposed to say?"
"'Dont forget to like and subscribe'", Chris' answer made Adrian roll his eyes and then laugh.
"You're so dumb", he sighed, "I just don't know if it will look nice."
"Well, nothing will ever be as good as the female body when it comes to nudes", Adrian nodded, agreeing, "but if you're having fun, the person will like it. I received a video of a dude jerking off once…", and he trailed off, thinking.
"Dude?", Adrian asked, getting his attention.
"Sorry."
"Were you thinking about the video, huh?"
Chris gave Adrian a cheeky smile, "Yeah… But anyway, just have fun, you don't need to perform, that will seem fake, just hit 'record' and do what you would normally do."
He nodded, "Okay."
It seemed fairly simple, but still it was nerve wrecking to think about it. He knew you wouldn't want him to feel obligated to do it, he should do if he wanted to, but, fuck, he wanted to. Maybe he did have an exhibitionism fetish, he wanted for you to see him pleasuring himself so bad. He wanted you to see how good he could be in following orders and since you gave him an okay to do foul things with your panties, he wanted to do them even more. He thought about doing it, but if he sat down to do it, he would feel bad even though you gave it to him.
But you said you wanted to see him have fun, so he had poetic license to be a fucking animal.
He was home, in his bedroom, in only his grey sweatpants, trying to figure out how he would do this. He went to his desk and propped the phone against a pile of DnD books he had there, pulling the improvised tripod near the edge of the table, to give you a better view. He sat on his black gamer chair and took a deep breath looking at himself on his phone screen and thought that indirect lighting was better fit for this. So he turned off his lights and turned on the little lamp he had on top of his CPU, making the scenario a little more soft with a soft yellow light.
He sat down and looked at himself on the phone again, your lilac panties in his pocket, he could feel them with the tip of his fingers, he took a deep breath. The idea of recording himself for you made his cock so hard already.
He checked if he looked okay once again and pushed his glasses up his nose. He supported his elbows on the armrests of his black gamer chair and sat a little bit on the edge of the seat. He got your panties in his hands and took a deep breath, once again, pressing record.
He looked at the lilac soft fabric and approximated it to his face. He knew you would find him a pervert. Maybe he also had a humiliation kink, because the idea of you telling him he was a disgusting pervert made his cock throb.
He breathed in, the panties on his nose, "Fuck", he whispered, softly.
It smelled like freshly washed clothes and like you. Like the smell he got right before he gave the first lick. His mouth watered with the memory of how good you tasted. His hand went to his pants, first grabbing the length over his pants, sniffing once again. Fucking shit, he was a disgusting pervert.
He took his cock out in his hand, precum leaking from the tip, and started moving up and down his shaft. He whined again, your fucking smell was so good.
He spat on his hand and spread it all over his own cock, going up and down the hard member, feeling the prominent veins against his fingers. He looked at your panties and closed his eyes, squeezing the fabric on his fingers, caressing it with the tip of his fingers. He whispered your name softly, thinking about how much he wanted to just be laying down in bed, with the whole weight of your body on his face, crushing his chest with your ass, gripping his hair, grinding against his lips, using him as a mere sex toy, just seeking your own pleasure and he could fuck himself.
He whimpered your name again, his fist closed on the tip of his dick, pumping it, precum coating his fingers. He dared to look at himself on his phone for a second. He looked pathetic, his glasses slipping on his nose, his hard leaking cock begging for lease in his hand, that went slow, making a good show for you, his lips parted and a red, just like his cheeks. Oh, fuck, how he hoped you were there telling him that he was a good boy, telling him to keep on going slow, to make a mess for you.
He leaned his body over itself and let saliva run down his lips to his cock, moaning as wet substance touched his hard needy cock. His hand went again to his member, spreading the saliva and precum all over it, it was running down his shaft and wetting his balls.
Adrian looked at his other hand with the delicate panties in them, he could see it pressed against his nose while he ate you out, he could see it so clearly, his hands grabbing your thighs, your breast shaking with your heavy breathing, the delicious smell of plum body lotion and your taste, your fucking taste. So sweet, so delicious. His cock ached. He needed you so bad.
He whimpered your name again. His hand that held your panties went to his cock as well, leaving the soft fabric wrapped around his leaking member, allowing his dominant hand to hold it while his now free hand went to his balls, massaging it.
Adrian looked at himself again on his phone and whimpered, grinding against his own hand, "Fucking shit", his voice was wracked, his legs tensed up, his pecks too, getting even more pronounced fo the video, "I'm gonna fucking cum."
And once again, he pleaded for you, moaning your name. His pretty hand going up and down his shaft, holding the panties, around his dick, moving it up and down. He was so close, he could feel the pressure on his gut, his balls tightening on his hand. The delicate material of the panties sliding through his skin.
He moaned, throwing his head back. He came hard once again that night. It was the third time and he still felt so needy for you. He kept the movements, his legs tensing up even more, his chest rising and falling fast.
"Please", he whispered, calling your name once more, "Fuck", he cursed feeling like he was going to pass out, more cum slipping through his tip, getting your panties even more, "Fuck", and once again, cursed.
He looked at the mess, the wet cum spread all over his cock, hand and your panties. His cock rested against his abdomen, throbbing lightly, so wet and so good.
He stopped the video and took a deep breath. Maybe he shouldn't send it, maybe he should at least watch it before and check if it was worth it. And even with those thoughts, he really wanted for you to see him cum so good for you. Being a good boy, obeying without even thinking. Maybe you would have mercy on him, and ride his thigh and cum all over it.
[Adrian:] — one video attached • 8min 12s
[🧜♀️:] 8 minutes?
[🧜♀️:] 8 fucking minutes of you whimpering and whining and cumming for me?
[🧜♀️:] fuck, Adrian
He felt like he was going to pass out. Should he have edited the video? Maybe it was better just to send a little bit. He didn't catch how you were going absolutely insane over this.
Adrian gulped. Good god, he was so fucked.
[🧜♀️:] and you're so fucking hot. why didn't i took your shirt off in that bathroom? my god
[🧜♀️:] you're such a good fucking boy
[🧜♀️:] i'm gonna watch the video right now
[Adrian:] okay. i hope you enjoy it 😊
He looked at that text. He felt so dumb. He was a fucking idiot, who would send a fucking cute smiling emoji after sending a eight minutes long masturbation video?
[🧜♀️:] — one video attached • 26s
[🧜♀️:] this is just for you to see how much i'm enjoying it
It was just a quick video of you, you were on your knees on your bed. Your hand went between your thighs, your middle and pointer finger slid between your pussy, collecting your own pleasure. You parted your fingers to the camera, showing him how wet you were, showing the strings connecting your digits.
plot: adrian goes with his friend, chris, to a college party and plays spin the bottle, when he has to kiss you, things get out of hand.
warnings: adrian chase x f!reader ; college!au ; smut ; MDI!! ; kissing ; masturbation ; spit as lube ; bathroom fuck ; losing virginity ; backshots ; blowjob ; cum eating ; cum sharing ; pussy eating ; a lot of begging, whimpering and whining ; bareback ; really tiny refractory period ; at lot of praise ; light exhibitionism.
word count: 4k
english is not my first language, so i'm sorry for any mistakes
i took the liberty to tag everyone that commented on my post about this idea, i hope this is okay: @adriannchase @flowersforbucky @ferrjulie @dragonfish816 @vamp1r0 @mayflwrz
♡masterlist♡
reblogs, likes and comments are more than welcome
have fun
Adrian never heard so much noise in his life and he lived next to his brother for eighteen years. Chris made him come to this dumb party, he said that he needed to go out, that he needed to meet someone (girls or boys, Chris wouldn't judge, he would swing both ways too). Adrian was going because of pure pressure, he wanted to impress Chris, but being a twenty-one old virgin wasn't a good description for a friend that Smith would like to show off to people as his best friend.
So, Adrian went, and he was hating it, it was way too loud, people were way too drunk and the lights flickered way too much. That's why he didn't went to any parties, Chris said he was crazy for almost being finished with college and never went to a party and fucked someone in the bathroom. He wouldn't do that, why he would fuck in a bathroom? And even most importantly, who he would fuck in a bathroom?
Chris complained about Adrian's clothes, but he felt like he was looking good, he had jeans on and an oversize long sleeve dark green shirt with two white stripes, he looked good. Chris on the other hand looked like a pimp, but Chase wouldn't tell him that.
Chase was leaning against the kitchen counter, in a corner, holding a beer cup, not drinking it, looking down, completely dissociating from reality. He was feeling well until Chris interrupted his out of body experience.
"Dude", Chris started, holding his arm, "come on, we will play spin the bottle, you need to come."
Adrian just allowed himself to be pulled while complaining, "What are we, dude? Thirteen?"
Chris pulled him to the basement, stopping him in the middle of the stairs, "You're not gonna complain when a hot girl makes out with you… or a hot guy… I don't judge."
Adrian rolled his eyes, "We all know you suck dick too, Chris, you don't have to explain yourself."
He gave a proud smile, "Yeah, I do", and he started pulling Adrian downstairs again, "Let's go."
When Adrian noticed he was sitting on the floor, on a soft shag carpet, that he kept caressing. Around him there were four different girls and three guys, most of them he knew the faces from the campus. He was okay with the idea, it was nerve wracking being there, but it was kind of dark, people were kind of tipsy, so he didn't mind. Until you sat down. Right in front of him, making him swallow hard. You weren't in his course in college, but you had some classes together. Adrian had a huge crush on you, you were nice and always said hi to him, but he kept it to himself. If that bottle stopped on you two, he would throw that bottle across the room.
Adrian dissociated again, the bottle spun and spun and people made out with each other while he was calculating the possibility of actually kissing someone and the possibility of kissing you.
"Dude, it's you", Chris poked him on his bicep, waking him up from his dissociating.
Adrian looked at the bottle pointed at him, and he followed the direction where the bottom was pointing at, and swallowed hard, feeling his face heat up while his stomach froze. You looked at him and smiled, getting on your knees to get close to him. He could hear "Counting Stars" by OneRepublic playing upstairs.
You got really close to his face, "Hey, Adrian", you whispered.
"Hey…", he was so nervous.
"Do you really want to do this?"
He felt a huge finger poke his bicep again, by his peripheral vision he could see Chris' hands moving encouraging him to do it. Adrian nodded, answering you. You smiled again and held his face going in for the kiss. First, it was just a peck, and Chase already felt dizzy, but you started speaking again.
"This position is awful", you said, he only nodded, he would agree to anything with you so close to him like that, "Straighten your legs."
Adrian complied without even thinking about what you would do. He swallowed dry when you passed your legs around his and sat down on his thighs. Adrian's hands started to shake, he still heard the song in the background, but now sounded even more distant, like the whistles and people's sheers because of your action. The kiss restarted, Adrian's hands involuntarily went to your hips, and grabbed harder when he felt your tongue on his lips.
He opened his mouth and allowed you to do whatever you damn pleased with him. The kiss was hungry on Adrian's side, you just complied. Your tongue slid through his, your hands played with his hair. The kiss wasn't that long, because it couldn't and because you felt something on your thigh, pressing against it.
When you parted this kiss and looked at Adrian without understanding at first, and then you smiled. Your smile made his cock throb, making his eyes widen, "Fuck", he whispered. He started to move back, using his hands to slide his legs from under you.
"Adrian? Where are you going?", Chris asked, watching Adrian get up.
"I need to make a call", he said, quickly, going upstairs.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. You would think he was a perverted nerd. Not even five minutes of kissing with a hot girl on his lap and he already had a raging boner to hump you with.
He got inside the first bathroom he found, closing the door behind him with a bang. His hand went to his hair, "Fuck", he passed around the bathroom two times and groaned, "Fuck", he said again looking at the boner in his pants. The outline was perfectly marked down, he was hoping no one noticed while he was desperately leaving the basement. He could even notice the throbbing, "You're not going down, huh?", he said to his own throbbing cock.
He leaned against the sink, his butt resting lightly against the edge of it. He opened his pants and lowered his underwear just enough to get his cock out. He was so ridiculous, one little kiss and his cock was like that already. He was such a fucking virgin, good god.
He let saliva fall on his hard cock and spread it all over the shaft. He whimpered softly as he started to move his hand up and down himself, giving the tip a harder squeeze from time to time, feeling precum wet his hand, helping out with the movements. He only could think about you and the kiss, he could feel your soft lips on his, your hands on his hair, you tasted like mango Monster energy drink and you smelled like plums. Fuck, it felt so good. He could feel all those eyes on him, while you were on his lap, kissing him. Did he have an exhibitionism fetish? Maybe, the idea of everyone seeing you on his lap kissing him was making his cock throb.
He got startled when he heard a soft knock on the door, "Just a second", he said in a choked voice, wanking even faster. The person knocked again, "Just a second!", if that fucking person didn't stop the knocking he would take longer.
His eyes got wide when he heard the door opening, he looked in that direction and watched you get in and close the door behind you.
"Oh, shit!", he said in complete desperation.
"Hi", you said softly, finally noticing what he was doing.
His face turned bright red, he tried to cover himself with his own arm. His pretty green eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights. He looked adorable.
"I'm so sorry", he said in desperation, his eyes even getting wider when you started to get close, "I'm sorry…"
"I got worried about you, Adrian", you said, softly, caressing his bicep from the arm that he was using to hide his (huge) shame. He closed his eyes tighter, looking at you again, he could feel his cock throbbing, "You left so quickly… I thought you might be sick or something."
"I… I… I'm sorry…", he groaned, "I don't want you to think I'm a perv… It's just… the kiss... It was nice…"
Shit, he was such a dumbfuck. "It was nice"? "Nice" gives him a giant, red, ranging boner? Could he be more of a virgin?
"Satan… please… open a hole on the floor and take me", he thought, "I will be a great butler in the Underworld."
"I thought the kiss was nice too", you said, with a smile. You looked so naive, like a saint, but Adrian knew you were the devil and you were there to make so much blood go to his face he will get an aneurism, "But I think it was kinda quick, don't you think?"
He nodded without even noticing, looking at your lips, "So quick", he agreed. And then he noticed what was happening when your hand started to go down his forearm and tried to take his arm out of the way, "No", his eyes widened again, "I'm so sorry… I think you're so pretty… I didn't mean to."
"You didn't want to get a boner from kissing me?", you pouted, caressing his hair. He let out a whine, feeling his cock throb again, "You sound so cute…"
"Please… I'm sorry…"
You smiled, "You are such a good boy knowing all your magic words. Would you like some help?", his arm went soft, letting you pull it out of the way. He nodded, biting his bottom lip, he didn't even notice his actions, he was so lost with all his blood in his cock, your pretty face so close to his and your hands on his hair and arms.
You pulled him in for a kiss, your hand going to his cock, holding it firmly going up and down. His eyes closed and he moaned quietly, just letting you do whatever you wanted with him. Your hand was so soft and warm and would go up and down so good around him. His tongue copied your moves, you led the way and he just complied, melting against your fingers.
You parted the kiss, giving him your hand. He immediately knew what you wanted him to do, so he let saliva run down from his lips to your hand, that got back to its work, going up and down his throbbing, leaking cock. Adrian looked deep in your eyes before closing them so he could moan and throw his head back. You took advantage of the free space and started kissing his neck. He smelled so good and his skin was so soft. You took a little bite, just to see if he would like it. His legs trembled when he felt your teeth on his tender skin, his body tensed up when you sucked a hickie on his neck.
"Fuck, that's so good", he whined.
You smiled and licked on top of the sucked skin, he was already delicate in that area and after getting a hickie it was even more delicate.
"Please", he begged, "You need to stop."
"Why?", you asked, looking at him, his pleading eyes looked so pretty, so shiny, the green was so pretty too, he was so cute, you wanted to eat him up. Your hand stopped a bit on his tip and started to pump the area on your fist, "Don't you feel good?"
He nodded, "So, so good", and he bit his lip, "It's just… I don't think I can hold in…"
"Oh, Adrian", you smiled softly, "It's okay. I really wanna watch you cum. I bet you look so cute."
He bit his lip, again watching your hand around his cock, pumping the shaft even faster, your hand putting just the right pressure. His eyes went up to yours, and you smiled and got back to kissing him.
"Fuck", he cursed, letting his body free to feel the pleasure you were giving him.
Your tongue licked his, your teeth bit his bottom lip, and your hand kept masturbating him. He whined loudly when your other hand cupped his balls and massaged it. One of his hands was holding the sink, so he would just fall to the ground, and the other went to your hair, caressing it while kissing you.
His body tensed up, his legs straightening, he stopped kissing you just to whine while looking in your eyes. He looked so cute, his cheeks were pink, his lips, red and wet, his cock was leaking on your hand.
He came in your hand, thick ropes of cum falling your wrist and fist. His body arched when you kept masturbating him, "Too sensitive", he whined, closing his eyes with such force.
"You're so pretty", you whispered.
You finally let go of his cock when his hand held your wrist, and you did it chuckling maliciously, "You're so fucking hot…", he took a deep breath and looked at your hand, "I'm sorry for getting you dirty."
"I don't mind", you assured softly, caressing his hair with your clean hand.
"Let me help you…"
He took your hands to his lips and started licking his own cum on it, looking you in the eyes, while you watched his tongue run down your skin and collect his own cum. When he was done, you pulled him by the soft curly hair and kissed him, licking the cum on his tongue.
Shit. He could feel his cock throbbing again, he just came, he needed to calm down. But, fuck, how would he calm down with your hands on his hair? You still tasted like mango Monster energy drink and the plum smell was so fucking good.
"I wanna make you feel good too", he whispered, giving a peck.
You nodded, you touched the hem of your own black tight crop top and pulled up, letting your breast out. He understood why it was called "flashing", he was going blind from how good your tits looked. His head leaned towards them, you held them together for him, offering yourself to him. And his fucking cock was throbbing again. He licked each of your nipples first, before replacing your hands with his. Tits were so fucking soft, he whined and started sucking on your nipple, his hands massaging your muscle while he did his work.
You moaned softly caressing his soft curls, looking at him in his eyes. Sucking tits was amazing. Tits were amazing for that matter. Fucking your tits must feel like a dream.
"Adrian", you whispered, grinding against his thigh between your legs.
He smiled, shyly, "Look, if I'm not good, you have to let me know, okay?", you nodded and he turned you both around. He held your black pleated skirt up, "Hold it for me, please", he asked, politely, you just obeyed, watching him get on his knees.
Adrian put your right leg on his shoulder, pulling your lilac panties to the side, giving a temptive lick on top of the wet folds. That light lick made your body jerk lightly, and Adrian smiled, that kind of power was so fucking amazing. He dipped his tongue in your pussy, looking at you. You could swear that his pupils dilated when he tasted you. He hummed quietly and tightened his grips on your thighs, sinking his tongue between the wet folds, licking your already hard clit.
You tasted so good, it was so sweet. He kept licking and sucking watching you closely. Your chest was rising and falling so fast, your hand was fisting the skirt, your hips grinded down against his lips, your face contorted adorably while you were enjoying yourself and moaning for him. Yep, his cock was hard as fuck right now.
One of his hands went to the middle of your legs, one of his fingers entered you without any difficulty, which made him smile while putting another finger next to the first one. You moaned and squirmed around, you felt so fucking good. His pretty eyes were on yours, watching your reactions so he could keep on doing his marvelous work. The orgasm hit you with such force, your body trembled, a loud moan left your mouth without you even noticing.
Adrian licked and fucked your pussy while you had your orgasm, when it became too much, you held him by the hair, pulling him away, "Stop, please."
He smiled dumbly, his lips completely wet, little strings of your pleasure connecting them to your pussy. He looked beautiful like that, smiling softly, his eyes dark, his lips covered in your pleasure, his hair all messy, his cheeks still rosy. He looked like a fucking painting.
"Fuck, you taste good", he said whipping what was left of you wth the back of his arm, getting up, "I think everyone heard you by the way."
You gave him a peck, smiling, "I don't mind", you shrugged, "I like when people know I just had a great orgasm."
"I'm happy you liked it", he smiled.
"Adorable", you complimented and kissed him.
His cock pressed against your thigh, it was crazy how fast he was ready to go again, you would have so much fun with him.
"Do you wanna fuck me?", you asked.
His eyebrows rose, his cheeks flushing. His cock was on your thigh, but he was still ashamed of how bad he wanted to fuck you, "Please."
"Such a polite boy", you complied.
He should have listened to Chris and got the condom he tried to give to him when they arrived at the party, "I don't have a condom", he whispered.
"I don't mind if you don't."
He looked surprised, "You don't?"
"Nope… If you do mind, I can go look for one and you wait here."
Adrian looked at his own cock and then you, "I don't mind…"
You chuckled and looked at the sink, "I think that this sink will break if we fuck on top of it."
You turned around and offered your ass to him. He took a deep breath, his cock resting on top of your ass. His hands went to your waist, trembling uncontrollably. "Control yourself, Adrian", he thought, taking a deep breath.
He pulled your panties down your legs and left it on top of the sink. He took another deep breath and positioned himself, "May I?"
You looked at him over your shoulder, his eyes crossing his own in the mirror in front of you before looking at you, "How do you say?"
"Please?"
You smiled, "Fuck, I'm gonna have fun with you."
He wished you would make him your sex toy and just let him lay in your bed while you sat on his face for hours on end. He whined when he started pushing his cock in. He was big, his fingers got in fairly easy, but with his cock, you needed a little more time.
It took all his strength not to just cum when he was all in, balls deep inside you. Adrian bit his lip and started moving slowly. You felt so tight and wet and warm, it would be fucking hard not to cum in five seconds.
"Move, please", you pleaded.
And he obeyed, like the good boy he wanted to be for you. He started thrusting slowly, pulling your body through the hips in opposite movements from his own hips. One of his hands went to your hair, holding it while the other kept on your hips. He watched mesmerized as your ass shook from the movements.
"Fuck", he cursed and looked at you.
Your face was pressed against the mirror, he could see his face behind yours in the mirror. Your breath was fogging the mirror while you moaned. He felt incredible.
You were pulled by the hair, you looked at him and just let him kiss you while he fucked you. Adrian went fast and deep, you could feel how desperate he was, but you were too. The moans and slaps of skin against skin filled the tiny bathroom, if someone was waiting outside to use the bathroom they deftly could hear how good you felt and that idea made his hands tighten their grip on you.
"Adrian", you whimpered, so needy.
"You feel so good", he pleaded.
"I wanna cum."
"Fucking please, cum on my cock… please… I will do anything you want…"
You chuckled, "You're cute."
You got his hand from your hip and pulled it between your legs. Immediately he got what you wanted and just obeyed your demand. He started to massage your clit quickly while he kept fucking you with so much force. It was so fucking good. His free hand passed through your belly and he hugged you, making you two even closer, going even deeper. You kept on kissing, it was easier to kiss like this, the movements were as harsh as they were before.
You both whined together, your core squeezing him so good. You felt his cum fill you up and your legs shook, cumming too. Adrian's body was thingly, he just came inside his crush. How did he become so lucky? If he showed up in parties earlier could he have fucked you deep and fast much earlier?
He slipped out of you making you boat groan, "Fucking shit", you whispered.
"I agree", he said, turning you to him, "Do you feel okay?"
"Yes", you nodded, "And you?"
He nodded, happily, "I'm sorry for pushing your face against the mirror", he said, looking guilty, he could see the mark on the glass on where your face was.
You shook your head, "Don't be sorry, I loved it", you caressed his face, giving him a peck, "I think I have to go… My friends must be worried", Adrian nodded, put his cock inside his pants again and helped you adjust your clothes, when he got your panties, you smiled and shoved inside his pocket, "It's for you…", he hated to admit, but was going to do foul things to those panties. You smiled and got your face really close to his, "If you do anything with them, record it and send it to me."
"Yes…", he nodded, "Anything you want", you smiled again, kissing him softly, hugging his neck. When the kiss stopped he looked at you with big puppy eyes, "See you monday in class?"
"Don't you wanna see me tomorrow?"
"I have a DnD session tomorrow afternoon… we can go out after, if you would like."
"Can I come? To the DnD session?"
Adrian smiled, brightly, "If you would like you can play too!"
"I would love it! I will let you know where to pick me up, okay?"
He nodded, "Okay."
You gave him another peck and finally let him go, going to the door. When you opened, Chris was on the other side, his arms crossed, waiting for Adrian to finally come out. He was worried that he had passed out in there. More five minutes and he would break the door down. When he saw you, his eyes widened, looking from you to Adrian, who waved shyly, getting red again.
"What's up, Chris?", you smiled.
"I'm good and you?"
"I'm good too", you smiled like you were an angel and you didn't just allow Adrian to cum deep inside your pussy.
"She is going to the DnD session tomorrow", Adrian said.
Chris looked at him a little angry, "You shouldn't talk about those things with hot girls, Adrian", he mouthed that to Adrian.
"I could take my friend Emilia with me, if you don't mind", you said.
Chris looked at you, his eyes wide, "Yes! Yes, please, take her, please."
You smiled, "You're really dumb", and you pushed Chris out of the way and before you could leave, you looked at Adrian, "Don't forget my video, okay?", and you winked, while Adrian nodded eagerly watching you leave.
"Dude", Chris whispered, "one party and you fuck that hottie in the bathroom?", he laughed loudly, "You're my hero!"
Adrian smiled shyly and got pulled by the hand by Chris so you could celebrate with a few drinks. Adrian complied, but if he was honest, he preferred going home and recording that video for you. But staying he could still be with you and drink with you and Emilia, that made Chris happy too. He should have gone to parties waaaay earlier.
...
if you guys want, i can write a little oneshot of adrian doing foul things with the panties hihi ^^
summary: not everything is watching horror movies and playing boardgames with your friends. you go get chris after finding out what happened to him, and it's not exactly a happy reunion
pairing: adrian chase x fem!reader
word count: 7.1k
tags: no smut but the whole series is intended for 18+ folks only!!!, friendship fluff, marvel mentioned lmao, angst, issues could be solved if this people just talked it out like adults tbh, yes reader is dramatic for the sake of the plot (so is chris), more fluff at the end (gosh i love this couple!!)
a comment and/or reblog is always appreciated!
main masterlist | dc masterlist | series masterlist
“This is bullshit,” Adrian mutters, completely breaking the tense atmosphere. “A demon is not going to wait for you to open a door. They don’t care about doors. They can just walk past them!”
“Shut up,” Adebayo mutters back, a blanket all the way up to her neck, ready to cover her eyes in case she has to. She looks awfully stressed. “What do you know about demons, anyway.”
“A lot more than the writers of this movie, apparently– or any horror movie, for that matter.”
You can’t help but chuckle, turning to look at Adrian. He sits at your right while Adebayo is at your left. They’re like the two ends of the horror movie spectrum– one is scared shitless, the other is ready to criticize absolutely everything about it. “Aren’t you at least a little scared?”
He sighs tiredly, leaning back on the couch. “Come on, who would be scared of a stupid demon that–”
“HOLY SHIT!” Adebayo screams as soon as the eerie music is abruptly cut by a loud sound, a very creepy looking hand gripping the protagonist’s shoulder before she starts running away in complete fear. “That’s it. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”
“If I was that thing, I would’ve killed her as soon as she got inside the house.”
“There wouldn’t be a movie if she was killed immediately,” you point out the obvious, watching him get even more annoyed. It’s as if someone made this movie to personally piss him off.
“Yeah, I wish.”
Ads looks away from the screen for a few seconds to look at him with obvious annoyance. “You know, if you hate the movie so much you could just go to sleep.”
“I don’t hate it. It’s just inaccurate.”
She can’t help but roll her eyes at that. “Sure. The movie about a demon haunting an abandoned house because someone casted a curse on the place a century ago is inaccurate."
The suggestion of having a sleepover has proven to be a very good idea. You stopped at a burger place on the way back to the apartment and Adebayo suggested watching a movie while you guys eat everything you ordered.
Needless to say, it’s always fun to spend time with your friends. There’s something about a last-minute plan that just hits different, especially after having such an eventful day. Of course it’d be even better if all six of you could be here right now, but after the whole Butterfly Project thing, everyone seems to be way too busy trying to get their shit together to hang out anymore.
John’s busy most of the time with work. Adebayo is trying to make sense of everything that’s been going on with her wife while simultaneously trying to start her own business. Emilia likes to disappear for weeks without letting anyone know what she’s up to, the fact of being painfully unemployed really taking a toll on her. Chris has been more of a loner lately, choosing to distract himself by exploring new realities rather than seek comfort in his friends.
It’s basically just you and Adrian hanging out all the time, and it's only becoming a more recurrent thing now that you two are becoming a thing, because before that your interactions were mostly via text messages.
That immediately begs the question– what has Adrian been up to? You doubt his job and the occasional patrols around the city are the only two things that have been keeping him busy. He’s always been secretive about most of his personal life. Sure, he never shuts up and he can tend to overshare sometimes, but he never gets too personal with things like that. You knew he lived with his mom even before you actually got to meet her, but you didn’t know their relationship was so…chaotic. He’s mentioned his dad a few times, but you have no idea if they even talk. You only know about his older brother because Chris brought it up once, but Adrian has never talked about him.
Perhaps he doesn’t like talking about his family, or maybe no one has ever bothered to ask him and look for an honest answer. Whatever it is, you’ve decided to make it a personal goal of yours to find out soon enough.
“Hey, what are we doing once the movie is over?”
You turn to look at Adrian with a confused expression. “Uh, sleep?”
“Well, that's boring.”
“What do you want to do?” Adebayo asks this time, eyes glued to the screen as if she's scared she'll miss a huge jumpscare that sends her into cardiac arrest.
“I don't know. Do you have any board games?”
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
“Seriously? Neither of you are willing to trade one card of wool when I’m offering three bricks?”
“I just have one wool too!” Adebayo says in her defense, showing you all her cards again. “If I had another, I’d trade with you.”
You turn to look at Adrian now, who's purposely quiet as he patiently awaits for his turn to play. When you lean closer to eye his cards, he immediately hides them. “Whoa, chill out, cheater!”
“Oh, come on! You have way too much of everything! You could totally trade with me.”
“I could, but I’m not going to,” he replies, as if it's obvious why he’s not willing to trade.
“Why not? You're going to win on your next turn anyway.”
“Yeah, and that's the whole point of this game. If the point was to trade cards and be merciful with your opponents, then hell yeah I’ll trade.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Uh…those are the rules,” he insists with a soft smile.
Adebayo shakes her head, staring at the board as if trying to find a way she could spin this around to her benefit before Adrian inevitably wins. “See? A man is always willing to betray you,” she mutters with mocking disappointment.
Adrian’s smile disappears almost instantly. “Hey, this has nothing to do with me being a man! This is me having a winning mentality.”
“This is you being selfish,” you roll your eyes with a frustrated sigh, dropping your cards back on the table and handing the dice to Adebayo. “I can't do shit this turn. Here you go.”
She accepts the dice, throwing them on top of the board before starting to distribute all the cards between the three of you. “Adrian, quick question. Since when are you such a pro at Catan?”
To put it simple, Adrian is fucking crushing the two of you. He’s one point away from winning while you and Ads are struggling to get to five points. It really doesn't make any sense that he's this good. “I don't know. I guess I'm just good at managing resources.”
“You like keeping your riches to yourself while the ones struggling here get nothing,” you point out bitterly, still unable to let go of the fact that he didn't want to trade with you.
“So the secret is going full capitalism-mode to win this thing.” Adebayo takes her time with her turn, trying to figure out where she should place the new village she just acquired. Only when she’s placed the plastic figurine on the board, she’s handing the dice to Adrian.
“Next time we should play Clue or something so we can kill rich people and balance it out,” he suggests.
Evidently, he ends up winning the game as expected. Again, you try to remind yourself this is just a silly game meant to have fun, but it's way too obvious you can't stand losing. It's not even like you're a sore loser– you're just very competitive (in a totally healthy way, of course).
“You look stressed,” Adebayo lets out a quick laugh as she stands up from the ground.
“I’m fine.”
“I’m sure next time you'll be the queen of wools!”
You look up at her right after, clearly not impressed by her joke. “Hilarious.”
Adrian scoots closer to you, offering you a smile. “I get it. I hate losing at board games too– or just losing in any game, really. I almost broke my keyboard once.”
You stare back at him before you cross your arms over your chest in a defensive manner. “I said I’m fine. It's just a stupid game. I’m not taking it seriously.”
“Of course you're not,” he offers in a soft voice, sounding as if he's agreeing with you just for your sake, when in reality he very much thinks the opposite.
“You–”
He quickly leans in to kiss you. Unannounced and unexpected. It leaves you completely stunned at first, because it's still a bit nerve-wracking to show any sort of affection towards him when anyone from the group is around. And again, it's not like you don't want to be affectionate with him around the others, it's more about the how that seems to be an issue for you. Perhaps it's going to take you a little while to learn how to be less analytical about the whole PDA thing and just go for it whenever you feel like it.
And yes, it’s absolutely mortifying, but the only way to make any progress is by exposing yourself to that scenario. Thankfully it's just Adebayo for now.
“You were saying?” he asks innocently, offering you that same sweet smile from before.
That light tease somehow makes you feel even more nervous, internally panicking as you try to act normal. Like you're not at a complete loss of words, feeling like your cheeks are heating up. “Whatever,” you mutter, avoiding eye contact, standing up from the floor. “Rudest way to shut me up, by the way.”
“You don't seem to think that when–”
“Let me stop you there before I end up scarred for life,” Adebayo cuts him off immediately, taking a look at her phone before yawning, stretching her limbs just enough right after. “Holy shit, it's 3am already.”
“Let's put all of this back in the box and then I can help you with the sofa bed.”
The three of you put everything back in the carton box, discarding the boardgame by the kitchen counter before moving the coffee table to make enough space for the sofa bed. While you’re helping Adebayo get her bed ready for the night, Adrian finishes the XXXL slushie he ordered at the burger place you visited earlier before going to sleep.
“Fuck, I think my brain is entirely frozen.”
“Adrian, that shit is dripping on the floor!” you warn him, pointing at the wooden surface right underneath him, suddenly realizing the few droplets of water right next to his shoes.
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry!”
He immediately leaves the cup by the sink to clean the floor, just as you turn around towards Adebayo once the bed is seemingly done. “Do you need any more blankets? I think I have a few more somewhere.”
“I’m all good, don’t worry about it. I just hope nothing tries to possess me during the night.”
“Well, if the spirits that haunt this building are mindful of doors, you have absolutely nothing to worry about.”
The two of you turn to look at Adrian after he speaks, watching him stand in your kitchen, leaning over the sink so he doesn’t risk ruining your floor again as he keeps struggling with his unnecessarily large drink.
“Can you finish that thing already?”
“I’m trying.”
Turning back towards your friend, you give her a quick hug as a way of saying goodnight before starting to walk to your bedroom. “Goodnight, Adrian,” you say as you walk past him, offering him a lazy wave with your hand.
“I’m, like, totally done with this thing, I promise,” he offers back to you in a rushed voice, as if he fears you won't let him sleep in your bed with you if he takes too long. “I’ll be there in a few seconds.”
Adebayo looks inside one of the bags she got from the car, retrieving the toothbrush she bought for herself at the 24-hour pharmacy right next to the burger place. “You better be done when I’m back because I’m really tired and I really want to get some sleep”.
You make it to your bedroom, closing the door behind you to change into something comfier to sleep in before you go into the adjacent bathroom for your nightly routine– it’s technically not a proper routine because some days you’re too tired or you just completely forget about it, but you try to be as consistent as you can be.
Adrian is apparently done with his slushie because you hear the door of your room opening and closing. Just a few seconds later, you watch him through the mirror as he enters the bathroom, a hand placed over his stomach. “I think I’m more slushie than human now.”
“I told you it was a bit excessive, but you didn't listen.” As you turn around, you get the brilliant idea of pouring a bit of cleanser on your hand before applying some on his face. He looks completely unbothered, removing his glasses as he simply stands there and allows you to rub the cream on his face.
“I know. I should've listened,” he replies with a little frown that’s beyond adorable. “What are you putting on my face, by the way?”
“It’s a cleanser. Helps to keep your skin clean.”
“Oh,” he mutters when you take a step back, putting his glasses back on before he’s reaching for his toothbrush– yes, his toothbrush. He left it here the last time he stayed over, and it sends you for a loop every time you think too much about it. “Thank you for worrying about my skin, then. Whatever it is, it feels kinda nice.”
You let out a soft chuckle at that while you’re putting the cleanser back in the drawer you retrieved it from. “That’s the whole point. I doubt you care too much about your skin, so it's up to me to do something about it,” you comment jokingly as you’re walking into the room again.
“That’s completely untrue, I use a shit-ton of sunscreen all the time!”
By the time he gets out of the bathroom, you’re already curled up on your side of the bed (the fact that you even have a “side” on your own bed is also something that you can’t think too long about without spiraling), eyes closed but still not fully asleep yet.
You are very tired. As if all the exhaustion of the day overtook you the second you touched the mattress. Therefore, you barely acknowledge him when he’s joining you on the bed. His arms wrap around you from behind almost immediately and you give in to the light pull of his grip as you scoot closer to his body. You figure it won’t last long because you’ve noticed he’s not really a fan of sleeping glued to one another all night.
“You know, I really like sleeping with you.” As if to emphasize his statement, he tightens his grip around you just for a few seconds before it loosens. “You’re like a giant teddy bear, but a lot softer and nice to hug– you’re very nice to hug. I normally don’t like hugging people, but I like it if it’s you.”
“I’m flattered,” you offer in a playful tone, unable to hold back a soft giggle. “I like sleeping with you. Your presence it’s actually comforting.”
“Is it? I wouldn’t know, because I don't know how I act when I'm sleeping, unfortunately. Do I move too much?”
“Not really. You do snore a little, but I don’t mind.”
You hear him laugh behind you. “You snore too.”
“I do not!”
“Yes, you do! And it’s really cute, actually.”
“How is snoring cute?”
“Everything you do is cute to me. Even when you’re being mean and scary.” He leans closer, pressing a few kisses on your shoulder. “I’m waiting for my goodnight kiss, by the way.”
That makes you smile fondly, rolling around until you’re facing him, immediately pressing your lips against his in a tender kiss. One of your hands moves up to his hair, gently tangling your fingers in his hair as you kiss him, and he makes the weakest sound against your lips before he pulls away. “Would it be totally insane if we have sex, like, right now?” he whispers, urging you closer to him as he searches for your mouth again.
“We’re not going to have sex when Ads is sleeping in my living room,” you’re barely able to reply in between kisses. The second you lean back, he’s diving back in, seemingly unsatisfied.
“But she’s not going to hear us.”
“Adrian, you’re loud.”
“Then keep me quiet.”
“Adrian.”
“Fine,” he gives up with a soft sigh, giving you a quick peck on the lips before finally letting you go. “I’ll have to go back to having dreams about it then.”
You can’t help but roll your eyes at that, the smile on your face remaining. “As if one night without having sex is going to do irreparable damage to you.”
“It will. It’s happening as we speak, actually. I’m in the process of being irreparably damaged forever.”
“You’re so dramatic,” you laugh, rolling back to the previous position you were in to finally go to sleep. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.” Barely a few seconds pass before he speaks again. “I will be dreaming about you, by the way. No jokes.”
You smile, even when he can't see it. “I’ll dream about you too.”
“But my dream will be, like…so much better, though.”
“Not everything has to be a competition, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. But this isn’t even a competition, because mine’s totally better.”
His insistence makes you laugh again. “Just go to sleep already.”
“You want me to dream about you so bad, huh?”
“Adrian, I swear to God–”
“Okay, okay, okay, okay,” he immediately cuts you off when he realizes you’re turning around to face him again. “I get it. Sleep time. I’ll shut up now.”
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
The faint sound of the music mixes with the sounds of leaves ruffling with the wind. Ads and Adrian are sitting by the steps outside the cabin while you try to keep yourself entertained by throwing a pocketknife at one of the wooden pillars outside the house.
You still haven’t heard anything about Chris, which you don’t exactly know if it’s a good or a bad thing. Part of you wants to be optimistic– maybe him and Emilia decided to run into the sunset together or some shit like that. Or they’re in a boat somewhere again. Who fucking knows.
But you’re almost certain that is not the case. Not when A.R.G.U.S. is actively looking for your friend, and you know for a fact they’re not going to stop until they capture him. It’s even worse when you consider who’s behind this entire operation. You’ve never had the chance to work up close with Rick Flag Sr. (or his son, unfortunately, although you’re very aware that everyone at the workplace absolutely adored him), but you know enough about that man to know he’s ruthless, stubborn and fiercely determined.
Even when Chris tends to have a shit-ton of luck sometimes to avoid trouble, he definitely can’t avoid someone like Flag for too long. You can only hope some miracle might’ve happened and he’s just with Emilia somewhere.
You’ve been so anxious since the moment the three of you got back to the cabin to find it completely empty, that throwing your knife at something felt like the best idea to try to get rid of some of your worries. Chris should be here by now, and if he’s not here he should at least answer his phone.
Why the fuck isn’t he answering his phone?
“Hey, could you stop doing that? It’s distracting me,” Adebayo says in your direction, covering the mic of her phone before she returns to her phone call.
You frown, a bit disappointed that you have to return to doing absolutely nothing other than standing there in the middle of the forest. Walking towards the pillar, you retrieve the knife before putting it back in your pocket.
Not knowing what else to do, you start pacing around while looking up at the tall trees. The idea of Chris potentially being in danger creeps into your mind once again, so you try to desperately find a distraction. That’s when you decide to focus on Adebayo’s conversation that sounds…odd, to say the least. A bit sexual, maybe? You start suspecting it isn’t the client-provider conversation she thinks she’s having. A service is definitely being requested, but it’s not really related to security in the slightest.
When you look at Adrian, he looks completely unbothered, silently listening to the exchange as well. He still looks completely unfazed when Adebayo stands up, immediately starting to celebrate her first official client.
Still a bit unsure, you smile regardless. “Congratulations, Ads.”
“Thank you! Hey, by the way, does either of you know what the hell ‘Greek’ means when it comes to security?”
You offer her a shrug, genuinely confused. “I haven’t heard that. Ever.”
And then, Adrian decides to chime in. “I don’t know about security, but in prostitution it means ‘butt-fucking’. That’s what you were talking about, right?”
Adrian turns to look at you, shrugging innocently. “I just do. I’m knowledgeable in a lot of things. I know what cocaine is, for example. That doesn’t mean I partake in it.”
“Right.”
“I can’t believe a guy wanted me to do butt-fucking,” Ads mutters, still looking very much in shock by that.
“I’m sorry,” you offer sympathetically, crossing your arms. “But hey, that means people are seeing your ad, so it’s only a matter of time until someone who isn’t a fucking creep decides to contact you.”
Adrian nods at that. “Yeah, and just in case, you don’t have to worry about me because I’d never kill a prostitute,” he offers not too long after, thinking that could somehow make her feel better. “Their life is difficult enough.”
Tilting your head to the side, you eye him curiously, but Adebayo speaks up before you get the chance to. “I’m not a prostitute!” she snaps, staring at him in disbelief before storming inside the cabin.
He lets out a soft giggle, turning to look at you now as he points back to the front door in a very ‘can you believe her?’ kind of way. “She has a prostitution conversation right in front of me and she thinks I wouldn’t notice?”
“She’s not a prostitute,” you insist, pulling out your pocket knife once again.
“Alright, whatever,” he shrugs, acting like he’s getting lectured when he really doesn’t deserve it. “Not like there’s any issue with that if she was. She can do whatever she wants.”
“No, of course. But she isn’t.” You offer him a soft smile before turning your attention to one of the wooden pillars again, watching as the knife lands exactly where you intended. “You want to try next?”
“I think I like watching you do that a little too much to join, to be honest.” He’s grinning at you, remaining on his seat at the steps as he simply enjoys observing what you’re doing. “You look very hot.”
You can’t help but laugh at that. “Thanks, babe. It’s almost therapeutic in a way, actually.” The knife is once again on your hand after retrieving it from the wooden structure, walking back to where you were previously standing before focusing on one of the other pillars. “Not only does it help to ignore the fact that Chris is missing, but it’s also…you know, like going back to the good old days or whatever. I used to get paid for having skills like this and I loved it. Now all I do is take coffee orders and hang out muffins.”
“Well, I’m sure Chris is absolutely fine so you really shouldn’t worry about it. He barely needs my help with anything anymore. That’s how badass he is,” he replies with a reassuring smile, casually fixing the fit of his glasses as he slides them up the bridge of his nose. “As for the other thing, if you don’t want all of that insane talent going to waste, you can always join me on my patrols,” he offers enthusiastically, the idea already sounding incredible in his head. “Your payment could be a shit-ton of compliments and amazing sex at every alley we could possibly find.”
“Your payment methods sound very tempting.” At first, you considered leaving it like that. Nothing but a casual joke. But the more you thought about it, the more sense it made– not the payment stuff, but the part about joining him sometime. If you can’t do your job “legally”, maybe you can try to see if the whole Vigilante-type shit is something that makes sense to you. It’s not like Amanda Waller can do anything about that. After the knife lands yet again on your target, you turn your attention back on him. “You know, I might actually take you up on that offer someday, but I’m not killing anyone for littering or something.”
“It’s okay. You can leave all the killing to me. It’s the part of the job I enjoy the most anyway, so it’s a total win-win for both of us!”
“So leaving people at a police station or something is really not an option for you?”
Just then, Adebayo walks back outside, looking a lot more relaxed, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “What are you guys talking about?”
“Adrian’s constant need of killing delinquents just for the sake of it,” you explain fairly quickly, hinting at the knife still stuck in the pillar before you. “You want to join me?” She considers it for a moment, before heading towards the structure to retrieve the knife, immediately making her way to where you’re standing. “So, why not hand them over to the police?”
“You’re joking, right? The cops are either corrupt, incompetent or both. No way I’m trusting them to do shit!”
“That…is actually a good point– hey, nice one, Ads!”
She grins at you after hitting the target successfully, walking back to get the knife to try it again. “Thanks. It’s actually a lot easier than I thought.”
“It is! Here, let me help you.” As soon as she’s standing next to you again, you start instructing her on how to stand before moving a few steps back to give her space to try it one more time. “It’s like using a gun, really. As long as you don’t lose sight of your target, you’re all good. The rest is just constant practice to measure your strength and loosen up your wrist.”
“Oh, you’re a full pro at this!” she jokes, which immediately makes you laugh, playfully rolling your eyes at her light teasing.
“Hey, Ads, guess who’s joining me on my Vigilante duties!” Adrian exclaims excitedly, seemingly out of nowhere, capturing both of your attentions.
Adebayo looks at you, the implication in Adrian’s words evident as to who he’s referring to. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I said I might join him. I just miss feeling like I’m doing something useful with my life, you know?”
“It’s going to be sick! We can come up with a superhero name for you– oh! You can wear a suit just like mine! We’ll be like Deadpool and Ladypool!”
“Dead…what?”
“The superhero,” he explains, the excited smile on his face gradually fading while both of you look back at him as if you have no idea what he’s talking about. “Have you guys not watched any single movie? They’re pretty popular.”
“Is it the guy in all red that has like swords or something?” Adebayo guesses, still not entirely sure if she’s correct.
“Doesn’t Spider-Man wear all red?”
“No, that guy’s suit is red and blue. I think this one is all red.”
Adrian looks beyond offended and horrified by this interaction, shaking his head. “We’ll have to watch all of those movies so you don’t ever disrespect me like that again.”
Neither of you have time to say something back, because Adebayo’s phone starts ringing. “Is it another butt-fucking thing?” you offer comically.
“Don’t,” she warns you, taking the phone out of her pocket to see who’s calling her. “It’s Economos.”
She picks up almost immediately, and you could just tell by the look on her face that something’s wrong. The initial worry about Chris’ whereabouts starts creeping in yet again.
He can only be lucky for so long.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
“What do you think they did to him?”
“Let me think…” you start sarcastically from the backseat of Adebayo’s car, pretending to genuinely be thinking about an answer to that question. As if it isn’t painfully obvious by now. “The dad of the guy Chris murdered has been conducting an investigation on him and he finally managed to catch him. I don’t see how that could end in complete disaster.”
“Shit,” Adebayo mutters under her breath, fully aware that any attempt at remaining somewhat hopeful about this situation is pointless now. There's no way Chris didn't receive at least one ass-kicking.
It's only been a couple of minutes since you’ve parked outside the building, arriving as soon as you possibly could after Economos called to let you know Chris was apprehended and was only allowed to go after he officially booked him in the system.
Before you could ponder too much about the possible outcomes of this particular situation, you’re met with the actual reality of it all when you see John helping Chris to walk out of the building and towards the car. Limping slightly, face covered in blood, his entire demeanor letting you know he’s in severe pain.
You don’t even think twice, stepping out of the car in a rush at the sight of your friend looking like that. Granted, this is exactly what you were expecting (if not worse), but seeing it with your very own eyes is a lot worse than just picturing it in your head.
“This is fucked up,” you point out with evident concern, taking a closer look at Chris.
Both Adebayo and Adrian are already out of the car by now too, looking equally as concerned. Adrian is stepping in almost immediately to help Chris approach the car, walking him all the way to the passenger side, opening the door for him and helping him get inside.
“Yeah…Flag beat the living shit out of him,” Economos sighs, visibly distraught by all of this. “I risked my job by booking him, but it was the only way to help him.”
“You did the right thing. I’m pretty sure Flag would’ve killed him if no one tried to intervene.”
He gives you a not-so-conviced look. “Right thing for him, sure. For me? Probably not so much.”
“Hey, you did the right thing,” you insist, voice determined.
“Yeah, it’s true. It was the only way to get Flag to stop,” Adebayo agrees not too long after. “Thank you for calling us.”
John offers both of you a nod, still very much believing that his actions will bring him a tragic fate of unemployment. Between that thought and having to see his friend in this condition, no doubt he’s incredibly overwhelmed. “Just make sure he gets some rest. And please, stay out of fucking trouble.”
“Unfortunately, I can't guarantee that he'll listen to either of those things, but I'll try my best.”
Economos sighs tiredly. “Alright. I’ve got to go back to work before Flag kicks my ass now.”
You smirk, crossing your arms. “I’d love for that fucker to walk out of that door right now to have a little chat.”
“Okay, relax, Kill Bill,” he mutters sarcastically, knowing you enough to know that you'd gladly start a fight with him right now if you could. “What I said about staying out of trouble applies to all of you.”
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
The car ride is painfully quiet at first. You're all expecting Chris to say something, but he just keeps looking out the window in complete silence, occasionally letting out a soft grunt in pain.
“Are you going to tell us what the hell happened after you left?” you finally decide to ask. Perhaps your approach was a bit harsh, but you didn’t necessarily mean it to come off that way. It’s not like you want him to relieve the entire thing in excruciating detail, but you just can’t deal with the heavy silence anymore. And you can’t stand not knowing what happened.
What he says surprises all three of you. “It was Harcourt.”
You notice Adebayo’s eyes drifting momentarily from the road to look at him with obvious confusion. “What do you mean?”
“It was her. She fucking betrayed me,” he insists, tone dry and exhausted. “I was surrounded by agents. I had the chance to get out of there, but she tackled me to the ground and knocked me unconscious.”
That sounds like a very Emilia thing to do, but only partially. Because yes, she’s capable of taking care of a potential target before you even have enough time to blink, but there’s absolutely no way that she’d ever try to betray one of her own. It’s just impossible.
“That doesn’t sound right,” Adebayo argues, voicing your exact same trail of thought. “She would never turn her back on any of us.”
“Well, she did.”
“She must’ve had a reason to do that, then,” you chime in from the back seat, noticing the way Chris shakes his head at that, deciding to look out the window once again. “We’re talking about Emilia here. Do you really think she’s just going to hand you over to A.R.G.U.S. like that?”
“Why wouldn’t she? It was the perfect opportunity to get in their good graces and get her job back.”
The atmosphere turns heavier after he says that. The accusation leaves an awful taste in your mouth, because although you can understand that Chris is feeling very frustrated about the entire situation, blaming Emilia for it without even giving her a chance to explain herself it’s just not right.
Adebayo decides to stay quiet for now while Adrian starts to get a bit anxious next to you because he can just tell that it’s about time before either of you lash out. You and Chris are very good friends. The bestest of buddies. But your personalities tend to clash sometimes– especially in tense situations such as this one. Maybe it’s due to a severe lack of patience with one another or the fact that the two of you just love to have the last word on every conversation. Whatever it is, it’s really not that difficult for you to start an argument.
“Oh, and you think she’s the kind of person to do that?”
He shrugs, almost casually. “I don't know. I used to think maybe she wouldn’t do something like that, but right now I’m not so sure.”
“You–”
“She knew what was going to happen to me in there,” he immediately cuts you off, his voice sounding a lot more unpleasant and annoyed. “Flag probably would’ve killed me if it wasn’t for Economos, so don’t even try to keep defending her.”
For once, it looks like you’re choosing to take a step back before the situation keeps escalating. You get it. He's hurt and tired, and he's not only upset at your friend from potentially handing him over to A.R.G.U.S. because you know there's so much more to it. No matter how much you enjoy proving your point right, perhaps trying to do this now is only going to make things worse.
Deciding not to say anything else, you lean back on your seat as you also turn your head towards the window to look at the landscape in an effort to forget all about this. Surely you’ll have a chance to talk to Emilia so she could explain what’s going on, right? She’ll be able to explain it to Chris too so he could understand the reasoning behind her actions, and then all of you can finally try to come up with a plan to fix all of this shit.
But Chris just had to open his fucking mouth one more time. Because of course he’d think that your attempt to defend your friend (because she’s not here to do that herself) somehow means you’re personally attacking him. “You know, you’re probably on her side because you would do that exact same shit to any of us if it meant getting your stupid job back.”
“Hey, come on. That’s a very fucked up thing to say to her,” Adrian says almost immediately, his usual tone oddly deprived of any trace of cheerfulness.
Chris doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t try to look at you over his shoulder or mutter a half-felt apology to try to make the situation better. At first, you thought a reaction like that would’ve infuriated you to the point you’d have to ask Adebayo to stop the car so you could drag his ass out onto the pavement and maybe try to knock him unconscious again, but it doesn’t. If anything, you feel sad.
You get that he’s upset about everything that has happened to him, but he can’t be throwing accusations at Emilia like that, and he definitely shouldn’t try to throw those same accusations at you. Especially when you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong– especially when all you’ve done is trying to help him.
And you get that the two of you tend to get in very stupid arguments that you’d have with someone in middle school. You get that the two of you are impossible to deal with when you try to get the last word. But that comment is just absolutely out of place.
“Yeah, it’s a very fucked up thing to say to me.”
“Alright. Fine. I guess I’m the bad guy now,” he snaps back at you, completely missing the point. “I get my ass kicked and somehow I get shit for it. Great.”
“That’s not the case at all, Chris. I think you’re just getting a little too defensive about this,” Adebayo replies, trying a much calmer approach. “No one is attacking you. We’re just saying that maybe you need to talk to Emilia to figure out what’s going on. She’s one of us, remember?”
“I’m not talking to her. It’s done– I’m fucking done with all of this.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
He stays awfully quiet for a few seconds. “Nothing.”
A brief silence follows. Adebayo looks straight ahead, Chris is looking outside the window and you scoot even closer to the door. Now, this would be the perfect opportunity to jump out of the car.
“Oh, jeez. I hate this,” Adrian speaks up, preventing the awkward silence from continuing. “Would any of you like to quiz me on some manta ray facts?”
“I’m not really in the mood right now,” you whisper apologetically, eyes still focused on the trees by the side of the road as you pass them by.
“But I have so many cool facts! It might help to lift everyone’s spirits.”
“I have one question,” Chris starts, which makes Adrian smile excitedly as he awaits for him to reveal it. “How many manta rays does it take to get you to shut the fuck up?”
You immediately roll your eyes at that. Adrian doesn't seem to get the hint at all, starting to count with his fingers as he genuinely tries to come up with a possible answer. You reach out for his hand to stop him. “He’s being a dick. He doesn’t actually care to know the answer.”
“Oh,” Adrian mutters, sounding genuinely disappointed as he leans back on his seat.
In desperate need of comfort, you squeeze his hand as you scoot over to him. He allows the contact, letting go of your hand so he could wrap his arm around your shoulders instead. You lean in, pressing a short kiss against his cheek before snuggling closer to his chest, feeling incredibly safe and comforted in his arms. It's like medicine, really. Like it recharges all of your energy.
Even when it's a level of intimacy you're not exactly comfortable displaying in public, you're feeling so emotionally exhausted that you don't even care about that. The need for comfort is far stronger than your reservation, so you just stay cuddled up to his side, trying to pretend like absolutely nothing happened just now.
By the time you reach the cabin, you drop Chris off and despite Adebayo's insistence, he refuses to accept any company.
You're not really in the mood to pretend like you're on good terms for the other two’s sake, so you completely avoid any sort of interaction with him. Not one goodbye, not even a single look in his direction. Nothing. If he's not willing to apologize, you're not willing to reach out either. If he wants to be an asshole for no reason, you can be twice as petty. It's part of your friendship, after all. You'll be back on good terms eventually, like all of this didn’t even happen.
“Are you okay?” Adrian asks once the car begins to move again, tightening his grip around you just enough as if to get your attention.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
He frowns. “I don't think you are. Wouldn't it be better to talk about it? I think it'd help if you let it out,” he continues in a not-so-sure voice.
“No, I really don't want to talk about it. I just want to go back home.”
“Okay,” he mutters, and you can just tell how tense he is right now. Perhaps a bit uncomfortable, too. “Fuck. I don't know how to help you to make you feel better.”
Realizing he's starting to feel a bit frustrated by not being able to fix whatever is wrong, you gently grab his chin to bring him closer to you, giving him a soft kiss on his lips. When you look into his eyes, you see he's still very much frustrated.
“You are helping.”
“But I'm not doing anything.”
“You're here, right?” you ask softly, and despite still looking awfully confused he offers you a nod. “That's how you're helping.”
“Oh.” He barely even registers what that means as you snuggle closer to him again. “And that's, like…enough?”
“To me it is,” you mutter, completely missing the soft smile that appears on his lips when realization finally starts to sink in– he's enough for you.
Tags: Virgin Adrian - Unprotected non fully sex (?) - Premature ejaculation - Mean reader - College au (?)
It wasn't anything new that he was overly irritating and insistent, since when he got an idea in his head, he wouldn't rest until he carried it out.
Unfortunately, this time it's your turn to be one of his victims.
“It's going to be just the tip! Come on! I'll do whatever you want, pleaseee,” he says in that irritating tone as he follows you around every single hallway in that place, trailing behind you like the tail you wish you didn't have.
“And why does it have to be me? There’s always one of those freak horny ass juniors out there who’d like to fuck you just because you’re a senior,” you reply, not hiding your annoyance, constantly checking the watch on your wrist as you head to your classroom. He keeps following you. “Besides, you don’t even like sex so what the hell with that.”
He sighs and moves forward, standing in front of you as he walks backward, occasionally turning his gaze to avoid colliding with students or worse, teachers.
“I don’t like it! But Peace—” he closes his eyes and is silent for a second before continuing “...Chris. Said I could have a threesome with him and one of the girls if I finally have sex. He’s my best friend, I don’t want to disappoint him.”
You raise an eyebrow at the best friend part. He'd been bringing up the threesome thing for days, and his friend Smith refused to include him in his sticky and dirty adventures if he didn't stop being a loser virgin at his advanced age, which means humiliation ritual for him if you put it in the right words.
“Okay, and like I said, why does it have to be me, dude?” You finally stop while speaking, and so does he, the tension fading away when you finally decide to listen to him.
“Because you're my other best friend, and I can't go to other people and tell them to let me do that. They could report me. I don't want reports, I'm the best in my class! Besides, it would be a good way to bond, we haven't bonded yet,” he tells you excitedly, and you don't let pass the way he looks so pretty with that sparkle in his eyes.
You bite your lip, hesitant, thinking about ways to avoid all of this, “so why don't you just lie to him? It's not like he has the talent to know where your dick has been, Adrian.”
He clenches his jaw. “Are you kidding me right now? It’s Christopher Smith. Like, he’d know where my cock’s been instantly. It doesn’t have to be my full cock, just the tip, and it’ll only happen once, and then I won’t bother you anymore. Please, I’m clean. I’ll show you proof.” You grimace at that. It’s obvious he’s clean.
The situation continues to play with your mind. The truth is, it sounds tempting, and he's not ugly, he's quite handsome. He has a nice body that you've had the chance to see before, energetic eyes, a cute smile, and above all, the thought of him asking someone else about this makes your blood boil.
He's an irritating maniac with dark shit going on, but he's your maniac, and Chris', surely.
“Fuck, okay. But just the tip, weirdo. I don't want things to get any weirder than they already are.” You see how his state changes completely at the change in your tone of voice, and you almost fall over when he throws himself at you in a warm hug.
“Thanks! Thank you, thank you, thank you! You're the best, I'll let you go to your classes.” He squeezes you in his arms, definitely not letting you go to your classes.
Your classes.
Your classes.
“Let me go, I'm late. The teacher's going to scold me. Let go, Adrian.” He doesn't.
You didn't expect him to be so calculated.
After you gave him permission, he showed up at your dorm at the exact time and minute he said he would be there, even if there was a forecast for rain tonight.
He asked you too many questions, explained consent in detail as if you didn't know, and suddenly went off topic about four times to talk about the squirrel he saw in the campus garden today.
Eventually you shut him up with a kiss that was awkward for both of you, but not in a bad way. He reciprocated non-expertly, but his mouth tasted good; he'd been eating many gummies to the point where his tongue had probably turned into one.
In a moment, you were lying on your back, legs spread as he sat between them, still clothed but with that tank top deliciously tight across his chest. His breathing was rapid, his eyes locked on your cunt as he gently pushed the dripping pink tip into your heat.
“Be quick,” you comment, returning your gaze to your phone, almost uninterested in what's happening between your legs.
Adrian is overwhelmed, sweaty all over, his cock throbbing in his hand as he struggles to keep himself from going all the way in.
It feels soft, tight, so wet, and so hot it makes his hips stutter and he pulls out completely, only to shove the swollen and glossy flushed head back in. Little huffs escape from his mouth, his skin is burning, tiny pathetic sounds leaving his battered lips, and you feel the need to call him puppy for his needy behavior.
He can be so curious, tonight it's not the exception; since he takes a few seconds rubbing his cock against your inner walls and then pulls out completely, watching the slick of your pussy cling to his cock.
And for someone so disinterested, you were dripping wet.
Adrian places his fingers on either side of your lower lips, and with his thumbs, he spreads them open, just to see what's going on there, and you gasp in surprise.
“The fuck are you doing?” Confusion and excitement fill your body, now you ignore your phone, placing it beside you as you question him.
“Sorry, I just— I wanted to see and…” He doesn’t finish his words because he directs his cock back to your cunt, smacking the tip against your clit and making your breath shudder, the heat between your legs spasming, and he begins to moan just a little as he continues tapping against the knot of nerves, then rubbing, his cockhead occasionally hooking just below your clit, making your hips buck upward, and he bites his lips, sliding inside you again.
You’re tighter, slicker, he shoves at the flesh clinging like a vice to his length.
“Oh my god, it feels so good… And I– I like your hair by the way, I like it a lot,” you think it’s a nice compliment that has butterflies happily flying inside your stomach, but you realize he’s not looking at your head at the moment and his gaze is focused between your legs and the realization hits you, cheeks burning and embarrassment digging under your skin.
“Jesus Christ, don't—don't say that Adrian,” you complain, closing your eyes, and he pouts between ragged breaths.
“But I do! It feels good, this feels so good,” he murmurs, pushing harder and harder, but never completely, and inwardly you’re grateful that he’s not that big. The sensation of his hard cock feels so good inside you that you’re so focused on the pleasure that you don’t even realize his thumb has found your clit and started making quick circles on it while he half-fucks your pussy.
His breathing becomes more uncontrolled, leaking inside you to the point of making a mess on your folds every time he pulls out. He’s almost drooling, and you know he’s about to cum. “Inside… Inside, please,” you mewl, the slightest stimulation in your cunt fucking up your senses, and he nods.
“Mhm, mhm I will, I'm— I’m clean okay? I mentioned it but it’s important so so important” he whines and doesn’t even have time to continue moaning because he finishes inside you, filling your inner walls with his milky and overwhelmingly warm release and you arch your back, lowering your own hand to push his away and abuse your clit with your own fingers while you are on the verge of orgasm and you manage to finish, it's not a very long climax but it is enough to make you feel that delicious tingle of pleasure that makes you squeeze part of him that is still inside you and he hisses.
When you both regulate your labored breathing, he begins to smile happily, leaning in and snuggling tightly against you, pushing a few inches into you without even noticing, and you gasp at the contact and the way his weight suffocates you.
“You are the best! I really liked it,” he exclaims extremely happily against the skin of your neck, kissing you too hard there, biting also and you don’t even mention how he’s pushed his cock further inside.
“Yeah, you’re welcome, now get off, you’re too sweaty, ew,” you comment with fake disgust, and he pays no attention to your words and pulls away from you.
“Can I use your bathroom? I have to pee.”
You grimace at the fact that he's still inside you, “What is that question Adrian? of course you can, get off me before you do that inside me” he tantrums and scoffs, finally pulling out of you.
[7/15 — pegging + sub!adrian]
adrian is more versed in the concept than you, but, for him you'd really try anything. [KINKTOBER'25] // [GEN. MASTERLIST]
pairing: adrian chase x f!reader
tags: 18+ MINORS DNI, first time pegging, adrian has experience reader doesn't, established relationship, sub!adrian, doggy style, missionary, strap blowjobs, masturbation, handjobs, kinda fluffy
word count: 2.3k+
a/n: i've literally never written a pegging fic so i really wanted it to reflect that lack of experience lol
You weren’t sure.
Adrian, staring up at you with sad, wet eyes, on his knees, had his bare chest pressed against your calves. He’s almost never this raw with you, resting his head atop his arms, weight on your cold legs. He’d certainly never asked for something this directly, this desperately.
“You...have one already?” You run a hand through his hair, tugging back the curls. He lets himself be pulled back, further and further with each course drag of your fingers over his scalp. You catch on a knot, and his voice runs thick as he responds.
“Mm, duh, I have had other girlfriends.” For however deep his voice ached, he held tight to that trademark indignance.
Narrowing your eyes at him, envy whirls in your gut, but you don’t like giving him what he wants when he’s like this. Whether it’s his erection in your mouth or your weight on his face, if he’s clamoring for it you’re fighting to keep him wanting for as long as possible.
“I know.” You close your fist at the crown of his head, staring down at him, making his eyes meet yours, “Isn’t it gross to use the same strap?”
“Uh, is it gross that I’ve used the same penis for ten years?”
The corner of your mouth tugs, and you force it into a frustrated frown, nostrils flaring, “You’ve only been having sex for ten years?”
He blinks hard, “Yes.”
You shove him away by the hair, “Loser. You know you’re not doing a very good job of begging.”
Adrian comes back before you’ve drawn your hand in, yanking it to his lips. He presses kisses to each knuckle before closing his mouth around your thumb. The wetness of his tongue swirling on the calloused skin shoots a rocket off in your gut, his eyes fluttering closed as he draws his mouth up the length of your finger.
“Come on,” He whimpers, spattering kisses up your arm, climbing into your lap to suck a hickey at your collarbone. His torso is scalding hot compared to yours, the moisture between his thighs slotting him rightly on either side of your waist. You stick to him like dry ice on warm flesh as he clings to you, rocking his hips in time with his pleading kisses. Precum soaks a spot through his briefs and onto the curve of your stomach, and he cups the shell of your ear with his mouth, muttering, “Would you please fuck me?”
The timbre of his voice travels straight to your brain, and you can’t stop the full body shudder that follows, hands finding his hips to dig your nails in. You can feel him smile against your ear before he presses a firm kiss to the nerve behind it. All you can do is nod.
“Oh, fuck, thank you.” He breathes, ducking to your mouth. The kisses are wet, open-mouthed, his tongue washing over yours. Gratitude falls from his lips, tiny platitudes again and again until you have to tug him back again, holding his chin between your thumb and forefinger.
“Alright, alright. Go get it, then.”
A mild learning curve and Adrian’s eager hands working the strap onto your body later, you were on the couch and he was on his knees, again.
“Jesus, is this what I look like?” You sit ram-rod straight on the cushion, knuckles pressing into the fabric on either side of you as Adrian lets a bulb of spit dangle over the pale blue dildo. It glides down the silicone before spreading out over his tongue as he runs down the shaft. He slips his tongue below the metal ring of the strap, prodding at your cunt underneath your underwear.
“Way hotter.” He stares up at you, sucking at the cotton until it’s soaked through, your hips hitching up with every jolt in your pelvis.
Adrian replaces his mouth with his fingers, shoving aside the hem to sink two fingers into you as he drags his tongue back up over the piece, taking it into his mouth. His fingers fucking into you keeps you hitching your hips up, and he moans around the strap.
Your hand finds its way to his hair again, and without conscious thought you’re pushing him down onto the cock, the lightest thrusts up into his mouth. His fingers fill you well, but it’s the sight of his lips stretched around the strap that keep you from going passive with the feeling. It’s not that you’re a pillow princess, or even really all that submissive normally, but to see him the way he gets to see you is a privilege better than you’d have ever guessed.
“Fuck,” He mumbles, fingers slipping from your cunt to instead grab at your thigh. You loosen your grip.
“Sorry, is that too much?”
He pulls back with a wet pop! and shakes his head furiously, “No, no, fuck no. Please keep doing that.”
You run a thumb over his glistening bottom lip, and shove it into his mouth, “Good, good Adrian.”
His eyebrows kick up, eyelids fluttering closed. He swirls his tongue around your thumb, patiently obeying until you find yourself wanting for the sight of his mouth on the strap again. You re-situate your grip in his hair, eyes locked on each other as you guide him back down. Expanding black pupils swallow the tepid sea-green, and you watch the edges as they pulse at the full breadth of their circumference.
Adrian works the strap until he’s drooling, silicone slick with his spit, his hand palming over his briefs.
“You think you’re all set?” You whisper, pinching at his cheekbone.
He darts up to your lips, the slightest chuckle in his throat, voice sweet, “No, crazy, we need lube.”
“How would I know?” You grab his jaw and squeeze, keeping him from indulging in more than a chaste kiss, “We almost never use lube.”
He remains unaffected, glad for whatever taking you’ll give him, “And I wish I could get as naturally wet as your pussy, trust me.”
The vulgarity breaks your facade, and you jump to swallow him with your lips, a little exclamation escaping as he taps your open palm with the lube bottle, a warning before he squeezes out the cold compound.
He pulls back to watch you slick up the strap, yanking down his briefs to tug at his own erection.
You ache at the sight of his pulsing cock, the harsh vein running along the side, tip red and dribbling precum. If you can’t have him inside you, at the very least you want your hands around him.
“What, um, what position?” Adjusting on the couch, you feel yourself falter for a moment at the immediate prospect before you. Adrian is so eager, so needy, his free hand squeezing at your thigh, thumb running over the seams of the leather harness.
“Well, this one girl thought doggy was easiest. Then the next girl only liked missionary. And the one time with Chris—”
You’re propelling off the couch before he can finish the next syllable, clasping your hand over his mouth. You reach down to stroke his erection, the lube still on your hand making easy work, his cock jumping underneath your fingers.
“If I’m going to fuck you, I don’t want to hear about anyone else fucking you, okay? Least of all Chris.” You grind your forehead against his, “Got it?”
He lurches away from you with a whine, hot breath hitting your hand, abdomen flexing as he tries to steady himself. He nods, screwing his eyelids shut.
“Just turn around.”
He obeys, and you slot yourself behind him, reaching around to stroke at him for a few moments more. Confidence building, surely.
“Keep this up.” You tug at one of his arms, guiding him along his own cock until he’s sure of the rhythm.
You inhale enough breath to fill your lungs and then some, chest burning, before you exhale slowly through your nose, prodding the tip of the strap at his entrance. You work him open, an inch or two in and out, hands loose on his hips.
“How’s this feel?” You lean to the side to look at him, and he’s nodding, head hanging between his shoulders.
“I can take more, come on, please.” His voice strains, and you back away entirely as he tries to shuffle backwards onto you.
“Hey.” You snap, fingernails digging into his hips, keeping him in place, away from your strap, “Can’t you be patient?”
“No! Fuck no.” He whines, dropping to one elbow, hand on his cock still slow.
“No?” You lean back on your heels, sighing, “Guess we’ll just have to wait till you work on that.”
“Oh, fuck, fine.” He presses himself fully onto the carpet, stretching out an arm to grab at the beige threads. He hitches his hips forward, fucking into his hand, “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. Sorry.” His voice fades until he’s croaking out apologies and humping the carpet.
Your gut aches for him, the ridge of his shoulders tensing and flexing as he only grows more desperate, beads of sweat on reddening skin.
“That’s better.” You mutter, edging towards him.
He lets out a throaty, full moan as you brush his entrance again, but keeps still. His body shakes with the effort, and as you sink into him in one slow push, he releases all the tension at once, torso going limp on the carpet. He pumps up and down his erection as told, but is otherwise enthralled by the whim of his body, convulsions coursing through as you build your own rhythm.
Everything in you aches with the desire to know what you’re unable to. How tight he is, what he must feel like pulsing on a real cock, how good it would feel to let your own orgasm loose inside him. The sight is almost enough, his toned back flexing as he lets you fuck him, the lightest jerk of his ass back onto the strap. You’re certain he thinks he’s going undetected, his gargled whines at the tail end of heaving breaths, his hand stroking harsh on his cock all enough of an excuse if you were to call him out. The thought kicks up admiration in your chest, and the depravity of his need is enough for you to let him continue his charade.
“Adrian,” You groan, tugging back again.
He grumbles with dissatisfaction, voice airy, “Yeah?”
“Can you turn around?”
He flips and hitches his hips up for you, cock falling fat and hard against his stomach. It twitches up once, twice, before he’s wrapping a hand around it again.
Slotting yourself at his entrance, you take in the fucked out look on his face, lips pink and raw. His curls stick to his forehead, and the angles of his cheekbones are highlighted by a red flush on his skin. He grins at you, and you watch as it turns into a grimace, sinking the strap in one full go, faster this time, the head thudding somewhere deep inside him.
“I wanna see you cum all over yourself, okay?”
He nods, planting a foot on either side of you to lift his hips at the right angle, but he’s shaking more with every thrust. You wouldn’t be able to life his legs if you tried, but, reaching blindly behind you for a throw pillow, you place it under his lower back so you can keep as upright as possible without the added strain on him.
You hook your hands under his thighs, grinding your hips up into him, the base of the strap rustling the fabric of your underwear. It shifts light over your clit, sending a vague shock through you with every thrust. You hope Adrian will be begging for you to sit on his face after this, you’re sure he will, but more than anything you ache to see him covered in his own cum. Ache to lick it up and pretend it’s your own, pretend you’ve fucked him to your own climax and marked him with the evidence.
His free hand combs through his hair, forcing the sweaty strands off his forehead, skin pulled taut as he digs his head back into the carpet.
The tendons in his neck strain, Adam’s apple caught in place. There’s a whine stuck in his throat, and he freezes with his hand tight at the base of his cock. You can feel resistance against the strap, feel it hitting something deep in his gut.
“Shit, are you gonna cum already?”
He nods, mouth open and silent. He manages a few furious thrusts down his cock, endures a few more harsh thrusts from the strap before he’s seizing underneath you.
Ropes of cum spurt across his chest in long, jerking stripes, dribbling down the valley of his pecs. His thighs convulse beneath your hands, and you hit him with a couple lazy thrusts, hitching to the back of his hole and dragging halfway before pushing into him again.
The moan caught in his throat echoes up to the ceiling, and a litany of grateful pleas follow in quick succession. Thank you and you’re so perfect and I love you over and over until they’re jumbling into nonsense from his lips. He hisses as you pull from him, but satisfied hums rumble in his chest as you kiss up his torso, dragging your tongue over the spattered cum on his abdomen.
You press your fists on either side of his head, ducking down to kiss him before his hands snake around your back and pull you down on top of him.
Minutes pass like this, wet, tired kisses in silence, the strap slotted up beside his softening erection.
“Was that...good?” You break to lay your chin on his chest.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Adrian raises his eyebrows at you, reaching to pinch your cheek, “I don’t even have the words.”
“That’s a first.”
“Hey, no it’s not.”
You laugh, scooting back up to his mouth, warm kisses of salt washing between you both, building for whatever comes next.
Thinking about Adrian not wanting to stop even if a mess is about to be made. . .
Tags: Drabble kinda - Female reader - Watersports - Unprotected sex - Pervert Adrian - Humiliation - In my house he's a freak
You knew perfectly well that you shouldn't have drunk that much water before Adrian arrived, but you were so thirsty, and the heat was enough to make you want to drink a whole river.
And now you're suffering the consequences at the worst possible time.
In this position, everything felt twice as critical: your back pressed against his solid chest as he holds your legs open and his hips thrust upward to fuck your cunt until milky slick was running down his weeping cock, strong arms wrapped around your waist, pressing against your bladder every time he presses your body against his. And he keeps whining your name into the sweaty crook of your neck.
Did you need to go to the bathroom? Yes.
Did you want to go to the bathroom? Absolutely not.
The way he babbles every time you squeeze his cock is enough to keep you there, even if you feel like you're about to make a mess on the bed and unfortunately on top of him.
You can hold off a little longer. This isn't the first time you've held back your urge during unfortunate moments. At least that's what you thought until you felt a large hand cupping your raw cunt and rapidly rubbing your clit.
Your eyes shot open and you gasp in surprise. “Adrian... Adrian, stop—” you whine and he lets out a little hmm? in response.
“Stop, please— Please, I have to—” His cock rubs against your sweet spot and you sob as you can feel how close you are to humiliation.
“You have to what?” he asks in a small, needy voice, still making no effort to stop, and you have to bite your lip to continue talking while your body is shattering because of him.
“Bathroom...” you whimper, relieved to say it. “I have to go to the bathroom. I'm gonna—” You feel panic rising when, instead of doing something, anything different, he simply places his right hand on your lower belly right over your blader and presses lightly, his thrusts never slowing as his breathing becomes labored.
“I thought it was going to be important— Aw, that's not that important, you know? It's just... Silly, I guess.” He sounds so casual about it, somehow okay with it, and your cheeks burn, your whole body on fire as you try not to lose yourself.
“What are you doing? I'm— I'm going to make a fucking mess on the bed. Please, this— this is embarrassing,” you whine in complain, throwing your head back until it rests on his shoulder, and you hear his small chuckle.
“Oh, I'm aware. But it's not bad, like, it could be worse, and piss is just water if you think about it...” he purrs in your ear. “And you're so tight, I feel like it's choking me.”
He gives you a hard thrust that has you moaning his name, showing you his point in slow and sloppy slaps of his hips. “See? Sooo tight and wet, and warm.” open-mouthed kisses are spread over your sensitive skin and you can't just hold any longer.
At first, you beg him a little more, even though you want it to happen only to hear him refuse in that irritating tone of voice. Then to make you stop begging, he firmly presses your bladder this time, breaking the barrier and arching your back, feeling it flow.
Too hot to make you want to close your legs while his throbbing cock is inside, humiliating enough to make you sob and cover your face with both hands as he fucks you through it. You feel the hot liquid coming out of you in long spurts, feeling Adrian letting his cock out of your raw cunt to feel the hot liquid soak his length and make a mess between your legs and on his thighs, part of the mattress under both of you covered in your embarrassing release.
You can hear him moan in pleasure at your shame, and— oh, he's discovering something new about himself.
“So fucking hot, oh my God, it's so hot...” He pants against your ear and hugs you tightly, lowering his hand to shove his cock back into your cunt as you finally release yourself. He starts fucking you faster, not giving you time to process the situation, greed making his body crave for more, trying to pull whatever he can out of you while every nerve of your body is sharp enough to make you finish just from a brush of his fingertips.
“Let's get more... That was so hot you did so good, what a pretty girl, you're so pretty... Don't be embarrassed, we all pee and stuff, and it was hot, you're so hot...” he's babbling, whining in your ear praise after praise and you can only take his cock that somehow feels harder inside you now.
His thrusts keep up a brutal pace and there are tiny splurts spilling out of you, you're sure that's not part of the hot mess soaking your crotch.
“I'll clean everything after, I will, and I promise you—you won't have to do anything because you did enough for me. Fuck, so hot so hot so hot...” you think he's about to cry, he's actually just about to cum.
🖋️ ` anon thank you for this request, it was hot to write and don't be shy. I think this fandom is surprisingly vanilla considering the show it belongs to lol, I know the watersports thing is tame at this point but it's a good start.
“Adrian, come here for a sec?” You call sweetly from your bedroom. This was a change in tone that Adrian noticed. You had been upset with his fuck up this morning, accidentally blowing your cover and all of you narrowly escaping death. To be honest, all of you were pissed, but you decided to make it your job to teach him a lesson.
Sheepishly, he opens the door, eyes immediately clocking what you’re wearing. You lie there on the bed, legs spread just enough for him to see your sheer underwear dip between your ass cheeks. Your finger is making small circles on the sheets as you wait for him to fully enter the room.
“You were bad today, baby.” You scold, already seeing Adrian’s rock-hard erection under the fabric of his pants. He shudders at your tone.
“I know. I’m sorry. I was just so bored waiting, and Economos was on the other line, so I thought it’d be fine to talk, so I wouldn’t be bored. He was just being a dickhead and–”
“Adrian.” Your voice becomes harsh as you get up and start walking towards him. All he can do is stand there dumbly. “I’m not here to listen to your silly excuses. I’m here,” You continue as you pull out a box under your bed. Oh, he was in trouble for sure. He knew it. “Because you need to be taught a lesson.” You grab a large dildo out of the box and toy with it. Adrian’s still standing there, his eyes honed in on the phalis and how much of a stretch it would be.
“So, are you going to be a good boy and get on the bed, or are you going to keep thinking of stupid excuses. Because I’ll tell you right now, that will get you nowhere but writhing on the bed, not being able to come tonight.” There’s something wicked in your smile as you rest a ball gag on the bed beside the dildo.
“Uhm–” Adrian starts undressing, throwing clothes every which way as he makes his way to the bed. He already knows to get on his hands and knees, facing away as you lube your fingers and shove one in harshly. Adrian starts groaning immediately, his face buried into the blankets.
“Gah- fuck, it’s too much.” He moans and grips the sheets as you thrust your finger in and out of his tight hole.
“Too much? We haven’t even started, and I want you to feel everything I have planned for you.” You’re rough with your movements, knowing that it partially gets Adrian off. You work a second finger in, scissoring to loosen the hole even more.
“Fuck!” Adrian starts to actually move his hips towards your hand as you hit his side as a warning.
“Did I say you could move?” You condescend.
“N-no.” He’s practically sobbing at this point as you work one more finger into his ass. Finally, after a few more minutes of prep, you pour more slick on the dildo and push it into him slowly so he can feel the stretch. Once it’s fully in, you pull him to sit up and face you. You grab the gag and strap it around his head. His eyes glaze over as you secure the last buckle on the side of his cheek.
“There we go? Isn’t that better? Now you can’t fuck anything up anymore.” You say aggressively.
You and Adrian talked about your sex life extensively before you explored this dynamic. He brought it up once to you while you were cuddling on your bed, watching a movie. To be fair, you were both pretty drunk, and emotions were running wild, but you talked about it the next morning, setting ground rules and talking limits. You tried multiple different things with him, all to varying success. Tonight, you were going to do what you know he’d enjoy, but also punish him a bit. Make him beg, deny him to no end.
“Let’s see. You almost got us all killed, so I think we can go at least five rounds of edging. You like that?” You grip his face as you force him to look at you. All he can do is stare at you while he tries not to drool over everything.
“Alright, now sit on it.” You direct him as you walk to the chair on the other side of your room. You sit down as you watch him look distraught. “Do I need to ask again?” You ask, gripping a controller on the dresser, the one that connected to the vibrator inside the dildo. He’s sitting there on his haunches as you finally click the controller once, letting Adrian feel the subtle vibrations of the cock up his ass. His leaking cock is already ruining the sheets as he tries his best to just sit there. He knows what you want.
“There’s my good boy. Now, I want you to grind up and down on the shaft. Can you do that for me?” Tears start running down his face as he starts to move. Muffled sounds escape from the sides of his gag as you smile at his reactions. He’s bouncing on the toy as his cock leaks profusely. Once he gets close the first time, you turn off the vibrations, letting him flounder as his orgasm escapes him. You wait a good thirty seconds, and you turn it back up to the second setting. He starts moving again, knowing you’d ask him if he didn’t. He so clearly wanted to make you feel good. You could tell as he stared at the space between your legs. That gave you an idea.
You move your hand between the fabric and your skin and start lightly touching the soaked skin. Adrian lets out a particularly pathetic whine as he scrunches his face up. You turn up the remote one more notch for a few seconds and turn it back down. Then you see his hand moving sneakily. Or at least, what he thinks is sneaky. You let him come just an inch away from his cock before you make a warning noise. He’s utterly defeated as he moves his hand back.
“I never said you could touch yourself. Don’t you understand that I hold the power here?” You ask. That gives you an idea on how to make this fun.
Suddenly, you moved to the box again as Adrian’s eyes followed you. You got out the harness, and Adrian’s eyes went wide. You smile at him as you move in front of the bed and give him a small show as you put on the harness. You push on Adrian’s shoulder, and he falls back. You yank the vibrating toy out of his ass, and he gives a desperate moan as his cock leaks heavily on his stomach. You manage to man-handle him back onto his stomach, and you attach the dildo to the center of your harness. Adrian cranes his neck to watch you as you rest your hips against his ass.
“You ready, baby?” You tease as you sink in all the way and give him a small smack on his left ass cheek. He keens at the sensation, and you hit him again. He moans again, and you start spanking him over and over again.
“What would you do if the team saw you like this? Getting spanked and fucked from behind, hm? Would you get off from it? Get off from being watched as you lose all sense of yourself and just beg like a little slut?” You thrust into him as deeply and roughly as you can, just how he likes it. You stop spanking him and grip his hips as you pull him up and down on your cock. You can tell he’s getting close, but this time you pity him. You rarely finish the punishments you have planned because of how willing and eager he is to please you.
Roughly, you abuse his prostate as you see tear stains around his face in the sheets. You bring your hand towards his head and turn it so you can watch his face as you wreck him.
“It’s ok, sweetie. You can grind into the bed like a good boy until you come. You want that?” Adrian sobs again, almost tearing the bed sheets as he comes, almost as if your words were a command. He thrusts his hips into the bed for almost three minutes. You just keep hitting that spot that makes him see stars over and over again until he thrashes against the bed. You relent after a few more thrusts, making him feel it, and then you slide out.
It’s not too much work taking care of him afterwards. You start by taking his gag off, and his jaw goes slack. He pulls you close to him afterwards and starts leaving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses around your breasts. You let his face roam your body for a bit before you push him off as you get one of his shirts and a pair of boxers from your dresser.
“Here you go.” You say sweetly as you hand him his shirt and underwear.
“Thank you.” He says hoarsely.
“Do you understand why I punished you?” You ask.
“Mhm.” He hugs you after redressing
“Good. You need anything?” You stroke his hair.
“No, ‘m good.” He mumbles, and he pulls you both into bed.
“Alright, sweetheart. Good night.” You smile, playing with his hair as he’s out cold in nearly ten seconds.
pathetic whiny adrian who misses you so so bad because youve been away from home for a few days. He's pent up, and he's needy, something he never experienced before you. The constant touches between the two of you had him fiending when he didn't get them. So after a long day at Fennel Fields, crawling back into a bed thats empty, Adrian gets an idea. All he needs is a hoodie of yours, and a pillow. The pillow gets shoved between his thighs, and he buries his nose in the fabric of your clothes, inhaling your scent deeply. His mind replays the nights youve spent tangled together in these very sheets. Its almost too much, and without consciously meaning to start his hips are already rutting up against the pillow. Its uncoordinated, his movements desperate. As his pleasure grows, he can't stop the near constant babble, your name and plenty of swears, the same way he talks when he's filling you up. Punctuating almost every other word is a breathy whine, or whimper, his face screwing up with pleasure as he pushed himself closer and closer, images of you in his mind spurring him on. He doesn't last long, he's been too pent up to make it any longer than a few minutes, and soon enough sticky wetness is flooding his sweatpants, a breathy moan of your name falling past his lips. And if he set up his camera at the end of the bed, recorded this little treat to send to you, well that's between you and him.
