Spiritual atheist 🦑 | Pan👩🏽❤️💋👩🏿 | JJBA, Saiki. K, ATSV, Black Phone die hard fan🙏🏾. Charli xcx, SZA, Erykah Badu, Tyler The Creator, Travis Scott, Steve Lacy, PND, avenoir 🔛🔝. Tryna make new friends of any kind yall hmuuuu!!
notes: the love on the last part was actually unbelievable 😭 i hope this is still interesting for you guys!! next part will most likely be a written fic and the final part :) would you guys rather end up with fratjo or nerdjo?
Synopsis: in which you're upset with your husband and won't respond to his messages, so he has to resort to contacting you during work hours... using your work emails
Warnings: fluff, slightly suggestive, playful arguing — no one's actually upset, features guests stars (one gets bullied).
Good morning, dear,
Or rather, it would be, if my wife so much as looked in my direction this morning. Instead, I find myself writing to you like some forgotten soul behind enemy lines, using this means of communication as if I am but a mere stranger begging for a moment of your time. It is humiliating. Your refusal to hear your husband out is noted and begrudgingly endured but I forgive you (see? It is not so hard at all).
Please just answer your messages. We have a data plan for a reason.
Love, always,
Your Kento
Hello Kento,
I hope you are well.
Please refrain from contacting me via my work email. It is inappropriate and annoyingly endearing. Let me be mad in peace. Thank you.
Best wishes,
Your Wife
Hello to you too, sweetheart,
I must admit your response is both upsetting and encouraging. Truthfully, I wasn't expecting you to respond at all. Of course, I wish your email was more welcoming but beggars and whatnot.
What must I do, my love?
I have apologised. Not once or twice, but countless times. So many times now it feels like ‘I’m so sorry’ were my first words. I rose early to prepare your favourite breakfast — drove clear across the city to find the precise ingredients (you and I both know there is only one acceptable brand of jam in this household). I plated it neatly, included a smiley face, just as you like it, though, I observed, it was met with a frown, thus defeating the spirit of these things.
Your work clothes were laid out, ironed with care and to perfection, if I may say so myself. I made sure the heating was on well before you awoke, so the chill wouldn’t bother you so — I’ve seen how cold mornings test your…patience, should we say. Your lunch was packed and ready, with a handwritten note tucked inside, although I’m sure you carelessly tossed it aside in your bid to destroy my will to live on a spiritual level. It was a new recipe, by the way. I hope it suits your taste. Do let me know. Perhaps by softening your glare when you arrive home since apparently smiles are beneath you.
Even last night, I relinquished the duvet entirely — though I must admit, it was less an offering and more a tactical surrender after you ripped it from my body without mercy. I woke up frozen, on the brink of pneumonia. Need I remind you, I am at a tender age?
And after all of that…
You walked past me.
Not a word.
Not even a glance.
You washed the dishes (which is, and I cannot stress this enough, my responsibility), and shoved my work clothes off the bed because — what was it? The sleeve was ‘encroaching’ upon your own and the cotton needed space because ‘husband air is toxic?’
That was particularly hurtful. Entirely uncalled for. My blazer may never recover.
Still, I could take it. I could take all of it. Because I admit my fault and I recognise my need to be punished.
But to leave without kissing me goodbye?
That, my love, was unconscionable.
A line crossed. A declaration of war. An admittance of lesser character. I am disappointed in you. Thus, I now join your unrelenting form on the S.S. Marital Displeasure. Let’s see how we fare at sea, together.
Yours, unwaveringly,
Kento— the husband you once swore never to abandon
P.S. Dinner is on me tonight. Please let me know what time you’ll be home.
P.P.S. You looked radiant this morning. Even in silence. Even in a mood. You’re still the most beautiful thing in the room.
Kento,
You infuriatingly adorable man.
All those things you listed about this morning are things you do everyday. I know that was supposed to guilt trip me, but that just annoyed me more cause I get it — you’re totally perfect and handsome and tall and you smell nice. Ugh, you’re the worst.
Lunch was yummy, by the way. Ten out of ten. The note, which I didn’t carelessly throw away mind you (that was very rude to assume, how dare you) telling me ‘you are loved even when you’re grumpy’ was not. I am not grumpy, Kento. I am aggrieved.
You have aggrieved me.
Also, don’t try to guilt trip me about the cover hogging. You run hot and you know we have a spare duvet in the closet. Many times now, I've begged you to take it because I know I have bad sleeping habits BUT you refused. You said, need I remind you, that you insist on sharing one to be as close to me as possible. Your words.
The work clothes thing was an accident. I didn’t mean to push it off, and I was trying to stay mad so I made up some lie. Tell your blazer I’m sorry. Tell its owner I will never forgive nor forget. You know what you did.
And I don’t want you to join my ship. We can’t both be on it. We’ll sink…damn that’s metaphorical. For your own good, get off now whilst you still can.
Lukewarm wishes,
Your Wife
P.S. I’ll be home later than you, I have some things to finish
P.P.S. There was only one other person in the room and that was you, and even then you were clearly the more beautiful one Mr. Wakes Up With A Five O’Clock Shadow And Silky Golden Locks. That pissed me off so much more. Try to be less perfect, thank you.
My dearest,
I’ve read your message precisely three times and still, I’m not entirely sure whether I’ve been forgiven or sentenced. However, I feel a sense of optimism, foolish or not.
Let me begin with your opening line: ‘infuriatingly adorable’— it is not quite a compliment but I accept it with caution regardless. I am adorable and I understand that you wish I wasn’t. As soon as possible, I will find a cure.
Moreover, in reference to my morning route, you’re right, of course. The tasks I listed are things I do every day. Not as some grand gesture, but because loving you — actively, attentively, without pause — is part of my daily routine. Like ironing my shirts or making my coffee. It’s muscle memory now. If I were to stop, I fear I might just malfunction and catch fire. That said, if you are aggrieved — not grumpy, as I so mistakenly suggested, please forgive me for that too — then I humbly bow to your deliverance, Lady Justice. Though I maintain that the distinction is rather blurry when you’re stomping past me with furrowed brows and lips pressed into a line sharp enough to cut marble, lips I dare say I wish I could kiss into their usual form.
Regarding the duvet — yes, I recall saying that. I stand by it. Even if I must freeze to death one night beneath your siege of unconscious theft, I would still rather reach out and find you beside me than not. You will indubitably note that that was unnecessarily dark, I’m sure, and you’ll then make a comment about the phase we shall not talk about that I went through in my youth.
Further, the blazer has accepted your apology. It insists you take it off me tonight. (Is that too forward? You usually love when I’m forward but I worry this will only enrage you more, likely in a way that will leave me dangerously sore. Perhaps that is what I intend. I cannot tell anymore. I just miss your touch).
As for the note, I didn’t assume you threw it away. I merely feared it. I know you well enough to know that even when you’re furious, you’re still gentle with the things I give you. It’s one of those things you do that melt my heart.
Lastly, your ship — this solitary vessel of marital vengeance — sounds lonely. It is precisely that reason however that I must stay aboard, respectfully.
With all my love,
Kento – your infuriatingly tall, overly warm, occasionally smug but entirely yours husband
P.S. I’ll have dinner ready by the time you’re home.
P.P.S. I will attempt to be less perfect, though I make no promises. I’ve spent years mastering my five o’clock shadow, it practically comes in on its own when it senses you’re at your most vulnerable. As for my silky, golden locks, I owe that to you and your hair mask. Thank you.
Kento.
I’ve read your message. Twice. Once dramatically, on break. Once again, aloud, with emphasis, so the plants in my office could also judge you. And I must say...
The audacity. The calm. The poetry. The charm.
Ugh. Disgusting. I hate how you win arguments by being emotionally intelligent and devastatingly eloquent. Stop.
Also, your blazer is so dramatic. I was always going to take it off you, that was never in question. And yes, I love when you're forward. I loved it just now. Reminds me of that time we snuck off into the janitor's closet and...
Moving on.
I will admit (reluctantly) that your words were very lovely, they usually are, and the image of you freezing like a noble idiot because you'd rather suffer than part from me for even a life-saving second was both tragic and romantic and exactly the kind of behaviour that makes staying mad at you basically impossible. I hate that for me.
But fine. F I N E.
You may stay aboard my metaphorical ship, provided you bring snacks and acknowledge that I am the captain and you’re just here for deck-swabbing privileges and forehead kisses. You’ll be handsomely rewarded ;)
Love, Your Wife
(Still aggrieved. But slightly less so. Like… 69% less.)
P.S. If you’re trying to seduce me via dinner, it’s working. You might get that kiss. Or two. Depends how good it is.
P.P.S. Don’t think I’d miss the opportunity to mention MCR Kento. Your past will haunt you forever.
Dear YN and Nanami Kento,
I hope you are both well.
Do forgive me for intruding but, as Head of HR and as your friend, I feel a need to remind you both that you are liaising using your work emails which are monitored by HR. Resolving marital disputes on company hours and company mail is not recommended nor permitted. Please set this aside for when you get home. I also wish to remind you that your offices are a short distance from each other. There doesn’t seem to be a need to be communicating via emails at all. From my desk, I have been watching you two write your emails with smiles on your faces.
I suspect neither of you are mad at each other at all. So, YN, please just forgive him already. He hasn’t done much work all day, whereas your productivity has somehow increased. We should probably hold a meeting to discuss both changes. I am concerned.
Lastly, your fight is distracting everyone. One colleague described it as ‘funny,’ another ‘sweet,’ and someone else called it ‘foreplay’ — I’m sure you understand why exactly I intervened. You are both already on two strikes. Please don't make me remind you of what exactly what happened the last two times. The company is still paying for therapy sessions for the affected employees.
Do better.
Best wishes,
Ijichi Kiyotaka
P.S. Why were you even mad? Did he forget an anniversary? Comment on your weight?
Dear Kento,
Did not realise the whole office was invested in this. No wonder the intern was giving me a look and Sharon from IT told me that she and her husband also fight like this to ’spice up’ their love life, and that its best when the husband gets mad too. TMI but appreciated. Are you even capable of getting mad at me?
Well, anyway, you heard the man. Let’s continue this conversation at home.
And Ijichi, I know you’re reading this, you Peeping Tom. I hope you know we’re going to make sweet, dirty love tonight. All night. Bring this up to the Big Boss, I dare you. I know you haven’t forgotten the huge favour you owe me for beating Gojo up when he needlessly sent you on errands around the city. Please stand up for yourself. Do better, as you say.
Kento, let’s go home together tonight. I need to apologise to your blazer as soon as possible and catch up on kisses expeditiously. In fact, expect a knock on your office door.
Love,
Your wife
Dear Nanami, and Ijichi because you're reading these,
He sat on my bunny plushie yesterday. He flattened her.
I'm mad again.
Hate,
YN
P.S. Hair mask rights have been revoked. Buy your own.
Dear wife and Peeping Tom colleague,
You have no appreciation for the work I put in to get back into my wife's good graces. All your disclaimers about simply doing your job were clearly written in deceit since your gossiping self could not resist prying. Do not think I haven't overheard you collecting bets on why she was mad at me in the break room.
Please expect Gojo's presence in your office with some new, overbearing task soon.
You're welcome.
Worst wishes (to Ijichi),
Nanami Kento
And nothing but love (to my wife),
Ken
Ken,
You're so hot when you're all assertive. Wanna get strike three? Preferably in your office, on your desk?
Gojo can distract everyone for an hour...or two.
Lust,
Your Wife
Dear Nanami, YN, and my favourite Peeping Tom,
This is what happens in the office?
Wow, maybe I should get a desk job (lol that's probably what Nanami's getting right now, lucky guy).
Can't believe I was slaving away, keeping the world safe, and you two were slacking off and getting it on. I'm expecting a baby Nanami soon. Make me the godfather pls pls pls
Stay sexy,
The Strongest
P.S. Can I watch?
P.P.S. I’m kidding
P.P.P.S. …Unless?
—summary: you despise adrian, and adrian adores you. it's as simple as that. until he saves your life.
—pairing: adrian chase x female!reader
—word count: 4.3k
—warnings: +18, smut !!! (minors dni), smitten!adrian, descriptions of the reader having female genitalia, oral sex (female receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, adrian being THE consent king, some porn with some plot, body worship, pussy pronouns, praise kink, sub!adrian, adrian being a slut for the reader as he should be, blood, killing, shooting, mentions of injuries, yk usual peacemaker stuff
writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!
The first time you saw Adrian Chase, you thought it was a joke. No, not a joke in the sense that it wasn't real, but a joke that fate had pulled on you. The man in the Vigilante suit, who sang hair metal ballads in the car and dropped facts about owls mid-mission, was your new teammate.
Peacemaker trusted him, and you trusted Peacemaker, so naturally you really had no choice but to work with him.
His first reaction? Big, bright eyes flashing through his mask, and a fall to his knees at the sight of you snapping some criminal's neck.
Your first reaction? A sigh and a look that promised doom.
You, who were used to discipline and seriousness, couldn't understand how someone like him could be part of such an important operation. He had literally been one of the people who had saved the world from being dominated by a bunch of alien bugs.
He, for his part, looked at you as if you were the most interesting thing he had ever seen in his life.
He smiled at you in that silly, genuine way that got on your nerves. He talked nonstop about things you didn't care about, his life as a vigilante, his intimate friendship with Peacemaker, his passion for birds.
“Did you know that owls can turn their heads all the way around?” he asked you one day while you were on patrol. “They can turn them like 270 degrees in a circle without moving their shoulders. Can you imagine if I could do that?”
You ignored him and kept looking through your binoculars. “I'm not in the mood to talk about birds, Adrian,” you said, your voice as cold as usual.
He didn't give up and tried to rotate his neck, very awkwardly due to his mask. “I could just rotate my neck like this and—”
“Adrian, please shut up,” you interrupted him, finally turning your head so you could look at him. “We have work to do. Stop being a fucking freak for a minute.”
He fell silent, and for a moment, you felt a little bad. But then you thought about all the times he had pissed you off, and you got over it.
Still, it was strange.
Despite your constant rejections, your constant unkind looks, he always came back. He always smiled at you. He always offered you one of his homemade cookies —which, much to your chagrin, were incredibly good.
He extended that extra special treatment to you and only you.
Adrian treated you as if you were the most important person in the world. And that, in a twisted way, made you feel like you were the freak in the situation. He adored you.
Although, deep down, you found him ridiculously cute. He was damn attractive when he shut his mouth and obeyed you in everything.
You would never accept it, of course.
Chris, on his part, tried way too hard to make you like him. Every time you guys hung out, he would mention how good of a friend Adrian was, how good he was at killing people, as if that would somehow impress you—which it did, of course—and how big his dick was.
He literally just mentioned it like that, without further explanation or any context, as if it were a piece of information you would be interested in knowing.
He took special care to pair you with Adrian for assignments, leave you alone together, send you to buy food for Eagly together. He was a kind of fucked-up Cupid.
“I don't need to know that,” you would say with disgust, trying very hard not to envision Adrian's dick.
And Chris would just nod his head, leaning in close to you as if he were revealing a top secret, “You need to know, dude. Honestly, I don't think Adrian likes sex that much. But his dick is big, I can assure you that.”
You didn't even want to know how he even knew that.
You didn't even like Adrian that way.
At least that's what you thought.
Until now.
You were on a regular night of surveillance; preventing a crime of some criminal gang that you had been tracking.
Everything was going well until the hallways filled with armed men, and a flurry of bullets struck near you.
Before you could react, one of the masked men shot you in the shoulder.
You feel a sharp pain that shoots through your entire arm, and then blood began to flow.
“Shit!” you cry out, retreating.
Adrian, who had insisted —begged— to accompany you that night, turn around when he hears the scream. You can scarcely see how his eyes panic, desperately searching for you through all the chaos.
He moves faster than you had ever seen him move before.
Then, he throws himself on top of you, covering you with his body, and drags you to a safe corner behind a wall of boxes.
“You're bleeding!” he gasps, his voice tinged with panic.
The pain makes you grit your teeth and the way he looks at you knocks you off balance. “I'm fine, it's just a scratch.”
“It's not fucking a scratch!” he snaps, tearing off a piece of his suit to cover the wound. “You got fucking shot, Lynx!”
The use of your vigilante name makes you finally look at him, dragging your gaze away from your bleeding wound. You can see the concern in his eyes through his mask, and he doesn't have to take it off for you to know that his lips are pursed in a pout.
His touch is gentle and careful, which surprises you. The adrenaline prevents you from thinking clearly. You'd never imagine that Adrian would be so... gentle.
While he is bandaging your wound, another man peers down the hallway. Adrian pushes you further back.
“Stay here!” he whispers, and without a second thought, he stands up to confront him.
The shooting intensifies and then you hear the sound of a chainsaw igniting, followed by a flood of screams of pain.
Just a couple of minutes later, Adrian appears in your field of vision, his suit covered in blood.
He looks so fucking hot that you couldn't even suppress the thought, in all the haze of hurt you are feeling.
“We have to get out of here,” Adrian claims, returning to your side. “you need a doctor.”
You shook your head, the pain throbbing in your shoulder. “My car is a couple of blocks away. We can go there, but no doctors.”
He looks at you disapprovingly for a moment before sighing and help you up, supporting your weight against him. Together, you sneak out of the market, leaving the entire criminal gang slaughtered behind and the owner of the store with a horrified look on his face, calling the police.
When you reach your car, you struggle to open the door. Adrian gently pushes you aside and does it for you.
You sit in the passenger seat, feeling the sting in your shoulder with every movement.
“Where are we going?” Adrian asks, starting the engine right after you toss him the keys.
“My house,” you reply. It is the closest and safest option, although the idea of being alone with him makes you uneasy.
Adrian already knew your address, of course; he had been there several times, showing up with his homemade cookies, sometimes with new weapons to show you, and other times with clues about some criminal you were hunting.
The journey is silent, except for the sound of the engine, some Frank Sinatra album playing on the stereo and your ragged breathing. Adrian glances at you from time to time, his eyes displaying full concern once he takes off his mask and throws it on the back seat. You don't dare look at him directly, feeling a strange mixture of gratitude and confusion.
“Frank Sinatra?” he inquires a in a teasing, incredulous tone, without looking at you. This time, it is you the one staring at him, at his side profile, the line of his strong jaw, the curve of his nose, the way his eyelashes barely brush his cheekbones with each blink. Looking at the undercut of his hairstyle makes your stomach turn. He certainly is so cute. “The most ruthless assassin I know listens to Frank Sinatra?”
He looked odd without his glasses, maybe even more gorgeous, which was ridiculously beyond belief that it was possible for him to be.
“I'm not a ruthless assassin,” you mumble, looking away from him and feeling your cheeks flush, suddenly hot all over. You assume it is because your body is starting to healing itself. Or at least that's what you want to believe. “And Sinatra is a classic.”
“He is, I guess.” Adrian snorts softly, looking at you for a couple of seconds before shifting his gaze back to the road ahead. “For old people.”
“What?” you ask, looking at him again, your eyes trailing over the bend of his nose from his side profile, feeling a heat spread up from the lower part of your belly as you picture all the things you could do with that nose. You clear your throat, trying to snap out of your trance and snap back to reality. “I’m not old.”
A smile curls on his lips as he turns his head to look at you again, his eyes gleaming under the subdued lights inside the car. His gaze is soft, and caring, and warm.
But even so, Adrian seems a little flustered and nervous, overwhelmed by your presence right next to him, your scent, your breath, your voice. You.
When you arrive at your house, he helps you walk up the stairs at the entrance, holding you firmly. Once inside, he guides you to the sofa, always holding you close to him and handling you with care, touching only the necessary parts. He does not allow his hand to wander.
“I'll go get the first aid kit,” he says, already moving toward the bathroom.
You lie back on the sofa, feeling tired and in pain. He returns with the first aid kit and kneels down in front of you, carefully opening the supplies.
He removes the makeshift bandage from his suit, his gaze fixed on the wound.
“I'm sorry,” he utters softly, with evident guilt in his voice. “If only I had been quicker...”
“Don't be silly,” you interrupt him, trying to keep yout voice quiet. “It wasn't your fault. And in fact, you prevented any more bullets from hitting me. So...” your voice trails off and you blush lightly, “you saved my life, Adrian.”
He looks you in the eyes, and for the first time, there is not a trace of his usual antics. Only concern and a tenderness that makes you feel vulnerable.
And he doesn't encounter the usual coldness and detachment in your gaze; no, this time he finds softness and closeness.
“And it's already healing. So don't be dramatic,” you add, trying to brush off the real gravity of everything you just said to him.
“Sometimes I forget you have those creepy powers,” he says softly, looking up at you from his spot right in front of your knees. “It’s so fucking cool... and scary as shit. And hot.”
Still, Adrian disinfects the wound with steady but gentle hands, bandaging it again with clean gauze. Every touch is delicate, every movement calculated. His closeness, his scent, his gaze, the soft expression on his face... everything blurs your mind and leaves you dizzy.
You feel vulnerable, but strangely safe by his side.
When he finish, his hands go down to your knees and linger there. The sheer heaviness of his touch and the way he looks at you as he kneels in front of you makes you gulp.
At that moment, you just know that his feelings for you are real. He really likes you. And he had put himself in danger to protect you.
A cold fear ran through you as you thought about what could have happened.
Suddenly, you realize you don't want to live in a world where you couldn't hear his off-key singing or his comments about birds.
“There you go,” he finishes treating your wound with a smile, his fingers caressing your collarbone before he pulls away from you.
Driven by a feeling you've never experienced before and profiting from his closeness, you take his chin in one hand, look him straight in the eyes, and kiss him.
Surprised, he just stands very still for a moment, then closes his eyes and kisses you back with a passion that makes you feel like you had never kissed anyone in your life.
Adrian kisses you as if he had been waiting and dreaming for this moment his whole lifetime.
When you separate from each other, Adrian's breathing is heavy, and yours isn't much better.
His thumbs caress your cheeks and his eyes drifts down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, with a silent question. He don't need to say it out loud really.
Adrian leans up again, close to you, this time deliberately slowly, his lips brush yours, his nose affectionately caressing yours, before deepening the kiss.
His kiss is hungrier now, more desperate. His hands moves from your cheeks to your waist, barely lifting himself up a little so he could be closer to you.
Both of you know it.
It isn't just a kiss; it is a declaration, a release of all the tension that had built up between you through all this time.
“This is only because you saved my life,” you whisper in between kisses, attempting to convince yourself more than him.
Adrian is ecstatic, kissing you as if there were no tomorrow, hungry and desperate, like a lion that had just been released from a cage.
A smile curved his lips, reddened from so many kisses, murmuring against your mouth, “I'll save you every fucking day then, if this is how you'll repay me.”
You try to suppress a smirk, your arms around his neck pulling him up, closer to you. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Shut me up,” he challenges you.
And you shut him up with a kiss, letting yourself be carried away by the thrill of the moment and your instincts, your body acting on its own, controlled by a carnal desire that you had tried so hard to suppress.
Until now.
“Let's go to my room.”
Adrian obeys instantly, picking you up as he stands up and carrying you to your room, without even taking his mouth off yours. It is the perfect excuse to press you against him, his hands running over your thighs and backside, grinding against you with every step he takes.
“Can I touch you everywhere?” he asks, desperate and pleading, detaching himself from you for just a moment, his hands holding you under your thighs, pressing you against him and making you feel the prominent bulge in his crotch.
“I thought you already are,” you reply, panting for air, your hands around his neck, your fingers lacing through his hair.
His voice lowers sheepishly, very uncharacteristically in him, “I'm a gentleman. Consent is very important.”
You offer him a little sincere smile, kissing him again, “Yes, Adrian. You can touch me everywhere.”
He gently lays you down on the bed, positioning himself directly above you, his lips moving down your jawline, pressing a wet trail of kisses across your neck.
“Fuck yeah,” he hisses against your skin, right after placing a love bite near the junction of your neck and shoulder—the one uninjured. “You don’t know how much I’ve dreamed of having you just like this.”
His mouth suck, his teeth nibble, his lips press kisses, claiming your skin as his own.
“You feel much better than any dream.”
“Adrian,” you moan out his name, arching your back as you feel his mouth reach your collarbone.
He pauses for a moment, lifting his head to look at you, allowing you to see his fully dilated pupils. “Can I take this off?”
You nod instantly, biting your lower lip.
His hands settle on the fabric of your suit on your chest, frantically opening it and tearing it apart, always careful not to cause further damage to your wound.
That makes you gasp.
“Adrian!” you disapprovingly shout his name.
But he is mesmerized by your tits, which bounce free once he ripped your suit open, your nipples perking up at the feel of the cool air in the room.
“Motherfucker,” he curses, leaning down further to kiss one of your breasts, making you sigh. “You're not wearing a bra under this suit?”
“No panties either,” you confess with a hiss, closing your eyes when you feel his wet tongue leisurely flick one of your nipples.
“You're such a freak,” he whispers against your skin, mesmerized. “You act like a good girl, but you're so bad, hm? You do bad things like this and still act like little Miss Perfect.”
You bite down on your lower lip, holding back a moan as he sucks on the nipple, his fingers playing with the other, giving both of your tits his undivided attention.
“Adrian...”
“If you keep saying my fucking name like that, I'm gonna cum,” he rasps against the warm skin between your breasts, moistening it with his saliva.
He begins to descend further through your body, kissing your stomach, marking your skin with kisses, bites, and hickies. He is opening your suit as he roams your body, igniting your skin and sending shivers throughout your spine.
Adrian pulls your ruined suit down over your legs so he could remove it completely, taking advantage of the opportunity to kiss your knees and ankles before moving back up.
“Did you know this would happen?” he asks against the skin of your inner thigh, forcing your legs apart when you try to close them, suddenly feeling embarrassed by the way he looks down at you, adoringly. “Or you'd go for someone else?”
You try to smile through all the desire, offering him a crooked, lazy smile, “Don't be jealous.”
He gaze at you with eyes hazy with desire as he pulls himself up and begins to take off his suit with trembling, clumsy fingers.
“I'm not fucking jealous,” he mumbles, watching the way your eyes drift down his body, passing over the width of his shoulders, his pecs, his abs.
“You're staring,” then he remarks the obvious, trying to conceal the way he puff out his chest to look even bigger. With the movement, a silver chain hanging around his neck shimmered under the dim light of the room.
“So are you,” you snap back in a broken whisper, feeling your cheeks flush.
And of course you are cheking him out.
He is fucking ripped.
And so big that even his bulge under the fabric of his white briefs looked massive once he strips off the lower part of his suit.
He is so hard that it looks painful.
So what you had been hearing was real, so fucking real.
“Can I eat you out?” Still, he asks, eager to make you feel good, as he shook his head, causing a couple of curls to fall messily across his forehead. “You're so fucking beautiful, holy shit. I need to taste you or I'll actually have a stroke.”
Adrian return to his position between your legs, his hands delicately caressing your thighs as he waits patiently for your response, your consent.
You look down at him with half-closed eyes, your head clouded by the desire to reach any kind of pleasure.
He is carefully placing your legs on his shoulders, staring in awe at your pussy, dripping wet and so ready for him, when you click your tongue, “Can you stop talking and just get to it, Chase?”
“So mean even when I got you fucking-- dripping for me,” he quietly says, looking up at you once more just before nestling between your legs and leaning close to your cunt, his warm breath and the raspy tone of his voice makes you clench around nothing. And he just gawked, smiling as joyfully as if he were standing at the gates of heaven, wide open for him, “Pussy is so pretty too, look at her— fuck, you're soaking wet for me, baby"
The pet name makes you swoon and fucking fold.
“Adrian—”
Your voice chokes off as you feel his tongue trace your slit, scooping up all the arousal that is leaking out of your hole and savoring it as if it were the most delicious meal he had ever tasted in his entire life.
The sounds of his mouth slurping and licking your pussy flood the room, so filthy and messy that it makes you feel a heat wave from head to toe.
You can't control the way your body yields to him, as if your whole life had been longing just for this moment, as if tailor-made for him.
A righteous and sloppy suck on your clit has you promptly reduced to a trembling, whimpering mess.
One of your hands lands on his head, fingers sinking into his curly locks and pulling them, drawing a hoarse groan from deep within his throat.
The vibration against your cunt has you rolling your eyes back.
“You smell so good,” he hums into your splashing pussy, which is throbbing harder and faster, your heartbeat pulsing right against his lips. He can feel it. “Cum on my tongue, baby. I want to drink everything this pretty pussy has to give me—”
But your hand on his head tugs him back, detaching him from your clenching hole.
He looks up from between your legs with squinted eyes, his lips, drenched with your own arousal, curl into a pout.
He looks so pussy drunk and pathetic for you that you could cum just by watching him looking like that.
“Oh, baby, don’t be mean now—”
You interrupt him, your thumb lazily stroking curls away from his forehead, “I want to cum around your dick, Adrian.”
Your words leave him dumbstruck for a few seconds. And the next second, he's peeling off his briefs as fast as a flash, and the next he's climbing on top of you, nice and slow.
He leans down to kiss you, preventing you from staring in awe at his dick, now held in his own hand, so hard and angry red that it has you drooling, “Holy motherfuck, that has to be the hottest shit I’ve ever heard in my entire fucking life.”
“Put it in, Adrian,” you whine, begging for him, squeezing your eyes closed and arching your back for him, looking for any kind of friction that helps you gett off, “Please, baby—”
The pet name rolls off your tongue so naturally, lace with so much pleasure and warmth that it had an immediate effect on Adrian, who fucking whimpers, kissing your lips sloppily.
Even so, he has the strength to stop and look you in the eyes, all flustered, “I didn't bring any condoms— fuck”
“No? Why?” you ask in a choked, whiny voice.
He looks at you with a face that conveys puzzlement and hopelessness, “Because I’m on patrol. I’m supposed to be fighting, not fucking—”
You interrupt him again, kissing him once more and staring straight into his eyes, “Fuck me raw, Adrian. I don't care. But fuck me now.”
And he can actually feel himself melting against your body, you can sense how he's trembling right under your fingertips, squeezing his shoulders as he presses his forehead against yours.
He closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of your skin, pumping himself as he lines up the plump tip of his cock at your entrance, teasing it along the wet folds.
“I'll be gentle,” he promises, breathing shakily, though his hips tremble as if he might lose control at any second.
“Don't be,” you correct him, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. “Fuck me. Hard.”
The growl he lets out when he hears you has something animalistic, primitive about it. Adrian finally pushes himself inside you with a slow but powerful movement,deeply carving a way into you.
“God, you're so tight...” he cries out, his eyes tightly shut, as if the pleasure is too much to process. He's only halfway inside your squeezing pussy. “So fucking warm— I'm gonna cum, damn it—”
“Don't even think about it,” you cut him off, digging your nails into his shoulders to force him to open his eyes and look at you. “Hold it for me, yeah?”
Your words set him on fire. Adrian begins to move, erratically at first, then with more force, each thrust slamming you against the bed. You you scratch his back, pull his hair, grasping any part of him you can hold on to, as the wet sound and rhythmic thrusts fill the room.
“So pretty...” he hiss in a broken voice, choking on his own whimpers and kissing you between each word, his hungry mouth tracing your neck and jaw, drooling on your skin. “So pretty for me— fuck, sweetheart.”
He's so dizzy with you, overwhelmed that everything is you, everything around him. Adrian is in love, thrusting into you with a force that makes you gasp, moving with raw desperation, as if his whole world depended on making you feel good. Your moans mingle with his panting, with the dull thuds of his skin against yours, with the creaking of the poor bed shaking under you.
Your legs squeeze him closer to you, trapping him inside, and when your nails dig into his back, Adrian almost splits the air in two with his broken moans.
“Can I— Can I cum n-now?” he asks like the good boy he is.
“Do it,” you whisper, already losing yourself on the edge of climax. “Cum for me, baby”
“W-where?”
“Inside,” you whine, frantically gasping for breath, feeling like the world is shrinking and slipping away from you with every thrust Adrian pushes into you, the tip of his cock hitting that spongy spot over and over. “Mhm! --Fill me up”
The rhythm becomes wild and brutal until your orgasm overwhelms you, making you cry out his name against his mouth. Your walls squeeze him tightly and Adrian can't hold back any longer, spilling inside you with an agonizing moan, torn apart by pleasure.
The sounds of your two fluids mixing inside you are so obscene that they make you tremble.
Adrian stays right there, trembling, and still cumming inside you, twitching occasionally, his forehead pressed against yours, both of you breathing as if you had been running for your lives.
“Holy fuck, babe,” he groans, cracking his eyes open to look at you, a goofy, lazy smile curving his lips. “We made a fucking mess.”
Very carefully, he pulls out of you and your pussy squelches, gaping and oozing with your mixed cums.
“Look at that” he coos, lifting himself slightly off you so he can look down, gazing at your abused pussy in awe.
“Adrian—”
Too late, he already has one hand reaching down between your bodies, swiping his index finger through your folds, scooping up the fluids and plunging them back into your cunt, making you pant from the overstimulation.
When he makes sure that not a single drop of his cum is wasted outside of you, he brings his hand back up, holding it to his mouth to savor the remains left on his finger, making eye contact with you as he sucks his index finger.
“Delicious” he delights, leaning down to kiss you, making you savor the mixture of the two of you together through his lips.
“You're so weird,” you whisper against his mouth, kissing him again.
Adrian flops down next to you on the bed, letting out a sigh he had been holding in his lungs.
“And yet my cum is still inside you,” he replies, smiling contentedly. His smile suddenly fades, as if he's come back to reality. “Wait, can you get pregnant from this?”
You snort softly at his worried face, your hand gently brushing his still-flushed cheek.
“People usually get pregnant like this,” he nuzzles close to your caress, looking at you in awe as you talk. “That’s why you have to go to the pharmacy and buy me the Plan B pill.”
“Did you know that swans mate for life?” he asks afterwards, out of fucking nowhere, pressing a soft kiss on your fingers cradling his cheek as he snuggles closer to you. “And that they die of love if their partner dies?”
“What’s your point?” you inquire back, looking at him with curious, gentle eyes.
It's the first time you are showing genuine interest in his bird facts. And he is so happy he could burst with excitement.
“We're like swans, babe,” Adrian replies in an obvious tone, affectionately intertwining his feet with yours. “Well, at least I feel like a swan. If you left me after this, I'd kill myself.”
synopsis: Clark Kent conditioning you to keep quiet so he can fuck you in the office. You moan? He pulls out. No orgasm for you. You're quiet? Good girl, orgasm for you.
cw: smut, unprotected p in v, soft dom!Clark, creampie, public (ish) sex.
wc: 616
“Shh, shh,” he coos in your ear, slowly driving his hips into you at just the right angle to bring tears of ecstasy to your eyes. “Not a sound, hon.”
You close your lips tight, nails digging into his back, legs wrapped around his waist. There you are, sitting on the sink in the office bathroom, slowly losing your mind.
Clark has one hand on your hip to steady you, the other one pressed against the mirror above the sink to balance himself. He watches you, the crease between your eyebrows, your pretty lip red and bruised from where you're biting it, little beads of sweat on your forehead.
“Good girl. See? You can do it. Just gotta keep quiet a little longer for me.”
His cock stretches you open, gummy walls barely fitting him. He glances down, inhaling a sharp breath between his teeth at the sight of your pussy, all swollen as it struggles to take him.
He pushes one of your legs up, bending your knee, opening you up a little more so he can have a better view of your dribbling hole.
You gasp out a broken moan, hips bucking against his, and Clark stops. Your eyes fly open at the sudden halt.
“We agreed you'd be quiet, hon,” he says quietly, pulling almost all the way out, leaving just the bulbous head in you. “I'm gonna have to pull out if you make noise, baby.”
You shake your head, desperate. “No, no,” you say hurriedly. “I'll be quiet, I'll be quiet. I'm sorry. Please, don't stop.”
“You sure you'll be good?” he asks, leaning in to brush his nose against yours.
You nod. “Promise.”
“Mkay. A single sound and we're stopping, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He starts up again, those slow, deep thrusts stealing the breath from your lungs. You grab onto his arms to steady yourself, nails sinking into his skin.
Clark grunts quietly, leaning towards you to kiss your temple. “Like that. You're doing so well, baby.” He slides a hand between your thighs, his fingers finding your clit and drawing little shapes on it.
You gasp, thighs quivering as your orgasm builds in you, spreading and searing.
He watches you carefully, ready to stop if you make so much as a whimper. He really loves the way you sound, but he can't risk getting caught fucking you in the office.
You, so willing to oblige, so eager to have him, keep as silent as possible, even when you're so close to the edge. He can feel you clenching him tight, making it difficult for him to thrust, and he knows you're right there.
You're breathing heavily, sharp inhales and thick exhales as you try, with all your might, to keep quiet. Lest he pulls out and denies you the orgasm you're so eager for.
But you can't control yourself forever. You can already feel his name on the tip of your tongue, ready to leave your lips in the form of a moan. So you kiss him when you come, your whimpers swallowed down by him.
He works you through your orgasm, groaning as his own climax finds him and he spills into you, thick, heavy drops coating your inner walls.
He pulls away from your mouth to gasp for breath. He holds you close as he slowly regains his composure. “God, baby. You did so well for me,” he says gently, kissing your sweaty forehead. “Tonight, when I have you like this in my bed, you'll be allowed to make as much noise as you want, honey. I wanna hear it all.”
♡ please comment and reblog my work, it means so much to me and inspires me to keep writing
---
taglist - if you wanna be added to my Clark Kent taglist, lmk 💛
synopsis: Clark Kent conditioning you to keep quiet so he can fuck you in the office. You moan? He pulls out. No orgasm for you. You're quiet? Good girl, orgasm for you.
cw: smut, unprotected p in v, soft dom!Clark, creampie, public (ish) sex.
wc: 616
“Shh, shh,” he coos in your ear, slowly driving his hips into you at just the right angle to bring tears of ecstasy to your eyes. “Not a sound, hon.”
You close your lips tight, nails digging into his back, legs wrapped around his waist. There you are, sitting on the sink in the office bathroom, slowly losing your mind.
Clark has one hand on your hip to steady you, the other one pressed against the mirror above the sink to balance himself. He watches you, the crease between your eyebrows, your pretty lip red and bruised from where you're biting it, little beads of sweat on your forehead.
“Good girl. See? You can do it. Just gotta keep quiet a little longer for me.”
His cock stretches you open, gummy walls barely fitting him. He glances down, inhaling a sharp breath between his teeth at the sight of your pussy, all swollen as it struggles to take him.
He pushes one of your legs up, bending your knee, opening you up a little more so he can have a better view of your dribbling hole.
You gasp out a broken moan, hips bucking against his, and Clark stops. Your eyes fly open at the sudden halt.
“We agreed you'd be quiet, hon,” he says quietly, pulling almost all the way out, leaving just the bulbous head in you. “I'm gonna have to pull out if you make noise, baby.”
You shake your head, desperate. “No, no,” you say hurriedly. “I'll be quiet, I'll be quiet. I'm sorry. Please, don't stop.”
“You sure you'll be good?” he asks, leaning in to brush his nose against yours.
You nod. “Promise.”
“Mkay. A single sound and we're stopping, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He starts up again, those slow, deep thrusts stealing the breath from your lungs. You grab onto his arms to steady yourself, nails sinking into his skin.
Clark grunts quietly, leaning towards you to kiss your temple. “Like that. You're doing so well, baby.” He slides a hand between your thighs, his fingers finding your clit and drawing little shapes on it.
You gasp, thighs quivering as your orgasm builds in you, spreading and searing.
He watches you carefully, ready to stop if you make so much as a whimper. He really loves the way you sound, but he can't risk getting caught fucking you in the office.
You, so willing to oblige, so eager to have him, keep as silent as possible, even when you're so close to the edge. He can feel you clenching him tight, making it difficult for him to thrust, and he knows you're right there.
You're breathing heavily, sharp inhales and thick exhales as you try, with all your might, to keep quiet. Lest he pulls out and denies you the orgasm you're so eager for.
But you can't control yourself forever. You can already feel his name on the tip of your tongue, ready to leave your lips in the form of a moan. So you kiss him when you come, your whimpers swallowed down by him.
He works you through your orgasm, groaning as his own climax finds him and he spills into you, thick, heavy drops coating your inner walls.
He pulls away from your mouth to gasp for breath. He holds you close as he slowly regains his composure. “God, baby. You did so well for me,” he says gently, kissing your sweaty forehead. “Tonight, when I have you like this in my bed, you'll be allowed to make as much noise as you want, honey. I wanna hear it all.”
♡ please comment and reblog my work, it means so much to me and inspires me to keep writing
---
taglist - if you wanna be added to my Clark Kent taglist, lmk 💛
WHEN A GIRL FEELS GOOD—SHE'S GONNA KEEP YOU AROUND
₊ ⊹ ADRIAN CHASE aka VIGILANTE
wc 3.9k | nsfw minors DNI | lowercase intended per usual, adrian chase being the world’s most deranged gentleman, fem!reader, undisclosed age gap, cursing, jealousy, emotional repression turned feral, sugar baby adjacent dynamic, pining, minimal but explicit smut (yeah smut, how dare i, stone me) toward the end (m receiving oral, piv, creampie, praise, probably more but omg the horrors of re-reading your own smut) adrian saying things he should not be saying out loud 🎧ྀི
ADRIAN CHASE has a shit ton of money he won’t touch. it’s actually diabolical. he’s a grown ass man still living with his mommy, working at evergreen’s local chain restaurant fennel fields…but he won’t reap the benefits of the money he obtains via his work as VIGILANTE. it’s nonsensical. lackadaisical.
he has a, albeit strange, strong moral code. and using that money for himself would be, in his words—like, so fucked up. but…then enters you. new teammate. beautiful. younger. and, to put it frankly…struggling.
he tried to be normal about it at first. he tried to mimic the way the rest of the team responded to the financial situation that is your early twenties. adebayo kept agreeing with you empathically, chris was helpfully unhelpful, economos usually either listened or didn’t, and harcourt always gave you the glass half empty approach.
none of that really worked for adrian. because, in his eyes, you were a competent lady! competent ladies do not need to be living paycheck to paycheck! still, it wasn’t until you legitimately broke down in front of the entire team, that he conceptualized a plan.
you tried to keep your watery eyes from meeting any of the faces you had just fought beside. you were beyond embarrassed, but even more so stressed. it was supposed to be an average friday—kill a few pieces of shit, regroup at the base, grab a drink and some food, and then curl up in bed.
instead, you’re stuck at the base. holding everyone up as you try to calm down from the absolutely demonic call you just received from a financial loan officer.
“hey,” you hear adebayo start, “don’t stress about it. loan officers, like, always ruin days. it’s like their secondary job.”
you groan.
a chortle from chris, “listen kid, the podcast i listened to a few weeks ago totally said NFTS are coming back. invest or something.” then he hums, “you think people would be into a peacemaker NFT?”
economos looks up from his computer to glare at chris. then goes back to furiously typing.
harcourt shrugs, “listen. everyone has debt. and everyone who doesn’t is usually harping at you to repay yours. what really matters is me getting a beer, you can be a long neck at the bar. c’mon.”
you nod, noncommittal, “nah it’s fine. you guys can go. i think i’ll try to make something at home.” and then a smile, “but next time definitely.”
and with that you shove your phone in your pocket, slug your too-heavy tote over your shoulder and walk out into the parking lot. swerving away in your shitty suv.
for an entire two minutes, adrian is silent. really, he’s thinking hard. doesn’t even comment on the first few seconds of conversation with chris and adebayo while in the car on the way to the bar.
he gets his idea quickly, and from there it branches. a little after two beers, more after four, and then the most of it back at his mom’s place—even with the interruption of her trying to follow him down to his secret room.
he stares down years’ worth of blood money…and grins like a maniac. because, duh! he can be a fucking robin hood to you! fuckin' perfect plan.
he thinks far too long about what you might get with some of this money—more tight shirts? that perfume you always wear? knives? printed scrunchies? he selfishly wants you to wear a spider-print scrunchie.
and sure, you’ll probably use most of it for debt (boring), but god—he really hopes you use it for things you actually want. you deserve it!
he gets weird about it immediately. like, mission prep weird. spreadsheets, mental calculations, cross-referencing the average rent in evergreen with your hourly wage (that he definitely shouldn’t know), then subtracting an estimated amount for groceries, gas, and girl stuff. he has no idea what girl stuff costs, but assumes it’s a lot.
he even googles 'what’s a normal amount of money to anonymously gift a financially struggling teammate without making it seem like you’re in love with them' and gets nothing useful. he posts to reddit and gets called a 'useless simp'.
he ignores that.
by sunday afternoon, you find an envelope shoved into your mailbox. unmarked. no note. nothing in it…but a thick stack of bills wrapped in a rubber band. you stand there staring at it like it might explode.
you bring it inside. lock the door. count it twice. and then a third time because there’s no way someone accidentally gives you that much cash.
you don’t mention it to anyone for a week.
but adrian? he’s dying.
he watches you walk into the base with your usual drink and tote, acting normal, and it’s driving him insane. because you’re supposed to be happy. relieved. overjoyed by the gift from your mysterious benefactor. but you’re not reacting.
so when harcourt tells you you’re up for some bullshit recon duty, adrian blurts out, “you seem like you’re in a really good mood lately.”
you blink, “…i literally just got here.”
he nods too fast, “right. yeah. you just—you seem, like, lighter. emotionally. maybe you…got rid of something that was weighing you down? like debt? or whatever.”
you squint at him, “what are you talking about?”
he panics, “uh...what are you talking about?”
later that day, you finally pull him aside and away from the rest of the team, “did you...” you hesitate, searching his face, “leave something in my mailbox?”
he freezes. his brain short-circuits,“like what?”
“you tell me, vigilante.”
his pupils blow wide behind the glasses. “whoa, okay. that’s a huge accusation, and honestly kind of rude. i mean, just because i’m a known local hero with a very well documented pattern of doing objectively good deeds for struggling citizens—”
“adrian.” you cut him off, eyes narrowed.
“…maybe.”
you exhale. “why?”
he shrugs helplessly, tone softening, like he’s embarrassed to admit it.
“you looked sad. i don’t like when you look sad.”
you open your mouth to argue, but something about the sincerity in his voice makes you stop. he’s not teasing. he’s not pitying you. he just means it.
and, god help you, that makes it worse. he's too strangely sweet for his own good.
“you can’t just…give people money, adrian.”
“why not? i do it all the time to crime victims.”
“i’m not a crime victim.”
“well.” he tilts his head, thinks, “technically, capitalism.”
you groan. “oh my god.”
he grins, pleased with himself.
and that’s how it starts—the quiet, unspoken arrangement. the envelopes that show up when you’re short on rent. the random new gadgets or outfits he insists you “definitely didn’t get from vigilante.”
it’s sweet. somewhat sugar baby-ish in your mind…but sweet. you’ve never really had a guy give you money, much less for entirely nothing in return.
and in truth, adrian really did think he wanted nothing from you. but then he happens to stop by your place at the absolute worst time.
he’s done this before, late-night drop-offs, quick and silent, envelope slipped beneath your door before he can second-guess it. it’s supposed to be quick. no conversation. no risk of being caught. just a little extra—because he saw you eyeing something online last week, and you deserve it.
but then he sees the light on in your living room window.
he hesitates. it’s fine, he’ll just leave it by the door and go. but when he hears movement—your laugh, soft and easy—his brain short circuits. he should leave. he should.
instead, he knocks.
you open the door halfway done up. hair styled, a gloss on your lips that’s catching the light, and a fitted dress that makes his throat go dry.
“adrian?”
he blinks too long, “oh! hey! what a coincidence. i was just, uh, out for a drive. night air’s, like, good for stress.”
“you drove here?” you ask. “from work?”
“yeah. needed to…uh…decompress. lots of dishes. saw your house. thought, hey! i know that address!” he lifts the envelope like it’s totally casual, and also this was, uh, misdelivered.”
you blink, “to you?”
“no, no, no, not to me, that’d be stupid. to…a mailbox nearby. but then i realized it was yours. so i’m giving it to you.”
you just stare at him.
his eyes flick over you again, landing on your heels, “you’re going somewhere?”
“yeah. i’ve got plans.”
“oh, plans. right, right, yeah. that’s cool. plans are…nice.” a beat, “like, a date plan?”
you tilt your head, “yeah?”
he laughs under his breath. “oh, cool! yeah, no, that’s awesome. i love that for you. love…when people…do that.”
“you good, adrian?”
“me? yeah! yeah, no, i’m great. i just, y’know, some guys don’t…appreciate when women wear, uh, specific things. like, they don’t notice that the outfit is, uh, really flattering. and new.”
you blink, “…what?”
“nothing.”
you narrow your eyes, “are you seriously getting weird about this?”
“weird? i’m not weird. you’re being weird.”
you fold your arms, “you came to my house at night to give me a mystery envelope and now you’re grilling me about my outfit.”
his jaw tightens, “i’m not grilling. i’m just…noticing.”
“you’re acting jealous.”
he scoffs, “jealous? pfft. no. i’m not jealous. i’m just saying, it’s kind of insane that you’re going out with some random guy wearing stuff that—uh—y’know—someone worked really hard to pay for. hypothetically.”
you stare, “what the fuck does that mean?”
“nothing!” he says quickly. then under his breath, “it’s just a little weird.”
“weird? adrian, what—are you high right now?”
“no! and i’m not being weird!” his voice cracks, “you’re the one being weird! you’re out here…using it for, like, dates and shit!”
you blink, “using it? what, am i supposed to ask your permission now before i spend the money you keep shoving at me?”
“i never said that!”
“it’s kinda sounding like you did.”
he waves his hands, too fast, “no! it’s just, look! i gave you that money because you were sad! and struggling! and i didn’t want you to feel like…you know, like life was punching you in the gut every day. i wasn’t doing it so you could go get dinner with some random asshole!”
your mouth falls open, “you don’t even know him.”
“i don’t need to know him! he’s not me!”
that hangs in the air. too long. too loud.
you blink, slowly, “…what?”
he rubs the back of his neck. “i mean. not that he should be me. that’d be super egotistical. more like, i recycle. does he even recycle? i just—ugh, god, this is so confusing.”
“yeah? try me.”
“i didn’t do this because i wanted, like, a sugar baby situation! i didn’t! that’s gross! i did it because you were crying, and i hate it when you cry, and then you looked happy again, and now you’re happy for a totally different reason, and—”
“adrian.”
“—and it’s freaking me out!”
you just stare at him, “you like me.”
his mouth opens. shuts. opens again. “that’s a, wow, uh, really oversimplified interpretation of a…complex emotional…thing.”
“that’s a yes.” you deadpan.
he’s red now, “okay, maybe i like you! big deal! you’re pretty, and smart, and you actually listen when i talk about animals, and you don’t yell when i eat in your car. who wouldn’t like you?”
you exhale through a disbelieving laugh, “jesus christ.”
he looks panicked, “i mean, is that really such a bad thing?”
you shake your head, taking one step closer. “no. but you’re…so stupid sometimes.”
“i wouldn’t say that.”
“and you’re jealous.”
“i’m definitely not—” he stops, sees your look, deflates, “okay. maybe a little.”
you tilt your head, smile creeping up, “you could’ve just said something.”
“i didn’t want you to think you owed me.”
“i know i don’t.”
he nods quickly, “right! you don’t! totally equal! fucking, stellar friendship right here!”
you study him. the flushed face, the nervous fidgeting, the way his mouth keeps opening like he’s trying to say something smart and failing, “sure,” you say finally, voice flat. “friendship. if that’s really what this is.”
his brows furrow, “what else would it be?”
you take a slow step closer, eyes dragging over him. “i don’t know, adrian. you tell me. because friends don’t usually leave envelopes of cash in each other’s mailboxes.”
he laughs, nervous and a little too loud, “that sounds like a totally normal friendship! i mean, what else would it be? it’s not like a thing.”
you tilt your head, “a thing?”
“yeah, like—some creepy older guy pays you thing. which it’s not! because that’d be super unethical. and illegal, probably. i’m not a creep. i just—” he gestures vaguely, flustered, “had extra money. and you were sad. and i thought, hey, maybe i can redistribute some dollars to my younger, super capable, definitely not my sugar baby coworker. like any good person would.”
you stare, “you do hear yourself, right?”
“yeah,” he says, proud. “it sounds pretty noble when i say it out loud.”
you huff a laugh, something between disbelief and affection, before grabbing his collar and kissing him before he can make it worse.
he goes still. then he makes this little noise—half surprise, half groan—and kisses you back like it’s instinct. messy. eager. too much all at once.
when you pull back, his breathing’s ragged, glasses slightly crooked.
“oh.” he says softly.
you smirk, “yeah. oh.”
he grins, eyes dazed, “okay, uh…so i’m kinda into you.”
you laugh against his chest, “yeah, genius. i noticed.”
he tilts his head. “does this mean the money thing is over?”
you look up at him, “nah, we’ll just renegotiate the terms.”
“…does renegotiation include more kissing? because i’m really into that, but i’d prefer it in more of a committed way. y’know?”
“shut up, adrian.”
“mhm, yeah, okay.”
he blinks. then grins, dazed, and kisses you again, more sure this time. clumsy, hungry. every sound you make has him pulling closer, like he can’t quite believe you’re letting him.
somewhere in the mess of it, he murmurs, “so does this mean i’m not, like, a weird sugar daddy anymore?”
you pull back, breathless, “you were never a sugar daddy.”
he frowns, genuinely confused, “if we're being honset now, i kinda was. i mean, technically speaking. i gave you money for stuff you needed. i just didn’t ask for the—y’know—usual sugar daddy activities.”
you laugh, half-exasperated, “we could have also been engaging in those activities if you didn't try to be so secretive and weird about it.” a smirk, “what? are you gonna tell me you never wanted to?”
he tilts his head, frowns a little like it’s a stupid question. “uh, no, i did. obviously.”
you blink. “obviously?”
“yeah,” he says, dead serious, “you’re hot. i have eyes. not really sure why we’re pretending i wouldn’t want to fuck you.”
your breath catches, “wow. okay.”
“what?” he asks, like you’re the weird one. “i think about it sometimes. not, like, all the time. i’m not a freak. just, like, normal…healthy intervals. couple times a week.”
“adrian—”
“what? that’s fine! people do that. i googled it once.”
you bite back a laugh, stepping closer, “so, what, all that money, all those little speeches…you didn’t think maybe you were doing it because you were into me?”
“no,” he says simply. “i just wanted to help. but then you started smiling again and i was like, ‘oh no, shit, she’s really pretty when she’s happy.’ and now here we are, talking about sex.”
you snort, “you’re unreal.”
“no, i’m literally right here,” he says automatically, hands hovering near your hips before settling there. he’s closer now, and when you lean in, his voice drops—not practiced, not slick. just him.
“but, uh…if we’re renegotiating, i’m cool with still doing it even if you know i'm into you. because i like this part. the kissing. and, y’know…anything else that might come after.”
you hum, fingers slipping into his hair, “oh yeah?”
“yeah,” he says without hesitation, “like, if we did this again but, uh, horizontal…i wouldn’t hate it.”
you laugh against his mouth, shaking your head, “you’re supposed to be coy about it.”
“why? you already know i want to.” he shrugs, “unless you’re still going on that date because in that case i would like to remind you this other dude probably doesn’t fucking recycle and i can legally kill him for that.”
you roll your eyes, “you’re something else.”
“yeah.” he says, grinning crooked now, “but, uh…do you want me to fuck you? like, right now? in a respectable, totally consensual way. because you deserve to feel good.” his grin tilts wider. “because i can do that. make you feel financially good and physically good. with, y’know, actual orgasms and shit.”
his words hang there, dumb and earnest all at once, but they still send a spark through you. adrian’s hands are warm on your hips, thumbs brushing under your shirt, tentative and somehow still greedy.
he swallows hard, eyes darting from your mouth to your chest and back again. “i mean, unless this is, like, a bad time? because i didn’t bring protection or anything, i can run home, it’s like a fifteen minute drive without traffic—”
“adrian.”
“right, yeah, shutting up.”
and that's all it takes for you to tug at his curls, pulling his mouth back to yours. the kiss hits fast. sloppy, warm, desperate. he groans into it, hands sliding higher, clumsy but sure. his hips press forward, and you feel him, hard against your thigh, his breath stuttering like he can’t believe any of this is happening.
“bedroom?” you murmur against his lips, already backing toward the hallway leading to your room.
adrian nods, eyes wide and dark behind his now crooked glasses, “yeah. fuck yes.”
he follows, hands never leaving you. he sticks to you like static, hands sliding up your sides. he can’t stop cupping your breasts from over your dress. and his thumbs keep circling your nipples through the fabric, making them peak hard. all the while, unblinking perverted focus on his face.
upon entering your room, the tiny shoebox it is, you nod toward the bed before shoving him down onto it.
he bounces once—immediately reaches for the buttons of his work shirt to pull it free from his form—and then props himself on his elbows, watching you with that manic grin. you strip off your dress, tossing it aside, and his gaze locks on your bare chest.
“holy shit. no bra.” he breathes, sitting up to reach for you.
you roll your eyes but mimic him anyway, “no bra.”
his mouth finds your skin immediately—kissing the swell of one breast, then sucking the nipple into his mouth. you arch into it, hand fisting his hair as he licks, tongue flicking rough and eager.
you realize, how much he must not be able to help the way he takes. he probably wanted it for longer than he even realized. his mind, to you, is a mystery. but his actions…well those are tangible. and in turn, make him absolutely fucking shameless.
he switches sides, giving the other the same treatment, his free hand kneading your ass, pulling you closer until you're straddling his lap.
you grind down, feeling his cock throb against your core through the layer of his jeans.
“pants off.” you request, eyes flickering from his own to the rise and fall of his chest.
adrian doesn't hesitate. he kicks off his shoes, then yanks at his belt, shoving his jeans and boxers down in one go. you'd call him desperate if he didn’t look so hungry for it. and a bit insane, too.
you didn’t know people could want so badly. but then again, maybe that’s just an adrian thing.
his cock springs free, all veiny and long, the head already slick with pre-cum. it's bigger than you expected, curving slightly up, and he strokes it once, almost shyly, before looking up at you.
your turn. you shimmy out of your panties, kicking them away. naked now, you climb back on, skin to skin. he stares, hands roaming roughly—over your thighs, your stomach, up to squeeze your tits again.
“you're so fucking hot.” he mutters, voice wrecked.
you push him flat on his back, kissing down his chest. his skin is warm, a soft trail of hair leading down to where his cock stands rigid. you wrap your hand around the base, giving a slow pump, and he bucks up with a hiss that morphs into a whimper.
“shit! wait, can i—“ he starts, flustered.
“shush.” you say, lowering your mouth. your tongue swirls over the tip, tasting salt, before you take him in deep. he moans loud, fingers at the top of your head—not pushing, just holding on as you bob up and down.
saliva slicks him up, your hand twisting at the base, and he thrusts shallowly, cursing under his breath. he turns into a mess so easily for you.
“i think i might—well fuuck, if you keep that shit up…” he trails off with a moan that’s more of a laugh, eyes wide.
you pull off with a pop, smirking at his flushed face, “not yet.”
straddling him again, you line him up, rubbing the head along your wet folds. you're soaked, arousal slicking your thighs, and when you sink down, he fucking stills. eyes blown. hands frozen at your hips.
you let him stretch you wide. inch by inch, until he's buried to the hilt, your pussy clenching around his thickness.
and then, finally, like his entire brain rebooted—synapses finally firing—his hands grip your hips hard, eyes squeezing shut, “oh fuck you—all tight and shit, so good. fuckin’ weirdo. weirdo with a perfect pussy.”
and with that, you start moving. you roll your hips in a slow grind at first, feeling every ridge and inch drag inside you. he watches, mesmerized, then thrusts up to meet you, trying to set a rhythm. skin slaps skin, wet and obscene, your clit grinding against the stubble of his pelvis with each drop.
“fuck—harder.” you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders.
he flips you suddenly, always stronger than he looks—and ready to please—pinning you under him.
he has the nerve to hum, “statistically, this is like…a really good angle.”
his glasses fog up from his breath as he drives in deep, pulling your legs up. the angle hits perfectly, his cock pounding your deepest spot relentlessly. you whine his name, walls fluttering, as you chase the build.
adrian leans down, mouth on your neck like a rabid animal, sucking marks as he fucks you faster, “like that? you sound like you wanna cum for me.” he pulls back, eyes locked right onto your own. he looks crazed, “oh god, look at you—you are! come on, cum for me.”
his thumb finds your clit, rubbing circles, and it's enough, you shatter, spasming around him, milking his dick as waves crash through you.
he follows a few thrusts later, loudly and whimpering your name, hips stuttering as he pumps hot cum deep inside. he accentuates each after stroke with a lazy half moan, half chuckle. filling you up until it leaks out around him. his eyes all hazy and wide the entire time.
you both collapse, panting, his weight welcomed, heavy, and perfect on you. he kisses your shoulder, meeker now, “that was…hmm.” he trails off with a grin. his eyes flutter shut as huffs out, “renegotiated?”
you laugh, pulling him closer, “yeah. definitely.”
author's note | guys this was supposed to be a blurb idk how i kept writng. i genuinely could not be assed to make this smut better lmao. i suck so bad at writing it, like i stfg all my smut is the same bs...HOWEVER, i do think i somewhat got his voice to come through. just trial and error babes. but lmk if you liked my convoluted sugar baby au!!! i hope you did bc it's been plaguing my mind ever since ep six.
a/n: i would be concerned for the love i have for him if it wasn't a comum occurrence for me to love chaotic characters
Warnings: smut, explicit sex, messy/chaotic sex, she/her pronouns for reader, teasing, rough-ish sex, cowgirl, nipple play (f receiving), penetration (p in v), unprotected sex (let's not guys), whimpering, desperate/greedy Adrian, Adrian being Adrian, soft ending, no use of y/n
Word Count: 3,3K (well fuck me gently with a chainsaw)
He’s crazy. Absolutely insane. You should be afraid of him—frankly, he should be considered a big threat. But the thing about Adrian is that even though he’d murder a bunch of people without so much as a second thought, he’s also the one who passes out on your couch after drinking too much and wakes up bugging you with random owl facts.
So yeah, you’d be afraid of him if he were anyone else. But he’s Adrian, and you’d never find it in yourself to be scared of Adrian Chase.
You could, however, find him fine as hell.
Maybe it was the tousled hair or the abs peeking out from the robe he was wearing. Maybe it was the amount of alcohol you had consumed last night. You didn’t know exactly what had flipped the switch in your brain, but suddenly, you realized something: Adrian Chase was fucking hot. And he wasn’t even trying to be, which made it so much worse.
When he’d gotten up from the recliner, stretching his body and allowing you to see just how jacked he was, you almost spit your coffee all over Harcourt’s counters.
Sure, you’d seen him shirtless before—you’d patched him up after missions on occasion. So the sight shouldn’t have been a surprise. But context mattered. You weren’t bleeding or running or killing or trying not to die. You were hungover from one of the best evenings you’d had in a while. And you wanted to climb Adrian like a tree.
At one point, he started talking, but you weren’t listening to the words. Your eyes were fixed on him, watching his mouth move and absorbing literally nothing. Adebayo kept him talking, Harcourt kept groaning in annoyance beside you. And you didn’t care about anything. The only thing on your mind was Adrian—how he’d smell, how he’d taste, how his hands would feel on your body.
And then, suddenly, he disappeared, turning and running into another room. The abrupt lack of “hot nerd” in front of you seemed to spur your brain into action. You placed your mug down and turned to face your two friends. You didn’t even think—you just started talking.
“I need you guys to leave.”
“Excuse me?” Harcourt asked in her usual rough manner.
“I need you guys to get out. Find some excuse, go for a fucking walk, I don’t care. Just do something to get out of here.”
You heard someone choking and John’s voice from another room.
“And take Economos with you.”
“Girl, what are you talking about?” Adebayo asked, brows comically furrowed.
“Yeah, what the fuck? You’re trying to kick me out of my own house?”
You took a deep breath. You were going to have to be blunt. That was the only way to get anywhere.
“Okay, fine.” You sighed. “I am going to fuck Adrian. If you’re here to listen or not, I don’t give a fuck. But I am asking you, as a friend—and to protect your precious little brains—to leave so you won’t have to witness this. Because it is going to happen.”
They both stared at you.
“So either find an excuse and get out, or make up an excuse to get me and Adrian out alone. Whatever way works. I just need to fuck him, okay?”
Harcourt’s face seemed to twist into more of a grimace with every word.
“What the actual fuck!”
“Yeahhh, I’m gonna have to agree with Em here. This is all…”
“A lot?”
“Insane is what it is! You’re trying to kick me out to fuck Adrian Chase in my fucking house!”
You turned to face Harcourt, eyes staring into her soul.
“Emilia, you’ve known me for a long time. When do I not get what I want?”
Your words seemed to shift something inside Harcourt, as if they’d created some sort of realization within her. With a defeated sigh, she grabbed her car keys and began moving toward the door. Once she reached it, she turned to look at you.
“Just don’t do it on my bed.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She let out another defeated sigh.
“Come on, Adebayo. Let’s go.”
Adebayo opened her mouth to say something but, upon seeing both yours and Harcourt’s stares, decided against it. She shook her head in disbelief.
“Economos, get your ass out here—we have to go!” Harcourt screamed.
John tumbled out of the room, tugging on his pants and almost falling over.
“What the fuck is going on? Why are we—”
“Just come on.”
And with that, Harcourt turned to leave, followed by Adebayo, who just shrugged at Economos’ questioning look. You watched them exit, closing the door behind them.
You were alone.
Alone with Adrian Chase.
“You wanna quiz me on—hey, where’d everyone go?”
You contained the smile threatening to spread across your face, turning to look at Adrian with an innocent shrug.
“I don’t know. They had to do something.”
“Oh.” Adrian’s brows furrowed. “And they didn’t need us to go with?”
“Guess not. But hey, I’d rather spend time with you anyway. So, win-win, I guess.”
The smile that spread across Adrian’s face almost brought you down to your knees. It was a genuine, all-teeth-showing grin of pure, unfiltered joy.
“Really? You wanna hang out with me?”
You gave him a look of disbelief.
“Of course I do. You’re like one of the coolest guys I know, Adrian.”
Okay, maybe that was a slight exaggeration. Sure, Adrian was a cool dude, but you’d worked with people like Rick Flag before. But he was dead now. Actually, a lot of the people you’d worked with before were dead. So maybe it was the truth. Maybe Adrian genuinely was the coolest guy you currently knew. Not that it seemed to matter much to Adrian, who just stared at you with his mouth slightly open.
“I’m the coolest guy you know? Really?”
You nodded.
“Cooler than Chris?” Adrian asked, as if it were impossible to be cooler than Peacemaker.
You gave him a soft smile, moving closer to him.
“So much cooler than Chris.”
“For real?” His eyes widened.
“When have I ever lied to you before, Adrian?”
His brows furrowed as he thought.
“Last week?”
“What? No, I’ve never lied to you.”
“Never?”
“Nope.”
“Not even when you said you wanted to help me organize my top-secret room?”
“Why would I lie about that?”
Adrian shrugged. “I don’t know. Sometimes people just say ‘okay’ to stuff to get me to stop talking, and then they don’t actually end up doing what they said.”
Your heartstrings tugged at Adrian’s confession. Sure, he could be a lot sometimes. And yeah, he could be genuinely psychotic when he wanted to be. But he was also a sweet guy who just needed some attention from time to time.
The room went quiet for a moment—something that was almost impossible whenever Adrian was around. You bit your lip, gathering every ounce of courage to finally say what had been running through your head since you’d laid eyes on him this morning.
Your gaze lifted from the floor, landing on Adrian’s frame. He was leaning against the wall, eyes fixed on the window, clearly lost in thought.
“Hey, Adrian?”
His head snapped toward you at the sound of your voice.
“Yeah?”
You took a step closer, still leaving just enough space between you.
“Can I tell you something else?”
“Sure!” he answered, eager as always.
You leaned in, close enough that your mouth brushed against the edge of his ear as you whispered:
“You’re not only the coolest guy I know… you’re the one who makes me the horniest.”
For a second, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Then Adrian made a noise—somewhere between a squeak, a gasp, and the sound of a car engine that refused to start. His whole body stiffened, and he blinked at you like you’d just told him Batman was real and also his biological father. And before he could come up with something painfully Adrian-like in response, you leaned in and kissed him.
It was messy. Too fast. His nose bumped yours, and your teeth almost clashed—but then his mouth softened against yours and it didn’t matter. Not even a little.
For one terrifying second you thought he’d pull back, laugh, or say something wildly inappropriate. But Adrian Chase kissed you back like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he’d been waiting for it.
When you finally pulled away for air, his pupils were blown wide, his robe half-off one shoulder. Adrian’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. His brain clearly trying to reboot with no success.
“Oh my God,” he whispered finally, pressing a hand dramatically over his chest like he was about to have a heart attack. “This is—this is the greatest day of my life. No, wait. Second greatest. The first was when I found out there’s an owl that can rotate its head almost a full 270 degrees—BUT THIS IS A VERY CLOSE SECOND.”
You couldn’t help it—you started laughing. Which only seemed to make him more frantic.
“No, no, don’t laugh, I’m taking this super seriously! Like, holy shit—do you wanna—are we about to—oh my God, do you mean sex right now? Because if you do, I should probably brush my teeth real quick. Or—wait—maybe I shouldn’t leave the room because then you might change your mind and—oh my God I’m so hot right now I don’t even know what to do with my hands. I should probably put on music. Unless you want owl noises in the background, because I’ve got an app for that too—”
“Adrian.” You grabbed the front of his robe, tugging him back into you with a firm kiss that shut him up instantly.
This time, the kiss was deeper, hungrier. His surprise melted into enthusiasm almost instantly, and you felt his hands hover awkwardly in the air like he didn’t know where to put them. Finally, they landed—one on your hip, the other clutching your back like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. His grip was strong, desperate in a way that made your whole body buzz. You let him tug you closer to him, his body leaning against the wall as yours pressed against his.
Adrian was a very good kisser—which came as an unexpected but very welcome surprise. When your tongue traced over his bottom lip, he opened his mouth for you without hesitation. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging softly as your tongues moved together.
You could feel the growing bulge against your thigh as he softly bucked his hips forward. It was almost unconscious, something he probably didn’t even realize he was doing. But it was so fucking hot. He was so fucking hot. Even that little action was enough to make you spiral.
You pulled back to breathe, much to your own dismay, chest heaving as you stared down at Adrian. His breathing was ragged, his eyes glassy with disbelief.
“Holy shit,” he whispered. “I’m making out. I’m actually making out. With you.”
You smirked, brushing your thumb along his jaw. “You sound shocked.”
“I am shocked! You’re, like, way out of my league. You should be kissing—I don’t know—some sexy assassin or a rockstar or—”
You shut him up with another kiss, biting at his bottom lip just enough to make him whimper. Pulling back just enough to speak, you murmured:
“If you’re shocked just by kissing me… just wait until I’m naked.”
The sound that escaped Adrian’s lips was like nothing you’d ever heard from him before. And you’d watched him get tortured—twice. But this wasn’t a sound of pain. It was a noise of pure, desperate need.
As if to confirm it, Adrian crashed his lips back onto yours. His robe slipped down his shoulders, revealing more of his skin to you. Before you could even think about it, your hand shot up, nails digging into his shoulder as his tongue roamed your mouth.
Adrian kissed like a man starved. Every brush of your lips seemed to unravel him, to the point where he was practically stumbling into you, body heat pressing harder against your own.
You tugged at his robe, trying to pull it further off his shoulders, but the idiot somehow managed to get tangled in it. He fumbled with the sleeve, nearly smacking himself in the face before you grabbed his wrist and laughed into his mouth.
“Couch,” you whispered, tugging him backward.
Adrian tripped once, twice, before finally collapsing onto the couch with you half on top of him. The robe fell completely open, baring his chest, his abs, his everything—and holy fuck, he was so much more ripped than you’d ever let yourself fully process when patching him up before.
You straddled his lap, and the sound he made when you did could only be described as filthy. His hands hovered awkwardly at your hips like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch.
“Adrian,” you murmured, grinding down against him deliberately, “you can touch me.”
His fingers dug into your waist immediately, grip almost bruising as he bucked up beneath you. “Oh my God—holy shit—are you serious? This is like—like—” He groaned when you kissed down his throat, cutting himself off. “—like every fantasy I’ve ever had but way hotter because it’s actually happening.”
You smirked against his skin, teeth grazing over his pulse point, and felt his cock twitch against you, hard and straining against thin fabric. You reached between you, palming him through his pants, and Adrian’s head fell back against the couch with a strangled, breathless noise that made heat curl low in your stomach.
“Fuck—” he gasped. “You—oh my God, you’re—holy shit.”
You tugged his pants down just enough to free him, and his cock sprang out, thick and flushed, precum already slicking the tip. His robe had slipped completely open now, leaving him sprawled, desperate, and gorgeous beneath you.
You pumped him slowly, deliberately, and Adrian let out the loudest, most obscene moan you’d ever heard from him. His eyes squeezed shut, his hips thrusting up helplessly into your fist.
“Please,” he gasped, voice breaking. “Please, I need—fuck, I need you so bad, I don’t even care if it’s quick, just—please—”
You leaned down, kissing him again, swallowing his pathetic little whines as you positioned yourself over him. You tugged your underwear to the side, just enough to line yourself up. With one slow push, you sank down onto him, stretching around his cock inch by inch until you were full, until your thighs pressed flush against his.
Adrian’s whole body went rigid. His nails dug into your hips, his mouth falling open in a silent cry before sound finally ripped out of him.
“Oh my fucking GOD.” His voice cracked. “I’m inside you. I’m actually inside you. Holy shit, I’m gonna die, this is it, I’m dying—”
You rolled your hips and cut off his rant with a sharp moan of your own. His grip tightened, and when you started moving, his head thumped back against the couch, eyes wide with awe and desperation.
“Fuck—don’t stop,” he begged, breathless. “Please don’t ever stop.”
It was getting too hot in here. Between Adrian’s pants and your desperate breaths, you felt like your body was boiling. You stopped moving against him, hands gripping the edge of your shirt and tugging. Your breasts broke free, and you finally felt like you could breathe properly again.
Adrian, on the other hand, seemed worse than ever. His eyes went wide—cartoon-wide—and his jaw literally dropped.
“No—no, no, no—holy shit!” he gasped, voice cracking as his hands flew to your bare chest before hesitating and pulling back with a strangled groan. “Oh my God, you’re—holy fuck, you’re—stop, I can’t—oh Jesus Christ!”
He bucked hard into you, completely losing control of his hips, and you gasped at the intensity of it. Every thrust was desperate, sloppy, utterly unrestrained. You grabbed his hands, tugging them up to cup your breasts as you continued to bounce on his cock.
“I can’t—fuck, I can’t believe this is happening!” he groaned, voice ragged. “You’re—fuck, you’re too much! You’re—oh God—”
His fingers moved over your nipples, soft and teasing, and you let out a moan at the feel of his hands against you. Adrian writhed inside you at the sensation, mouth opening wider as he continued to pant beneath you.
You leaned forward, pressing your chest against him, grinding slowly as his hands tightened on your breasts. The feel of him inside you—hard, hot, desperate—made your body hum with need. His ragged breaths were loud in your ear, punctuated by incoherent moans that made your core clench around him. His noises filled the room, a mix of desperation and pleasure that made your own thighs quake.
“Fuck… fuck… you’re amazing,” he gasped, hips jerking up into you. “I—I can’t… oh God, I’m gonna—”
You bit at his shoulder, laughing breathlessly. “You gonna let me help you finish, Adrian?”
His hands shot down to your hips, gripping like he might never let go. “Yes! Yes! Oh holy shit, yes!”
You leaned back up, placing your hands on his chest for better leverage. You rolled your hips harder, letting the friction and the tight, needy pressure drive both of you higher. His groans turned into shouts, incoherent, frantic, and utterly needy.
“Please—fuck, yes—don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!” he begged, head falling back against the couch with an almost panicked intensity. Every thrust was frantic, messy, and so far from controlled it was borderline chaotic—and you were loving every second of it.
His cock twitched inside you, thick and hot, and you knew he was close. His hands roamed, clutched, squeezed, and you guided them back to your breasts, moaning as his fingers teased relentlessly. His shouts grew louder, faster, and then with a strangled groan and a shudder that shook him from head to toe, he came, spilling deep inside you.
Your body followed almost instantly, heat coiling tight as you rode out your own release, gripping him, grinding down, and letting every tremor and moan escape. His head fell back against the couch, breathless and panting, while you collapsed against him, chest to chest, sharing ragged, sweaty breaths.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. Only the sound of your heartbeats and his heavy breathing filled the room.
Finally, Adrian cracked a shaky laugh, burying his face in your neck. “Holy… holy shit. That was… fucking insane.”
You smirked against his hair, brushing a hand over his chest.
“I—god, I didn’t think…” His voice trailed off, disbelief and awe still mixing in every word. “I didn’t think I could… that… wow. You’re—”
You kissed the top of his head, smiling. “Yeah, I know.”
You settled back against his chest, allowing yourself to memorize the feeling of his skin against yours and how his scent surrounded you. His cock softened inside you, but neither of you moved—far too blissed out to care about anything other than remaining in each other’s arms.
You let out a sigh, moving to rest your chin against his chest so you could look at his face. He was unusually quiet.
“Hey, Adrian?”
“Yeah?”
“I actually did lie to you about something.”
His eyes widened, his focus snapping entirely to you. “Wait—what? You lied? About what?!”
“About this morning,” you admitted, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “I made Harcourt leave with the others so I could be alone with you. So we could… you know.”
Adrian blinked. Then blinked again. Then his jaw literally dropped. “You—what—are you serious?!”
“Oh, I’m serious,” you said, leaning down to kiss him again, soft this time, full of satisfaction. “And honestly? Totally worth it.”
He groaned, burying his face back in your neck, one arm wrapping tightly around you. “You are so ridiculous… and perfect… and I can’t believe this is real.”
You laughed softly, running your hands through his messy hair. “Believe it, Adrian. You’re stuck with me now.”
His only answer was a muffled groan against your skin—and a surprisingly grateful squeeze around your waist.
cw: smut, dry humping, some fingering, Clark jizzes his pants!!
a/n: ugh I wish I had more time to write, but managed to piece this idea together. Hope you enjoy babies <3
You're in your apartment, just bustling around the kitchen, making dinner to surprise Clark. He gets home right on time and finds you washing a few pans while dinner cooks in the oven.
He hugs you from behind, arms wrapping around your waist, his mouth finding your neck. “I missed you,” he whispers against your skin, his hands squeezing your hips gently.
You smile. “Hello to you too.” You glance at him over your shoulder and he kisses you, gently though needy.
He pulls your ass back against his crotch, where his hard cock has already formed a noticeable bulge. You giggle at the sensation, but your mirth quickly melts into desire when one of his hands splays over your womb and he leads you to rock against him.
“I thought about you all day,” he confesses, voice rough. His words fall right onto your ear, his lips moving against your skin. “I couldn't even focus on work, had to write an article about five times before it was any coherent.”
He leans forward, his body urging yours down so you're bent over the sink, and now every time he rolls his hips against yours, the tent in his pants rubs right against your cunt.
You gasp softly, hands bracing themselves on the sink. Clark groans, his heavy breathing loud in your ear.
“I'm not gonna last long enough to be in you,” he murmurs, grinding against you faster.
You moan, his hand on your womb moving under your pants, finding your clit through the material of your panties. “Clark,” you whine, legs trembling.
His hips buck against yours roughly and he gasps. “Don't say my name like that, I'm already too close as it is.”
You push your hips back against him, matching his movements, your slick gathering in your underwear. Clark smears it all over your pussy as his large fingers slide down to your entrance before moving back up to your clit.
He's mumbling incoherently, mouthing at your shoulder and the back of your neck. You sometimes make out a little curse or a dragged out baby, but it's tough to understand what he's saying with the way he's panting and whining in between words.
“I'm gonna — Please!” you squeal, feeling that knot of pleasure in your womb go taut.
Clark bites at your earlobe softly, moaning, as he says, “I know, I know. Go ahead and come for me, baby. You deserve it.”
It doesn't take long for you to fall over the edge of your orgasm, legs nearly giving out, your slick gushing onto your panties.
“Clark!” you mewl, gasping. “Clark!”
He'd already been close, but hearing his name on your lips pushes him over. He buries his face against your neck and whimpers as he spills his cum onto his pants. He can feel it, warm and sticky, as it coats his underwear. He has no doubt that there's a sizeable wet spot at the front of his pants now.
He holds you close, kissing up your neck gently. You lean your head back on his shoulder and he smiles. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I should've treated you right, taken my time with it. I was just thinking of you so much, and I come home to find you here in those jeans...”
“Nothing to apologize for,” you assure him, heart still racing, your slick arousal dripping down your thighs. “It was a nice surprise.”
He chuckles, playfully squeezing your ass. “I'm gonna go change my pants real quick.” He pecks your cheek. “And you leave those dishes there alone. I'll wash them, don't you worry yourself about it.”
♡ please comment and reblog my work, it means so much to me and inspires me to keep writing
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taglist - if you wanna be added to my Clark Kent taglist, lmk 💛
Clark Kent is extremely vocal during sex. Fight me.
cw: smut, you give Clark a hand job, fingering (f!receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie <3
a/n: not proofread lol wrote this just before class sooo sorry if there are mistakes/misspells lyy
It starts with heavy breaths while you're making out, little murmurs leaving his lips as his hands touch over your body.
“Perfect. So beautiful. I love you so much.”
Little gasps and the tiniest of groans follow when your hand finds itself into his pants, fingers wrapping around his cock and squeezing gently. He inhales sharply with every stroke of your fist, moans lowly with every squeeze that has his cock leaking onto your palm.
“So good, baby. Oh, God, just like that,” he breathes, his face buried in your hair, words a whisper into your ear.
When he feels how wet your pretty cunt is, he whines, especially when he pushes his fingers into you and feels the warm, sweet wetness of your gummy walls, sucking in tight.
“Oh, baby. You feel so good, can't wait to be in this pussy. She's so perfect, so ready for me.”
And when — after various orgasms on his fingers and mouth — he finally slips his cock into you, he loses whatever control was left. He whimpers, body wracked by the sensation of how tight and wet your cunt is around him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispers in quick succession, bottoming out in you and staying there a while. “Jesus. I — sorry, I need a minute or I'm gonna...”
He turns red, cheeks and the tips of his ears coloring a bright pink as a sheepish smile overtakes his handsome face.
You giggle softly, wrapping your arms around his neck. “‘s fine, baby, it's a compliment for me,” you reply, pecking his lips.
When he manages to find the will to hold back, he starts thrusting into you slowly, gently, your own mewls drowned out by the sound of his rough moans.
“She's too tight,” he whines, hands squeezing your hips. “God, it's so good. You're so good, hon.”
He fucks you languidly, almost lazily, making sure to angle his hips so his cock hits all your favorite spots. Every time you whine and arch your back, Clark moans, body shuddering as you clench him tighter.
He can go for hours. It's not unusual for you two to lose track of how long you've been tangled in the bed sheets, and he could probably hold out even longer if you didn't start begging for him to make you come.
“Yeah, okay,” he grants, always eager to please you, his voice hoarse from his constant whines and grunts. He reaches a hand down, fingers rubbing at your clit softly, matching the pace of his hips.
You don't last long, not with all the buildup he's already given you. Your orgasm is quick but strong, shaking your entire body. Your legs wrap around his waist, keeping him buried deep in you as the pleasure snaps in your womb.
“Clark! Clark!” you squeal, nails digging into his shoulders, pretty body squirming against his.
He moans, cock twitching in you. He's right on the brink of orgasm. “Baby, let up,” he begs, eyes shut tight as he tries to hold back. “Baby, she's too tight ‘round me, I can't pull out.”
But you don't relinquish your tight hold on him. Instead, still in a haze of lust and ecstasy, you whisper, “Come in me. Want it in me.”
And Clark loses it. He comes hard, whimpering and moaning, rope after rope of thick, sticky cum fills you. And he keeps whining and gasping through it all, broken sounds of pleasure that you're sure the neighbors can hear.
When he finally comes back to, he rolls off you and lies on his side next to you, hugging you close and kissing your shoulder.
“Fuck, that was amazing. You're amazing, hon,” he murmurs in your ear.
You grin. “Mm. So I heard. I'm sure the neighbors heard you too, hope they don't complain or we're gonna have to find a way to keep you quiet,” you tease.
He turns bright red again, his eyes widening, mouth falling open. But the embarrassment vanishes when he sees the bright, playful smile on your face and he just kisses you, completely enamored.
♡ please comment and reblog my work, it means so much to me and inspires me to keep writing
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taglist - if you wanna be added to my Clark Kent taglist, lmk 💛
amandla
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turnnoffyourmind
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