Oct 3, 2025
Saw this meme and thought of Vigilante right away
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Saw this meme and thought of Vigilante right away
Cherry Pie || Adrian Chase x reader ||
Pairing : Adrian Chase x reader W/C : 7762
Summary : The 11th Street Kids move into a loft. Chaos, takeout, 3AM chicken. You fall into Adrian’s lap, one thing leads to another. “Just the tip” turns into way more.
Tags / warnings : SMUT MDNI, oral (f & m receiving) unprotected p in v, sub!Adrian, whiny pathetic adrian (it’s canon)
A/N : I saw a tweet about the 11th Street Kids in a 2019 tumblr style Stark Tower fanfic and my mind went kinda wild. Also I miss them and they deserve to be a big happy (dysfunctional) family (: this could be a series idk yet 💘 share your thoughts in the comments. I’d love to hear from you all 🩵 tags, and reblogs with reaction memes always make my day.
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It makes the most financial sense. The words Ads said ring in your head as you heft your fifth box up the stairs into the new loft. Sure, everyone sharing the same space was cost effective in the long run… but the execution? That was going to be interesting.
Economos was already sweating bullets in front of a nest of routers, extension cords, and surge protectors spread across the living room like a warzone.
“Do not touch anything,” he barked, waving a screwdriver like a weapon. “I’ve got the Wi-Fi, cable, and Bluetooth syncing on one master system. I don’t need one of you fucking it up.”
From the other side of the room, Chris shouted back with a beer in hand, “AlI heard was blah blah blah, I’m a virgin who plays Minecraft.”
“Fuck you,” Economos muttered, plugging another cable in. “When your Spotify starts streaming to the toaster, don’t come complaining to me.”
You set your box down on the nearest free space, which happened to be a half-built IKEA bookshelf Emilia was wrestling with.
“Hand me that hex key,” she grunted, hair tied back, eyes focused.
Chris leaned against the wall, watching her like a loyal dog. “Hey babe, you want me to tighten the screws? I’m really good at screwing.”
“Jesus Christ, Chris,” she said flatly without even looking up.
Ads, meanwhile, was hanging string lights along the kitchen island, muttering to herself about “setting a vibe.” Every so often she’d stop to reposition a decorative pillow, clearly the only one here with any interest in making the loft look like humans lived in it.
“Don’t even think about putting up that live-laugh-love crap up,” Emilia called out.
“It’s not a sign, it’s art,” Ads shot back. “And this place is gonna look depressing as hell if I don’t do something.”
Chris was in the middle of pacing the hallway with a tape measure, scribbling numbers in a notebook.
“What the fuck are you doing now?” Emilia asked.
“Claiming my room,” he said. “Biggest square footage gets me. That’s the law.”
“That’s not a law,” Adebayo said.
“Yeah it is, squatters’ rights, baby. You wouldn’t know, you grew up with morals.”
Across the room, Adrian finally wandered in, carrying a duffel bag and, inexplicably, a fucking sword. He stopped in the doorway, blinking at the chaos.
“Is there, like, a sign-up sheet for who uses the bathroom first?” he asked.
“No,” Emilia snapped.
“Yes,” Ads countered at the same time. “I already made one.”
Adrian shrugged and dropped his bag directly in the middle of the floor, like he’d already decided that was his spot. His eyes flicked to you, landing on the box you were holding.
“Uh, need help?” he asked, too casual, like the question had slipped out before he could stop it.
Before you could answer, Chris pointed the tape measure at him like a weapon. “Hey! Loft rule number one no lame ass swords.”
“It’s not a lame ass sword,” Adrian said, offended. “It’s a decorative katana. Totally different. It’s fucking sick, I’m gonna kill someone with it one day.”
“You’ll never top me killing a gorilla with a chainsaw.” Economos gloated
“I knew you were fucking with me!”
Everybody let out a unison groan. Not this again.
“If you people want Bluetooth synced in every damn room so you can blast fucking Cinderella or whatever hair metal garbage you listen to, then shut the fuck up for five minutes.” Economos huffed
Chris’s head popped up like a meerkat. “Wait… you’re saying we can play music in every room? At the same time?”
“Yes,” Economos muttered, “that’s how whole-home audio works.”
Chris grinned like a kid on Christmas. “Economos, you glorious bastard. First song’s mine. Crüe. Loud enough to wake the neighbors.”
Emilia groaned. “We’re gonna get evicted in a week.”
You drag your box down the hall, scouting out the smaller bedrooms that Chris hasn’t already measured like a deranged realtor. Ads told you to “pick whichever feels like your vibe,” which sounded supportive, but really translated to she’s already claimed the one with the best light.
You push open the door to a modest corner room. It’s not huge, but it’s yours. A single window, a bare mattress in the middle of the space, and just enough floor space for the boxes you’ve lugged up five flights of stairs.
You set one down and sigh. Home sweet chaos.
Across the hall, you hear the distinct sound of something heavy thunking against drywall. Then Adrian’s voice
“Fuck. Okay. That was structural. Definitely structural. Maybe if I—” another crash “—nope, it’s fine. Totally fine.”
You poke your head out just in time to see him trying to balance a katana stand on a shelf that clearly wasn’t meant to hold weapons. He notices you watching, freezes mid-motion, and immediately gets defensive.
“What? It’s décor.”
“Pretty sure décor isn’t supposed to pierce the drywall,” you say, leaning on your doorframe. “There goes our deposit.”
His eyes narrow. “Wow. Love how you’ve been here for five seconds and already think you’re, like what? The loft police.”
“Someone’s gotta be. You’re gonna kill us in our sleep with your ‘décor.’”
He huffs, dragging his duffel bag toward the closet like it personally insulted him. “At least I have décor. What are you putting up in there, inspirational quotes? A cat calendar? Maybe a sad little cactus?”
You smirk. “You don’t get to judge until you can hang something without putting a hole in the wall.”
He opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, then stops, caught. He mutters something about “thumbtacks being for useless” and disappears into his closet, leaving the door cracked.
From down the hall, Chris’s voice bellows “DIBS ON THE BATHROOM NEXT TO THE HOT GIRLS!”
“Fuck off, Chris,” Harcourt yells back, followed by the sound of a hammer hitting wood.
You shake your head, turning back into your room. You set a box down on the mattress and start unpacking. Posters, books, a lamp. The ordinary stuff. And through the thin walls, you hear Adrian humming off-key, too loud, completely unselfconscious.
Somewhere between “Eye of the Tiger” and an enthusiastic guitar solo made entirely with his mouth, he calls out
“Hey! You want me to hook your TV up to the system? Economos said I shouldn’t touch anything but I totally figured it out already.”
You pause, halfway through smoothing a sheet over your mattress. “By figured it out, do you mean you watched someone do it before?”
“Wow. Distrust. Rude. I’ll have you know my Blu-Ray player has, like, three HDMI cables. I’m basically an expert.”
There’s a beat of silence, then the sound of him banging on the wall you share, your wall vibrating with the force.
“It’s gonna be fun roomie!” he shouts.
You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the smile tugging at your mouth. This was going to be… interesting.
By the time the sun goes down, the loft looks less like a construction site and more like… well, a half-finished IKEA showroom. Boxes still stacked, tools scattered everywhere, and the faint smell of dust mixed with whatever cologne Chris practically bathes in.
Ads and Emilia disappear to the store after Emilia mutters something about “basic necessities,” leaving the rest of you to fend for yourselves.
Which is how you end up sitting cross-legged on the living room floor surrounded by cartons of Chinese food and a pack of beer Chris proudly announced he’d “found” from Economos’ stash.
“Found means stole,” Economos grumbles, prying open a box of lo mein.
Chris grins. “Found" means brotherhood, Economos. Brotherhood and sharing. Like Jesus and the apostles, except instead of fucking wine it’s Bud Light.”
Adrian snorts into his beer. “Pretty sure Jesus didn’t shotgun a twelve-pack.”
“Yeah, well, pretty sure Jesus also didn’t have killer abs,” Chris says, patting his own stomach.
“You don’t have killer abs,” Emilia’s voice cuts in from the doorway as she and Ads return, arms loaded with grocery bags. She drops a pack of paper towels on the coffee table and shakes her head. “You have dad bod optimism, at best.”
The whole room bursts into laughter, Chris included, though he tries to flex mid-sip just to prove a point.
You crack open your box of sesame chicken and glance around. For the first time all day, everyone looks… happy. Relaxed, even. Adrian is sitting close enough that his knee brushes yours every time he reaches for another dumpling, though he doesn’t seem to notice, but you do. You always do.
Ads sits back against the couch with a beer and raises her bottle. “Alright, ground rules. Before we devolve into anarchy. Number one dishes don’t do themselves. Whoever dirties them, cleans them.”
Chris groans. “What if I can’t handle doing dishes that day?”
“Then starve,” Emilia deadpans, earning another wave of laughter.
“Rule number two,” Ads continues, “no overnight guests without a heads-up.”
Chris perks up. “Define overnight. Like, eight hours? Or are we talking multiple rounds—”
“Jesus Christ,” Emilia cuts him off, tossing a fortune cookie at his head.
Economos clears his throat. “Rule number three: no touching the router. No. One. Not even if it looks like it’s on fire. Especially if it looks like it’s on fire.”
“That’s so specific it makes me want to touch it more,” Adrian mutters, but you catch the smirk playing at his mouth.
You lean back on your hands, watching them bicker, the warm buzz of beer mixing with the comfort of greasy takeout. It feels… weirdly like family. Messy, loud, dysfunctional, but family.
Ads looks around, softer now. “Look, I know this is gonna be a shitshow sometimes. But you guys are my people. And if we can survive butterflies, blackmail, and Peacemaker’s musical taste, we can survive living together.”
Chris raises his beer in salute. “Fuck yeah. The 11th Street Kids, baby. Stronger than the weak ass Wi-Fi John set up.”
“That’s not hard,” Economos says under his breath, but he still clinks his bottle with the rest.
Adrian’s knee nudges yours again, deliberate this time. He glances sideways, and for a split second, under all the bravado, there’s something earnest in his eyes. Like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how.
Instead, he just mutters, “Guess this makes us all roomies now.”
And somehow, that feels like the closest thing to a promise you’ll get from him.
After a few more beers, stories and laughs the loft is finally quiet. After hours of noise, shouting, music battles, and passive-aggressive debates about who left their underwear on the hallway banister (Chris), the place has gone still. You showered, slipped into pajamas, and crawled into bed around midnight, content and full and exhausted.
And then, somewhere around 3:04 AM, your stomach is begging for food.
You crack open your door and pad down the hallway, blinking against the dim light filtering in from the kitchen.
You’re halfway through opening the fridge when the front door creaks.
You freeze.
Then a Clunk. Shuffle. Grunt. You grab a kitchen knife.
And then “It’s just me, don’t stab me.”
You whip around. Adrian’s standing there in full vigilante gear, the suit zipped up, mask still on. He smells like an alleyway, sweat, and wet leather.
You raise an eyebrow. “What the hell are you doing?”
He lifts the mask off with a dramatic whoosh, revealing sweaty curls and a flushed face. “Patrol. You know. Justice, the thing we do. Protecting the innocent. Kicking bad guy ass.”
“After you’ve been drinking?” you say, closing the fridge with your hip. “At 3AM?”
“Crime doesn’t sleep,” he says, wiping at a streak of blood, probably not his, on his cheek. “So neither do I. Also I forgot how hot this suit gets. I’m like three degrees from being soup in here.”
You slide a Tupperware of leftover chicken onto the counter and grab two forks. “You want some?”
His eyes light up like you offered him sex and a side of fries. “Do I want cold chicken from a stranger’s fridge while smelling like a sewer rat? Abso-fucking-lutely.”
You both lean against the counter, shoulder to shoulder, digging into the food in companionable silence. It should be gross. He’s still breathing heavy from vigilante cardio and you’re in the tiniest tank top and sleep shorts, but somehow it works.
He licks his fingers. “Wanna watch a movie?” He asks with his mouth full.
You glance at the microwave clock. 3:17 AM.
“Isn’t it a little late?” you ask.
He shrugs, mouth still full. “Or early.”
You hesitate. “Fine. But nothing sad. I’m too tired to feel feelings.”
Adrian fist-pumps. “You’re gonna love Tango & Cash. Or RoboCop. Ooh actually The Nice Guys.”
“You’re going to shower first,” you say. “You smell like crime.”
He mock-bows. “Your wish is my command, Roomie.”
He reappears ten minutes later, towel-dried curls wild, sweatpants low on his hips, a gray t-shirt clinging to his still-damp chest. He flops dramatically next to you on the couch like he thought about this moment all fucking day.
You’re curled up on one side, small pajama set leaving very little to the imagination. You notice how often he glances at your thighs, your collarbone, and your knee brushing his leg.
He hands you the remote. “You pick.”
You scroll. Slowly. Painfully. Intentionally.
He leans over slightly to peek at the screen and totally not to smell your shampoo. “You take longer to pick a movie than I do to pick a target.”
“You picked Magic Mike last time. You lost all rights.”
“That was a cultural experience,” he whines. “Besides, I’m more of a step up guy. I appreciate male athleticism.”
You snort, and he watches the way your shoulders shake, eyes lighting up like he just unlocked a bonus level.
The tension is thick. Familiar. Teasing.
Your bare leg brushes against his again, and he doesn’t move away. In fact, he shifts closer. His arm settles behind you on the back of the couch. Not quite touching. Just… there.
You don’t say anything.
He watches you scroll a few more seconds.
“You know, you could just pick me.”
You pause. “…What?”
He clears his throat, like he surprised even himself. “Like. As a movie. I mean. Like if I was a movie. I’d be a good one. Action-packed. Explosive. Maybe a little full frontal.”
You blink. “Are you okay?”
“No,” he blurts. “I mean yes. I’m great. I’m amazing. Just—sorry, I get weird when it’s late and you’re wearing that and sitting this close and…”
You raise an eyebrow.
He holds up both hands like he’s surrendering. “Okay. I’m going to shut up. I’m gonna watch the movie. I’m not gonna say one more word unless it’s helpful or romantic or horny.”
You smile slowly, lazily dragging your gaze down to his mouth and back up to his eyes.
“That’s a very specific filter.”
He grins, eyes blown wide. “Yeah. I like specificity.”
The final choice ends up being Finding Nemo.
You say it’s for “nostalgia.” But really, it was because you remember Adrian once said, completely unprompted, that manta rays are “fucking majestic” and he beams when Mr. Ray sings “Let’s name the zones, the zones, the zones…”
So yeah. It was mostly to see his face during that part.
Ten minutes in, he’s locked in. Legs spread, arms crossed, eyes narrowed like he’s analyzing it for a mission report.
You can’t help the grin tugging at your lips.
“Popcorn?” you ask, already sliding off the couch.
He blinks, distracted. “Huh?”
You point to the kitchen. “Popcorn. The snack food. Salty. Crunchy. Legally required for any movie after 2am.”
Adrian tilts his head like a confused puppy. “…Can you put mini M&M’s in it?”
You shoot him finger guns. “That’s the only correct answer.”
You pop the bag in the microwave and prep a bowl with chocolate and salt. You hear the TV volume spike as he sings along to Mr. Ray’s manta ray jingle in the background.
When the popcorn’s ready, you grab the bowl and head back. The room is dim, lit only by the glow of Pixar animation and the occasional flash from the TV.
You don’t see the shoe on the floor.
It’s probably Chris’s.
Your foot catches.
You stumble forward “Shit!” and crash directly into Adrian’s lap.
The bowl of popcorn goes flying. M&M’s scatter like emotional landmines across the couch. Your hands land on his chest. His hands instinctively grab your waist.
There’s a heartbeat of absolute silence.
“Wow,” he breathes. “That’s one way to get me to shut up.”
You look up at him, face inches from his, your body pressed against him in every inconvenient, hot, undeniable way.
“Sorry,” you say, trying and failing to sit up. “There was a—”
“A Shoe. Yeah,” he says quickly. “I think the universe is telling us something.”
“That I’m a walking hazard?”
“That I should keep M&M’s on every surface just in case this happens again.”
His hands are still on your waist. He hasn’t let go. You’re not sure you want him to.
Your breath hitches. His eyes drop to your mouth.
“You’re gonna kiss me, aren’t you?” you whisper.
He nods, already leaning in. “I’m gonna try really fucking hard not to be weird about it.”
“Promises promises.” You tease.
And then he kisses you.
Warm, messy, a little off-center at first because of course it is, but then he adjusts, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your neck like he’s terrified you’ll vanish.
When you pull back, you’re both breathless.
Adrian grins, wide and shameless. “So… wanna go back to watching fish or should we, like, test the structural integrity of this couch?”
The kiss lingers between you like a dropped match in a room full of gasoline.
You’re now straddling his lap, legs on either side of his hips, chest rising and falling against his and Adrian is looking at you like he just won the fucking lottery and doesn’t trust the system not to take it back.
His hands are warm on your waist, fingers flexing like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you. You lean in again, slower this time, your lips brushing his once, twice, before deepening the kiss. His mouth opens under yours, eager and messy, and he groans like he’s been waiting years for this.
“Jesus,” he mutters into your mouth, “you’re, like… dangerously hot for someone who almost concussed me.”
“You’ll live,” you murmur, nipping his bottom lip. “Probably.”
“Not if you keep doing that,” he breathes. “I might explode.”
You grind down against him just enough to shut him up, and his hips buck automatically. The groan that escapes him is so desperate you half expect him to apologize for it, but this is Adrian, and he doesn’t know shame.
“You’re such a little freak,” he mutters, mouth dragging down your jaw. “You know that?” He laughs, breathless against your neck, and then he bites, soft, testing, and you gasp. He freezes, then pulls back just far enough to see your face.
His hands slide under the hem of your tank top, large and warm against your bare waist. His fingers move slow, like he’s savoring every inch, like he’s finally getting to touch something he’s imagined too many damn times to count.
“You’re gonna ruin my life,” he says quietly.
You tilt your head, breath catching as his thumb brushes just beneath your ribs. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s not,” he says, dipping his head to kiss just below your ear. “Not even a little.”
His kisses trail down your neck warm, open-mouthed, deliberate. He nips again, sucking lightly just above your collarbone, and your hips twitch forward instinctively grinding down on him.
He groans, hands tightening at your sides. “Fuck, keep doing that or I swear to God, I’ll—”
“What?” you whisper. “You’ll what?”
He grins against your skin. “I’ll beg.”
“I’d like that.”
“I bet you would,” he admits, nuzzling the curve of your throat. “You absolutely would. Want me to? I’ll do it. I’ll tell you how hot you look in those tiny-ass shorts and how I’ve been trying not to stare at your thighs for the last hour.”
Your breath stutters. He feels it. Smirks. Leans back just enough to meet your eyes. You reach down, grab the hem of your own tank top, and pull it over your head.
Adrian’s brain short-circuits so hard he just stares for a beat.
“Okay, cool, I’m dead. You killed me. This is heaven. Wow. Amazing.”
You lean down, lips brushing his again. “Just shut up and touch me.”
He grins, full and wild. “Oh. You’re gonna regret saying that.”
And then he’s everywhere, hands, mouth, voice a little chaotic, a lot reverent, and all yours.
His mouth is on your chest, reverent and greedy, his hands spread wide over your hips like he’s trying to anchor himself to the couch, to you, before he completely comes undone.
You’re flushed, breath stuttering as his tongue traces a line over your hard nipples. He’s muttering something, completely unfiltered and worshipful between kisses.
“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re so hot—how are you even real, I mean look at you—shit—okay, no, don’t look at me.”
You laugh, gasping as he sucks a mark into your skin, one hand sliding up to cup your breast while the other grips your thigh like it owes him money.
And then right when he’s panting against your skin, hips twitching up into yours like a man possessed, you thread your fingers into his curls and tug his head back just enough to look him in the eye.
“Adrian,” you whisper, voice low and wrecked.
He freezes. “Yeah?”
You bite your lip. “Take me to my room.”
He blinks once. Twice. Like you just told him he won the lottery and offered to punch his high school bully.
“Like… carry you?” he asks, voice cracking in real time. “Or are we talking a sexy walk? ‘Cause I can do both. I can—I mean—I can run if you want—”
“Pick a method,” you murmur, dragging your nails lightly down the back of his neck, “but get me there now.”
Something in him snaps.
“Fucking finally,” he growls, hands tightening at your waist as he surges up, lifting you effortlessly with you still wrapped around him.
You yelp, half laugh, half moan as he bumps into the coffee table on the way, too frantic to care. He all but drops you on the bed, immediately climbing over you, grinning like an unhinged idiot with hearts in his eyes.
“I’m gonna ruin your sheets,” he says, mouth already trailing down your stomach. “I’m gonna ruin your life.”
You reach for him, lips already swollen, voice wrecked.
“Good.”
He hovers over you, mouth trailing down your neck, breath hot and erratic. His hips grind down with just enough pressure to make you gasp, his hands everywhere like he can’t decide what part of you he wants to touch first.
You push up on your elbows, your fingers curling into the hem of his shirt.
“Off,” you whisper.
He scrambles back onto his knees like a man possessed, yanking the shirt up and over his head with the grace of a horny frat boy mid-striptease. He tosses it somewhere, it lands on the lamp, but neither of you cares.
That’s when you see it.
Purple bruising blooms along his left side. Some shallow cuts, too, not deep, but red and angry. It’s nothing life-threatening, but it’s clear he’s been hit. Multiple times. Probably jumped a fence or two. Definitely didn’t dodge when he could’ve.
You sit up, instantly sobering. “What the hell happened?”
Adrian blinks. “Huh? Oh. That’s from earlier. Patrol. I might’ve, uh… tackled a guy through a fence. And then maybe also the guy’s friend tackled me. But I was fine. Am fine. Very fine. Extra fine, even. They’re dead. If you wanna check, I can flex—”
You reach out gently, your fingers ghosting over the edge of the bruise. He hisses through his teeth and flinches, not from the pain, but from your touch. Like it’s too much.
You cup his face, thumb brushing along his jaw. “Why didn't you say anything ?”
He shrugs, suddenly weirdly shy for someone who was sucking hickeys into your chest two minutes ago. “Didn’t wanna ruin the vibe. I was gonna, like, ice it later. It’ll be fine.”
You sigh, and then kiss his shoulder. Slowly. Then the top of the bruise. Then lower.
He freezes. “W-What’re you doing?” he asks, voice suddenly pitched up.
You look up at him, soft and serious. “I’m taking care of you.”
And that’s when he breaks. Like, literally mouth parted. Breath held. Eyes wide. His whole body tense like he’s waiting for someone to tell him this is a joke.
“No one’s ever—” he starts, then stops. “I mean, yeah, okay, this is… happening. You’re hot and you’re nice and now you’re in nurse mode, and that’s, like, unfair. You can’t just do that. You can’t—”
You kiss the spot again, softer.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
You trail your fingers lightly along the bruised side of his rib cage, kissing the uninjured skin in between. “Tell me where it hurts.”
He exhales sharply, head tipping back. “Everywhere, babe. Especially my dick.”
You laugh, and the sound makes him shiver.
Then you shift, gently pulling him down so he’s lying beneath you. Your hands trace over his body like it’s sacred, careful, curious, reverent. You kiss every scrape and mark. And with each one, Adrian melts.
“I don’t know what’s happening,” he says, barely audible. “You’re being… really nice. And I’m still kind of hard from, like, five minutes ago. But also emotional? And I might cry? Or cum? Possibly both?”
You press your forehead to his. “You don’t have to be the tough guy tonight.”
His hands fist the sheets, his voice wrecked “That’s so fucking hot, oh my God.”
You smile. “Let me take care of you, Adrian.”
He nods like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.
He’s beneath you, sprawled out against the sheets like some overexcited rescue puppy trying to stay still but failing miserably. His curls are a mess, his mouth parted, chest rising and falling fast, every muscle vibrating with barely restrained need.
You’ve kissed down his chest, over the bruises, the scrapes, and every part of him that deserved softness but probably never got it.
And the way he’s reacting to it? Devastating.
“I, uh,” he starts, blinking up at you with blown pupils and zero self-preservation, “I don’t know what to do with my hands. Or my face. Or my dick. Honestly, everything’s kind of… flailing.”
You straddle his hips, slow and deliberate, pinning him down with nothing but your weight and your gaze.
“You don’t have to do anything,” you murmur, trailing your fingertips over his collarbone, light enough to make him twitch. “You just have to lay there and be good.”
Adrian makes a noise that is entirely inappropriate for a man who kills people in a mask.
“I can do that,” he breathes. “I’m great at being good. The best, actually.”
You press your palm to the center of his chest, firm enough to keep him still, and his hips buck instinctively. His eyes flutter shut.
“Oh my God,” he groans. “I’m not gonna survive this. I’m gonna die.”
“You’re so dramatic,” you whisper, leaning down, dragging your lips just along his jaw. “You can kill a guy with a fork but you fall apart over a little praise?”
“Yes.” His voice breaks. “Because forks are predictable. You’re not. You’re like… if kindness had tits.”
You laugh and reach down between your bodies, palming him through his sweats. The sound he makes is obscene somewhere between a gasp, a whimper, and an “oh fuck yes” that he doesn’t even try to hold back.
“Okay, okay,” he pants. “I’m not gonna cry, I swear. But, like, if I did, it’d be in a hot way. Like a really masculine, emotionally intelligent way.”
You stroke him again slow, firm, purposeful and he arches, gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing tethering him to the planet.
“Adrian,” you say, voice low, steady. “Eyes on me.”
He obeys immediately. Like it’s instinct. Like he’s never heard anything hotter in his entire life.
You hover just over him, lips brushing his, your hand still moving at a maddening pace between his legs.
“You’re so easy to ruin,” you whisper. “Bet you’ve been thinking about this for weeks.”
“Months,” he whines. “Since before the loft. Since, like, the first time you wore those shorts. The pink ones. With the—Jesus—fuck, do that again”
You squeeze just a little harder. His eyes roll back. His hips stutter.
“You want to be good for me, Adrian?”
He nods so fast it looks painful. “Yes. Please. I wanna be so good. I’ll be the best. I’ll do anything.”
You smile and pull his sweats down just enough, and the way he moans when you finally wrap your hand around him without the fabric between you
“Then lie still,” you say sweetly, “and let me make you come just like this.”
Adrian whines — actually whines — but obeys, fists knotting in the sheets like that’s the only way he can keep himself from grabbing you. His eyes are glassy, locked on yours, desperate.
You kiss lower. Over bruised skin, over the sharp lines of his stomach, until you’re hovering over his throbbing cock. The heat coming off him is near unbearable.
You glance up, meeting his gaze, and the sound he makes is somewhere between a groan and a prayer. Then you take him into your mouth, slow, deliberate, letting the weight of him rest heavy on your tongue.
“Holy f—fuck, babe, oh my God,” Adrian gasps, eyes snapping shut, his hips jerking up helplessly before he forces them back down. “Okay, okay, I’ll be still. I’m still. I’m so still. I’m like a sexy statue—fuck—don’t stop—”
You press your tongue against the slit, swirling slowly, and he bucks again, louder this time.
“Jesus Christ,” he pants, head tipping back. “That’s—oh fuck.”
Your hand works in time with your mouth, stroking what you can’t take, squeezing just enough to make his thighs tremble. You hollow your cheeks, sliding deeper, and he nearly chokes.
“Oh my God. You’re so good. You’re so—fuck, you’re perfect. You’re—shit—babe, I can’t—” His voice breaks, wild and desperate. “I’m seriously gonna—don’t stop, don’t ever—ohhh fuck—”
He’s a mess beneath you, babbling praise, swearing like it’s the only language he knows, his whole body trembling as you take him apart piece by piece.
You swirl your tongue over the slit again and he yells, eyes flying open, staring down at you like he’s watching a miracle. His voice cracks when he moans your name, high and raw, followed by a frantic rush of words.
“Please—please—please—oh my God, you’re so hot, you’re so fucking good, I don’t deserve this, I don’t deserve you—”
He groans, his hips bucking despite himself, his voice pitching higher, desperate.
“Babe, I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna cum, I can’t—I’m begging, I’m begging, let me, please, please let me—”
You suck him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, and that’s it. He chokes out a cry, his whole body jerking off the bed as he spills into your mouth, moaning like he’s being exorcised.
His hands finally leave the sheets, tangling in your hair, not to push but to anchor himself as he falls apart completely. His voice is wrecked, whiny, so very Adrian.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck—oh my God—thank you—holy shit—don’t ever stop being the hottest person alive—fuck.”
He collapses back against the mattress, boneless, panting, eyes glazed over as if you’ve completely broken him. And honestly? Its so fucking hot.
You crawl up to him smug and satisfied. One hand runs lazily along his chest, tracing lazy shapes.
“You good?” you whisper, a little teasing.
He huffs out a laugh. “Good? Good? You just turned me into a puddle of sex emotions and left me here like a used napkin.”
You grin into his skin. “A very cute napkin.”
He groans and covers his face with his arm for a second, his other hand still tight around your waist like he doesn’t want you moving. Ever.
Then, after a beat, his fingers trail down. Over your ribs. Your hips. A little lower. His voice drops.
“My turn,” he says.
You look up at him. “What?”
His eyes are locked on yours now hungry, laser-focused, still Adrian but different. Wrecked but resurrected, like he got a second wind and now has a mission.
“You think I’m gonna just lay here after that and not spend the rest of the night making you fall apart? Absolutely not. I’m not built like that.”
You raise a brow. “Are you sure you have the energy?”
He smiles, slow and sharp. “My dick is running on adrenaline and your thighs. I’ll live.”
Before you can even tease him again, he’s flipping you gently onto your back, kissing down your neck like it’s a prayer, hands gliding lower with reverence and zero hesitation.
“You’re so fucking hot,” he mutters, voice muffled against your skin. “It’s insane. You’re like a weapon. A sexy landmine. I wanna explode on you. No wait, explode you. Shit—wait…in you? Fuck that’s not right—”
You laugh, breath hitching as he slides between your legs, already pressing kisses to the inside of your thighs before sliding your shorts off. “You’re a mess.”
He looks up, grinning like a lunatic. “A certified mess. But I eat pussy like it’s a team sport and I’ve been waiting my whole life to make you scream, so buckle up.”
You blink. “Did you just say—” But then his mouth is on you, and the rest of the sentence dies in your throat.
Adrian is viciously good at this. Too good. The kind of good that comes from obsession. From thinking about it too much. From laying in bed for weeks with his hand down his sweats, jerking himself raw to the idea of how you’d taste, what you’d sound like, what kind of noise he could pull from you if you’d ever let him.
And now you are.
His lips close around your clit, sucking gently, and the first broken sound that falls from your mouth makes him moan right back into you. The vibration sends a shock through your body. Your hips jerk, and his fingers dig into your thighs like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
He alternates, messy and intentional — slow, lazy licks that curl your toes, followed by sharp, focused strokes that have you crying out, clutching the sheets.
And God, he loves the sound.
“Yeah,” he groans into you, his voice wrecked, unsteady. “Give me that. Say my name again—fuck, that’s it—”
You don’t know what you’re saying anymore. Probably nonsense. Maybe begging. Definitely his name, over and over, like it’s the only word you remember.
His hands never stop moving. One slides up to your chest, tweaking your nipple until you gasp. The other curls beneath your thigh, pulling you closer, like he wants you suffocating him, drowning him in everything you have to give.
Then his tongue plunges inside you, sudden and deep, and the sensation rips a cry from your throat. Your back arches clean off the mattress, body shuddering.
You grab a fistful of his curls, pressing him closer, harder, needing him deeper.
And when your eyes flick down, you catch his.
He’s watching you, wild-eyed, smug, filthy satisfaction curling his lips even as his mouth stays locked between your legs. He looks at you like he’s devouring you whole, like watching you tremble under his tongue is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
He moans when you clamp down around him, the sound vibrating through you, and it makes your thighs shake. he doesn’t stop there. Of course he doesn’t.
He pulls back just enough to flatten his tongue against your clit, sucking hard, while two fingers slide inside you without warning, curling in a way that makes you see stars.
“Holy shit—” you gasp, your whole body arching.
Adrian pulls back just enough to grin up at you, his face glistening, eyes wild. “Never had anyone do that, huh?”
You shake your head, barely able to breathe, let alone answer.
His grin widens, filthy and proud. “Yeah. Thought so. I’ve, uh… practiced. A lot. On myself. Don’t ask.”
And then he does it again, fingers stroking that perfect spot inside you while his mouth works your clit, messy and relentless. The combination makes your vision blur.
Your hips buck wildly, but he just groans and holds you down, pinning you to the bed with strength you forget he has until it’s pressed against you like this.
“Fuck, you taste so good,” he babbles between licks, his words muffled against you. “I could do this forever. Wanna make you cum so hard you forget your own name, just mine, only mine.”
Your hands claw at his hair, tugging, needing more, and he laughs into you. Actually laughs. “Oh my God, you’re so hot like this. You’re shaking. You’re gonna lose it, aren’t you? Come on, babe, give it to me”
Then he does something you’ve never experienced, sliding a third finger inside you as his tongue flicks in a ruthless rhythm, sucking at your clit like he’s determined to wring every sound out of you.
Your cry is raw, broken, and he groans like it’s his reward.
“Yeahhh, that’s it. That’s it, fuck yes, you’re perfect, you’re so perfect, holy shit, do it again, cum for me, babe”
Your orgasm hits hard, violent, tearing through you so intensely you half think you black out. Your thighs clamp around his head, your nails dig into his scalp, and all you can do is say his name as wave after wave crashes over you.
And Adrian doesn’t stop. He rides it with you, licking you through it, fingers never faltering, moaning like he’s the one coming.
By the time he finally pulls back, you’re trembling, utterly ruined. He crawls up your body, his face slick with you, grinning like the absolute freak he is.
He kisses you sloppy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, and whispers against your lips:
“Told you. Viciously good. And I’m just getting started.”
You blink at him, dazed. “Holy shit.”
Adrian’s grin is still plastered on his face when he says, “I accept tips. And snacks.”
You laugh, breathless, chest still heaving. Then, with a sly smile, you murmur, “What if I just want your tip?”
He freezes. Blinks. Looks like his brain just blue-screened.
“…Like… just the tip?”
You keep your face straight, biting back a laugh. “Maybe.”
“Oh my God,” he whispers, sitting up like he just heard the word of the Lord. “You’re serious. You’re—holy shit, you’re so fucked up. I fucking love it.”
“Or we can go to sleep,” you suggest knowing it’d drive him crazy.
“No, no, no, don’t take it back. This is like…this is the pinnacle. This is the final boss. The horny Mount Everest. Just the tip. I can do this.”
You snort. “You really think you can handle that?”
He nods furiously. “I’ve been training my whole life for this moment.”
He settles between your legs reaching down to rub his swollen tip against your sensitive clit. The contact makes your hips twitch which he enjoys. He rubs himself against you again and again making you clench around nothing.
“Adrian,” you beg, bringing your hands to his face to pull him in for a kiss. You moan against his tongue and feel as he guides his cock down to your entrance. He pushes the tip in and stills. He clutches the sheets beside your head like it’s taking everything he has not to slam forward.
“Holy fuck,” he groans, forehead dropping against yours. “Okay. Okay, this is fine. This is good. This is so much worse than I thought it’d be.”
You laugh breathlessly. “Worse?”
“In a hot way,” he whimpers. “In a—oh God, in a really hot way. Like the rest of my dick is begging to go inside.”
You squeeze around him deliberately, and he shouts.
“Hey! You can’t—don’t—holy shit, you’re trying to murder me! You said just the tip. I’m following instructions. I need more.” He pulls it out only to thrust it back in over and over again.
You kiss his jaw, your voice wicked in his ear. “Beg for it.”
He lets out a strangled laugh, breathless and desperate. “You’re so mean. You’re perfect. Okay—fine, I’m begging. Please. Please let me give you more. Please let me ruin this whole ‘just the tip’.”
You pretend to think, still grinding your hips just enough to drive him insane. “Hmm. Tempting.”
“Not tempting!” he nearly cries, clutching you tighter. “Necessary! This is a medical emergency! I’m gonna—oh my God—please, please, please—”
You finally nod. “Put it in.”
And when you let him sink all the way in, his groan is guttural, like something pulled straight from his soul.
“Ohhh, fuck.” He drags as his hips begin to thrust slowly at first like he’s savoring the experience. You clench around him and he moves faster. The room is thick with heat and noise, the creak of the bed, the slap of skin, Adrian’s desperate groans spilling out against your neck.
You shift, straddling him, hands braced on his chest, riding him hard and slow, and he’s losing it.
“Holy shit—yeah, fuck, don’t stop… gonna—oh my God,” he babbles reaching up to pinch your nipples.
And then the Bluetooth system kicks to life in the room. The speakers rattle the walls as a sleazy guitar riff tears through the silence.
“She’s my cherry pie! Cool drink of water, such a sweet surprise!”
You both freeze mid-motion.
Adrian’s eyes go wide, pupils blown, curls plastered to his sweaty forehead. “Oh my God… that’s Warrant.”
Before you can reply, the chorus explodes again — “She’s my cherry pie!” loud enough the floor practically vibrates.
Adrian bursts out laughing, half-delirious, half-aroused. “Are you kidding me?! This is—this is the sex soundtrack of the gods!”
You’re laughing too, breathless, your rhythm faltering as you press a hand to his mouth to shut him up. “Do we stop?”
He pulls your hand away, still grinning like a lunatic. “No, no, no—don’t stop. This is fate. We’re doing this. We’re—oh fuck—yeah, baby, ride me like a sleazy ‘80s music video!”
You slap his chest, giggling, but you don’t stop moving. If anything, the ridiculousness only spurs you on, each thrust syncing with the pounding chorus.
From down the hall, faintly over the music, comes Chris’s unmistakable bellow
“YOU’RE WELCOME, ASSHOLES!”
Adrian moans louder, throwing his head back. “Yes! Oh my God, he knows! He knows and he’s helping!”
You choke on a laugh, burying your face in his neck as he clutches you tighter, rocking up into you with frantic, needy rhythm. The song blares on, shameless and obscene, as you both fall apart in each other’s arms, sweat-slick and grinning like idiots.
The song finally cuts, either because Chris passed out or Emilia stormed into the living room and murdered him with her bare hands.
The silence that follows is heavy, warm, and a little absurd. You’re both still catching your breath, tangled together in a sweaty knot of limbs and sheets.
Adrian rolls onto his side immediately, pulling you with him like you’re his human pillow. His curls stick to his forehead, his chest is still heaving, and he’s smiling so hard it looks painful.
“You’re, uh… you’re incredible,” he mumbles, voice muffled against your shoulder. “Like, capital-I Incredible. Like, Avengers-level Incredible. Except better, because they don’t cuddle after. At least I don’t think they do. Unless Thor—”
“Adrian,” you murmur, stroking his damp curls back.
“Yeah?”
“Shut up and sleep.”
He hums happily, kissing the side of your neck once, soft and quick, before burrowing closer. Within minutes, he’s out cold, his arm heavy around your waist, his breath warm and steady against your skin.
You fall asleep not long after, smiling in spite of yourself.
When morning comes Adrian is still asleep. You grab your shorts and a hoodie before slipping out of the room. The kitchen smells like burnt bacon and coffee strong enough to take paint off a car. Everyone’s crammed around the island, Ads scrolling on her phone, Emilia trying to fix Chris’s massacre of scrambled eggs, Economos nursing a black coffee with the face of a man already done with life.
You slip into a chair, hoodie pulled low, trying to look normal. Adrian strolls in not long after, hair wild, still humming Cherry Pie under his breath. He plops down next to you, immediately stealing the mug out of your hands.
Ads doesn’t even look up. “Sooooooo. That was fast.”
“Fuck off,” you mutter, heat crawling up your neck.
Chris turns around with the frying pan, grinning like a maniac. “You’re welcome, actually.”
You blink. “Excuse me?”
Adrian perks up, interested. “Wait—you were the one who turned on Warrant?”
“Duh,” Chris says, proud. “Walls are thin, dude. We could all hear you going at it. Economos was crying about it. So instead of cockblocking, I made it a vibe.”
Economos slams his mug down. “I wasn’t crying, I was trying to sleep!”
Ads snorts, finally glancing up. “You guys are disgusting.”
Emilia, without looking up from the eggs: “If I ever have to hear Cherry Pie again, I’m burning this place to the fucking ground.”
Adrian throws his arm around your chair, completely unbothered, smug as hell. “Honestly? Best soundtrack of my life. Perfect rhythm. Inspirational, even.”
Economos groans. “Jesus Christ, shut up.”
Chris points his spatula at the two of you, grinning. “Face it, we’re the best roommates in the world. We literally made you a sex playlist without trying.”
Ads makes a face. “Please, never phrase it like that again.”
Adrian leans in, voice loud and shameless. “I think we should test the sound system again tonight. For… science.”
Emilia slams the spatula down, glaring daggers. “You test it again and I swear to God, Adrian, I’ll shove that Bluetooth speaker so far up your ass, you’ll be humming Def Leppard until you die.”
Adrian just grins wider, stealing another sip of your coffee. “Worth it.”
𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄 | adrian chase
( gif credits to @chris-hargreeves)
—summary: everyone wants you, and you're way out of his league. adrian is fully aware of that. so, once again, he has to stand up for himself and compete (in his own mind) against superman and mr. terrific just because he thinks they're your work-husbands. —pairing: adrian chase x female!metahuman!reader —word count: 5k (wow) —content: pure fluff, smitten!adrian, slightly ooc!adrian, sunshine!reader, adrian is jealous of superman and mr terrific😌, a lot (lot) of yearning, friends to lovers, love confessions, rage baiting adrian into confessing to you, you are adrian's person, justice gang mentions!, some intense make-out session but nothing more than that, bad language, sexual references but nothing explicit.
writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!
You were someone important. Very important. And very special. Extremely so.
Adrian knew it. From the moment he first saw you. You were the only one of the big guys who showed up on time and actually helped them with the whole Butterfly mess.
Months had passed since then.
You lived in the great Metropolis, there, you stuck close to the Justice Gang— a name you absolutely disliked, in fact. Guy had practically begged you to join them (secretly, since he had told everyone else that you had been the one to beg him), exclaiming that you would be the perfect addition to the team.
People already loved you, and you had earned a good place among the world's protectors. It was only logical that you would encounter them.
And yet, through all that, you still kept in touch with the 11th Street Kids.
John would send you selfies sometimes from his tiny office at A.R.G.U.S.. Leota would send you voice messages every other day, updating you on her life and asking for love advice—as if you were the bearer of truth. Emilia would text you as well, recounting how many men she had beaten up recently. Chris would send you photos of Eagly from time to time.
And Adrian... Adrian talked to you every day, constantly. He would also call you, videocall you, chattering about some bird he spotted on his way to work, storytelling about some criminal gang he had crushed, occasionally asking you to lend him some money, and invariably expressing how much he missed you.
You had seen each other exactly eight times, not counting the first time you met. Sometimes you'd traveled to Evergreen to see him, and other times he'd traveled to Metropolis (in your private jet, all in your courtesy, of course).
He is very special to you.
And just like him, your relationship is special. You don't have any sort of label, nor any set boundaries, but there's always that heavy tension hanging in the air when you're alone with him, that... complicity.
You two would be chatting for hours and hours about manta rays or owls or spiders.
And you would listen. You would just sit there all pretty, gazing at him with soft eyes and a gentle smile, asking him with sincere interest about his favorite spider.
“You're my favorite person in the world, by the way,” he would blurt out, gazing at you with big, sparkly eyes and a all soft smile on his lips. His fingers caress yours with the utmost tenderness.
“In the whole world?” you would raise an eyebrow, using a tone of voice that borders on teasing. “What about Peacemaker?”
“Pff,” Adrian puffs out his lips, gesturing dismissively with his other hand. “Peacemaker is super cool, but you're like— incomparable, leagues way above him. You're way out of my league, even.”
His face swoons with sheer love when he earns a sweet kiss on the cheek from you.
Everyone believes that, very firmly. That you're all out of his league. You're a baddie— very self-confident, outrageously gorgeous, a fucking badass. And then there's Adrian. With his silly self, his nerdy glasses, his weird behavior, and his psychopathic tendencies.
You like him, though. More than you would like to admit, even.
Because he understands you, he understands that you're more than just beautiful and confident, more than a hero. You're a true one, though. One of the good ones. The kind of who's been written about in newspapers, whose name trends online whenever you make an appearance, whose face is printed on posters that kids pin on their bedroom walls. People stop in their tracks when they see you, fans scream your name, and strangers dream about you with a kind of hungry devotion.
To the world, you're untouchable, a fucking sun, something they crave but can never have. Adrian empathize with them in that case. Because he's just another planet orbiting around you.
To the people, you're a legend. To Adrian, you're heaven, his favorite girl.
“Now, I need to know if you and that Green Lantern guy have hooked up.” Economos asks after taking a long swig from his beer bottle, pointing at you accusingly.
You had invited them to your penthouse, and luckily you all had that one weekend off, so you suggested they come visit you in Metropolis. Which they did—traveling on your own jet, by the way.
Everyone had brought small gifts for you, though. Adrian had brought homemade cookies, those ones you loved so much.
You're munching on one of them while chatting with the guys, all of whom are very comfortable and well settled in your penthouse.
Leota wrinkles her nose, grimacing in disgust as she pops open another beer bottle, “Ew, dude. You don't ask that.”
Economos raises both hands to wave for peace, “What? That's what I read he said in a Twitter thread.”
“He said that?” You raise an eyebrow, wondering in disbelief. You were definitely going to scold Guy for that.
“He's a fucking arrogant jackass for all I know,” Chris adds before taking another sip of his beer. “Like, genuinely dumb.”
“Honestly, I thought you were fucking Superman. I mean, if I were you, I totally would.” Economos shrugs, nodding his head in an approval with himself.
Adrian, who until now seemed to be entertaining himself by looking at you as if you were his favorite thing in the whole world, turns toward him with narrowed eyes.
“Dude,” Leota reprimands him once more, her voice disapproving.
“His eyes and hair are dreamy,” he blurts out in his defense.
Emilia rolls her eyes. “Sure, because his eyes and hair are all you look at, you pervert.”
You snort, shaking your head, a little bit confused by the chosen topic and his choice of words. “You're spending too much time on the Internet, John.”
Leota is reflective, letting out a sluggish chuckle, “No, actually, you two would look cute together.”
Now Adrian is pouting, looking at her with a dejected expression with a mixture of emotions that you can't quite identify.
“He's a dickhead.” Chris denies with his head, in deseagreement with the topic discussed.
“Yeah.” Adrian agrees with him, because of course he agrees with Peacemaker.
“You both represent the same thing, I suppose,” Emilia reflects, perhaps too drunk to just ignore the stupidity everyone is talking about. “You bring hope and serve humanity.”
“Okay, that oversimplifies what I do,” you retort, rolling your eyes, totally offended. “I'm not fucking him. I'm not fucking anyone.”
“Yeah, right.” John snorts incredulously, “So it's the cyborg that controls those creepy circles, then.”
“They're not circles, they're spheres,” you correct him with full seriousness, slightly aggravated. “And he's not a cyborg.”
Adrian definitely doesn't like the way you talk about the man. In fact, he doesn't like you to talk about any man.
“Sure, because you know him so well.” John tries to fucking ragebait you once again, smiling like an idiot.
“I'm going to the bathroom— I think I'm gonna throw up,” Adrian mutters unenthusiasticallyinterrupting the stupid conversation.
Then, he promptly turns around and walks away, disappearing into the darkness of the hallway.
You stare after him in total silence, until Leota gives you a little nudge, making a silly face and gesturing towards the hallway, encouraging you to follow him.
And you do.
“He actually got jealous, holy shit, I can't believe it worked,” you catch John's words as you are walking across the hallway.
Then you hear Leota whisper-exclaim “shh!”, followed by a small thump and an “ow!” from John.
“She can hear you, you idiot,” Chris scolds him in an obvious tone.
All of that makes you roll your eyes.
They were truly ragebaiting not you, but Adrian.
When you eventually reach the end of the hallway, the music and chatter of the others sound like a distant echo. You knock on the door softly, and just as you are about to knock for the third time, it swings open abruptly, revealing an Adrian with fogged-up glasses and a flushed, sheepish face.
“Hey,” you greet him in a soft whisper, looking up at him with concern. “Are you okay?”
“Hey...” he greets you back in the same tone, as if everything were a big secret. It is, in a way. “Y-yeah, I just felt a little dizzy— the beers.” He shakes his head dismissively, his curls swaying with the movement. His smile twists for just a moment into an awkward grimace. “I think I had too much.”
He opens the bathroom door for you, wiping his sweaty forehead as he closes it behind you. You notice how sweaty he really is in that moment.
And so, you reach for a hand towel from one of the cabinets, and he instantly understands what you want to do. And he allows you to do it, leaning back against the sink vanity, placing his hands on the edge of it at each side of his body to support his weight—and to squeeze it, since your scent and warmth and closeness are so overwhelming.
“Yeah, you stink of beer,” you murmur with amusement as you carefully run the hand towel over his cheeks, wiping away the traces of sweat.
“I think I had too much to drink,” he repeats as he raises his eyebrows, and with the movement, his glasses slip slightly down the bridge of his nose. You're quicker than him to adjust them, and that makes him smile and blush like a teenager in love.
He's drunk, yes, but there's no clumsiness or uncertainty in his eyes: there's desire, there's devotion. There's love.
“Your hands are so warm and soft...” his voice breaks a little; the alcohol has loosened his tongue. Although love has softened him all over. You have softened him all over. And now he is cracking down for you. “Feels nice...”
Touch.
You know that's important to him. You know this is important to him. He doesn't let anyone else touch him, hug him, hold him. Only you. And that basically tells you everything about how he feels about you. It's real.
Adrian hates it when other humans touch him. And even fiercer, he hates skin-to-skin contact.
But Adrian adores you. More than anything else in the world.
And against who he is essentially, contrary to his soul's nature, he absolutely adores being touched by you, and he loves touching you. He cherishes your skin, every inch of your body. Oh, believe it, if he could merge his skin with yours, he certainly would.
He couldn't possibly envision a world where he's not there, right by your side, holding your hand, fiddling with your fingers, caressing your hair, your face, all of you.
Adrian had always thought that his purpose in life was to be a vigilante, to put an end to evil, to bad people—most of them, anyway. But no, he had been wrong all along, because his purpose was truly you. To be there for you. To love you. To be yours.
“Yeah?” you hum and smile, biting your lower lip.
“Mhm,” he hums contentedly, although that joy doesn't quite reach his eyes. Something is bothering him, a quiet voice rustling in the back of his head.
“Are you okay?” you ask again, taking your eyes off the side of his face where you're running the towel so you can look at him directly. His eyes are already on you, of course. In awe. “Your heart is beating really fast, Adrian.”
You can hear it. Beating at a wild, racing pace.
You graze the edge of his glasses with your fingertips before carefully removing them. Adrian blinks, somewhat vulnerable without them, but there is no trace of doubt in the intense sparkle of his eyes: there is only you.
“Why does everyone have to want you?” he asks in a whiny, quiet voice, seemingly struggling to hold your gaze. “Everyone wants you. Everyone talks about you. All the time. I read what they say about you.”
You hold back a little smile that threatens to tug at the corners of your lips as you look at his pouty face. “What do they say?”
He shifts his gaze to the floor for a moment, clenching his jaw, perhaps remembering the comments he read online from people talking about you.
“Things... very inappropriate,” he finally responds, looking back at you. “Very off limits.”
“Well, I'm a public figure, Adrian, very public.” You sigh softly, raising your hand to gently wipe his forehead with the towel, drying the remaining drops of sweat. “I knew what I was getting into when I started all this.”
“That's doesn't make it right,” he mutters, frowning slightly. “You save them, every day. You risk your life for them. For all of us.” His thumb brushes against your thigh as he reaches out to you once more, longingly. “And this is how they repay you? By turning you into some kind of sex symbol?”
You raise your eyebrows, pulling your hand and the towel away from his face, looking at him, unimpressed, “Sex symbol?”
He is nodding with his head, huffing lightly, very sarcastically, “I'm sure you discuss this with Superman or Mr. Terrific.” Oh, he is jealous. “They talk about you with them all the fucking time. How great of a duo you are when you're with one of them. They are good partners for you.”
He pronounces the names with suspicion and disgust, and that makes you chuckle softly. He looks at you as if you were committing a crime.
You're making fun of him. You never make fun of him. You're one of the few people who doesn't—the only one who never does.
You snort, shaking your head, both confused and slightly offended, “What is that supposed to mean?”
You know exactly what he means, though.
“Well, you spend more time with them, after all. They're like your–your work-husbands,” he cringes, unleashing his tongue and just going with what he feels in the moment, which is an tsunami of emotions that has been building up for months. “And I... I'm Adrian, and I live miles away from you, in a small shitty town where the most scandalous thing that happens is some stupid fucking guy spray-painting graffiti on a wall that doesn't belong to him.”
His drunken confession—but a confession nonetheless—sinks into you like a deeper heartbeat.
Your heart skips a beat and your lips part, not really knowing what to say for a few long seconds.
He is staring at you, vulnerability blazing in his eyes, his fingers tapping eagerly against the ceramic of the sink vanity.
“I'm here,” you tell him, you assure him. “I'm with you. Just you.”
Something breaks in his face then— not in a bad way, but in a way that softens him completely. His voice comes out smaller, almost like a child's.
“I know... I know you do. It's just— sometimes I feel like a raccoon who found the most beautiful shiny thing in the world, and the whole forest wants to take it away from him.”
You can't help a little laugh at the analogy, even though your heart squeezes at his honesty.
“I think you're drunk, Adrian,” you whisper with a sheepish smile.
Adrian smiles sheepishly too, with that mixture of tenderness and awkwardness that melts your heart. But when he feels your hands on his skin, his eyelids close slightly, as if each caress were a luxury reserved only for him, and he leans closer to your touch.
“I'm drunk, y–yeah,” he admits softly, brushing your palm with his cheek, like a cat purring and demanding affection. “But I'm also... very, very aware of what I want right now.”
The heat emanating from his body envelops yours. You feel his fingers slide down the curve of your waist, so slowly that you have time to notice how your skin ripples along every inch.
He continues to slide one hand down your side, brushing against the fabric of your shirt, stopping just before the edge, playing with the boundary. His breathing quickens a little more.
There's no rush. The silence in the bathroom is intimate, heavy with complicity. The distance between his lips and yours is almost non-existent; you can feel his warm breath, mixed with beer and something sweeter that is uniquely him.
Adrian slides a hand up to your neck, caressing the line of your jaw with his thumb, slowly, reverently. His lips finally brush against yours, just a touch, an electric brush that lingers long enough to make you tremble.
“Can I kiss you?” he gently inquires in a whisper that his tongue slurs. His eyes, filled with affection, disconnect from yours to gaze at your lips, darkened by love and desire. “Please...”
Your hands, which until now had only been holding the towel, remain still for a second on his chest. Under your palms, you feel the irregular beating of his heart, fast and intense, like a drum that draws you in.
You smile against his mouth, responding in a voice that trembles with anticipation, “Yes, please, Adrian—”
His mouth breathes in his own name.
The kiss that follows is neither clumsy nor rushed; it is slow, deep, charged with everything that needs no words. One of his hands attaches itself to your face and the other comes to rest on yours on his chest, pressing it gently against his heart, making you feel his rapid beat, making you feel the effect you have on him. That you still hold. After all this time.
When he finally pulls away, just a few inches, his breath hits yours.
Adrian chuckles sheepishly after the kiss, burying his face in your neck like he's trying to hide how much you affect him and also how he's blushing. His warm breath tickles your skin, and you can't help but smile too, running one of your hands up his back, scraping your nails across his shoulder blades.
His body visually and physically reacts to your touch, trembling slightly under your hands, like jelly.
His voice drags out in a hoarse whisper, pressed against your neck, his words slurring into your skin. “I think you're my soulmate. Like, in the swan-soulmate way.”
The towel slips from your hands, forgotten, as Adrian tilts his head to seek your mouth again. The kiss is different now: hungrier, more needy. His lower lip trembles slightly against yours before gently capturing it, then with firmer pressure that draws a sigh from you.
You tilt his chin up with your fingers, forcing his hazy eyes to meet yours. Even drunk, even flushed and trembling, Adrian's gaze is a mirror of devotion.
“You're so weird,” you breath out, giggling softly. You don't say it in a negative way, no, but rather in a way that speaks of admiration and love.
At that, he leans in and kisses the corner of your mouth, slow and reverent, and averts his gaze from yours.
“Hey...” you murmur, your voice low and steady, almost a lullaby. “Look at me, Adrian.”
He hesitates, then lifts his head slowly. His eyes are glassy—not just from the alcohol—but from the storm of emotion swirling behind them. His mouth opens as if he wants to say more, but he just swallows hard instead.
“No one has me but you,” you whisper back, brushing your thumb over his lower lip. “You're not 'just' Adrian,” you keep talking, very softly and sweetly. “I'm here because I choose you. I really like you, not because of your suit or your glasses or the type of guns you use, but because it's you. Because you're Adrian. My Adrian.”
His breath hitches. The blush on his cheeks deepens, and something vulnerable flickers across his face.
And then, he tilts forward and kisses you again, slower this time, deeper, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head.
When you detach yourselves from each other's mouths, you carefully put his glasses back on, and he blinks leisurely, taking in the gorgeous scene in front of him, which is you.
“I get so fucking jealous every fucking time I see you with them—with anyone who isn't me...”
He doesn’t finish the sentence. You don’t let him.
Your lips press against his once more, quieting every insecurity, every tremor of doubt still lingering in his chest. And this time, he melts. Completely. His hands find your waist, grounding himself in your warmth, your reality.
He pulls you close to him, impossibly close, so close that you can actually feel his flesh pressing against yours, his muscles, the beating of his heart, becoming one with yours.
When you part, his forehead rests against yours.
The bathroom light flickers softly, reflecting on the edges of his glasses. Perhaps it's an effect of your power, twinkling in your veins, in each of your breaths, in each beat of your heart. But no, it's the effect he has on you.
“You don’t have to be jealous,” you whisper, fingertips brushing the hair at the nape of his neck. “You already have me, Adrian.”
He laughs quietly, that broken, boyish kind of laugh that sounds like relief. “You say that like you don’t know how impossible that sounds.”
You smile at him, that smile that ruins him in all the best ways. “Maybe. But it’s true.”
He studies your face like it’s something sacred, like he’s afraid to blink and lose the memory of it.
“You know what’s crazy?” he murmurs, voice quiet, like he’s afraid of scaring the moment off. “I don't think I could be with anyone else. It's only you. It's always been you. So, I think I’d still find you. In another life. If there’s a hundred worlds out there, I’ll find you in all of them.”
Your laughter softens into something quieter, more tender. “You already did.” You lean in to kiss his cheek affectionately, but he turns his face just in time, kissing your lips instead. “Come on, the others will be wondering why we're taking so long.”
“They'll think I fucked you, something I'm totally fine with, by the way,” he jokes, puffing out a giggle.
And then, he follows you— because of course he does. Still holding your hand, his arm sneaks around your waist as you both head toward the door. His thumb rubs slow circles on your hip, like he can’t quite bring himself to stop touching you.
And then you open the door.
The hallaway falls completely silent.
Leota, John, Emilia, and Chris are all there — waiting, frozen mid-conversation, all holding drinks or snacks like they’ve been standing there for a while.
The silence stretches for one glorious, painful second.
Then Chris raises an eyebrow. “Well. Took you long enough.”
Emilia crosses her arms, smirking. “Told you they’d make out before midnight.”
John turns to her, groaning, before giving you both a mean look. “Ugh, seriously? You horndogs couldn’t wait five more minutes?”
Leota bites her lip, trying so hard not to laugh, and then looks at Economos. “Pay up.”
John groans, digging into his pocket. “You said next week! That doesn’t count!”
“Dude,” Chris says, pointing at Adrian basically hugging you from behind, at both of your very obvious post-make-out faces — “that definitely counts.”
Adrian just blinks, confused and still a little tipsy as he interrupts them. “Wait— were you guys betting on us?”
“Obviously,” Emilia deadpans, sipping her drink. “It was painfully obvious, Vig.”
Adrian gasps, genuinely offended. “Obvious?! I was so subtle!”
Chris snorts, nearly choking on his beer. “Yeah, man, nothing says subtle like calling her your soulmate after two beers.”
Emilia shrugs, already walking back toward the living room. “Please. You two have been making heart eyes since John's christmas party.”
Leota winks at you as she follows. “We’re just glad you finally admitted it.”
Economos mutters something about being “robbed” while he hands Leota a crumpled ten.
Adrian is blushing so much.
And he blushes even more when you kiss him once again.
Adrian Chase + his hands in Season 2
At the same damn time
2 Adrians Chase (Vigilante) X Female Reader
Summary: Adrian and Adrian 2 have sex with you.
4,288 words
!SMUT CONTENT!
“Adrian, this is a bad fucking idea.”
“No, it's noootttt!” he says as he starts unlocking the door to his secret room. Well, not his, but his other him? Fuck, this is already too confusing.
“Baby, something is wrong with this dimension…” you whisper and put your hand on his shoulder. “What if the other you kills us both?”
“He would never! I wouldn't, so why would he?” Adrian argues, unlocking the last lock.
He glances at you with enthusiasm, and you can't help but smile a bit. You know how much this means to him, but you also know some weird shit is going on in this universe… Something feels wrong. You immediately noticed when you and Adrian were walking to this house.
“Okay… We go in, but if your other you is a fucking maniac or something, I won't hesitate to shoot him, okay?” you say as Adrian grabs the doorknob.
“Baby… You can't kill me!”
“It's not you, Adrian!” you exclaim with a still soft voice. “It's your other you? Fuck, I don't know.”
“Everything is going to be fine. Just follow my lead.”
You go to speak, but he lifts the mask to his nose and kisses you quickly, making you remain silent. You scowl at him as he pulls the mask back down.
Adrian opens the door slowly, and your spine tingles from top to bottom as you hear the ominous creak the hinges make. He pushes it open and walks in; you follow him with light footsteps.
The first thing you notice is that there aren't any piles of cocaine lying around. The other thing you notice is somebody sharpening a knife somewhere inside the basement. You grab Adrian's hand, squeezing it hard.
“Adrian…” you say, reaching for your gun.
“Sssshhh… I hear somebody…” he whispers, walking towards the sound.
You grab the gun handle tighter, your knuckles turning white as you walk slowly behind him.
The sharpening noise gets louder and louder, and your breath gets stuck in your throat. Finally, you see a man, wearing an identical suit to your Adrian, sitting, his back to you, while doing something on a table. His hair looks exactly like Adrian's, and your eyes widen when he finally hears you two and turns around rapidly, grabbing a gun from his back pocket.
“What the fuck?!” he asks. Your Adrian starts jumping up and down in glee, while you are terrified. “Who are you, and why are you here?!
Your mouth opens as you recognize who this person is… It's Adrian. Not your Adrian, but the other Adrian.
“Whoa, dude, hold on! Hold on!” Adrian says, putting his hands up. He quickly grabs his mask and pulls it from his head, throwing it to the side. “It's me! I'm you from another dimension! My keys worked to get in here!”
The other Adrian continues to remain serious, his eyes locked on your Adrian, and your blood runs cold. If you grab your gun now, he will kill you both… And if you do nothing, he kills you both.
Shit.
“Listen—” you begin saying, but that's when the other Adrian's face breaks into a grin.
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” he says enthusiastically.
“No!” your Adrian says, matching his other self’s energy.
Adrian 2 (you have decided to call him that) lowers the gun immediately and puts it away. You let out a relieved breath, your shoulders relaxing.
“Holy shit!” Adrian 2 begins laughing, and your Adrian does as well.
You are left speechless as they start pointing at each other and laughing hysterically.
“We Spider-Man memed!” both Adrians exclaim. They point to each other again and again while moving their bodies side to side, like a couple of kids.
You rub your forehead, trying to understand what actually happened, but there are no words in the English language to express how you are feeling right now. There are two of them… You are actually staring at two Adrians. You know your Adrian better than anybody else, especially because you have been dating for a couple of years now, but this Adrian seems exactly the same. The only difference is the color of the glasses’ frame… But except for that, everything else is identical.
And, as you begin looking him up and down, studying Adrian 2, you realize he also looks really good in the Vigilante suit. The thought makes you shiver a bit, and you push it back. What’s wrong with you? You just met Adrian 2 from another fucking dimension, and you are already thinking about how hot he looks? Get a fucking grip…
“This is amazing…” Adrian 2 says with a heavy breath. He puts his hand on his hips and then looks at you. “And who’s she?”
“Oh, sorry!” Adrian says your name, and you wave at Adrian 2, making his eyes widen. “She’s my girlfriend! Or our girlfriend? Oh my god, dude, do you also have a girlfriend?”
Adrian 2’s eyes start running up and down your body, and you cross your arms beneath your chest, your cheeks heating up a bit. You don’t know how to feel about his obvious stare.
“Me?!” Adrian 2 asks. “Nah… I don’t have time for all that. I’m super busy and stuff…” He walks towards you, making you step back.
“Okay, dude. Haven’t you stared enough?!” you ask, making your voice harsh.
“Whoa, sorry! It’s just…” Adrian 2 clears his throat. “You are super hot; I see why the other me is dating you.”
“Right?!” Adrian says while laughing. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to be with her! At first, she was like super mean and stuff, which was like hot, but I thought we would never get together… But then! Well, then she invited me over to her house, and we—"
“Okay! That’s enough, baby!” you say over him. Your cheeks are now a bit pink. “I think he got the idea.”
“I just wanted him to know how sick you are during sex, baby!” Adrian whines, pointing at Adrian 2.
You groan, feeling extremely embarrassed.
“She is?! Dude!” Adrian 2 puts his fist in front of Adrian, and they fist bump. “You lucky fucker! That’s so fucking sick! I mean, I would love to fuck her too, but I’m happy you are actually with her!”
Your head snaps to look at Adrian 2, your eyes as big as you can make them. Did you just hear that correctly?
“What was that?” you ask.
“What?” he asks, smiling. “Oh! Yeah, sorry… I know we only just met, but I feel like I can trust you two, right?”
“Dude, of course! You are me, remember? Also, it’s not a surprise that the other me also finds her super fucking hot… I’m just happy we both have good taste.”
They laugh again in unison, making you think about what Adrian 2 just said.
There you were, in a weird fucking dimension, and instead of finding Chris and Harcourt, you are stuck with a version of your boyfriend… And he just fucking admitted he wants to fuck you.
Part of you wants to smack both their heads together; the other part is a bit…curious… They look identical, and they sound the same, and… well… you have always imagined what would happen if you actually found the other Adrian in here. Just hours after Ads told you about the portal, you began wondering. Adrian may have been excited to meet his other self just because he thinks that’s super cool, but you found the idea confusing. Yet, you couldn’t help but wonder.
Was he going to find you attractive like your Adrian did? Was he going to be a horrible man? Be completely different?
Several possibilities ran through your mind, but now that you were here and you saw that they were pretty much the same person, more possibilities appeared in your head. And they weren’t quite as pure as you liked them to be.
“So… Do you want to sit?” Adrian 2 asks.
“Yeah,” you reply, smiling at him.
He guides you to a couch near a window, and you three sit down. Your Adrian is to your left, and Adrian 2 is to your right. You didn’t mean to sit in the middle, but it sort of just happened.
Now, stuck between them as they speak about Pokémon and their favorite colors, you rub your hands together in your lap. You can feel their legs pressed to yours, making your body burn with a shameful lust and desire. It’s weird, it’s confusing, and it’s making you want to crawl up the walls.
There are more urgent things to attend to and questions to ask Adrian 2, but it seems like your body is betraying you. You can’t help but ignore how good they both look and how much their touch is identical. They even smell the same, and it’s driving you crazy.
“Hey, are you okay?” Adrian asks, putting his hand on your leg. He seems a bit worried.
“What?” You glance at him and smile a bit. “Yeah… I…”
“Are you sick?” Adrian 2 grabs your hand, holding it for a few seconds. “You don’t seem to have a fever… And you don’t look sickly at all. Are diseases different in your dimension?”
“No, I’m fine!” you say, maybe a bit louder than you intended. You notice that Adrian is still touching your leg, and Adrian 2 is still holding your hand.
Your heart is beating very fast, and your body is burning up more and more. You clench your thighs together, trying to ignore the throb in your crotch. It’s nearly impossible to, though, not when they are both touching you.
“Guys…” You look at your Adrian, and he seems to notice what is happening right now. Despite not understanding people that well, he seems to understand you.
“Oh… No way?” he whispers, excitement in his voice. His thumb begins rubbing your leg, making circles on your jeans.
“What?” Adrian 2 asks.
“Are you sure?” Adrian asks, putting his other hand on your face. You lean into his touch and shiver.
“I…Fuck, I think so… Is that weird?” you murmur, blushing more.
“Are you kidding me?” Adrian’s hand starts going higher, making you clench your thighs again. “This is like a wet dream come true.”
Adrian 2 gasps loudly, maybe connecting the dots at the mention of his “wet dream.” He lets go of your hand and puts it on your leg as well. You don’t dare to look at him, not yet at least, but do enjoy his touches on your right thigh.
“Come here,” Adrian whispers.
You put your lips to his, grabbing the back of his neck. You part your legs almost by instinct and feel Adrian 2 slip his hand between them, making you moan into Adrian’s mouth. He groans, deepening the kiss, and then moves his hand as well. Soon, both their fingers are on your crotch, making you breathless.
You pull apart from the kiss, shivering in pleasure as they rub your folds through the fabric up and down. The touch is light, not enough at all, but this is too arousing, so somehow, it feels enough.
“My turn?” Adrian 2 asks from the other side.
You move your head slowly, meeting his eyes. He goes to kiss you, but you turn your cheek to him, not sure if you want to kiss this person who’s not exactly your boyfriend. Adrian 2 doesn’t seem to take offense at that, and you gasp when his lips find your neck instead.
He begins running his tongue over your pulse point, driving you insane as you look up and close your eyes in ecstasy.
Then, as if to make matters worse (or better), Adrian starts kissing your neck as well. His kisses are slow and teasing, while Adrian 2’s are urgent and filled with lust. It’s amazing how they both kiss so similarly yet so differently. Your Adrian has patience that comes with being your boyfriend for so long, while Adrian 2 has the urgency that’s so similar to your first times together with Adrian. It’s nostalgic, it’s weird, and it’s making you get wetter and wetter. You feel your clit throb and moan their name as their fingers press against your clit.
Both Adrians smile into your skin.
“This is so fucking nuts… Fuck…” you whisper before licking your lips. “Oh my God, I need one of you inside of me right now.”
They pull away from your neck, Adrian first, as he bites your skin gently before letting go.
“How do you want me?” he whispers, voice low and filled with lust. He’s already reaching for his pants, and you glance down.
You were so preoccupied with your own lust that you didn’t notice how hard both Adrians are. That makes you wonder… Are they the same girth and length?
“Do you want me to blow you, baby?” you ask, putting your hand over his as he reaches for his boner. Adrian groans when you squeeze both his hand and his cock.
“Fuck yeah… I want anything you want, baby.”
You bite your bottom lip, squeezing his cock again before turning to look at Adrian 2.
“Hm… Hi,” you say awkwardly, making Adrian 2 grin.
“Hey, pretty.” He cups your pussy again, making you thrust into his hand. “Can I fuck you? I really want to feel your pussy around my dick… Please?”
The throb in your pussy is now maddening, and you can’t even think for a second.
“Yes…” You shake your head, laughing a bit. “Fuck me, Adrian.”
“Hell yeah.”
You hear Adrian get up and start unbuckling his pants, but your eyes are glued to Adrian 2’s face. He’s staring at your lips, and you know that look. It’s the one your Adrian does whenever he looks at you when you are about to have sex. He wants you badly, and for whatever reason, so do you.
You move hesitantly towards him and press your foreheads together. It’s weird knowing your boyfriend is behind you both, staring as you travel your hand up Adrian 2’s lap. But it’s too late to back down now, so you take off his belt, fast and with sloppy hands, and sneak your hand inside his boxers.
His hot breath hits your nose, and his face scrunches in pleasure as you grab his shaft, pulling it out. You look down, seeing that his dick is exactly as you remember, and smirk. He’s already leaking precum, pearly beads rolling from his slit, and you collect them, spreading them on his shaft.
Adrian 2 whines, lips inches from yours, and you start stroking him slowly. You do exactly the same twists and apply the same pressure as when you are stroking your Adrian, and thankfully, it seems to be working. He’s breathing heavily, face bright red, and pupils dilated as you pleasure him.
“Fuck… Oh God…” he whispers, looking down as his head goes in and out of your fist.
Then, as you are determined to make Adrian 2 feel good, you feel a pair of hands on your back. Adrian travels them down your spine and then grabs your waist, pulling it up like you weigh nothing.
You realize what he’s trying to do, so you get on all fours on the couch, letting go of Adrian 2’s dick as you put both hands down.
“It’s like watching porn of us, baby!” Adrian points out with glee from behind you. He puts his hands on the hem of your jeans, and you wait in anticipation as he slides them down.
Cold air hits your clothed and sticky pussy, making you clench on nothing. You are so lost in what Adrian is doing that you don’t notice Adrian 2 getting up from the couch and walking to where Adrian is.
“Look at that… She’s so fucking wet,” Adrian says in awe, running his fingers on your wet panties. You whine, arching your back at the touch.
“Holy shit… You are so lucky, man.”
“No, we are so lucky!”
You hear them high-five, making your eyes roll a bit, even if a smile stays on your face.
“Are you boys going to jerk each other off, or is anybody going to fuck me?” you say with a teasing voice, looking over your shoulder. Your eyes land on Adrian, who now has his hard cock out of his pants.
“Oh! Right, sorry!” Adrian 2 says.
Adrian walks to your front, and you follow him with your eyes slowly, enjoying how he’s stroking his dick even as he walks.
He stops in front of you, and you look up.
“You are loving this, aren’t you, baby?” Adrian asks with confidence that Adrian 2 lacks.
You bite your bottom lip and look at his cock. Your eyebrow arches. “It seems that we are both loving this.”
He grins, putting one knee on the bed. His hand goes to your chin, and he tilts it up, bringing his leaking head inches from your lips.
Meanwhile, Adrian 2 begins running his fingers on your clothed pussy, driving you insane. You whine and move against his touch, making him feel how wet you are. He curses under his breath and finally grabs your panties and slides them down your thighs.
“Holy shit… It’s beautiful,” he says in the exact same tone somebody might use when they look at the Mona Lisa.
You giggle and then feel his hands on your ass as he squeezes the flesh. You moan, and Adrian takes the opportunity to put his head on your lips. You focus on him again as Adrian 2 squeezes and slaps your ass gently.
“You can go harder, other me,” Adrian says, without breaking eye contact with you. “She loves it.”
Adrian 2 lands a harsher slap to your ass cheek, making you moan loudly.
During this, Adrian is running beads of precum on your lips, coating them with it. You start licking his head slowly, trying to taste as much of him as you can. He curses under his breath and then lets go of your chin, grabbing your hair instead.
“Please…” you beg.
“Was that for me or the other me?” Adrian asks.
“Both. Please, I need you both so badly.”
Adrian 2 curses and then puts his cock on your entrance, letting it rest there as he feels how slick you are.
You open your mouth, sticking out your tongue for Adrian. He smirks, and the confidence that you love is clear on his face. He has changed a bit during sex ever since you started dating. He’s a bit more dominant, even if you love it when he submits to you.
Finally, as you are basically going insane with anticipation, Adrian puts his cock on your tongue and starts sliding it inside your mouth. At the same time, Adrian 2 begins entering you, making you gasp around Adrian’s dick.
You feel every inch of Adrian 2 stretch you while Adrian’s cock rests heavy on your tongue.
“Oh fuuuuucckkk… Dude…” Adrian 2 whines, barely resisting thrusting all the way in. He’s taking his time feeling you around his shaft.
“I know… You should feel how good her mouth is, too.”
You can’t do anything but moan as you wrap your lips around Adrian’s cock and start bopping your head. He holds your hair, guiding your head back and forward as you suck and swirl your tongue on his cock.
Adrian 2 grabs your hips hard, and you feel him pull out before slamming inside of you harshly. The thrust is so sudden that Adrian’s cock goes deeper inside your mouth, making you almost gag. Fortunately, you control your reflex and get back to pleasuring him.
“Shit… Oh god… She’s so tight and warm,” Adrian 2 says, fucking you at an amazingly good pace.
You can hear the squelching noise his cock makes as he goes in and out, and it almost matches how your mouth sounds around Adrian’s dick. Saliva is dripping from the corners of your mouth, and your arousal drips in strings from your thighs.
Pleasure comes from the way Adrian 2’s dick is fucking you just right, his shaft pulsing and burning hot inside of you, and from the way Adrian’s dick is heavy and so good on your mouth. You love how Adrian 2 whines and how Adrian curses, pulling your hair.
It’s like fucking both dominant and submissive Adrian. A dream come true.
You moan around his cock again, making him pull your hair harder and moan in pleasure as well. You can feel sweat soak your blouse and bra, making your nipples hard. It’s beyond arousing.
“Ah…Fuck… Ah… I can’t believe you are dating her,” Adrian 2 moans weakly, fucking himself harder into you.
“Yeah. She’s so perfect… Always so…fuck…perfect.”
You start flickering your tongue on his shaft, just the right rhythm to create vibrations on his cock, and Adrian moves a bit forward, almost as if he got punched. That makes you clench around Adrian 2, and he whines again. They are both close; you can hear their heavy breaths.
“Fuck her faster,” Adrian says between breaths. “She’s close. Can you feel it?”
“Oh, dude, yeah… Fuck, she’s gripping my dick so tightly…” he answers with a strained voice.
You let your body be moved back and forward like a rag doll. You are too drunk on pleasure to guide your movements anymore. You give in… you let yourself drown.
And it never felt better.
A knot appears on your lower belly slowly, and it’s like flames are moving all around your body. You are sure you are almost running a fever, and you are dripping sweat, but you don’t care.
Two Adrians are fucking you… Two fucking Adrians are actually fucking you right now. How insane is that?
“Ah… I can’t hold it anymore… Ah…” Adrian 2 whines.
“Touch her clit… Fuck, I’m close…”
Adrian 2 immediately puts his fingers on your clit and begins rubbing it, making you moan loudly. Your noises are muffled as your mouth is fucked faster and faster.
Adrian 2 begins shuddering; you feel it against you, and then you feel him thrust unevenly as he shoots his load inside of you. He lets out a string of “thank you” and curses mixed with your name as he begins cumming.
You close your eyes, feeling tears on them, and his cum inside of you, plus his fingers on your clit drives you over the edge.
Waves of pleasure run through your spine, and you start clenching and unclenching around Adrian 2’s throbbing cock. You try to breathe through it, and thankfully, Adrian takes off his cock from your mouth, making you gasp and cry out in pleasure.
Adrian 2 thrusts a few more times, trying to ride out your high, and then stills. You hear him panting from behind, his fingers stopping on your clit.
“Holy shit…” he whispers through breaths.
“Ah… Fuck,” you reply with a very tired voice.
You open your eyes again, feeling Adrian 2’s cum inside of you, and then look at Adrian. He’s still hard, stroking himself, as he looks down at you.
“Open…” he says, and you immediately stick out your tongue.
He strokes himself faster and faster, his cock glistening with precum and your saliva.
Soon, he begins cumming as well, and ropes of cum land on your tongue. He moans your name, eyes half closed and lips parted slightly. You admire him, loving him so much as always, and let him finish.
When the last drop of cum lands on your tongue, you put it inside your mouth, swallowing everything.
“Good girl,” he whispers, collapsing on the couch as he sits on it.
You shiver around Adrian 2’s softening cock, and he seems to notice. He begins pulling out, hissing along the way, and you hear him sit on the couch as well. Heavy breathing is heard from around you as you slowly turn your body so your back is on the couch.
You put your head on Adrian’s lap while Adrian 2 grabs your calves, helping you lie down on the couch.
“You okay?” Adrian asks, stroking your cheek gently.
“Hm hm… This was fucking insane,” you comment with a chuckle.
“Honestly? I feel like this will stay in my head forever and ever…” Adrian 2 says as he brushes your legs up and down. “Even if the Nazis kill me, my ghost will remember this.”
Your eyes immediately widen, your body becoming alert as the last residue of bliss fades from your brain. You jump to a sitting position, looking at Adrian 2 with an urgent face.
“Nazis?! What?!”
“Uh?… Ooooohhh… You guys don’t know?” Adrian 2 says, wincing a bit.
“Know what, other me?”
He rubs the back of his head and pushes his glasses up his nose bridge.
“The Nazis won World War II… They rule the world now. That isn't a thing in your dimension?”
Your jaw drops open, and you hear Adrian curse loudly.
“SHIT! I told you something was wrong here, Adrian!”
“How is this my fault?!” both men reply with a whiny voice, making you groan loudly.
Well shit… This is what you get for being too horny to properly think about your surroundings… It was still worth it, though.
But now it’s time to push this aside and get back to work.
“You and you,” you point to each Adrian. “Grab your shit, put away your dicks, and let's go find the rest of the team."
“Yes, ma’am!” they reply, once again in unison.
adrian chase is sooo hot coworker. like you didn't give a shit about how you looked at work until you landed this new job at the diner, and on your way out of training he saw you and gave you this little wave and a toothy grin, calling out: "see you on monday, new girl!"
anyway, monday came. you almost didn't recognize yourself in the mirror before your shift. you don't usually get this dolled up for some other day, but here you are, getting cute for your new diner buddy that you don't know at all. still, you're glad you did all this because he looks so good when you see him again.
he looks happy to see you too, waving you over with a big smile. "hey you! you came back! that's good. i was thinking you might run away." he grabs you by the wrist and steers you to the back, tying your apron for you.
adrian babies you the whole shift, helping you cut onions so your eyes dont burn, guiding you out of his way by your hips, whispering in your ear what a good job you're doing, pushing his hips against your butt whenever he looks over your shoulder to make sure the food you cooked is satisfactory... he's giving you so much attention so soon. and praise, and touch... oh no, how'd you end up in the backseat of his car, bouncing on his dick?
i’m sick
NAIVE
summary: You’re Adrian’s naive and trusting coworker. When an unfortunate circumstance has you asking for his help, he realizes you need to be taught a lesson in being safe. WC: 4.9k
content: NSFW. stalking. breaking and entering. is it dubcon if you don't know he's your stalker? p in v. safe sex. goofy sex. oral.
notes: cheers to stalker!adrian being the one to get me back in to writing oneshots
You were just so… naive. Adrian didn’t understand how you could be so soft and simple. Each look you shared at work, every graze as you passed him—it’s all too much. You trusted him so recklessly.
In a place like Evergreen, you’d never feel scared when you forgot to lock your window. Your neighborhood consisted mostly of older people, and you knew each one closest to you. You felt confident they would look after you if you really needed them to, just as you would for them. It wasn’t a big deal.
Adrian Chase is an odd and goofy busboy. You happen to have a soft spot for those kinds of guys. So when he stares at you too long, you just smile and blush. The two of you had a good relationship at work. Lunch breaks would often be spent together, alternating between your fun facts about shows or whatever your newest obsession was and his sometimes incorrect animal facts. You were indulgent with him, quizzing him without annoyance, just amusement.
It was when you asked him one night if he could drop you off home after work that you first noticed something weird. Your car wouldn’t start that morning, so you’d walked to work. However, you weren’t so dumb as to walk all the way home in the dark. He obliged with that excited smile and put on an album that his best friend introduced him to. You were chatting happily before you realized you forgot to tell him about the upcoming turn, but to your surprise, he went the right way.
“Oh, how did you know to go left?” You ask with a worried brow. Your grip on your seatbelt grows tighter as you watch him closely.
Adrian looks at you with wide eyes and opens his mouth before clamping it shut. Something seems to click as the corner of his mouth quirks and he tilts his head before facing the road again. The natural playful lilt in his tone feels a bit off as he says, “You told me about how you hate going anywhere during the school zone by your house—that school right there. Remember?”
Your nerves are set at ease as you give a little laugh, “Right, I forgot about that. It’s always so damn busy.”
His hearty laugh that seems to start all the way from his chest fills the car. Your cheeks warm, and your stomach stirs at the sound. The streetlights glint off his glasses as he opens the door for you and escorts you to your front door.
You meet his eyes—the same ones that are always boring directly into yours. His unbroken eye contact had intimidated you when you first met. He’s just so intense in everything he does. Now, it feels sweet. He listens intently and focuses on each word that leaves your lips with unbridled passion. It’s as if everything you say is important.
“Well, I should probably get ready for bed. Gotta make sure my car is working tomorrow morning.” You tell him as you awkwardly swing your bag. Part of you wants to ask him to come in and keep up the chatting and laughter.
“I can give you my number!” Adrian fumbles with his back pocket to fish out his phone. He grins and waves it around. “If it isn’t working, can I pick you up?”
“That—that would be amazing! Yeah!” Your voice comes out higher than you expected. If he had called it out, you would have melted into a puddle of shame—that, or spontaneously burst into flames. Either way, you would be embarrassed.
You exchange your numbers and say goodnight. He lingers with a goofy smile before he is blocked from your view by the door. You can hear some weird shuffling from the other side before you do your nightly routine.
In the morning you check your car to see if it will start. When you turn the ignition, it doesn’t even attempt to rev up. There’s nothing. After trying several times, you give up. You text Adrian and tell him about this revelation, and he promptly replies that he will pick you up for work later in the day.
Your job at the restaurant doesn’t pay that well. The only reason you have the house you do is because you’d inherited it from your grandparents. After you finish your morning ritual, you sit down to look up the problem with your car. There is something off about your desk. You aren’t insanely meticulous about your stuff being organized and in place, but you live alone. Anything you put down should be exactly the same when you come back.
The laptop on your desk is plugged in when you’re positive you hadn’t done that. You open it to see it on the desktop; there’s nothing different. You’re confused, but you write it off as being forgetful.
Your car is out of commission for the next few days before you can find someone willing to come take a look at it in two days. The groceries are running low, and you don’t want to take advantage of Adrian’s kindness and ask him to drive you to the store. So, when you step into Adrian’s Sebring, you tell him how you found someone to look at your car.
“That’s, uh, great! Yeah, great!” Adrian cheers, but his lips aren’t turned up, and his pretty teeth aren’t on display. You’re about to ask him if he’s okay when he quickly changes the subject. “I saw an owl last night! It was one of those great horned owls. Swooped right over me!”
This morning you check your car like you have since it stopped working. To your surprise it attempts to rev up this time, but it still doesn’t start. After the third try, it starts up. The dash blinks at you like a warning, and you don’t even change out of your pajamas before grabbing your bag and heading to the nearest car shop. You’ve got it fixed up and shopped for groceries by that afternoon.
When you get home, you text Adrian that he won’t have to pick you up on Monday. He doesn’t respond for a while, and all he replies with is a smile and thumbs-up emoji. You try not to think too much into it.
Adrian heard your car in the driveway when you returned home. He’d stopped by your house once before he’d started driving you to and from work. It was out of curiosity. You are so nice to him that he wasn’t able to help it. He had to see where you lived and make sure it was a safe area. If he needed to, he could stay close by when he did his nightly patrols as Vigilante. He never went in. No, he hadn’t crossed that boundary then.
You had so sweetly asked him to drive you home, though. That changed things. Sure, the two of you talked at work, but you didn’t know him. Not really. Yet you asked him to get you home! You put your safety in his hands. It was absolutely ridiculous. If you had asked anyone else, he would have died. You couldn’t be trusted with your own safety. Not anymore.
It had started as just a quick glance through your home to make sure everything looked fine. He had lingered by your open bedroom door as you slept. You looked so peaceful and serene, like an angel. Everything had been locked, which made him feel better. It was easy for him to lockpick the door, though. He wondered if maybe he should look into lock brands for you. Your laptop wasn’t locked when he opened it, much to his annoyance. He fished through a bit, trying to reassure himself it was all for your safety. You were naive after all! What if you were being unsafe online?
He would stick around after bringing you home. The tree beside your house provided enough cover from your neighbors. For older people, they weren’t as nosy as he expected. He was a bit disappointed that they likely wouldn’t notice someone suspicious hanging around your home.
When you told him that you found someone to take a look at your car, he realized his time was up. He had been enjoying having you so close, all to himself. He loved touching the soft fabric of the long sleeve you wore under your uniform shirt and brushing your hair from your shoulder when he opened the door for you. That night, he sneakily put back the part he had taken from your car that first night he brought you home.
He had stopped by your house in the morning to see if it would start up for you this time; when it did, and you rushed off in a hurry, he took the opportunity of the empty house. He checked all of the windows to make sure you hadn’t slipped up and left an easy entry. To his dismay, the back window was not only unlocked but also partially opened! It was absolutely ridiculous.
You had a stack of sticky notes inside that he nabbed up and quickly went to work at admonishing your reckless behavior. By the time he was done, there were a few notes all around. Your door was unlocked, so the sticky note above the handle was particularly scathing. It hadn’t taken him long, so he found himself perusing your home a little longer. He tried to find some excuse for it, but he didn’t really have one.
When you finish loading your groceries, you go to lock your front door. A sticky note lays there in wait. It is one of the garishly neon ones you’d gotten on sale. In big and messy writing is, “This is really dumb! Everyone knows to lock their door! You’re too pretty to be so stupid.”
Your heart drops to your feet; someone has been in your house. They had been there long enough to write you a note. You don’t know what to do. There is no one in this town that you can go to—except for maybe one person. He is obviously dependable to be there for you; he was when you needed him before.
With a sick feeling in your stomach, you fumble with your phone and type fast. You don’t care about the typos or extra characters as your heart thumps in your chest. Your breath is catching as you look over your shoulder and rush to all the entry points in your house.
You consider if all of these notes would be enough to get police involved. Something tells you they won't do anything about it. There are too many stories you've heard that dissuade you from typing the numbers in your phone.
As you are closing in on the last few windows, your phone dings. A flash of neon almost stops your racing heart in its tracks. The knife you had picked up on the way is heavy in your hand as you look at the note. “Leaving your window open? I’m disappointed.”
You suck your lips in and almost start crying. The message on your phone is simple: “On my way! Be careful!”
Your eyes track around, dreading the catch of more neon slips. There is one more you find just in the periphery of your vision. The pink blares a warning at you from next to the fire alarm, the one you’d taken the dead batteries from and forgotten to replace. “The beeping is to keep you from burning! Replace them!”
“Oh my god,” you let slip from your lips. The tears finally come, and you just want to lie down and forget about everything.
The doorbell rings and you rush to it. You’re about to open it like usual without a glance out the peephole, but the ominous notes have gotten to you. From the little window you can see familiar glasses. You open the door and let the knife in your hands clatter as you launch yourself into Adrian’s arms. He’s surprisingly strong, and his arms feel grounding.
“Are you okay?” Adrian questions.
You shake your head and grumble into him, “Not really.”
Adrian releases you and eases you into the house. He glances between the notes and your teary face. He hadn’t really considered how you might react to them. He's certainly not upset that you reached out to him. Maybe now would be a good time to teach you a lesson.
“You know, maybe we should go look at getting you better locks? Might make you feel safer?” Adrian tries to push. He’s trying to be nonchalant, but it’s never been his specialty. Lucky for him, you’re much too distracted to see his stilted movements and unintentional grimace as he realizes you didn’t shut the window all the way before locking it.
“Uh—I don’t know. I don’t know what to do,” you admit. You’re still glancing around wildly as if someone is about to jump at you from the shadows. “Maybe I should get a motel for the night… at least until I figure out what to do.”
Adrian almost drops the knife he had picked up from the ground to put away. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. A single woman staying at a cheap motel—alone—after having a break-in? When he is right there? He is offended by the suggestion. Why couldn’t you just ask him to stay with you? He’s proven himself trustworthy all those times he drove you home.
“I don’t know… Which one? Maybe we should make sure they’re safe before you go doing that.”
“Safe? Why wouldn’t it be safe?” you question. He blinks at you as if you had suddenly spoken an alien language. You realize too late what he was implying, though you had never had problems traveling on your own before. “Because I’d be alone… right. Yeah.”
You’re chewing on your lip anxiously as Adrian double-checks all the entrances and exits to your house. He makes a point of shutting the window the rest of the way. You decide to go with him to get new locks, and he suggests a few other safety measures you could take. He forces the batteries for the fire alarm into the cart while he’s there. When the two of you return, you feel a weight still on your chest.
“Could you stay with me tonight?” You ask him shyly. “I mean—I just don’t feel completely safe just yet. I don’t want to be alone.”
“Uh, yeah! Obviously!” Adrian says as if he’d been waiting for you to ask the entire time—which he had.
The rest of the night goes pretty smoothly as the two of you watch movies and he cooks you dinner. It isn’t fancy, not one bit, but it’s enjoyable. You watch him work and admire his expressive features. You can see everything he feels on his face. It’s one of the first things that drew you further into him. You would be lying if you said you didn’t have feelings developing.
He moves as if he’s in two-times speed, a little jerky and fast-paced. Your mind wanders a bit as you think about where else that erratic and intense behavior could translate to. He seems so airy, and he always looks to you for approval with everything he does. Those green eyes look at you wide and hopeful, like the only thing that matters is pleasing you. Does that mean he would be on the submissive side? You’re not so sure.
As you’re watching a movie, Adrian has you leaning up against him. When you first met him, you assumed he didn’t like touch, and you know he still usually doesn’t. If he can touch you over clothes, though, he lets his hands linger. The first time you wore a long sleeve around him, he laid his large hand on your forearm. His skin only touched the soft material, but he could feel your warmth through it. After that, you wore them often so he would hold your arms to him while he talked to you. It felt as if he was afraid you might suddenly slip away.
Adrian shifts so you can lie on the pillow in his lap. You watch him as his eyes are locked on the screen. His brows are knit, and his glasses have slipped down a bit. You play with the sleeve of his rugby shirt, aching to touch his hand. Your mind isn’t on the movie.
After the day’s events, you feel weird. It’s like there is excess adrenaline rushing through your veins, and it just can’t escape. Adrian has been so sweet taking care of you and agreeing to stay over for the night. You really just want to kiss that stupid smile off his face.
You have never been great at reading signs, and Adrian makes it even more difficult. You genuinely don’t know if he is into you or is just being… him. Soon after you started working at Fennel Fields, you walked into a conversation between Adrian and one of your other coworkers. It was a lanky and awkward teenage boy who didn’t stay very long. When you’d walked up to them, you asked what they were talking about; the boy had flushed entirely red and started trying to make something up. Adrian had simply looked at you and explained, “We were talking about how you have a nice butt.”
That moment was when you realized Adrian was going to completely turn your life over. He was attractive in the way you loved, and he was so brutally honest that sometimes it felt too much. Still, the way he would say things like that never felt like an actual compliment. He said it so deadpan, as if all it was was a simple fact. It didn’t feel flirty in the least.
You hadn’t realized you’d been staring the entire time, not once looking at the screen to notice that the movie had ended. Adrian’s eyes look down to meet yours, and he just stares. It’s that detached look, like he’s analyzing you, the one that makes you wish his usual expressive face would tell you what he was thinking. His eyes dip to your lips, and he says, “You have sexy lips.”
This proclamation is in that same realm of something that should be flirting. It just sounds so plain through his tone that you can’t tell his motive. Normally you’re left flustered and just squeak out a thanks. Your heart is thumping in your chest, and your cunt aches. How long has it been since you’d been with someone?
“You have sexy lips too,” you breathe out. Your lids are heavy as you gaze up at him, focusing on the surprise painting his face. He blinks at you before a bright smile lights it up. It’s like staring at the sun, so blinding and beautiful.
“Really? You think so?” he questions. He shifts a bit to get a better look at you as he practically vibrates from the compliment. “Nobody has ever said that! I mean, even if they had—coming from you? Way be—”
You place a hand on his chest as you rise from your position to face him properly. You’re gathering your nerves before interrupting him with, “Can I kiss you?”
Your sentence stops him dead in his tracks. His eyes drop to your lips before meeting your eyes again. For once, he seems speechless. You think he’s about to back out, stumble out some excuse that what he said wasn’t meant the way you thought it might be, but you’re pushed back. Adrian launches into you and locks his lips to yours. He braces one arm on the back of the sofa and the other on the cushion below you, locking you between him and the sofa. It’s messy; all lips and teeth.
Your fingers are scraping through his curls, tugging him as close as physically possible. He mutters things into your mouth. It’s mostly incomprehensible slurred words that don’t make sense to you. Sometimes you can make out a few sentences like “waited so long” or “softer than I thought.”
When you start to move a hand up his shirt and splay a hand on his warm skin, he pulls back. His glasses are askew, and his curls are mussed. He breathes heavily with his kiss-bruised lips parted as he gapes down at you. His jeans feel tight, and his clothes feel itchy against his overheating skin. If he wasn’t so overwhelmed, he might have stopped to watch how pretty you look beneath him. Your chest is heaving, and you look at him so sweetly through your lashes. All you’ve done is kissed, and yet you look so ruined.
You almost let out a whine from his pause, but it stops in your throat when he rips off his shirt. He grumbles about the feeling of it. He recaptures your lips and pulls your hips up to grind into his. You can feel the material of his jeans scrape through the thin fabric of your pants. A moan passes from your lips into his.
He doesn’t seem to mind your skin touching his right now; if anything, he’s begging for it. His free hand drags yours to his bare torso, encouraging you to touch. You would never have expected him to be so toned and athletic. His baggy shirts concealed what was underneath almost too well.
“Bedroom? Can I—" Adrian whines suddenly as you rub your hand over his groin. “Please, can I take you to your bedroom?”
“Please, I want you so bad,” you respond. You’re not even sure if you answered what he was asking. It doesn’t matter as long as he keeps touching you.
You’re in his strong arms before you can catch up. He’s moved his open-mouthed kisses to your neck that you left bare for him. He barely watches where he’s going as he sucks and licks at your skin. He drops you onto your bed, and he begins kicking off his jeans. You take the opportunity to remove your own clothes. If he didn’t look at you so hungrily, you might be embarrassed by the simple and unattractive underwear you were wearing. It’s not like it will stay on for long.
Adrian tucks his hands under your thighs and lifts your body enough to shove you up the bed until you’re resting on a pillow. If you weren’t already sopping wet, you would be now. The plain underwear you’re wearing is wet, something Adrian is sure to point out as he rubs you through the thin cloth. He grins, “They’re pretty much see-through now.”
You’re about to grumble at him, but your words are stopped short. He uses a finger to pull the cloth aside and blow cool air at your exposed cunt. You almost jump out of your skin, giving him ample opportunity to peel the flimsy fabric from you. He immediately dives in to lick at you. It’s just as messy and chaotic as his kiss, but any lack of fine skill is made up for in his enthusiasm. You lift up to meet his mouth as he buries himself in you. He wraps your legs around his neck and uses one arm to reach your breasts. He grunts when he finds your bra as a barrier. The vibration sends a shockwave through you, and your fingers move to tug at his curls. You fumble to undo your bra. You’ve just gotten it off when his searching hands grope your freed breasts. A moan tears through you as he tugs roughly at a nipple, the shock echoing through your body all the way to your clit that is being sucked and nibbled on.
“Fuck!” You choke on the word as you ride Adrian’s face through the rushing orgasm. He doesn’t let up until your body stops jerking. Part of you wonders if you haven’t suffocated him when you’ve come down. He’s silent and still locked between your legs. His eyes are screwed shut, glasses still half on his face. When you can finally breathe again, you look and see him breathing heavily.
“Give me a second. I almost came,” he admits. He lets his eyes meet yours, and you feel a spark of pleasure tug at your abused clit at the sight of him. A goofy grin is on his face as if he hadn’t just eaten you out. His face is shiny and wet, but he doesn’t seem to care. “That was so hot. I could do that forever, like I could live between your legs. Do you think that could work?”
A laugh bubbles from your throat, and you throw your head back in exasperation. You’re still so wired and needy that you don’t even try to give him a proper response. You sit up and caress his cheek, leaving a kiss on his forehead. His hips jerk at your touch, and he whines, “I need to fuck you. Can I fuck you?”
“Please,” you beg. He moves fast and tries to get out of his underwear by balancing on your bed. He almost falls when he hears your giggle. He looks up at you with a furrowed brow and a frown, like you were making fun of him. You shake your head and point to the socks that he still has on. “Sorry, I just saw you were still wearing socks. You made me cum with socks on.”
A lopsided grin lightens his face, and he laughs too. He finishes removing his underwear and starts working on the socks. He holds one up and looks at you so sincerely, “Yeah, and these are my new lucky pair.”
Adrian crawls toward you, both of you wearing playful smiles. He kisses you again, a little less rushed this time. One of your hands grips his neck while the other grabs at his ass to bring his hips closer. You squeeze the flesh there, and his hips buck. Words continue to stream from his lips, nonsensical and slurred. He grips himself and pumps his cock before breaking from your kiss. Your eyes meet his cock, and you’re mesmerized. It’s slim but long. He swipes a thumb over the weeping tip, and you’re grabbing his hand to stick it in your mouth. You suck and lick at his thumb while making eye contact. He throws his head back and groans. You’re satisfied by the reaction. Your lids are low while you admire his long neck and the way his Adam's apple bobs. Your voice is lower than usual as you ask, “Do you have a condom?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Adrian begrudgingly parts from you to grab the condom from his wallet. He makes it back to you in record time. He slides it on and pumps his cock again. You wrap a leg around his waist to urge him closer. He drags his cock through your folds, coating it in your slick. He moans before leaning over you and pushing it in. The head pushes into you slowly as he kisses you again. You're both breathing heavily by the time he is halfway in. He’s panting into your neck while you grasp at his shoulder and tug his curls. His teeth nip at your skin and latch on when he bottoms out. A wrecked moan wracks through both of you.
Words of praise and compliments slip through Adrian’s lips so fast you can’t make most of them out. He gives an experimental thrust that has you gasping for more. There’s no need for instruction; his hips start moving fast and hard. He whines, “I can’t go slow. I need you so bad. You’re so good—I don’t usually do this.”
You’re not sure what part he’s referring to. You don’t even care, not really. All you care about is the feeling of him inside you and his breath on your skin. His thumb finds your clit, sending a shockwave through you. The abused thing sends you over the edge, and you cry into Adrian’s shoulder as you arch into him. He makes a strangled noise before his hips go into overdrive. He’s pounding into you as you ride out the rippling orgasm. His thrusts become jagged and sharp before he finally sinks into you with the most beautiful sound you've ever heard coming from his throat. He makes a contented laugh as he practically drops himself onto you.
Both of you take a few seconds before moving. Adrian takes off the condom and throws it away before grabbing a wet washcloth from your bathroom and cleaning up the sticky mess you made. He tosses it in your laundry basket and collapses next to you.
You’re playing with his curls when he hums, “You know, you should get a lock on your gate. You probably want to move your trash cans too; it makes it easy to get in and out of your backyard. Oh, and that panel by the tree? Needs to be fixed. A small person could fit through there.”
Your fingers stop in their tracks as you look at him. He's blissed out with a dopey smile on his face. His glasses are smudged, and his eyes are on the ceiling. You scoot back a bit and lift onto your elbow. Your eyes are wide, and your nerves that were finally sated are wild again. You asked in a hurried voice, “How do you know that stuff?”
He just looks at you with a confused expression like it is the most obvious thing ever before explaining, “I’ve been back there. How do you think I knew about the unlocked window?”