AHHHH THANK YOU💋💋💋

you are the only one

pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns, gn sex descriptions, wears a dress/long hair/jewelry/make-up)

rating: e+

word count: 8,791

one-sentence synopsis: you and adrian have to pretend to be in a relationship for a mission, but you're already in a secret relationship, and this would be a lot fucking easier if adrian didn't look this good in a suit.

author's note: this was just indulgent!! just very self-indulgent!! also i started rewatching peacemaker and i'm unhinged!! i want us to wear fancy clothes and go bonkers on each other!! and he's not even real!! that is all!! sorry i wasn't very active tonight i was determined to finish this and upload it!!!!! and again, for pre-emptive clarity: features reader with gender-neutral pronouns, and gender-neutral sex descriptions, but the reader is wearing a dress, long hair, jewelry, and make-up because that's what i'd want to be wearing and i'm nb and really this is so so soooo self-indulgent so!!

read on ao3!

It’s not often that you actually get to go out on a mission that could be considered fancy, but, tonight, that’s exactly what you’re doing.

The basic rundown of the mission isn’t all that difficult. It’s Emilia’s responsibility to get close to your target, a wealthy older Swiss fellow who apparently needs to be very covertly killed. She’s meant to get close enough to do the job— it was recommended they poison him but, knowing Emilia, she’ll probably end up luring him away to just shoot him in the face or something simpler— while Chris serves as her backup.

They work well enough, especially with Emilia with her hair done and makeup in place and a shockingly stunning gold dress on. She doesn’t like to dress up; you rarely ever see her in clothes that aren’t also tactical and/or practical. The effect, as a result, is a little overwhelming, because she is beautiful and she so rarely shows that off. Chris is meant to be playing the role of her bodyguard, but he keeps just— staring at her. Which, you figure, is fair enough, because she does look incredible, and it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility for his character to be infatuated with hers, so nobody says anything.

It’s an open secret that they’re already essentially together, anyways. Not like with you and Adrian, whose relationship is still a secret secret, kept hidden under wraps. You worry often about what would happen if any of the higher-ups found out that you had started a relationship with somebody you weren’t even supposed to be working with in the first place.

They barely let Adrian join the team at all in the first place. You’re not about to go and fuck it all up for him just because you’re in stupid love with him.

Besides, he agrees with you that you should keep your relationship secret. Though, of course, he’s more worried about what he refers to as one of his “many, many, many evil nemeses” getting their hands on you.

“Babe, I’m a superhero,” he had said to you, like he was Superman or Captain America and not the masked instigator of half of Evergreen’s fights. To you, though, he’s a greater superhero than the rest combined, so you’d just nodded, unable to stop smiling. “There are so many people who would want to use you to get to me. Like, so many. I can’t let that happen.”

You both had your reasons, and, right now, those reasons were too important for the two of you to reveal your relationship. To you, it was enough that you were with each other at all. Eventually, you’ll have to do something— You’ve already told each other, “I love you,” eventually this is going to have to go somewhere.

Today, though, is luckily not that day.

However, a big part of you wishes it was, because you think you’re about to actually go insane otherwise.

Because John and Leota had opted to stay behind in your team’s new van and provide behind-the-scenes support, the tech and tactics John’s so good at and Leota wants to be better at, you and Adrian had been the ones assigned to monitor Emilia and Chris while you were all inside the lavish hotel ballroom together. The cover Emilia’s assigned to you is a married couple that’s visiting the city. You’ve been invited to this party— which isn’t really a party like parties you go to, but seems like more of a gala like you’d seen in movies— because a friend of a friend of “yours” is here. It’s all made up, but you’re used to going undercover. You can sell this.

It is the responsibility of you and Adrian to keep an eye on Emilia and Chris all night. Don’t let anyone get too close; keep track of any suspicious figures; make sure nobody gets hurt. Pretty basic. You could do a mission this easy in your sleep; you don’t even think you’re going to have to shoot anybody tonight. By the end of the night, you’re all supposed to go to the hotel rooms you’ve been assigned, sleep there, and regroup in the morning. When you’d asked why you all had to stay, Emilia said it was less suspicious than if someone checked later and saw you were the only guests who had neglected to stay afterwards.

So, really, it’s not that bad. You just have to have your friends’ backs, eat some nice food, and sleep in a fancy hotel room. Really, it’d be nice if all missions were like this.

The major problem here has nothing to do with the target, or the gala, or the mission itself. It has to do with your assignment, with Adrian’s assignment, with your roles together; it has to do with what you’ve been told to do, and what you’ve been dressed in—

—Which, you can’t be too mad about. Your clothes fit you perfectly, shimmering and ornate and just— fancy, much fancier than anything you’ve ever owned before, or even worn before. Even the fabric feels rich, so silkily textured beneath your fingertips. The material had practically slipped out of your fingers when you first lifted it out of the box Emilia had given to you. It was thin, nearly sheer; the material’s so dark blue that it nearly shimmers to black in some places, small drops of brightness beaded throughout. It drapes off your shoulders, hugs your frame tightly down your body. At your waist, the tight bodice of the dress flows into a looser skirt; a slit comes up the side of your right leg to stop shockingly high. The overall effect of the dress, when you put it on, is like stars in the night sky, or moonlight on water— light winking in and out of existence as you move, twisting in the mirror to examine it from all sides.

You’d protested the dress on instinct, telling her that you had no protection while wearing a dress like this, but she informed you that wearing a dress like this was your protection.

“You’re supposed to blend in,” she’d said, and then stepped in to adjust the front, checking the fit. “This is your armor. Now, turn around so I can button it and make sure it fits.”

It had fit you well enough, but Emilia had pinned it in a few places anyways, determined that it fit exactly right. It’s part of your costume, she told you; people as wealthy as you’re pretending to be would be wearing something bespoke, that fit them perfectly, so you have to, too.

The same had happened with Adrian, even if you hadn’t actually gotten to see his clothes yet. He’d been too embarrassed to show you then, even though you reminded him you’d see him in it eventually.

It’s not until you’re actually showing up at the coordinates Emilia gave you that you’ll get to see Adrian fully dressed.

You get there before he does, tragically, showing up in a parking lot you’ve all used as a pre-mission meeting spot before. It’s easy to find Chris, Emilia, Leota, and John already there. With your arrival, you’re all just waiting for Adrian.

When you get out of your car, already ready to go, John playfully whistles at you. You laugh, unable to stop yourself from actually blushing— partially because you’re not all that used to compliments on your appearance, and partially because you’re embarrassed, you never look like this in front of them. It feels strangely revealing, to be dressed so well in front of people who frequently see you at your worst; it’s like you feel like they’ll know it’s all fake, or something.

Chris and Emilia are dressed up, too, though, and they look incredible, and that doesn’t feel fake to you, so— maybe there is something real to their compliments of you. Emilia’s golden dress falls down her body like shimmering water, clinging tightly to each small dip and curve of her body. She has her hair straightened, sleek and shining and elegant; her makeup’s done even more beautifully and dramatic than normal, her eyes, just— stunning. She looks incredible. You’re not surprised seeing that Chris is having a hard time not looking at her. Even you’re having a hard time not looking at her.

For his part, Chris looks handsome, too. Emilia must have dressed him, because he actually looks muted, for once. She’s put him in all black, and he looks the perfect picture of an imposing bodyguard— even if he can’t stop looking at his supposed employer. You feel like you’re practically invisible next to them, even if you spent way longer than you would normally doing your hair and everything to make sure you looked as perfect as you could tonight.

For the mission. Obviously. Not for Adrian.

“You’re going to be taking this,” Emilia tells you, motioning you over to one of the two cars beside your team’s mission van. They’re impossibly nice, sleek and clean and new, a car you’ve never even seen before, let alone driven in. “Chase should probably drive.”

“What, don’t trust me?” you ask, examining the gleaming black exterior.

“No,” she says. “Because that’s not your role. He’s the head of the household, you’re—”

“The demure partner, I know,” you finish for her. “I read your whole bio you made up. You should be a playwright or something, it was pretty good.”

Emilia actually laughs, then says, “Glad you liked it,” and you can’t help smiling. It puts you at ease that she’s in a good mood. She’s relaxed, and you’re relaxing, and—

—And Adrian’s car is pulling up along the other side of the mission van. Your heart is instantly in your throat, the same way it usually ends up whenever you see him while there’s other people around. You always want so badly to go right to him, but you almost never can.

Tonight, the feeling is amplified, multiplied infinitely because of the way he looks. You have never seen him like this, never. Adrian’s usual wardrobe consists of one of only a few different options. He’s either in one of his favorite sweater-jeans combos; his Vigilante armor; shirts and shorts that are legally color atrocities; his work uniforms; or nothing at all, which seems to be his personal favorite when you’re alone at one of your places together.

You can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve seen him in actual formalwear. And this is more than just him wearing nice clothes because he’s trying to take you out to dinner somewhere he has to wear a tie. This is—

This is Adrian rounding his car in a suit. His clothes fit him so perfectly, and they’re so— so fucking nice, beautiful and dark. You can’t look away from him, from the broad spread of his shoulders in the well-fitting suit jacket, over his strong chest beneath the white dress shirt underneath, down his legs that feel impossibly fucking long in these pants, the way they’rethey’re fitted to his legs, tucked up around his body. His satiny-looking shirt is buttoned up to the top, a black bow tie in place at the center of his throat. He’s even combed his hair back, though the way his hair is curling can’t really be held back, already loosening in a couple places.

When you actually manage to focus on his face, he’s adjusting his glasses, a flush melting over his cheeks, spreading red up his ears. You linger over the dimples at the smiling corners of his mouth, the freckle by his eye, the tiny scars along his jaw. He’s cleaned the lenses of his glasses, you notice, and his eyes seem so bright through them.

His eyes don’t meet yours when you look at them, though. They’re below your eye level. They’re looking— right at you, burning over your body everywhere, moving from your throat down over your chest, your waist, your hips, your thighs, down and back up. You can’t stop yourself from blushing, too.

“Jesus, Adrian, put your eyes back in, you’re being a creep,” Chris says, and you snap back into yourself. You’re embarrassed, heart belatedly pounding. You hope nobody thinks too deeply about the way you were just fucking— eye-fucking each other in this parking lot.

“Sorry,” Adrian says. “I really— I wasn’t trying to be a creep, you just look stupid nice. Like, you should dress like that all the time, you look—” He huffs a little nervous laugh, says, “Ah, fuck, I’m being a little bit of a creep. I don’t mean to be. Uhh— This is— What if— Okay, so, this is me being normal and trying to be not creepy: you look really, really nice.”

You can’t help the smile that comes up at that. In the back of your mind, you wonder what Adrian would be saying if there weren’t people here and he could say anything he wanted. You wonder what he’d do, if he could do anything you wanted.

Your eyes flicker up to meet his again, and you make yourself be as normal as you can be, too, when you want to run and just— jump at him.

“You look really nice, too,” you tell him. “And you’re not being creepy, don’t worry. Not everyone has to be so distracted by Emilia that they can’t compliment anyone else.” You have to force yourself to smile at your own joke, to tear your eyes away from Adrian to look at Emilia instead. “Not that I blame him, obviously. You did a great job with all of us, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Emilia replies. “Literally ever.” She tosses the keys to the sleek car you’re standing beside to Adrian. “The location’s already keyed into your car’s GPS. Remember, watch us until eleven, make sure you see my signal, and then go up to your room like you’re sick and going to bed early. There should be pajamas and toiletries— like, toothbrushes and all that shit— provided for you by the hotel, and I’ll have clothes for you to change into in the morning.” She hands you a hotel key in the form of a card, says, “Sorry, you’ll have to share a room tonight to keep up the act, but it’s got a huge bed so just— build a pillow wall so he doesn’t hump you while you’re sleeping.”

“Got it,” you reply, smiling up at Adrian as he draws closer, trying to make it clear to him— without making it obvious to everyone else— that that’s not necessarily unwelcome.

His eyes catch yours, blown mostly black; his movements are stiffer than normal, and you can’t help reaching out to catch him by the shoulders. He stiffens impossibly further, back straightening, shoulders spread. You slip the hotel key card and your phone into the inside pocket of his jacket to hold for you before fixing his lapel for him. Your fingertips reach for his collar next, straightening it out for him. Just to keep touching him, you continue moving to pick at the sleeves of his jacket, loosening them up a bit, giving him a little more movement.

When you reach up to fix the very top edge of his collar, you can feel his pulse rabbiting in his throat, impossibly fast. His skin is warm under your touch, and you exhale with a hint of a shake to your breath. When you glance up at him through your eyelashes, he’s already looking at you. This close up, it’s hard not to drag your palms flat down his chest and yank his hips into yours and just— beg him to do— something, anything, but you make yourself just smile, even as the backs of your knees sweat.

“There you go,” you tell him, taking your hands off him. He exhales, but doesn’t step away, leaving it to you to do it.

You separate, making to head for the passenger side door, but Emilia says, “Wait, hold on,” and you turn back, brow furrowed. She’s fishing through the tiny bag she’s carrying before she holds something out. Adrian reaches out automatically, and she drops whatever it is into his palms. “There’s your wedding rings.”

“Congrats,” Leota laughs. Your pulse jumps, even though it’s fake, even though there’s no way Leota actually knows anything. “Should I have gotten you something?”

“Haha,” Adrian says, out loud. You glance up at him, bewildered. “Yeah, because— it’s fake, so— There’s no real— Anything. That’s super funny, actually.”

There’s a beat of silence before you try to salvage his brief mental lapse, saying quickly, “So, are you going to give me mine, or are we already divorced?”

Adrian’s eyes snap to yours. His fingers briefly curl around the matching rings in his palm before he steps closer to you again, reaching for your right hand. He pauses, reconsiders, then reaches for your left.

“That was my left,” he comments, humor and anxiety lacing his tone. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you reply. He takes your hand in his, slips the ring onto your left ring finger.

For a moment, the two of you just stare at it.

Then, you say, “Okay, let me,” and take his to do the same for him. You slide it on, then turn his hand over, running the pad of your thumb over the band. “This is really nice.”

“And here,” Emilia says, fishing through her bag. She motions to you, says, “Come here.”

You step closer, and she gives you another ring. This one is less of a band, and you realize it’s meant to be an engagement ring.

“Almost forgot,” Emilia says, and you want to just— lay down and breathe, for a second, but you have to make yourself be normal.

You slip it on, avoiding looking at Adrian again as you do so, while Emilia busies herself fixing a heavy jeweled necklace around your throat. You shift it where it sits, readjusting the weight against your chest; Emilia moves to your ears next, slipping earrings in that probably cost more than your own fucking car. You should definitely be getting paid more than you are.

“There,” Emilia finally says. She sweeps your hair up and back. “Alright, perfect. You actually do look really nice.”

“Thanks,” you reply, “though I could do without the surprise,” and she laughs again.

“We ready to go?” John asks, hauling open the back door of the van so Leota can climb in.

“Yeah, c’mon,” Emilia says. She pushes her keys into Chris’ hand, says, “You’re driving me,” before she turns to you and— you think— fucking— winks at you.

You’re not sure you saw it, before you have to move and get into the car. You’re pretty sure you didn’t, actually, but— it would be funny if you did.

You climb into the passenger’s side of the sleek vehicle, slipping down into the low seat, the material of it soft and warm beneath you. When you’re sitting inside, you tug the door shut and turn only to find Adrian already beside you.

“When we get there,” Adrian says, “You should let me get out and get the door for you. It’s— It’s probably what Jack would do.”

Your characters for the night are Jack and Morgan Curtis, a newly-married couple; you are just supposed to be a trophy partner, whereas Adrian’s character is meant to be some wealthy media investor. His bio also said he was very shy, and prefers to spend time alone with only his partner— which you assume is Emilia’s way of trying to avoid letting Adrian talk too much and allowing something to slip by accident.

“Okay,” you agree. Adrian draws his driver’s side door closed behind him, then exhales.

Looking down at the wheel, he says, “I’m not gonna crash this. Right?”

“Right,” you agree. He takes another breath before actually moving to start the car. When the engine snarls, pushing a light little vibration through the car, you can’t help leaning back a bit, getting comfortable in your seat.

Adrian glances over at you, then forcibly looks away, eyes snapping violently forward.

“P— Do you think they can hear me?” Adrian asks abruptly, voice dropping down.

You glance backwards, then towards him again, shaking your head.

“I want to fuck you so bad right now,” Adrian tells you in a rush, his head still down. He’s staring hard at the car’s little screen; you can see his pulse throbbing in his throat, his face pinking again. “Oh, my God, I’m so fucking hard right now, I’m going to go insane, I don’t know how the fuck I’m gonna do this without cumming in my pants.” You huff a tiny laugh, heat throbbing between your own legs. “No, I mean it, I’m serious, I’m so fucking— See, here, feel— No, wait, don’t—”

“Adrian, goddamnit,” you laugh, a little breathless. “We still have three hours until eleven o’clock. Fuck, we still have to get there.”

“Good fucking luck with that,” Adrian replies. “Can I even drive like this? Wait, hold on—” He reaches down, readjusts his dick in his suit pants. You look down, then back up quickly. He wasn’t lying; he’s very hard, and it’s impossibly obvious, when he’s grabbing it in his own hand. “Okay, f— fuck, there.”

You close your eyes for a moment, then look out the window, just trying to breathe. You hear Adrian take another deep breath himself before he’s buckling himself in and moving to start driving.

“Buckle up,” Adrian tells you. “It’s the law.”

You smile to yourself again as you do as he says. “Would you kill me if I didn’t?”

He considers your question for a moment before replying, “No. But that’s not an invitation to break the law, just because I have a soft spot for you, alright? Because people are gonna figure me out if that happens.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you reply, still smiling. He nods, eyes fixed ahead on the road.

The air in the car is— impossibly warm, and thick, and charged. At least, to you, it is— and you think it is to Adrian, too, because his muscles are all still stiff as he drives. He’s keeping all of his focus on the road, which, for Adrian, means his mind is definitely somewhere else, because he can’t really ever do just one thing at a time.

Eventually, you can’t take it anymore, and you tell him, “I think you look— insanely good tonight. And it makes me feel kind of crazy that nobody knows about us because part of me wants to just— kiss you so fucking hard—” You bite your words back, say, “I’m sorry, that’s not helping—”

“No,” Adrian replies, a little strangled. You don’t know if that’s a, ‘No, it’s not helping,’ or a, ‘No, please, keep going,’ so you risk leaning over the center console between you a bit. There are low blue lights in the car, casting his handsome face in sharp shadows, defined by the angles of his jaw, his cheekbones, his nose, his brow. He glances at you, eyelashes casting a shadow down his cheek.

You can’t really resist him, especially not now that you’re alone. You chance another shift, leaning up to gently press your lips to his lower cheek, close to the line of his jaw.

Adrian’s grip tightens on the steering wheel until his knuckles are white, and he says, “We have a mission, we have a mission, we have a mission,” over and over on a loop, like he’s trying to remind himself of that fact.

You pull away from him, making yourself let him go. You practically have to push yourself against the passenger’s side door in the car, near the comparatively-cold glass of the window, just to cool yourself down. When you turn back to Adrian, you see him glancing down at the GPS screen, then starting to make a turn. He flicks on his fucking directional, then executes a madman’s turn, winging around the corner.

You reach over, letting your fingertips rest just inside his elbow. The fabric is silky-soft beneath your touch, and you glide upwards until your fingers are gliding over his on the wheel.

Adrian takes that one hand off the wheel so he can turn it over in yours. After a beat, he glances down, then draws the back of your hand up to his mouth. He presses his lips to the fine bones in the back of it. After a beat, the kiss pushes a little firmer. The throb of heat between your legs is pretty much impossible to ignore.

Adrian separates you, then, letting your fingers thread with his as he draws your hand away from his mouth. Tangled up, your hands rest between the two of you. You stroke your thumb over the strong back of his hand.

“I wish I could give you road head,” you comment, and Adrian accidentally flicks on the turn signal again. Face pink, he turns it back off, eyes fixed ahead.

“We’re going to be there in two minutes,” Adrian tells you.

“I think I could still get it done,” you reply,

Adrian makes a strangled noise. “Please, I think I’ll die, and we’ll crash, and then you’ll die, but—” You let your fingers drift up the soft skin inside his wrist for a moment. “—But, you know, I’m actually a pretty good driver, and you’re pretty good at sucking dick, so maybe we c—”

“You have reached your destination,” the tiny, robotic voice of the GPS says, and Adrian bangs his fist on the wheel.

“Motherfucker,” he curses. “You fucking— cockblock GPS, you’re a bag of fucking dicks—”

A valet waves Adrian up, and he instantly changes his entire demeanor, beaming at the guy. He rolls his window down, says, “What’s up?”

The valet hesitates, like he’s not sure he wants to say something. He chances it, though, and says, “You have to— step out of the vehicle, sir.”

Adrian blinks up at him, then says, “Oh, d— Yeah, right. Yes, of course.” And then actually parks the thing to get out. He practically sprints around the car to get to your side before you can get your hand on the handle, jerking it open for you.

He holds out his hand to you, and you take it. You are, actually, grateful for his help standing; you wobble for a second, climbing out of the low car, but he steadies you, keeping his hand in yours, reaching to balance you by the shoulder. When he offers you his arm instinctively, you take it, looping your own through his.

“I wish I had more guns,” Adrian whispers to you as he helps you up the hotel stairs. The entire place seems old as shit, like it’s from a hundred years ago, all huge cream columns and beautiful statues and rich, lush carpeting. There are incredibly strange and intriguing paintings on the walls that you examine as Adrian scopes out the other guests. He’s doing what he always does, you know that: automatically looking for every way he could kill everyone in your immediate vicinity.

“I have a knife strapped to my thigh,” you tell him, voice low. He glances down at you in a snap, then looks up again, eyes scanning the lavish hotel lobby.

After a beat, he says, “Oh, shit. We’re supposed to be married.”

You’re about to ask what he means by that phrasing, exactly, but then he’s ducking down to press a kiss to your cheek. It doesn’t have any finesse, just a quick, smushing press, his glasses digging into your temple before he withdraws.

That’s when you get what he means. The two of you can be as close as you want tonight. Everything you usually suppress— every kiss you want to give him, every touch, everything— can come up and out tonight, spilling right out of you. You’re allowed to do any of it, all of it. The others will just see it as you being good at your job, if you do.

You turn to look up at him, reaching to touch the side of his face. He looks briefly startled, for a moment, before his eyebrows lift and he’s smiling. You guide him down into a soft kiss— your first like this— and your heart leaps up into your throat. You’re glad that it would be too obvious for you to have an earpiece; only Chris has one tonight. If Leota or John needs to tell you anything, Chris will have to pass you the message. That means you can’t hear them— and they can’t hear you.

You shift into him slightly. When you twist up, you can see the light of the chandelier above your heads reflecting over his face, in his bright eyes. You hadn’t even noticed it before; you’ve been too distracted by Adrian.

It says a lot, you think, that this is one of the nicest places you’ve ever been invited to go to, let alone been, and you’re too focused on Adrian to notice any of the finer details. Instead, you’re just captivated by him as you lean up into him, reaching up to thread your hand through his soft curls, feeling the light product he’s combed through it under your fingers.

“That’s true,” you reply, heart racing. You lean in closer, adding, “Husband,” and his cheeks flush pink. You drag your touch along his face, your thumb pressing into the freckle beside his eye.

All his breath punches out of his lungs, and he says, “Oh, my God, I think you found a new kink for me. I kind of want to be married to you so fucking hard— Oh, shit, should we get each other pregnant?”

“Adrian,” you whisper softly.

Adrian makes a soft whining noise, then hisses to you quickly, “No, my name is Jack, remember?”

You kiss the line of his jaw before releasing him. He doesn’t let you go far, reaching down to snag you around the waist. He’s a little too jerky to be subtle, but that’s okay, if he’s supposed to be shy and newly married. You think he’s giving off the honeymoon phase vibe pretty well.

“Well, Jack,” you reply. “You have three hours to keep it together before we can go up to our room. Do you think you can handle it?”

Adrian shakes his head automatically. “But I’ll try,” he tells you, impossibly earnest.

You huff another laugh, not sure of your own abilities, either. You push up into him one last time, drawing him into a proper kiss. He smiles, briefly, before you deepen the kiss, parting your lips so he gets the hint.

His hands reach up, threading into the intricate weave of your hair as he draws in closer to you, licking into your mouth for a moment. You feel the fleeting press of his hard cock against your thigh before he’s withdrawing again, chest heaving, practically yanked backwards.

Actually yanked backwards, you realize, as Chris and Emilia pass you by, and Chris subtly grabs Adrian by the back of the jacket and jerks him away from you.

“Keep it subtle, dude, you’re gonna freak ‘em out,” Chris hisses to him on the way past. You don’t think you’re supposed to hear that; judging by the way Adrian’s eyes dart to yours, you think you definitely weren’t supposed to. You wonder how long Chris has been trying to set the two of you up, not knowing you’re already together.

“Okay,” Adrian breathes. He shakes himself out as Chris and Emilia leave, passing you by to continue onward into the ballroom. Exhaling, tilting his head so his neck cracks to one side, then the other, Adrian attempts to refocus on the mission. He starts guiding you to follow after Chris and Emilia into the ballroom, saying, “Alright. Let’s do this. We can do this, I can do this. I’m a professional. I am not going to cum in my pants—” as you laugh at him, hoping desperately he’s right— about the both of you, honestly.

— — — — —

There’s only about half an hour left to go, and you very deeply, sincerely, genuinely don’t think you and Adrian are going to make it.

The entire night, the two of you have only been getting— closer, and closer, and closer to the edge. It’s by the grace of some fucking god you don’t even believe in that the two of you make it through the dinner part of the evening without anything illegal happening in public. His hand does push your skirt up to trace along the bare inside of your thigh more than a few times, but you keep enough strength of will to keep pushing him away.

You’re weakening more every moment, though. As the night wears on, the two of you really start losing your handle on yourselves. You can’t keep your hands off each other. The fact that you’re not only allowed to be doing this with each other, but encouraged to, is making the both of you a little bit unhinged.

You’d had drinks next before music had started and you’d been encouraged to dance. The night was coming to a close, and Emilia was drawing nearer to your target. You and Adrian are both half-keeping an eye on her and Chris, half-focused on each other.

Adrian had held his hand out to you, and said, keeping his voice low, “I don’t really know how to dance, but I’m willing to try,” and you just couldn’t resist that.

You’d taken his hand, and Adrian had drawn you close, and then it didn’t matter if he didn’t know how to dance. Just being close was enough, and the music had gotten slow, and you just— how the fuck could you say no to something like this? You’re usually not allowed to touch him in front of your friends, and now you’re basically being told to dry-hump him in a ballroom, for your job. It feels like a dream come fucking true.

Adrian lifts his eyes, watching Emilia as she finally gets close enough to the mission target to strike up a conversation with him. Adrian spins you, just slightly, so you can both watch subtly, sideways.

You both see as Emilia drops something in his drink without anybody looking, Chris’ bulk covering the only camera with eyes on her from the angle they scouted previously. You’re experts, you’re good at this.

Emilia turns to you then and inclines her head, then signals to you with a glancing motion along her hip. You nod your head in return, returning your attention upwards to Adrian.

“All set,” you inform him, voice low.

“Mission accomplished,” Adrian says, throat tight.

“Well,” you reply. “First mission accomplished.”

Adrian’s eyes are dark, his face flushing as you slip a little closer to him. One of his hands drifts down, slipping just beneath the slit cutting up your dress, gliding up your thigh to find your hip beneath the material.

The juxtaposition of the Adrian you usually know and this Adrian is just— incredible. You love everything about him, and seeing him dressed up like this is so— so— so. He’s such a fun guy, and goofy, and he’s an excellent murderer, but so rarely do you see him dressed up. It’s impossible how handsome he is; you feel a little wild, knowing that anyone else can see him right now. You want him all to yourself.

With the way he’s looking at you, so hungry as to seem fucking starving, you think he might just be feeling the same way about you. The edge of that thought has your skin prickling in the darkness of the ballroom, beat pounding through you. Your skin is prickling with heat.

“Sorry I’m not so good at dancing,” Adrian says. “I’m good at, like, other kinds of dancing, though. If you ever wanted to go out. I could definitely take you. Or I could learn— Aah,” he bites off near your ear when you slip your arms up behind his head., winding to tangle your wrists at the nape of his neck. “Oh, fuck—”

“I think you’re pretty good at it,” you murmur upwards to him. You take his hips in your hands, helping him move along to the rhythm with you.

You can feel Adrian’s heart galloping where he’s pressed against you. Yours is paced to match, thundering in your chest, up into your throat. Every shift of his body against yours with the music has your blood pulsing madly through your body, surging down to your core, beating between your legs. You can barely breathe when he drops his head down, cheek dragging along yours. You don’t care if it does anything to your makeup; it’s about to very severely not matter anyways.

“Oh, shit, I’m going to lose it,” Adrian murmurs near your ear. “Please, please, please, are we done? I promise we can go dancing some other time, but, fuck, I’ve spent, like, three hours just getting harder and harder and I think I’m going to fucking die—”

“Okay, yeah,” you breathe. “We can be done, I can— I can— What am I doing?”

“Playing sick,” Adrian says, dropping into your throat. “Pretend you’re about to shit yourself or something so we can get out of here.”

You huff a laugh, then draw away from him. You drag your hands down, over your own stomach, then lean into him. If anyone were watching, they’d see you weakening, leaning into him. They probably don’t know why your face is flushed all red and your knees are nonexistent, so you use it to your advantage.

“Oh, no,” Adrian says loudly, in the affected little voice he’s adopted for this character. “You don’t look good, darling,” and the endearment rolls off his tongue so well that a bolt of lightning crackles down your spine. “I think you should lay down, you look awful.”

He drops down and scoops you up into his arms. Apparently, it doesn’t matter to him that people don’t just— do that, scoop their spouses up off of the floor in ballrooms when they’re wearing fucking gowns, and there’s something about that that’s even more endearing than you thought possible. And— fucking hotter than you ever thought possible.

“Let me take you to our room,” Adrian begs you. It’s not so much an instruction as it is a plea. Hopefully, nobody’s actually paying enough attention to notice the exact cadence of his tone. “Make you all— all better.”

You have to fight back a laugh. Instead, you turn your face into his chest. If he’s going to carry you, you’re going to play up needing to be carried, weak in his arms. You know you’re not supposed to want to feel weak— and you’re not, and you don’t, but— but there’s something really comforting about letting him take care of you, and something erotic about how badly he wants to do it, and you’re just— overwhelmed by how much you love him.

You’re also overwhelmed by how badly you want him to fuck you, but you’re so close now, you just have to— focus on getting there.

Adrian carries you to the elevators, pressing the up button with his elbow. He’s watching the numbers ticking above the doors, for a moment, before he glances down at you. When his eyes meet yours, you can see intent blazing there, hard, dark determination.

He exhales shakily, and looks up again. Staring straight ahead, he says, “I want to totally just— obliterate you. You make me feel crazy. Like I was born to climb inside you.”

You clutch at his suit jacket with your fingers. He gathers the skirt of your dress up so he doesn’t trip on it as he carries you into the elevator, your hands slipping the top buttons of his shirt free. You glide your palm along his heated skin beneath, seeking his chest, and he exhales in a punch.

“Please, we’re so close,” Adrian says. “Don’t make me cum in my pants here, I really think I’m gonna make it—”

As the elevator doors are dinging shut, you draw Adrian into a searing kiss. Away from eyes that are supposed to think you’re sick, you let Adrian dive into your mouth. He licks behind your teeth, pushing over to the wall of the elevator so he can use the railing there to balance your body. He kisses you so hard his teeth drag along the seam of your lips when he draws back; he makes a sharp little sound, strong muscles moving in his broad arms beneath you as he tries to keep his grip while losing his control.

The elevator dings again, the doors starting to open. Adrian nearly staggers before he remembers what he’s supposed to be doing, and then he’s hauling you down the hallway.

“Get the key card,” he tells you, and you reach inside his jacket to pull it out, as told. “What’s the—”

“1018,” you read the room number off the card. He’s reading the signs on the wall, then taking off. After a beat, he turns, realizing he’s supposed to be going in the opposite direction. He’s moving faster than you think you’ve ever seen him move, and you reach up, dragging his head down a bit so you can suck a kiss into the column of his throat.

Adrian groans, guttural and primal, as he finds the door and nearly slams into it. You reach to push the card into the slot in the door, and then Adrian’s kicking it in, the two of you fumbling with and at each other desperately, spilling through the doorway into the room.

You barely have time to notice anything about the room. Later, you’ll get to spend the rest of the night alternatively fucking each other in the suite’s enormous bathtub, and in the shower, and over the balcony edge, and on the long sofa in the little sitting area, but right now, Adrian doesn’t even stop to look at any of that. He heads right for the huge bed in the center of the suite’s bedroom, not hesitating, single-minded in his quest.

You have to agree with his methods, because you’re pretty much out of your mind yourself, by now. The bed is enormous, taking up most of the space in the bedroom, lavish, heavy curtains hung around the entire thing. He kicks open the curtain at the foot of the bed in dragging jerks before he’s throwing you down on the mattress.

The covers are so impossibly soft beneath you, just like the sheer, silken material of your dress, and the satiny glide of Adrian’s suit over your bare, hot skin. He shoves you up until your head is on plush pillows, dragging himself down between your legs.

“Fuck,” he groans, already pushing your dress up. He gathers the sheer material in his strong hands, trying his best not to rip it as he noses along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He finds the knife holster you told him about; smiling, he murmurs, “Gotcha, you little fucker,” before biting the clasp apart with his teeth.

The holster comes off, and he lifts it in his hand. Sitting up, he evaluates you, then removes the knife from the sheath.

He drops down over you, bringing the knife up to the hollow beneath your throat so he can drag the blade down. You keep it as sharp as you can, and so it easily parts the material of your dress, splitting it apart, exposing you like he’s unwrapping you, all your skin on display underneath. Your heart throbs beneath the glint of your blade in his hands. You’d opted to wear nothing underneath to avoid lines in your form-fitting clothes, and Adrian moans when he realizes, dropping down to bury his face in your belly.

“Holy fuck, oh, fuck,” Adrian curses into your skin. He drags down between your legs, his hand coming up to push your thigh slightly further apart. His eyes coast over your center, starving. “Please, can I—”

“Yeah,” you breathe, and he drops down over you, hungry, desperate to get his mouth on you. His tongue is— fucking insane, because all that talking he does is not for nothing. He knows how to use his mouth, his lips, his teeth, his tongue. He’s devouring you like he’s dying without you, like this is the only thing he actually wanted in his mouth tonight.

Adrian’s hand glides up over the fabric of your dress, dragging up roughly to your chest so he can thumb your nipple. You cry out, back arching; tilting your head down so you can see Adrian, you almost sob.

He’s still fully dressed in that fancy fucking suit, but he’s humping the mattress beneath him like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. The unconscious movement just keeps— happening, his hips moving as his mouth works on you, lower lip dragging, and then his hand is dragging in closer, and you reach down to thread your hand through his thick hair. You can’t stop watching his dark head moving between your legs, and you can’t help it— You need to kiss him, now.

Watching him enjoy putting his mouth on you like this so much that he can’t fucking control himself, grinding down for friction because of how he feels giving you pleasure, you think you’re about to fucking pass out. You tug on his hair, and he lifts his eyes to you. Seeing the green shine of them meet you sends a jolt through you, and you say, “Pl— Adrian, please,” practically begging.

Adrian seems to get what you’re saying without you even saying it. He draws away from you so he can climb up between your legs, dropping down to brace himself on the bed beside you. He threads his fingers up through your hair, guiding you into a hard kiss; you can taste yourself in his mouth.

He makes a soft noise, then a harder one, reaching to push your dress further away so he can touch you anywhere, everywhere. His touch is practically tearing you apart; he is rending your dress in strips, destroyed where it lays in a pile along the edges of the bed. You hope Emilia won’t care, but you can’t bring yourself to care, right now. All you want is him.

Adrian guides himself to where he’s just had his mouth on you, where he’s just eaten you apart, sloppy and loose and wet. He almost seems to forget that he’s fully dressed himself.

“Fuck,” he curses, pushing back up onto his knees. He tears his jacket backwards off his arms, throwing it blindly backwards. His dress shirt joins it, bow tie practically ripped apart, buttons being torn off to fly and land in all random places across the hotel room. He practically breaks his pants opening them, but then, then he’s drawing his cock into his hand, melting with the relief of it. He groans, spine relaxing, wrapping his hand around it. “Oh, fuck, I’ve wanted this so fucking bad, oh, shit— I’m not gonna last—”

“I don’t need you to, just— Get in me,” you beg him, feeling so impossibly empty.

He doesn’t waste any more time. The mission was a success, and nothing else matters but the two of you, and you’ve been on the edge all night, and he’s finally, finally bringing his cock to your entrance and pushing in.

You swear, you fall apart around him. All your muscles start falling apart, and Adrian gathers you up in his arms, drawing you nearer. He fucks into you in a smooth slide.

Your name falls out of his mouth, and he falls over you, hand slamming down onto the soft sheets beside your head. His eyes find yours, and then he’s kissing you, finding a slamming rhythm with his thrusts into you. You grind up into him, grasping for him, grappling to get more friction. Mumbling his name into his mouth, you thread your fingers up through his hair, breath coming fast, faster. Heat and lust is gathering in your spine, pooling like lava, spreading like fire, and it’s all-consuming. It’s been building for so long that just feeling it is overwhelming.

When you look up at him above you again— at the strong lines of his face, at the dark sweep of his eyelashes above his light, bright eyes, at the shine of his this glasses still on his face so he can see you when he looks up at you, at the pink flush spreading across his handsome, sharp cheeks, over the freckle beside his eye, until you chase it up into his dark, sweat-slick hair— you’re falling apart. This is Adrian, the person you love more than anyone, and you just can’t fucking deal. He’s all you can think about, all you can feel, right now.

His hand comes up, dragging up your side, and you can feel the press of his wedding ring where it pulls along your skin. You’d forgotten about them, and it doesn’t matter if they’re fake; seeing it on your hand, feeling it on his, has you almost about to cum, just so close to the edge—

“Fuck, I love you,” Adrian says, like he knows. He drags you in for another kiss, says, “Oh, my God, you’re like— the hottest person ever, oh, God, I want to— I want to lock us in a room together until we die there, I just— I want— I want you forever, holy shit—”

The nonsense ramblings of his brain spill out of his mouth as he gets closer and closer to losing it. He’s falling apart, unable to keep his rhythm as his kisses along your throat grow sloppy, his grinds into your slick heat dragging and pulsing. He takes all of you, slams into you as fast as he can. He even pulls your leg up, hitches it so he can fuck deeper into you, and you drag him into another kiss.

It’s then that you tell him, “You have me forever,” and he cries out, kissing you with a loose jaw, unable to coordinate himself. He’s making out with you like he can’t breathe without you, his cock impossibly hard and thick inside you, taking you to pieces. “I’m yours, c’mon, Adrian, fuck—”

He yanks you back in for a half-biting kiss, your name falling off his lips in half-syllables down your throat as he cums inside you. He breaks off into gasping for breath, just trying to keep his mouth on you as he fucks you through his orgasm, unable to stop moving. It’s enough to drag your orgasm out of you, too; an explosion that sparks inside you, rocketing to blow a haze through your limbs and your mind until all there is is him.

As you come back into yourself, all you want is him, so you open your eyes to find him. He’s still keeping himself half-upright above you—

You realize it’s so he can look at you, his bright eyes fixed on you. He’s smiling, and you can’t help smiling back, automatic when you see him so happy.

“What is it?” you ask him.

“I kinda love you,” he tells you. It’s something you’ve said quite a few times to each other, now, but it still makes your stomach twist, your aftershocks rattling pleasantly through you. “I kinda wanna really marry you or something. Maybe we should— Maybe we should think about doing, like— relationship paperwork or something. Right? Like, something dumb like that, maybe? That says I’m yours and you’re— You’re mine, maybe—”

“Is that what you want?” you reply lazily, catching him. His red face goes even redder, caught, and you drag him in for a smiling kiss. He shifts slightly inside you; you both make soft sounds in response, broken off into each other. When you gather yourself, you ask, “You want me to say I’m yours? That I’m only yours, that—”

“Please,” he begs you, “give me, like— five minutes, babe, okay? I’ll get so hard, but right now— Oh, fuck, you have to stop looking so hot, you’re gonna make my dick explode—”

“Jesus fuck,” you laugh, and tug him into another kiss. He whines, dragging his hands along your sides, gripping you as tight as he can.

“Okay, two minutes, then,” he amends. Your next laugh disappears down his throat, and he’s already dragging you off the bed, intent on the bathtub he knows he saw on the way in here.

-

adrian chase taglist:

@deputyrook @bb-skyrunner @himboelover @pieriinova @gcldtom @violetrainbow412-blog @amysuemc @saturnngal @neptuneswritingwork @jewishdelis @myguiltypleasures21 @pinkygunslingy @chaseadrian @breathing-in-waves @rishlurh @goblynnrockz @theowritesstuff @themartiansdaughter @dallasvakarian @missscarlettangel @samantha24015 @hillaryroadheadcllinton @ohmybubbletea @buckys-estrella @witchywcmans @ladyrebel25 @eviejune @vigilantesluvr @qjuiq-odakyu @xothatnerdykid @awkwardfangirl2014 @thevalkyrior @mattsmanpain

remember when i said matt could cum untouched because of his heightened senses?? well—

cw: 18+ only || f masturbation, cumming untouched, technically voyeurism but also not really??, a bit of cum play at the end hehehe

the wet slushing sound that fills matt's ears makes him feel lightheaded. he drops his head back on the armrest of the couch with a shuddering breath, his hips bucking up and meeting empty air. he groans in frustration.

"matty," you moan from the other side of the couch. one of your legs rests beside his head. he grabs your ankle and presses his mouth to your calf, sinking his teeth on the tender flesh when a waft of your smell hits him like a truck.

"fuck matty, i'm so close," you whimper, curling two of your fingers inside your pussy, your eyes rolling back in pleasure. it's not the same as his cock— it'll never will be— but it makes do for now.

"i know," he pants like he just ran a marathon. his stubble scratches your skin as he strokes his cheek on your leg like a kitten. "i know, sweetheart. i can smell you from here— fuck." he licks his lips and shivers when he senses a new drop of slick coat your fingers.

"can i cum?" you ask sweetly. he can practically see your pout in his mind. "please, matty, can i cum?"

he's nodding even before you can finish begging. it's all too much for him; your mewl of his name, your pretty little "thank you"s, your smell and the warmth of your skin against his and the sopping, empty sound your little hole makes when you take your fingers out with a spent sigh. it hits him suddenly— the world on fire goes white as he cums all over his stomach and a bit of his chest with a low moan.

he blinks disbelievingly at the ceiling, his mind reeling from the intensity of his orgasm. you get on your knees and crawl over him, matt hissing when your glistening fingers graze his cock.

"can't believe we just did that," you giggle, drawing circles on the droplets of cum that cover his scarred torso.

he huffs out a laugh, searches blindingly for your wrist and brings your hand to his mouth. he licks both of your juices but leaves a little for you, urging you to taste it before pulling you into a deep kiss.

IM GOOD MY LOVE, HBU?♥️♥️

me personally??? i need him to come without touching him

like he’s just so so so pent up by making out and he can’t hold it off any longer😩

no but fr he’d be so pretty flushed red and panting and his eyes are glassy and he’s so wrecked and I need him SO BAD

ROBYNNN MY LOVE

i witnessed smth so bob coded that I just needed to share it with you

making out naked w bob, his hands on your tits, and he’s so hard and leaking precum and you haven’t even touched him yet, he’s just so turned on by you😩

HI HI HI MY LOVE HOW ARE YOU???

oh don’t I’m so sick rn

His hands groping you and tugging at your nipples while you sit on his lap, precum leaking onto your thigh

When the make out gets heavy and his cheeks get all flushed and his glasses are foggy and slipping down his nose HES SO

ahem. men who stutter when they’re fucking you because you feel so good, who whimper thank yous in your ear because they can’t believe they get to be inside of you, who whine for you to kiss them and touch them and all of their rough persona seems to fade away a little because they need to feel as much of you as they can, they need your physical contact, sometimes you whisper that they’re handsome or that you love them and they whimper out that they’re not gonna last long, they’re so close, and knowing that you want them pushes them over the edge completely

Teach Me [Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader]

Summary: Eddie notices you watching him in class and asks you for your help. TW/CW: Smut, 18+ only, minors DNI. Thigh riding, grinding, fingering, PIV, ring-kink, mutual pining, idiots in love, possessive!eddie toward the end A/N: I am down horrendously for this man, your honor

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Ms. O'Donnel's class was kind of a bitch. Even you had to admit it, and you did pretty well for yourself in school.

You had been stealing glances at Eddie Munson all year-- the older, charming, slightly dangerous but all-too-fluffy dungeon master with the best damn hair you'd ever seen.

You came from different worlds and two obviously opposite ends of the social spectrum. Eddie was loud and loved to make a scene, putting his humor on display for any and everyone with no regrets. Whereas you tried to stay to yourself and avoid human interaction to the best of your ability.

That didn't stop what was once your little spark of interest with Eddie from turning into a full on wildfire; vibrant flames that were fanned every time you saw that devilish grin of his.

You had to work hard to avert your eyes as he drummed on his notebook with his pencil, twirling the ends of his hair with his free hand. You'd look away successfully, just to feel your eyes slowly drifting back to him moments later.

His rings caught your eye this time as he played with his hair, the different silver bands catching the sunlight as his fingers bent and twirled around the strands of hair. You had to swallow back the audible gasp that rose in your throat when he suddenly turned his head and caught you staring.

You quickly looked down at your desk, scribbling nonsense in your notebook as if you'd been working away the whole class period - not daydreaming about his ring-clad fingers being wrapped around your throat.

You could feel your heart ramming against your ribcage as you willed the bell to ring, granting you a sweet escape into the sea of people that would flood the hallways, hiding you from the piercing doe eyes that were burning into you now.

You glanced back up momentarily to find Eddie still looking at you, a cheeky smirk sitting perfectly on his face. You blinked a few times, suddenly forgetting how to look away.

Hi he mouthed as Ms. O'Donnel drawled on about the book report assignment, rushing to push out details before the final bell rang.

You lifted your hand and waved discreetly as your cheeks burned red.

His smile grew wider as he admired your shyness, something Eddie absolutely adored about you.

The bell rang and you thanked the Gods, hurrying to shove your books in your bag and get the hell out of there. You managed to slip out of the class before anyone else, speed walking to your locker to put your things away despite your first thought to just lug it all home to save time.

You shut the locker, your heart practically leaping from your chest as Eddie stood propped against the lockers behind it. You let out a small yelp that sent a chuckle straight through him.

"Didn't mean to scare you," he said as he watched you with an amused grin. "I'm Eddie. We have English together," he says as he motions down the hall.

"Yeah, I know," you say hesitantly. "I'm-"

"Y/N," he finishes for you as he shakes your hand slowly, his cold rings pressing into your hand. "I know," he says as he squints his eyes with a grin.

Your name falling from his lips was a melody you could listen to on repeat. You were a little shocked that he knew your name, but the thought quickly vanished as your focus turned to how intently he was watching you.

You realize you're standing there like an idiot so you throw your bag over your shoulder, trying to appear less like a star-struck loser.

"Well, have a good day," You say awkwardly as you walk past him, taking a deep breath as you feel your nerve endings singe.

"Hey, wait up!" he calls as he jogs up next to you, walking with you down the hall to the large double doors to freedom.

You looked up at him with expectant eyes as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Listen, I'm uh... I'm tanking O'Donnel's class. I really need a D so I can graduate next month," he says quietly, almost with shame in his voice. "Could we, I don't know, maybe study together? This book report is going to kick my ass,"

You stopped in your tracks as you stood outside of the school now, looking up as the sun beamed down on Eddie's frizzy hair. Of course he just wanted help with English. Now that made sense to you.

"Well, I guess I'm free... sure. Why not?" You say, looking down at your sneakers. What did you have to lose?

Eddie burst into an obnoxiously adorable display of excitement, jumping up on the ledge of the stairs to take a victory stance with his arms thrown in the air.

Your eyes were wide as you looked around, feeling the curious, judgmental looks of your peers on you now.

Eddie hopped back down and placed his hand on your back to lead you away from the busy entrance. "Shit, sorry," he whispered as he tried to shield you. You tried to hide the effect it had on you as you felt warmth travel through your whole body.

"Yours or mine?" Eddie asked, turning to walk backwards as he pulled a cigarette out and placed it between his lips to light it. "My uncle is away for a few days, so my place is pretty quiet."

You nodded, a nervousness creeping up the back of your neck when you thought of being alone with him. You mentally shook it out. No, you were just going to study. Eddie smiled as he pulled his keys from his pocket to jingle them, jerking his head to point toward his van.

"M'lady," he said with a dramatic bow as he opened the passenger side door to let you in. You couldn't help but smile, which made Eddie's entire day.

----

"So you're tellin' me this man slayed a dragon just to die like right after?" Eddie asked with exasperation, sat on his bed with books and papers scattered all around the both of you.

You giggled and shrugged your shoulders. "Something like that. Maybe we should read it again," you mused as he cocked his head to the side, observing the way your eyes squinted when you smiled really big.

You look up from your copy of Beowulf to catch him staring, the smile dropping from your face as you realized you were sitting in Eddie Munson's bed... With Eddie Munson. It was surreal, to say the least.

"Thanks again for your help," Eddie said as he put his pencil down and stretched, the hem of his Hellfire Club shirt lifting to show his lower belly. You glanced away shyly as you pretended not to notice his happy trail.

You felt a sudden wave of confidence hit as your curiosity nagged in the back of your mind. "So why did you ask me to help you?"

Eddie smiled, looking down at his hands as he spun his rings.

"You're smart..." he said lowly, leaving it open like he had more to add. You waited, and he obliged. "And you're fascinating."

You felt your cheeks heating up again, looking away from him. "I'm not fascinating," you said with a soft laugh.

You felt movement on the bed as Eddie slid his books and papers out of the way, shifting closer to you.

"Look at me," he said firmly, and you looked because, well, he told you to.

"You are fascinating. And you're beautiful. And you are all the things you tell yourself you're not," Eddie said with a raised eyebrow, as if he wasn't backing down until you agreed with him.

You struggled to maintain eye contact as you felt embarrassment rising to your cheeks once again.

He reaches out to place his hand on your face, furrowing his brow when you flinch at first.

"You okay?" He asks softly as you nod, leaning into his touch.

And with that, he leans forward on his knees, pulling you toward him gently to capture your lips in a longing kiss. You feel your head spin with intoxication and yearning, greed filling your senses as you want more, need more.

A soft moan leaves your throat as you lean up on your knees now, pressing your body into his as he wraps his arm firmly around your waist to hold you there.

You break the kiss as you look over his face, his eyes heavy with want as his other hand loses itself in your hair.

"I can't tell you how long I've wanted this," you whisper as he presses a kiss to your jawline.

"God, me too," he says lowly as he kisses your lips again, his fingers running down the side of your neck.

You feel your core tightening as he holds you tightly, his tongue pushing past your teeth to dive into your mouth, swirling around your own as you feel arousal pooling in between your thighs.

Eddie slowly sinks back onto the bed, pulling you down with him so that you're laying on his chest.

He pulls away to run his thumb over your swollen bottom lip, his eyes darker now as you feel his cock hardening against your hip.

"So pretty," he says as he brushes your hair from your face, his eyes scanning over your features. "What's a girl like you doing with a guy like me anyway?" He says with a hushed laugh.

You sigh as you instinctively grind your hips against his, watching as his eyes roll back momentarily.

"Whatever," you laugh, shaking your head as he bucks his hips, grinding his clothed erection against your throbbing cunt, as if to punish you for your comeback.

"You're out of my league, sweetheart. I had no idea I even had a shot with you," he said as you rolled your hips again, a groan slipped out of his throat and his fingers digging into your hips to hold you against him.

"I'm just... shy," you say as you look down at your hands bracing against his chest.

"I know. It's hot," he says with a smirk as he pulls you down to kiss you with vehemence, flipping you over on to your back.

You feel impatient as he slides his knee in between your legs, pushing your skirt up and granting you access to grind down on his thigh. You wiggle your hips, anxious for friction but still feel that empty ache you desperately need him to fill.

"Touch me, Eddie... Please," you whisper, grasping his shirt as you look up into his eyes.

"I don't want to push you too far," he says lowly as his eyes scan your body now. "God, I want you... I don't know if I'll be able to control myself,"

You grab his hand and slide it into your skirt, pressing his fingers against your wetness as you gasp, squeezing your eyes shut.

"I don't want you to," you huff as your cheeks turn a light shade of pink.

It drives Eddie crazy, watching you pleasure yourself with his hand. His mouth falls open as you moan, pressing his digits down on your clit.

"We're gonna have so much fun together, princess," he says as he circles his fingers against your bud, his cock throbbing in his pants.

Eddie's lips crash into yours as he slips his fingers further into your folds, spreading your juices down so he can easily slip a finger inside of you.

"Fuck," you gasp as you throw your head back against the pillow, granting him perfect access to your throat. He sucks a purple bruise into the side, biting gently as he releases the skin, pumping his finger in and out of you at a rhythmic pace.

You reach down and clumsily fumble with his pants button and zipper until you finally make enough room to venture inside and grab ahold of him, hard and throbbing at your touch.

Eddie hisses as you squeeze the base before pumping your fist up and down slowly one time.

"Do you have a condom?" You ask, Eddie quickly nodding as he leans over to find one in his night stand.

He leans back to kick his jeans off before rolling on the contraceptive, an erotic display as he fists his own length a few times to stretch out the latex.

His eyes meet yours again as he gazes down at you: a panting, anticipating mess laid before him. With your skirt pushed up around your waist, he helps you slip off your panties before tossing them off to the side somewhere and letting out a shaky exhale as he leans down above you.

"You okay?" He asks, searching your face with his lovely doe eyes.

You admire his softness, nodding quickly as you pull him in for a kiss. He presses his forehead against yours as he slides into you, gripping the sheets with his supporting hand as your hot, wet entrance swallows his cock.

You gasp as he stretches you open, a mix of pleasure and pain that makes your head fuzzy. Eddie moans lowly as he fills you, lowering his torso down against yours as he bottoms out. He stays still, letting you adjust to him as he slides his arms under your back to hold you.

"You're so tight, baby," he pants, trying hard to keep still so he doesn't rush you before you're ready. "Am I hurting you?"

"No, Eddie, please don't stop" you whine, shifting your hips to feel him move slightly.

Eddie shudders as your walls clench around him, gently moving his hips to see if you're in pain. You squeeze his shoulders, letting out a sound of pleasure that rips straight through his core.

He finally starts to thrust into you, groaning as he pulls out and stuffs himself back in, unable to be still any longer.

He sets a pace that makes you want to drool, lazily snapping his hips so he goes deep deep deeper each time, pulling you onto his cock with his grip on the back of your neck.

"Is this what you wanted?" He asks with a low growl, his eyes roaming your parted mouth and heavy eyelids. "Hm? I saw you watching me in class," he continues, clenching his jaw as he quickens his pace, pulling louder moans from your chest. "But you weren't just watching me... you wanted me, didn't you? You wanted me inside of you, princess?"

You cry out as he slams into you the deepest he has yet, piercing your cunt as he nudges your g-spot, forcing you to see stars as he kisses you jawline. "My sweet, shy girl... not so shy now, are you?"

"Eddie, I- I'm gonna cum," you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulder blades as he pounds you into his mattress.

Eddie lets out a chuckle as he watches you with awe, writhing beneath him. He pumps harder, your eyes rolling back as he tests you to see what makes you tick. "You want it harder, baby?"

You whimper a yes, unable to form anything coherent as you wrap your legs around his hips to get him in even further. He slips an arm under your knee, hooking your leg up over his elbow as he slides even deeper, hitting you at an angle that makes you want to cry.

He's railing you now as you snake your hands into his gorgeous hair, pulling his head back as he lets out a deep groan, encouraging him as he slams his hips into yours.

"That's it, princess, cum all over me," he says as he slips his hand down to play with your clit, his thumb expertly rubbing circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves.

You force your eyes open to look at him, his jaw clenched as he thrusts in and out of you wildly, his eyes focused on your pussy as he watches himself fuck you with knitted brows.

He glances up to see you staring, sliding his free hand up around your throat. You gasp as his cool rings press in against your warm skin, cutting off just enough air that you feel dizzy. You feel your whole body tense as your pussy locks around him, your thighs trembling as you cry out his name.

"Oh shit!" He gasps as your cunt clamps around him. He growls something unintelligible as his thrusts become erratic and sloppy, stopping as he rams into you a final time, shooting his hot load into the condom.

He falls down on top of you as his moans mix with heavy panting, carefully shifting his weight so he doesn't crush you. He lifts his head after a moment, his big eyes glazed over with post-orgasmic bliss as he looks at you.

"That was fun," he says with a chuckle.

"You need help with any other classes?" You ask breathlessly as Eddie breaks into laughter, his head falling back down on your chest. You both giggle as you brush your fingers through his hair.

"You can teach me whatever, whenever," he says as he looks back up at you. You watch as his smile fades, his face becoming more serious as he examines your face.

"Be mine."

Your breath catches in your throat as you give him an appalled look. "What?" You ask with an awkward laugh, thinking he had to be joking.

"Be mine, princess," He says again, his eyes looking over you with possession.

-----

End ♡

I’ve been struck by another smutty miguel idea and I’ll write it when I get off work today <3

nooooo haha don’t choke me while you’re inside of me 👀👀 ahaha oh nooo it’ll make me feel all tight around your cock if you wrap your hand around my throat to steady yourself while you keep thrusting 👀👀👀

28 "i’m just getting comfy" with Steve Harrington ? 🥺

warnings: smut (oral m receiving, grinding, semi-public fooling around), mutual pining, steve being a little rough/impatient

It started out relatively innocent: movie night, with a bunch of your friends, on the couch in your basement. Every blanket and pillow from upstairs you could find, popcorn, Junior Mints, all that-- you wanted this to be perfect.

The one thing you kind of forgot to anticipate was that your couch was just not big enough for this many people.

"You look uncomfortable down there," Steve noticed as you shifted around on the pillow on the floor; you'd offered the couch to your friends, but a little decorative cushion wasn't really enough to protect your poor butt from the hard basement floor.

"It's fine," you insisted, "I want you guys to have the couch."

"Shh," someone hissed, apparently (rightfully) annoyed that you were talking during the movie. Steve, sighing, grabbed the remote and paused the tape; some of the group groaned a little bit.

"Seriously," Steve frowned, "it's your house and you're on the floor. There's room for you on the couch."

"Uh, where?" you motioned to the already-full sofa: Stacy and Kyle were squished up next to Evan on the end, who had Claire on his lap since they were dating and all.

"Come on up-- everybody will scoot over," he promised. You sighed and stood up. But, of course, when you approached the couch, nobody moved. "Guys, come on," he instructed them, waving his hands to motion for them to move.

"We never said we were gonna make room," Stacy noticed. "Because there isn't any."

"Then one of you guys sit on the floor!" he decided.

"No, no," you interjected, "you're all guests."

"Why don't you just sit on Steve's lap?" Kyle suggested, looking a little too proud of himself; you knew what they were doing, they'd probably planned all this... the whole group had been trying to wingman for you and Steve for a while now. It irritated you because, one, you told Claire about your crush in confidence, and two, because you were sure Steve didn't feel the same way. Why would he? He had his pick of the litter of the girls at school and you were just his friend. Not that you minded that. It was just a little crush, nothing you couldn't get over.

"I... isn't that weird?" Steve mumbled.

"No, it's fine!" Evan insisted.

"We're doing it," Claire pointed out.

"Yeah, but you guys are, you know--" Steve explained.

"It's not a big deal," Stacy rolled her eyes, "can you guys just work it out so we can watch the movie, please?"

Hesitating for a second, you gave Steve a look. "I mean, if it's okay with you..."

"Y-yeah, I mean, it's fine with me, I just wanted to make sure it wasn't gonna be weird for you," Steve replied.

"Why would it be weird?" you wondered.

"I... I don't know," he shook his head, "just sit down and I'll hit 'play'."

You did, gingerly, hoping to not go too fast and slam into his thighs; when you relaxed, it wasn't super comfortable, but it was certainly making your body react. It felt like everywhere he touched you-- his hips near yours, the top of his legs on the back of yours, your feet bumping together-- you felt warm and sensitive. "Are you good?" you asked him.

"Yeah, totally," he nodded, "you don't have to sit so far forward-- lean back so I can see the TV--"

When you leaned back, your back pressed into his chest, and you found yourself biting your lip... good thing he couldn't see it.

"Okay, here we go," he mumbled, grabbing the remote again and unpausing the film before tossing it onto the table and getting comfortable under you.

You expected him to be... bonier? But his thighs were strong and soft and not as bad to sit on as you thought... that said, you had to adjust once or twice to make sure your legs didn't fall asleep. Each time you moved, you heard his breathing change; wanting to lean back a little more, you gently moved your hips back, and you heard him suck in a breath quickly.

"Wh-what are you doing?" he whispered under his breath.

"I'm just getting comfy," you whispered back.

"Could you... do it less?" he hissed.

"What's the problem?" you asked.

"I... you're just getting kinda close to... stuff," he explained awkwardly.

You really didn't mean to move again, when he just asked you not to, but for some reason you did-- and that was when you felt it. Actually, what you felt first was his hand shooting out to grab your hip and keep you still. Only then did you process that the shape you were feeling pressed against your ass was his erection. Your face heated up in an instant; that's what it was right? Could that be it?

...It almost felt too big to be his cock, but then you shifted again, and you heard him choke out a little noise, and you smiled. Oh god... am I grinding on Steve Harrington right now?

He dug his fingers harder into your hips, and it hurt, but it didn't deter you as much as it should have; it just made you bite back a moan and glance over at your couch companions to make sure they were still paying attention to the movie.

How were you supposed to make it through this whole 90-minute experience without getting caught, or getting so worked up that you had to do something?

Whether it was intuition, good luck, or just a case of being less subtle than you realized, it was Stacy that saved you by pausing the movie about a half hour later. "Who else needs a pee break?" she announced.

"It's your own fault for crushing three Cokes in the first act," Claire noticed.

"So? You had two," Stacy replied.

"Yeah, I didn't say I didn't have to go, too..."

"Okay, uh," you tried to remember the layout of your own house, "there's a bathroom in the hallway by my room, and one by the living room, and another at the end of the hall on the left."

"Great!" Stacy hopped up first, Claire following her. You stood up, too, just to stretch your legs and not look too suspicious, but didn't have anywhere to go. After a quick moment passed, Evan got up, too.

"I could actually use a glass of water," he decided, "mind if I get one from the kitchen?"

"No, go ahead!" you smiled, and he made his way to the stairs as well.

Quickly realizing that you were one person away from being left alone with Steve, who was currently staring at you which you were trying to avoid openly noticing, you decided you needed to make a break for it.

"Uh, you know, I bet there's still a bathroom open... I'll go, so we don't have to pause again later..."

You dashed away and bounded up the stairs, finding the bathroom by your room thankfully unoccupied; you went in and shut the door, running the sink to splash your face when Steve barged in.

"Steve, what the fu--" you frowned, but he slammed the door behind him and spun you around, pinning you to the counter.

"What were you doing back there?" he hissed.

"I... I was trying to get comfortable," you defended.

"Bullshit," he sneered. "What was your plan, huh? Make me bust in my pants during the movie, and then what? What did you think would happen?"

You chewed your lip, glancing away. "Uh, I dunno..."

"Yeah, you weren't thinking, were you?" he sighed. "You didn't think you'd have to deal with the consequences of getting me hard in front of everyone and leaving, right?"

You swallowed as he stepped back, just enough to start opening his belt.

"Get on your knees," he demanded.

"Steve!" you gasped.

"Or you can leave," he offered, "and we can pretend nothing happened-- but I don't think that's what you want, is it?"

Just then, he reached into his jeans and pulled his cock out; just as thick as it had felt against you, hard and flushed and dripping precum already... you absent-mindedly licked your lips.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he scoffed smugly. "Get on your knees, finish what you started."

Carefully, you obeyed, kneeling on the bathmat in front of him. He kept his eyes trained on you, watching you carefully reach out and take his cock in your hand, before delicately licking a stripe over the tip. He only reacted with a twitch of his mouth, a ghost of a snarl, and you nearly whimpered. Opening your mouth wider, you took the head inside and swirled your tongue around it.

"Fuck," he breathed, reaching out to rest a hand on your head-- not forcing you to take it deeper, yet, but guiding you gently.

With each bob of your head, you fit more and more, letting your spit soak him and glide with every motion. He tasted good, maybe it was just because you could smell his body wash, but it was nice; sweet and musky in perfect contrast to the little doses of salt you got each time more precum smeared on your tongue.

"Mm, that's good," he praised softly, grabbing your hair a little more roughly-- not rough, but forceful. A pang of arousal hit right between your legs, making your hips rock in the air against nothing. "Shit-- where'd you learn to do that? I thought you were a good girl, guess not..."

You whined, the sound reverberating through his shaft, and he groaned.

"F-fuck, do that again," he pleaded, and you hummed around him; he let his head fall back, putting his hand on the back of your neck to push his cock right up to your throat. "Oh, we waited way too long to do this... I've been waiting so long for this."

Gently, you ventured deeper, the tip of his cock making you choke at first-- but then you swallowed around it, and it worked. With patience, you took more and more, until both of you moaned when your lips were wrapped around the very base of him.

"You're so good," he whispered, "I'm pretty close-- keep going, we need to get back out there soon..."

Of course, 'keep going' was kind of a moot point when he was fully fucking your throat at this point, keeping your head still as he thrust his hips back and forth; you know, you'd been a little offended when he said you weren't a good girl, but considering the way your body reacted to him using your mouth like this, he was definitely accurate.

"Fuck, m'gonna come in your mouth," he warned you with a whisper. "You'll swallow it, right?"

You weren't sure if you'd be able to nod enough for him to notice it, but apparently he did, because he purred proudly.

"Yeah, that's my girl," he praised, and you whimpered around him again. You wanted to sit down further so you could grind against the floor and get some friction on your aching pussy, but he was too tall, you had to stay on your knees... you tried reaching between your legs to touch yourself, but it wasn't enough-- you needed him.

You could feel his cock pulsing just before he came, and you winced a little when the first spurt of come shot back into your throat just because you didn't see it coming. He breathed through his teeth, clearly trying to stay quiet in case the other people in the house could hear from wherever they were... oh god, you were trying not to imagine that. The idea of one of them walking in right now was humiliating, and terrifying, and sexy.

"Hnng, fuck," he groaned, pumping a few more times before he was apparently done and finally stilled with a sigh. You suckled on his cock while it was still in your mouth, making him wince and pull out. "Fuck," he panted, looking down at you again, "show me."

You opened your mouth and he bit his lip at whatever he saw in there-- it felt like he came a lot, you could feel it moving around your mouth. It didn't taste, like, awesome or anything, you weren't about to go spread it on some toast and dig in, but knowing it was Steve's come in your mouth was just so hot that you didn't care at all. You swallowed it all in one gulp, and he smiled down at you, fixing his hair before he put his cock back in his pants (priorities, right?).

"Okay, see you out there," he offered as he reached for the bathroom door, about to leave.

"W-wait, what about me?" you pouted, standing up.

"We'll take care of you after," he promised, "I think that's the least you deserve after pulling that shit."

Fair enough, but your body was so desperate for him already. "But Steve, I... I'm so wet," you whispered, and he smiled, letting go of the door to step closer to you.

"Really?" he smirked.

You nodded, and he tilted his head. "Well, you know what?" he said.

"What?" you asked coyly.

"That's your problem," he smiled, giving you a peck on the cheek and a 'boop' on the nose with his finger before he left, shutting the door behind him.

You stood there, dumbfounded, staring at the door as if it would make him reappear and say he was just kidding and he was gonna fuck you silly real quick. He was right, there really wasn't time, and this was the least you deserved, but shit... you didn't know Steve could be so mean.

But you liked it.

THANK YOU🥰

Te Lo Ruego

miguel o’hara x fem!reader

nsfw masterlist | main masterlist

word count: 0.8k

summary: miguel is desperate for just a taste

warnings: SMUT (18+), minors DNI, miguel being a munch and pussy drunk, that’s it, it’s just him being desperate to eat you out <3 also, spanish (translation at the end)

A/N: I read two words and was inspired to write this…took me about an hour and now this is all i’m thinking about, please enjoy // as always, feedback is greatly appreciated, reblog and lmk what you think! <333

Keep reading

home is where you're mine

premise: in nevarro you and din can finally breathe and spend your days christening every surface of your home.

pairing: din djarin x (f)reader

word count: 911

warnings: eighteen+ content, established relationship, riding, unprotected p in v, tiny little taste of possessive!din, domestic life, public-ish encounter, 'etyc' means dirty, 'mesh’la' means beautiful.

note: did i have an absolute panic attack over actually writing in the mando world instead of doing an au? yeah yeah i did, but thanks to my bbys @psychedelic-ink and @pedrito-friskito i got over it and wrote this filth <3.

The skin on Din’s neck feels as hot as your body does. The sun, having gone down hours ago, did little to cool the warm air—the humidity that’s clinging to your body and making sweat gather at your brow and run down your spine as your breath heaves your chest with your ministrations. 

There’s an ache in the heel of your foot that you ignore. That does not deserve a second thought, maneuvering around, or changing of position when this one feels too good. 

When Din is letting you take control, letting your fingers move to the only skin visible and hold onto it like a lifeline. Like you’d float away from the building pleasure if you didn’t have something, some kind of contact that wasn’t his gloved hand bunching up your dress at the top of your ass so he can grip and pull you down onto his length. The only helping hand he’s giving.

Since the two of you had made—what you hoped was—a permanent home in Nevarro. Until another bounty called Din away, now giving you a place to safely wait for his return. A cabin big enough for the three of you. A space that wasn’t covered in scrap metal and piles of weapons or debris. 

You know, in truth, that you’d live under any conditions if it kept Din on your side. The child on your hip or by your feet. 

But this place felt special. Like the three of you could finally take a deep breath and let your guard down for half a second without feeling remorseful over it. 

The porch had quickly become Din’s favorite spot to relax. To put his feet up and watch the sky, the terrain—Grogu, as he basked in the daylight and played with his food. 

Which is where you found him tonight after the child had drifted to sleep and the two of you were alone. The planet seemingly quiet when it knew the two of you needed it. When you leaned against the doorway and Din held out his hand to you. Pulling you into his lap. A calming silence shared between the two of you as you took in the stars. 

A moment that seemed too good to pass up. To not continue to take advantage of the space you had been given to have Din inside of you. 

No need to sneak around or find a darkened corner. 

It’s as if the two of you needed to break in every surface within the new space. Home. 

Your cheek pressed into the wall, a counter, a table. Your fingers leaving indents in the fabrics of seats, beds, and blankets. It was only right that you carry on that same streak in Din’s favorite spot. 

“Should we-” he began, the shake of your head cutting him off as your hips rocked against him. As he grew the more your sweet whimpers fell, and your fingers danced along the beskar of his chest plate. “Etyc,” his gloved hand coming down to tap at your ass, making you grin.

It didn’t take long for you to free his cock and position him at your entrance. To get yourself this close from the motion of your hips, the angle making the fabrics of his pants rub against your clit with each gyrate. Each time he bucked up into you just a little harder than the last. 

You let out a gasp when the warmth of his glove covers one of your breasts. His fingers pull down the—now—flimsy fabric from your shoulder to reveal it to him. To rub his thumb over your nipple in circles that make your moans grow in octaves. 

“Mesh’la,” Din groans. 

If this were in the darkness of your room, your roles would be reversed. Your vision cut off from him while he saw you in full. Running his mouth along your body. His teeth nipping at your breast until your body was pushing against him for more, to be filled by him. 

And if you asked him to take you to your bed right now, he would. Happily. He’d draw out your orgasm by making you fuck his tongue, pulling away when you were at that precipice only to shove his cock inside your trembling walls. Repeating the actions until you’re begging him to let you come. 

You have many nights for history to repeat itself, though. 

Right now, you’re so close, and the way Din’s hips are moving in tandem with your own lets you know he is too. That neither of you could move even if you truly wanted to because your pleasure is too much. Coming to that crescendo that makes you see a galaxy behind your eyelids when you can feel him twitch against your clenching walls from reaching your climax together. 

The gloved hand at your breast trails up the column of your neck, gripping your chin to bring your forehead to the warmth of his helmet before splaying the palm over your mouth. “The sounds you make when you come are just for me.” He grunts, your hips moving in unison one, two, three more times before you’re both coming. Your moans fall into his hand. Caught and absorbed by the fabric as your body clenches and trembles against him. The deep bravado of the groan he tries to bite back shakes your chest as you lay against him. “Mine,” mixed into the jumble of words he spews breathlessly.