This Is All I Want - Blog Posts

at my funeral i want my lifeless body to be hung by strings and swung around the room

the shit ii puts up with, man.

saw this post. made it a gif. bon appétit.

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

fuck.

On with Toji and his shy girl.

Toji is well aware of how badly you want to take things further with him. He catches you looking at his crotch at least twenty times a day, and when he points it out, your face goes crimson and you blubber out your repetitive denial about how you weren't even looking there. You always blame it on your horrible attention span and how you are prone to zoning out, but he knows better. Your eyes follow the outline in his pants instead of just staring at one spot. He finds it endearing, and he knows you'll get there, so he doesn't push it, but the look on his face tells you everything. He knows.

Sometimes, Toji gets impatient. He never tells you about it because it's not your fault you have his mind communicating with his dick. He has you— a pretty little thing to keep him company, but you're not like any woman he's ever been with before. You're subtle about your urges, and you don't outwardly beg for him to touch you.

When he's being touchy with you, you try to lean into it. It feels good to have his arms around you, but you can't help how he himself makes you feel. He never fails to make you nervous and you can't stop the thrashing of your heart when his hand goes up your shirt. He can feel you shaking as his hand glides up your torso, to your chest. He splays his hand over your heart, feeling the rhythmic crash of it against his palm. It's beating so fast.

"Holy shit," he laughs, feeling the quick rise and fall of your chest. "Baby, turn around and look at me." His hand slides down and out of your shirt. It rides across your stomach as you slowly turn to face him, resting on your waist once you settle. His green eyes take in the sight of your timid expression. There was a soft look in your eyes that was paired with your quivering lips as you attempted to smile for him. "My pretty girl," he starts, his hand coming up to tenderly cup your cheek, "you'll give yourself a heart attack if you don't relax." His eyes follow yours as they derail from his gaze. He can feel the heat that was linked to the pretty shade of red flourishing on your cheeks. "I'm not gonna hurt you." He searches your eyes for comprehension. "You get that?"

"I know," you mumble, shakily putting your hand on his. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just wanna hear you say 'yes, Toji. I understand'."

"Yes, Toji..." you sigh, pausing to giggle, nervously, due to the wave of embarrassment that courses through you.

"Go on," he says, a sly grin on his face. "Finish."

"I understand," you continue. "I do."

"Good girl," he praises, pinching your cheek. You're like a small bunny to Toji. He would do anything and everything to protect you because you're just so cute and innocent. You're a constant victim to his teasing because of how bashful you are about the little things. It's the exact reason for why Toji loves catching you off guard, sometimes hugging you from behind and leaning in to bite your shoulder. He loves that you always jolt, even when you know it's coming, and you gasp in shock every time. He can't get enough of it.

"Kiss me, yeah?" He says, eyeing your lips. He's leading you, as always, because he's not afraid to tell you he wants you. If he wants a kiss, he'll ask for it or he'll steal it from you. Most of the time, it's the latter.

"Okay," you say, leaning in to place a quick peck on his lips. It's short lived, but Toji got a taste of the sweet lipgloss you're wearing, and he needs more.

"That's just selfish, baby. Come on," he says, pulling you close, again. "Kiss me like you actually like me." He takes charge this time, locking his lips with yours. He starts out slow, but as your lipgloss is transferred onto his lips, and his tongue gets to taste more of its sweetness, he finds himself craving much more. He takes note of how you're struggling to keep up because of your lack of breath, so he resorts to kissing the corners of your lips to give you a chance to breathe. "You taste so sweet, mama." The second your breathing is regulated, he goes back to inhaling you, chuckling into a few kisses when he hears your little pants return. "Fuck, you're killing me." He wipes the remainder of your lipgloss off his lips with a thumb, and watches the flustered expression on your face as he sucks it off.

"Toji..." you whine, burying your face in his chest. You've never met someone like him. So confident that even when he's the one who craves your attention, you get shy about the way he asks for it.

"What? Flustered?" He asks, grinning at the grip you have on his shirt. You nod, silently. "That's too bad," he says with faux sympathy. "'Cause I'm not gonna stop. Not when you react so adorably to every little thing I do to you." He tests his theory and pokes your rib. You squeak in surprise, the exact reaction Toji expected. You sigh, red faced as you flip back onto your other side, facing away from Toji again. "You're really not helping your case, baby. Can't even look at me."

"Hold me," you say, immediately feeling like you're asking too much of him. "Please," you add, to diminish as much of that feeling as you can. Toji would do anything you ask of him because you barely ask him for anything. You're low maintenance, but even then, he understands that it's up to him to make sure you feel loved, cared for, and appreciated, regardless of whether you ask him to show you these affections or not.

"Alright, doll," he says, groaning as he positions himself so that he's spooning you. You can feel his body heat engulfing you as he molds his body into yours. His chest is warm against your back, and his thigh is slightly overlapping your thigh. "Don't know why you struggle to ask me for stuff like this. I won't turn you down."

"I don't wanna annoy you," you say, looking down at his arm that is wrapped around your waist. You can feel his blunt nails on your skin, a slightly ticklish sensation lingering as he draws little lines on you.

"You calling me annoying?" He asks, jokingly. You can hear the playfulness in his tone, a soft laugh released through his nose.

"No... No, I would never, Toji. You're not... I don't think-"

"Shh... I'm fucking with you, doll." He smiles as he places a quick kiss to the nape of your neck, the gesture eliciting soft goosebumps on your stomach, beneath his hand. "I'm only annoying around you... because of how cute, and pretty... and soft you are." You can feel his hands starting to travel further beneath your shirt again. Your heart pangs when his fingers just barely go beneath the cups of your bra, tracing the bottoms of your breasts. "So warm and delicate," he murmurs, continuing to roam further up your torso until he reaches your neck. He brings his index and middle fingers up to your pulse point, instantly locating the restless palpitations of your heart. "You're like a scared little bunny," he says, referring to the quick rhythm of your heart and how tense you've become. "I can put you at ease." His hand goes back down your torso, finding the knotted strings of your sweatpants. "You want that?" He purrs, against the nape of your neck.

"Okay," you respond, hazily, already dizzy on his attention. You can't deny how hot he gets you when he talks to you like this, despite the way your heart is constantly threatening to explode. He easily lures involuntary reactions from your body, like the messiness of your drooling arousal, or the goosebumps that rise when he so much as puts a hand on your back.

"Tell me you want it, mama," he says, untying the knot of your sweatpants. "Tell me how badly you want me to get between those pretty thighs," he says, lowly, right behind you.

"Please, touch me, Toji," you say, turning your head to face him for a brief second before bashfully turning back. You roll down your sweatpants and kick them off once they're down to your ankles. "They're off for you," you say, meekly.

"Oh, you're so fucking cute," he says, immediately feeling up your soft, exposed thighs. "Want me to make you cum?" His hand swipes over the front of your panties, lightly feeling up the soft texture of the garment.

"Please," you say, subtly begging for him to keep touching you. The simple word makes you feel every ounce of vulnerability in the moment, more intensely.

"Such a sweetheart. Don't even have to train you to be nice. It's just in you, huh?"

"Mhm..." you hum, your cunt throbbing at the feeling of his thick fingers rubbing you over your panties. You're already squirming in his hold. His lips against the back of your neck are adding so much to the overwhelming stimulation.

"Toji..." you whimper, wishing you could curl in on yourself while still feeling this pleasure. You grip your pillow as he keeps gliding his glossy fingertips up and down your clothed slit.

"So wet every time, baby. Your panties are a mess," he says lowly into your ear as he spreads the mess even more with each stroke of his fingers. You feel his hard on pressed against your ass, your little jolts of pleasure pushing back into him, offering little relief for him as he bears the sultry sounds of your quiet moans and whimpers. "I know this isn't not enough, so i'm gonna say this once, and once only my pretty girl." Toji's voice goes so low that you think you're being subtly disciplined by him. "Beg for more if you want more."

You gasp, uttering out a desperate, "T-Toji, please. Please, please, please."

"Please what, doll?" He says. Toji works to help you speak up in these situations. He can't help you if you don't say anything, and you'll learn this the hard way if you have to.

"Mmm... c-can you..." you squeak, putting your face in your pillow.

"Calm down and get it out," he murmurs, before kissing your shoulder.

"Please, put your hand inside," you blurt.

"Good girl," he praises. "You know, it's just you and me, right now. You're safe," he coos, sliding his hand into your panties. It's instantly met with warmth and stickiness as he glides his fingers through your slit.

"S-Sorry, i'm sorry.. S-So-," you whimper into your pillow, only able to focus on the pressurized motion of his middle finger rubbing up against your clit. His eyes go dark at the sound of your muffled little moans and whimpers. He can't help the deep chuckle that leaves him when you gasp and allow yourself to seek more pleasure by grinding against his hand.

"You're alright, baby," he murmurs with that softness you're so comfortable hearing from him. "Just let me hear those cute sounds you're making, yeah?" His cock was already twitching in his pants, but something about hearing you giggle while panting made it start throbbing even more. "Feels a lot better, huh?" He says, holding back a groan when your ass pushes against his crotch, again.

You nod, against the pillowcase, your shuddered moans homing into his ears. Toji nearly growls at the way you're consistently rubbing up against his crotch. It feels too good, it's starting to mess with his head. This isn't about him, yet he's so ready to let his selfish side come out and play.

"Fuck," he groans into your ear, a sound that makes your heart drop. "You gonna let me put it in, today?"

You don't answer, hoping your quiet moans make up for your lack of words. You want it so bad, though. At this point, you were having more frequent wet dreams of Toji and you want to believe the reason is because you've denied yourself the experience for so long, but those dreams are more than just a gentle introduction to sex with Toji. They're borderline perverted, featuring things you wouldn't even be able to utter to Toji. At least not now.

"Hm? Gonna let me slide into you, mama?" He asks, gliding his finger through your slit, teasing your entrance when he goes lower. You nearly choked on your own spit once he pushed the digit through, meanwhile Toji had the privilege of previewing the way your cunt spasms around something. His finger for now, but he's hoping maybe something else, later.

You're gripping the pillowcase in your hands so tightly as he feeds the length of his finger into your velvety walls. You're rendered speechless as you tremble in his hold, high pitched whimpers leaving you as you near your orgasm.

"Answer the question, pretty," he gently prompts.

"O-Okay," you say, breathily. "Yes, mhm..." you babble. You're no longer able to hold back your moans or the way your back arches off his front when you finish on his finger. The thick digit slows down inside you, warm coos of "good girl" being murmured to you as you go into your blissful state of serenity. Toji pulls his hand out, admiring the mess you left on his hand. He can't help the wicked grin that takes over his lips at the sight, your glossy remnants coating his middle finger and smearing across his palm.

"Perfect, baby," he praises. He kisses your shoulder and takes the measures necessary to calm your rapid breathing. A warm palm to your back, a secure embrace, words to ensure overall that he's got you.

He turns you over, so that you're flat on your back and takes in the relieved look on your face. He had exactly five seconds to watch you before you became fully conscious of the situation.

"Well, I know you sound pretty with my fingers inside you. Wonder what you sound like with something else in there?"

"Toji..." you whine, flustered by his vulgarity. You had nothing to cover your face with. The vulnerability you felt was immense. Toji's attention alone was like having the eyes of a thousand people focused on your every move.

"In all seriousness, we've been talking about this for a while, now, doll." He cups your jaw with one hand, allowing his thumb to run across your heated cheek. "I want you to feel comfortable when we're together, 'specially during stuff like this." He stares at your glossy lips for a second, thinking of the guaranteed sugary taste before flitting his eyes back to yours. "I don't want you to be scared of saying 'no' to me about anything."

"I'm not scared. I trust you," you say, resting your hand on his wrist. "I'm ready, if you want me." You smile softly, and your gaze nervously shifts from his to his neck, then his chest, before directing itself to his arm.

"If I want you?" Toji laughs in disbelief. "It's sad that you still don't get how much I do." He retracts his hand and figures out a way to loop himself around you so that you're under him. "I want you so fucking bad, baby," he says, leaning forward and into you. He notices the way you jolt when his tent pokes your crotch, and suppresses the devilish grin begging to come out. "I know you can feel it, right?"

You nod, unable to form words in the moment when he's looking at you like that, while shamelessly displaying his desire for you. "Good. Now, one more time, doll. Do you want me?"

"So bad, Toji," you utter. "Beyond bad," you add to accentuate your desperate need for him.

"Fuck... Yeah, mama?" He grins, leaning closer to pepper your face with kisses. You instinctively shut your eyes as he aims higher up on your cheeks and your temple.

"Please..." You sigh. Your cunt is pulsing around nothing due to the way his clothed length rubs against it, through your underwear. "I need you- w-want you," you falsely correct, a nervous giggle leaving you. You can feel the roses that died down on your cheeks begin to bloom again.

Toji perks up when the words leave your lips. He never thought you'd be the one outwardly saying that you need him, but here you both are, edging each other physically and verbally.

"I heard that," he teases, smirking at the sound of another giggle coming from you. "Gonna take real good care of you, baby. Don't worry." He massages your thighs, his face nose distance away from yours so he can catch the glint of lust in your eyes that you hide from him like your life depends on it. He won't kiss you until you either take it from him or ask for it. He can see you staring at his lips to avoid the suffocating eye contact that comes with being so close.

"Put it into words, ma," he says, lightly snapping the elastic band of your underwear on your skin, a couple times. "Tell me."

"Kiss me?" You ask, meekly. Your wish was his command, because he immediately removed the remaining distance between your lips and his. His hands are hot as they travel up your shirt, again. This time they reach behind you to unclip your bra. You're all too aware of the lack of pressure on your chest, as the cups loosen, only pushed against you by your shirt.

He pulls back, a sly grin on his face before his shirt is being tugged off. You have the cutest expression on your face, like you're lost on how things got to this point. Nonetheless, you follow his lead and sit up to take your shirt off. Your halfway off bra is fully removed and tossed aside, along with your shirt. All the alarms of anxiety are sounding off in your head, as you sit there, with only your hands as censors to the sight of your breasts.

"You're pretty," he says, putting his hands on yours. He doesn't pull them down, and instead waits for you to be comfortable enough to reveal yourself to him. It doesn't take long when you start ogling his body. You subconsciously drop your hands as you take in the occasional nicks and scars on his torso. You want to touch all of them, you want to touch all of him. He looks so handsome and soft, and those imperfections all but stunt his attractiveness. You reach out and touch a scar located beneath his ribs, watching his face to make sure it's okay for you to touch him this way, and he shows his approval by doing the same to you. The only difference is you squeak at the slightly ticklish sensation.

"Sorry." You smile, sheepishly, before retracting your hand.

He shakes his head. "You're cute." It was more meant to assure you than fluster you, yet there you were, throwing yourself back onto the pillow with your hands covering your face and your forearms blocking your breasts once again. You're so deep in thought that you don't pay any mind to all the shuffling going on as Toji rids himself of the rest of his clothes.

It's as if the air is knocked out of your lungs when you see the heavy thing Toji packs. It's red and swollen at the tip, and the sight of precum spilling makes your heart race. You feel some burst of pride as you imagine that you're the one making him react this way, but this doesn't sway you from your thoughts of how this could possibly work out for either of you.

"That- Um... How- Mmm..." you buffer, as you struggle to figure out how to bring up the matter without seeming like you're chickening out on him.

He laughs, wholeheartedly, at the expression on your face. You look unsettled, yet curious, and your loss for words only adds on to the picture of innocence he holds for you. "Oh, sweetheart," he says through short remnants of laughter. "You're gonna make my ego burst, if you keep that up." He massages your hips, taking note of the way you press your thighs together at the simple touch. "Ever had an actual dick in there, doll?" There's not an ounce of jest in the question. He just wants to know if you've experienced anything past fingering and oral.

You nod, and your heart thrashes in your chest. Would your response change his view on you? Would he treat you with more roughness because you've gone all the way with some of your past lovers? It was a scary thing to think about, despite the way his thumbs lovingly continued to apply pressure to your hips, like it was a step in your preparation for taking him.

Toji just nods in understanding. He doesn't blame any of the men who got to you before him. With all your amazing qualities and that pretty face of yours, who wouldn't want to stick you? Regardless, based on your reaction, he doubts you've been with a man as... well endowed as him.

"I'll be gentle with you, baby, like you're losing your precious flower all over again." He watches your shoulders gradually drop, your body somewhat relaxed due to his touch and his verbal reassurance. "Let's get these off, yeah?" He says, tugging at your underwear. You lift your hips for him and allow him to roll the garment down your legs. You're just as bare as him, yet you feel the vulnerability at a different volume.

His eyes are glued to the glossiness of your cunt, and all he can think about is what you'll sound like and what you'll look like when you'll filled with him.

"So pretty, mama," he says, thumbing at your slit. "A fucking work of art," he adds when you start squirming like you're sensitive to the combination of his words and touch.

"Toji, no-" your arms are just a bit short of the distance necessary to stop him from sticking his thumb in his mouth.

"Fuck," he growled when your taste coated the tip of his tongue. He had to go back in for more, this time eating straight from the honey pot. He couldn't stop. Not until there was enough of you on his tongue to be swallowed.

You thought this was it. That he would forget about wanting to be inside you when he was too distracted trying to make his palate memorize your taste. Then the muscle halted and you experienced a mini heart attack with the way he uttered "kiss me" with the urgency of a deadline that's past due.

He wasted no time raising himself and looming over you again, his cock making contact with your body for the first time. The kiss was filled with heavy breathing coming from both of you due to the way he slid his length through your slit, back and forth. You could taste yourself on his tongue, which was exactly what Toji was aiming for. A distraction for you with a taste he'll never be able to properly describe. A distraction as he glides his cock between your sticky folds, one last time, before he's directing the tip towards your entrance. You turn your face away to break the kiss, whimpering when he nudges his tip just a little further into you, enough so that you don't push him out and force him to start over.

"I know... I know, princess," he coos, taking in the quiver of your lips. "Put your hands on me. On my arms, my shoulders—whatever you can grip onto that isn't my dick." He grins at the soft laugh that accompanies your misty eyes, and soon enough your hands are on his biceps. They trail up to his shoulders when he dips down to kiss you again. "You can taste yourself, huh?" He mumbles into the corner of your lips, driving more of his length into you, as you respond with a hum and a nod.

"So sweet, doll..." he murmurs, locking lips with you again afterwards. He pushes another inch of his cock into you, swallowing your pained whimpers and squeaks. Rather than digging your nails into his skin, you found yourself losing the strength to even grab onto him. Your shaky fingers peeled off his shoulders and your heels dipped into the mattress. You let out shaky breaths through your nose, which Toji does not ignore. "Mm..." he hums, lips smacking as he releases your lips. "Fuck," he groans. "You got it, mama. Taking it so well. So fucking well, sweetheart." His brows subconsciously crease at the sight of tears spilling from the corners of your eyes.

"Oh, sorry. Sorry," you repeat, using your palm to wipe away the tears. You chuckle, the sound coming out congested. "It's stupid," you mumble, as more tears fill your waterline.

"Hard part's almost over, baby. Promise it'll feel better in a sec." He leans forward to kiss away your new wave of tears, wiping the trails of dampness with the rough pad of his thumb. "It's gonna be so good. Soooo good, baby." He grins when you giggle at the elongated word, and kisses your temple while working the remainder of his length into you. "That's it, that's it- fuck, doll," he mutters, releasing the animalistic groan that's been trapped in his chest for the duration of the time it took to sheathe himself into you. He couldn't bring himself to brag about how good he was feeling when your pretty face was warped by discomfort, but it didn't change the fact that he felt everything. He felt the tightness that was accompanied by borderline rejection from your lack of custom to his cock, he felt the clenching that came with the seemingly never ending intrusion, and he felt your clammy little fingers on his burning skin, until they slid off.

You felt a familiar ache between your thighs, one that replicated your first time, but Toji wasn't lying when he said he'd treat you like you were going through that experience. If he were anyone but your lover, he could've been less careful, yet there he was, wiping your tears and encouraging you to get through the initial struggle in order to get what he wanted to give you from the start.

"All good, ma? Too much?" He asks in search of your verification. He's surveying your now more relaxed features, waiting for your response.

"That's it, right?" you ask, blinking up at him.

"That's it," he confirms, warmth radiating in his gaze.

You let out the biggest sigh, the gesture lifting a good pound off your shoulders. You've been holding your breath the entire time, taking everything for the sake of being good for Toji.

"I can feel you in my guts," you say, jokingly to relieve some of the tension in the situation.

"Good or bad?"

"Anymore and you'll be able to wrap my intestines around it," you add, a lighthearted giggle leaving you.

He laughs through his nose, an unshakeable grin on his face. "Silly girl. Think you can handle some movement?"

You nod, absorbing the glint in his eyes at your agreement. With that, he drags himself out of you, before slowly feeding himself in again. You gasp, immediately flushing at the sound of your voice. You felt more embarrassed now that Toji was able to watch your face.

"M-More... please...?" You managed to squeak out.

"Okay, doll," he says, increasing the pace a little.

Toji's rhythm was tweaked until the noises you tried so hard to keep to a minimum, could no longer be contained. Your whimpers were released into the open air, moans flowing smoothly with every push and pull of his hips. Your breasts were covered in his spit and purpling marks.

"God- Don't look-" you pant, rapidly. "Please... stop staring..." You were flustered beyond repair, your palms coming up to cover your flushed face.

"Let me-" he starts, cut off by a grunt. "Fuck, let me see that pretty face," he tries again, the words coming out raspy. "You either take down those hands or i'll do it for you, doll."

"N-No, please," you beg, a visible shudder reverberating through your body. Having him watch you this close was driving you insane. You felt like he was gonna eat you alive.

"Take them down. Last time i'm gonna say it."

Toji was never mean to you. He liked teasing the hell out of you in good fun, but nothing could ever make him intentionally hurt you or make you feel lesser. Even this sternness came from the pit of his heart.

"Three..."

"Please, no."

"Two..."

"B-Baby," you call, in an attempt to distract him. It made a good reach but he had to shake it off.

"One... Now you've temporarily lost the use of your arms," he says, effortlessly pulling your hands away from your face, pinning them beside your head with his own enormous hands. He instantly captures the flourishing red on your cheeks. "You're so cute, ma. What are you hiding yourself from me for? Huh?"

You think you might die with the way he's gripping onto your soul through the way he holds eye contact. Unwavering, intense, just borderline debilitating.

"Please, Toji. Don't look at me like that."

"I want to. You're so pretty, it's getting me off, doll." He groans, the clench of your cunt around his cock squeezing him so well. "I know it's doing things to you, too. You like being watched by me, baby?"

You've never felt so good that your eyes rolled back into your head. To say that you were in heaven was an understatement for what you truly felt, because it happened then and there, for the first time. Those pretty eyes that normally freeze in shock or widen in surprise, were reduced to white cue balls, fluttering shut to prolong the inevitable acknowledgment of the sight by Toji. You inhale sharply, releasing the breath, shakily.

"Fuuuck, princess..." he practically growls. "That was enough of an answer. Holy fuck." He smirks at the way you avoid his gaze after the matter, your mouth still slightly ajar as you release those doubled little breaths. "So good- Such a good fucking girl," he speaks into your jaw, his ability to hear you enhancing when you start breathing and moaning beside his ear. "Fuck, gonna cum, doll. Where do you want it?"

"God... fuck it into me," you babble, so confidently, almost mindlessly.

"Yeah? Want me to fuck it into you?" He purrs, lips sucking on your sensitive skin.

"Mhm," you hum quietly, the high pitch confirming your pleasure ridden daze. Your nails have left enough indentations in your palms to need caring for after you both finish, so you uncurl your fingers and try to loosen Toji's grip on your wrist.

"Can't have you covering your pretty face again, baby. N-Not when i'm so close," he reproves, unlatching himself from your jaw to stare into your shiny eyes. You somehow managed to get what you wanted, anyway. His left hand dragged up your wrist, and over your palm before lacing his fingers between yours, effectively keeping it pinned to the bed while satisfying your need for more tenderness. "You sure, doll? I can't stop it once it happens," he says, desperate for your response as his orgasm gets closer.

"Please, Toji..." you confirm, squeezing his hand. Within a couple seconds he gives you everything he has. He sounds like someone who's been deprived of physical intimacy for too long, the gasps and hitched breaths he leaks bringing a tremble to your chest with how hard your heart is beating against your ribcage.

"Oh fuck, baby... baby." He lets out a short, deep laugh, ragged breaths expelled from his mouth as he thrusts significantly more slowly into you, pushing his warm seed further with every roll of his hips. He leans down to connect his lips with you, releasing your left wrist to drag his right hand down between where you both connect. He rubs your clit rapidly, swallowing the little whimpers you hum into his mouth as he rapidly works to bring you another orgasm. "Cum," he whispers, only pausing the languid entanglement of your lips for the purpose of getting the single word out. As if you were compelled by him, your walls violently spasmed around his length and you released all over him.

Toji responded to all your unfinished thoughts and unabashed moans, with nodding and humming to assure you that your rambling was being heard. He lured out all your pleasure, only stopping when you cried out little pleas for mercy, your stomach quivering and your legs twitching.

Toji returned his index and middle fingers to the pulse point on your neck, staring at you as he felt your heartbeat tap rapidly against his fingertips. He wordlessly watched with a smirk on his face, until your little huffs subsided and your heartbeat somewhat regulated.

"My little bunny," he teases, that sly, fox-like grin undying.

Your cheeks burned with every second that his gaze lingered on your face. All you could do was let out a small whine at the nickname before pushing his hand away from your neck.

He pulls out of you, taking in the tremble of your thighs that accompanies the new vacancy of your cunt. You let out a final sigh, before completely stilling on the bed. He ran two fingers between your slit, smearing your combined mixture of fluids on your inner thighs and stomach. You couldn't argue about the messiness when your pussy fluttered at the gesture.

Toji lets himself fall into place beside you, immediately bringing you close to him again. He blinks, not knowing how to phrase what he feels in the moment. He feels good, happy, satisfied, and everything in between. You're glowing right before him. He can see himself in your eyes from how much they shine.

"Doll, stay." He lets out the breath caught in his chest, bringing a warm hand to the dulcet features on your face.

"Hm?" You heard him, but you want him to be sure. You like to believe you know Toji's mannerisms well enough, and this is a test for one of them. You know that if he's not sure about something or if he's second guessing himself, he won't repeat what he said.

"I want you to stay," he repeats, shutting down your doubts. His thumb tenderly grazes your cheek. "Stay and freshen up with me before bed. I've always wanted to hear your morning voice."

You furrow your brows in confusion, a soft smile still gracing your face. "You've heard my morning voice. I've stayed over before."

He smirks. "That's not how I mean it, baby. You'll find out tomorrow if you stay."

"Oh. Oh... Jeez, Toji." You can't even look at him. There's a familiar look of innocence on your face, one that Toji loves more than you'll ever know. Your eyes get all glassy and your cheeks start glowing red. You start giggling at every little thing, not able to move past such an indirectly vulgar thing so quickly.

He pulls you even closer, a grin on his face as your noses touch. "Stay," he repeats, again. "You know you want to." He lures a giggle out of you with this. "And I want you here."

You break. You were never gonna say no, but it was becoming increasingly harder to withhold your response. "Okay, okay."

"Yeah?" He pecks your lips. "You're gonna stay?" He places another quick kiss.

"Ye- To-" He keeps interrupting you with rapid, chaste kisses. "Toji." You giggle. "I'm staying!"

"I knew that."