So what do you get?

Vial del Rinascimento is a 20x15 residential lot best placed in Ondarion on the “Renaissance Road” lot in the Bellacorde neighbourhood.

The lot consists of one townhouse for a family of 2-4 sims. Except for the kitchen, everything is unfurnished. There is a big rooftop terrace and a little garden area on the ground floor.

Uses items from the following packs: looks best with almost all packs, but a tip: take a look at the build in the gallery and click on the packs to see the items I used from that pack, it might also look good with fewer packs.

Download: sfs | gallery: aeromantica

TOU: Please don’t claim as your own or put behind paywalls etc. If you find any issues please let me know + tag me if you’ll use the building, I’d love to see it in your games.

Once, while at a hot spring with the others, Naruto had the bright idea to try and spy on the girls. Neji likes to think himself above the past holier than thou attitude he’d had prior to his match against the offending party during his second chunin exams, but it’s a fact that he both stopped Naruto and discouraged anyone else who would follow in his footsteps. Not only because his cousin and Tenten were over there, and it was his duty to protect their honor, but because it was the right thing to do.

That story has been brought up, never in the face of the girls, to illustrate points of how straight-laced and non-perverse Neji is; much to some of his comrades' chagrin.

This is a completely different situation.

For one, it was unintentional. For another, he’s stuck– his sleeve is snagged on the wall and it would be too troublesome to tear it away and repair it, he’ll just have to remove it carefully.

A shaky breath and strangled whine, or maybe a moan, causes him to pinch his eyes shut and take a deep breath of his own. His fingers still in the fabric of his sleeve, grip tight on the snagged corner. He’s stuck, he’s not standing here on purpose. It’s not his fault the door must have bounced off the frame, leaving it open a crack, it’s a complete coincidence his sleeve caught in the exposed frame and forced him to be aligned with the opening.

He can hear the faint sloshing of the water. The steam from the bathroom warms his skin and weighs down his lungs. His sleeve is still stuck. His eyes are still closed.

Neji cannot think of any way to remove his sleeve without opening his eyes.

Slowly he opens them, focusing a little too intensely on the sleeve of his yukata. There's a tiny stain that he never got out from that time he stopped Lee from face planting in his food, and there’s a pretty embroidered flower where Hinata fixed a tear for him. There’s a scorch mark from when he was up too late writing a mission report, and there’s about to be a new tear from getting out of here.

The water shifts, sloshing against the sides of the tub a little louder than before, and Y/n whines. He probably wouldn’t have heard it if he were anywhere but right in front of the open bathroom door, but he hears it. The whine, sloshing water, the choked whimpers.

He can’t even bring himself to be upset at how improper it is to be masturbating in someone else’s bathroom when they let you stay the night.

It’s just instinct that he looks over at a particularly loud whine. The instinct that keeps him alive on the battlefield has him looking over just in time to catch the way her back arches off the side of the tub. Her shoulders shake, her mouth hangs open, and one hand grips the rim of the tub.

He watches the way her chest heaves, wondering what her heart would feel like as it pounds in her chest. Would it feel the same as when they spar? When she drapes herself over his back while they take a break. Would her nails, scratching uselessly at the tub, leave marks like the ones she laughs about leaving during training? Or would they be deeper, less restrained, desperate?

His head snaps back towards his sleeve, face burning hotter in embarrassment at his own leering.

“Neji,” Y/n sighs, and he can feel the muscles in his abdomen tighten. She’s… thinking about him? “Neji,” she repeats, a little less breath in her voice, “I didn’t take you for a closet perv.”

“I am not a perv.”

He bites his tongue as soon as the words leave his mouth. It wasn’t like he could hide anyway; he looks back over and locks eyes with Y/n.

“Sorry about your tub…” 

She pulls her knees into her chest, the water splashing around her, and wraps her arms around her knees– resting her cheek on them to look at him. 

“It’s…” he pauses, because it shouldn’t be- “fine. I didn’t mean to-” he clears his throat awkwardly and waves his free hand in her direction, “my sleeve got caught and I was trying not to tear it.”

Y/n laughs. “It looks very stuck.”

Brows furrowed in confusion, and a bit of annoyance at the clear mockery, Neji looks down at his sleeve again. There’s a small hook beside the door frame, his sleeve isn’t snagged it’s just hooked. He can feel his cheeks heat up in further embarrassment as he removes his sleeve from the offending object.

The water moves again and he purposefully keeps his gaze still locked on his sleeve, thumb smoothing over the small dent in the fabric.

“Since you’re here, could you pass me my towel? It’s a little cold.”

A blatant lie if he’d ever heard one, and yet he pushes the door open enough to let himself in. Y/n’s leaning against the side of the tub now, one hand outstretched to take the towel and the other folded under her chin. The steam in the room makes the air thick, it sticks to his lungs and makes his breathing heavy.

It certainly has nothing to do with how peaceful she looks, or the fact that if she leans back even slightly he’d see her breasts.

Neji picks the towel up from the stack and places it in her hand, then he turns to leave.

“Neji?”

“What is it now?” There’s no real bite to his words.

“I can’t figure out how to unplug the drain.”

A better lie than the last, except that Neji had been to her place before and knows her tub has the same drain. He could call her out on it, or at least tell her it’s the same as hers, but he doesn’t. Just like he didn’t keep walking when he saw the door open a crack.

Neji turns back around and pulls his sleeve up, approaching the tub. Y/n keeps herself pressed to the side of the tub, leaving Neji with an unobstructed view of her back and the scars that litter the skin. He’s not looking on purpose, he just happens to be turned to face her while he reaches for the plug. His eyes definitely don’t follow the curve of her spine into the water.

He stands up while the water rushes into the drain.

“Anything else?” He asks.

“My clothes are still wet.”

“I’ll bring something for you to wear to the guest room.”

“Thank you.”

He turns around, and Y/n stands up. The last of the water splashes around her, and then he hears her wet feet stick to the floor.

“Have you no shame?”

“I know you won’t turn around,” Y/n laughs. Then there’s a weight between his shoulder blades, and it makes him stand a little straighter. He feels the gradual pressure shift as she flattens her palm against his back. She gives him a little nudge forward. “Besides, we’re heading the same way.”

It’s a playful act he’s all too familiar with. She’s in his blind spot, or what would be his blind spot if he were using his byakugan. During a match it’s a playful warning that she’s got him, when they’re on a mission it’s a reminder that she has his back. Now, he’s not sure what it’s supposed to mean.

The act is too tender to be a request to leave but her words implied that was the end of this interaction.

Slowly Neji turns around, one hand coming up to grab Y/n’s wrist. He keeps her close enough that once he turns around her hand rests in the center of his chest. She clearly had faith in her earlier assessments because her eyes widen and the hand holding her towel closed tightens slightly.

“I turned around. Anything else you don’t think I’ll do? You’re currently oh for two,” there’s a teasing smile at the edge of his lips, curling its way around his words. “Maybe it’s time I make a prediction.” He lets go of her wrist and turns away again, stepping out of the bathroom and leaving her stunned. “Let’s see if you prove me wrong.”

He never did say what his prediction was, never made a statement like those she’d been making. Neji left clean clothes outside the guestroom door, only knocking to inform Y/n they were there, and they ate dinner across from one another while discussing their previous missions. They’d been training together for the first time in weeks– Neji had been on a mission with team Guy and Y/n had been accompanying team InoShikaCho as their medical ninja– when a storm rolled in unexpectedly.

Being the gentleman he is, or as Y/n was starting to suspect the gentleman he tries to convince everyone– even himself– he is, he insisted she couldn’t walk home in this weather. So here they were, in his home of the Hyuuga compound.

The storm had slowed to an almost peaceful rain by the time Y/n retired for the night. Now she lay on her futon, hands laced on her abdomen, staring blankly at the ceiling. A part of her really didn’t want Neji’s prediction to come true, but there was no way to know what he thought she’d do.

With a huff she rolls out of bed and quietly makes her way into the hall. A flash of lightning illuminates the hall, and Y/n finds herself staring outside as she walks towards Neji’s room. The tree and brush shake in the wind, leaves heavy with rain, and the sky is an inky black with no stars in sight.

She nearly walks into the door she wants, stopping only a step away when she feels the presence of the wall. With a quick half step back she knocks before she can think better of it.

There’s also no time to second guess herself before the door slides open.

“Did I prove you wrong?”

Neji smiles, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame.

“No. Would you like to guess where you went wrong or should I just tell you?”

Y/n frowns, matching his pose and leaning into his space.

“I asked if I proved you wrong?”

“Nothing so precise, I just predicted you’d show up at my room for some reason.”

“That’s so vague, and stupid! What if we were under attack? What if I had a medical emergency? That wouldn’t be fair.”

Slowly, cautiously, Neji untucks one of his arms and reaches out towards Y/n. His fingers lightly graze her cheek, and then they curl until his knuckles rest against the skin.

“Why were you,” he clears his throat, “doing that, earlier?”

He feels her cheek heat up under his touch as her eyes look towards the ground.

“I should probably actually apologize, huh? It’s just, a routine. To blow off that last bit of adrenaline, you know? But I am sorry, and not just because you caught me. I was really unsure if, you know, I should’ve just ignored it.”

“Someone once told me that it’s unhealthy to ignore one's feelings.”

“This is different. Unless you would have preferred I ask if I could ma-”

Neji’s hand moves from her cheek to cover Y/n’s mouth, muffling the rest of her words as his face turns pink. But he doesn’t look away, instead his eyes take on a more serious expression.

“Seriously, no shame at all.” Y/n runs her tongue along his palm and laughs as his face twists into an expression of disgust, but he doesn’t let go. “Did you just lick me?”

Y/n makes a muffled sound of acknowledgment. After a moment Neji removes his hand to reveal a shit eating grin spread across Y/n’s face.

“No, having no shame would be asking to watch you,” she made a general gesture with her hands like he had earlier, “because you watched me.”

“It was an accident.”

“Hm, but you liked it.”

Neji splutters and then turns on his heels. Y/n expects him to shut the door in her face, but he doesn’t.

“When you say it’s a routine to blow off steam, are our matches not enough? I could understand today,” he stops in the center of his room and looks out the window, a flash of lightning illuminates his profile and disappears as he looks back at her, “but enough for it to be  routine?”

Y/n steps inside.

“Now you’re just fishing for answers you won’t like,” Y/n mumbles, slowly coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. She splays her hands over his heart and smiles against his back when he stiffens. “I like you, Neji, and training with you gives me these ideas that I just can’t ignore.”

Y/n feels Neji’s arms shift and then one hand comes up to cover hers, pressing it closer to himself.

“Ideas,” Neji sounds thoughtful, his fingers curl against the back of Y/n’s hand, “tell me about them.”

“So unfair,” Y/n huffs. “Really, are you trying to humiliate me?”

“Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like to have your thighs wrapped around my head. When you wrap your legs around my waist to flip me over during training, I can feel the way your muscles flex and strain, it’s… distracting.” He pauses, fingers absentmindedly stroking the back of her hand still. “There. Now it’s your turn.”

“Earlier,” Y/n’s fingers curl in the fabric of his yukata, pulling it open just a bit, “when we got caught in the rain, you looked stupidly hot and I wondered, would you look like that if we bathed together? Then I thought, it’d probably feel nice to have you wash my back, and then my thoughts kind of wandered.”

“Then you were thinking of me.”

“Mhm. Is that… okay with you?”

“I told you earlier, didn’t I? It’s fine. If it’s you, that is.”

Y/n slides her hand from his yukata to the exposed skin of his chest, kissing the hair that cascades down his back. Then she turns to rest her cheek on his back and looks out the window.

“Neji, why did you wait up for me?”

“Because I knew you would come. I wanted you to come, because it means you meant it earlier.”

Slowly, as if still unsure of his assessment, Neji pulls Y/n’s arms away from him so he can turn around. His hands cautiously settle on her waist, and she brings hers back to his chest. Maybe they could have stayed like that, silently staring into each other's eyes, breathing each other in. Maybe… if they hadn’t spent so long stewing in their feelings.

Neji leans in first, his tongue sweeps across her lips and slides against her own. The hands around her waist curl into the fabric, tugging at it as though the action might keep him sane. Y/n’s hands slide under the opening of his yukata and circle around his neck, pulling the fabric from his shoulders just a little more.

Their lungs burn as they stumble back into the wall but they’re used to pushing through it. Neji begins toying with the ends of Y/n’s tie, unwilling to open it without her permission but unwilling to pull away. One hand claws at the back of his neck while the other tangles in his hair and she pulls it.

And he moans.

It forces them apart just enough that they can’t ignore the lack of oxygen anymore and they separate enough to get clean air– as much as they just want to keep breathing each other in. The string of spit connecting their lips snaps as Y/n turns her head, chest heaving so hard it knocks against his own. He licks his spit covered lips, watching as her unfocused eyes turn back to his.

“I love you, Neji,” Y/n breaths, voice heavy with the air she struggles to take in. Her head falls against the wall and she lets it roll so that she’s no longer turned away from him. “And you don’t need to say it back yet. I know…” She smiles at him and runs her fingers through his hair as she lets her head fall forward onto his shoulder. “I know this isn’t something you’d do lightly.”

The tension in Neji’s body seems to dissipate, at least a little, but he keeps toying with the tie around her waist.

His head leans against hers, and he presses a kiss to the top of her head.

“May I undress you?”

His breath against the shell of her ear makes her shiver.

“Yes. Can I undress you?”

Neji laughs, soft and breathless. Nearly drowned out by the rain outside. “I think, I’d let you do just about anything.”

“Just about?”

She pulls her head from his shoulder and slides her hands to cup his chin. His own come up to hold them, thumbs tracing arcs against her pulse.

“I would hate to disappoint you.”

“You could never.”

Neji chuckles nervously and averts his gaze.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

In a bid for equality, Neji encourages Y/n to undress him first. Her hands shake a bit as she undoes the tie, buts he doesn’t look away as it pulls apart slightly. She’s seen him shirtless before, so the parts of his chest that are exposed are nothing special, but if it parted just a little more… if she pulled it open…

She swallows hard but saliva quickly pools in her mouth again.

Neji’s hands grasp hers again.

“Would you like some help?”

“No.” 

She shakes her head and then pushes the yukata from his body. Neji shivers in the cool air. He watches Y/n, trying to ignore the heat that rises to his cheeks but unable to stop himself from crossing his arms. He’s definitely not feeling a little self conscious.

Y/n clears her throat awkwardly, mumbling an apology and finally looks up at him again.

“You’re gorgeous.”

Neji is thankful for the low light.

Y/n rests her hands on his lower abdomen, and Neji can feel his dick twitch at how close her hands are. He’s sure they’ll feel better than his own, if only because they’re hers.

His own hands find the tie of her yukata.

“May I?”

“Yes please.”

Neji’s less hesitant, maybe because he’s seen her naked– though obscured by the bath– or maybe because he’s nervous about being the only one naked. The shake of his hands is barely noticeable, but Y/n can feel every nudge through the fabric of her clothes.

He’s careful as he pulls the fabric from Y/n’s shoulder, and his gaze never leaves her face. The yukata catches on her elbows.

“Whoops,” she laughs, pulling it the rest of the way off, “where do you want this.”

“You can leave it here for now.”

Y/n nods and drops it on top of his own.

“Hi?”

“Hi.”

They stare at each other as the rain continues to patter outside and then… Y/n laughs.

It bubbles out so suddenly that Neji is caught off guard, but he joins in as she curls into his chest. Her hands rest over his heart, and his come up to rest on her waist. He rests his chin on her head.

Whatever tension had been building, nervous and excited, fizzles down to a simmer.

Neji cups her chin and turns her face up to his. Y/n’s still smiling, but her eyes soften as they meet his.

It’s not hesitant, the way they lean in this time, but it’s slow. Like they’re savouring the moment. Unlike the first kiss they don’t push against each other like some kind of competition, instead they take their time. Neji traces his tongue along her teeth, and hers nudges against his every so often.

He pushes her back against the wall, one arm caging her in while the other still holds her chin. Her hands tangle in his hair, tugging gently as he crowds her.

Neji hisses suddenly, resting his forehead against hers.

“Neji?”

“Sorry,” he whispers. “Can we…” he clears his throat, “Can we lay down?”

Y/n can feel the heat rise to her cheeks as she nods. Neji takes her hand and leads her towards his futon.

She forces herself not to turn away in embarrassment, instead focusing on their hands.

She can feel the callouses and small scars that litter Neji’s hand. Warmth radiated from his skin, and his grip is a little tight and a little sweaty. Or maybe that’s her hand? The futon comes into view by her feet. She forces her gaze up.

Neji’s no more relaxed, and maybe that’s what makes it less scary.

Y/n tugs on Neji’s hand.

“Sit down.”

“Huh?”

“I said sit.”

Neji hesitates for a second and then does as he’s told, sitting crosslegged but never letting go of Y/n’s hand. She doesn’t let him dwell on the command before she steps forward– Neji’s breath hitches as his face is practically pressed into her, his eyes close perhaps out of propriety, and he takes a deep breath– and sits straddling his lap.

His dick twitches, making him hiss as Y/n grazes his length, and his hands drop to her waist to push her back slightly.

Y/n cups his cheeks to stabilize herself, and takes the opportunity to kiss him again. It distracts Neji enough that she can settle more comfortably.

A soft moan breaks the kiss as Y/n grazes her clit against Neji’s dick. Her walls clench around nothing and her clit throbs. Neji’s fingers dig into her hips and he can’t stop his hips from jerking up. His tip grazes her abdomen, and he gasps.

Shudders rack his body as warmth paints Y/n’s abdomen and splashes up her chest. Neji pulls her closer until she presses his dick into his abdomen, the friction and pressure has him rocking against her unconsciously. His breathing is laboured as he keeps their lips pressed together, although it probably didn’t count as a kiss.

Y/n’s fingers slide into his hair and scratch at his scalp, making him shudder again, and her walls flutter around nothing.

His lips slid against her neck as he buries his face in her neck.

“Still not disappointed,” Y/n whispers, smiling.

“Why?” Neji mumbles, lips brushing her neck with each word.

One hand slides from his hair and comes between them. She collects some of his cum from her abdomen and tentatively licks it while he stares wide eyed. Her face scrunches up slightly.

“Why would you do that?” Neji asks, sounding bewildered.

“I-” Y/n splutters, “I read it in a book… It didn’t sound too bad.”

Neji smiles.

“May I, taste you?”

Y/n’s walls clench and she nods slowly.

Neji moves one hand to her back to ease her backwards until she’s laying down and he’s settled between her legs.

“Wh-Neji?!”

“Not a word, unless you’d like me to stop?”

It’s not a threat, or a warning. He’s asking permission, and she grants it.

She’ll bully answers out of him later.

For now she relaxes into the futon as Neji slowly runs his tongue through the length of her folds. Her breath hitches as his tongue grazes her clit. Then she feels his fingers prod at the flesh, mapping it out.

“Tell me what to do.”

Y/n stares at the ceiling.

“Why don’t I give you a better view of what I was doing in the bath earlier?”

Neji buries his face in her abdomen, fingers digging into her hips. She smiles and runs her hands through his hair.

“It wouldn’t be fair.” Neji mumbles, lips dragging along her skin. “I should,” Y/n can feel his face screw up.

“It’s okay, Neji. You don’t need to-”

Suddenly Neji looks up and, even through the low light, Y/n can see the determination in his eyes. Such pretty eyes that she feels stupid for never noticing how they look at her. How much time had they wasted going their separate ways after training?

“I want to. If- If I couldn’t get you pregnant,” Y/n shudders at the thought, “I would ask to bed you but, I can and I’m not going to put you in that position. So I apologize, and ask that you bear with me, because this will have to do for now.” He takes a deep breath and then sits back on his knees. “Sit up please.”

Y/n sits up, knees bent slightly and Neji intertwines their legs. By now his eyes have adjusted enough to the dark that he can just barely make out Y/n’s figure in moderate detail. He’s so used to being her eyes in the dark, having her faith when she’s blind, that he only now realizes she probably can’t see him very well.

“Would you like me to grab a light?”

“It’s fine, I can see enough.”

Neji, partly to calm his own nerves, rubs her calf.

At some point the rain had stopped and the sky had cleared just enough that dim moonlight filters into the room. It leaves Y/n with a gentle silver halo.

“Neji?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t you need lubricant?”

“Ah, yes.” He turns and then immediately snaps back to Y/n because that would expose what he gets up to sometimes. Granted he’d already admitted to jacking off to the thought of her but that was a completely different level of exposure. “Can you-” He stops.

“Do you want me to spit for you?”

Neji’s eyes go wide.

“What have you been reading?”

“What have you been reading?”

“Nothing for you to concern yourself with,” Neji scoffs, making Y/n laugh.

Y/n cautiously pulls Neji’s hand from her calf and spits into his palm. Then she settles her weight back on one hand and focuses on the ground between them.

Neji wraps his hand around the base of his dick and begins to slowly work himself. Y/n, noticing the way the muscles in his legs twitch and his toes curl slightly, looks up to find Neji not looking at her. Or away from her like she might have expected. He’s looking down, and that realization causes her walls to flutter and her core to clench.

Slowly she moves her free hand between her legs, her fingers graze her clit and her breath hitches. She circles her clit before tracing her finger down and then sinking two fingers in immediately, eyes falling shut. Neji’s hand stills, his dick twitches and he swallows hard.

Y/n lets out a long sigh and opens her eyes again to find Neji’s gaze still fixed between her legs.

“You look like you’re about to start drooling.”

“I hate to rush you but, I would very much like to marry you as soon as possible.”

Y/n slowly begins to pump her fingers out and in, and Neji matches her pace. It’s not enough, but their muscles still flutter all the same. There’s something about being watched and watching the other that makes the lackluster pace more thrilling.

Neji squeezes slightly and swipes his thumb over the tip making his hips jerk. Y/n grinds the heel of her hand into her clit and stops moving as her walls clench around her fingers. She rolls her hips up into her hand.

“Faster,” Neji breathes, “please.”

Y/n pumps her fingers in and out faster, the heel of her hand repeatedly knocking against her clit and causing the knot in her gut to tighten. Neji’s pace matches hers as the room fills with heavy pants and squelching that has them both twitching.

The hand bracing Y/n’s weight scratches at the floor, while Neji’s free hand fists the blanket of his futon. There’s no way they can sleep on it after this.

Precum drips from Neji’s tip, mixing with Y/n’s spit.

“You…” Neji hisses, “you’re gorgeous. Now, in battle,” Neji pants, “especially now.” 

Y/n whines. “I didn’t think you could look any prettier, ap-” her breath hitches, "apparently I was so very wrong. Neji… touch me.”

He shakes his head. “After, first, I want to see what makes you feel good.”

Y/n slides her fingers from her dripping hole, arousal coats her whole palm, and circles her clit with two fingers.

“I’m gonna cum. Can I?”

Neji feels the knot in his gut twist sharply at her breathless plea. He could say no. Would she get all pouty like she does during training? Could he handle telling her no? He’d cum once already, he should let her cum before he cums again. It’s only fair.

Although technically they are even.

“With me. Cum with me.”

Granted he’s not sure he can tell exactly when he’ll cum, but he has a feeling that watching her will be enough.

Her fingers speed up, her hips jerking erratically as she whines and her breathing gets heavier. Neji thrusts his hips up into his hand, imagining it was Y/n. Y/n’s head hangs down suddenly and her toes curl.

She whines, short and choked as her body goes tense and her hips wiggle against her hand as just enough becomes too much. Neji groans at the sight, and the knot in his gut snaps, painting his abdomen and hand white. His eyes screw shut and he can feel hair falling into his face.

They both continue slowly rocking into their hands as they ride out their highs.

“Neji,” Y/n calls. The same way she had earlier from the tub. “You really are a closet perv,” she giggles.

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“No, this is just for me, right?”

Neji nods, slowly opening his eyes and pushing his hair out of his face with his clean hand. He finds Y/n staring at him with hazy eyes. She winces as she moves her fingers away from her clit.

Her clean hand reaches out to touch his jaw, and he takes that as a sign to move closer. They meet in the middle in a slow kiss.

“May I join you in the bath?” Neji asks as they separate just enough to breathe. 

Their lungs still burn from exertion.

“You promised to touch me, don’t tell me you’re tired already.”

“I haven’t forgotten, and I plan to make good on my promise, but I think it’ll be much easier to clean up in the bath.”

Y/n giggles. “Does whatever book you’ve been reading have any suggestions for no-pregnancy risk sex?”

➢ now i can't lie, this made me giggle a bit cause it sounds like a crack scenario. but it really has me thinking...

➢ now huge disclaimer, i haven't read the naruto manga in full in a long time (i'm planning on doing a reread once this semester is done). so i may end up getting things wrong about chakra

➢ neji can both halt or overcharge chakra flow depending on how he strikes the tenketsu points. now for this scenario, i have to assume that there are some tenketsu points within the pelvic region in order for this to work. going off this, i think there's some potential to do some wacky shit with this info.

➢ from how i see it, pressing down on a tenketsu point in the pelvis while in the middle of sex can further enhance stimulation. again, this is just how i see, let's just bend canon so this makes sense.

➢ i think this is something that would randomly pop into neji's head one day, deep into the relationship. would overcharging your tenketsu amplify your pleasure during sex? at first, he would brush it off thinking it's a ridiculous idea. but the more he thought about it, the more he has the urge to try it out with you.

➢ and that's how you find youself underneath him, with your thighs around his shoulders as his fingers pump inside of you. his other hand—underneath your right thigh—lets go. those familiar veins bulge out as neji activates his byakugan, revealing all 361 tenketsu point at his disposal.

➢ something twists in your stomach, seeing those eyes staring down at your pussy and you can't help the way you clench around his fingers. as you lay there breathless, you're about to ask what exactly is he planning, but your words dissolve into a cry as a chakra coated finger gently presses down on the tiny node.

➢ your chakra flow glows as the tenketsu are overcharged, only shining brighter as neji's fingers hit more nodes surrounding the navel and pelvic region. your hips grind on his face as the pleasure boarders on overwhelming. neji couldn't help the satisfied smirk that curls at his lips, seeing you writhe beneath him as your moans, whines and cries for more fill the room. it worked far better than he expected.

➢ as he suspected, it doesn't take long for you to climax. his thumb rubbing your clit and the overwhelming charge of your chakra flow proved to be too much. your hands grips the sheets below as your back arches, your pussy clamping down on his intruding fingers as your body spasms. it hits you much harder than you expected, so much so that your release makes a mess of the sheets and coats neji's wrist.

➢ neji stares, his byakugan deactivating as he takes in the beautifully fucked out look on your face. his cock throbs within the confines of his pants as he takes a deep breath, not wanting to cum too early. if you had such an explosive climax with just him fingering you, neji could only imagine how you'd react when he's thrusting inside of you as he messes with your tenketsu.

➢ a shiver races down his spine and neji wastes no time with undoing his pants and freeing his cock. settling on top of you once again, he's quick to pull you into a deep kiss, his clean hand coming to cup your cheek.

➢ you're going to be there for a long time.

kakashi

i think kakashi would know what to say, especially with all the smut he reads.

but when it comes to actually saying it to you, he is a bit clueless.

he gets all nervous and usually gives up the second he sees your eyes on his, waiting for him to say something lmao.

i’m sorry but kakashi was definitely a virgin before meeting you….only a virgin reads smut that much (speaking from experience 😔)

gai

no…definitely not.

the way he flirts with you is by going on a 2 hour monologue about how much he loves you. and yes he’s crying and holding your hand while saying all of this as well.

if you attempt any dirty talk towards him he would not quite understand or take the hint that you want him.

with gai you have to be straight up with what you want, and trust he will give it to you.

Itachi

yes (might be bias bc i’m in love with him)

i think Itatchi would have a filthy mouth, he just doesn’t show it.

i also hc that he has a power complex….(obviously….)

so trust me when i say he’s calling you his “little slut” while making you count each spank he gives you…

Yamato

no.

he tries and he fumbles

but pls be patient with him he’s nervous 😭

he wants to be cool and he wants the dirty talker to come off casually. but instead he just freaks out and stutters and gives up and sulks in the corner LMAO

jiraiya

please….your talking to the author of the make out paradise series….this man is a walking dirty talk machine.

he is nastyyy when it comes to flirting, and it doesn’t stop just because your dating or married. if anything it gets worse.

if you try to get him back and use some of your own dirty talk, it just makes him even more competitive and the attempts to make you flustered become 10 times worse

you can NEVER out dirty talk this man so don’t even try 😭

naruto

no. but he thinks he is.

naruto only knows about dirty talker from Jiraiya’s books, and while yes he would be better off just reciting words from the page. he likes to make things up and put his own twist on things.

it kind of amusing actually

except when Naruto is balls deep inside of you, all of that dirty talker goes out the window and instead he’s just begging and whining and saying whatever comes to mind first.

naruto can’t stop talking. he literally can’t. so don’t ever try to have quiet sex with him because that will not work out for you 😭

sasuke

no 😭 i’m sorry! i just think he would be embarrassed

he doesn’t talk a lot during sex, he thinks it throws off the mood and makes things awkward

if you bring up to him that you like when he talks, he’ll probably tell you to shut up.

but trust, he secretly cares. because the next time your both making out and humping eachother like rabbits, he whispers some stuff into your ear.

he’s kind of awkward about it, simply saying stuff like “you feel good,” or “so pretty….” but at least he’s trying!

sakura

i don’t think she’d be the best at dirty talk. i think she could try, but it wouldn’t be that great.

but trust she’ll make up for it with her insane fingering game 😭 🙏

if you talk dirty to her she’d probably just giggle and playfully push you and say “stop that…” but she doesn’t really mean it.

shikamaru

i said this in a fic before, shikamaru’s dirty talk game is crazy.

but he is too lazy to actually say it outloud. he thinks it takes way too much effort to actually speak. so instead he’ll just text you.

and he acts so nonchalant about it too. he’ll casually be talking to his friends or doing his duties as if he didn’t just send you the CRAZIEST nastiest message of all time 3 seconds ago.

and if you confront him all hot and bothered he’ll act super casual, like he forgot he even sent the message lmao.

choji

no 😭

i don’t even think he would know that dirty talk is a thing until ino mentions something about it

he really wouldn’t try it either, he doesn’t think it’s needed.

if he wants something from you, he just asks. and most of the time you say yes. (especially if he asks to eat you out because trust he is the best munch in the whole entire hidden leaf village)

ino

a bit of an unpopular opinion but i think she would be amazing at dirty talk. but here’s the thing…she’s all bark no bite.

she can sit next to you, her hands caressing your legs as she whispers all the filthy things she’s thinking about in your ear.

but the second you lock the door and start undressing, she becomes a nervous puddle

all the sudden she’s a stuttering mess and all those dirty words go right out the window lmao

but trust, after she gets the hang of things she is the craziest domintrix ever

sai

(sorry i don’t know too much about sai yet!)

i think he wouldn’t know about it until he reads up about it or someone tells him about dirty talk.

he sounds robotic when he tries it for the first time. you can clearly tell this is something that he is clueless about.

but trust, he talks dirty a lot without even realizing.

like he’ll come up behind you, whispering about how beautiful you are all sensually in your ear. and he’ll be super confused when you practically jump on him after because he didn’t realize that that was dirty talk.

after he started to connect the dots, he uses it to his advantage for sure

kiba

yes.

if you’ve read literally any of my hc’s you would know that kiba’s main thing is making you all hot and bothered with his words.

wether it be teasing you and being all mean, or maybe begging you to let him have a quickie, kiba will be the nastiest dirty talker you ever meet.

shino

alright hear me out….yes

shino is so mysterious and he doesn’t talk a lot. so the last thing you expected was for him to have such a filthy mouth

but i hc shino as a secret freak hehe

he’ll say the nastiest things when your alone. and if you try to tell your friends or his team about this; no one will believe you.

hinata

no

god no.

hinata can barley speak during sex before borderline fainting or turning red.

if your talk dirty to her she’ll probably faint too.

she prefers kind praise, but not too much of else she get too flustered.

i do hc hinata as a secret freak tho, so she can definitely write you some super freaky messages or letters. but actually saying it to your face is too much for her.

neji

neji hears about this from naruto and kiba and immediately gets to work looking things up.

his dirty talk is not natural what so ever. it’s all from books he had to read to figure it out (he will burn these books afterwards. he would rather die than be caught with a copy of make out paradise.

he’s gets really flustered when trying to say these things to you, and most of the time will just give up.

and if you do it to him first, he’ll get all blushy and argue, “That language is inappropriate and immature Y/N….” while a there’s a giant bulge in his pants LMAO he’s such a brat

lee

not one bit lmao

but it’s not his fault! you make him nervous

when it comes to dirty talk lee would mostly resort to praise. he’s very very big on praising you. but when it comes to dirty talking he wouldn’t do it

but trust if you do it to him he would lose his mind. he would become a flustered and stuttering mess, placing a pillow over his crotch because he’s embarrassed 😭 you have to be gentle with the dirty talking when it comes to lee though

temari

yes.

and every thing she says is true too.

unlike ino, temari wont get nervous when things start happening for real.

she’s also the type to whisper dirty things into your ear in public settings and then walk away with a smirk. she’s a tease for sure

if you try to dirty talk to her she’ll probably just chuckle and cross her arms. “feeling bold, aren’t we?” (pls i need her)

gaara

for sure no

not at all

you have to beg him to start dirty talking

“plleeassseee gaara, your voice is so sexy…” you can pout all you want but it would probably take him a while.

he’s not used to people liking him this much so be patient with him. he does have that nice raspy voice tho fr 😭 🙏

he’ll start slow, and eventually start doing it more after he finds out what you like

but typically it’s not his thing

kankuro

oh for sure.

he does it so much it starts to get annoying. but he doesn’t care. the more annoyed you get the more he wants to annoy you lmao (it turns him on when your mad…)

he eventually starts to use random corny pick up lines on you just to watch you groan and roll your eyes. it starts to become a game for him lmao.

A ‣ aftercare (what are they like after sex?)

to neji, aftercare is his way of doting on you. once he's more comfortable in the relationship, neji comes to enjoy the calm silence that comes after sex. he loves to hold you or be held, feeling the steady beat of your heart and your breathing evening out. the sheer intimacy of the simple act makes him feel so light and he lets the relaxation sink into the depths of his body.

though he hates going to sleep covered in sweat and cum, so he eventually goes to draw a bath for the both of you.

B ‣ body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

neji would say his hands. both because of his taijutsu and because he loves how he's able to make you feel. like everything he does, neji is precise, moving them in such a way that will have your back arching and you moaning out for him. neji takes quite a bit of pride in making you feel good.

as for his favorite part of you, i'd say it be your eyes. there's a reason why he prefers having sex in positions that will allow him to look into the depths of your eyes—it's because he loves the way they glisten whenever the pleasure grows to be too much. or the way you try and keep your gaze on him as he thrusts into you.

and even outside of sexual moments, he loves seeing the way your eyes brighten whenever you see/do/talk about the things you love, or when you see him after long missions. to neji, eyes are like a window to the soul.

C ‣ cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

he doesn't like making more of a mess than necessary, so as a result, neji would rather cum inside of you—or your mouth, it doesn't really matter to him.

D ‣ dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

this is something you can't waterboard out of him, but there's a point in your relationship in which he accidently saw your naked body with his byakugan. he couldn't look you in the eyes for weeks, the shame nearly overwhelmed him. you may or may not put 2 and 2 together, eventually.

E ‣ experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he's got none, you're his first everything. outside of the mandatory sex ed class in the academy, he's pretty lost when it comes to sex. but of course—given his pride—neji's not going to admit that, instead opting towards acting as though he knew what he's doing when it's very obvious the opposite is true (needless to say, your first time was...interesting).

deep down, he hopes that you can guide him in the right direction. though upside is that neji is a quick learner, so he's quick to catch on to what works and what doesn't.

F ‣ favorite position (this goes without saying)

missionary and lotus are by far his favorites. anything that can have him see your face honestly.

any varient of missionary is his go to. he loves having your legs wrapped around his waist or draped over his shoulders as he thrusts into you. he would hold your hand as his eyes bores into you, his gaze intense as he takes in the pleasure on your face.

lotus is something he didn't think he'd be into, but quickly fell in love with it. you were sitting on his lap in the middle of a heated makeout session which escalated to dry humping. you were both were so caught up in the passion that you break away only to remove clothes and it ends with you bouncing on his cock. he was hooked ever since.

G ‣ goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

nope, neji takes intimacy quite seriously. but there are times in which his dry humor slips out when he's teasing you. but overall, he's not the type to joke.

H ‣ hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

neji prefers trimming rather than shaving and he makes sure that his hair is kept short and neat.

I ‣ intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

when it comes to showing his love for you, neji believes that actions speak louder than words—and sex, to him, is a big way of channeling all that is unspoken and making them clear to you.

J ‣ jack off (masturbation headcanon)

i don't think neji feels the need to masterbait very often—especially if he isn't in a relationship or doesn't have a crush on anyone. but i imagine when he does develop a crush on someone, those sexual feelings will eventually flood in. he would feel like a pervert if he ever gave into his lustful thoughts and jerked off, he has his pride. so needless to say, neji would be quite pent-up

he'll give in eventually, but he would only do it in the shower for easy clean up. he's both surprised and mortified at how easily his mind slips down the gutter, his fantasies growing more and more clear in his mind's eye. his moans are very pretty sounding (wbk). when he's in a relationship, he would jerk off every once in a while—mainly if he hasn't gotten to see you in a long time for whatever reason and he's missed you.

K ‣ kink (one or more of their kinks)

neji isn't the freakiest person out there, but he's got some. though he wouldn't outright say what he's into, it's something you eventually find out throughout the duration of your relationship.

praise is his top kink, both giving and recieving. neji is so gentle when it comes to intimacy, and sex is one of the only times he feels he can properly express just how deep his feelings run for you. his voice is breathy in your ear as he thrusts into you, whispering how good you feel around him, how there's no one else for him besides you. and if you ever reciprocate (which you better 🔫) he'd be quite surprised at the bolt of aroursal that shoots through his body, only makes him want to keep going. to pleasure you further to hear more of those sweet words coming from your mouth.

sub neji sub neji sub ne-

hair pulling is a runner up. i've said this before, but this is something that came as a surprise to the both of you. you're in the middle of a heated making out session on the couch one day, grinding into his lap. deep in the moment, the hand that's buried in his smooth hair gently tugs, pulling him back into another kiss. the surprised whimper that is ripped out of his throat is music to your ears, and his hips buck up—dick twitching in his pants. the pain that quickly melts into pleasure almost made him cum right then and there.

L ‣ location (favorite places to do the do)

the bedroom. kind of goes without saying, but neji really values privacy and would be mortified if he ever got caught in the act so there's a very rare chance of him doing it outside of the house.

another place he's come to enjoy is the bathroom, especially when you're taking a bath together. being surrounded by sloshing water and calming silence as you fondle eachother, touches methodical and not rushed as your worlds narrows down to the feeling of him holding you or him being in your arms. plus clean up is minimal, so in neji's view, it's pretty great.

M ‣ motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

neji has a sensitive neck. if you want to take advantage of this, just come up behind him when he's either reading or cooking, hug him and press small kisses to his neck. his entire body would stiffen, breath catching in his throat as his cock begins to stir but he doesn't bother stop you.

bonus points if you play with the hair on his nape while kissing his neck, it's an almost guarantee that you'll be getting laid.

N ‣ no (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

outdoor sex. for one, he's a very private person and only felt comfortable with sex anywhere outside of your home. that, and he doesn't want anyone knowing about his sex life. it's between you and him after all.

choking/slapping. he can't bring himself to hurt you like that and he won't. don't try and choke him, it doesn't matter if he knows in advance, his shinobi instincts never go away. just don't do it.

degredation. sure he'll tease you, but he's not going to call you things like 'slut' or 'whore' or the like. he can't bring himself to say such things to the person he loves most. it's not happening.

O ‣ oral (preference in giving or recieving, skill, etc.)

he prefers giving rather than recieving. he didn't think he would enjoy it initially, and his preformance is rather sloppy at first. but neji is a fast learner, and grows to enjoy it. he prefers using both his tongue and fingers when he gives oral, keeping eye contact with you the entire time. the sight of you laying back, a hand covering your flushed face as you practically ride his face never fails to make him aroused because he's the reason why you're feeling so good. instant ego boost. may or may not end up grinding his cock against the matress when things get particularly intense.

neji will die before he'll admit that blowjobs make him cum so fast. he hates not being in control, but the moment your lips begin sucking on the tip of his cock, his fists turn white from how hard he's gripping the sheets. he should be embarassed at how loud he's moaning, but all he can focus on is the way your toungue traces the veins of his cock—the way your cheeks hollow as you take more of them into your mouth. it doesn't take long for him before his fingers are gripping your hair as pushes into your mouth as he comes.

if you want him to sub, just give him good head.

P ‣ pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

neji keeps the pace slow and sensual, wanting to draw things out as much as he can. but when he's nearing his release, the speed of his thrusts quicken, turning somewhat sloppy.

Q ‣ quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

neji's not a fan. while he doesn't necessarily hate them, it's just that he prefers not rushing intimacy. but if you're really pent-up—and you're both at home—then there's a good chance you could get him to finger you/give you a handjob (see "M" on how to seduce him). though don't expect these to happen very often.

R ‣ risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

in the beginning of your relationship, neji isn't really up for much experimenting. but as time progresses and he becomes more secure in his relationship and comfortable in his sexuality, he'd be more open to it—within reason of course. this does take time and patience on your end if you want to get him to try a new kink with you. he may close himself off when you initially bring it up, but it'll be something that lingers within his mind more than he cares to admit and it's only a matter a time before he brings it up again with dark red dusting his cheeks.

overall, after a while, he would be down. but you have to be patient.

S ‣ Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

to his embarassment, he wouldn't last too long in the beginning. during your first time, when he first inched his way inside of you, it took every ounce of his will and strength to not immidiately finish inside of you. but that proves to futile, because after a few thrusts, the tightening knot within his stomach unfurled as he buried his face into your next as he spilled his cum inside.

though as your relationship progresses, his stamina builds and he can last a good 2-3 rounds. if you're still left wanting, then he'll use his fingers or mouth to get you off because again—your pleasure is his priority.

T ‣ toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

entering modern au territory here, but i don't see neji being too into them, though he wouldn't care if you use them. if you want him to use one on you, he would obligie because your pleasure is his priority. but it's just one of those things he doesn't care for.

U ‣ unfair (how much they like to tease?)

at the beginning, neji doesn't tease. i hc that outside of the mandatory sex ed class in the academy, he's pretty lost when it comes to sex. as a result, he kept things pretty straightforward for the most part. but when you're deep into the relationship and he's much more comfortable with sex, this is when the teasing begins to come up.

it won't be too much or too often, but would purposely draw out foreplay. he would force you to maintain eye contact as he fingers you, watch every little twitch and contort on your face at the pleasure he gives you—but he wouldn't escalate until you say what you want out loud. one thing about neji is that he has the self control of a god, so he has no problem with waiting as long as required, even with his cock throbbing in his pants.

V ‣ volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

neji tries his hardest to keep his voice down—and for the most part he suceeds. the most he lets out is soft groans into your ears, turning into breathy moans when he's about to climax. if you want to hear more of those, ride him hard and fast or give him some good head. it works like a charm, so well in fact that he has to cover his mouth so nobody hears him.

i want to overstimulate him until he's a crying, whining mess-

W ‣ wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

he's thought about shibari a couple of times. nothing too crazy, but the thought seeing ropes adorning your skin turns him on more than it should have. i've also said this multiple times, but i hc neji to be demisexual (someone who feels sexually attracted to someone only after they've developed a close emotional bond with them).

X ‣ x-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

neji has the prettiest dick in all of konoha (trust me). his dick is little longer than average and just thick enough to hit those spots that'll have you seeing stars. like i said, he keeps his pubic hair trimmed.

now i'll be honest and say i don't really know how to describe dicks very well. my fault chat.

Y ‣ yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

neji has a low to medium drive. sex is something he can go quite long without. that, and add in the fact that he'll be regularly out on long missions and sex is usually far out of his mind. keyword here being usually, because there have been times in which he finds himself hit with a need that hits once he's returned from a long mission—and all he wants is to have you in your arms.

it's times like these in which the sex may or may not be a little more rougher than usual, him wanting to make up for lost time while also getting rid of all the pent-up energy that's inside of him.

Z ‣ zzz (how quickly do they fall asleep afterwards)

You set your box down on the nearest free space, which happened to be a half-built IKEA bookshelf Emilia was wrestling with.

“Hand me that hex key,” she grunted, hair tied back, eyes focused.

Chris leaned against the wall, watching her like a loyal dog. “Hey babe, you want me to tighten the screws? I’m really good at screwing.”

“Jesus Christ, Chris,” she said flatly without even looking up.

Ads, meanwhile, was hanging string lights along the kitchen island, muttering to herself about “setting a vibe.” Every so often she’d stop to reposition a decorative pillow, clearly the only one here with any interest in making the loft look like humans lived in it.

“Don’t even think about putting up that live-laugh-love crap up,” Emilia called out.

“It’s not a sign, it’s art,” Ads shot back. “And this place is gonna look depressing as hell if I don’t do something.”

Chris was in the middle of pacing the hallway with a tape measure, scribbling numbers in a notebook.

“What the fuck are you doing now?” Emilia asked.

“Claiming my room,” he said. “Biggest square footage gets me. That’s the law.”

“That’s not a law,” Adebayo said.

“Yeah it is, squatters’ rights, baby. You wouldn’t know, you grew up with morals.”

Across the room, Adrian finally wandered in, carrying a duffel bag and, inexplicably, a fucking sword. He stopped in the doorway, blinking at the chaos.

“Is there, like, a sign-up sheet for who uses the bathroom first?” he asked.

“No,” Emilia snapped.

“Yes,” Ads countered at the same time. “I already made one.”

Adrian shrugged and dropped his bag directly in the middle of the floor, like he’d already decided that was his spot. His eyes flicked to you, landing on the box you were holding.

“Uh, need help?” he asked, too casual, like the question had slipped out before he could stop it.

Before you could answer, Chris pointed the tape measure at him like a weapon. “Hey! Loft rule number one no lame ass swords.”

“It’s not a lame ass sword,” Adrian said, offended. “It’s a decorative katana. Totally different. It’s fucking sick, I’m gonna kill someone with it one day.”

“You’ll never top me killing a gorilla with a chainsaw.” Economos gloated

“I knew you were fucking with me!”

Everybody let out a unison groan. Not this again.

“If you people want Bluetooth synced in every damn room so you can blast fucking Cinderella or whatever hair metal garbage you listen to, then shut the fuck up for five minutes.” Economos huffed

Chris’s head popped up like a meerkat. “Wait… you’re saying we can play music in every room? At the same time?”

“Yes,” Economos muttered, “that’s how whole-home audio works.”

Chris grinned like a kid on Christmas. “Economos, you glorious bastard. First song’s mine. Crüe. Loud enough to wake the neighbors.”

Emilia groaned. “We’re gonna get evicted in a week.”

You drag your box down the hall, scouting out the smaller bedrooms that Chris hasn’t already measured like a deranged realtor. Ads told you to “pick whichever feels like your vibe,” which sounded supportive, but really translated to she’s already claimed the one with the best light.

You push open the door to a modest corner room. It’s not huge, but it’s yours. A single window, a bare mattress in the middle of the space, and just enough floor space for the boxes you’ve lugged up five flights of stairs.

You set one down and sigh. Home sweet chaos.

Across the hall, you hear the distinct sound of something heavy thunking against drywall. Then Adrian’s voice

“Fuck. Okay. That was structural. Definitely structural. Maybe if I—” another crash “—nope, it’s fine. Totally fine.”

You poke your head out just in time to see him trying to balance a katana stand on a shelf that clearly wasn’t meant to hold weapons. He notices you watching, freezes mid-motion, and immediately gets defensive.

“What? It’s décor.”

“Pretty sure décor isn’t supposed to pierce the drywall,” you say, leaning on your doorframe. “There goes our deposit.”

His eyes narrow. “Wow. Love how you’ve been here for five seconds and already think you’re, like what? The loft police.”

“Someone’s gotta be. You’re gonna kill us in our sleep with your ‘décor.’”

He huffs, dragging his duffel bag toward the closet like it personally insulted him. “At least I have décor. What are you putting up in there, inspirational quotes? A cat calendar? Maybe a sad little cactus?”

You smirk. “You don’t get to judge until you can hang something without putting a hole in the wall.”

He opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, then stops, caught. He mutters something about “thumbtacks being for useless” and disappears into his closet, leaving the door cracked.

From down the hall, Chris’s voice bellows “DIBS ON THE BATHROOM NEXT TO THE HOT GIRLS!”

“Fuck off, Chris,” Harcourt yells back, followed by the sound of a hammer hitting wood.

You shake your head, turning back into your room. You set a box down on the mattress and start unpacking. Posters, books, a lamp. The ordinary stuff. And through the thin walls, you hear Adrian humming off-key, too loud, completely unselfconscious.

Somewhere between “Eye of the Tiger” and an enthusiastic guitar solo made entirely with his mouth, he calls out

“Hey! You want me to hook your TV up to the system? Economos said I shouldn’t touch anything but I totally figured it out already.”

You pause, halfway through smoothing a sheet over your mattress. “By figured it out, do you mean you watched someone do it before?”

“Wow. Distrust. Rude. I’ll have you know my Blu-Ray player has, like, three HDMI cables. I’m basically an expert.”

There’s a beat of silence, then the sound of him banging on the wall you share, your wall vibrating with the force.

“It’s gonna be fun roomie!” he shouts.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the smile tugging at your mouth. This was going to be… interesting.

By the time the sun goes down, the loft looks less like a construction site and more like… well, a half-finished IKEA showroom. Boxes still stacked, tools scattered everywhere, and the faint smell of dust mixed with whatever cologne Chris practically bathes in.

Ads and Emilia disappear to the store after Emilia mutters something about “basic necessities,” leaving the rest of you to fend for yourselves.

Which is how you end up sitting cross-legged on the living room floor surrounded by cartons of Chinese food and a pack of beer Chris proudly announced he’d “found” from Economos’ stash.

“Found means stole,” Economos grumbles, prying open a box of lo mein.

Chris grins. “Found" means brotherhood, Economos. Brotherhood and sharing. Like Jesus and the apostles, except instead of fucking wine it’s Bud Light.”

Adrian snorts into his beer. “Pretty sure Jesus didn’t shotgun a twelve-pack.”

“Yeah, well, pretty sure Jesus also didn’t have killer abs,” Chris says, patting his own stomach.

“You don’t have killer abs,” Emilia’s voice cuts in from the doorway as she and Ads return, arms loaded with grocery bags. She drops a pack of paper towels on the coffee table and shakes her head. “You have dad bod optimism, at best.”

The whole room bursts into laughter, Chris included, though he tries to flex mid-sip just to prove a point.

You crack open your box of sesame chicken and glance around. For the first time all day, everyone looks… happy. Relaxed, even. Adrian is sitting close enough that his knee brushes yours every time he reaches for another dumpling, though he doesn’t seem to notice, but you do. You always do.

Ads sits back against the couch with a beer and raises her bottle. “Alright, ground rules. Before we devolve into anarchy. Number one dishes don’t do themselves. Whoever dirties them, cleans them.”

Chris groans. “What if I can’t handle doing dishes that day?”

“Then starve,” Emilia deadpans, earning another wave of laughter.

“Rule number two,” Ads continues, “no overnight guests without a heads-up.”

Chris perks up. “Define overnight. Like, eight hours? Or are we talking multiple rounds—”

“Jesus Christ,” Emilia cuts him off, tossing a fortune cookie at his head.

Economos clears his throat. “Rule number three: no touching the router. No. One. Not even if it looks like it’s on fire. Especially if it looks like it’s on fire.”

“That’s so specific it makes me want to touch it more,” Adrian mutters, but you catch the smirk playing at his mouth.

You lean back on your hands, watching them bicker, the warm buzz of beer mixing with the comfort of greasy takeout. It feels… weirdly like family. Messy, loud, dysfunctional, but family.

Ads looks around, softer now. “Look, I know this is gonna be a shitshow sometimes. But you guys are my people. And if we can survive butterflies, blackmail, and Peacemaker’s musical taste, we can survive living together.”

Chris raises his beer in salute. “Fuck yeah. The 11th Street Kids, baby. Stronger than the weak ass Wi-Fi John set up.”

“That’s not hard,” Economos says under his breath, but he still clinks his bottle with the rest.

Adrian’s knee nudges yours again, deliberate this time. He glances sideways, and for a split second, under all the bravado, there’s something earnest in his eyes. Like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how.

Instead, he just mutters, “Guess this makes us all roomies now.”

And somehow, that feels like the closest thing to a promise you’ll get from him.

After a few more beers, stories and laughs the loft is finally quiet. After hours of noise, shouting, music battles, and passive-aggressive debates about who left their underwear on the hallway banister (Chris), the place has gone still. You showered, slipped into pajamas, and crawled into bed around midnight, content and full and exhausted.

And then, somewhere around 3:04 AM, your stomach is begging for food.

You crack open your door and pad down the hallway, blinking against the dim light filtering in from the kitchen.

You’re halfway through opening the fridge when the front door creaks.

You freeze.

Then a Clunk. Shuffle. Grunt. You grab a kitchen knife.

And then “It’s just me, don’t stab me.”

You whip around. Adrian’s standing there in full vigilante gear, the suit zipped up, mask still on. He smells like an alleyway, sweat, and wet leather.

You raise an eyebrow. “What the hell are you doing?”

He lifts the mask off with a dramatic whoosh, revealing sweaty curls and a flushed face. “Patrol. You know. Justice, the thing we do. Protecting the innocent. Kicking bad guy ass.”

“After you’ve been drinking?” you say, closing the fridge with your hip. “At 3AM?”

“Crime doesn’t sleep,” he says, wiping at a streak of blood, probably not his, on his cheek. “So neither do I. Also I forgot how hot this suit gets. I’m like three degrees from being soup in here.”

You slide a Tupperware of leftover chicken onto the counter and grab two forks. “You want some?”

His eyes light up like you offered him sex and a side of fries. “Do I want cold chicken from a stranger’s fridge while smelling like a sewer rat? Abso-fucking-lutely.”

You both lean against the counter, shoulder to shoulder, digging into the food in companionable silence. It should be gross. He’s still breathing heavy from vigilante cardio and you’re in the tiniest tank top and sleep shorts, but somehow it works.

He licks his fingers. “Wanna watch a movie?” He asks with his mouth full.

You glance at the microwave clock. 3:17 AM.

“Isn’t it a little late?” you ask.

He shrugs, mouth still full. “Or early.”

You hesitate. “Fine. But nothing sad. I’m too tired to feel feelings.”

Adrian fist-pumps. “You’re gonna love Tango & Cash. Or RoboCop. Ooh actually The Nice Guys.”

“You’re going to shower first,” you say. “You smell like crime.”

He mock-bows. “Your wish is my command, Roomie.”

He reappears ten minutes later, towel-dried curls wild, sweatpants low on his hips, a gray t-shirt clinging to his still-damp chest. He flops dramatically next to you on the couch like he thought about this moment all fucking day.

You’re curled up on one side, small pajama set leaving very little to the imagination. You notice how often he glances at your thighs, your collarbone, and your knee brushing his leg.

He hands you the remote. “You pick.”

You scroll. Slowly. Painfully. Intentionally.

He leans over slightly to peek at the screen and totally not to smell your shampoo. “You take longer to pick a movie than I do to pick a target.”

“You picked Magic Mike last time. You lost all rights.”

“That was a cultural experience,” he whines. “Besides, I’m more of a step up guy. I appreciate male athleticism.”

You snort, and he watches the way your shoulders shake, eyes lighting up like he just unlocked a bonus level.

The tension is thick. Familiar. Teasing.

Your bare leg brushes against his again, and he doesn’t move away. In fact, he shifts closer. His arm settles behind you on the back of the couch. Not quite touching. Just… there.

You don’t say anything.

He watches you scroll a few more seconds.

“You know, you could just pick me.”

You pause. “…What?”

He clears his throat, like he surprised even himself. “Like. As a movie. I mean. Like if I was a movie. I’d be a good one. Action-packed. Explosive. Maybe a little full frontal.”

You blink. “Are you okay?”

“No,” he blurts. “I mean yes. I’m great. I’m amazing. Just—sorry, I get weird when it’s late and you’re wearing that and sitting this close and…”

You raise an eyebrow.

He holds up both hands like he’s surrendering. “Okay. I’m going to shut up. I’m gonna watch the movie. I’m not gonna say one more word unless it’s helpful or romantic or horny.”

You smile slowly, lazily dragging your gaze down to his mouth and back up to his eyes.

“That’s a very specific filter.”

He grins, eyes blown wide. “Yeah. I like specificity.”

The final choice ends up being Finding Nemo.

You say it’s for “nostalgia.” But really, it was because you remember Adrian once said, completely unprompted, that manta rays are “fucking majestic” and he beams when Mr. Ray sings “Let’s name the zones, the zones, the zones…”

So yeah. It was mostly to see his face during that part.

Ten minutes in, he’s locked in. Legs spread, arms crossed, eyes narrowed like he’s analyzing it for a mission report.

You can’t help the grin tugging at your lips.

“Popcorn?” you ask, already sliding off the couch.

He blinks, distracted. “Huh?”

You point to the kitchen. “Popcorn. The snack food. Salty. Crunchy. Legally required for any movie after 2am.”

Adrian tilts his head like a confused puppy. “…Can you put mini M&M’s in it?”

You shoot him finger guns. “That’s the only correct answer.”

You pop the bag in the microwave and prep a bowl with chocolate and salt. You hear the TV volume spike as he sings along to Mr. Ray’s manta ray jingle in the background.

When the popcorn’s ready, you grab the bowl and head back. The room is dim, lit only by the glow of Pixar animation and the occasional flash from the TV.

You don’t see the shoe on the floor.

It’s probably Chris’s.

Your foot catches.

You stumble forward “Shit!” and crash directly into Adrian’s lap.

The bowl of popcorn goes flying. M&M’s scatter like emotional landmines across the couch. Your hands land on his chest. His hands instinctively grab your waist.

There’s a heartbeat of absolute silence.

“Wow,” he breathes. “That’s one way to get me to shut up.”

You look up at him, face inches from his, your body pressed against him in every inconvenient, hot, undeniable way.

“Sorry,” you say, trying and failing to sit up. “There was a—”

“A Shoe. Yeah,” he says quickly. “I think the universe is telling us something.”

“That I’m a walking hazard?”

“That I should keep M&M’s on every surface just in case this happens again.”

His hands are still on your waist. He hasn’t let go. You’re not sure you want him to.

Your breath hitches. His eyes drop to your mouth.

“You’re gonna kiss me, aren’t you?” you whisper.

He nods, already leaning in. “I’m gonna try really fucking hard not to be weird about it.”

“Promises promises.” You tease.

And then he kisses you.

Warm, messy, a little off-center at first because of course it is, but then he adjusts, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your neck like he’s terrified you’ll vanish.

When you pull back, you’re both breathless.

Adrian grins, wide and shameless. “So… wanna go back to watching fish or should we, like, test the structural integrity of this couch?”

The kiss lingers between you like a dropped match in a room full of gasoline.

You’re now straddling his lap, legs on either side of his hips, chest rising and falling against his and Adrian is looking at you like he just won the fucking lottery and doesn’t trust the system not to take it back.

His hands are warm on your waist, fingers flexing like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you. You lean in again, slower this time, your lips brushing his once, twice, before deepening the kiss. His mouth opens under yours, eager and messy, and he groans like he’s been waiting years for this.

“Jesus,” he mutters into your mouth, “you’re, like… dangerously hot for someone who almost concussed me.”

“You’ll live,” you murmur, nipping his bottom lip. “Probably.”

“Not if you keep doing that,” he breathes. “I might explode.”

You grind down against him just enough to shut him up, and his hips buck automatically. The groan that escapes him is so desperate you half expect him to apologize for it, but this is Adrian, and he doesn’t know shame.

“You’re such a little freak,” he mutters, mouth dragging down your jaw. “You know that?” He laughs, breathless against your neck, and then he bites, soft, testing, and you gasp. He freezes, then pulls back just far enough to see your face.

His hands slide under the hem of your tank top, large and warm against your bare waist. His fingers move slow, like he’s savoring every inch, like he’s finally getting to touch something he’s imagined too many damn times to count.

“You’re gonna ruin my life,” he says quietly.

You tilt your head, breath catching as his thumb brushes just beneath your ribs. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not,” he says, dipping his head to kiss just below your ear. “Not even a little.”

His kisses trail down your neck warm, open-mouthed, deliberate. He nips again, sucking lightly just above your collarbone, and your hips twitch forward instinctively grinding down on him.

He groans, hands tightening at your sides. “Fuck, keep doing that or I swear to God, I’ll—”

“What?” you whisper. “You’ll what?”

He grins against your skin. “I’ll beg.”

“I’d like that.”

“I bet you would,” he admits, nuzzling the curve of your throat. “You absolutely would. Want me to? I’ll do it. I’ll tell you how hot you look in those tiny-ass shorts and how I’ve been trying not to stare at your thighs for the last hour.”

Your breath stutters. He feels it. Smirks. Leans back just enough to meet your eyes. You reach down, grab the hem of your own tank top, and pull it over your head.

Adrian’s brain short-circuits so hard he just stares for a beat.

“Okay, cool, I’m dead. You killed me. This is heaven. Wow. Amazing.”

You lean down, lips brushing his again. “Just shut up and touch me.”

He grins, full and wild. “Oh. You’re gonna regret saying that.”

And then he’s everywhere, hands, mouth, voice a little chaotic, a lot reverent, and all yours.

His mouth is on your chest, reverent and greedy, his hands spread wide over your hips like he’s trying to anchor himself to the couch, to you, before he completely comes undone.

You’re flushed, breath stuttering as his tongue traces a line over your hard nipples. He’s muttering something, completely unfiltered and worshipful between kisses.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re so hot—how are you even real, I mean look at you—shit—okay, no, don’t look at me.”

You laugh, gasping as he sucks a mark into your skin, one hand sliding up to cup your breast while the other grips your thigh like it owes him money.

And then right when he’s panting against your skin, hips twitching up into yours like a man possessed, you thread your fingers into his curls and tug his head back just enough to look him in the eye.

“Adrian,” you whisper, voice low and wrecked.

He freezes. “Yeah?”

You bite your lip. “Take me to my room.”

He blinks once. Twice. Like you just told him he won the lottery and offered to punch his high school bully.

“Like… carry you?” he asks, voice cracking in real time. “Or are we talking a sexy walk? ‘Cause I can do both. I can—I mean—I can run if you want—”

“Pick a method,” you murmur, dragging your nails lightly down the back of his neck, “but get me there now.”

Something in him snaps.

“Fucking finally,” he growls, hands tightening at your waist as he surges up, lifting you effortlessly with you still wrapped around him.

You yelp, half laugh, half moan as he bumps into the coffee table on the way, too frantic to care. He all but drops you on the bed, immediately climbing over you, grinning like an unhinged idiot with hearts in his eyes.

“I’m gonna ruin your sheets,” he says, mouth already trailing down your stomach. “I’m gonna ruin your life.”

You reach for him, lips already swollen, voice wrecked.

“Good.”

He hovers over you, mouth trailing down your neck, breath hot and erratic. His hips grind down with just enough pressure to make you gasp, his hands everywhere like he can’t decide what part of you he wants to touch first.

You push up on your elbows, your fingers curling into the hem of his shirt.

“Off,” you whisper.

He scrambles back onto his knees like a man possessed, yanking the shirt up and over his head with the grace of a horny frat boy mid-striptease. He tosses it somewhere, it lands on the lamp, but neither of you cares.

That’s when you see it.

Purple bruising blooms along his left side. Some shallow cuts, too, not deep, but red and angry. It’s nothing life-threatening, but it’s clear he’s been hit. Multiple times. Probably jumped a fence or two. Definitely didn’t dodge when he could’ve.

You sit up, instantly sobering. “What the hell happened?”

Adrian blinks. “Huh? Oh. That’s from earlier. Patrol. I might’ve, uh… tackled a guy through a fence. And then maybe also the guy’s friend tackled me. But I was fine. Am fine. Very fine. Extra fine, even. They’re dead. If you wanna check, I can flex—”

You reach out gently, your fingers ghosting over the edge of the bruise. He hisses through his teeth and flinches, not from the pain, but from your touch. Like it’s too much.

You cup his face, thumb brushing along his jaw. “Why didn't you say anything ?”

He shrugs, suddenly weirdly shy for someone who was sucking hickeys into your chest two minutes ago. “Didn’t wanna ruin the vibe. I was gonna, like, ice it later. It’ll be fine.”

You sigh, and then kiss his shoulder. Slowly. Then the top of the bruise. Then lower.

He freezes. “W-What’re you doing?” he asks, voice suddenly pitched up.

You look up at him, soft and serious. “I’m taking care of you.”

And that’s when he breaks. Like, literally mouth parted. Breath held. Eyes wide. His whole body tense like he’s waiting for someone to tell him this is a joke.

“No one’s ever—” he starts, then stops. “I mean, yeah, okay, this is… happening. You’re hot and you’re nice and now you’re in nurse mode, and that’s, like, unfair. You can’t just do that. You can’t—”

You kiss the spot again, softer.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

You trail your fingers lightly along the bruised side of his rib cage, kissing the uninjured skin in between. “Tell me where it hurts.”

He exhales sharply, head tipping back. “Everywhere, babe. Especially my dick.”

You laugh, and the sound makes him shiver.

Then you shift, gently pulling him down so he’s lying beneath you. Your hands trace over his body like it’s sacred, careful, curious, reverent. You kiss every scrape and mark. And with each one, Adrian melts.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” he says, barely audible. “You’re being… really nice. And I’m still kind of hard from, like, five minutes ago. But also emotional? And I might cry? Or cum? Possibly both?”

You press your forehead to his. “You don’t have to be the tough guy tonight.”

His hands fist the sheets, his voice wrecked “That’s so fucking hot, oh my God.”

You smile. “Let me take care of you, Adrian.”

He nods like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

He’s beneath you, sprawled out against the sheets like some overexcited rescue puppy trying to stay still but failing miserably. His curls are a mess, his mouth parted, chest rising and falling fast, every muscle vibrating with barely restrained need.

You’ve kissed down his chest, over the bruises, the scrapes, and every part of him that deserved softness but probably never got it.

And the way he’s reacting to it? Devastating.

“I, uh,” he starts, blinking up at you with blown pupils and zero self-preservation, “I don’t know what to do with my hands. Or my face. Or my dick. Honestly, everything’s kind of… flailing.”

You straddle his hips, slow and deliberate, pinning him down with nothing but your weight and your gaze.

“You don’t have to do anything,” you murmur, trailing your fingertips over his collarbone, light enough to make him twitch. “You just have to lay there and be good.”

Adrian makes a noise that is entirely inappropriate for a man who kills people in a mask.

“I can do that,” he breathes. “I’m great at being good. The best, actually.”

You press your palm to the center of his chest, firm enough to keep him still, and his hips buck instinctively. His eyes flutter shut.

“Oh my God,” he groans. “I’m not gonna survive this. I’m gonna die.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you whisper, leaning down, dragging your lips just along his jaw. “You can kill a guy with a fork but you fall apart over a little praise?”

“Yes.” His voice breaks. “Because forks are predictable. You’re not. You’re like… if kindness had tits.”

You laugh and reach down between your bodies, palming him through his sweats. The sound he makes is obscene somewhere between a gasp, a whimper, and an “oh fuck yes” that he doesn’t even try to hold back.

“Okay, okay,” he pants. “I’m not gonna cry, I swear. But, like, if I did, it’d be in a hot way. Like a really masculine, emotionally intelligent way.”

You stroke him again slow, firm, purposeful and he arches, gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing tethering him to the planet.

“Adrian,” you say, voice low, steady. “Eyes on me.”

He obeys immediately. Like it’s instinct. Like he’s never heard anything hotter in his entire life.

You hover just over him, lips brushing his, your hand still moving at a maddening pace between his legs.

“You’re so easy to ruin,” you whisper. “Bet you’ve been thinking about this for weeks.”

“Months,” he whines. “Since before the loft. Since, like, the first time you wore those shorts. The pink ones. With the—Jesus—fuck, do that again”

You squeeze just a little harder. His eyes roll back. His hips stutter.

“You want to be good for me, Adrian?”

He nods so fast it looks painful. “Yes. Please. I wanna be so good. I’ll be the best. I’ll do anything.”

You smile and pull his sweats down just enough, and the way he moans when you finally wrap your hand around him without the fabric between you

“Then lie still,” you say sweetly, “and let me make you come just like this.”

Adrian whines — actually whines — but obeys, fists knotting in the sheets like that’s the only way he can keep himself from grabbing you. His eyes are glassy, locked on yours, desperate.

You kiss lower. Over bruised skin, over the sharp lines of his stomach, until you’re hovering over his throbbing cock. The heat coming off him is near unbearable.

You glance up, meeting his gaze, and the sound he makes is somewhere between a groan and a prayer. Then you take him into your mouth, slow, deliberate, letting the weight of him rest heavy on your tongue.

“Holy f—fuck, babe, oh my God,” Adrian gasps, eyes snapping shut, his hips jerking up helplessly before he forces them back down. “Okay, okay, I’ll be still. I’m still. I’m so still. I’m like a sexy statue—fuck—don’t stop—”

You press your tongue against the slit, swirling slowly, and he bucks again, louder this time.

“Jesus Christ,” he pants, head tipping back. “That’s—oh fuck.”

Your hand works in time with your mouth, stroking what you can’t take, squeezing just enough to make his thighs tremble. You hollow your cheeks, sliding deeper, and he nearly chokes.

“Oh my God. You’re so good. You’re so—fuck, you’re perfect. You’re—shit—babe, I can’t—” His voice breaks, wild and desperate. “I’m seriously gonna—don’t stop, don’t ever—ohhh fuck—”

He’s a mess beneath you, babbling praise, swearing like it’s the only language he knows, his whole body trembling as you take him apart piece by piece.

You swirl your tongue over the slit again and he yells, eyes flying open, staring down at you like he’s watching a miracle. His voice cracks when he moans your name, high and raw, followed by a frantic rush of words.

“Please—please—please—oh my God, you’re so hot, you’re so fucking good, I don’t deserve this, I don’t deserve you—”

He groans, his hips bucking despite himself, his voice pitching higher, desperate.

“Babe, I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna cum, I can’t—I’m begging, I’m begging, let me, please, please let me—”

You suck him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, and that’s it. He chokes out a cry, his whole body jerking off the bed as he spills into your mouth, moaning like he’s being exorcised.

His hands finally leave the sheets, tangling in your hair, not to push but to anchor himself as he falls apart completely. His voice is wrecked, whiny, so very Adrian.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—oh my God—thank you—holy shit—don’t ever stop being the hottest person alive—fuck.”

He collapses back against the mattress, boneless, panting, eyes glazed over as if you’ve completely broken him. And honestly? Its so fucking hot.

You crawl up to him smug and satisfied. One hand runs lazily along his chest, tracing lazy shapes.

“You good?” you whisper, a little teasing.

He huffs out a laugh. “Good? Good? You just turned me into a puddle of sex emotions and left me here like a used napkin.”

You grin into his skin. “A very cute napkin.”

He groans and covers his face with his arm for a second, his other hand still tight around your waist like he doesn’t want you moving. Ever.

Then, after a beat, his fingers trail down. Over your ribs. Your hips. A little lower. His voice drops.

“My turn,” he says.

You look up at him. “What?”

His eyes are locked on yours now hungry, laser-focused, still Adrian but different. Wrecked but resurrected, like he got a second wind and now has a mission.

“You think I’m gonna just lay here after that and not spend the rest of the night making you fall apart? Absolutely not. I’m not built like that.”

You raise a brow. “Are you sure you have the energy?”

He smiles, slow and sharp. “My dick is running on adrenaline and your thighs. I’ll live.”

Before you can even tease him again, he’s flipping you gently onto your back, kissing down your neck like it’s a prayer, hands gliding lower with reverence and zero hesitation.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he mutters, voice muffled against your skin. “It’s insane. You’re like a weapon. A sexy landmine. I wanna explode on you. No wait, explode you. Shit—wait…in you? Fuck that’s not right—”

You laugh, breath hitching as he slides between your legs, already pressing kisses to the inside of your thighs before sliding your shorts off. “You’re a mess.”

He looks up, grinning like a lunatic. “A certified mess. But I eat pussy like it’s a team sport and I’ve been waiting my whole life to make you scream, so buckle up.”

You blink. “Did you just say—” But then his mouth is on you, and the rest of the sentence dies in your throat.

Adrian is viciously good at this. Too good. The kind of good that comes from obsession. From thinking about it too much. From laying in bed for weeks with his hand down his sweats, jerking himself raw to the idea of how you’d taste, what you’d sound like, what kind of noise he could pull from you if you’d ever let him.

And now you are.

His lips close around your clit, sucking gently, and the first broken sound that falls from your mouth makes him moan right back into you. The vibration sends a shock through your body. Your hips jerk, and his fingers dig into your thighs like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

He alternates, messy and intentional — slow, lazy licks that curl your toes, followed by sharp, focused strokes that have you crying out, clutching the sheets.

And God, he loves the sound.

“Yeah,” he groans into you, his voice wrecked, unsteady. “Give me that. Say my name again—fuck, that’s it—”

You don’t know what you’re saying anymore. Probably nonsense. Maybe begging. Definitely his name, over and over, like it’s the only word you remember.

His hands never stop moving. One slides up to your chest, tweaking your nipple until you gasp. The other curls beneath your thigh, pulling you closer, like he wants you suffocating him, drowning him in everything you have to give.

Then his tongue plunges inside you, sudden and deep, and the sensation rips a cry from your throat. Your back arches clean off the mattress, body shuddering.

You grab a fistful of his curls, pressing him closer, harder, needing him deeper.

And when your eyes flick down, you catch his.

He’s watching you, wild-eyed, smug, filthy satisfaction curling his lips even as his mouth stays locked between your legs. He looks at you like he’s devouring you whole, like watching you tremble under his tongue is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

He moans when you clamp down around him, the sound vibrating through you, and it makes your thighs shake. he doesn’t stop there. Of course he doesn’t.

He pulls back just enough to flatten his tongue against your clit, sucking hard, while two fingers slide inside you without warning, curling in a way that makes you see stars.

“Holy shit—” you gasp, your whole body arching.

Adrian pulls back just enough to grin up at you, his face glistening, eyes wild. “Never had anyone do that, huh?”

You shake your head, barely able to breathe, let alone answer.

His grin widens, filthy and proud. “Yeah. Thought so. I’ve, uh… practiced. A lot. On myself. Don’t ask.”

And then he does it again, fingers stroking that perfect spot inside you while his mouth works your clit, messy and relentless. The combination makes your vision blur.

Your hips buck wildly, but he just groans and holds you down, pinning you to the bed with strength you forget he has until it’s pressed against you like this.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he babbles between licks, his words muffled against you. “I could do this forever. Wanna make you cum so hard you forget your own name, just mine, only mine.”

Your hands claw at his hair, tugging, needing more, and he laughs into you. Actually laughs. “Oh my God, you’re so hot like this. You’re shaking. You’re gonna lose it, aren’t you? Come on, babe, give it to me”

Then he does something you’ve never experienced, sliding a third finger inside you as his tongue flicks in a ruthless rhythm, sucking at your clit like he’s determined to wring every sound out of you.

Your cry is raw, broken, and he groans like it’s his reward.

“Yeahhh, that’s it. That’s it, fuck yes, you’re perfect, you’re so perfect, holy shit, do it again, cum for me, babe”

Your orgasm hits hard, violent, tearing through you so intensely you half think you black out. Your thighs clamp around his head, your nails dig into his scalp, and all you can do is say his name as wave after wave crashes over you.

And Adrian doesn’t stop. He rides it with you, licking you through it, fingers never faltering, moaning like he’s the one coming.

By the time he finally pulls back, you’re trembling, utterly ruined. He crawls up your body, his face slick with you, grinning like the absolute freak he is.

He kisses you sloppy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, and whispers against your lips:

“Told you. Viciously good. And I’m just getting started.”

You blink at him, dazed. “Holy shit.”

Adrian’s grin is still plastered on his face when he says, “I accept tips. And snacks.”

You laugh, breathless, chest still heaving. Then, with a sly smile, you murmur, “What if I just want your tip?”

He freezes. Blinks. Looks like his brain just blue-screened.

“…Like… just the tip?”

You keep your face straight, biting back a laugh. “Maybe.”

“Oh my God,” he whispers, sitting up like he just heard the word of the Lord. “You’re serious. You’re—holy shit, you’re so fucked up. I fucking love it.”

“Or we can go to sleep,” you suggest knowing it’d drive him crazy.

“No, no, no, don’t take it back. This is like…this is the pinnacle. This is the final boss. The horny Mount Everest. Just the tip. I can do this.”

You snort. “You really think you can handle that?”

He nods furiously. “I’ve been training my whole life for this moment.”

He settles between your legs reaching down to rub his swollen tip against your sensitive clit. The contact makes your hips twitch which he enjoys. He rubs himself against you again and again making you clench around nothing.

“Adrian,” you beg, bringing your hands to his face to pull him in for a kiss. You moan against his tongue and feel as he guides his cock down to your entrance. He pushes the tip in and stills. He clutches the sheets beside your head like it’s taking everything he has not to slam forward.

“Holy fuck,” he groans, forehead dropping against yours. “Okay. Okay, this is fine. This is good. This is so much worse than I thought it’d be.”

You laugh breathlessly. “Worse?”

“In a hot way,” he whimpers. “In a—oh God, in a really hot way. Like the rest of my dick is begging to go inside.”

You squeeze around him deliberately, and he shouts.

“Hey! You can’t—don’t—holy shit, you’re trying to murder me! You said just the tip. I’m following instructions. I need more.” He pulls it out only to thrust it back in over and over again.

You kiss his jaw, your voice wicked in his ear. “Beg for it.”

He lets out a strangled laugh, breathless and desperate. “You’re so mean. You’re perfect. Okay—fine, I’m begging. Please. Please let me give you more. Please let me ruin this whole ‘just the tip’.”

You pretend to think, still grinding your hips just enough to drive him insane. “Hmm. Tempting.”

“Not tempting!” he nearly cries, clutching you tighter. “Necessary! This is a medical emergency! I’m gonna—oh my God—please, please, please—”

You finally nod. “Put it in.”

And when you let him sink all the way in, his groan is guttural, like something pulled straight from his soul.

“Ohhh, fuck.” He drags as his hips begin to thrust slowly at first like he’s savoring the experience. You clench around him and he moves faster. The room is thick with heat and noise, the creak of the bed, the slap of skin, Adrian’s desperate groans spilling out against your neck.

You shift, straddling him, hands braced on his chest, riding him hard and slow, and he’s losing it.

“Holy shit—yeah, fuck, don’t stop… gonna—oh my God,” he babbles reaching up to pinch your nipples.

And then the Bluetooth system kicks to life in the room. The speakers rattle the walls as a sleazy guitar riff tears through the silence.

“She’s my cherry pie! Cool drink of water, such a sweet surprise!”

You both freeze mid-motion.

Adrian’s eyes go wide, pupils blown, curls plastered to his sweaty forehead. “Oh my God… that’s Warrant.”

Before you can reply, the chorus explodes again — “She’s my cherry pie!” loud enough the floor practically vibrates.

Adrian bursts out laughing, half-delirious, half-aroused. “Are you kidding me?! This is—this is the sex soundtrack of the gods!”

You’re laughing too, breathless, your rhythm faltering as you press a hand to his mouth to shut him up. “Do we stop?”

He pulls your hand away, still grinning like a lunatic. “No, no, no—don’t stop. This is fate. We’re doing this. We’re—oh fuck—yeah, baby, ride me like a sleazy ‘80s music video!”

You slap his chest, giggling, but you don’t stop moving. If anything, the ridiculousness only spurs you on, each thrust syncing with the pounding chorus.

From down the hall, faintly over the music, comes Chris’s unmistakable bellow

“YOU’RE WELCOME, ASSHOLES!”

Adrian moans louder, throwing his head back. “Yes! Oh my God, he knows! He knows and he’s helping!”

You choke on a laugh, burying your face in his neck as he clutches you tighter, rocking up into you with frantic, needy rhythm. The song blares on, shameless and obscene, as you both fall apart in each other’s arms, sweat-slick and grinning like idiots.

The song finally cuts, either because Chris passed out or Emilia stormed into the living room and murdered him with her bare hands.

The silence that follows is heavy, warm, and a little absurd. You’re both still catching your breath, tangled together in a sweaty knot of limbs and sheets.

Adrian rolls onto his side immediately, pulling you with him like you’re his human pillow. His curls stick to his forehead, his chest is still heaving, and he’s smiling so hard it looks painful.

“You’re, uh… you’re incredible,” he mumbles, voice muffled against your shoulder. “Like, capital-I Incredible. Like, Avengers-level Incredible. Except better, because they don’t cuddle after. At least I don’t think they do. Unless Thor—”

“Adrian,” you murmur, stroking his damp curls back.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and sleep.”

He hums happily, kissing the side of your neck once, soft and quick, before burrowing closer. Within minutes, he’s out cold, his arm heavy around your waist, his breath warm and steady against your skin.

You fall asleep not long after, smiling in spite of yourself.

When morning comes Adrian is still asleep. You grab your shorts and a hoodie before slipping out of the room. The kitchen smells like burnt bacon and coffee strong enough to take paint off a car. Everyone’s crammed around the island, Ads scrolling on her phone, Emilia trying to fix Chris’s massacre of scrambled eggs, Economos nursing a black coffee with the face of a man already done with life.

You slip into a chair, hoodie pulled low, trying to look normal. Adrian strolls in not long after, hair wild, still humming Cherry Pie under his breath. He plops down next to you, immediately stealing the mug out of your hands.

Ads doesn’t even look up. “Sooooooo. That was fast.”

“Fuck off,” you mutter, heat crawling up your neck.

Chris turns around with the frying pan, grinning like a maniac. “You’re welcome, actually.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

Adrian perks up, interested. “Wait—you were the one who turned on Warrant?”

“Duh,” Chris says, proud. “Walls are thin, dude. We could all hear you going at it. Economos was crying about it. So instead of cockblocking, I made it a vibe.”

Economos slams his mug down. “I wasn’t crying, I was trying to sleep!”

Ads snorts, finally glancing up. “You guys are disgusting.”

Emilia, without looking up from the eggs: “If I ever have to hear Cherry Pie again, I’m burning this place to the fucking ground.”

Adrian throws his arm around your chair, completely unbothered, smug as hell. “Honestly? Best soundtrack of my life. Perfect rhythm. Inspirational, even.”

Economos groans. “Jesus Christ, shut up.”

Chris points his spatula at the two of you, grinning. “Face it, we’re the best roommates in the world. We literally made you a sex playlist without trying.”

Ads makes a face. “Please, never phrase it like that again.”

Adrian leans in, voice loud and shameless. “I think we should test the sound system again tonight. For… science.”

Emilia slams the spatula down, glaring daggers. “You test it again and I swear to God, Adrian, I’ll shove that Bluetooth speaker so far up your ass, you’ll be humming Def Leppard until you die.”

Economos slammed his laptop shut. “Jesus Christ. If these two pulled it off—” he waved angrily at you and Adrian— “then why couldn’t you just fucking kiss him?” His voice cracked with pure frustration. “It’s not rocket science, Harcourt.”

The room froze. Harcourt’s glare could’ve cut steel. “Excuse me?”

Economos plowed on, gesturing wildly. “All you had to do was sell it. One kiss, maybe two, and we’d have Malloy’s contacts mapped by now. But no, you had to make it weird, and then you bailed, and now we’re behind.”

Chris’s mouth opened, then shut. Harcourt looked like she was two seconds from breaking a chair over Economos’s head.

You cleared your throat. “Maybe screaming at each other isn’t productive?”

“Agreed,” Murn said flatly, like he was already regretting his life choices. “We’ll recalibrate before the next attempt.” He looked back at you and Adrian. “But for tonight? Good work.”

Adrian straightened, still grinning. “Best fake couple ever.”

You tried to focus on the praise, on the mission’s success, but your pulse still fluttered every time you remembered the slow dance, the kiss, the way his hand had cupped your jaw like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Best fake couple ever. Right. So why didn’t it feel fake anymore?

The night should’ve ended at the safehouse. Instead, Adrian insisted on walking you to your car like he hadn’t just survived an undercover op with HOA couples and casserole-based small talk.

He leaned against your passenger door, helmet tucked under his arm, curls sticking up again after the hours of “suburban husband chic” you’d carefully assembled. He looked ridiculous. He looked happy.

“That was so fun,” he gushed, voice carrying in the quiet parking lot. “Like, not butterfly-fun, but actual fun. Did you see the way those dads were nodding at me? Like I was their leader? I could start a dad cult. Dads love me. I’m basically a dad magnet. Which sounds gross, but in a non-sexual way. Unless… well, no, definitely non-sexual.”

You unlocked the car. “You really wanna lead a dad cult?”

“Why not? We’d wear polos. Grill meat. Talk about how we’re totally gonna fix the deck next weekend. Oh my god, you’d be amazing in a dad cult. You’d organize the bake sales. You already made lemon bars like a champion.”

You shook your head, laughing as you slid into the driver’s seat. “Get in before someone calls security on us.”

He climbed in, still talking. “And did you see when you let me tell the bee story? They bought it. Hook, line, and stinger. You’re a genius. You let me go full improv. Most people shut me down before I get to the good part, like the,” He made buzzing noises. “but you didn’t. You’re the best fake girlfriend I’ve ever had.”

You pulled out of the lot. “How many fake girlfriends have you had, exactly?”

“Counting you?” He held up one finger. “So… yeah. Just you.”

Your chest tightened in a way you didn’t like.

The drive was quiet for about two minutes, record time for Adrian before he piped up again. “You know, if this were a real relationship, this would be the part where I walk you to your door and try to look suave, but then I trip over my own dick, metaphorically. My real dick doesn’t trip. It’s very coordinated.”

You nearly swerved. “Adrian.”

“What? I’m just saying. It’s got rhythm. Could probably win America’s Got Talent.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “Shut up.”

He grinned, smug. “You’re smiling.”

“I’m regretting every life choice that led me to this moment.”

“Hot. Say it slower.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling up to your building. You should’ve let him go, should’ve said goodnight and left it there. But when you glanced at him, helmet in his lap, hopeful puppy energy practically radiating off him, you couldn’t do it.

“You don’t have to go all the way back to your mom’s,” you said finally. “It’s late. You can crash here.”

He blinked. “Here? With you?”

“Yes. Guest room.” You emphasized it, hard.

“Oh. Yeah. Guest room. Totally. Unless you secretly want me in your bed, in which case, wow, what a twist.”

“Guest room, Adrian.”

He grinned, wide and boyish. “Got it. Guest room. With my very talented, balanced dick.”

You groaned, shoving his shoulder lightly as you parked. He laughed the whole way inside, buzzing with the same adrenaline you’d both been pretending wasn’t there.

And for the first time that night, you weren’t sure if letting him stay was a mistake or the smartest decision you’d ever made.

Your apartment wasn’t anything fancy cozy, lived-in, the kind of place that smelled like clean laundry and vanilla candles, but Adrian looked at it like you’d just walked him into the Louvre.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, helmet tucked under one arm. “It’s so… you. Like, I don’t know what I expected. Maybe beanbags. Or swords on the wall. But this is—” He stopped in front of your bookshelf, crouching. “Do you alphabetize your books and color-code them? That’s… honestly, that’s hotter than I thought it would be.”

You closed the door behind you, kicking off your shoes. “Try not to rifle through all my stuff.”

“I would never,” he said, already picking up a photo frame. It was you, your sister, and your niece, laughing mid-silly-face. Adrian smiled at it, soft. “Your family’s cute. You look happy.”

The way he said it, quiet, without a trace of irony made you pause. “Yeah. They’re my… everything.”

He set the frame back carefully, then perked up again, bouncing on his toes like the sincerity had short-circuited him. “So where’s the guest room? Or do I get, like, a cot in the bathtub?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “End of the hall.”

He saluted, striding toward it like a soldier on parade. But of course, he stopped halfway, drawn to the kitchen like a moth to flame. He opened the fridge, whistled. “Wow. Actual vegetables. Do you eat these or are they props?”

“I eat them,” you said flatly.

“Hot,” he muttered, still digging. “Whoa, is that oat milk? You’re so L.A. chic.”

“I’m not from L.A.”

“You’ve got the vibes. Like, ‘oh my god, let’s go do hot yoga and then talk about our feelings over açai bowls.’” He shut the fridge and leaned against it, grinning. “I’d totally go to hot yoga with you.”

You snorted, covering your mouth too late. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thank you.”

You shook your head, finally steering him down the hall to the guest room. It wasn’t much just a bed, dresser, lamp, but he flopped onto it with a satisfied groan. “Oh my god. This is the nicest bed I’ve ever been on that didn’t have, like, plastic sheets for ‘easy cleanup.’”

You paused in the doorway, raising a brow. “…I don’t want to know.”

“Good,” he said, already sprawled out like he owned the place. “Mystery is sexy.”

You grabbed an extra blanket from the closet and tossed it at him. He caught it clumsily, grinning. “Thanks, babe.”

The word hung between you. Too casual. Too easy.

You should’ve corrected him, reminded him it was all part of the bit. Instead, you just nodded. “Goodnight, Adrian.”

“Goodnight,” he said, voice softer now. Then, almost as an afterthought “Best fake girlfriend ever.”

You closed the door, heart hammering, and leaned against the wall.

Because the truth was, nothing about this felt fake anymore.

It was almost midnight when you padded into the kitchen, craving water. You flicked on the light, only to nearly drop your glass when a shadow moved by the fridge.

“Jesus Christ!” you hissed.

Adrian yelped, clutching his chest. “Holy shit—you scared me! I thought you were a burglar. A sexy burglar in pajamas.”

You pressed a hand to your racing heart. “You can’t just lurk by my fridge in the dark like a serial killer.”

“I wasn’t lurking,” he said indignantly, holding up a half-empty box of cereal. “I was scoping out midnight snack options. Very different. Also, do you know how depressing plain Cheerios are without sugar? It’s like eating sad circles.”

You sighed, setting your glass on the counter. “You’re hungry?”

“Starving,” he admitted, eyes wide and guileless. “Some lady kept hogging the crab dip. I only got, like, two Ritz crackers’ worth.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, fighting a smile. “Sit down. I’ll make you something.”

His whole face lit up like you’d offered him eternal salvation. “Really? Oh my god. This is like… playing house.” He plopped onto one of your barstools, chin in his hands, watching you like you were about to perform magic. “You, cooking in your kitchen, me sitting here telling you how hot you look cutting vegetables. it’s basically a Hallmark movie. Except, you know, with more dick jokes and potential homicide.”

You pulled eggs and bread from the fridge, shaking your head.

He leaned forward eagerly. “What’re you making?”

“Scrambled eggs. Toast. Nothing fancy.”

“Fancy enough. Did you know eggs are basically chicken periods?”

You gave him a flat look over your shoulder. “Thank you for ruining breakfast food forever.”

“You’re welcome.” He grinned, utterly unrepentant. “But seriously, this is great. Like, domestic. Cozy. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we were…” He stopped, suddenly aware of the line he was about to cross. His grin softened into something almost shy. “…real.”

The sizzle of butter in the pan filled the silence. You stirred the eggs, throat tight. “It was just for the mission, Adrian.”

“Right,” he said quickly, too quickly. But when you set the plate in front of him and he dug in with boyish delight, he looked up at you with scrambled egg on his fork and said, “You’d be really good at real, though.”

And you couldn’t bring yourself to argue.

You were fully prepared to watch him inhale them like a starving raccoon, and then send him back to the guest room. That was the plan. Keep the walls up. Keep the line between fake and real intact.

But when he looked up at you, mouth full of eggs, curls messy, eyes bright with that impossible, enthusiasm, you cracked.

You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, and said quietly, “You’re right. This is kind of like playing house.”

He froze, fork halfway to his mouth. “…Wait. Did you just admit I was right?”

“Don’t get used to it,” you warned, but your lips curved anyway.

He set the fork down slowly, like any sudden movement might scare you off. “So, like… in this game of house, are we… married? Dating? Divorced but still hooking up for old times’ sake—because honestly, all three sound hot.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Dating, Adrian. Let’s keep it simple.”

Something in his eyes shifted, sharp and hungry under all the dorky energy. “Dating. Okay. Yeah. I can do dating.”

Before you could think better of it, you stepped closer. He smelled like laundry soap and a hint of lemon from the bars earlier. He straightened instantly, wide-eyed, like a dog who just heard the treat bag crinkle.

And then you kissed him.

Not a fake cover kiss. Not a crowd-pleasing slow-dance kiss. A real one. Firm, deliberate, meant to shut him up and ruin your own damn rules in one move.

He made a startled noise, half gasp, half laugh and then grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against him. The stool screeched backward as he stood, towering over you, lips moving hungrily against yours.

“Holy shit,” he whispered when you broke for air. His forehead pressed to yours, his grin completely unhinged. “You just kissed me in your kitchen. This is… this is like porn, but better, because there’s eggs.”

You let out a laugh, trying to shush him, but he was already tumbling forward, mouth on yours again, kissing like he’d been waiting forever and suddenly realized he’d never have to stop.

Every time you tried to pull back, he chased your lips, babbling between kisses “You taste like…oh my god…like toothpaste and lemon—fuck, I’m so into this…it’s like a brunch fantasy but with way more tongue—”

“Adrian,” you managed, breathless, half laughing.

“Yeah?” His eyes were blown wide, pupils dark, curls sticking every which way as his hands roamed like he didn’t know where to put them first.

“You’re riled up.”

He grinned, feral and boyish all at once. “I told you I’d be great at house.”

And with that, he kissed you again, messier, deeper, eggs forgotten on the counter while you let yourself get lost in the disaster you’d just unleashed. Adrian’s mouth was hot and insistent on yours, his hands clumsy but eager as they slid up your sides.

You should’ve stopped. But the way he kissed you messy, desperate, like you were oxygen had you whispering against his lips before you even thought about it “Fuck it.”

His eyes snapped open. “Wait…fuck it, like, fuck it fuck it or?”

You grabbed his shirt, tugging him toward the hall. “Bedroom. Now.”

For a split second, he looked like he might combust from sheer joy. Then he practically stumbled after you, tripping over his own feet in his rush. “Oh my god, this is happening. This is actually happening. I knew playing house was a gateway drug.”

You shoved your bedroom door open, pulling him in. He barely got it shut before his hands were on you again, fumbling but determined.

“Holy shit,” he babbled between kisses, already breathless. “You’re like…like a freak in disguise. The bimbo thing? That’s like a camouflage, isn’t it? You’re actually feral. ”

“Keep talking,” you gasped, yanking his shirt over his head.

“Oh, I will. You think I ever shut up during sex? Nope. Not happening. You’re gonna get the full Adrian director’s commentary while I—”

You kissed him hard enough to shut him up, only for him to laugh into your mouth, delirious and turned on.

“God, you’re insane,” you muttered, pushing him back onto the bed.

He sprawled there, curls wild, chest heaving, grin unhinged. “Insane for you. Which is probably diagnosable, but whatever, let’s not invite a psychiatrist into this threesome.”

You climbed onto him, and he groaned like it was the best gift he’d ever been given. His hands roamed, hesitant one second, greedy the next, like he couldn’t decide between worshipping or devouring you.

“Holy shit,” he whispered again, voice cracking as you ground against him. “You’re not faking this, are you?”

“Not even a little,” you said, daring him with your eyes.

And that was all it took. He surged up, kissing you like a man possessed, like all the jokes and babble were just his way of containing the truth he wanted you, badly, and now that he had you, he wasn’t letting go.

The fake-dating rules, the team, the mission, they all blurred and disappeared as you matched his frenzy beat for beat, chaos answering chaos.

For once, Adrian Chase wasn’t too much. For once, he was exactly what you wanted.And neither of you cared about the fallout.

He made a choked sound when you kissed him again, more tongue than anything, your hand already slipping beneath his waistband like you’d made your decision and that was that.

“Wait—are we actually?” he gasped, voice climbing an octave as your fingers wrapped around him.

“Yeah,” you whispered against his lips. “We are.”

He let out a strangled moan, whole body going rigid like you’d just hit him with a stun gun.

“Fuck—fuck.” He whined. Full-on, actual whine. “You don’t understand,” he rambled, breathless as you stroked him slow. “You’ve been in my head for weeks. Every time you talked during mission briefings, I just stared at your mouth like a fucking idiot. I’d be thinking about it during recon, during stakeouts…once during a firefight, which is so unprofessional. You’re shit…you’re my Roman Empire.”

You let out a laugh, barely keeping your rhythm. “Adrian—”

“I mean it. You said ‘brunch version of you’ and I got hard, that’s not normal. You smiled at me while filing intel and I had to sit down. And now you’re doing this and I’m just—fuck, I’m two seconds away from coming in your hand.”

You slowed down just to watch him squirm. His hips bucked up helplessly, a sound punching out of him like it had been trapped.

“Please,” he whispered. “Please don’t tease me. You don’t understand what this is doing to me.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” you smile sweetly before you begin to kiss down his chest, down his hard toned abs.

“Holy shit,” he whispers to himself. You sit back on your knees as you pull down his boxers letting his painfully harden member fall heavy against his lower abdomen.

“Fuck.” You hear yourself say. He’s bigger than you expected. Considering how Chris called him Thimble you always kinda assumed it’d be…average? “Can I have a taste?” You ask as you kiss his thigh.

“Please please please you can have whatever you want,” he begs. If there’s one thing you love, it’s a man that begs. You lick up from the base to the top before wrapping your lips around the tip. Swiping your tongue over the slit collecting his pre cum and moaning in appreciation.

“Oh my god,” he struggles to say looking down at you eyes wide and the darkest green you’ve ever seen.

His thighs tremble.

Your mouth slides down lower, taking more of him, hand wrapped tightly around the base, your spit making everything slick and obscene.

And Adrian melts. His hands fist the sheets, then your hair, then the air, he can’t decide if he wants to worship you or fall apart.

“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this?” he babbles, unfiltered. “You..like this, on your knees, mouth on me…fuck—I’ve jerked off to this so many times it’s not even funny.”

You pull off just long enough to say, “You taste so fucking good.”

He lets out a strangled, pathetic whimper.

You stroke him while you speak, watching every reaction like a reward. “You’ve wanted this for a while, huh?”

He nods frantically. “Since day one. Since you smiled at me like I was funny instead of insane.”

You suck him back down, deeper this time. His hips jump. His breath hitsched so high it’s a gasp. His hands come back down to your hair pushing you down deeper, his hips coming up. He’s so greedy.

The way he withers beneath your mouth makes your thighs clench. He’s flushed and shaking, babbling like it’s his first orgasm on earth. You moan around him, just to feel the twitch, just to push him over the edge.

“Oh my god,” he whimpers, “you’re… you’re unreal..you’re too good at this… I’m gonna come… fuck, please don’t stop—please swallow it.”

He comes hard, a lot and you don’t even flinch. You swallow happily, lips wrapped around him until he’s wrung out and twitching.

When you finally pull off, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, he collapses against your pillow like a man who just saw God.

“This is like every porn video I’ve ever watched,” he sighs, dazed. “But soooo much better. Now I’m gonna think of this every time you talk. Like, full Pavlov response. You’ll say ‘briefing,’ and I’ll get hard.”

You laugh, slipping out of your clothes without breaking eye contact. He watches, wrecked and reverent, as you crawl back up the bed to straddle him.

“Wanna taste?” you tease, voice syrup-sweet as you lean down and kiss him.

His mouth opens under yours instantly. You let your tongue slide over his playfully, let him taste himself on you.

“You’re the best,” he whispers against your lips. “In every fucking way possible.”

His hand slides between your thighs, fingers dipping through your slick. He groans, long, low, reverent.

“Oh, I bet it feels so fucking good in there,” he sighs, sliding a finger inside.

You moan into his mouth, hips twitching as he starts to pump it in and out, slow and deep.

“Jesus,” he mutters, eyes locked on yours. “You’re so wet. I barely touched you. You got like this just from sucking my dick?”

You nod, panting, rolling your hips into his hand. “I’ve wanted you. Just like this.”

He moans again, overwhelmed. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”

You leaned down, mouth brushing his ear. “Show me you deserve me.”

“You’re gonna break me. I’m gonna be one of those guys who pines. I’m gonna smell your shampoo on my pillow for the next year and cry. I’m gonna write your name in my FBI-issued journal.”

You climbed on top of him and he whimpered. Whimpered.

“What position do you want me in first?” Yoy ask against the shell of his ear.

You didn’t expect him to go quiet.

But he does.

Your words — whispered hot against the shell of his ear — turn his whole body to stone. His hands tremble where they rest on your thighs. His chest rises in short, shallow gasps.

“What position…” you repeat, kissing just beneath his ear, “…do you want me in first?”

He whimpers again and covers his face with both hands.

“Oh my god.” His voice is wrecked. “Oh my god, I can’t decide. You’re asking me? I thought you were gonna just fuck me without warning. Like boom, snapped in half, goodnight.”

You pull his hands gently away from his face. His eyes are glassy, pupils blown wide.

“I can fuck you however you want,” you murmur. “You just have to choose.”

“I can’t choose,” he breathes. “That’s the problem. Every position? Sounds like the best idea I’ve ever had. Cowgirl? Amazing. Missionary? I get to see your face and cry. You on your knees? I might actually black out. Me going down on you until you’re shaking? That’s the dream. Me bent in half while you ride me and talk shit?” He moans,loud. “I’m so fucked up about that idea it’s unreal.”

You laugh, low and pleased, grinding your hips just enough to make him twitch beneath you. “Adrian.”

He clutches your waist like a lifeline. “Please ride me first. I need to feel you. Need to see you like that.”

You line him up, and he’s throbbing, leaking, practically vibrating with the kind of tension that can only come from weeks of fantasizing and finally getting the real thing.

And then you sink down. Slow. All the way. Until he’s fully inside you, deep and thick and stretching you so perfectly you have to brace your hands on his chest just to breathe.

“Holy shit,” he groans. His head falls back into the pillow, mouth open, jaw slack. “ I’ve never felt anything like this. You’re so warm. You’re so tight. You’re…fuck.”

“You’re so deep,” you whisper, beginning to roll your hips.

And then he’s babbling again. “Yesyesyes, oh my god, yes. I’ll be so good to you. I’ll worship you. I’ll buy you stuff. I’ll make you breakfast. I’ll get your name tattooed on my dick. Just…don’t stop. Don’t ever stop. Please.”

Your hands slide up his chest, feeling every twitch, every desperate gasp.

“You love this, don’t you?” you purr. “Being used like this.”

He nods, eyes wet, voice trembling. “Yes. Yes. I love it. I love you. Fuck—did I say that too soon? Doesn’t matter. I do. I love you. I’m obsessed with you. I’m ruined for anyone else. This pussy is mine now, right? Say yes. Please say yes. I’ll beg again. I like begging—”

You kiss him, hard and hungry, swallowing the rest of his chaos.

And when you pull back, your lips wet and your thighs trembling, you say the thing that finishes him completely

“It’s all yours.”

He makes a sound, raw and hoarse, like it’s being ripped out of him, and arches up so deep inside you it makes your whole body stutter.

And in that moment, Adrian is gone. Fucked stupid. Fucked in love.

You’re riding him hard now hips rolling, sweat slick between you, his hands gripping your ass like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. He’s been babbling nonstop, tossing out praises like prayers, like every word might keep you there a little longer.

“You’re unreal… you feel so good… I could die like this, happy, smiling… fuck, I’d leave a note and everything ‘death by pussy, signed: a grateful Adrian Chase.’”

You press a hand to his mouth. “Shh,” you whisper, breathless, grinding down slow. “It’s your turn to listen.”

He moans into your palm, eyes fluttering, head tilting back like he’s offering up his whole goddamn soul.

And you feel it how close you are. How bad you want it. But it’s not enough. The pace, the rhythm, the angle, it’s perfect, but it’s not it.

He sees it in your eyes. You don’t have to say anything. You slow. You hesitate. And before the disappointment even lands in your chest

Adrian moves.

He shifts you gently, flipping you over with surprising strength, hands guiding your thighs apart. His eyes are so wide, so fucking devoted, it makes your heart catch.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “Let me get you there. Please. I need to.”

You open your mouth to respond. And then he sinks back inside.

Slow. Careful.

One of his hands reaches for yours, intertwining your fingers and pressing it against the pillow beside your head. The other rests right over your stomach.

And when he moves deep, slow, tender, it’s not about him anymore. It’s about you.

“You’re everything,” he whispers, forehead brushing yours. “Everything I ever wanted and didn’t think I could have.”

You gasp, your legs wrapping tight around his waist.

His voice is wrecked, low, barely holding together. “I wanna make you come so bad it hurts. Not because I need it, but because I want you to feel how much I fucking adore you.”

He rocks into you just right and you whimper, eyes stinging.

“I’ll do anything,” he says, kissing your cheek, your jaw, your neck. “I’ll buy you flowers every morning. I’ll rub your feet after missions. I’ll learn how to cook for real. I’ll call you baby in public and mean it. I’ll never make you feel small. I’ll be yours in every way I know how to be.”

You’re gripping his hand now like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

He presses his forehead to yours again. “You’re so close, aren’t you?”

You nod, breath catching.

“Good girl,” he breathes. “Come for me. Please.”

And it’s not the rhythm. It’s not the pressure. It’s him. The voice. The hand in yours. The soft, impossible things he’s whispering just for you.

You come hard, gasping his name, back arching as the wave crashes through you.

He watches it all the way your mouth parts, the tears that spring to your lashes, the way your body writhes under his and his own release hits seconds later.

He buries his face in your neck, hips jerking, groaning against your skin like he’s never felt anything like this before.

Because he hasn’t and neither have you.

You both lie there, tangled, trembling, the silence thick with everything you didn’t mean to say but did.

And when he finally catches his breath, voice barely audible against your throat, he whispers,

“…I think you just broke me in the best fucking way.”

You don’t know how long you stay like that pressed together, sweaty and shaking, your heart still thudding like it hasn’t gotten the memo that it’s over.

Adrian hasn’t moved.

His body is still wrapped around yours, chest flush to yours, arms banded tight around your back, one leg thrown over yours like he’s afraid you might disappear if he doesn’t physically anchor you to the bed.

He’s still inside you. Soft now, overstimulated, but not willing to let go just yet.

Your fingers trace idle circles against the sweaty slope of his shoulder. You’re still catching your breath when you feel it the tiniest little tremble in his chest.

And then he exhales. Sharp. Shaky. Emotional.

“…man,” he whispers. “I think I saw God.”

You laugh, soft, breathless and tilt your head just enough to look at him.

He’s blinking up at the ceiling like he just came back from war. Hair a total mess. Chest heaving. Lips red and bitten.

You brush a thumb across his cheek. “You okay?”

He nods quickly, eyes darting to you like he wants to make sure you’re still here. Still real.

“I just… fuck.” He smiles, dazed. “You really meant it, didn’t you?”

You blink. “Meant what?”

He pulls back just far enough to meet your eyes. His voice is hoarse. Small.

“When you said it was mine.”

Your breath catches.

Because you did say that. You meant it at the time. And now, after everything, you’re sure it wasn’t just dirty talk.

You nod slowly. “Yeah. I meant it.”

Something breaks in his face, something soft and boyish and so stupidly vulnerable that it makes your chest ache.

He lowers his head to your collarbone and just stays there, breathing you in.

“I’m gonna be so annoying about this,” he mumbles.