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tags: female reader; freaky stuff; inappropriate use of a weapon; manipulation; mention of consensual coercion (towards Adrian); inappropriate use of everything (not explicitly); period sex; mention of ropes. Adrian is a freak. let me know if i forgot something! also english isn’t my first language and i couldn’t care less about typos, so please, have patience :)
Adrian is not really into sex. Really. The whole idea is just…not appealing to him. Not like…at all, but mostly. In his head, sex is booooring. What can be more boring than two naked people in the room? Right, naked people in the room having sex. Their soft skin touching his when he’s just too sweaty, too many sounds to concentrate, too little patience. Either he usually starts rambling about something not related to activity, and therefore annoying his partner, or he loses interest completely. Focus never was his strongest suit, let’s be real.
So mostly, he treats sex as an opportunity to bond. What else sex is can possibly offer to him, that he couldn’t provide for himself alone in his room? Too much pressure. However, when you two are starting to move past the first base, he actually puts some effort into bonding. That’s how he calls it. He is good with attention to details, so it doesn’t take him long to memorize everything you’ve been aching for. Every angle, every breath. Sometimes you even feel like Adrian is conducting a social experiment on you to make sex extremely pleasurable. And by extremely…of course, he just wants to ruin it for everyone else entirely. Every gasp you make, every moan, every scratch on his neck and back - just a confirmation to him that you’re not going to leave him any time soon. It’s his personal mission, to fuck you so good, so your head just couldn’t squeeze in another man. Or woman. Or anyone.
Adrian dedicates his time to learn about the things that turn you on. He’s not picky when it comes to kinks, but when you’re into something?
“You want ropes?” Adrian’s head perked up from under the table. You don’t really want to know what he’s doing. You just nod.
“Ohh, okay! Cool! Um, let me just…What kind of rope?” Adrian pulls out of nowhere a box with a loud thudding, showing you at least three different skeins of rope. They doesn’t look like something safe, but his face cracks with a biggest smile. “I could totally tie you up! Just remind me not to leave the room, so I- Ugh, don’t forget you accidentally. That would be totally inappropriate. Not for me, though, but yeah.”
He’s disgustingly enthusiastic about anything.
You catch him playing with a gun mindlessly, fingers sliding from a muzzle to a handle. He doesn’t even thinks about it, or about the gun being loaded. You swallow, throwing you head back. He immediately picks up a movement and asks lazily:
“What’s up?”
His hand is still playing with a gun, glove around muzzle making jerking motion. You look directly at his hand. He smiles.
“Want me to fuck you with it?”
Sometimes it’s hard to breathe when he casually throws at you questions like “can I use this?” or “can I fuck you like this?”. He has curiosity about approximately every object that could be used to fuck you with. If the surface is too bumpy, he’ll just wrap a condom around it and will apply shit tone of lube. As a bonding exercise.
He likes everything you like, even the things you don’t even know you like. He fucks you with a gun silencer, pushing it deeper, but keeping the thrusts shallow. Adrian is there to back you up on every fleeting fantasy. Fuck you in a car? He’s on it. Fuck you in a shower? That almost sounds vanilla now. You have sex in your bed so rarely, so basically it’s just an activity for old couples who kiss each other good night modestly and read a book with glasses on.
So yeah, Adrian is not really into sex. It doesn’t have the appeal to him. To listen to all those sounds, to wipe his stomach or someone’s thighs. But with you, however, he uses his ability to adapt to almost every wish. He’s the ultimate people pleaser, you just have to give him a direction. Adrian doesn’t mind a little manipulation, he pleads when you ride him in his car.
“Just use me- fuck, use me however you please. You don’t have to explain. Oh, fucking hell. I won’t even notice. Just use me. I’m all yours.”
He knows he’s yours. He looks at you with glassy, devoted eyes.
“Does that shit turn you on?”
Of course he notices how close you are. He likes to push you, tease you, make you. Sometimes gently, sometimes not so. It’s a sweet poison when he brings up something dark from you out to the surface, when you share the most perverted thoughts and ideas, and he’s welcoming them enthusiastically. Shit that would probably scare a normal guy away? He likes it. He will ask for more. He will take the fantasy and add so many sick, twisted variables it will make your toes curl. You both are pushing each other over the edge. It’s liberating, in a way, how he turns a blind eye to the same things he wouldn’t have a healthy opinion before. But he intends to keep you.
“Adrian, I’m on my period!” You push him away with a blush from embarrassment.
“So?” He leans back, eyeing you, looking just as casually as he does when you ask him what he wants to watch.
“It’s messy.”
“Are you in the mood or not?” He narrows his eyes, pushing you to the solid answer.
“Yes, but-”
“Ohhh, no, I’m not interested in “buts”. Fuck it.” His hands already wandering, he wants you to admit that you want it either way. And you do. So he doesn’t stop, until your kitchen table looks like he killed someone with a fork. He looks pleased, almost quiet.
“I know 50 ways how to remove blood stains.”
“No you don’t.”
He smiles.
“You don’t believe me? Quiz me, right now. Go onnnn, we still have to clean your perfect wooden table.”
You can’t believe you allow him to do all that shit to you. But you like it.
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Adrian chase x secret wife trope? The team needs a place to "lay low" and adrian says he knows a place
୨୧ pairings: adrian chase x reader
୨୧ summary: the 11th street kids find out that adrian has been hiding a secret wrapped in pink and glitter
୨୧ tags: regular peacemaker violence, mentions of blood, reader stitches chris up
୨୧ requests open! check out my navigation for request guidelines and masterlist.⠀ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁
the 11th street kids were having a… hard day, to put it lightly. the kind of day that had peacemaker questioning if he should just try accounting.
it was supposed to be easy. just a quiet little storage unit stakeout. a suspected butterfly base. in and out, no blood, no bruises, maybe even time for taco bell after.
adrian had a bad feeling about this mission from the start— from the moment they arrived, the place felt wrong. too quiet. too easy. like the building itself was whispering, come on in, you dumbasses.
and the moment they did?
all hell broke loose.
gunfire from every direction. smoke grenades. yelling. the kind of chaos that looked like it came straight out of a movie that adrian would force chris to watch while excitedly explaining what they “did wrong tactically.”
by some miracle, they escaped with no major injuries. minor ones? sure. bruises, cuts, and a few singed eyebrows. but they were alive. barely.
by the time they stumbled out, coughing and bruised, adrenaline still burning in their veins, they were lucky no one was dead. leota was shaking, hands pressed to her ears. “we got set up, we got set up,” she kept repeating, voice high. murn barked from the passenger seat, “focus, adebayo! economos, drive— get us out of here!”
economos gunned it, white-knuckled on the wheel. “where? we got, like, fifty butterflies after us— where the hell do you want me to go?” the van jolted over a curb. someone hissed in pain— chris maybe, holding his arm.
adrian leaned forward between the seats, still trying to catch his breath. “i—uh—” he swallowed hard, tasting copper. “i know a place.”
the van went silent. everyone turned to look at him like he’d just offered them a one-way trip to clown town. “it’s safe, okay?” he insisted, tugging off his mask. his mouth tasted like pennies and bad decisions. “just trust me.”
he almost didn’t want to say it. that place— his place— was off-limits. his one slice of normal life. a sanctuary untouched by gunfire or chaos. but tonight, he didn’t have a choice.
twenty minutes later, they were parked in front of a small, nondescript apartment complex at the edge of town. it wasn’t the kind of place you’d associate with a man who wore a full-body suit and stabbed people for justice. it was plain, beige, with a flickering streetlamp and the hum of crickets in the air.
“this is it,” adrian muttered. he sounded… nervous. actually nervous. this was the same man who killed people for doing graffiti, and he was trembling in his boots.
they followed him up the short walkway, the night filled with the sound of distant crickets and collective skepticism. a welcome mat by the door cheerfully declared “home sweet home”— complete with little cat paw prints.
adrian fidgets with his keys for a moment before turning to the team. “okay— can we all just— just be cool? like—“ he begins, eyes pleading and wide.
chris huffs out a mix of a scoff and a laugh— brows furrowed. “what, you got a secret drug lab in there? meth, maybe? please say meth.”he asks, eyes flickering from the mat to adrian, who’s face is now red with nervousness.
adrian shakes his head vigorously, eyes wide. “what? no! no meth! why would i— why would i do meth?”
“what are you hiding?” leota asks, a brow raised as she peered suspiciously at the window.
before adrian can respond, murn sighs. “just go in.” he grunts.
“right, right, right! um— right, okay, it’s fine— yeah.” he stammers, fumbling with his keys a few times before he finally unlocks the door.
the apartment is dimly lit when they walk in, revealing a cozy scene, so unlike how the team looked at this moment.
it was cozy— too cozy for adrian’s violent personality. soft lighting, tidy furniture, framed photos of adrian smiling— a real smile— with some mysterious woman beside him. “you… live here?” economos asks, eying the area suspiciously. “looks like it’s straight out of a pinterest board…” he murmurs.
before adrian could answer, a fluffy black cat strutted out and pawed at adrian’s leg. “luna— luna, no—“ adrian says, already exasperated. “it’s not food time.” he says, earning a disgruntled meow from luna.
then— a voice from the kitchen. “baby? you’re home early—“ your sentence dies on your tongue when you step out of the kitchen— clad in a well loved sweater and sweatpants, looking like a poster child for domestication.
your gaze swept over the bizarre tableau of chaos in your living room. adrian stood there, looking almost sheepish, his helmet cradled under one arm, his characteristic confidence noticeably faltering as he faced you.
the room fell into a charged silence, a thick blanket of disbelief settling over everyone present, punctuated only by the soft purring of luna, now weaving around your ankles.
“oh…” you murmured in a tiny, bewildered voice, blinking once, twice, as reality began to set in. “you brought… friends?”
an uncomfortable silence enveloped the room, thick and suffocating. adrian stood frozen, covered in blood and looking as if he had just wrestled with a dumpster fire, uncertainty flickering across his features under your wide, surprised gaze.
“hey, baby,” he stammered, attempting a casual tone, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him. “so, uh… this isn’t… as bad as it looks?”
you let out an exasperated sigh, it was a sigh that sounded like adrian spilled something on the carpet— not whatever this chaotic mess was. “you could’ve texted me,” you replied softly, a hint of a pout forming as you brushed past him, your expression a cocktail of disappointment and concern. “i would’ve lit a candle or something.”
from a corner, chris whispered incredulously, “she’s seriously not freaking out?”
adrian shrugged helplessly, his wide eyes reflecting panic and disbelief. “told you it was safe.”
moments later, you reappeared from the adjacent room, brandishing a first-aid kit plastered with playful heart stickers and a pastel floral towel draped over your arm like an apron. luna pranced in your wake, her tail flicking playfully.
chris lifted a shaky hand. “uh… stab wound. left shoulder. you even know what you’re doing, barbie?” his voice barely louder than a whisper, the fear evident in his eyes.
you laughed softly — a chiming sound that seemed entirely out of place in the chaotic scene. “mhm! adrian gets stabby sometimes, so i’ve learned,” you explained with a matter-of-factness that caught everyone off guard, leaving them momentarily speechless.
adrian beamed, pride evident in his voice, even amidst the turmoil. “she’s really good at it! lets me play my switch while she sews me up.”
chris blinked, incredulity washing over his features. “you—what? you play video games while she’s—”
you deftly disinfect his wound with a gentle touch, as if performing a delicate art. “it keeps him calm,” you stated simply, your tone unwavering and confident. “stress slows healing. plus, he looks cute when he’s focused.”
leota raised an eyebrow, a blend of disbelief and amusement tightening her features as she glanced at adrian. “you… do know he’s a vigilante, right?”
you nod like its nothing and glanced at adrian with a tired smile. “mhm! i just don’t really like to hear about the violence— its a sort of blissful ignorance thing. that's why i was so surprised to see you guys here.”
adrian’s face flushed scarlet as he scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck, his voice a quiet mumble. “yeah, i, uh… kinda didn’t have time to warn you.”
you smiled sweetly— that warm, disarming little smile that could melt even murn’s permanent scowl. “that’s okay,” you said softly, setting the first-aid kit on the coffee table and crouching beside chris again. “i just wish you’d told me we were having company before i put on my ‘i’m not leaving the couch tonight’ outfit.”
chris opened his mouth, probably to make some snarky comment, but froze when you dabbed gently at his wound again. your touch was feather-light, your brows furrowed in concentration. “you’re doing so good, sweetie,” you praised kindly— and the big, gruff mercenary just blinked at you, speechless, as though no one had ever called him that before. hell, the stitches didn’t even hurt, he was used to it, but it felt nice all the same.
leota had to turn away to hide her laugh.
“do you guys want tea?” you piped up suddenly, looking around at them all with wide, bright eyes. “i have chamomile and lavender— that one’s adrian’s favorite. it helps with his little nighttime jitters.”
“little—” adrian started defensively, then stopped when you glanced at him. “...yeah, okay. lavender’s nice.”
economos stared at him. “you drink lavender tea?”
adrian crossed his arms, muttering, “it’s relaxing, dude.”
you giggled — that soft, airy sound again, the kind that filled the space like sunlight. “he even puts honey in it,” you added helpfully, completely oblivious to the way everyone was staring at you both like they’d just stepped into a parallel universe.
chris snorted despite himself. “she’s like a disney princess, dude.”
you blinked at him, confused but smiling anyway. “oh— thank you! that’s so sweet.”
when you disappeared into the kitchen again, the group collectively exhaled— like they’d been holding their breath since you first appeared. the clinking of mugs and the soft hum of your little tune drifted out from behind the counter.
“isn’t she the best?” adrian suddenly asked proudly, grinning despite the dried blood on his face.
“she’s—” leota began, shaking her head. “i don’t even know what she is. like, sunshine in human form.”
before anyone could argue, you returned, balancing a tray with mismatched mugs — all pastel colors and cute designs. one had a cartoon cat with a speech bubble saying ‘hang in there!’ you set it down carefully, then handed one to each of them with the gentlest little smile.
“there,” you said, voice lilting and cheerful. “everyone gets something warm. and please, no bleeding on the rug. it’s new.”
the team, bruised and battered, exchanged glances over their steaming mugs. the absurdity of the moment hung heavy — five hardened operatives, huddled in a soft-lit apartment that smelled faintly of sugar cookies and lavender, while a sweet girl in a fluffy sweater fussed over them like it was the most natural thing in the world.
you perched beside adrian, tucking your legs under yourself and leaning into his side with a content sigh. “you guys can stay here as long as you need.” you murmured, looking at the others with innocent sincerity. adrian looked down at you — at your soft smile, your sleepy eyes, your total lack of fear — and then it clicked for the other, why this worked. because with you, he didn’t feel like a walking weapon. he felt… home.
chris took a sip of his tea, grimaced, then muttered under his breath, “...okay, that’s actually kinda good.”
you beamed. “see? told you it helps.”
and in that tiny apartment filled with cat hair and the smell of lavender, the 11th street kids — bruised, exhausted, and slightly traumatized — sat drinking tea under fairy lights, wondering how in the world someone like you ended up with someone like adrian chase.
୨୧ pairings — clark kent x reader
୨୧ content — unprotected piv, soft dom!clark, manhandling, petnames (bunny, sunbeam, baby)
୨୧ wc — 3106
requests open! check out my navigation for request guidelines and masterlist.⠀ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁
clark kneels in front of you on the edge of the bed—one shoe already cradled in his hands, the other still dangling playfully from your socked foot as he shoots you a look that’s equal parts fond and teasing. “alright, hold still, sunbeam,” he murmurs, voice warm with amusement as he tugs gently at your stubborn shoe.
his hands are impossibly careful when they slide off your socks next—his thumbs brushing over the arches of your feet like some unspoken promise: you’re safe here. and maybe it should feel silly—this nightly ritual where superman himself takes more care undressing his girlfriend for bed than most people do handling ancient artifacts—but clark? he treasures it. the way you sigh when cool air hits bare toes; how you instinctively wiggle them against his palm like a sleepy protest. the whole world could be burning outside this bedroom door and he’d still take his time folding each discarded sock into neat little squares beside the nightstand.
“there we go,” he murmurs finally after stealing one last squeeze of your ankle before reaching for the pajama set waiting on the dresser (the soft purple one with clouds printed all over because of course he remembers which is tonight’s favorite). his fingers hesitate just once over fabric—“arms up,”—before guiding sleeves onto you with a reverence usually reserved for sacred things.
and then comes his favorite part: buttoning up every tiny pearl clasp down the front while pretending not to notice how drowsy-lidded and pliant barnaby’s nearness has made you… or how often his own knuckles keep brushing cotton-covered ribs by ‘accident’.
(somewhere between smoothing out wrinkled collar tags and rolling pant-leg cuffs twice so they don't drag underfoot? that's when clark leans forward—lips pressing firm but fleeting against sleep-warm forehead before whispering:)
"now was that so hard?"
clark glances up from the intricate arrangement of buttons, a sly smirk dancing across his lips as he catches your gaze. it’s that particular smirk, the one that plays coyly at the right corner of his mouth, suggesting he’s fully aware of the effect you have on him. there's a teasing glint in his eyes, as if he relishes the fact that you can’t seem to take your eyes off him.
(and honestly, he can’t quite deny the thrill coursing through him—there’s something electrifying about your gaze, a magnetic pull that makes his heart beat a little faster, a little louder.)
"you could at least pretend not to stare," he remarks, his voice laced with playful mock exasperation, while he throws you a teasingly half-hearted glare. with a casual flick of his wrist, he pulls the shirt from his shoulders, the fabric sliding down to reveal his toned physique, further drawing your attention.
you feel a warmth spread across your cheeks, your gaze quickly darting away from his sun-kissed skin. “m’not,” you murmur, attempting to feign innocence, though your voice trembles with a hint of mischief.
"uh-huh," he replies, a playful skepticism lacing his tone as he reaches for the well-worn henley draped over the dresser. with a sidelong glance, he catches your eye, a small, knowing smile dancing at the corners of his lips, as if conceding to your charm. “you're about as subtle as krypto trying to steal bacon off my plate.” the warmth of the moment lingers between you, a quiet surrender wrapped in unspoken connection.
"...keep looking at me like that, and i might never get dressed again, sunbeam." his voice is low, rough around the edges, yet warm and wanting.
you smile wider. “i wouldn’t mind,” you murmur, pulling your knees to your chest to continue watching him.
god. the way you smile—the way you sound—hits clark like a punch to the ribs. he almost forgets that he's supposed to be playing aloof and crosses the space back to the bed in three slow steps.
"you're a menace. has anyone ever told you that?" he says, crawling onto the mattress with a graceful confidence, like he's prowling—his knees on either side of your legs. his shirt is now open; that broad chest is just inches from your face.
your breath hitches, and you bite down on your bottom lip, laying back for him as if it were second nature. his eyes darken at the hitch in your breathing—the tiny tug of your lip between your teeth sends a bolt of heat through his chest with just one glance. then his weight settles over you—one broad hand braced beside your head while the other drags across your hip, as if he needs to memorize every inch.
"pretty little thing," he rasps, leaning down so his next words brush against your ear. "driving me absolutely crazy..."
you let out a soft gasp, your eyes fluttering closed. “please—“ you whine softly.
the sight of your pout—the way your cheeks flush just enough to make his mouth go dry—has clark exhaling a laugh that’s half-stifled against your neck.
“aw, no, baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement as he nips lightly at the curve of your jaw just to feel you squirm. “you don’t get to whine like that and then act all offended when i tease.”
his hand slides up from your hip, fingers threading through yours to pin it gently above your head (not that you could budge him if you tried). his other hand tilts your chin up so there’s no escaping his smirk—so close now that his breath ghosts over your still-pouting lips.
"gonna have to do better than a little huff if you want me to behave." (liar.) the way your heart races under his palm betrays you, even as you huff another pout. he knows how much you like this—how your body responds to the rough edge in his voice when he has you pinned. he can almost feel your pulse stutter as he lets his gaze linger on your kiss-swollen lips for too long, forgetting he's supposed to be teasing.
"can barely hold on a minute, and you already want something more," he murmurs, fingers stroking down the side of your neck with slow reverence. "is my baby girl greedy?"
he swallows, his mouth suddenly dry as he takes his time easing the fabric over your head—like he’s revealing something sacred, not just a bit of nightwear.
every brush of skin and every inch he reveals steals more air from his lungs. when his eyes fix on you, laid out beneath him in just your panties, clark's throat actually aches with how much he wants you.
"my god, honey bunny," he murmurs. he sounds wrecked already before he even touches you again. he can’t stop his hands from drifting—from smoothing over your hip bones and the dip between your ribs. his touch leaves you flushed and shuddering beneath him, but he barely pauses before his mouth follows instead.
he starts at your collarbone like a man possessed—bruising the soft skin with his teeth and tongue just to feel you shiver. he works his way higher, up the column of your throat until he can suck at the spot just below your ear, nipping lightly at your lobe when he gets there.
you whine and —fuck—clark feels it reverberate down his spine like an electric current. his grip tightens just slightly, fingers pressing into the soft skin of your waist where they’re splayed possessively.
he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze—his pupils blown black with want as he leans in again, breath hot against your lips before murmuring:
"tell me what you need, baby girl."
your back arches slightly, nipples pebbled against the cool apartment air. “you— wan’you.” you whine and it has clark groaning like he’s the one being undone. his hands slide from your waist to grip your hips, anchoring you against him as he grinds down once—hard enough to steal a gasp from both of you.
“i gotcha,” he rasps, fingers kneading into soft flesh as his lips find yours in a searing kiss—all teeth and tongue and need. “gonna take such good care of my sweet girl.”
he can feel your legs widening further, hips tilting up to meet his as his tongue slips into your mouth. there's an edge to it; a desperate hunger in his touch that only seems to get more intense with every ragged breath. he swallows your little moans like man drowning but still somehow can't get enough.
his hands are everywhere all at once: smoothing across the underside of your breast, threading through your hair, trailing up your thighs. and through it all— never once do his lips leave yours. like if he stops kissing you he'd just die.
you pant and whine, hips bucking against his. you finally hear the soft clink of his belt being undone— and you look down to watch. clark’s hands tremble just slightly— just enough to betray him—as he pops the button of his jeans, shoving them down with a rough urgency that makes your breath hitch.
the sharp clink of his belt being undone seems louder than it should in the quiet room, like it's punctuating every ragged exhale you both make. and when you look down— his cock springing free from confinement, thick and flushed and leaking already for you— clark lets out a strangled sound somewhere between amusement and despair at the way your eyes go impossibly wider.
"christ, baby girl," he grits out, smirking even as sweat beads at his temple when you reach. "like what you see?"
you nod quickly. “always surprises me—“ you start as you wrap your nimble fingers around him. “how big y’are.” you mumble, the statement alone has him laughing breathlessly, head ducking as his lips find your shoulder in a half-chided kiss.
"'s funny," he pants, his hips twitching into your grasp on instinct. "was thinking how small you look beneath me." he swallows. "like i could just... break you if i'm not careful." his hand covers yours as if to prove just how easy it would be to hold you down. "but you like that, don't you?" he murmurs.
"god, i love that," he murmurs when you shudder, his tone suddenly serious and rough around the edges. "how you look when i hold you like that... gosh." his hands tighten on your hips just to feel you shiver again. "makes me lose my mind, sweetheart."
his lips move down again, tongue leaving a wet trail down your throat. his hips roll back—just like an invitation. "you want me, sweet girl?"
and then your begging — your whining in response has clark's restraint snapping like a frayed thread. he grips your thighs, spreading them just enough to settle between them with a groan that shakes his entire chest.
"good girl," he rasps, leaning down to capture your lips again in a kiss so filthy it makes you squirm—before pulling back at the last second to smirk down at you as if he didn't know exactly what he was doing. "i got you."
and then—with one slow, torturous push—he fills you completely.
you gasp out— body squirming as it adjusts to him. clark kent was nothing if not big. no matter how much you two were intimate— it always took a second to adjust to him.
he has to stop for a moment—to close his eyes and just let his forehead rest against your shoulder—because gosh, nothing has ever felt as good as you do right now. he breathes it in—that feeling of being so completely connected with you—like he can't seem to get enough even now.
his hands move up your body again, palms smoothing over every inch of skin he can reach like he's committing you to memory. "that feel good?" he murmurs, voice breathless as he presses a gentle kiss to your neck. "you okay, bunny?"
when you nod, breathless and already going dumb on his cock already, clark smiles. “mm— s’full…” you murmur, slightly slurring, drunk on pleasure. clark lets out a slow, shuddering exhale—his grip tightening just slightly on your hip as he watches you come undone already, before he's even moved.
"gosh," he groans, leaning down to kiss the slack line of your parted lips as his thumb rubs soothing circles against your skin. "knew you'd look pretty like this— all stuffed and happy for me."
and then— with agonizing slowness—he pulls almost all the way out before sliding back in with one deep, unrelenting thrust that punches another whimper from your chest. "but i think you can take more, don'tcha?"
you let out a choked out moan when he thrusts. “oh—“ you squeak, hands grasping his shoulders and clark grunts at the sound—at the way your nails dig crescent moons into his skin when he bottoms out inside you again.
"there she is," he pants, hips rolling against yours in a slow grind that makes your back arch off the mattress. "that's my good girl. taking me so well."
his fingers thread through yours, pinning them above your head as his mouth latches onto your throat—sucking dark bruises into already flushed skin between each filthy roll of his hips like he's determined to mark every inch of you as his.
"gonna ruin you," he rasps against your pulse point, voice raw with need. "mine."
clark's hands tremble as he grips your hips, pulling you impossibly closer with each deep thrust. your gasps and whimpers blend with the slick sounds of skin against skin—each one driving him closer to the edge.
"christ, baby," he groans, his forehead dropping to yours as his rhythm falters—just for a second—before picking back up again in a desperate attempt to make you unravel first. "gonna make me lose it if you keep squeezing me like that."
his thumb finds your clit, circling it in tight little strokes just because he loves the way your whole body tenses up when he does. "that's it—come on, sweetheart," he rasps between kisses pressed messily along your jawline. "wanna feel you."
you whimper and cry out, eyes rolled back as i hiccup from being so drunk on pleasure. “c— clark!” you whine. “so— so close—“ you gasp, nails dragging down his back.
he shudders at the feel of you clinging so desperately. "i know you are," he whispers huskily, voice rough with barely restrained arousal. "can tell jus' by the way you feel—all tight and desperate and perfect for me. you're so close, baby. just need a bit more to send you over?" he lifts your chin up, meeting your gaze head-on. "want me to make you come?"
you nod quickly. “y—yes— yes please!” you beg, cheeks flushed and eyes half lidded
"atta girl, baby." he praises you softly, leaning down to kiss your flushed cheek. "you're being so good, telling me what you need, letting me make you feel so good. just lie there and take it, honey bunny. i'll take care of you..."
and then, just like magic, he's changing positions—sliding out from between your spread legs, shifting back, and flipping you over in one smooth move.
"think i wanna try something different."
you let out a devastated whine when he pulls out— gasping when he flips you onto my stomach. “wha—“ you protest in dazed confusion that clark can't help but smirk at, even as he presses a kiss between your shoulder blades to soothe you.
"you'll like it, bunny," he promises, voice low and thick with arousal as his hands settle on your hips—kneading the soft skin there before lifting them just slightly. "just trust me?"
and then—without another second of hesitation—he's sliding back into you from behind in one smooth motion that has stars bursting behind your eyes instantly. his groan is deep and guttural at the feeling of you clenching around him already, barely able to handle how good it is. you gasp out loudly— back arching, hips pushing back into him. “oh— oh, clark! g—gosh— s’much—” you ramble, cheeks smushed into the mattress— hands scrambling for purchase on the sheets.
"gosh," he hisses out through gritted teeth when his hips meet yours again, hands gripping tighter now for balance before pulling back only to thrust back in immediately— harder this time because jesus christ, this angle makes everything so much more intense for both of you. "there we go... knew you'd love this."
the sight of you beneath him— back arched, body trembling, hands clawing at the sheets while desperate little sounds spill from your lips— has him losing what little composure he had left.
"look at you," he rasps, voice wrecked as one hand snakes around to press against your lower stomach where every deep thrust visibly shifts the skin. "golly, baby girl— i can feel myself right here." his fingers dig in just slightly when a particularly rough snap of his hips makes your entire body jolt forward on the mattress with a whimper. "you take me so fucking good."
and then suddenly his forehead is dropping between your shoulder blades; breath ragged against sweat-slick skin as his rhythm starts to stutter too because there’s no way either of you lasts much longer now. not when every drag inside has both seeing stars behind their eyelids already from sheer pleasure alone…
clark groans— deep and guttural— when he feels you clench around him, your body trembling wildly beneath his as you unravel completely. he fights to keep his own release at bay just to savor the way you fall apart for him—your gasps, your whimpers, the way your fingers clutch at the sheets like they’re all that’s keeping you grounded.
"that's it," he rasps against the back of your neck between sharp exhales, hips stuttering as he chases his own high now. "such a good girl for me… taking it so well."
and then— with one last brutal thrust that has stars bursting behind both of your eyelids— he spills into you with a shuddering groan so rough it sounds almost pained. his forehead drops to rest between your shoulder blades as aftershocks wrack through him; hands tightening momentarily on your hips before finally relaxing again when both of you come down from the high together in exhausted silence (save for heavy breathing).
after what feels like an eternity (but is probably only seconds), clark presses a lazy kiss to each knob of spine along their path upward until lips eventually find yours again in slow motion–swollen from earlier bites but still impossibly soft under lingering touches anyway despite everything else being anything but.
and when tired limbs are tucked safely beneath covers moments later? clark cleans you up without a second thought, kissing your forehead and tucking you into bed.
୨୧ pairings: adrian chase x reader
୨୧ tags: mentions of alcohol, tooth rotting fluff, swearing
୨୧ requests open! check out my navigation for request guidelines and masterlist.⠀ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁
tbh idek if i like this but im obsessed w/ adrian chase rn so...
a few weeks after project butterfly, harcourt—against every bit of her better judgment—decides to host a rooftop get-together. it’s not exactly festive; more like an experiment in tolerating each other outside of missions. the city sprawls below in a sea of lights, the air buzzing faintly with late-summer heat and the hum of traffic. strings of dim bulbs hang overhead, uneven and flickering like they’ve survived too many nights of this team’s brand of chaos. the smell of grilled meat mingles with cheap beer and exhaust fumes.
the rooftop buzzes with easy chaos. chris’s bragging about his “confirmed kill count of 204— unless you count kills by association, which makes it 400.” adebayo’s trying (and failing) to keep him from starting another “america speech.” harcourt rolls her eyes so hard you can almost hear it. but through it all, adrian’s arm remains draped around you—anchoring himself there like he’s afraid the universe might try to pull you away if he lets go.
it’s normal for him—his touchy, magnetic kind of closeness. his arm snug around your waist, fingers idly tracing circles on your back, knee pressed lightly against yours whenever you sit beside him. he laughs at chris’s jokes, argues with economos about who the superior spiderman actor is (“it’s tobey maguire, you monster!”), and teases harcourt about her “beer that tastes like depression.” but no matter what’s happening, some part of him is always connected to you—like he needs that tether to function properly.
as the night drifts on, the group grows louder, drunker, and more ridiculous. chris’s now claiming he could “definitely seduce wonder woman if he wanted to,” economos is pretending not to listen, and harcourt is trying not to throw her empty bottle at him. you and adrian sit pressed together on the ledge, overlooking the city. the laughter fades into background noise, just a steady hum under your own quiet little bubble.
adrian’s a little tipsy, maybe more than a little. his words slur just slightly as he leans in close, his breath warm against your cheek. he’s ranting—something about grilled cheese philosophy—and it’s absurdly endearing. his fingers draw lazy shapes against your thigh, completely unaware of the way your breath catches.
“what kind of cheese?” you ask suddenly, watching him from the corner of your eye, a teasing glint in your smile.
adrian pauses mid-sentence, blinking like you’ve just asked the meaning of life. “what kind of—oh, oh, okay.” his voice drops, deadly serious. “sharp cheddar. only sharp cheddar. none of that processed american bullshit chris eats. that’s not food, that’s plastic wrapped in lies.” he wrinkles his nose in genuine disgust.
you bite your lip to keep from laughing, but his outrage only grows. “and you have to butter the outside of the bread, or you’re basically committing a culinary war crime—”
“hmm,” you hum, feigning thoughtfulness. “what if i like swiss?”
adrian gasps like you’ve just confessed to a felony. his hand flies to his chest in mock betrayal. “swiss?! what the fuck—are you trying to ruin my night? swiss is for people who hate flavor and love disappointment! it’s the participation trophy of cheeses!” he gestures wildly, nearly sloshing his beer. “it’s smug! it’s got holes! it’s literally unfinished cheese!”
you’re shaking with laughter, and it takes him a second to realize you’re teasing. his expression flickers—then he squints at you suspiciously. “…ohhhh, you’re messing with me.”
you grin, unrepentant.
he narrows his eyes but can’t hide his smile. “that’s cold. cold. like swiss cheese straight from the fridge—which is where it belongs.” he pokes your side, pretending to glare.
you laugh, leaning into him, your head resting against his shoulder as the city lights blur beyond the railing. the rooftop noise fades for a moment—the laughter, the chatter, chris trying to start an arm-wrestling match with a chair. all that’s left is the hum of the city and the quiet warmth between you.
“i missed you,” you murmur, so softly it almost gets lost in the noise.
adrian stills. for a heartbeat, he doesn’t breathe. his fingers tighten on your hoodie, knuckles white against the fabric. when he finally exhales, it comes out shaky and too fast, like he’s been holding it in for weeks.
“fuck,” he says, voice cracking into a half-laugh, half-confession. “obviously i missed you more. like… to a concerning degree. chris told me to ‘get a hobby.’ i said, ‘you’re my hobby,’ and then he told me to leave the room.”
you snort, hiding your smile against his shoulder.
adrian laughs too, but it falters—something softer bleeding through the edges. his hand twitches like he wants to touch your face, then retreats halfway, settling on tugging at his hoodie strings instead. the wind shifts; the city hums beneath the roof; chris whoops triumphantly from somewhere behind you.
adrian swallows hard and murmurs, barely audible over the noise:
“…glad you’re here.”
it’s quiet. real. the kind of thing that doesn’t need a joke to soften it. his words hang in the air like the faint glow of the city—awkward, messy, and entirely sincere.
you tilt your head, smiling softly. “me too,” you whisper, and for a moment, everything else fades—leaving just you, him, and the flicker of rooftop lights that could almost pass for stars.
after a pause, you turn to him, your voice teasing but soft. “so… does this mean i get the #1 best friend spot now? because chris has been hogging it for way too long,” you hum, bumping his shoulder lightly.
adrian’s usual grin flickers. his face twists like he just bit into something too honest. he takes a deep breath, fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie, eyes darting anywhere but yours. “no—no, you’re… you have a different spot on my… my list.” his voice falters halfway through, like even saying list might explode in his face.
your brows furrow, a tiny smile tugging at your lips. “different spot?” you echo.
his throat bobs hard. you can see the panic crawl up his neck. his hands twitch like they want to reach out—then bail at the last second, retreating to clutch the hem of his hoodie instead. the silence stretches, filled only by the hum of traffic below and peacemaker’s obnoxious laughter from across the rooftop.
“yeah. different,” he says finally, words spilling out too fast, too unfiltered. he flaps a hand between you two like that explains it. “not best friend. not even close.” his tone softens, voice cracking somewhere between sincerity and chaos.
“you’re the fucking highlight reel, okay?” he blurts, every word landing heavy and unguarded. “you’re— you’re the thing i think about when everything goes to shit. the person who… makes it not suck so much.” his gaze drops to his sneakers; his glasses slide halfway down his nose as he chews his lip raw. “and if you tell chris i said that, i will push him off this roof myself—”
his laugh stumbles out—sharp, self-deprecating, like it’s the only thing holding him together. the confession sits between you like a live wire: hot, dangerous, impossible to ignore.
adrian’s leg bounces out of control, fingers drumming a frantic rhythm on his knee. he opens his mouth, closes it, tries again. “fuck,” he mutters, voice strangled by nerves. “should’ve, i dunno, prepared for this? made a speech? or, like, flash cards?” he gestures helplessly. “but nah, my dumbass just—”
your fingers brush his wrist—barely a touch, maybe accidental, maybe not. the effect is instant. he freezes like he’s been tasered, eyes darting to yours, blue and glassy under the rooftop lights. there’s that look—raw, terrified, hopeful—like a man caught halfway between jumping and being caught.
then, in a rush that sounds like his heart’s breaking open, he says it:
“i wanna be your favorite.” the words hit the air hard. he swallows, fumbling for more. “not friend-favorite. not, like, ‘hey-we-shared-a-sandwich-once’ favorite. i mean stupid-in-love favorite.” his breath catches. “that kind of different spot.”
you blink. once. twice. the world tilts a little, peacemaker’s laugh fading into static behind you. “oh,” you whisper, voice barely there.
adrian goes still as stone, every muscle bracing for impact—like he’s waiting for a punch, a laugh, anything. but the arm he’d slung around your shoulders earlier stays put. he won’t pull away. not this time.
then, slowly, a smile spreads across your face—bright, disbelieving, unstoppable. “for the record,” you murmur, leaning closer, “you’re my favorite too. in the best friend way and… well, you know.”
it’s enough to break him. his entire system crashes—his expression freezes mid-processing, and you can practically hear the dial-up noise as his brain fails to reboot. his mouth opens, closes, opens again.
then: “fuck!” he bursts out, clutching at his hair like it’s betrayed him. “that’s what i should’ve said! ‘y’know’ is way smoother than whatever emotional diarrhea just fell out of my mouth. best friend and y’know-tier? that’s— that’s, like, platinum status—”
the rest of his rambling gets cut off when you shut him up properly.
and if adrian chase melts into the kiss like a man finally finding air after years underwater—well. that’s between you, him, and the city lights that saw it all.
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part 2 of Clark x virgin reader, some fluffy aftercare where she's sore and he takes care of her
🙏🙏🙏🙏
part two of this but can be read as a standalone
୨୧ pairings — clark kent x reader
୨୧ content — mentions of sex, inexperienced!reader, soft!clark, aftercare, tooth-rotting fluff
୨୧ wc — 1293
୨୧ a/n — sorry 4 taking so long on this request! work has been taking me out!!!! hope u enjoy <3requests open! check out my navigation for request guidelines and masterlist.⠀ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁
there is only silence at first. a fragile kind — the kind that settles when words would only cheapen the weight of what just passed between you. the air feels different now, heavy with warmth and the faint hum of something irreversible. you’re both still, caught between disbelief and wonder, your breaths overlapping in a rhythm that feels new — unfamiliar, but safe.
clark doesn’t move right away. his hand rests at the curve of your waist, thumb tracing a barely-there line against your skin, a wordless reassurance. you can feel his heartbeat beneath your palm — steady, grounding — a quiet counterpoint to the flutter of your own.
when he finally exhales, it’s a sound more like a sigh than a word. he dips his head, pressing his lips to your temple in a gesture so gentle it feels like an apology and a promise all at once. “you okay?” he whispers, the words hushed, almost reverent.
his voice is low and hoarse, still heavy with the lingering pleasure of your entwined bodies. his fingers trace nonsensical patterns along your skin, as if he's attempting to memorize every curve and contour of you all over again. when you don’t answer right away, too blissed-out and boneless to form words, clark huffs a quiet laugh and presses another kiss—this time to the delicate shell of your ear.
“you did so well, sweetheart.” his thumb brushes a stray strand of hair from your cheek, lingering just long enough that your eyes meet — and in that moment, you see it all. the protectiveness. the awe. the tenderness he’s trying not to let spill over completely.
he doesn’t look away for a long time. then, quietly, he shifts, reaching for the blanket that’s fallen askew. he pulls it over you both, wrapping you up as if to shield you from the world beyond this moment. his hand finds yours under the fabric, fingers intertwining instinctively.
for a while, neither of you speaks. you just breathe together. the slow, uneven rhythm evens out until it feels like one heartbeat shared between two bodies. you can feel the faint tremor in his hand — not from exhaustion, but from the quiet enormity of it all.
when clark finally moves again, it’s with careful, deliberate gentleness. he brushes another kiss to your forehead before whispering, “alright... let's get you cleaned up. don’t go anywhere, okay?” as if you could even move with how sore you were.
with the effortless efficiency that seems so innate to him, he slips out of bed, padding softly into the bathroom. you hear the sound of running water, the quiet clink of porcelain as he adjusts the temperature — testing it, waiting, testing again. he doesn’t rush. of course, he doesn’t. clark never does when it comes to you.
when he returns, the warm glow from the bathroom spills across the room, catching the dampness in his hair, the softness in his eyes. there’s a towel slung loosely around his hips, but his focus is entirely on you. “c’mere,” he says quietly, voice gentle enough to make your chest ache.
you don’t even think before reaching for him. he gathers you up effortlessly, his arms secure and steady, and the way he holds you — like you’re something precious and fragile — makes your heart squeeze. the world feels distant again, muted. he carries you toward the steam-filled bathroom, where the air is thick and fragrant with warmth. he doesn’t flinch when your fingers trail lazily over the fresh scratch marks along his back; he simply presses a kiss to your forehead, for what else is there to do but worship this moment of shared intimacy?
the bathroom is hazy with warmth and steam. he helps you into the tub, the water perfectly tempered, fragrant with faint traces of something floral. when you sink into it, the heat envelops you, easing away the tension you didn’t even realize you were holding.
clark kneels beside the tub for a moment, just watching you with that same unreadable tenderness. then, as if unable to help himself, he reaches out and brushes his fingers along your jaw. “still doing okay?” he asks softly.
you nod, eyes fluttering shut at the sound of his voice. “mhm.”
he hums — a quiet, content sound — before climbing in behind you, careful not to splash. his arms slip around your waist from behind, the motion instinctive, familiar, but also new in a way that makes your breath catch. his chin rests lightly on your shoulder, and his voice drops to a whisper meant only for you. “didn’t want to rush it,” he says. “wanted you to feel safe. wanted it to matter.”
“it did,” you whisper back. “it does.”
you can feel the smile that curves against your skin — soft, disbelieving. he exhales against the side of your neck, and his hold around you tightens just slightly, as if anchoring himself to the reality that you’re here, that this happened.
time stretches, then folds in on itself. the world outside the steamy walls ceases to exist. all that remains is warmth — water, skin, heartbeats — and the quiet hum of belonging.
when you tilt your head back against his shoulder, you catch a glimpse of his reflection in the fogged mirror across from you. he looks completely undone, not in the way of exhaustion, but of quiet reverence. like he can’t quite believe he’s allowed to hold something so rare, so tender.
he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder this time, nuzzling close enough that his lips brush against the damp skin at the base of your neck.
“think you ruined me just as much, bunny," he whispers as your head drops back against his chest, your eyes fluttering shut in blissful exhaustion that tightens his lungs.
one hand glides down your ribcage with feather-light precision, teasing the soft skin of your inner thigh—just enough to see your eyelids flutter in surprise when he does. "...how are you feeling?" he finally asks softly, his mouth brushing against the delicate shell of your ear as he speaks. despite the teasing smirk that you could probably hear in his tone, there's an undercurrent of seriousness in his voice. the way he's holding you feels almost possessive, a protective embrace that recognizes your shared vulnerability after such an intense night.
"was i... too rough?" he murmurs, his fingers still tracing gentle circles at your hip. "did i hurt you or anything?"
when you shake your head and curl further into him, he mumbles in agreement, lips trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your exposed neck—as if he’s still checking to be sure before he can fully relax behind you. "good," he rasps, the word muffled against your skin as he nuzzles into the tender dip beneath your ear. "my sweet girl. my good, good girl."
when his grip tightens slightly around your waist—not enough to hurt, but just enough to remind you of his presence- he murmurs: "all mine."
it’s almost impossible to reconcile— that the same man who can stop bullets midair and hold up collapsing buildings can also touch you like this, as if you’re the most delicate thing in his universe. clark kent, superman, the symbol of unbreakable strength, becomes something entirely human in moments like these. his power, vast and boundless, melts away into gentleness when it comes to you.
maybe that’s what makes him who he is— not just the strength to lift the world, but the restraint to cradle it. with you, clark doesn’t need to be the hero, or the legend whispered about in awe. he just becomes a man— warm, careful, achingly tender. the contrast isn’t a contradiction at all, but a revelation: that even the strongest man alive can find his truest power in softness.
it turns out there's nothing more satisfying than figuring out you can affect your partner's heartbeat in his sleep. [MASTERLIST]
pairing: adrian chase x f!reader
tags: 18+ ONLY, explicit, established relationship, somnophilia, handjob, thigh riding, unprotected sex, minor cunnilingus, needy!adrian, fluff, minorly edited
word count: 2.4k+
a/n: damn right under the wire i'm glad i got this out before the episode lol alright bye love u
Adrian’s heart thrums under the shell of your ear, his bare chest dewy with nighttime sweat. His breathing is steady, arm settled over the curve of your back, resting atop your hip. Quiet snores escape his lips, and you lay there, miles away from sleep.
It’s peaceful enough, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, shifting your weight against his side in an attempt to settle somewhere permanent for the night. Your arm is heavy over his abdomen, the corner of your thumbnail scratching against his waist as you run it back and forth. The sticky skin catches under your fingerprint, and for a long while you try to invite sleep by sheer force of your focus.
He stirs under you, the hand on your hip squeezing you closer, a mild grumble of satisfaction followed by a sleepy laugh.
“What’s so funny?” You whisper, hearing the skewed reverb of your voice as it falls from your lips to Adrian’s chest to the ear that’s gently suctioned to his skin.
He mumbles nonsense, and you sigh before pursing your lips to kiss whatever skin you can reach without actually moving.
You hook your leg up over his waist, tossing and turning into him in a fruitless fit of repositioning. The hastening heartbeat under your ear catches your attention in the midst of your frustration. Stilling for a moment, you listen as it settles back into its slow, measured rhythm.
Hitching your leg up to readjust you smile to yourself as his heartbeat speeds up and settles again.
Maybe once or twice you’d woken up with Adrian’s head between your thighs, or his hands gliding down your stomach to your waistband. It’s something you’ve both been on board with, but more often than not you’re the old bat going to bed while he’s still practicing handstands in the living room.
Listening to his heartbeat invigorates your own, and you run your fingers over the rising curve of his abdomen, tracing the gentle muscles over his stomach as he breathes underneath you. He shudders and laughs again, and you freeze until his snores return. Excitement and adoration wells in your chest, forcing a soft, happy hum from your throat.
You slide your palm over his briefs, running a single finger down his length. It twitches once beneath your touch, and you listen to his heartbeat pick up pace.
His breathing stays steady, the arousal under your ear fleeting, and you amuse yourself for several minutes in a similar manner. Gentle touches, a thumb pressed against his tip, fingernails over his thigh, shifting experiments that force you to suppress giggles.
It’s an understatement to say you’re overwhelmingly giddy right now, manually breathing to keep as composed as you can, but still, your breaths are stuttered. You feel Adrian firm up under your hand, almost hard with every series of intentional touch. Never too excited, not yet, at least. Just enough to see how he reacts to each provocation.
It’s more silly than seductive right now. Holding back laughter as his heartbeat skyrockets after you squeeze the rim of his head, genuine surprise at his entire lack of reaction from a light pinch to his testicles, the murmured “mm love you” when you curled your hips against the side of his thigh.
This all felt like a little secret just for you, something of a privilege to hold and be held, implicit trust in a vulnerable moment. You fix on a gentle rhythm of stroking him over his briefs, heartbeat rising as he stiffens up under your hand, slight twitches followed by gravel moans from the base of his throat.
You try to time each stroke with the rise and fall of his breath, desiring to keep him content for as long as you can without pulling him from sleep entirely. It’s slow, almost torturous even for you, but Adrian’s accelerating heartbeat satisfies you enough for now. His heartbeat and the slight rock of your hips, pelvis brushing against the thick flesh of his thighs, the fabric of your underwear shifting over your pubic bone.
He groans beneath you, his hand sliding from your hips to the slope of your waist, lazy atop the curve of your stomach. His fingertips just grazing your skin, palm heavy, forearm flush around your naked back.
Slipping your fingers beneath the opening of his briefs, you curl your fingertips around his erection,. The taut seams are a natural road block to losing composure, your wrist turning uncomfortably as you try to give him a full squeeze. It’s satisfying enough to work his shaft where you can reach, eagerness cycling through your body, and you grind harsher into him, languid and deep.
His bulge prods full under your hand, and you tug him out with more impatience than you intend to, freezing when he stirs enough to half turn toward you.
You look up as he smacks his lips, hand coming up over his face and settling at his brow ridge. His eyes stay closed, loud mouth breathing as he mutters incomprehensible syllables and the hand around your back pats you on the top of your head.
Smiling to yourself, you kill the laugh building in your stomach, and slide your fingers up his shaft, thumbing over the tip.
Adrian’s heartbeat doesn’t speed up so much as it seems to deepen, resounding thumping in his chest, breaths heaving and slow.
You tighten your grip, working him until precum dribbles from his head, natural slick helping you along. His cock spasms now and again, momentary tautness encouraging extra pressure, speaking for Adrian where he couldn’t, imploring you to go, “Faster.”
His voice startles you, a whiny moan that rumbles in his chest.
“Good morning, handsome.” You peer up at him, and he opens one eye, hand grazing over your hairline.
“Good is putting it mildly.” He smiles at you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and squeezing you to him, palm closing over the slope of your neck.
Craning up to meet his mouth, you drag your hand down his shaft and swallow the moan that follows with a deep kiss. His free hand coasts down your body to your legs, tugging your thigh over his and resting over your ass, fingers splayed.
“Wanted to see if I could make you cum in your sleep.” You smile against his mouth, pecking either corner and nipping at his jawline.
“Mm no way.”
It’s addicting, hearing him speak when he’s just woken up. Honey soaked gravel from the base of his throat, reverence in hushed tones.
“I’ll figure it out one day.” You bite down at the corner of his jaw, dragging your lips along his pulse as you abandon the pretense of composure.
He scoffs, and you sink your teeth into the base of his neck in reply. His cock jerks in your hand and you lick your tongue over the teeth marks, hitching your hips against him.
You’re stuck somewhere between wanting to focus on him and needing sensation on your cunt so bad you can’t see straight. Excitement turned to giddiness turned to absolute need the second he woke up and wrapped his arms around you, the second you heard that voice.
“Keep talking to me, Adrian.” You rut over his thigh, steadying yourself at a passive pace, forcing concentration on the warmth of his cock in your hand and his pulse under your lips.
His hand flexes over your ass, palming it like a stress ball, “Okay, okay, um, fuck,” He swallows, his speech undercut with suppressed whimpers, “You know I don’t, fuck, I don’t normally like surprises but, I—this...” He nods, tendons in his neck straining, “...this is a great surprise.”
You shudder into his neck as he starts pushing your hips towards him, rocking you best he can from where you lay at his side, encouraging you to help yourself to the sensation of his thigh between your leg.
He continues, breath waning, “I, hmm, I love waking you up with my mouth, love when you, ah, grind your hips into me like that. Feels fucking insane.”
The last word is undercut by Adrian sitting up to pull you onto his lap, hands harsh on your hips, mouth coming down to close around one of your bare breasts. You barely have time to gasp before the heat of his mouth sends shivers down your spine. His cock sits stiff against his belly, the base of his shaft firm on the fabric of your underwear with your hips interlocked. He rocks you on his lap, hitching his hips up to prod his erection against your clit.
He swirls his tongue over your raised nipple, sucking kisses over the hot flesh.
You feel entirely out of control right now, entirely at his whim, and more than willing to let it happen. The pressure in your stomach builds as he drives you harder against him, and you squirm in his lap, kissing the crown of his head.
“Right, fuck, right there let me.” You choke out, and the hands on your hips still, following as you take back the rhythm, grinding over his erection without a semblance of grace.
Adrian spatters kisses along your chest, the line he draws up your neck replaced by a snaking hand, thumb resting at the slope of your throat, firm on your jaw.
“Looks like you’re gonna cum first.” He smiles against your lips, tongue pressing into your mouth.
There’s nothing you can do to stop your orgasm from spilling over, and you wrap your arms around his neck, burrowing into him as it courses through you. A million pin pricks seem to hold you in place for a split second before shock waves have you spasming in Adrian’s lap, his palm flat on your back, holding you to him.
“Ohhh,” He sighs, kissing where he can reach, “That’s it, gorgeous girl. My girl, my girl.”
He rests his forehead against yours, laughing, “That’s amazing. I can’t believe you just did that.”
You laugh, catching shallow breaths, pressing chaste kisses to his mouth, “What? Came?”
“Yeah, what else?” He runs a hand up your back and rests it at the nape of your neck.
You squeeze his jaw, “You’re so silly.” A quick kiss, feigning sternness, “Now c’mon, focus, I need you inside me.”
Adrian straightens up, nodding, “Sounds agreeable to me.” He slides a hand down and tugs your waistband, “We gotta take care of these first.”
You let yourself fall backward onto the bed, kicking your feet up to yank the underwear off, and Adrian grabs at your legs, helping you along. He leaves a trail of kisses up your legs, sucking marks into your inner thighs.
His tongue slips between your legs for a moment, circling your clit, and you feel him losing focus as he presses deeper against you. Hums from his mouth vibrate against you, and he pushes his erection into the bed, grinding slowly.
The vacancy thrumming in your gut clouds the sharp pleasure of his mouth, but still it’s a hurdle to reach down and tug his attention away.
“C’mere, c’mere.” You run a hand through his curls and graze a knuckle over his cheekbone.
“Sorry.” He comes to your mouth, eyebrows kicking towards worry.
“Never apologize for being so into that.” You smile, reaching down to give him a few cursory strokes before lining him at your entrance. You lift your hips, and your mouths shudder together as he fills you.
His arms hook under your knees to keep your hips up as he fucks into you, thrusts full and firm and sending drums of pleasure directly up your torso.
“I’m not, fuck, fuck, I’m not gonna last long, just so you’re aware.”
“That’s okay, that’s okay. Just fuck me, Adrian.”
His grip on your legs falters, one after the other, and you wrap them instead around his waist as he envelopes you in stages.
Hips to stomach to chest, one by one he lets his weight drop onto you, his arms coming around to flip you both over so he can fuck up into you instead. You try to sit up and ride him, but he holds you to his chest, whispering a quiet, “No, stay here, please and thank you.”
You adore this side of Adrian, this glue trap lover who needs heavy contact and your head in the crook of his neck as he fucks into you.
He croaks a weak, “I’m gonna—shit,” and you grind your hips down into him, clutching his bicep, sinking teeth into his shoulder, ear to his pulse. The erratic heartbeat thumps through you, asynchronous to the harsh stuttering of Adrian’s tense body underneath, lungs full of thick air. He exhales it all at once with a languid, melodic moan.
You run a hand over his hair as he steadies his breathing, his lips latching to the slope of your shoulder, clutching you more than hugging you.
“I really love you.” His fingertips flex over your skin.
“I love you, Adrian.” You recoil from the crook of his neck, meeting his eyes.
They’re glittering in the slats of silver moonlight.
“You wanna hear something?” You ask, running a finger over his eyebrow.
“Sure, how about a song?”
“No, hold on.”
You both dutifully take a moment to clean up with the t-shirt at the top of the laundry basket, before flopping back down into bed. You beckon Adrian over to your chest with a pat.
He curls into you, hand closing over your breast, thumb running back and forth on the skin.
“Hear that?”
He tilts his head a few different directions, “I just hear your heartbeat. It’s kind of fast but sounds healthy otherwise.”
You laugh, “Yes, yeah, that’s exactly it. I was just listening to your heartbeat before all this, it was nice to hear. Nice to know I could make it go faster, but also that you trust me to be near you when you’re all vulnerable and stuff.”
Adrian is silent for a long moment, and you press two fingers to your own pulse to feel what he’s hearing.
When it finally steadies from all the excitement, Adrian speaks up, “It’s back to normal. Are you trying to say you feel safe with me?”
“Well, not explicitly, but I do hope you know that I do.”
He kisses up to your mouth, “You’re an upstanding citizen. I’ll tell you if you should ever feel unsafe with me.”
You pinch at his cheek, trilling your lips, “Alright, alright. Thank you and goodnight.” You close your eyes, smiling as he kisses your nose.
“I know you’re being vulnerable, I love that about you.” He says, “Goodnight.”
coming back on here to say that yes the scene where adrian was crying made me sad but also i want to make him WHIMPER PLS PLSPSLSLSLSLSL (adrian chase imagines next?????)
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Soo uhh i have an idea. I just read your virgin reader one, and i think it’ll do really good if like you have the interest on developing it into a full story? The way you write clark is just *chef’s kiss* he’s so reassuring yet softly filthy? Ishsjehsisjw I’m be sooooo ready lol
waitttt okay anon u r onto something … mayhaps will be doing this :3
cw - pussy slapping (obvi), afab reader, unprotected piv, overstimulation, lil bit of mean!simon :3
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(this is my first drabble hehe pls be nice guys meow)
simon is a man of very few words. he likes to get his point across without having to say it twice. he’s never one to fuck without pulling at least three orgasms from you- it’s the least he can do, right?
you’d be writhing against the sheets of your shared bed, soft cries and whines falling from your plump kiss bruised lips, and you had lost count of how many times you came. if you weren’t aware of simon’s training in the military- you would think his amount of stamina was a fucking superpower.
“cmon, birdie, i know this pretty cunt got a few more in ‘er.” he would grunt- a soft slap to your cunt at first, the light tough making you writhe. if your vision wasn’t so blurry- you would see an almost sadistic smile curling on his lips.
you choke out a cry- finally blubbering out a coherent sentence as he’s forcing his cock in and out of your poor weeping cunt.
“si! i-i can’t! s’too much!” you cry out, hot tears rolling down your reddened cheeks. he could feel your cunt fluttering around his shaft- eliciting a groan from him. “bullshit, luvie- she’s absolutely beggin’ for it.” he’d chuckle lowly, tapping your chin to make you look down at where you and simon were connected. “look at tha’, love- shes absolutely soaked.” he’d muse.
when you protest again- you’re met with a harsher slap to your cunt, your lips parting as you let out a squeal of pleasure mixed with pain. simon’s pace never stutters when he does this, his cock prodding at your cervix as he lifts your hips up a bit more with his strong hands- hitting the spot that makes you see stars.
“you ain’t done till i say yer done, kay luvie?” he growls- leaning down to place sloppy kisses to the sensitive flesh of your tits.