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“You would not believe the line, who wakes up on Halloween and wants bagels?” He yells, voice growing closer as he makes his way to the bedroom, “Hello?”

“In here!” You yell back, hopping backward onto the bed, tucking your hands between your knees.

“Pancakes are way more Hallow—whoa.” He freezes in the doorway, his eyes flickering back and forth between you and the suit.

“Ta da.” You shrug, waiting for him to react, to kiss you, to say anything. All he can think to do is set the coffees down on the dresser, bag of bagels tipping over. One singular bagel rolls out, bumps a bottle of your perfume, and plops flat next to it.

“What are you doing with my suit?” He asks.

“I found it in the closet! Sorry to ruin the surprise, but I didn’t know you even liked Vigilante that much. Or that you were a costume guy.” You pause, kicking at the corner of your rug, “I did what I could, if you told me I could’ve put something way better together.”

“Ohhh,” A wide grin spreads across his face, “Right, sorry.”

“Do you like it?” You smooth your hands down the front of your shirt as he steps towards you, reaching for your wrist.

“Your outfit? You always look ridiculously hot, come on.” He leans down to kiss you, and his eyes find the suit before he meets your lips.

“Mm, no, hey.” You back away, pushing him away from you, “I’m a criminal!”

“What?” His eyes go wide, a cringing smile on his lips.

“Ugh,” You groan, rushing over to your dresser and rifling through the top drawer, “Hold on, you came home before I could finish, but, one second...” Trailing off, you smudge dark eyeshadow around your eyes.

Adrian’s facing you with his hands on his hips when you turn around, exasperation in his body language, a deep sigh when you finish with another “Ta da.”

“What does a bad makeup job have to do with anything?” He gestures towards you, hand falling back and slapping against his hip.

You laugh, padding over to invade his space, forcing his hands around your waist, “No, no! Get it? Striped tee shirt, dark makeup, I don’t have a ski mask but like the black beanie? I’m a cartoon criminal! Didn’t your one coworker say Vigilante told him he only kills criminals when they had that run in with the mugger a few months back?”

Everything catches up to Adrian at once, and he tugs you into the hug with a boisterous laugh, pushing you away to look at you in your entirety once he’s composed himself.

“Why would you want Vigilante to kill you?” He moves a strand of hair from your face, “Pretty silly of you.”

You let your head fall backward with an exhausted, “Noo,” forcing him to carry your weight. Your head swims a little when you snap back to look at him, “You can put on the suit, and we can maybe, I dunno, do some...roleplaying? Before whatever you’d had planned, of course. Far be it from me to steal your thunder, or whatever. I already ruined the surprise.”

“Hmm.” Adrian pushes his glasses up, breaking from the hug and running his hand along the length of the suit.

“It’s really impressive, I didn’t even know you could sew. Why do you like Vigilante so much anyway?” You ask, hopping back on the bed to curl against your pillow, watching him eye the suit.

“You really want to see me wear this?” He lifts his brows at you, looking up through his eyelashes. God, he’s pretty.

“Duh. Isn’t that why you made the thing in the first place?” Tucking your hands underneath the pillow, you reach over with a foot to kick at his forearm, “Unless you want to keep me in the dark, but I’d love to know. Are we trick or treating? Toilet papering Dave’s house?”

You pause, “Actually, no, don’t tell me.”

“So, roleplaying...I dunno, I heard this guy is really scary. You know, when you’re face to face.”

“That’s fine!” You sit back up, leaning forward on your knees, “You can try to be scary if you want.”

“Hey!”

You shrug, “Can’t be any scarier than Vigilante, that guy murders people for real.”

“Hmm.” Adrian starts tugging off his sweater, kicking his jeans off and yanking on the suit one by one.

Eager anticipation swirls in your stomach as you watch the suit come together piece by piece, tactical shirt hugging his waist, the broad shoulder-pads widening his already outrageous proportions.

“Oh, wow.” You breathe, walking over to him on the bed on your knees. You stop him from putting on the mask, craning yourself to kiss him, a hand toying with the metal buckles atop his abdomen.

“You look hotter than he does.”

“You think Vigilante’s hot?” Adrian smiles against your mouth, a gloved hand coming up to cradle your cheek.

“Sure, obviously I don’t know what he looks like under the mask but he has insane physicality from the videos I’ve seen online. I’d let him fuck me.” “O-hoh, well, you’re about to.” He slips his tongue in your mouth, smiles interrupting what could be a true, full kiss. But still, it’s satisfying as he starts to tilt you backwards on the bed.

“I’m shaking.” Laughing, you smack his chest, “Now go ahead, put on the mask.”

The helmet shapes to him, and in an instant Adrian is gone. Vigilante remains.

“Jesus, it’s uncanny.” You edge towards him, as far on the bed as you can without falling off, reaching up to squeeze a hand under his chin, turning his head left and right, peering at him through the visor, “You’re damn talented, Adrian.”

“It’s Vigilante, hello.” He responds, grabbing your wrist.

“Oh, right, my bad. Vigilante.” You lean forward and press your lips to the mask, “Forgive me.”

Adrian’s hands come to your waist, “So,” He slips them up your shirt, “What crimes have you committed?”

You can’t help but laugh, “Oh, well, um...nothing, nothing, really. I’m innocent.”

His shoulders fall, “Well, fine, if you don’t want to confess.”

“What? You’ll just have to beat it outta me?” You run your hands up his biceps.

“No, you’re free to go.”

“Wait, what, no, Adr—Vigilante, I mean.” You peck up at his mouth, “I’ve committed crimes, lots of em.”

“Oh, yeah?” His tone is suspect, “Get real, I know you’ve never broken the law a day in your life, and I’d never date a wanted criminal anyway.”

“Obviously, but we’re just playing here.”

Adrian crosses his arms, leaning away from you, a quiet humph in his chest.

“Okay, time out, you’re being weird.” Hands on your hips, you freeze at the edge of the bed on your knees, matching Adrian’s height.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Because, you went to all this trouble making this sick ass armor which, I didn’t even know you were into, and you’re kinda dancing around the whole crime thing when like, it’s just pretend. We’re fucking around, right?”

“Yes! Yeah, pretending. Not real at all.” He swipes a hand in front of him, “I didn’t even make this, I don’t even have a sewing machine. You know that, I just found this.”

The gears in your brain are grinding, confusion with every word from him. One possibility crosses your mind, but, no, there’s no way. Adrian?

“Where?” You throw your hands up.

“What?”

“Where did you find it? That’s like, an outrageous improbability.”

“In an alley.” He shrugs.

“And what were you doing in an alley?” You’re not even angry, you just feel flustered.

“Throwing trash away!”

“Adrian! Jesus Christ,” You slide off the bed, squeezing either side of his face between your hands, “Can you just tell me what’s going on? Are you friends with Vigilante or something? It’s fine if you are, just, I should be in the know.”

He reaches up for your wrists, head falling, a big sigh.

“You’re right, sorry.”

“Thank you.” You duck into his eye-line, “So, what, you’re holding stuff for him?”

He shakes his head, “No. I’m Vigilante.”

Your jaw drops, eyebrows raise. Silence crowds the room. You’re not sure you even really care, maybe it’s a bit shocking, but Adrian was always quite a bit off-kilter. Most people couldn’t deal with him for an hour much less move in with him. So he’s a secret superhero, he’d probably have better stories to tell you instead of the recurring saga of his dickhead manager, Dave. You were getting so bored of it you thought you might go homicidal yourself.

“And the rumors are totally true, I do only kill criminals, but trust me, you’re just not believable as a criminal, babe.”

The accusation pulls you from your stupor, “What? Yes I am.”

“No way.”

You shove his face away, “You don’t know. I could be a criminal kingpin.”

He laughs at you, a hand over his belly, “O-okay, sure.”

Smacking him on the shoulder, the chest, his cheek, you invade the space between you, “How’s this, then? Battery, or assault?”

Vigilante catches your wrists, “It’s battery.”

Your breath catches in your throat, the tone of his voice low and grainy, you whisper in the suspended space, “So, what, you’re going to kill me now?”

He huffs, walking you backwards toward the bed, “We’re still pretending?”

“I don’t know.”

You let him push you onto the mattress, hands coming to spread your knees apart, he stands over you. It’s menacing, even in the bright light of the late morning, the way his gaze combs over your body.

“Do you still want me to try being scary?” You’re certain he would be fighting a smile if the mask was off, voice thick with an almost-laugh, holding back for the moment.

“I think you’re succeeding.” Leaning up on your elbows, you blink hard at him.

“Want me to show you what I do to criminals? I won’t kill you.” He crosses a finger over his heart, and raises his hand, “Swear.”

Your stomach flutters at the words. He has a coarse voice when he wants, usually when he’s speaking to you in the dark, trying to level his tone, or manage your tempers. This was a step beyond, the lilt of giddiness straining underneath measured coolness.

“Yes, yeah, show me.”

Vigilante reaches behind his back, and you hear something unclasp, the smooth schlick of a knife glinting off the sun as he pulls it out.

A smile kicks its way to your mouth, and your breathing picks up, “This is new.”

“It’s a few years old at this point, needs sharpening.” He holds it in line with his thigh, tapping the tip to the metal button of a pocket.

“So, you’ve really used that on people?”

He nods, “My sword just isn’t conducive to stealth most of the time.”

A sword? You’d have to make him show you his entire arsenal one day. Where he kept all this stuff, mostly. It was a small apartment.

“Wow.” You reach out for the knife, and he keeps it from you.

“Hey.” He shakes his head, pushing your hand back, “If you think I’m gonna let someone who just committed battery on me have my knife, you’re nuts.”

Reaching forward, he pinches your chin to hold you in place, and drags the tip along the line of your jaw. He presses the flat side underneath your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

“Don’t move.” He guides you gently back to lay on the bed, the tip of the knife coasting down your t-shirt before he slips it underneath the hem and punctures the thin fabric, tearing a hold big enough to slip his fingers through. He rips the t-shirt apart in a clean line, leaning up with one knee on the bed to hover over your body.

The knee-pad presses between your legs, and Vigilante slips a hand underneath your back, lifting you in a slow arch as he grinds his thigh into your cunt. The tip of the knife rests at your sternum, scratching at your skin as you breathe gently in and out.

“You’re not gonna kill me, but, are you gonna hurt me?” You ask, clasping and unclasping your fists at your side.

“No way, I don’t want to get blood on our sheets.” He looks up at you, leaning over to graze against your mouth, “Would you want me to?”

“I—” His breath is hot, and you lick your lips, fighting the urge to lean up and kiss his mask, to slick up the fabric with your wet, wanting mouth, “One day, I think so.”

“You’ll have to do something really bad, then.” He backs away, pulling the knife with him, “Here, you can take your jeans off.”

Your eyes linger on the way his fingers close over the knife, grip tighter than when he’d held it over you, and you wonder over the harshness of his touch out there. You’d heard the news stories, the condition of the bodies. Necks torn apart and limbs cut clean off, he was vicious, efficient, unyielding.

For however strange the man you lived with was, he was never ominous or threatening. Vulgar in how freely he talked about death and his entire concept of deserving victims (cops, criminals, sometimes people who cut you off in traffic,) but then, you were much the same. It was all theoretical, at least, you’d thought.

He’s back over you before the jeans have hit the floor, a finger slipping underneath the waistband of your underwear, “These are old, right? You need to replace them?”

There’s some exasperation in his voice, and you breath out a confirmation, watching him cut those off as well.

The thick fabric of his gloves slide between your legs, the bundle of damp hair protecting you from any real friction from the rough texture. His middle fingertip slips between your lips, the touch rubbery as it circles your clit.

“Just to be clear, this,” He breathes, tapping his finger at the bundle of nerves, “Is because you’re my girlfriend.”

“Oh, what?” You ask, chest heaving with the quickening of his pace, “You don’t go around fingering criminals?”

“Is that where the phrase comes from?” Head cocked, he watches you laugh at him and reach for the side of his mask, grazing his cheek before letting your hand fall back to the mattress.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Hmm, then no, not that kind of fingering.”

Vigilante drags the knife horizontal up your torso, the blade’s angle smooth and cold against your skin. He flicks over the thin fabric covering your nipple, a ghost touch from the edge of the blade as he coasts it back up to hold at your throat.

“If you were a real criminal I’d run this across your throat,” He tilts the knife up, pointed edge just tapping next to your pulse, “Or jam it into your jugular.”

The finger on your clit is rough, smushing the skin around your clit. The gloves reduce tactility, and he’s less precise than he would be using his bare finger, but the carelessness sends shock-waves through your thighs, just hitting the perfect spot before he’s moved a little too far to the left, the right. Up, down.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Coarse, quiet, he leans down to hover over your mouth, “Over and over until they stop twitching. It’s easiest when they don’t fight back. I mean, really, they act like this isn’t the natural consequence for being a criminal.”

The pressure in your gut wells, coursing out through your body in waves that grow bigger and bigger, Vigilante’s voice guiding you through.

“You’d probably put up a fight, but you’re not a criminal, as we’ve obviously established.” He backs away to watch you cum, the knife flat across the pulpit of your throat, applied pressure choking your moans but far and away from the true threat of harm. It feels dangerous enough, spasming and arching into his hand, against the blade, crying out as he works a hand over his groin.

He’s inside you before you’ve come down from the last dregs of your orgasm, satisfied with the knife at your throat, suppressing comfort but not air.

“You’d look good holding the knife, though.” He groans, holding tight to your hip as he fucks into you, your legs hanging off the bed as he stands between them.

You gulp, “You think so?”

“Fuck yeah,” His head falls back. He’s working himself up into a fantasy of his own, words falling from his lips without provocation, carrying his own self away, “We could make you a suit. I’ll—fuck, I’ll teach you. You’d be my sidekick, Jesus you feel so fucking good.”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck, I could kill someone for you. Absolutely.” You exhale, bringing your hand up to bite your knuckles, desperate for any sensation in your mouth if you can’t have Vigilante’s lips.

“Say that again.” He digs the dull side of the blade into your skin, “Please.”

Scratching at your forehead, you grind your head back into the mattress, “I’ll kill for you. I’ll kill with you. Fuck, Vigilante, I will, I will.” Over and over until the words are jumbling together and he’s slipping the knife back in its sheath, both hands firm on your hips.

“Yes, yes, motherfuc—” He goes stiff, jolting into you a beat later, his orgasm rocking through his entire body, “Fuck!” Loud into the air as you tug him down to press your mouth to the mask. The fabric is taut over his lips, but you can feel his breath, feel the way he tries to kiss you back. It stretches around his mouth as your saliva soaks through, moans muffled to satisfied hums as he cools, hitching his hips into you, desperation graduating to over-stimulation.

Adrian rolls onto his back beside you, yanking the mask off with a gasp of air.

You turn to look at him, incredulous laughter from you both as your brains catch up to your bodies, to the moment, what you promised and agreed upon.

“Would you really teach me?” You ask, reaching over to toy with the metal buckles on his suit.

“You really think you could handle it?” Not condescending, not doubtful, just curious, cautious.

“Yeah, I do.”

He leans over to kiss you, groaning as he pushes up from the bed, “Alright, better call Chris, then.”

“What? What’s he gotta do with anything?”

“Well, I’m Peacemaker’s sidekick, and if you’re gonna be mine, I’m sure there’s probably all sorts of politics involved.”

You shoot up from the bed, jaw slack, eyebrows raised.

The drive back to the apartment is silent. Adrian’s at the wheel, and you rest your head against the cool glass of the window.

The mission had been a disaster: the Butterflies ended up taking over an entire police station, and it was only a matter of hours before they came after you all and then invaded earth. You try to pinpoint the exact moment things spiraled out of control, but end up with a sharp, throbbing pain in your head instead.

“You’re overthinking,” Adrian says, pulling you out of the dark pit of your thoughts. When you glance at him, he’s smiling, trying to lighten the mood. “I can almost see smoke coming out of your ears.”

He places a hand on your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze, and you try to smile back. His touch calms the chaos in your mind, only for a moment. Deep down, you know it’s only a matter of time before it all comes crashing in again.

Once you’re home, you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror.

Your suit is splattered with dried blood, and your muscles are still tense, as if you never left the battlefield. You try to stretch your arms, but a sharp pain shoots through your side when a wound opens; a small cry slips out before you can stop it.

“Shit…” Blood drops begins to drip slowly onto the floor, staining the blue carpet. “Shit, shit.”

“Hey, babe. Everything alright?”

At the sound of your voice, Adrian rushes into the bathroom, a deep frown creasing his face, worry flashing in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” you insist, pressing your hand against the wound, but then the trembling starts. Your chest tightens, ribs squeezing around your heart until every breath hurts.

Adrian moves toward you instantly when he notices it.

“I’ve got you. Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around you carefully before lifting you up and carrying you to the bed.

Before you even realize what’s happening, tears starts falling down your cheeks. It feels like an explosion of everything that’s been bottled up inside you finally breaking loose. You sob quietly, and Adrian sits beside you, holding you close without saying a word.

“We fucked up, Adrian,” you whisper, your voice thin and cracked. “The mission. I ruined everything.”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “That’s true.” He pulls you tighter against him, his arms around your shoulders. “But we’ll fix it. I trust the team… and I trust you. It was not your fault."

After a few moments, he brings his hands to your cheeks and lifts your head, gently wiping away the tears still falling from your eyes. You let him take care of you. You study him closely, with a quiet admiration and love. His glasses are crooked, one lens cracked at the bottom, his face streaked with blood and dust, bruised and tired. And yet, to you, he’s still the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

You notice him drift into his thoughts for a few seconds, and by the time he opens his mouth to speak, you already know what’s coming. You know him too well.

“You know crows kill themselves when their mate dies or gets badly hurt? Not all of them, but some do,” he blurts out without thinking. “It’s really romantic, isn’t it?”

Even though you expected something like that, your train of thought derails completely. You raise an eyebrow, staring at him in disbelief as the mood around you shifts entirely.

“You just made that up,” you say, shaking your head and moving away from him. “I’m looking that up on Google.”

“It’s true!” he insists, laughing as he grabs you by the waist to stop you from getting up. “They’re really loyal birds.”

“Shut up, Adrian.” You try not to laugh, but it’s impossible. “Let me go.”

“I don’t want to.” He pulls you closer against his chest, and the warmth of his body seeps into you. “Quiz me. I know everything about crows.”

“If you let go, I’ll grab my phone and look for quizzes,” you whisper, hiding your face against his neck.

“No. I like how you smell.” He kisses your forehead, his hand gliding down your back.

“I smell like mud and blood. What the fuck are you talking about?”

“And that’s fine,” he murmurs with a soft grin. “You smell like home.”

You sigh, finally lifting your head. When your eyes meet his, a real smile curves your lips without you meaning to. Adrian holds your gaze, still smiling.

“What are you staring at?” he asks, leaning closer.

“You look really cute right now,” you say softly, and without needing to fill the comfortable silence that follows, you press your lips to his. “I love you.”

Adrian closes his eyes and brushes his nose against yours. “I love you too. I love you as much as crows love each other.”

He kisses you again, soft and slow, and you melt into him. When you wrap your arms around his neck, you feel the tension leave his muscles. You relax too, letting yourself drift in the familiarity of his touch.

Each kiss is tender and sweet, and with every touch of his lips, something inside you begins to heal. Adrian has always been that for you; your healer, even long before he became your boyfriend, the person you love most in the world.

When you finally pull back for some air, you watch in silence as he reaches out, his fingers brushing the wound on your side.

“Let me take care of your wound first, then we’ll keep going, okay?” he murmurs, kissing your lips before getting up.

“Even though we fucked up,” he still talks from the bathroom, returning with a first-aid kit, “I’ve gotta say, I was impressed by how you fought. You saved Chris’s ass more than once.”

“Well, he saved mine too,” you reply, wincing as you take off your shirt while he opens the kit. “And you, especially. You took a lot of risks for me.”

“This is the least I can do for you,” he says, beginning to clean the wound. The sting of the alcohol makes you bite down hard on your lower lip. “Almost done, babe,” he adds gently.

“Thank you, love” You press a kiss to his cheek while he inspects your body.

“Did you get any more injuries?” he asks, his brow furrowing slightly.

“The rest aren't that deep. I’ll be fine.” You take the cotton from his hand. “What about you? I swear I saw you get shot.”

“Is this why you ignored Harcourt and abandoned your position to run toward me?” A sly smile tugs at his lips.

“Yes,” you reply, noticing the spark that flickers in his eyes.

He stays still for a few moments, simply observing you with a soft, wordless smile. Then he leans in to kiss you, fingers slipping between yours to hold your hand; as he does, you caress his knuckles gently, feeling your heartbeats fall into an elevated rhythm.

“I didn’t get shot,” he whispers against your lips. “I moved in the last second.”

This time, it’s you who initiates the kiss, deeper compared to before, more desperate. And when you part, the look in his eyes mirrors your own need. One of your hand slides from his neck down to his chest.

“Aren’t you going to take off your suit?”

Adrian lunges forward to kiss you again, your teeth colliding before your mouth opens to him. His tongue explores yours, deliberate and hungry, and you sigh through your nose at his familiar taste.

Meanwhile, his hands work on the Vigilante suit, tugging it off piece by piece. You pull back briefly, catching your breath, and lift his shirt over his head.

Now bare-chested, he pushes you gently onto the bed and positions himself on top of you.

“You always look so sexy after missions,” he murmurs between kisses. “I mean, you always look sexy, but after missions…” He pauses to undo your bra. “You look extra sexy.”

You laugh softly and wrap your legs around his waist. He trails wet kisses from your jaw down the curve of your neck. When he reaches your breasts, his hand rises and squeezes one of them while his tongue explores the other.

“Adrian…” you moan, your hips instinctively lifting toward him.

He breathes raggedly, his mouth still roaming your skin, and the vibrations of the noises he makes send shivers down your spine.

He starts to move his hips in slow, deliberate circles, simulating thrusts. Through the fabric of his pants, you can feel his hard cock against your core and the friction steals the breath of both of you.

“Are you going to undress,” you tease, voice low and playful, “or should I undress you?”

“Someone’s impatient.” He kisses your lips. “We should slow down a bit. You’re injured and…” he whispers between kisses, his hand brushing your neck, “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

With a sudden, fluid motion, you intertwine your leg with his and reverse your positions; a maneuver he once taught you during training. Now he’s beneath you, and you straddle him. The glint in his eyes as he looks up at you, open and vulnerable, filled with admiration, is enough to make your pulse quicken.

“Fuck,” he groans, gripping your waist as his hips press upward. “You know I love it when you do that.”

You smile, fumbling slightly as your hands work to unbutton his pants. He sits up, still holding you in his lap, and begins to kiss your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.

“You know,” he murmurs against your neck, voice uneven, “when we went to the Butterflies' farm today, I saw a family of squirrels.”

You free his hard and thick cock from his pants, and he's quick to throw them away with a soft moan.

“What else?” you ask softly, your hand moving slowly around his length.

“Uh… They…” He throws his head back, eyes closed, and some wrinkles appears on his forehead when he gasps. “…They shared their hazelnuts.”

You watch him without almost blinking, heat building deep inside you, your pulse quickening through every one of your veins. With your free hand, you remove his glasses and toss them to the floor. He lets out a sound halfway between a laugh and a moan, and you begin to trail wet kisses down the length of his neck.

“I want to fuck you,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, his Adam’s apple vibrating against your tongue. “Please. I need you.”

“Such a good boy.” Your hands rise to his face, caressing his cheeks before brushing back the damp strands of hair from his forehead, already slick with sweat.

“I am. I’m your good boy.” He tugs down your pants and underwear, and you lift your legs on each side to help him get rid of them, until you’re completely naked.

“Please.”

He touches you as though you were made of glass; precious, fragile, irreplaceable. His fingertips trace your warm skin, and then his mouth finds yours. The kiss burns; it’s fire and desperation, need and ache fused in the way your lips move together.

“Fuck me, Adrian,” you whisper, almost breathless, your voice trembling with urgency. “I can’t wait any longer.”

You gasp as Adrian thrusts into you in one swift motion. Your hands grip his shoulders tightly, fingers digging into his muscles as he holds you by the waist, lifting you up only to bring you down again.

“Shit,” he groans against your lips. “You’re so wet, fuck.”

You nod, brow furrowed, and start to move on top of him with short urgent bounces guided by the rhythm of his hands. He keeps thrusting, biting your lower lip between his teeth, and the sound that escapes you is pure surrender.

“Fuck, don’t stop.”

His fingers slide into your hair, tugging lightly at the strands as your moans grow louder, your back arching, already too lost in pleasure.

The headboard of the bed knocks rhythmically against the wall with your moves, and without thinking, your hand finds Adrian’s throat and wraps itself around it.

“Squeeze,” he breathes, voice rough, and groans when your eyes meet his and you tighten your grip around his throat. You feel the pulse beneath your palm, the veins standing out, while sweat drops rolls down his temple.

His cheeks flush, and a dazed smile appears on his lips.

“I’m gonna cum,” he moans, brows drawn tight while his hold on your waist grows rougher. “Oh, God... Shit.”

His thrusts quicken, deep and relentless inside of you, stealing the breath from your lungs. You release his neck and wrap your arms around him, and he mirrors the gesture, pulling you close, holding you as though you could both disappear into each other.

You can’t move, can’t think, only moan, your body tightening with the rising wave of pleasure.

Adrian buries his face in your neck and bites down gently, his muffled groans breaking against your skin. Within seconds, you feel his release inside you, his voice hoarse and trembling, and it’s the sound of his pleasure that finally sends you over the edge.

“I love you,” you manage to whisper between gasps.

Adrian collapses back onto the bed, bringing you down with him, both of you trembling and breathing heavily. His chest rises and falls rapidly, the sheen of sweat across his skin glimmering faintly in the dim light.

“I adore you,” he murmurs, kissing your lips. “I adore everything about you.”

When your breathing finally steadies, you look at him with an almost shy smile, tracing meaningless patterns on his chest with your fingers. He strokes your hair and pulls you even closer against his body.

“I love you so much,” he whispers, like a quiet prayer, and warmth floods through you from the inside out.

bradly "rooster" bradshaw

Author's Note: While I usually aim for gender neutral fics, the nature of regency England and it's very rigid gender roles means that for this fic, I can't do this. And while I entirely believe that Benedict is bi, the reader will be a lady of the ton in this fic. The dialogue is fairly fluffy and regency-era, but it's not perfect as I'm not a historian so it's my best effort.

This is a slowburn fic and will take place over a few years. The reader and Benedict will not get married in the same season that they meet.

love at first sight + friends to lovers + slowburn For additional warnings and tags that do not fit the tumblr format, see the AO3 posting of this fic

Chapters

Chapter 1 - Lily of the Valley

warnings: n/a words: 2.8k

Chapter 2 - White Dianthus