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adriansboyfriend · 9 days

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cafè closed for renovations - (Adrian Chase x Reader)

part 9 ☕️ series masterlist ☕️ ao3

a/n: this chapter got away from me. there were conversations/dialogue i really wanted in here (for comedy, mostly. lol) but the chapter got so long that it was like. damn. gotta stop. who knows maybe one day i'll do a re-write summary: Vigilante comes to your rescue (again). warnings: explicit 18+ only! canon typical violence, no Y/N, and there is straight up sex in here. wordcount: 7.2k

You wake up, sore and stiff and in the dark. The only light from a lamp post somewhere outside, doing very little to illuminate your surroundings. Coffee heavily scents the air, a bitter and comforting stench that lingers with permanence in the tiles and in your work clothes and stains the walls; you are still in the coffee shop.

When you try to move your hand to rub instinctively at an ache in your head, the movement is abruptly tugged to a halt. This confirms the second thing: you are tied to one of the stupid wooden chairs of the cafe.

You do not ordinarily think of the chairs as stupid, but considering how uncomfortable you are and how badly your buttcheeks are currently yearning for something softer--or the absence of anything against them at all--it seems apt. The chair is stupid.

But not as stupid as being ganged up on by your middle-aged bosses. And your mom.

After you had gone to investigate the noise and the slightly open door at the back of the store, you were surprised to see their familiar faces waiting for you. For one thing, the owners usually let you know if they'd be stopping by, and they'd usually do so way before the store closed. And, also, they'd use the front door; the back door isn’t exactly an adequate entrance, what with it leading to a tucked away alleyway that kind of stinks, thanks to the dumpster.

Your mom was a surprise for several reasons. One, you haven’t seen her in an alarming amount of days. Two, why was she at your job with your married bosses?

For a brief and horrible moment, the only conclusion you could come to was that your bosses were swingers and have chosen your mother as their third, and it was this big secret she was now keeping from you and your father. It would explain why she hasn't been around. And maybe the cafe was their rendezvous for their surreptitious sexcapades, for whatever reason. Which, ew, and also, yuck.

“Mom...?” you had asked, managing to fix your glare of disgust into a squint of 'hey, is that really you?' “What're you doing here? What are-” your eyes quickly glanced between all their weirdly passive faces- “what are all of you doing here? Not that it's not nice to see you guys, but, uh, usually there's notice beforehand..?” you trailed off, that last bit more directed at the owners than your mother.

(You're not even sure she had known where you worked.)

“You know the Vigilante.”

It was one of the owners--Bob--that had spoken. You remember the chill that took over your body, completely wiping out the mild discomfort and curiosity you had at their being there. The sudden sense that you were in danger took over, and you finally noticed how uncharacteristic their respective body languages were. The unsmiling mouths. The set shoulders. The hardened, focused gazes, all trained on you. Creepy in their lack of individuality.

“Wh- um,” you cleared your throat. “What makes you say that?”

“The surveillance footage shows him here,” Nancy, Bob’s wife, confirmed. “With you.”

They actually check those??

You had taken a tentative step back, attempting to retreat away from the crampedness of the back room and into the openness of the cafe. When you did, they all took a step forward, towards you.

You wished you had done something smarter, or at least cooler, but the sight of their synchronized step had sped up the beating of your heart that only encouraged you to run. And if you ever get the chance to share this story with anyone, you will omit the part where high-pitched, panicky sounds left your mouth as you heard them give chase behind you.

The memory of it gets fuzzy after that. All you can really recall is a flurry of movement as you picked up whatever you could in self-defense, and then blindly threw it behind you. Your captors currently have you facing the front of the store, but you're sure there's a mess behind you of paper cups and packaged pastries and spilled coffee beans. A brief pang of annoyance goes through you, thinking that your and the other baristas' efforts to clean the cafe had gone to waste, but then you remember that you're tied to a chair, and there's more pressing things to be annoyed about.

For example: it was your mother that knocked you unconscious.

She was the one that got her hands on you first, pinned you down against the hard countertop of the handoff station. You squirmed fruitlessly against her unnervingly strong hold, the strength feeling wrong, terrifyingly wrong. It was not your mother's strength, yet it was her hands that were hurting you.

Your heart beat slammed against the hard surface beneath you with the frantic rhythm of a wild animal trying to break out of its cage. It had practically drowned out your captor's stern and emotionless command to stop moving. You didn't listen, you couldn't listen, and this ultimately led to you being knocked out.

And now you were awake, tied to a stupid wooden chair. Overcome with the feeling of helplessness yet again. The frustration of not being able to fight back makes your jaw clench.

But would it have mattered? You couldn’t possibly throw hands with your mom. For one thing, she was your mom. For another, no matter how much pent up rage you have, it would bend under the duress of your mother’s own anger.

You begin to wonder if your captors left you all alone when you hear conversation coming from somewhere behind you.

Your mother's voice asks: “-and you're sure this person is the Vigilante?”

“Yes,” answers Bob. “We've replayed the video footage. This Adrian in their phone is the only person that's consistently come to visit them at work around this time. When he stopped, Vigilante showed up instead.”

Oh, shit. Were you bait?

“It has to be the same person,” Nancy agreed. “Their body languages are the same.”

This confuses you, but then you shift in your seat and feel the absence of weight where your phone usually sits in your pocket.

Shit. Shitshitshit.

He'll come. Of course he'll come, even if he figures out it's a trap. You can talk yourself into believing he won't. You can tell yourself that after you kicked him out of the cafe last night, he'd want nothing to do with you. But he's not the kind of friend that would leave you to rot. You know this with an absolute certainty, even in the little time you’ve gotten to know him.

It's one of the things you like about him. And now it might be one of the things that gets him hurt. Or worse.

And, god, you're not worth it. There's no way you're worth it, not with how selfish you've been this entire time. Wanting him, indulging in his attention and his praise and his kindness, in the way he looks at you. Expecting him to be there, even subconsciously, expecting him to be yours.

“You're awake.”

You hold your breath, body going tense; the voice was unexpectedly closer. Your mother steps into your line of sight, dimly illuminated by the light filtering in from the parking lot.

You glance over your shoulder, looking for your bosses, your other captors, but they must be somewhere in the backroom, plotting, no doubt. Your guarded gaze lands back on the woman in front of you. Her unusually cool expression gazes back.

This is not the woman that raised you.

You attempt to put on a brave face. Jut out your chin and ask, “what do you guys want?”

“Don’t worry,” she placates, “we don’t want to hurt you.”

You’ve got sore spots and potential bruises that say otherwise, but. Sure.

She continues: “As long as Vigilante complies and brings Peacemaker, I should be able to convince the others to let you go.”

Now that makes you pause. Is your mom just as much of a hostage (minus the obvious lack of restraints) as you are? This makes you hopeful. Frowning, you lower your voice. “Mom, what’s going on? Who- who are these people? What do they want with-”

“Your mother isn’t here,” she says, abruptly cutting you off. You notice that she’s also frowning, now, too. It’s the first sign of emotion you’ve seen on her face since… way too long, you realize.

“Did they… did they do something to you?” Maybe they fucked with her head, and that’s why she hasn’t been herself lately, hasn’t been around. Maybe your bosses were actual criminal masterminds and the cafe has been a front all this time.

(You can practically hear Adrian’s voice saying “I knew it!”).

“Whatever it is, I can- I can help, mom. We can get you out-”

“You’re not understanding.” There’s some hesitancy that passes over her face. “Your mother is gone. But I can feel… I can see how much she loved you. And how much she did not understand you. She found it frustrating that you would never open up to her or your father.”

You blink back unbidden tears, confused. Hurt.

Guilty.

“I can also see she didn’t handle it very well. That was unfair to you.” She pauses, looks away as if contemplating something. “Strange, the way humans seem to have such a hard time communicating with each other.”

This isn’t your mother. This isn’t your mother, no matter how much it looks like her, because the person talking right now was right -- your mother wasn’t good at communicating. Not because she kept everything bottled up, but because her words came out explosively, uncaring if the shrapnel of her words lodged themselves deeply into your flesh, wounding you in ways that were hard to see. Hard to describe, hard to explain, hard to show. Show her. So you withdrew into yourself instead, distanced yourself from your parents as best you could to avoid any more pain.

You were hoping maybe this person in front of you was brainwashed, or something, but you know there was no amount of brainwashing that would make your mother speak like this, have this much self-awareness. There’s no way.

Grief crawls up your throat. “Mom,” you sob.

“Stop, I'm not-” she wavers, “it's probably better if you don't call me... best if you distance yourself from-”

You flinch away from her outstretched hand. That same hand abruptly pulls away in response, as if startled.

(For her part, the alien residing in your mother's skull is confused by her own reaction. She's well and fully in control, of course, but it's like there's residual emotion in the beating of this host's heart, affecting the synapses of the brain that is looking at this poor human creature crying helplessly in front of them, wanting to comfort, to protect.)

A curious mix of emotions flicker across your mother's face, a wavering uncertainty. “I can't- I can't be a part of this,” she says, more to herself than to you. “But I can't betray my own. I can't-” she glances somewhere behind you, then back to your face. Her own easing into something resolute. “I can't be here. The Vigilante, the Peacemaker- they seem capable. They'll- you'll be okay, once they get here.”

There's a silence, so brief yet so achingly long, that passes between you both as you look wordlessly at each other. You look at your mother's face, lost and confused; she looks back, decisiveness softened into an almost-familiar affection. The space between you feels like a crumbling bridge.

And then she turns around, unlocks the front door of the cafe, and leaves.

She does not look back.

Adrian’s leg does not stop bouncing on the whole ride to the cafe. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this impatient in his whole life. The need to move, for action, coursing through him, his fingers twitching to pull a trigger, his muscles jumping beneath his suit with the restrained reflex of throwing his many knives.

Can they just fucking get there already!? It’s like no one seems to realize the urgency of the situation. How important you are.

How much he needs you.

It’s moments like these where he wishes he had a convenient super power. Training his mind and body until both were formidable weapons was great, but if he could just teleport right now and beat the shit out of anything that’s touched you, that would be pretty fucking cool.

And if not innate, it’d be awesome if they had some kind of cool weapon or contraption they could use. Unfortunately, not even any of Peacemaker’s helmets held the power to teleport. Adrian knows this because he asked, like, three times. At least. He lost count.

“No! For the last fucking time, Vigilante, none of my helmets can teleport me anywhere!”

Adrian scoffs. “Guess your dad isn't that brainy after all if he couldn’t create a helmet as useful as that one.”

“Remember,” Harcourt speaks up from the driver seat of the van. “Talk to them first. Find out what they want. Peacemaker, use your helmet to find out how many are in the area. Don’t do anything rash when we get there. We need information.”

She makes it a point to glance sternly over her shoulder at Vigilante.

“What’re you looking at me for!?” he whines, indignant.

“Probably because you haven’t stopped shaking your leg for the entire drive,” Peacemaker says. “You’re making it look like we’re driving a sex van.”

He manages to get his leg to stop bouncing for an impressive two seconds before his nerves jolt it back into motion. Harcourt and Chris groan from the front.

“Just don’t do anything stupid,” Harcourt stresses.

She parks the van a block away, leaving Vigilante and Peacemaker to walk the rest of the way. They both have their handguns out, ready, while Peacemaker scans the area for any signs of life on the way to the cafe, confirming that there's no one else around.

When they reach the small lot, Vigilante recognizes your car. It's the only vehicle parked here. The two men stop their steps before they expose themselves under the light of the street lamp, giving Peacemaker time to give the cafe one last sweep.

“That's weird. There's only two of them.”

Vigilante turns his masked head to Peacemaker, but before he can even ask, Peacemaker says, “don't worry, your fuck buddy isn't a butterfly.”

Well that's a relief! Except-

“Well... We haven't actually fucked yet.”

Was tacking on the 'yet' a bit presumptuous of him? Your body definitely reacted to his hands and his mouth like there was a possibility for more.

“Are you serious?” Peacemaker asks. “You're being this annoying over someone you haven't even fucked?” He scoffs. “Unbelievable.”

“Can you two idiots focus?” Harcourt's voice crackles through their earpieces, stern and fed up.

They continue forward, stepping into the halo of light to finally alert your captors to their arrival.

“We’ve done other stuff,” Vigilante mutters.

But before Peacemaker can ask, or jump to conclusions and confirm whether or not, like, handjobs even count, they’re approaching the front of the store. The silhouette of three figures inside becomes visible, and his eyes land on your figure, still strapped to a seat in the middle of the store. The two butterflies stand on either side of you, at your shoulders, and it pisses him off to see them standing so close to you. The thought that they even got the chance to lay a single finger on your body made him angrier than he thinks he’s ever been.

The door to the cafe is pulled open. There’s a silence that welcomes them that unsettles Vigilante. You usually have some music playing when he stops by, even after hours. His eyes find yours through his visor -- you’re awake! Alive and awake! -- and they’re big and pretty and probably scared and- was that relief? In the twitch of your lips?

Were you happy to see him?

His heart thump-thumps with his own relief at seeing you. There’s a twitch of movement to your right - a hand that isn’t yours gets raised and-

Fuck the plan.

Vigilante pulls the trigger and a bullet flies through the hand. A screech fills the space, coupled with Peacemaker yelling, “Vigilante! I told you to play it cool, man. Harcourt said we need answers, and we’re not getting any if their meat puppets are fucking dead!”

“Well he isn’t dead,” he says defensively. “I clearly shot a non-fatal body part!”

The two brace themselves for an attack, but none comes. Instead, the man he shot cradles his wounded hand, glowering at them with bared teeth, while the lady on the other side of you whips something out of her pocket and presses it against your throat. It’s a box cutter, he realizes.

“Put down the guns, and they don’t get hurt.”

Vigilante hesitates until he receives further nudging from Chris, and he re-holsters his weapon. His gloved hands do not stray away from his hips, though. Poised and at the ready.

“Alright, happy?” Peacemaker asks.

The box cutter leaves your neck. A non-verbal confirmation.

“Now what do you want?”

“Our leader wants you, Peacemaker.”

Peacemaker scoffs. “Sounds a little backwards for an alien invasion, doesn't it? Aren’t you guys supposed to be asking us to take you to our leader?”

His comment only vaguely registers for Vigilante, who -- eyes finally adjusting to the dark (which, like, why were the lights off in the first place?) -- cannot strip his focus away from you. Your gaze hasn't left his face (or mask, rather) this entire time. The way your eyes dart back and forth on his visor in an attempt at eye contact. Like, maybe, you’re looking for reassurance. Comfort.

He wants to give that to you. He wants so badly to give that to you. His own eyes widen meaningfully before he remembers you can’t see them properly, so he instead dips his chin forward. A slight nod in your direction. He hopes you understand that he won’t let anything happen to you.

The back and forth continues between Peacemaker and the butterflies, with Harcourt directing Chris to ask what they want with him (they don’t know, they were simply following orders). Chris tries (and fails) to convince them to share the location so that he could meet them there (per Harcourt’s insistence that he shouldn’t go alone, they need the team).

All the words end up being just vague fragments of conversation that Adrian just barely pays attention to. He keeps his focus on you, and makes sure there’s no sudden movements from your middle-aged captors.

When none of that works, Harcourt decides that she’s heard enough. Vigilante perks up when she gives them the g0-ahead to end this and complete the rescue mission. Him and Peacemaker share a glance, a furtive nod, before they unleash chaos on the motherfuckers that made the mistake of using you as bait.

With a quick flick of the wrist, Vigilante throws one of his knives. It lodges itself into the face of the butterfly he already shot. Another one of those inhuman shrieks erupts. A whirlwind of violence follows.

This time, the butterflies don’t hold back - they lunge at them with a ferocious and uncanny speed. There’s a wonderful, fleeting second of relief at the sight, seeing that you aren’t being used for leverage this time.

The fight unfolds. It’s all grunts and growls and foul language. Blades whipping about and fists colliding with bodies. These fuckers are strong, but Vigilante -- Adrian -- isn’t going to let them survive this encounter, not after they put you in danger.

Vigilante takes on the undivided attention of the male butterfly, who seems especially pissed off, for whatever reason. Having to defend himself, he hears, rather than sees, the sound of glass breaking; someone definitely got thrown through the storefront window.

His left arm deftly blocks an oncoming punch from his opponent.

“Ow,” he whines, but then a quick glance in your direction makes him deepen his voice. “I mean- is that all you got?”

The butterfly swiftly picks up another cafe chair.

Adrian’s eyes widen behind his visor. “Oh, shi-” he ducks, just barely dodging the flying furniture.

“Alright, that’s it. Time to go night night, motherfucker.” He unholsters his again, aims, pulls the trigger - all in one deft motion.

The butterfly’s borrowed body jerks, falls back. Lands with a thud flat on his back, inches from where you sit.

Vigilante crouches over the body and yanks his knife out; the butterfly had been fighting this whole time with it still lodged in its face. Something tries to crawl out of its mouth. With the same knife, Vigilante stabs down before it can fully emerge. There’s a ghastly squelching sound, accompanied by a dying squeak. Both odd sounds to come out of a grown man’s mouth, dead or alive.

Vigilante looks up at the sound of discomfort that hums in your throat. “Oh. Pretty nasty, huh? Sorry you had to see that.”

“That was my boss…” is all you say, voice quiet.

Adrian glances back down at the bloodied mess of a face. “Whoops.”

You watch him with watery eyes as he re-adjusts his position and settles himself in front of your tied up legs. He gingerly inspects your foot. “You still have all your toes, right?”

There’s a beat as he assesses, with satisfaction, that both your shoes are still on. And then a huff of laughter makes him look back up at you again, eager to see if a smile accompanies the sound. His heart squeezes almost painfully at the sight of your upturned lips, the squint of your eyes.

After last night, he was worried he’d never see it again. Worse - that he’d never again be the cause of it.

He finishes cutting you loose, starting with your ankles and finishing up at your wrists. You stand up, and he re-sheaths his knife.

And then, suddenly, you are in his arms. The weight of you crashes into his chest, and your arms encircle his torso, your face pressed into him. A tumble of repetitive ‘I'm sorry, I’m sorry’ falls from your mouth, and he doesn’t understand. Why would you apologize? But he returns the hug, albeit awkwardly, and basks in the feeling of your body against his body, and hopes his chest piece adequately masks the hammering of his heart.

“Hey, lovebirds,” Peacemaker calls out, poking his head through the now-empty window pane. “Ride’s here.”

Since they can’t just leave your car here, Vigilante ushers you into the passenger seat, then helps Peacemaker drag the two dead bodies into the back of the van.

Once he joins you back in the car, he takes off his mask and follows the van all the way back to the abandoned video store. Adrian wants to fill up the car ride with chatter, ask you what you were apologizing for, ask if you’re okay; he wants to apologize himself for making you cry, for putting you in danger and letting you get caught like that. But when he glances at your face, he sees the faraway look in your eyes, like you’re not even here.

For once, he keeps his mouth shut. Just lets the radio fill up the quiet.

When they get to the lot and park, Adrian motions for you to follow him. You blink at him, confused.

“Wh- I have to come, too? Can’t I just stay in the car?”

“I’m pretty sure Murn’s going to want to ask you questions.”

You make a face.

“C’mon, they’re not going to hurt you! They’re the good guys!”

This gets you to finally unbuckle. Once you’re by his side outside of the car, he says in a chipper tone, “besides, I’d never give them the chance!”

You don’t say anything after that, but you do seem to stick close to him, even once inside the base. Adrian feels warm fuzzy feelings glow in his gut at the idea that, once again, you feel safe with him.

They settle into a few chairs. Chris and Harcourt are already inside, including Murn and Economos and Adebayo. Harcourt and Chris start to fill them in about what went down. For a while, the only attention you and Adrian draw are fleeting glances from the other members of the team, until finally, Murn’s gaze rests heavily on where you sit beside Adrian.

He asks for your side of the story, if you saw anything or anyone else prior to getting caught. Adrian watches your face, the way a brief frown forms as you pause before answering no, it was just the two cafe owners that had snuck up on you.

Harcourt’s eyes narrow, and she shares a glance with Murn. But the interrogation stops there as Murn dismisses you both.

“Vigilante,” Murn says, “Get them home.”

Dawn creeps in between the edges of the blinds, letting you know that you had too few hours of twitchy sleep. Your body could definitely use more after what you've been through, and your eyes certainly do burn with exhaustion. But you couldn't shake the feeling that Adrian was going to leave again if you didn't keep an eye on him.

Sure enough, it's the absence of his body beside yours on his bed that urged you awake.

Last night, he had known not to take you home, so you once again found yourself in his apartment. (Sober this time, at least.) Through the tired haze of it all, you changed into sleep clothes (borrowed from Adrian, of course) and appreciated the softness against your bare skin, and you washed your face of any residual spattering of coffee and blood (Bob's blood. Ew!).

Adrian had offered you his bedroom again, but this time you wouldn't take it unless he crawled into bed with you. It did not take much convincing. He slipped under the covers with you, and you felt his body heat coax your eyes closed. He had started chattering (probably nervously) about... something. It didn't matter; you were out in seconds after that.

Now, cold and alone, you sit up in the bed and rub at your wrists. Your eyes land on the plastic cup from the cafe that still sits on his nightstand with what looks like the same garbage as before. You snort. Everything about Adrian’s apartment hints at tidiness. Both times you’ve shown up, it’s not like he knew he was going to have a guest over, so it’s not like he cleaned up beforehand. So the garbage on the nightstand feels peculiarly out of place.

Just then, the bedroom door opens and Adrian strides in, but pauses when he sees you’re awake. A smile spreads on his face, and, fuck, he looks so pretty when he smiles. Your heart clenches -- you missed seeing his face.

“Hey,” you greet, voice soft as morning.

“Hey.” His face practically glows as he looks at you.

“Why do you have this garbage here?” You gesture to the plastic cup on the nightstand.

Immediately, the mood shifts. His smile drops, and- is that offense? Is he offended? “That is not garbage.”

You laugh, and pick up the cup. “Then what is-” your question falters to a stop as you notice a familiar D20 die snuggled amongst wrappers and receipts. A particular receipt stands out, now that you’re taking a proper look at the cup’s contents -- it’s the silly little ballpoint doodle you did of Adrian. Finally, your eyes squint and you raise the cup over your head a little to look at the bottom of it. “Wait, is that my scrunchie? I’ve been missing this for weeks.”

“Yeah, you left it in my car after the first time we kissed.”

Your face warms at the memory, the way Adrian handled you so perfectly and continued to do so afterwards, without ever asking for more.

Trying to ignore the excited feeling that swoops low in your belly, you ask,“why’d you keep all this stuff?”

Adrian stands at the edge of the bed now, having closed the door behind him, and shrugs. “I just thought that this time, if you left Evergreen again, at least I’d have these things to remind me that you were here, and that it wasn’t just a really awesome dream.”

If it were anyone else, you’d think they were fucking with you. No one else has ever managed to make you feel as special as Adrian does. It gives you a kind of high, makes your chest pang with overwhelming joy.

“Why’d you apologize last night?”

The sudden change in topic confuses you. “What?”

“Last night, after I cut your restraints, you kept saying you were sorry. Why?”

You take in a deep breath, trying to quell your embarrassment -- Adrian is, after all, the last person in the world you’d ever feel embarrassed around -- and try to explain, though you’re not quite sure where to start.

“Well, I- I mean it’s my fault that you and Peacemaker risked your lives to save me, right?”

“You told them about my secret identity?”

“Wh- no! I told you I’d never tell, and I meant it.”

“Oh, okay. So you’re just victim-blaming?” Something like disappointment passes over his face. “Wow. And here I thought you were a feminist.”

You put the cup of memories back down on the nightstand because you’re suddenly worried you might crush it.

“Okay, fine. Then… I’m also sorry because I wasn’t fair to you. When I.. when I freaked out the other night, and told you to leave after you mentioned the, uh...”

“The threesome,” he offers, and then grimaces like he shouldn’t have tried to remind you.

“...Right. That.” You sigh. “It wasn’t fair of me to get mad when you’re not… You’re not mine. It was stupid to let it hurt me. I just- I got so caught up in what we’ve been doing lately that I just felt-”

“Can I be?” Adrian interrupts.

Startled, you blink up at him. “Huh?”

“Can I be yours? I want to be yours.” He looks at you with a liquid intensity in his green eyes that melds with the overt desperation in his tone, like he never considered before that he could just ask to be yours.

It makes you breathless. It makes you ache.

You rise to your knees on the mattress. Shuffle towards him a bit, while he says “I didn’t even want to have sex with Peacemaker and that underappreciated lady because all I could think about was you-” and lightly pinch the hem of his t-shirt with both hands once you’re directly in front of him.

The proximity makes Adrian falter. “Uhh…mm..” His attention darts from your eyes down to your lips then back up again until he squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m trying to apologize for doing something shitty but you make it really difficult to focus when your face is this close to my face.”

“I forgive you. Can you please just kiss me now? Please?”

Adrian’s eyes fly open, and he nods. “Okay, yes, I can do that.” He cups your face between his hands and proceeds to kiss you like it is his mission.

And, oh, how you melt into the kiss. The delicate hold you had on just the hem of his shirt is not enough to keep your body steady, so they instead grasp at his waist as you fall into him, into his warmth. You sigh as he parts your lips with his own, taste the sweep of his tongue on your bottom lip. Your heart flutters with the realization that, hands still cradling your face, Adrian is in full control kiss; he tilts his head and pries your lips further apart so he can deepen the kiss, taste the inside of your mouth and moans, clearly just as lost and deprived as you.

The desperation unfurls after that, the kiss no longer a slow, sweet, gentle thing. Wanting, needing him closer, you tug at his waist. Needing the same, his body complies until he's joining you on the bed, eventually ending up in a heap of roving hands and wanton kisses on the sheets.

Keeping himself propped up on his forearm, Adrian's other hand wanders lower until he finds the bottom of your shirt and thumbs underneath it, caressing at the skin of your stomach above the waistband of your borrowed sweats. You shiver at the contact, and he pulls away from the kiss in wonder. “You really like when I touch you.”

“Yes,” you pant. “Obviously.”

Mischief accompanies the wonder in his gaze. His hand glides up your side, lifting the shirt even more, and you whine at the sensual contact. You pull at the collar of his shirt so that he can get back to kissing you, but he resists, entirely too entranced by the visible effect he's having on you. His thumb grazes just under your covered breast, and that alone makes the yearning in your core flare up.

You squirm impatiently beneath him, hands still clenched around his shirt, definitely wrinkling it. “Adrian, please.”

“Sorry, sorry, it's just that hearing you beg is really hot.” As if to prove his point, his erection grows until his jeans are stiff. The feeling of it pressed against your right thigh makes you wet.

Your head starts to spin with the overwhelming desire; if Adrian does not press himself into you in the next few moments, you may actually die.

You grab his wandering, teasing hand by the wrist and drag it back down. “Touch me here,” you breathe, “touch me lower.”

His eyes widen, mouth hanging open. “Wait, are we really doing this? And by 'this,' I mean sex.”

“Yes,” you say, but then sheepishly rein in your enthusiasm. “I mean, that- like, if you want?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I want to. I've wanted to since high school.”

Your cheeks warm at this admission, of all things. A delirious giggle bubbles out of you.

Adrian's hand slips beneath the waistband of your sweatpants, transforming your giggle to a gasp as his fingers brush against your underwear.

“Fuck, you're already this wet?”

Your hips buck at the question, at the rasp in his voice, making your clothed cunt grind against his hand before your ass plops back down on the mattress.

That's all the invitation Adrian needs to slip his middle and ring finger into down your underwear and into your slit. His digits press into the slicked warmth, pushing inside of you. He watches, slack-jawed, as you groan with relief.

Adrian doesn't take his eyes off of your face as he fingers you, completely transfixed by the divet between your furrowed brow, by the shape of your mouth as you pant, as you gasp.

You fist at the sheets. Your hips rut against his plunging fingers, wanting to feel him deeper, deeper, more, until your body quakes with the oncoming orgasm.

“A-Adrian, I'm..!”

He doesn't let up when you come against his hand, fingers still fucking relentlessly into you as you throw your head back with a raspy cry. It's not until you start slapping at his chest and shoulders does he finally stop, easing his fingers out of you with a broken moan of his own. The color on his cheeks is rosy. He looks at you like you just gave him the best gift in the world.

“That was- wow. I almost came in my pants. Your O face is.. like, don't get me wrong, you're hot all the time, but that was the most beautiful face I've ever seen.”

“Shut up.” Embarrassed, you cover your face with your left hand while your right smushes against his mouth. Truthfully, Adrian's compliment makes you throb all over again, and you rub your thighs together in an attempt to ease your arousal. The movement rubs up against Adrian’s crotch, and his hips jerk forward, instinctively seeking the same kind of friction. He moans into your palm, and you whimper at the feel of his erection against you.

Adrian grabs your wrist and gently moves your hand from his mouth. “Okay, seriously, if I don’t fuck you right now I will actually come in my pants. Can we- oh.”

You’re already rolling both sweatpants and underwear down your hips, shimmying them off while still lying down.

“Sweet.” Adrian is quick to join you in removing his clothes, shirt getting tugged off and flung to the side, leaving his hair a disheveled mess of curls. His jeans and boxers get discarded with the same clumsy urgency until finally, he’s settling in between your parted legs.

The morning light is soft and dull as it creeps in through the cracks, barely illuminating the edges of Adrian’s body where he sits above you. The room is still cast in shadows this early, and for a moment, it mellows out the mood, temporarily quieting the desperation. Adrian must get caught up in it, too, as he regards your body beneath him in an almost reverent appreciation until he fists his cock and lines it up with your entrance, shattering the stillness and reminding you how badly you want him inside.

The tip of his cock nudges between your folds. You hiss as he inches forward. Despite the arousal, the wetness from your previous orgasm, it takes some effort for you to take him. After all, you haven’t had anything with this much girth enter you in a while.

“Can’t believe how tight you feel,” Adrian says, voice strained, “even though I got you so wet.” He holds up your right leg, pushing back your thigh to spread you open, focusing entirely on the way his cock eases into your clutch, slowly sinking into you. You whimper at the agonizing slowness with which he fills you; it’s a sweet kind of pain, unused to the intrusion but relishing in the satisfaction of being filled up.

You both groan in unison when he finally bottoms out. You feel like you’ll burst from the fullness, the way he stretches you out. Adrian drops forward, keeping himself propped with his forearms on either side of your face. His body trembles with restraint. “I don’t know if I’m gonna make it,” he says into your neck.

You stay like that for a moment, unmoving but for the slight trembling of your bodies. Adrian’s probably just stopping himself from prematurely blowing his load. You’re just grateful for the opportunity to adjust to the feeling of it all.

Finally, Adrian slides back out before gently rocking his hip back into you. You gasp. He repeats the motion again, and again, until he’s rocking into you at a steady pace, spurred on by the sultry sounds leaving your mouth. As you get used to the feeling pushing into you, the small discomfort ebbs into pleasure that quickly makes the sensation addicting. Your thighs clamp down against his thrusting waist. Your arms wrap around him, feeling his warm, hard back against your hands, gripping at this skin and wanting him more and closer.

The whole time, he keeps his head in the crook of your neck. You feel the way his breathing trembles out of him, hot on your skin.

“Adrian, w-why won’t you-- mmn--look at me?”

“You jus’ feel sss’good. If I look at you- ah, I’ll come.”

The shattered and whiny twinge of his words go right to your core, making you moan. Suddenly, it’s like you don’t feel close enough, despite clinging to him as he fucks you. Your mouth finds its way to his freckled shoulder, biting and licking at his skin. He hisses in your ear, his hip jerking abruptly at the feeling of your teeth in his flesh. The movement pushes his cock further into you, pressing deliciously deep for a quick moment that makes you sing, a high pitched, throaty “oohhh” leaving your mouth.

Adrian’s thrusts become wild, aggressive and desperate, the steady rhythm officially disrupted. He presses his mouth against the spot on your neck right below your ear, hot, sloppy kisses and nips sending jolts of pleasure throughout your body. You mewl beneath him, brain becoming clouded with bliss.

Another orgasm begins to crests, the pressure building low in your stomach. It becomes a high you start to chase, clamping down on Adrian’s stuttering hips, needing to keep him latched to you because nothing else matters except for how good Adrian’s making you feel, how he always make you feel-

You come with a loud, broken sob. Adrian’s thrusts stop, his cock pressed deeply into you as you ride out the waves of your orgasm. You keep him anchored to your body, feel the way your pussy throbs around his girth until you come crashing back down, arms falling limp to your side, throat feeling hoarse.

Once your hips cease undulating beneath him, Adrian resumes fucking into you, the glide of his cock even smoother and sumptous now that your pussy overflows with your release. You’re perfectly content letting him use you to reach his own end, eyes slipping shut and head lolling to the side. You’re distantly aware of Adrian mumbling praises into your neck, ‘best pussy I’ve ever felt, even better than I imagined’ until the words slur together.

His warmth leaves you when he suddenly pulls out with a high-pitched “Shit shit shit..!” Your eyes fly open to watch, drinking in the sight of his flushed face, the curls sticking to his damp forehead, glasses crooked on the bridge of his nose. Panting, he gives his cock a few desperate pumps until he comes, painting your stomach with his spend.

“That was… wow.” Adrian picks up the previously discarded shirt and starts wiping at the mess on your stomach. “I’m having a hard time believing we just did that. I was inside you. I felt you come.” He’s grinning like an idiot.

“Adrian,” you smile. “You’re acting like you’ve never had sex before.”

“I’ve never had sex with you.” He rolls up the soiled shirt and meets your eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever had sex that good. I mean, I thought I did, but no one’s ever made me feel the way you do.”

Not even Peacemaker? But you bite your tongue. This was a you and Adrian bubble, no need to burst it.

While you dress, your eyes land on the cup again, with Adrian’s name and all the little knickknacks he treasures. You think about what he said before, about you leaving Evergreen again. You think about how you wanted nothing more than to distance yourself from this town, up until a few days ago. But now, looking at Adrian as he zips up his jeans, studying the counters of his body, riddled with freckles and scars, Evergreen doesn’t seem so bad.

After all, Evergreen has its own vigilante.

“Hey, Adrian?”

He’s picking out another shirt to wear from his dresser. “Yeah?”

“You don’t have to worry about me leaving Evergreen.”

He turns around to look at you, clutching a clean shirt in his hands. “Really?” He looks hopeful. Childishly happy. Boyishly pretty.

“As long as you want me to, I’ll stay.” Because, at this point, the only way you’d ever leave his side is he made the choice.

“I’ll always want you.” He says this with an earnestness that makes emotions you don’t have the words for balloon in your chest.

You grin all sryupy at him.

“Then I’ll always stay.”

taglist: @whatevermonkey @hiddlebatchedloki

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additional an: only an epilogue left ♡ see y'all on the other side

#adrian chase #vigilante #fic rec

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