sabbath

He risks pulling you closer to him, and you come willingly with a sleepy sigh that just might be the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. His eyes move across your room, landing on the gun on your nightstand. Not totally safe, especially if it’s loaded, but you’ve been so paranoid lately that he’s not too surprised. Hopefully you won’t change your locks again. It’s a pain in the ass to break the one on your window without actually breaking the window. Besides, you don’t need to be so overly cautious. He’ll take care of you, just like he always does. He’ll keep killing the guys who are creepy towards you. He’ll keep up with his patrols by your house. He almost wants to wake you up to tell you that, but he’s pretty sure you won’t be soothed by it.

You stir again, always so fussy in your sleep when he’s close to you. He likes to think you can sense him, somehow. That maybe something subconscious is alerting you to his presence, rousing you just enough to snuggle up to him but not quite enough for you to wake up all the way. He knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that your panic is because of him. Because you’re smart and you’ve seen the missing items in your home and obviously noticed the broken locks enough to keep changing them, but you’re safe. You’ll always be safe because he’ll always keep it that way.

His armor has blood on it. He hopes it doesn’t smudge on your face again. You always get so upset when that happens.

“I love you.” He whispers, nose brushing your cheek. Your own nose scrunches again, and he can’t help his grin. Fuck, if he could just kiss you, just once, he’d be the happiest man in the world. But you’d wake up, and probably freak out, and with his mask off and his face exposed that’ll be a whole new mess to deal with. He doesn’t know a whole lot about relationships, but he’s pretty sure this one won’t start too wonderfully if he has to tie you up and keep you locked in your own apartment until you calm down.

“But I gotta go, okay?” You don’t answer, but the feeling of his breath against your cheek and his voice in your ear is beginning to make you rouse. As much as it kills him, he has to leave, “I’ll be back tomorrow. Sleep tight.”

He risks a kiss to your forehead as he untangles himself from you. When you hum, and turn into the pillow, it takes everything he has to not climb back into bed. If he could just take off his armor, and slide beneath the covers with you, and hold you in his arms until the sun comes up with your warm breath against his skin and your body against his own…

No. He can’t. You’re not ready for that.

But when you’re sleeping, so soft and warm and sweet in his arms, he can pretend. So he’ll keep pretending.

But he isn’t a very patient man, even on his best day. Maybe… maybe he doesn’t have to pretend too much longer.

-

You wake fully clothed, on top of your comforter, with your mouth dry and the smell of pine and blood in your bed.

That smell. That familiar, bone-chilling smell, makes you scramble for the gun on your bedside table and bolt upright before your eyes are even fully open. A habit, now, built up since the first time you woke to a broken lock on your front door and bootprints staining your carpet.

Once, when you woke up like this, there was blood on your shirt. Another time, the window was open and you had creases on your cheek like you’d slept on something harder and firmer than your pillow.

You think you might be losing your mind. And, worst of all, you think you might prefer to be losing your mind. The alternative is so much more horrifying.

Your room is empty. The window is closed. The sun is creeping over the horizon, and your phone is dead.

Before, when this first started happening, you would take an extra few minutes to tremble and re-check the apartment. Maybe cry with a mixture of horror and frustration. Now, you know you won’t find anything. You know that sitting frozen in fear won’t help. It never does.

You just go through the motions, trying to remain as numb as possible. You set the gun back down on the bedside table, shuffle out of your clothes, plug your phone in, and do your best to drift off.

Your eyes are on the window, and as you finally start to drift off, you think you might glimpse a smudge of teal in the soft light of dawn.

-

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks, Dave.”

“Are you still not sleeping?”

“Sleeping like a fucking baby, Dave.”

“You’re not going to be able to serve tables if you’re looking like you’re gonna pass out.”

You grit your teeth, and try for a bright smile. Judging by your manager’s reaction, it might not look entirely right.

“I’m fine.” You insist, folding up your jacket and trying not to shove it too hard into your little cubby. “Just…been a rough week.”

“You’ve been having a few rough-“

“And have I been bad at my job?” You finally snap, doing your best not to whirl on him. “Have I had bad reviews or something?” You don’t mean it to sound so much like a challenge, but you’re more than a little cranky.

“No.” He admits, frowning, “you’re fine. I’m just…oh shit, incoming.”

You know what that means. But, unlike Dave and everyone else you work with, the warning doesn’t make you prickle, or brace yourself. In fact, you feel your shoulders relaxing before you even hear his voice.

“Hey! Did you see that National Geographic special last night?” Adrian Chase, in all of his overzealous glory, appears by your side just as you begin to tie your apron around your waist.

And you did. Because you haven’t been sleeping. And the last time you did, you passed out on the couch and woke up in your bed. Tucked in. Fully clothed, and with the faint scent of blood and pine lingering in the air.

You’ve been up for two days, since then.

“The one about penguins, right?” You ask, and move over to the computer to clock in, trying to blink the exhaustion from your mind as your free hand continues to fumble with your apron.

“Right.” Adrian breathes the word, like your confirmation that you watched it is the best thing he’s ever heard, and you know without needing to look that he’s grinning. “Did you know they mate for life?”

“Mhm.” You punch in your number. Grab a pen off the counter. “The pebble thing they do is cute.”

“Hey, c’mere.” His words barely register in your mind through your haze of exhaustion, but suddenly his hands are on your waist. He spins you to him like it’s second nature, and you don’t even realize what he’s doing until you feel your apron cinch around your middle, surprisingly deft fingers tying the strings for you.

He’s close. When you look up, he’s still grinning down at you, white teeth and bright green eyes and fingers still lingering on your waist.

You know he likes you. You’re not an idiot. While he seems to shy away and avoid any and all physical contact with your other coworkers, he also seems to always be looking for a reason to touch you. It’s usually simple gestures - a hand brushing your arm as he walks past you in the dining room, a finger tapping lightly against your nose when he’s rambling about something, or even the way he stands beside you so closely that his shoulder brushes yours when you talk.

But he’s never touched you like…this. 

“Thanks.” You say, entirely unsure of what to do. He’s never been this…bold, before. He’s so close that you can feel the ghost of his breath on your lips.

“Penguins propose to other penguins with pebbles.”

You’re exhausted, and definitely still only half awake, but you can’t be imagining the way his green eyes darken as they move over your face.

“Yeah?” You’re so tired you wonder if you might be imagining this. Sure, Adrian likes you, but he also calls you his best friend all the time, so you’re not totally sure how he feels about you. Besides, the horror movie you’re currently living in isn’t exactly conducive to a new relationship, so you haven’t thought to pry into whatever feelings he might have for you.

If it weren’t for the thick fabric of your apron, you might feel his fingers curl against your waist. Barely there, but possessive.

“And then they mate for life.” His nose is so close to yours that they’re about to touch, if he leans any closer.

“You mentioned-“

“You have table twelve.” You jump back at the sound of the hostess’s voice, shaking off the…whatever that was, and running a hand through your hair with a noise of confirmation.

When you look back at Adrian, he’s still smiling. His eyes are still dark. Still locked right on yours.

And you’ve been convincing yourself that you’re imagining things for weeks, now. But it’s a little more difficult to think you were imagining that.

-

Adrian almost kissed you. He came so, so close.

And you were actually awake, this time. In his arms, right where you belong, talking to him about that nature documentary that you watched because he recommended it and looking up at him with your big sleepy eyes - you look too tired, lately, you should be sleeping more - and for a second he was positive that if he just leaned down a little more he could have kissed you. That he might have been able to slide his arms a little more tightly around your waist, and pull you to him, and feel your body against his and taste your lips in the way he’s been thinking about for so long.

But the first time he kisses you has to be perfect. Not at work, in front of everyone - he’ll kiss you in front of everyone a thousand times when you’re officially together. When you’re officially his and you actually know that you’re his.

So the moment ended. And now he’s watching you smile tensely at table twenty as they say something to you that you clearly don’t like, and he’s trying to see what they look like over the booth but he can’t quite lean over enough to-

“Sir? Sir!”

He blinks, and only then notices that the water glass he’s been refilling has overflowed onto the table to the point that the liquid is spilling over the wooden surface, onto the floor and right into the customer’s laps. But now you’re walking back to the computer, and if he waits too long you’ll go check on your other tables and you seem upset. And tired.

“Whoops.” He says simply, and places the too-full water glass down, eyes never leaving you.

“Whoops? What do you mean by whoops? We’re soaked! Sir, excuse me! Aren’t you going to clean this-” 

But Adrian is already walking away.

-

You look annoyed, and even more tired now. The night air is chilly in the back alley of Fennel Fields, and you didn’t bring your jacket. Maybe he should go in and get you his. Maybe he could wrap his arms around you, and use his body heat to warm you up. He’s pretty sure you won’t let him, but the brief fantasy of you melting into his embrace makes something warm tingle beneath his skin.

“Hi.”

You look up from where you’re sitting on a small pile of crates, and when you smile at him his stomach does a backflip and explodes into a thousand tiny butterflies.

“Hey.” You’re so sleepy. He’ll definitely be able to hold you later. You’re gonna conk out right when you get home. “Table twenty hated their ravioli.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You sigh, and tilt your head up towards the dark sky. “But they also mentioned that I have a very ‘spankable ass’, so their overreaction to not liking ravioli isn’t so bad in comparison.”

If you were looking at him, you might see Adrian’s eyes darken. See the way his entire body tenses at your words, even as his voice remains light and easy.

“Want me to kill them for you?”

You snort. You think he’s joking. “Yeah, that’d be great, thanks.”

And just like that, you seal their fate. And you’ll never even know.

He opens his mouth to speak again, and the ‘I love you’ is on his lips. It always is. He pushes it back, hides it away to keep you from panicking like he does all the damn time, but he almost kissed you earlier and he might be closer to blurting it out than ever.

“Do you know what kind of owl that is?” You ask, just as he hears a soft hoot in the distance. Oh, he loves you. He loves you so, so much. You’re tired and annoyed and you’re still asking him questions because you want him here. You want him to talk to you. Obviously, you love him too. Even if you don’t fully know it yet.

He smiles, and his heart does another backflip.

“Eastern barn owl.” He says, confidently, and you make a soft noise of acknowledgement. “Because of the long hoots.”

“Huh. Cool.” You look out towards the dark woods, and take a moment to listen. The hoots are not long. You don’t mention it. “Okay, I’ve gotta go back in there.” And yet, your eyes move to his. “Are you good? Anyone been a dick to you tonight?”

“Nope.” Well, they have. People have actually been ruder and shorter with him than usual tonight. But he doesn’t care. It doesn’t actually get to him, like it seems to get to everyone else.

You rise to your feet. Stretch. The movement makes your uniform shirt tighten, and his mouth gets a little dry. “Maybe we should pick up smoking or something. Then we’d get more breaks.”

“Smoking’s bad for you. Plus, too many smokers litter cigarette butts all over the place.” His voice must hold a little more disgust than he means for it to, because your eyebrow is raised when you look back at him.

“That really bothers you, huh?”

“Littering? Of course it does, it’s illegal.” His brow furrows, genuine confusion lacing his tone, but then you smile again and he forgets what he was talking about. God, you’re beautiful. Maybe it would still be a perfect first kiss if he just grabbed you and kissed you right here. Maybe you would let him. Maybe you’d even let him back you up against the wall of the alley and rip off your uniform and-

The door swings shut behind you, and he stares at it for a moment. Since he’s already out here, he should call Economos and tell him about that cute thing you did a minute ago. How you asked about the owl. That way, he can show off how much he knows about owls and brag about his girlfriend.

Instead, he forms a plan. A simple, easy plan. Maybe not the nicest thing he’ll ever do to you, but…

But if it works, you’ll finally be with him. And when you’re with him, he’ll make sure that you’re so unbelievably happy that you’ll forgive him. It’ll be worth it.

Just a little bit longer.

-

Two days later, your sleep deprivation and paranoia have become more debilitating than ever.

When you went home the other night, you tried to sleep, only to wake an hour or so later with another bloodstain on your t-shirt and a draft creeping into your room through the open window. The window you keep closed. And locked. You were warmer than you should be, despite the blankets on you, and you couldn’t fight the overwhelming feeling that someone was just holding you.

When you’d gotten up to close the window, you heard something rattle on your fire escape. Your panicked inspection of the rickety structure had turned up empty. You hadn’t fallen back asleep.

The next night, there was a crash outside as you started drifting off. Your lock was broken. You spent the night with your back against the wall, gun aimed at the door.

Now, you’re leaning a little too heavily against the POS system at Fennel Fields, trying to remember if the guy at your table ordered a vodka soda or a plate of mozzarella sticks, when the sound of your coworkers voice makes you nearly jump out of your fucking skin.

“Ugh. What a waste, right?”

Your head might move a little too slowly as you turn to her. You feel like you’re underwater, even as your gaze follows hers to where Adrian is loading up a bus tub. You can see defined biceps flexing as he lifts the heavy container, and furrow your brow as you look back at the girl beside you.

“Hmm?” If you’re not at a table, words aren’t necessary. Too much thinking involved.

“I mean, he could be so hot, right? All that potential hotness just wasted on a total weirdo. That jawline? Those muscles? And he just talks about spiders and acts like a total freak all the time.”

“I…” your frown deepens a little. Her words dig at you enough that your reaction actually surprises you. “I don’t think he’s that much of a weirdo.” Not in a bad way, at least.

“Well that’s probably good.” She finishes punching in her table’s order at the computer beside you, and adjusts her uniform a little. “I mean, he is like, obsessed with you. If the serial killer glasses don’t turn you off, you should totally go for it.”

“We’re friends.”

She gives you a look that you don’t feel like arguing with. Don’t even feel like fully interpreting. You’re light-headed. Your body aches with exhaustion, and that empty booth across the walkway is looking like it might be really comfortable. If you could just lie down and close your eyes for a minute…

“You don’t look so good.” She says, and when you look up you blink a few times to clear your vision. “Are you still not sleeping?”

“I’m fine.” You feel like you say that all the time, now. The constant tension in your shoulders isn’t helping. You jump at the smallest movements, now. You barely listen when people talk. You would give anything, anything at all, to just close your eyes and sleep. Even five minutes might help. Just five minutes of feeling fucking safe and not worrying about how or where you’ll wake up or if the fucking lock is broken or-

“Take a nap, babe. Try melatonin or something.” She says, so unhelpfully that you feel your jaw clench, and pats your arm as she walks away.

-

The shift goes by in a blur, and you’re fumbling with your keys by your car when Adrian finds you.

God, you’re tired. You are so, so tired it almost hurts. You probably shouldn’t even drive, but the idea of sleeping in your car is more vulnerable than trying to sleep in your own apartment and-

“Hey, you okay?” Adrian’s voice is by your ear, and it’s softer than usual. Despite your constant paranoia, you don’t even have it in you to jump.

His hand comes up to where you’re fumbling with your keys, like he’s about to help you with them, and you suddenly find yourself dropping them into his hands and thunking your head back against his shoulder, way more familiar than is at all appropriate for a coworker, friend or not. If you were any more awake, you might be embarrassed by the gesture.

“I don’t wanna go home.” You mumble, miserably, the honesty feeling like a breath of relief, and you feel him tense all over, if only for a second.

And then his arm sneaks around your waist, holding you up, and his nose turns into your hair. He’s warm, and steady, and his chest is surprisingly firm against your back.

“Okay.” He hums, still so uncharacteristically quiet. “Do you wanna come over?”

You shouldn’t. It probably won’t be safe for him, after all. Whatever is out there, whatever or whoever is following you and breaking your locks and moving things in your home and making you feel like you’re losing your fucking mind, they might hurt him. You might be putting him in danger.

But you’re not thinking straight, and his arm is solid and strong around your middle, and you feel surprisingly safe right now. For the first time in what feels like forever.

You nod. And you think, vaguely, you feel him smile as his arm tightens around you.

“M’kay. C’mere.” He murmurs, and you begin to pull away before he moves to wrap a hand around the backs of your thighs, scooping you up bridal-style against a broad chest.

“I can walk, Ade.” You say, unable to fight back a surprised laugh, and he matches the sound with a wide grin of his own.

“Nah, I gotcha.” He hoists you up a little higher as he carries you over to his car. It’s ridiculous. The whole thing is ridiculous. You’re so tired you can’t think straight. This is definitely a stupid idea - you’ve never even been to Adrian’s place before, and as much as you like talking to him at work he could be a fucking serial killer for all you know.

And yet, the idea of going home alone is…terrifying. The idea of being awake all night again, of seeing things outside your windows and being so exhausted that you can’t tell if it’s some kind of hallucination or the real thing, is so frightening you just might be willing to risk ending up in some Silence of the Lambs situation with Adrian Fucking Chase.

“You don’t have to-“ you start, but Adrian has already opened the passenger door of his car, and is leaning over you to buckle you up. He’s humming. He smells like mozzarella sticks, cheap cologne, and maybe a little bit of bleach. It’s nice. Comforting, even.

“Seriously, I’m fine. You really don’t have to do this.” You try again, and he shushes you with a pat to your cheek as he moves over to the driver’s seat.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’ll take you home tomorrow. Just lemme take care of you.” He says, and you frown.

“Are you-“

“Shush.” He insists, and one large hand pats your thigh as he settles himself behind the wheel. “I’ve gotcha. For reals.”

And, as weird as it is, as ridiculous as this whole thing might be, you smile.

-

You fall asleep within minutes.

You fight it, of course. You’re so adorable, trying to focus long enough to talk to him as he drives, humming along to the music he plays and fighting to keep your eyes open.

But he blasts the heat, and he even stays as quiet as possible, until your eyes finally flutter shut and your breathing evens out.

You’re in his car. You’re so pretty he can barely focus on the road. When he pulls up in front of his place, you stir, but you don’t wake.

He’s waited so long for the day that he gets to hold you when you’re not sleeping. Gets to run his fingers through your soft hair without worrying that he’ll wake you. Even asleep as you are right now, it’s close. Because if you wake up now, you won’t try to run. Probably.

He carries you inside, and you still don’t wake. So cute. So perfect. So soft as he risks leaning down to brush his lips over your forehead. You’ve always been a heavy sleeper, never really waking too much when he first started breaking in. But now, now that you keep trying to stay awake all night all the time, it’s like you can sleep through anything. Through him snuggling you into his chest, or carrying you from the couch into your room…

He’s taking risks. He knows he is. What happens the night you do wake up? When you look up to see him holding you in his armor, and freak out? All of his plans for that day involve…shit, they mostly involve kidnapping you until you stop freaking out. And maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. He could take care of you more easily, without having to follow you around to make sure you’re safe. And he’ll get to see you more often. And maybe you’ll even like it, after a while.

But with that plan, you’ll be mad at him for weeks. Maybe even longer. And you just let him take you home. Just trusted him to take care of you.

No, he needs to wait. He needs to play this smart. He already feels so guilty for spooking you these last couple of nights, just enough to keep you awake until you nearly collapsed into his arms in the parking lot. It’ll be worth it, of course, but it doesn’t make him feel any less like a bad boyfriend.

You wake as he lays you down on top of his comforter, jolting up with surprise and all that familiar paranoia. All he can think is that you’re in his room, in his apartment, and you look like you belong here.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” He greets, fighting the urge to climb atop you and figure out how many ways he might be able to keep you awake, just for a little longer. “Want some pjs?”

You frown, taking in your surroundings, and seem to think through your situation. You’re in your coworker’s apartment, in his bed, without a car and still in your work uniform. You just so much as passed out in his arms, and allowed him to carry you to his car and up a few flights of stairs.

“I can sleep on the couch.” You try, and he shakes his head.

“Hey, it’s not weird. It’s totally fine.” He has to fight tooth and nail to keep the desperation out of his voice, shuffling through his drawers until he finds you a t-shirt and some sweatpants. “Plus, you’re all freaked out about something. That’s why you haven’t been sleeping, right? You can stay in here. I’ll protect you.” Yeah, he sees the irony, but so what? At least he’s not tying you to the bed or something. That would be fucked up. This is chivalrous.

You hesitate. Rub at your eyes. He sees the bags under them. Sees the gears in your mind turning. You might just be exhausted enough to push past all the social norms everyone seems to care so much about. All those annoying little things that tell you that this is weird that he can’t for the life of him figure out.

C’mon. Please, please, please….

“Okay. Yeah, okay.” You nod, making your decision, and gather the clothes in your arms. “Bathroom?”

He points you to it, and manages to keep himself from grinning until the door clicks behind you.

No way. No way he’s this lucky. Good things really do come to those who wait, huh? He should call Chris. Or John. But then again, they think you sleep over here all the time, so they won’t get it. And you’ll probably hear the phone call, and…

He shakes off the thought, changes into his own pajamas, and nearly climbs back into bed to wait for you before he realizes that he should probably hide the pictures of you in his room. The items he’s taken from your home. A pillow, a couple articles of clothing…

He’s just slid back under the covers when you shuffle out of the bathroom, and you look perfect in his clothes.

And you’re looking at him, in his simple white tank top and sweatpants, and your eyes have drifted down to his exposed biceps and he’s totally not flexing. Totally not.

“C’mere, sleepy.” He pats the spot next to him, and you come. You follow his order, and slide beneath the covers of his bed, and he feels like he might start fucking vibrating with joy.

You’re hesitant. Still a little weirded out, maybe. A little awkward with how you’ve found yourself in your coworkers bed, in his clothes, picking nervously at his sheets. The urge to wrap you up in his arms is so strong that he almost surges forward and does it, and barely manages to hold himself back.

“Is your door locked?” You ask, eyes flitting to the windows, to his bedroom door.

“Yup.” What would you do if he kissed you right now? Or leaned closer and inhaled the lingering scent of your perfume? He wonders if you’ll still smell like you in his clothes, or if the scents will mix together and create a new smell that’s uniquely you two. “Windows, too. Do you wanna watch a movie?”

You still look like you’re about to fall asleep sitting up. That’s okay. You might fall asleep on him, and wouldn’t that be perfect? Maybe he can get you to lie down, and slide atop you and trace his lips and tongue and teeth over every inch of your body until you’re-

“Adrian?”

“Hm?” Oops. How long has he been staring at you? Is he drooling?

“…yes? To the movie?”

“Oh, yeah!” He rolls over to the other side of the bed, scrambles for the remote to the little TV on his dresser, and uses the excuse to roll back a little closer to you.

Your shoulders touch. Your eyes are fighting to stay open. He’s too happy that you’re here to risk draping an arm around you, so he opts for focusing all of his energy into the feeling of the barely-there points of contact between your bodies.

All according to plan.

-

He’s not surprised that you only lasted five minutes into the movie before you fell asleep again. After all, you were so exhausted before that you basically passed out in his arms, back in the parking lot.

And now, before the opening credits of the movie were even over, your head fell heavily against his shoulder. He’d grinned, and took extra time to guide you carefully down with him against the pillows, making sure not to wake you. He has the practice, after all.

He brushes your hair back from your face, bolder now that he doesn’t need to be worried about you waking up and panicking. Now that he’s not in full armor, or covered in blood, or…well, in your apartment without your knowledge.

You don’t stir. He leans a little closer, tucks your body into his chest, and inhales. You smell so good. Like you’re his. You look so amazing tucked beneath the blankets of his bed that his mind is already racing with ways he might be able to keep you here forever.

You wake at the movement, just a little. Just enough to puff a breath against his shoulder and blink your eyes open. Just enough that every instinct in him tells him that he should jump out the window. But he doesn’t need to. You’re here, in his bed, warm and safe and in his arms because you chose to be.

“Ade?” You mumble, and the nickname makes him have to fight back a delighted laugh. Look at you, calling him by the nickname you use at work with your soft lips brushing against his shoulder. In his home, in his bed, right where you belong. Finally sleeping after you’ve been so unnecessarily paranoid for so long. You don’t feel safe, but you always have been. You always will be. At least, without the mask and the armor, he can show you just how safe he can keep you.

“Mm?” He hums, feigning sleepiness of his own, and pulls you closer like he might just be too tired to realize that he’s doing so. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s wide the fuck awake, and banking on the fact that you aren’t.

You fall right into it, the twitch in your brow smoothing as you seem to come to the realization that he’s only half-awake, too. That moving might stir him, and it’s better to just snuggle closer and drift off again.

It takes a while for Adrian to actually fall asleep, but when he does, the last thing he remembers is tracing featherlight touches over your back, wishing with all of his might that he could just tilt your head back and feel your body relax against his in every other way than falling asleep.

it was what it felt like an excruciatingly long day at checkmate HQ. you were almost kind of a pity hire but the team knew that you had the gumption to know what you were doing anyways. adrian's begging totally didn't have anything to do with it either. it did. you've had many secretary jobs before—this one in particular was way different. emails upon emails were nothing but the status reports on the team in which you had to report back to harcourt about was a different world. and oh, my god—was harcourt riding up your asshole about whatever you were doing wrong the entire. fucking. day. not to mention the migraine that was shanking your temples. this whole thing was still new to you as much as it was to adrian. your boyfriend was just as frustrated as you were and from how you were acting today–he was getting that feeling from you too. adrian studies you a lot and whenever you had days like this he caught on pretty quickly.

adrian was waiting patiently at home since his shift ended early. your head is pulsing and ears are ringing when you arrive after. it was late and this migraine was killing you. as you set down all of your things you mumble all sorts of obscenities to yourself.

adrian perks up and studies you with a tilt of his head. "you okay, babe?"

"shhhh." you silenced. "hurts." you point to your head and wince.

"oh, okay. gotcha." he whispers. he gets up from his place on the couch and walks to the bathroom to fetch you some ibuprofen from the medicine cabinent; making his way into the kitchen he grabs a water bottle from the bottom drawer of the fridge.

adrian hands you the items with a soft smile. "here. you need anything else, sweetheart? i can get you your pjs and put on some soothing music–y'know like the water one that sounds like it's raining in the ocean?" your boyfriend explains lowly with a sparkle in his eye while talking with his hands. you can't help but think he's describing that one song that's in the background of the ocean themed stimboards he always shows you.

"mm-mmm." you shake your head, washing the pills down with a gulp of water. "no music. less talking." you sighed, massaging your temple.

your boyfriend walks towards you in a sort of suave manner with that smirk of his which makes you want to either slap or kiss him depending on the tone he's about to use.

"maybe you just need some pleasure to distract you from the pain." "let me take care of you, miss." adrian says in a serious cadence. he slowly inches down as he caresses your sides—making his way to his knees. and god was the eye contact between you and adrian intense. this is serious business for him. adrian takes off your shoes one by one and kisses the top of both of your feet. a gesture to remind you that he worships every part of you.

within a moments time you've moved to the bedroom. you are sat on the bed and adrian's gotten on all fours in front of you with a teal leash and collar in his mouth. he's dressed you in your favorite pajama set only to undress a part of you again. adrian chase—always so desperate to please and willing. you pet and scruff up your boyfriend's hair before taking the teal colored items from his mouth. "who's a good boy?" you coo, pinching his chin to look up at you. "me. i'm a good boy, miss." both of your voices are low and the whine in adrian's is almost soothing enough to cure migraines months into the future. you smile at him with a click of the collar and the snap of the connection from the hook.

usually the leash is only for when adrian gets ahead of himself in which he often does; it grounds him. for right now he's in control of what he wants to do with you. at least until he gets on your nerves. "kissies." you command softly. adrian stands on his knees–pecking you on your lips and showering your face with kisses. "oh, such a good boooy." you pet his curls. if you asked him to jump he'd simply do it and/ or ask how high if he was feeling "bratty" that day. "scoot up, miss. let me make you feel better, hm?" you nod and do just that. while making room for him on the bed you tuck a pillow under your head. adrian gets to work immediately by getting up and kissing you soothingly in between your thighs and lower abdomen—positioning himself on his stomach as he massages your hips. he sinks into your already soaked cunt with a hum, slowly sucking and kissing it. "mm.. tastes so good." he moans, gazing at you with blown out puppy dog eyes. adrian licks a long stripe from entrance to clit—lapping and sucking with a continuous pattern for a hefty few minutes as you get wetter and wetter until you are soaking the blanket from underneath you. "i'm your pet. fuuuck, i'm your pet." adrian whines as he's dry humping the mattress in his grey sweatpants. yeah, you know the ones where adrian constantly catches you "catching print" when he wears them. whoops! you look over and catch adrian humping the mattress; you tug on the leash. "no cumming until i do. got it, pup?" your voice stern and low. "nghhh, yes, ma'am. sorry." adrian whimpers.

by now your head is fuzzy and the ringing in your ears from the migraine has died down. best distraction ever while the ibuprofen kicks in. "did you know that a dog's mouth is cleaner than a human's?" your boyfriend muffled in between your thighs, voicing a smile. you sigh with a hint of annoyance. "okay so, that's definitely not true." your brow furrows. "it's not like yours is any better either, adrian. you've got a dirty mouth, don'tcha?" you tease, gripping his hair and forcing him to look at you—lips swollen, mouth soaked and all. "hey, i'm right!" adrian whispers with a rasp of hurt in his tone. "well, i'm not fact checking. keep going before my migraine gets worse, pet."

the blonde groans and kisses the top of your clit with an eye roll. he'll definitely be arguing with you about this later.

adrian begins lapping and tonguing your entrance—panting and humming with pure ecstasy. "nnnghhh. mmmlahhlahh. ahhh." he whimpers and moans. the lewdness of adrian's sounds could genuinely put you into a fucking coma if you weren't careful. "ahhh, that's it. you're doing amazing, pup." you moan, tugging on the leash with one hand while pulling on his curls in the other. "i'm your good boy. mmm, always." "just. ahhla. for laahaala. you. mmnnghh." and then he feels you clench around his tongue, keeping his head steady with your hand in his hair. you are so close and he knows it with how much your back is arching.

you tug onto his curls and move his mouth to the direction of your clit. "m' so fucking close, baby. please. so good for me. s' proud." you whine. the praise is almost too much for adrian—his hips rut faster into the mattress as his lips latch onto your incredibly swollen clit, working himself up to catch your orgasm. adrian continues the same pattern as he did earlier, rutting into the mattress as you get closer and closer. "just like that, addy." you sigh, petting his hair. it doesn't take much until you both are at the peak of your climaxes. you tug on his leash and pull him close into your cunt as you cum all over his face. "mmm... thlump. thlump. can i cum now?" "oh, please." adrian whimpers as he tastes and cleans you up. "mhmm." you hum an answer as you continue petting and caressing him, letting your boyfriend continue his lapping and licking. "thank you. mmnnnghh, thank you, miss." now he's making a mess in his sweatpants, cumming in the soft and ever so comfortable fabric. "that's my good boy." you purr, gasping for air as your own everlasting overstimulation and intense orgasm makes your eyes water. goddamn was that migraine you had nothing but a memory now.

you unclip the leash from adrian's collar and set it down beside you. after adrian cleans you up—he's already crawling towards you, laying by your side as his head nuzzles into your chest. "did i do a good job?" adrian smiles and showers you with kisses, twirling your hair through his fingers. "mhm." you scrunch your nose, messing with your boyfriend's hair and pinching his cheek. if the 11th street kids ever found adrian like this—the embarrassment he'd feel would be enough to kill him. he wastes absolutely no time at all as he reaches over you and grabs his phone from the nightstand. "look. it'll relax you, babe." he says, practically shoving his phone in your face with a video on his phone. yeah, you know the one. adrian has you watch the same ocean themed stimboard he was talking about with the tingly music. you aren't the biggest fan of the ocean persay but you would be lying if you said that the visuals weren't soothing.

after the video is finished playing adrian pampers you some more. he suggests showering with you so that he can clean you off himself. he's the type of partner to think that if you do anything yourself when you are feeling sick that you'll "die."

mentions: @clownt33thh @rykerisnotonline @robaudge @nateisblue @somethin-sparklyy @faustlyaccused @lil-rigatoni

i'm sorry in advance i love imagining adrian as a pro eater.

pup! adrian who's comfort toys are stretch or an infernape plush. there's a tie between the two for sure. teal chew toys galore obviously.

pup! adrian who's oral fixation is off the wall. he must bite, chew and lap, for both non sexual stimulation and sexual intimacy.

owner! reader who lets adrian teethe on their fingers/hands when he's understimulated. his teeth are sharp as hell but he's careful not to hurt you. i mean look at those chompers.

owner! reader who commands adrian to heel to keep him on track whenever he gets derailed on a mission with you.

pup! adrian who tells you he loves you almost x10 more than you reciprocate. his heart is so full of love it's disgusting.

pup! adrian the ever so stubborn and bitchy pup who worships you (a lot more than he'd be willing to admit)

pup! adrian who's over protective and possessive over you.

owner! reader who commands adrian to "drop it" when you want him to unbuckle his pants.

owner! reader who taught adrian "stay" when he's lapping at the perfect spot on your clit or ready to breed you.

pup! adrian who says his i love yous while he's deep and cumming inside of you. it's the closest and most intimate thing to him it proves he can never get enough of you.

owner!reader who orders adrian to get on all fours and strip to his underwear when he's misbehaved. you put a collar on him and/ or handcuffs if he's been an extra bad boy. free use pup. when he's in this space he's only allowed to walk on all fours. no couch time either.

pup! adrian who gets overly excited whenever he comes home to greet you after his missions. he's crouching down to your level and dry humping your hip and kissing you all over your face as he begs for "munchies" (eating you out).

owner! reader who taught adrian "settle" when he gets overstimulated/ jealous. he kneels on the floor in front of you. you always let adrian have his "lovies" (sex) later so he can get all of his energy and anger out. it's only fair.

pup! adrian who wears dog tags that swing in your face while in missionary.

owner! reader who teaches adrian "roll over" while you're trying to fall asleep and he's info-dumping too much before bed (he eats you out). gives him something to do and gets him tired faster. awww...

pup! adrian who always whimpers, whines and begs during sex like he's asking to become one with you. he sets his full body weight ontop of you fully embracing and holding you no matter the position.

pup! adrian who can't help but pop a boner at the slightest bit of praise. your words mean soso much to him.

pup! adrian who gets pussy drunk while you hold him by the leash and tug on his collar. he can never get enough of you. whining and begging as he's engulfed in between your legs like a good boy.

mentions: @clownt33thh @rykerisnotonline @robaudge @nateisblue @somethin-sparklyy @faustlyaccused @lil-rigatoni

full work here!!

“How long have you wanted to do this—touch me, ‘n stuff…?” Adrian asks you softly.

You pull his twitching cock from your mouth to answer while continuously jerking him off all the way up and down. “Well, I thought you were hot from the moment I saw you, but I didn’t start getting wet when you’d lower your voice all sexy-like when you’d get mad at me until, like, four weeks in? So around a month. When did you start stalking me?” 

Adrian runs his fingers through your hair with a gentle touch. Avoiding the question, he asks, “You said I could do whatever I want to you, right?”

“Yeah,” you cautiously reply as you feel him grip the hair on the top of your scalp, “as long as it isn’t weird. I- GLAUGhk!”

Adrian roughly shoves his thick cock down your throat faster than you can think. You gag. 

“Hmm, that means I can shut you up whenever I want…” He finally smiles. “I might actually enjoy this.”

His hand rests on your head with digits threaded through your hair, and the warmth emitting from his palm releases tension from your shoulders. He waits while you catch your breath as you recover from choking around him—you hastily breathe in and out through your nose while your mouth is occupied. Once your breathing slows, you feel the handling atop your head gain initiative, and Adrian slowly pushes you onto him, deeper, in a sudden yet welcomed way. Your jaw relaxes and loosens, your lips plump a heavy pout, and you suck him back in as he initiates the movement until you glide together with ease. You return to sucking him like you meant to, and now, he’s helping. 

He isn’t quite fucking your mouth. You have a sense of control as he’s letting you perform how you’d like. But his gentle and steady thrusts hint he wants this—that he wants more. Silent breathy grunts puff from his chest: noises of desire and want. It delights you more than you’re capable of expressing. It blesses you with the idea that maybe he’s wanted you for a while. 

Adrian continues his subtle rocking of his hips as he asks you some questions, like:

“You know, you’re not too bad at this. Do you practice or something?”

You nod and hum ‘Mm-hm’ in affirmative with him deep in your mouth. The hummed vibrations send his mind through a tizzy. It unlocks the memory of when gazing through your window one night, he just caught the bitter end of you sucking off a toy, being silhouetted by a colorful light in the room. It made him feel uneasy—with discomfort and lustful frustration. But yes, that’s right. You DO practice. And he knows. Too well.

Next question.

“Practiced for this, huh? This how you wanted it? Do you ever touch yourself thinking about me this way?”

You give him the same answer, this time with a whine. He softly moans back at the vibration. 

“It’s why you wear those slutty little outfits, right? Just to make my dick twitch and get me to notice?” 

You hum and affirm again, and feel sudden frustrating warmth between your legs that begs to let him inside you. 

His contact strengthens: his grip tightens and his thrusts command more control. You’re driving each other crazy.

“Well trust me, princess, I’ve noticed,” Adrian grins, poking at you. “It’s hard not to look when your ass hangs out of your skirt like it’s holding on for dear life. The guys in the back of the class always do a double take before you sit down, you know. But I have a feeling you’re not trying to impress them.”

The more he rambles, the more the both of you loosen up. You realize he’s actually thrusting into your throat. And you’re taking it. 

His voice becomes rough as sandpaper, like he’s trying to keep himself together or he’ll crumble. “You just want me, huh? You never let anyone else talk because you just want alllll my attention, don’t you? Well, you got it! Happy? I spend every second thinking about what you’re doing when I should be studying for my own examinations like I’m a shrimp and you’re a little PARASITE lodged in my neck, and you got me to WANT you so bad that I’d be willing to take you right here in the middle of my own fucking classroom! Congratulations, ya little bloodsucker! You finally got what you wanted!”

He pulls you off of him, then delivers a command that only existed in your daydreams until today.

i'm sorry in advance i love imagining adrian as a pro eater.

pup! adrian who's comfort toys are stretch or an infernape plush. there's a tie between the two for sure. teal chew toys galore obviously.

pup! adrian who's oral fixation is off the wall. he must bite, chew and lap, for both non sexual stimulation and sexual intimacy.

owner! reader who lets adrian teethe on their fingers/hands when he's understimulated. his teeth are sharp as hell but he's careful not to hurt you. i mean look at those chompers.

owner! reader who commands adrian to heel to keep him on track whenever he gets derailed on a mission with you.

pup! adrian who tells you he loves you almost x10 more than you reciprocate. his heart is so full of love it's disgusting.

pup! adrian the ever so stubborn and bitchy pup who worships you (a lot more than he'd be willing to admit)

pup! adrian who's over protective and possessive over you.

owner! reader who commands adrian to "drop it" when you want him to unbuckle his pants.

owner! reader who taught adrian "stay" when he's lapping at the perfect spot on your clit or ready to breed you.

pup! adrian who says his i love yous while he's deep and cumming inside of you. it's the closest and most intimate thing to him it proves he can never get enough of you.

owner!reader who orders adrian to get on all fours and strip to his underwear when he's misbehaved. you put a collar on him and/ or handcuffs if he's been an extra bad boy. free use pup. when he's in this space he's only allowed to walk on all fours. no couch time either.

pup! adrian who gets overly excited whenever he comes home to greet you after his missions. he's crouching down to your level and dry humping your hip and kissing you all over your face as he begs for "munchies" (eating you out).

owner! reader who taught adrian "settle" when he gets overstimulated/ jealous. he kneels on the floor in front of you. you always let adrian have his "lovies" (sex) later so he can get all of his energy and anger out. it's only fair.

pup! adrian who wears dog tags that swing in your face while in missionary.

owner! reader who teaches adrian "roll over" while you're trying to fall asleep and he's info-dumping too much before bed (he eats you out). gives him something to do and gets him tired faster. awww...

pup! adrian who always whimpers, whines and begs during sex like he's asking to become one with you. he sets his full body weight ontop of you fully embracing and holding you no matter the position.

pup! adrian who can't help but pop a boner at the slightest bit of praise. your words mean soso much to him.

pup! adrian who gets pussy drunk while you hold him by the leash and tug on his collar. he can never get enough of you. whining and begging as he's engulfed in between your legs like a good boy.

mentions: @clownt33thh @rykerisnotonline @robaudge @nateisblue @somethin-sparklyy @faustlyaccused @lil-rigatoni

adrian's oral hyperfix transcends the previous men you've been with. he'll lick anywhere there's skin. he will bite, lap and suck anything as long as you'll allow it.

and right now he's focused on one thing. your tits.

he's looking up at you and your lewd facial expressions, studying your every move. how your eyebrows furrow and lips part open. he loves watching the result of how he makes you feel. huge ego boost for the fucker.

"ya like that?" "ahhh, sweetheart." he sighs inbetween licks.

adrian's tongue swirls around your areola then back to your nipple, lapping at it. up. down. up. down. his lips cup over the nerve then he sucks with a pop. he repeats the same patterned movement on the other side to give both tits equal attention. aw, what a sweetie he is.

he presses both of your tits together and admires them. adrian's lips are glistening with spit and watering like the pretty pathetic man that he is, biting his lower lip at the sight of your drool covered breasts.

"arg, fuck." "mine. all fucking mine." "made just for me." he says through gritted teeth.

adrian shoves his face inbetween your tits and groans against your chest, turning to each tit as he licks, bites and sucks the entirety of both of them. the amount of drool and saliva this man produces is unlike anything you've seen. he spits on both nipples and rubs the drool in circles with his lips. there's strings clinging from his mouth and to your tits. he's that fucking hungry. you would think this mf was cujo.

he lays inbetween both breasts and nuzzles them as he lowers a hand down your torso to your pussy. adrian's middle and ring finger glide over your clit and folds, gently plunging his fingers inside.

"mmm, you're so wet." "i did this." he whimpers.

“What I need, Adrian, is for you to fucking listen to me in the field!” you exclaimed, kicking the wastebasket that was suddenly in your way. Adrian’s eyes tracked it as it skidded across the floor and into the filing cabinets. “Do you have some kind of fucking complex or something? It’s like you’re physically incapable of hearing anything I say when we’re out there. We’re supposed to be a team but every mission becomes The Adrian Show. Like, we get it. You’re a man.”

“Well, I’m sorry that I can’t help my genetic makeup. Frankly, I think being a woman would be awesome. I mean, aside from all the misogyny and systemic oppression. But I’ve kind of always wanted to know what it would be like to be a mother,” he rambled.

You stared at him in disbelief. “Can you please, please shut the fuck up?”

A small part of you felt bad for saying it. You didn’t usually mind when Adrian went off on one of his rants. He was like a cute black hole, and you knew all too well what it was like to be sucked in. Adrian Chase - the man you sat next to at work, who always brought you a cup of coffee without being prompted; who could talk ad nauseum but listened when you had something to say; the coworker whom you always found yourself tucking in the tag at his collar was not the issue.

The issue was who he became in the fucking suit. Vigilante put blinders on him - and not just because of his stupidly limited field of vision in the mask.

You started undoing the clasps of your body armor and tossed your chest plate onto the nearest chair which you promptly threw yourself into. You hunched over and mentally prepared yourself to start unlacing your boots - you’d gotten kicked hard as shit in the ribs out there. They were sore, not broken. Probably. But before you could manage the task, Adrian rolled his chair in front of yours, brushing your knees with his. He reached down and started untying one boot, gently knocking your tired fingers out of the way in the process.

You sat up, stunned, and merely watched as his head dipped between your knees and he unlaced both boots, then slowly took them off and gently set them aside. He sat back up and pushed his wireframes up the bridge of his nose and just looked at you. It was unnerving to have him so silent. 

“Where the hell is this in the field?” you asked quietly. He cocked his head slightly, almost like he didn’t understand the question.

“I don’t have to worry about you in the field,” he said simply. “Except when you get kicked so hard I think you’re going to start coughing up blood.”

“Of course you don’t have to worry about me in the field, I can hold my goddamn own. But you put that fucking suit on and it’s like I don’t know who I’m dealing with anymore.”

His brow furrowed slightly. “I don’t understand, I feel like we work really well together.”

“You don’t listen to me. It’s like you’ve got a one track mind and it’s your way or the highway. We work because I’m always having to adapt to you.” 

He seemed to consider this. “But that’s because I know what I’m doing?”

You barked out a laugh that hurt. “Oh and I don’t?”

“I’m pretty sure I just said I don’t have to worry about you? I’m confused.”

His green eyes were wide and bewildered. You took a sharp breath through your nose and pushed your chair slightly back. You needed space - a thing Adrian did not know how to give. You unzipped your compression jacket, hoping it would alleviate the hot prickle of anger at the back of your neck, but instead all it did was cause Adrian’s gaze to drag across your chest like a jolt of electricity. 

“What did you say about my heart rate earlier?” you asked, your mouth feeling suddenly dry. 

“Huh?” he asked, gaze raking up the column of your throat before he seemed to remember you had a face. 

“Not listening once again, I see,” you taunted, this time with a sly smile. Adrian pouted slightly. 

“Okay, this was different. I’m not thinking about your tits when we’re in the field,” he said, as if that was some sort of sound argument and not a confession.

“Good to know my feminine wiles aren’t causing your fucking problem,” you drawled sarcastically.

“Oh, no, they definitely are. But like, a different sort of problem,” he said, voice low in the same sort of way it got when he was drunk. Then, he seemed to regain an ounce of focus. “Hey! I don’t have a fucking problem. You just don’t like taking orders from me.”

That wasn’t entirely untrue. Though calling them orders was perhaps a bit generous. More like improvising based on Vigilante’s unhinged decision making. “You seem to like giving them.”

“When I’m Vigilante, sure! You’re acting like I don’t take orders aaaaall the time when we’re not in the field,” he complained. “I like it when you tell me what to do.”

You paused. “You like it?”

“Is that not what I just said?”

You turned all the new information over in your mind. “What’s my heart rate, Adrian?”

“How should I know?” he retorted. “Your resting heart rate is normally 56 beats per minute. Cool as a fucking cucumber. I’ve actually been trying to train mine to be somewhere like 45 beats per minute because I read somewhere that really good athletes can have a bpm as low as 40bpm. And, I mean, we basically are athletes and I want to be at the top of my game. Actually, the Guinness World Record for slowest resting heart rate is 27bpm and I feel like if I worked really hard I could probably beat that.”

You laughed again and then winced. “Adrian Chase, you will only have a resting heart rate lower than 27bpm when you’re fucking dead.”

You weren’t sure you wanted to know how he knew your resting heart rate, but your brain supplied the image of his fingers gently pressed to your throat so easily. He must have checked it while you were sleeping - whether that was on one of his “sweeps” of your apartment in the middle of the night, or while you were napping on the bedraggled office couch, or the time you two had had to share a bed on a mission, well…he’d had plenty of opportunities to collect data you supposed.

“Adrian,” you repeated again, your hand moving slowly towards his. “Take my pulse.”

“Oh!” he said, sitting up slightly straighter, something attentive in his posture. Then he nodded. He grabbed your wrist and pulled it towards him. He looked down at your hand in his lap and seemed to short circuit.

“Might help if you take your gloves off,” you suggested.

“Right,” he replied, nodding vigorously. He ripped a glove off with his teeth and then pressed his warm, slightly sweaty fingertips to the pulse point in your wrist.

“Your radial pulse isn’t very strong,” he commented, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Try here,” you said, bringing his hand to your throat. You rolled your chair just slightly forward so that his knees were trapped between yours. 

But he met your gaze evenly and those wide, shining eyes of his took you in as he counted silently, his pink lips moving around the shape of each number. You could practically see two pastel hearts pasted where his eyes should be. You were probably, almost definitely going to regret this all later. But the pure curiosity of it overtook all common sense. 

“75,” Adrian said, voice a hoarse whisper. 

“What?” you asked, too busy lost in the swirling green pools in front of you. You really were doomed, weren’t you?

“Beats,” he clarified. “Per minute. Actually, that’s an average over the course of two minutes. You didn’t stop me and I thought I might as well be thorough.”

You nodded as if that made perfect sense but you couldn’t stop thinking about how you’d both let two minutes pass uninterrupted while you stared into each others’ eyes with his warm fingers pressed at your throat. You leaned slightly further forward.

“Your turn,” you said gently and touched your fingers to the side of Adrian’s neck. “But you have to be nice and quiet for me so I can focus. Can you manage that?”

Adrian made a small noise somewhere in the back of his throat. “Fuck - uh, yes?”

Again, he wordlessly locked onto you in a way that made something terrible and wonderful brew inside you. The corner of his lips twitched like he wanted to speak but he managed to wrangle it in. You weren’t wearing a watch, so you pulled Adrian’s hand into your lap and started counting meticulously. You dragged your gaze from his watch to his face for just a moment and enjoyed the spike in his pulse. He frowned at you and then whispered: “Shouldn’t you be focusing?”

“I’m very focused, Adrian,” you replied, voice low. Adrian shifted his hips in his chair. You winked, causing him to curse under his breath. Satisfied with the taste of excitement in him, you looked back at his watch.

“95 and climbing,” you said when the minute had passed. “What’s got your heart in such a patter?”

“My pulse is usually, like, way lower, I swear,” Adrian said quietly. “But you’re making me nervous.”

“Nervous?” you asked, pulling back slightly, worried you were misreading the whole thing. Adrian’s fingers caught your wrist in a flash.

“Not nervous. I’m fucking horny. Fuck! I mean, uh, I’m fucking happy. That you want to touch me.”

“Oh?” You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out of you. “So you’re not horny, or?”

He groaned and pressed his forehead into your palm instead of his own. 

He dragged your hand down his face, over the front of his throat and then slid it up towards his jaw. You let your fingers explore, catching against the slightest stubble. Suddenly, Adrian opened his mouth and looked up at you with big, pleading eyes. 

You narrowed your gaze, uncertain what he wanted, until he moved his head so that your fingers were just inside his lips, resting against his tongue. Oh. You slid your fingers into his wanting mouth, gliding over the velvet expanse of his tongue. He closed his lips around your index and middle finger, and you pushed them further in, testing, before you slowly withdrew, feeling how he hummed around them.

“I’ve always wondered what that would feel like,” he admitted once your fingers had slipped free. A small thread of spit connected you still. He turned his head again and pressed a kiss to the inside of your wrist innocently like he hadn’t just begged for your fingers in his mouth. You wanted to say fuck it, to lean forward and capture his mouth with yours, to strip him out of that stupid costume and ride him until you both came hard, but more than that you wanted him to work for it. To beg a little. Adrian owed you nothing, but Vigilante on the other hand…

“Apical pulse,” Adrian said suddenly.

“What?” you asked, snapped straight out of the delightful idea of his face between your legs.

“Apical pulse is the most accurate,” he said matter-of-factly. 

“And where is that?”

He reached forward and brushed his fingers against the front of your shirt, slowly dragging until they rested just beneath your breast. His fingers hooked into the fabric idly.

“Can I try again?” Adrian asked breathlessly. “Please? For science.”

Your lips split into a grin. “Well, if it’s for science how can I say no?”

Adrian released his hold on your shirt and sunk to the floor between your knees, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. He dragged his fingers down to the hem of your shirt and dipped his trembling fingers beneath the fabric. His breath was hot against your throat as he leaned even closer, his other hand coming to your waist. You weren’t sure if it was to ground himself or hold you down. Either way it made something hot and wanting unravel in the pit of your stomach.

The callused pads of his fingers were deliciously warm against your skin as they slid up and cupped your breast over your bra. He gave it a tentative squeeze before he dipped his index and middle finger beneath the underwire. His fingers dragged along the underside of your breast until he found the right spot. You were sure he’d find your heart rate had increased again, despite your attempts to the contrary. The last thing you wanted was Adrian to know he rattled you, though, you suspected you may have blown it entirely on that front. 

You ran your fingers up Adrian’s neck into his curls and gripped tightly. Adrian hissed and then looked up at you with glassy eyes, pupils blown wide. “I - I lost count.”

You laughed, then yanked Adrian up to your mouth by the hair. Your lips had barely touched when he moaned into your open mouth. He kissed with the exact kind of frenzy you expected: wet, tongue-forward, frankly sloppy. It was a kind of eagerness that stirred a fondness in your chest. His hand slipped, conveniently, up your breast, pushing your bra up and out of his way. 

Adrian leaned closer still, following your mouth like he was afraid you were going to take it away from him for good at any moment. You gripped his hair tighter still and Adrian seemed to be speaking into your mouth, but you couldn’t make heads or tails of what he could possibly be saying. He slipped his hand out of your shirt, fingers dragging gently across your skin and sending a shiver down your spine. He grabbed your tank top and ripped it straight down the middle. 

“Adrian!” you gasped, pulling back to punch him in the shoulder. 

“I’m sorry!” he exclaimed and then immediately began peppering your face with kisses. “Sorry I just couldn’t stop picturing what your tits look like and I needed to see them immediately.”

You snorted a laugh and unhooked your bra and tossed it aside. “Happy?”

“I think I’m the happiest I’ve ever been in my entire life. Like, I could die right now and I would be content. Thank you. Thank you for sharing these with me. I’m the luckiest man in the whole wide – ”

“Adrian, shut the hell up,” you ordered.

“Yes ma’am,” he agreed with a salute before grabbing ahold of your hips and sliding you closer to the edge of your chair. He danced his fingers lightly over the ugly bruise forming across your ribs before he kissed the top of each of your breasts. Then, he paused, staring at your chest with a look of pure consternation. “How am I supposed to pick just one?”

“Oh my god, Adrian,” you started to groan but then Adrian took one of your nipples into his warm mouth and the disparagement left your brain entirely. His teeth grazed your skin slightly and then he looked up at you through his lashes, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose again. You gently repositioned them for him and were rewarded with a blinding smile. 

“Is this okay?” he asked, his breath hot against your sensitive skin.

“It’s fine,” you replied, trying to assure him. But he seemed to take that as an assessment of quality instead. He sat back on his heels and pouted.

“How can I do better? Tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything,” he pleaded. 

You pressed your thighs together slightly, desperate for some sort of relief. You were both a goddamn mess. Desperate for distraction from the sight of him begging, you twisted your fingers into his curls and pulled his mouth to yours again, leading him into a slower, more languid kiss. Somewhere in the back of your brain you reprimanded yourself for kissing him so much - letting him think this was something other than what it was was dangerous. But the idiot was a good goddamn kisser.

You guided him to his feet, pulling him closer still until suddenly he was straddling your lap, ass perched firmly on your knees. Your fingers traipsed over him, undoing buckles and zippers and snaps as you went. You knew Adrian’s armor intimately from your agile study of his form, his fighting style, and from looking for weak points. He wasn’t open to your notes, but it helped you know how best to cover his ass at a moment’s notice in the field.

Your fingers finally found smooth skin as you helped him out of his last layer, leaving him and his tightly muscled form in just a tank top. Part of you wanted to rip it off with your teeth, another part of you wanted to sit back and watch him slowly strip the rest away. All thoughts left your head as Adrian’s mouth moved to your neck. His tongue laved at the skin, teeth pinching flesh just slightly, when he suddenly drew back, as if rousing from some kind of haze.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on my lap?” he asked quietly, his gaze fixed on your lips. His chest was heaving and barely anything had happened. You worried suddenly that if you let him put his dick in you he’d drop dead.

“Way to give into gender stereotypes, Adrian,” you taunted. His eyes snapped up to meet yours. “I’m teasing. Mostly. I think it’s kind of hot that you’re on my lap.”

“You do?” he asked. You nodded. “Okay, good. Because I like it, too. A lot.”

“I have an idea,” you said suddenly, tilting Adrian’s chin with your index and middle finger. “How about a little lesson in taking orders?”

Adrian nodded furiously, at a loss for words. He looked so happy - kind of like the way he did when you complimented him on a kill. And now you were imbued with a kind of power you hadn’t really been anticipating. But you were certainly going to make it worth both your whiles.

You sat back slightly and dragged your gaze over him. “Shirt off, please.”

Adrian wasted no time at all. When he untangled himself from the fabric eagerly he looked back at you. “You don’t have to ask nicely. I’ll do anything you say even if you ask not-nicely. Actually don’t even ask. Just tell me.”

You blinked back at him. “I just want to make sure I have this straight - you really want me to tell you what to do?”

“I’ve been told I do really well with clear instruction,” he said, grinning. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you retorted with a roll of your eyes. 

Adrian sighed. “You’re still mad about earlier? God, maybe Peacemaker was right - you really do need to get laid.”

You could feel the frustrated heat crawling up the back of your neck. Of course fucking Peacemaker was - “I’m sorry, why exactly were you and Chris talking about my sex life?”

“I just said I thought you’d been a little tense lately and I wondered if I could do anything to help and he said that you ‘probably just needed a good fuck’.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“If it makes you feel any better he said I ‘definitely wasn’t man enough for the job’,” Adrian said with a shrug. You weren’t really sure how that was supposed to make you feel better or instill any confidence in you.

“Look, I know he’s your friend, but that’s fucked up all around. And I’ll kick his fucking ass for you…if you want?” you offered with a wince. Might as well have stapled your bleeding heart straight to your arm for everyone to see.

“I’d like to see it,” Adrian said with a thoughtful expression. Then he leaned down and kissed the corner of your mouth almost daintily. “Just promise not to hurt him too bad?”

“I will make no such promises.”

Adrian gasped like he was scandalized. “God, you’re so fucking hot.”

You preened a little under his praise. “Anyway, are you going to do something about proving Peacemaker wrong or are you just going to sit there on my lap looking pretty all night?”

“Definitely not!” Adrian replied, kissing you again, this time his open mouth on yours, hot breath mingling. He reeled back, your head held in his hands. “Wait, fuck, I mean definitely not going to sit here looking pretty all night. Definitely going to fuck you.”

His mouth returned to its sloppy conquest of your neck and he slipped his hand into the waist of your pants, wasting no time in dragging his fingers between your legs, pushing your underwear aside. Your hips lifted into his touch and you pulled his hair harder than you intended.

“If you keep pulling my hair like that I’m gonna come in my pants,” he said, half complaint and half desperate need. He bit down on your collarbone. “You’re so fucking wet. Sick.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. Adrian pouted again but you reassured him with your tongue in his mouth and your fingers grasping at him through the fabric of his pants. He let out a hiss and gave up all other priorities to fumble with his pants. You pressed a hand against his smooth, warm chest.

“Are we really about to fuck on a wheelie office chair?” you asked, interrupting the flow of the moment.

“Uh, yeah? It’s kinda cool. I can like…slide us around to different places.”

“Why would you need to do that?”

“I don’t know, don’t you like options?” he argued, seeming utterly confused that you didn’t see the merit in transportation-based fucking. You rolled your eyes.

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

His hips rolled against you slightly. Of course he liked that.

“Fine, we can fuck somewhere else. Maybe the couch? Nah, Peacemaker and Harcourt have definitely fucked on that couch and I don’t want to encroach on the sanctity of that…”

“What?”

He plowed ahead, eyes scanning the room. “Oh! We could fuck on your desk. Wait, no, let’s fuck on my desk! There’s a real risk that every time I look at it after this I will get hard, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“I hate you.”

“Maybe,” he retorted with a grin. “Now can I please go down on you? It’s actually all I can think about. I’ve been told my pussy eating could make anyone love me, so let’s see if you still hate me after.”

“Adrian, no one has ever told you that,” you accused. He grinned, something crooked and impish.

“Okay, so maybe no one has said it to me, but I think it was implied. All I’m saying is satisfaction guaranteed for services rendered!”

The blatant honesty took you by surprise but not any more than suddenly finding yourself on your back on the desk with Adrian’s hips between your legs. He yanked you closer to the edge of the desk and then made quick work of undoing your pants, taking them and your underwear in one go in a way that almost made you dizzy.

Whatever you were about to say died on your lips when Adrian dropped to his knees again with a decisive thud and threw your legs over his shoulders. His warm hands pressed into the tops of your thighs, grip tight but not painful. He kneaded at your skin for a moment before he looked up at you through those pretty, stupid eyelashes of his.

“May I?” he asked, voice a low whisper.

You pressed your lips into a firm line to keep from laughing. If you were being honest, Adrian asking for permission was really doing something for you. You propped yourself up on one elbow so you could reach down and run your fingers through his curls adoringly. He had the same intense energy at the prospect of eating you out as if you’d given him a present to unwrap. He was vibrating with excitement. He dragged his cheek along the inside of your thigh and kissed your knee as he waited, patient and postulant.

“You may.”

The speed with which Adrian plunged forward to lick between your folds needed to be studied by science. He approached the act like he was well and truly starved. Your thighs tightened around his head, an involuntary clench of your muscles, but Adrian seemed to love that too. He hummed his approval against you, the sound of his tongue on you and in you positively obscene. 

“You’re so wet,” Adrian managed, catching his breath for a moment. 

“Please remember to breathe down there, Adrian,” you replied, deeply aware of the way it was harder to even out your own breathing. You twisted a curl around your finger and then another and his eyes fluttered shut. You hated how pretty he was. How was it possible that the beautiful, hapless, devotee between your legs was also the same man you wanted to choke to death with your bare hands in the field? 

You gave his hair another little tug.

“I like when you pull my hair,” he groaned. You smiled wickedly and pulled a little harder.

“Like that?” you asked, watching him carefully, calculating. He was so much easier to read out of the Vigilante suit. 

“Yeah, just like that,” he confirmed. He reached down, adjusting himself within his tactical pants. You really needed to do something about getting him out of those, didn’t you? You dragged your gaze up his torso to find him staring at you, wide-eyed and grinning. “You make me feel like a sexy Ratatouille.”

“Please tell me you did not just reference a Disney movie while you’re giving me head, Adrian!”

“It’s a Pixar movie, first of all,” he argued with an expression that seemed to convey that he thought you were an idiot. “And second of all, you told me to breathe. So I’m breathing! If you want me to not talk about how you make me feel like a sexy Pixar character you have to explicitly say that. Did you not want me to say that?”

“Not really!” you complained, slapping a hand over your eyes. You couldn’t bear to look at him, because even though he was yapping about goddamn Ratatouille of all things, he still looked painfully hot. “By the way, his fucking name is Linguini. Ratatouille is the name of the movie!”

“I thought Ratatouille was the name of the rat?”

“His name is Remy!” you exclaimed, sitting fully upright on Adrian’s desk. Fuck. You knew this was a bad idea and then you went ahead anyway and indulged Adrian’s weird shit. “I can’t believe this.”

“Wait, wait!” Adrian’s fingers pressed desperately into your hips. “Let me make it up to you. I’ll bravely drown between your legs if it means you’ll forget everything I just said.”

“Adrian…”

“Please, please, give me one more chance. I wanna make you feel good. I know I can make you feel good,” he begged. Those stupid green eyes were so hard to say no to. Who were you to deny him – and more importantly, yourself – a long overdue orgasm on Adrian Chase’s tongue?

“Fine.” Adrian smiled wide. “Now make me come, Adrian Chase.”

He kissed at the inside of each of your thighs this time, not rushing into it like before. He nosed at your clit and then kissed it softly before taking it into his mouth, sucking gently. His tongue slid through the warmth between your legs with an eager conviction, even if he was taking his time in his hard-won second approach. He was noisy as hell - moaning and muttering sweet-nothings as if you had your own hand around him. Your back arched off the table as he slipped a finger in you, and then another, pressing deeply inside. 

“Harder,” you urged, and he took that directive with fervor. For a few moments, he kissed the crease of your thigh, the crest of your pubic bone, nuzzled his face against the soft hair between your thighs as his fingers adjusted their pace and their depth and their pressure. You weren’t sure how it was possible, but Adrian was a fucking scholar in pussy. 

“Fuck,” you whispered, before managing to clamp down on your lower lip. Adrian smiled against your skin at the way your body – and you – responded.

You were hesitant to wind your fingers in his hair again, but you didn’t know where to put your hands. Your palms, sweaty, slid across the surface of the desk. You pawed at your own breasts to no avail, it wasn’t as good as his mouth and his calloused, warm fingers. Speaking of fingers – Adrian crooked his inside you and, at last, both your hands tugged at his sweaty curls. You pressed him slightly closer, and ground your hips against his face. In response, he cursed against you and removed his fingers so he could firmly grab your hips in both hands and press you flush against his face. 

For a brief moment you genuinely did worry about him suffocating between your thighs. All thought leeched out of your brain the second Adrian merely pressed his thumb over your clit with a practiced pressure and you came hard. You were aware of the moan that dragged from your lips, dredged from somewhere deep in your core by Adrian Chase of all people. You were also faintly aware of the sound of Adrian hissing a whine through his clenched teeth. 

If you hadn’t experienced alternate universes yourself you might have thought you were in one.

Adrian’s ministrations between your legs didn’t stop. His tongue laved slowly at you, dragging between your folds like he wasn’t quite done cherishing his last meal on death row. 

“Adrian,” you vaguely moaned, or at least, you hoped his name had come out of your mouth coherently. You really couldn’t be sure.

“C’mon, one more. I owe you for saving my life,” he murmured. You looked down at him, his chin wet, his lips swollen, his glasses slightly askew, his hair a hopeless mess. Somehow, he still looked good. If this was what he looked like making you come on his tongue, then what the hell would he look like when he was coming inside you?

You inhaled sharply as his index finger dragged between your folds and slipped toyingly into you for just a moment before withdrawing. You bit back an embarrassingly wanting groan. “What are you talking about? When did I save you?”

Adrian frowned, like he was almost offended that you didn’t remember. “You save me every day.”

Then he looked up at you through his lashes as he ran his tongue up your thigh, his other hand drawing his nails across your chest, and made you come around his mouth and his fingers one more time. 

When he was finally satisfied he dragged himself up to standing between your legs and kissed you deeply, brain still too fuzzy to properly taste yourself on his tongue. The rough fabric of his tactical pants dragged almost painfully against your core. You felt his index and middle fingers press flat against the inside of your thigh while he kissed you lazily. Finally, he pulled back and looked at you with big, glassy eyes.

You skated your hand along his jaw, dragging your thumb across his lower lip tauntingly before pressing it between his lips. You pressed down, sliding your thumb across the surface of his tongue and then let him close his mouth around you. You would have squeezed your thighs together at the sight, had he not been in between them. He mumbled something and you withdrew, grazing against his teeth, smearing spit across his chin. His chin dipped forward slightly, like he might try to trap you again. He was so hungry. 

“What’d you say?”

“Femoral,” he said, as way of explanation. “110.”

Your brow furrowed further in confusion. “What?”

“Your heart rate,” he said simply, with a little shrug of his shoulders. “I can do better than that, too. Promise.”

To you, that was a goddamn invitation for more. You wanted him to prove it to you. You wanted him to bend you over his desk and fuck you hard, treating your heart rate like a personal best score every time. You ran your hands down his torso and reached for the zipper of his pants but he pushed your hands away.

“I’m good,” he said sheepishly. You frowned, studying his flushed expression. Then your eyes widened and you nodded in understanding.

“Hey, that’s okay,” you replied softly. You dragged your hips slightly against the rough fabric with intention this time. You couldn’t help that the idea of him coming in his pants made the whole thing strangely hotter. 

“I really do want to fuck you, you know,” he said, tilting his head slightly, his gaze dragging down your body. “I dream about it.”

“You do?”

He laughed in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? Of course I do. I’ve been dreaming about it for like…as long as I’ve known you.”

“You’re so confusing, Adrian Chase,” you said, holding his face in both hands. “You’re like two different people. When you’re in the suit you don’t listen to a fucking thing I say, but when you’re just you, I think maybe you’d lick the ground if I told you to.”

“Do you want me to?” he asked, beautifully pathetic. 

“Listen?” you asked.

He shook his head. “Lick the ground.”

“I don’t know what I want from you. To kill you or to fuck you.”

Adrian laughed. “You couldn’t kill me if you tried.”

“Is that a fucking challenge?” you asked lowly, wrapping your legs around his annoying narrow waist. The distinct sound of Peacemaker’s voice outside the building startled you two back to reality and Adrian tossed clothes at you faster than you could put them on. You hadn’t been expecting the team back so soon - usually cleaning up Vigilante-related messes took a little longer. 

In the conference room, Adrian sat beside you for the debrief, the stillest you’d ever seen him, a dopey grin on his face the entire time. While everyone was distracted reviewing footage of Vigilante plunging into a spray of gunfire without you to cover him, you studied his profile. Soft, sweet, devoted Adrian had given you more than you could have asked for. But, you couldn’t help but wonder… 

You leaned yourself against the arm of his chair and gestured vaguely at the screen.

“Maybe next time you wear the suit.”

Back in the field, you were calling out orders - Harcourt gave a nod and peeled off, taking Peacemaker with her. But Vigilante turned back over his shoulder and you could tell even through the mask he was fucking grinning. 

“Vij, don’t you fucking dare!”

Your eyes widened as he pulled the pin from the grenade you hadn’t even known he’d had and tossed it into the warehouse. There was no time to process as he was too busy tackling you to the ground, draping his body over yours. Heat roared over the two of you and Vigilante wrapped his arms around you tightly, his mask tucked into the crook of your neck. Somewhere not far away you heard Harcourt cursing him out.

Vigilante panted, breath hot against your face even through the mask. His grip slid to your waist as his hips adjusted slightly against yours.

full work here!!

“Oh, fuck…”

He spreads out and makes himself more comfortable, responding to his blissed-out brain which rejoices that he's finally getting the attention he needs. Adrian’s eyes roll shut and he begins with sleepy, sloppy strokes, and each one is met with a pained grunt. You start to wonder if allowing this would be too much on you.

Just the noises alone are making your mind wander. Thank goodness there’s no one else on this backroad. You’d crash. Instantly.

His mouth hangs open and his breathing is deep, heavy and shaky. His shoulders rise and fall dancing with each inhale, exhale, and stroke down his shaft. Given his urgency before, you’re unsure if his pace is to taunt himself or YOU. Your question is answered when you catch his heavy eyes opening to look at you, and you cannot bring yourself to look back at him. He whispers, just loud enough so he’s heard over the music, struggling to keep his head from rolling to one side or another.

“Yaknow, this’ what you do t’me…You make me wanna—UGNh!—touch myself…”

Fuck. If this is hell, you’re in it.

His hazy gaze locks on you while he slightly tightens his grip and increases his pace. He clearly still wants you. He’s luring you in and it’s working. But you need to stay focused. Keep your eyes on the road. Just let him do what he needs to do.

His fingers trace over a sensitive vein and he winces, grabbing and squeezing his own thigh. You wish it was yours- NO, NO, STOP.

He starts muttering nonsense that you can’t understand. You decipher “please fuck me,” but everything else? Nada. Until you hear what sounds like your name.

That’s it. Time to indulge.

“Is that feeling good?” you inquire in a more seductive tone than you initially intended. You watch as Adrian’s body convulses and arches in response to your question. He moans, bites his lip and nods. You hear his head move against the seat, but can’t turn to look at him. You need an affirmative.

“Use your words, Adrian. I need to look where I’m going-”

“Yes!” Adrian is able to squeak out, barely holding himself together. “‘S so good…fuck…” He quickens his pace and begins slightly rutting into his own hand. You hear this, and whip out the big guns.

You smize, “You still wish you were fucking me, don’t you?”

“AAH!” Adrian moans aloud, reverberating through the car and he throws his head back; crow’s feet scrunching on the edge of each tightly closed eye. His free hand roams for something to hold onto and continuously fails until resorting back to his seat. “Yes,” he cries, cracking, “Iwannabeinyouuuu…”

“How badly?”

“SO FUCKING BAD!!”

You’re so mean. You grin to prove it. You’re helping him along, is all!

“Ah, ah, ah, FUCK,” Adrian pants, now repeatedly rutting into his fist. The noise becomes obscene. Thank god the team chose to use walkies for this mission instead of body mics, or else you’d both be screwed. 

More than Adrian wants to be right now. 

He is completely sprawled out on the passenger seat of your car, thrusting his thick, leaking cock into his rapid pumping hand, shouting profanities for only your ears to hear. You can’t say you’re not enjoying the little show he’s putting on for you. He has completely lost his mind, in more ways than you can even begin to understand. 

Adrian cries out, “Please, please, oh shit, oh god, FUCK! I need-”

“You want me to keep talking?” you ask him.

“Yeesss,” he weakly whimpers and begs, “pleeeaase…”

“What are you thinking about right now?”

He huffs and moans while he gathers his few remaining thoughts, then mutters, “You…you fuckingRIDINGMYFUCKINGDICK, OH SHIT, AAH! Oh, fuck…”

He’s close. 

This is so fucking hot.

“You want me? Hmm, tell me you need it~”

“I NEED IT, I NEED IT!!!” he screams. “Cum- I’mgonnacum- ah, ssshhhit!”

And before you can say anything else to the pathetic, whining mess sitting next to you, Adrian is shooting thick, hot ropes of cum all over himself and the passenger side of your dashboard. He continues to shout throughout, and all you can do is listen. And you swear, once again, you hear what sounds like your name. You shift in your seat, and you realize, after this scene that just played out before you, Adrian’s noises have made you soaking wet. Well shit. 

And then there’s silence, with a side of choked panting from Adrian. He whimpers, relaxes his body, and closes his eyes. His mouth stays open, breathing heavily. 

“You finished fast,” your cocky-ass remarks.

Adrian can’t respond just yet. He’s experiencing aftershocks so harshly disorienting that make him unsure of where he is or what just happened. 

“Adrian?”

He hears you. He wants to respond, but can’t. You still try. “Are yoouu, feeling any better?”

While yes, he does, something doesn’t feel quite finished. A biting affliction still festers within that should have been cured with a few simple tugs. Not to mention that damn smell. He swears it’s gotten even more concentrated. Worst of all, as soon as he thought it was all over, his balls only tightened more.