The following week, you'd found a paper bag and a latte waiting on your desk in the department of records. There was no note, no name anywhere, but nestled between flaxen parchment paper was a chocolate croissant dusted generously with powdered sugar. The only clue as to who left it for you was an angular ‘D’ scrawled onto the side of the coffee cup by the barista who made it.

You'd hardly believed it was real until you felt the sugar dissolve on your tongue. It was a kindness you hadn't experienced since you started at the Ministry over a year ago. It could be a dreadfully bureaucratic, unfeeling place. That sugar high had stuck with you the entire day, lightening your steps.

Another one appeared later in the week, again, anonymous, besides that tell-tale ‘D’.

There were lots of D’s at the Ministry, you told yourself. You had at least three coworkers named Daniel just in the Department of Records. But you knew none of them would have the taste to select such fine pastry, or the deduction skills to know how you liked your coffee based on a few fleeting observations in the break room.

On Friday of that week, you'd arrived early, hoping to knock out some filing before record requests started piling up for the day. The Department had been blissfully empty, and you'd gotten to work with a tune sung just under your breath.

“Ah, you're here early,” a brusk, masculine voice rolled through the quiet like an afternoon storm.

You were a bit embarrassed to admit it, but you knew exactly who that voice belonged to.

Nearly dropping the files in your hands, you whirled around. Your suspicions, and perhaps wildest imagination, were confirmed. Draco Malfoy, the most brutal, efficient Auror the Ministry had seen in decades, stood beside your desk, holding a pastry bag in one hand, a latte in the other. And he looked almost…sheepish, standing there in his heavy black uniform, platinum hair smoothed to perfection.

“Uh—I—yes, the, um, lots of filing,” you stammered, tongue-tied. In that moment, you swore no one had ever looked that good before in the history of forever. And you would know—it was your job to know everything.

The corner of his mouth lifted, and impossibly, he became even more devastating. “You'll need your energy, then,” he said, setting the treats onto your desk.

You had the inane impulse to ask him why. Why was he suddenly paying you any attention? What did he want from you?

But before you could untangle your words, he was turning on his heel and striding away, cloak billowing in his wake.

—

The breakfast deliveries continued, but more often Draco began delivering them in person, or, if he arrived before you, he'd leave a small note beside the bag, written on one of the little notepads you keep on your desk.

Thank you for finding that record yesterday.

They were out of cinnamon, thought you might like mocha instead.

Don't work too hard today.

Going away for a week. Keep an eye out for Potter.

You weren't sure what he meant by that. Harry Potter, obviously, his childhood enemy turned coworker after they both became Aurors, but why would you need to keep an eye out for him?

Then, the following morning, you found Harry looking a bit lost in the department, hovering by your desk. He had a pastry bag in one hand and a latte in the other.

“Can I help you, Mr. Potter?” You asked, approaching cautiously.

His eyes lit up. “There you are! I thought this was your desk, but wasn't sure—” he held out the bag and coffee cup to you. “Delivery from one Draco Malfoy.”

For a moment, you were too stunned to speak. You'd always been a bit shy, preferring books and records to socializing, but tried your best to be friendly and gracious at work. Now, you couldn't even manage a ‘thank you’ as you took the treats from him.

Harry didn't seem to mind. “Malfoy will be back next week, but he insisted I bring you this while he was gone.”

“Do you—um—” you struggled to find the words, suddenly feeling exposed, soft underbelly on display. “Do you know why he's—”

“Because you're kind and genuine,” Harry said with a sympathetic smile. “Draco’s not so mysterious as he looks,” he joked, smile turning conspiratorial. Then, smile faltering, added, “Don't tell him I said that.”

You found yourself giggling at the insanity of this new reality you'd found yourself in. “I won't,” you reassured him.

—

The following Thursday, you stayed late to catch up on the filing that had piled up throughout the week. All of your coworkers seemed to have decided you were the best at it, so you should handle it all moving forward, on top of fulfilling all the requests that came your way. Which was nearly double what the rest of them received.

It was fine, you didn't really mind. You liked being helpful, being needed. But two hours in, and your back was beginning to ache, your energy depleted from continuous magic usage.

“They said you were still here, but I was half-hoping they were wrong,” a low voice broke through the quiet.

You stumbled out from between the stacks, hardly believing your ears. But sure enough, there was Draco Malfoy perched on the edge of your desk, flipping through one of the records stacked high on its surface. He looked different, under eyes bruise-dark, his blond hair finger-tousled and uniform ruffled. There was a slash across his cheek, the skin an angry pink, going lilac at the edges.

Your stomach did a backflip over your lungs, forcing your heart into your throat. “Here I am,” you said meekly. “When did you get back?”

“This evening,” he said absently, a line forming between his brows as he read. He clapped the file shut and slid off the desk. “Krepski pulled this,” he said, dropping it onto your neighbor's desk.

You nodded, not sure what to say.

“Do you usually put everyone else's records away?” Draco asked, his voice softer than the look in his eyes.

“Well, uh, I wouldn't say usually, but—”

“How many of these are yours?” He turned back to your desk, rifling through the stack.

You grimaced. None of them were yours. You always put them away as soon as they were returned to you to avoid, well, this.

Apparently, the look on your face was answer enough. Something sharp glinted in his eyes, but he blinked it away, rolled out the stiffness that had accumulated in his shoulders.

“Let me help you,” he said, meeting your gaze.

“You just got back, I couldn't—”

“Please?”

You stared at him. Somewhere, a part of you knew this wasn't a word Draco Malfoy used often, if ever. You found that you couldn't deny him such a simple request.

And, if you were being entirely honest, the thought of actually spending some time with him cracked your heart like a glow stick.

“Alright.”

The two of you worked together, hardly speaking at first, to start sorting the files. But it wasn't an uncomfortable quiet like you'd come to expect from your other coworkers. This quiet was soft in the way that freshly fallen snow can be, a gentle muffling of the outside world. You found a steady rhythm, communicating without words. He seemed to know what file you were reaching for before you reached for it, just like you knew where he was about to step before he moved.

You'd never seen the Auror look so calm, his muscles loose, his stride languid. Even his voice, when he did use it, had softened to the coo of a dove, sending a tremor down your spine with every passing word.

But mainly, you were just happy to have given him a quiet space to land. From the snippets of information he gave you as the evening wore on, his trip hadn't been an easy one. Chasing dark wizards along the Scottish coastline didn't exactly sound like a holiday.

He'd asked about you more than anything: where you grew up, your Hogwarts house, your favorite music. You answered timidly, unsure about what to do with his interest. Usually, when people asked you those sorts of questions, it was so they could answer the questions themselves, but Draco wasn't like that. You'd even made him laugh a few times, the sound as pleasant a surprise as an afternoon sun shower.

He seemed genuinely intent on getting to know you, and spoke very little of himself. Though you couldn't exactly blame him for that, knowing what you did know about him.

When the last record had been filed, he leaned against the bookcase beside you, having to crane his neck to peer down at your face.

Saints, he was tall.

“So, have you eaten yet tonight?” He asked, adjusting the wrists of his uniform, fiddling with the ring on his middle finger. A signet etched with a coiled serpent.

Your stomach answered for you, growling audibly at the mere mention of food.

He tsked, shaking his head at you. Lips curling in opposite directions, displeased and relieved in equal measure. “I was going to stop at that pizza place on the corner on my way back to my flat. Would you like to join me?”

“S-sure, pizza sounds great,” you said, wondering if you'd somehow fallen asleep while sorting files and this was some insane, marvelous dream.

His smile widened. “C’mon, then. My treat.”

—

After that evening, you and Draco had built an unlikely partnership. You weren't sure you were friends, mainly because you didn't see one another outside of work beyond getting pizza, but he was always there to lend a helping hand. The breakfast deliveries became more frequent, and he started bringing you a cup of tea every afternoon. And, in exchange, you'd let him loiter at your desk whenever he needed a little escape, or to have his overactive mind numbed by the repetitive scribble stamp swoosh of your work.

Even with this new familiarity, your heart still did a little flip whenever he smiled at you, or appeared around the bend of a hallway you weren't expecting him to. But you never imagined he'd feel that way about you. He was Draco Malfoy. He could literally have anyone in the world he wanted.

Whatever the two of you were, you were just happy to have a companion. He made you feel less alone in this marble-crusted corporate hellscape.

And, you realized just a few weeks into this new dynamic, that having a notoriously vicious Auror in your life came with its own set of perks.

The second Junior Auror Lewis walked into the Department of Records, you knew there was going to be a problem. He was red-faced and sputtering, waving the records you had dispensed to him the previous morning like a war flag.

Anxiety prickled along your neck, palms going clammy against your wooden stamper. You set it down, folding your hands into your lap as the flustered man approached.

You gave him your most winning smile. “Can I help you, Auror Lewis?”

He slammed the files onto your desk with a reverberating whack, and you startled to your feet, chair screeching backwards. “What the fuck is this?” He snarled, jabbing a finger into the paper. “These aren't the records I requested.”

Heat built under your skin, heart hammering against your ribs. You could feel every eye in the Department on you, judging you. “I—uh—” you made a show of shuffling through the papers, despite knowing that these records were exactly what he had asked for. Evidently, he just wasn't skilled enough to actually use them.

Part of you wanted to say that, to humiliate him like he was humiliating you right now, but the words stuck in your throat. Choked you.

“Uh—what?” He mocked. “You work in the Department of Records and you can't fucking read?”

“Sir—I, if you could just—”

“This is a very important case, and I will not have some paper jockey fuck it up for me!”

Oh no, oh no. Your nose began to itch, moisture pooling along your lower lashes. Don't cry, don't cry.

“And here we go with the waterworks. How about you just do your fucking job instead of sniveling like a—”

“Like a what?” A low growl came from behind you.

Shit, you'd almost forgotten the Draco had been meandering through the stacks, taking a break between meetings.

Lewis paled. “Oh, uh—I—”

Draco moved to stand in front of you, his body warm and solid, traces of his evergreen cologne still lingering on his collar.

It made your head swim.

“Sir, she potentially compromised the mission with false inf—”

“Say another word about her, or her work, and I will be forced to use every weapon in my arsenal as punishment.” His wand whipped outward, verdant green magic spilling from the dark wood. His lips were pulled back in a snarl.

You sucked in a breath, and the Junior Auror staggered back a step.

“Draco, don't—” You weren't sure what came over you, but you placed a hand on his bicep, turning to look into his face. His eyes were blazing, molten glass, as he stared down the length of his wand. He was rigid beneath your touch, coiled like a snake able to strike. “Draco, please,” you tried again.

His eyes finally flicked to yours, and the harsh line of his mouth softened a fraction as he took in your fearful expression. The entire Department held its breath.

“What would you have me do?” He murmured finally, though his wand never wavered.

Your fingers inched down his arm, feeling the supple fabric of his uniform, the ropes of muscle concealed underneath, the slight tremor as you reached his forearm, then his wrist, until you finally brushed the leather glove covering his hand, pressing down gently until his shoulder loosened, and he lowered his wand. Never once did his eyes stray from your face.

“An apology is enough,” you whispered. “Please, Draco.”

He absorbed your words, jaw feathering with tension, until he gave you one stiff nod before turning his attention back to the quivering Junior Auror.

“You will apologize to her, and if I ever hear about you treating her, or any other coworker, this way again, I will see to it that you spend the rest of your simpering life in the bowels of Azkaban. Do I make myself clear?”

“I'm s-sorry,” Lewis sniffled. “I didn't—I’m sorry. Please—”

“I accept your apology,” you replied. “And in the future, if you're having trouble deciphering the information in the records, all you have to do is ask, and I’d be glad to assist you,” you added, flashing a smile.

Our coworkers chittered at that, and Lewis flushed a deep crimson, bowed his head, and fled. You never spoke like that, but having Draco at your side made you feel a little braver.

Draco glanced down at you, the warmth in his eyes almost tangible as it caressed your cheek. A giddy thrill ran through you.

“Clever girl,” he purred. “If anyone speaks to you like that again, come find me. Okay?”

You nodded, feeling like your lungs had turned into hot air balloons. “Okay.” You didn't even think about disagreeing.

“Good,” he smiled then, and it wasn't until he pulled away that you realized your hand was still resting on his. “I'm going to have a word with his supervisor, maybe the Minister, and you are going to take a half-day.”

He said the last part loudly enough that your boss, who was hovering in the wings, could overhear him.

“But I have so much—”

“Krepski will handle the rest of your work, won’t he?” Draco glanced over his shoulder at your desk neighbor, whose eyes widened to an almost comical degree.

“Yes, sir! Happy to!” Krepski blurted, jumping up to take the stack of files off your desk and over to his.

Draco turned back to you, a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth, brows raised expectantly.

“Why are you doing this?” You asked, voice lowering to barely a whisper. “I don't deserve—”

His expression sharpened. “What you don't deserve is to be overworked and underappreciated by the mindless goons that work here,” he said, voice low but not harsh. Restrained. Then, softer, “Someone has to look after you.”

No one’s ever looked after you before. Not like this. You'd always been independent, high-functioning. Never asked for anything, never needed anyone. If something needed to be taken care of, you were the one who took care of it. No questions asked.

If you were honest, you kind of liked this change of pace, even if it was a bit difficult to accept. And it didn't hurt that the person wanting to look after you was someone you genuinely liked, not to mention drop-dead gorgeous.

“Thank you, Draco,” you said, meeting his eyes.

“My pleasure. Now, go get some rest,” he ordered. “And all of that work better be finished by the time she clocks in tomorrow.” He directed this at Krepski, spinning his wand as if to punctuate his point.

“Of course!” Krepski squeaked.

Draco nodded in approval, flashed you a wink over his shoulder, and took his leave.

—

Word spread quickly about the altercation in the Department of Records, and suddenly everyone was wishing you a good morning or nodding in respectful greeting when you passed them in the hall. Your coworkers fielded work before it could even think about crossing your desk, and the line at the coffee station in the break room magically vanished whenever you stepped inside.

It was weird, and imposter syndrome still dogged at your heels, but you had to admit, it was a nice change. You finally felt like you could breathe again. And, despite yourself, your attraction to him had progressed into full-blown chest palpitations whenever he entered the room.

Sometimes, when he left an extra-sweet note or looked at you for a half-second too long, you thought maybe he could feel the same way about you.

But two weeks later, a gloomy, winter Friday, you hadn't seen Draco at all. No breakfast delivery, no afternoon tea, no five-minute break. Not even a glimpse in the hallway.

Your anxiety had mounted throughout the day, the knots tightening with each hour that passed until you could hardly breathe.

Was he mad at you? Avoiding you? Had you done something to upset him?

The thoughts were an endless loop, a train gone way off the tracks, and finally, when the bell struck 6 pm, and everyone was heading home, you decided to take matters into your own hands.

You were a bit ashamed to admit that you hadn't ever sought him out in his own office. He almost always came to you, except for when you strategically positioned yourself in the break room because you knew he'd be passing by. But even that was passive, an indirect maneuver born out of your own cowardice.

Now, standing outside his office door with a chocolate croissant, a black coffee, and your fist raised to knock, those insecurities came screaming back to you.

What if he doesn't want to see you? What if you're interrupting something? What if he's sick of you and now you look desperate because you can't take a hint?

What if, a quieter voice whispered, he needs you right now?

He'd done so much for you over the last few weeks; the least you could do was show him that you'd be there for him, too.

Knock knock. “Draco?” You called. “It's me.”

You couldn't hear anything through the door, weren't even entirely certain he was actually in here, when the knob unlocked with a soft click, and the door eased open.

Draco’s office was spacious, with large bookshelves and expensive-looking furniture. You could smell the leather polish and mahogany beneath the verdant top notes of the high-end cologne he wore. Emerald curtains were drawn over what had to be enormous windows, leaving the room dark except for the fireplace and fire-lit scones along the walls.

Draco was sitting at his desk, the surface strewn with papers and empty mugs of tea. He'd discarded the bulk of his uniform, leaving him in just a black long-sleeve shirt and pants. His hair was unruly, sticking up at odd angles from running his hands through it, and exhaustion hung from his shoulders like a shadow.

“What time is it?” He asked, though you weren't sure if he was directly asking you, and he spun in his chair to peer at the clock over his head.

“After 6,” you supplied, and he turned back to you, looking a little dazed.

“Fuck, really? I didn't realize—” his eye caught the coffee and paper bag in your hands, and his eyebrows lifted in surprise. “And what do you have there?”

You shrugged, heat climbing up your neck as you fought to suppress a smile. “Thought you might need a little something sweet.”

His mouth pulled into a borderline indecent smirk. “That so?” He asked, tilting his head slightly.

Your stomach swooped. “B-but I don't want to bother you if you're busy…” You back-peddled, fidgeting in place under the burn of his gaze.

“I am busy,” he agreed, watching you intently.

“Oh, I-I’m sorry—”

“Darling,” he cut you off. The new pet name was said gently, but it still felt like a tug at your collar. You straightened subconsciously. “If you wanted to see me, then all you had to do was ask.”

Your cheeks burned, lungs snagging against your ribs and hitching awkwardly. “I didn't—I don't—”

“Don't what?” He rose from his chair, moving around the desk to approach you. “Don't want to see me?” He asked, a faux frown on his face. Teasing you. Testing you.

“No, I—y-yes, of course I do, but—”

“But what?”

“But I know you're busy and…” you trailed off, throat closing as he loomed over you.

“And…?” He was so close you could feel the warmth of his skin, could smell the Earl Grey and lavender brew he was drinking, the ink he was using.

“I wasn't sure if you wanted to see me,” you admitted, looking down to avoid his gaze.

“Love—” his thumb and index finger caught your chin, tilting your head back up. “I always want to see you.”

Your heart thudded wildly against your sternum, mouth going dry at his confession.

“But you seem to have trouble asking for what you want.”

Indignation rose in you, an unfamiliar, acidic feeling. “No, I don't,” you argued. How could he always see straight through you?

He chuckled and took the coffee and pastry bag from you, taking a swig as he turned away and retreated to his desk chair.

“I came up here to check on you,” you continued. Even to your own ear, you sounded defensive.

“And I'm fine,” he said, reclining in his chair, casual as anything, but you could see the stiffness in his shoulders, the grip he had on the coffee cup. “Thank you very much for the coffee.”

Was he dismissing you? Your head spun at his sudden change in demeanor. The distance between you seemed enormous, cold creeping in where his warmth was moments before.

“Was there something else you wanted?” He asked, leaning forward to brace his elbows on the desk.

More, you thought, but didn’t say. You wanted more of that closeness, more of him, but the thought of asking for it stitched your mouth shut. You debated turning on your heel and opting out of whatever mind games he was playing with you, but the echo of his closeness kept you in place.

You met his eyes, and something in your expression must have given away your consternation.

Draco sighed. “You're stubborn, you know that?” He asked, but there was no real bite to it. “How about I tell you what I want?”

Your throat closed, palms growing sweaty. You forced yourself to look at him, to take in the smolder of his eyes.

“I’ve had a really long fucking day, and I'm feeling a bit reckless. I locked myself in here because I didn't want to push you.” He took a breath, mandibles flexing as he arranged his next words. “But what I want, darling, more than anything right now is to see what you’re hiding under that sweet little smile. I want to know what you really want—what keeps you awake at night, what makes your heart race—.”

“But why?” You whispered. You didn’t even want to acknowledge those parts of yourself. Why would he?

“Because that's what trust is.” His words stole whatever scant breath you had left.

“I do trust you,” you said, and meant it. You trusted him more than anyone else in your life. So why were you still hiding from him? Still holding back?

“You need to trust yourself,” he corrected gently. “To trust what your mind and body are telling you that you want and need.”

Clarity hit you square between the eyes.

This entire time, he'd been showing you all the ways you weren't showing up for yourself. All of the wants and needs you were failing to articulate. To claim. Starting with the damn croissant, and all the way to this moment, where you wanted him so desperately, it burned like lava through your bloodstream.

Hadn't he shown you that he was more than happy to deliver whatever you wanted? Whether it was pastries, tea, or an apology from someone who wronged you.

All you had to do was ask.

“Kiss me,” you blurted, spitting out the words before you could talk yourself out of it.

No sooner had the words left your mouth than he was on his feet, crossing the room towards you in three long strides. A hand slid into your hair, the other melting into the curve of your spine, and he kissed you so hard the floor fell out from beneath you.

He left no room for argument, no space for doubt. He was merciless in his claiming of you, lips making way for tongue and teeth, devouring you like a fervor you'd never experienced. But it wasn't reckless or messy. No, every press, every nip, every lick was deliberate. An intricate dance that he led with precision. Like he’d been planning this kiss in his head for a lifetime. You could do nothing but be swept up in the movements and luxuriate in the force that was Draco Malfoy.

He shifted forward, backing you against the bookshelf on the far wall. You gasped when your back hit the wood, and he grinned, tilting his head to drag his lips down your neck. Grinding the frenetic pace to a languid crawl.

His shoulders rose as he breathed you in, the hot muscle of his tongue laving across your hammering pulse. Your knees threatened to buckle as arousal surged through you, electric and exhilarating. If he kept this up, you feared you would melt between the floorboards.

“You're shaking,” he murmured, kissing his way back up to your face.

“S-sorry,” you breathed, struggling to remember a word that wasn't his name.

He shushed you with a peck on the lips. “I'm just making sure you're alright,” he said, his voice like velvet. His lips grazed your temple, heart-achingly tender. A dizzying contrast from the rip current he'd created just moments ago. “That you still want this.”

You nodded, fingers tightening into the folds of his shirt to draw him closer.

“Ah, ah—” he pulled back to look you in the eye. “Use your words.”

Your eyes gave you away, flicking down to where his fingers rested on your hip.

He smirked, lifting his hand. Flexing his fingers in the dim candlelight. “You want my fingers, darling?” He asked, caressing your cheek with the backs of them.

“Yes, please,” you whispered, blinking up at him, cheeks burning.

“Say it.” His hand fell to his side.

“I—” you took a steadying breath. “I want your f-fingers.”

His smirk turned lethally sharp, flashing an ivory canine. “You want my fingers where?”

“Draco,” you whined, dropping your face into his shoulder, and he tutted. You could feel his smile as he pressed a kiss to your hair. So affectionate, even when he was being firm with you.

Then, you felt the belt of your trousers pop open. Those dexterous fingers sliding along the elastic waistband of your panties. You clung to his shoulders, breath coming in short pants, and sent a silent thank you to your past self for wearing a cute pair that day.

“Here, baby?” He asked, fingers dipping lower, finding the pool of slick he'd coaxed from you.

You nodded, tilting the bowl of your pelvis into his palm. “Please.”

Fuck, you sounded so pathetic, but he made a low sound of approval in the back of his throat.

“Good girl,” he praised right as his middle finger stroked against your clit.

You gasped, that simple touch like a bolt of lightning up your spine. You could feel how wet you were, leaking into his palm as he traced slow circles over your bud, gauging what pressure you preferred, what speed. He took his time, spreading you open, teasing out every little sound, every twitch, he could get from your pyretic body.

You were like putty in his hands, completely boneless against him, pleasure saturating your mind, burning through your veins like fire whiskey.

“Draco,” you mewled, hips rolling against his hand, hungry for more.

“And suddenly she's demanding,” he teased, nipping at your shoulder. But he indulged you, finally easing one finger inside your heat, quickly followed by a second. You were more than ready for it, your pussy practically begging to be filled. Fluttering, clenching, coaxing him deeper. “So fucking tight, love. You're absolutely perfect, aren't you?”

You couldn't think, couldn't speak. His fingers had found your brain's off button in record speed, curling against your front wall with that unwavering, merciless intention he did everything with.

And he was going to make you cum embarrassingly quick because of it.

“Wait—I—” you grabbed at his wrist, head spinning as the plummet stretched out before you, and he froze in place.

“Too much?” He asked, leaning back to look at you, his free hand smoothing the hair from your face. He looked almost as wrecked as you felt, cheeks flushed and eyes glossy, hair a disheveled mess from your grabbing hands. So beautiful you could hardly believe he was flesh and blood, and not some horny fever dream. But he was real, muscle and bone and lips and teeth, and you wanted to eat him whole.

Fuck it.

Your hips started to rock against his fingers, that momentary panic twisting into urgency. “S’too good,” you slurred, pleasure-drunk.

He grinned, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Yeah?” He curled his fingers again, hitting that traitorous, magnificent spot inside of you, and you keened. “I can feel how close you are, soaking me to the wrist.” He pressed you harder into the wall, the wood digging into your back, but you didn't care so long as he kept driving his fingers into you just like that. The sound of your sopping pussy made your cheeks burn, lewd and loud, but it only seemed to draw your orgasm closer. “Show me, love. Show me how pretty you are when you let go—”

“Fuck, D—I’m gonna—want to—”

“Go on, love. Take whatever you want. It's all yours—good fucking girl, just like that—”

Your release crashed over you, white hot, and you buried your scream into his shoulder as he worked you through it, muttering praise in your ear while you bucked and twitched. Stars danced behind your eyes, under your skin as you came down, and you felt yourself smiling.

His motions slowed to languid strokes before he withdrew entirely. Brought his fingers to his mouth, stealing a taste before easing them between your own lips. You parted willingly, the taste of your release heady and sweet on your tongue as you sucked those magical digits clean.

“See what happens when you ask for what you want?” He murmured against the shell of your ear. “You did so well, love.”

You nodded, not having the energy to do much else. But his praise rang against your bones like church bells, and delight reverberated through you.

He withdrew his fingers and righted your clothes, then settled you into his desk chair, the most comfortable one in the room. The croissant you brought for him somehow ended up in your hand, and he was urging you to take a bite. Made you wash it down with a freshly cracked water bottle from his mini fridge.

“You look so beautiful right now,” he said, watching you chew from his perch at the edge of his desk.

The temptation to hide itched under your skin, but you resisted, smiling shyly at him instead. “Thank you, Draco. For all of this, everything.”

“It's an honor and my absolute pleasure,” he grinned, leaning down to kiss your forehead and steal a bite of the croissant. “How about we go get you some real food?”

“Is that pizza place still open?” You asked, and he looked ready to keel over with surprise and delight. You'd actually asked for something!

“If you want pizza, baby, a closed sign isn't going to stop me from getting you pizza. Hell, I'll apparate us to Italy right now—”

“You're ridiculous,” you giggled, rolling your eyes at him.

“And you're mine,” he said, sliding off the desk and offering you a hand. “So, get used to it.”

You slipped your fingers into his, letting him pull you onto still shaky legs. “I don't remember agreeing to that,” you teased, pecking his cheek so he knew you didn't mean it.

“Already spoiled, hm?” His grip on your hand tightened, his body shifting to press you against the desk. “One night with me and you've turned into a brat.” The word was hot at your neck, and a shiver rolled through you, fresh arousal dripping into your ruined underwear. Stirring something wild in you that you hadn't felt before.

“Maybe,” you flirted, leaning forward to nibble at the hard angle of his jaw, hand skimming down the front of his chest until your fingers hooked on his belt. Taking what you wanted, taking what was yours.

And from the rigid pulse against your hip, he was more than eager to give it all to you.

“Good—” his grip moved to your wrist, pinning it to the desk with a force that set your blood on fire, “—because I'm just getting started.”

“Yes, just not very hungry,” you said in your pretty little voice, placing your hand over his and pecking his cheek.

He didn’t buy it. “I can track down some takeaway and we can eat in my dorm, if you’d like,” he offered, wondering if the commotion in the Great Hall was a bit too much for you.

You shook your head, another stunning development. You never turned down takeaway. “I’m fine, baby. Thank you, though.”

“Well, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll make one of these sod’s fetch it for you,” he teased, hoping to get a smile out of you. He didn’t.

Draco sighed, pressing a kiss to your temple before turning back to the conversation he was in the middle of with Theo and Pansy. He continued to watch you in his periphery as you started to play with his fingers, twirling his signet ring around and around. As much as he enjoyed the mindless contact, the delicate brush of your skin, he knew this was a nervous habit of yours.

He had half-a-thought to excuse you both, but he knew that would only draw more attention to your melancholy state, which would likely make you feel even worse. He could pick your brain later. Right now, he needed to make sure you were fed.

Casually, he picked up his fork, twirling a bit of his own pasta around the tines. Without breaking away from his conversation, he held the fork up to you, hoping you’d take a bite without really thinking about it. It was a small ritual the two of you developed during lengthy family dinners, something you often did automatically if he offered food to you. He felt you shift forward, your mouth wrap around the small bite, and you ate it.

He squeezed your thigh, a flare of affection making his heart pound. Good girl, he thought, but refrained from saying aloud.

The rest of dinner continued like that, Draco keeping your friends talking and distracted while he fed you small bites of his own dinner, your fingers twined with his in your lap. When he held up a bite and you gave small shake of your head, he knew it was because you were actually full, and he set his fork down, satisfied. For now.

That night in the common room, you were curled up in your chair by the fire, a book open in your lap while everyone pretended to study around you. He watched your eyes, your hands curled around the cover, and you were motionless. No pages turned, no lines devoured.

His worry deepened. Blaise seemed to notice as well, and gave him a curious look, dark brow raised. And of course, Theo caught the exchange, but turned back to his work, pretending he didn’t.

A prickle of suspicion climbed Draco’s neck. Typically, Theo was the first one to make a fuss over someone being in a sour mood due to his inability to tolerate negative emotions, but this time, he stayed silent.

Very odd, indeed.

But he could worry about Theo later. Draco lifted himself from the couch and walked over to you, dropping onto the floor in front of your chair. He tilted his head back, resting it against your shins. You reached down, dragging your fingers through his hair while you continued “reading” your book. He let his eyes flutter closed at the sensation, and tried to think of a way to draw you out of your head.

Lips pressed against his forehead, your perfume wafting over him, and he hummed in appreciation, reaching up to cradle your face. You leaned your cheek into his palm, and he titled his head back a little further to connect your lips in a soft kiss.

Your lips moved against his, brief and tender, and some of his tension unwound. It didn’t seem that you were upset with him, which was a relief. But, he wasn’t any closer to figuring out what exactly was troubling you.

“I’m going to go to bed,” you murmured in his ear, and he blinked in surprise, checking his watch.

It wasn’t even nine o’clock.

“So early, love? Are you feeling alright?” He turned to face you, rising to his knees. The group noticed, but he was too concerned to care. He placed the back of his hand on your forehead, your cheek, your neck, but you waved him away.

“I’m fine, D. Just tired,” you said, averting your eyes from his and rising from your chair.

“Baby—”

You leaned down and kissed him again, cutting off his protest. “I love you, I’ll see you in the morning,” you said, pecking his cheek one more time before walking towards the girls dormitory and ascending the stairs.

Draco slumped back to the ground, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“What did you do to her?” Pansy accused after a moment of tense silence.

“Nothing,” he snapped, though it was mostly toothless.

“She was acting strangely at dinner too,” Blaise noted. “She didn’t even have dessert.”

“Yeah, and she loves those chocolate things—what are they called?” Theo chimed in.

“Cauldron cakes,” Draco answered, glaring at them, irked that they were paying that close of attention to you. That was his job.

“Are you going to follow her?” Blaise asked, glancing at the stairs.

“No, he should give her some space,” Pansy said, giving him a pointed look.

“I’m perfectly capable of managing my girlfriend’s needs. Thank you,” he bit, and they fell quiet. He would leave you be, for now, but if you were still in a funk tomorrow evening, he’d be forced to intervene.

You were decidedly still unlike yourself come the following morning, and when he saw you during your shared Potion’s class. He continued to monitor the situation, trying to be patient like you often asked him to be, but that went out the window when you returned from your Herbology class with Theo in tears.

As soon as Draco saw your red and puffy eyes, he was on his feet. You ran straight into his chest, burying your wet face in his robes and digging your chilled hands into his back, trembling as your tears returned in earnest.

“Darling, what’s happened? What’s going on?” He cooed, wrapping his arms around your shaking torso, petting your hair in an attempt to soothe you. You didn’t respond, just held him tighter as you cried.

Theo tried to slip around the two of you, but Draco pinned him with a glare.

“What happened?” Draco hissed at him.

“Her Flutterby bush is dying,” Theo whispered, and you started to cry harder.

Shit. You’d slaved half the semester over this Flutterby bush in Herbology, it was your pride and joy, and you often stayed after hours with Professor Sprout to tend to it and the rest of the greenhouse. You had the greenest thumb Draco had ever encountered, and that plant was your baby. There was no way it would just suddenly die.

Draco raised a brow, and Theo made a ‘tell you later’ face. He nodded his head to dismiss his friend and turned his attention back to you, his poor, sensitive girl.

“Baby, it’s going to be alright. I’m sure you’ll figure out what’s going on—”

You shook you head. “It doesn’t make sense,” you sniffled, your voice muffled by his shirt. “It was perfectly fine. There’s no bugs or blights, I don’t understand.” You lifted your face, cheeks streaked with tears and lashes spikey, your eyes rimmed with red. The state of you made his heart ache.

“It’ll be alright,” he whispered, wiping your cheeks with his thumbs and pressing a kiss to your nose. “If anyone can save it, you can. You’re brilliant, love.” He used his sleeve to wipe your eyes and your nose before bundling you into his side. “Come on, relax for a bit with Pansy. That’ll help you think a little more clearly, yeah?”

You nodded, letting him deposit you on the couch beside your friend, who immediately abandoned what she was doing to fuss over you.

He kissed the top of your head, satisfied that you were well looked after for the time being. “I love you, I’ll be right back, okay?” He murmured, and you nodded again.

Theo was waiting for him in the hall. “Okay, so don’t get mad,” he said, holding his hands up.

Draco’s anger instantly flared. “Don’t give me a reason to get mad then.”

“She told me not to tell you because she knew you’d get all—” Theo gestured vaguely at Draco. “All…this.”

“Out with it, Nott,” he growled, fully prepared to punch his best friends nose through the back of his skull. What could you possibly want to keep from him?

“We think someone poisoned her plant,” Theo said, grimacing.

Draco froze, rage flaring so suddenly it darkened his vision. “What?” he snarled.

“We can’t say for sure yet,” Theo said hurriedly, trying to get ahead of the oncoming storm. “But there’s this one guy—”

“Who?”

“Reinhardt? Renfield? Something like that, I don’t know, he’s a Gryffindor. But he—Draco, where are you going?”

Draco was already halfway down the hall, formulating a plan in his mind about how to find this guy, and how to make him wish he’d never been born.

Theo grabbed his shoulder. “Listen, I have a better idea than storming the Gryffindor common room,” he said, and Draco paused.

“Go on.”

Draco loitered outside the Greenhouse, hidden by some trees, a stupid plastic ear in his hand. Theo had the other tucked into his robes, and Draco could hear Sprout beginning her lecture through their connection.

Draco sighed. This was ridiculous, he should just waltz in there and figure out exactly who this—

“Hey, y/n,” he heard someone mutter, an unfamiliar male voice, and he immediately held up the ear to listen. “Flutterby’s not lookin’ so good. Maybe I could help clear away some of the dead stuff?”

Draco's ears started ringing so loudly, he almost missed your response.

“I'm killing it just fine on my own, Renley, I don't need any assistance from you.”

He heard Theo snicker in the background, and Draco smiled. Atta girl.

“My mandrakes are thriving, thank you,” Renley replied, his voice tight with indignation. “It's a real shame about yours, though. Probably would have gotten you top marks.”

You didn't respond, and Draco gripped a tree branch to stop himself from charging through the glass to get this audacious fucker.

“Fuck off, Renford,” Theo warned, the feed clouded by his robes rustling.

“It's Renley,” the prick corrected, his voice a little louder, and Draco could practically hear Theo roll his eyes. “So, what do you say, sweetheart?” Sweetheart? Oh, this fucker was a dead man walking. “I'm willing to stay after and help you out. I'm good with poisons—”

“Poison’s?” You asked, a snarky lilt to your voice, and Draco loosed a relieved exhale despite the implication. For the first time in days, you sounded like yourself. “Who said anything about poison?”

“Oh, I—uh—”

“Reindeer, how did you know her plant was poisoned?” Theo prodded, his smirk audible.

“I don't! It's obv—it’s probably not p-poison!” Renley stammered.

“What's this about poison?” Sprout interrupted at the same moment Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle emerged from the treeline.

“Check fucking mate,” Draco mouthed, grinning.

“Professor Sprout, I do believe Renley here just confessed to poisoning y/n’s beloved Flutterby bush,” Theo said.

“Is this true, dearie?” Sprout asked you.

“Yes ma’am, it explains the strange phenomena we noted, as well as the sudden nature of the ailment. Renley’s been taunting me for days, and finally his mouth got ahead of his brain,” you said, poised as a Queen, and Draco was so proud of you it hurt.

Sprout gasped. “Mr. Renley! To Dumbledore's office this instant!”

“Crabbe, Goyle, grab him,” Draco ordered, stuffing the ear into his robes.

The two of them lumbered over the door, staying out of sight until the culprit stepped out into the sunlight, and Goyle grabbed Renley by the shoulders and started to drag him back around the Greenhouse.

“Hey! What the fuck—” his words pinched to a strangled whine when he saw Draco and Blaise waiting a few feet away, arms folded over their chests, completely hidden from the rest of campus.

Goyle shoved him to the ground at Draco's feet, and the coward was already sniveling.

Draco crouched down, nose to nose with the fucker that made his girl miserable, and smiled. “Was it worth it, Renley?” Draco asked, his voice low.

“Look, Malfoy. I didn't mean to—”

Draco didn't give him a chance to finish his paltry excuse and cocked his fist back, slamming his knuckles square in the side of his jaw. The bone crunched under his fist, sending Renley flying sideways in a spray of spit and blood, and Draco rose, clenching and unclenching his aching hand.

Normally, he'd step back and let the others get their hands dirty, but you were his girl. And if anyone was going to defend your honor, it would be him.

“No, no please!” Renley begged when Goyle hauled him back up. Draco punched him again, dead on the nose, then the temple, then the sternum. Goyle let Renley fall, groveling and weeping as blood ran down his face, his eyes already half-swollen shut.

Draco grabbed him by the hair, lifting his head up so he could whisper in his ear. “You're lucky it wasn't poison,” he snarled, and dropped Renley’s head into the dirt. “Leave him on the front steps of the castle,” he said to Crabbe and Goyle, who immediately pulled the boy up and started dragging him back towards the castle.

Blaise chuckled. “That was fucking brutal, mate.”

Draco looked down at his bruised and bloody knuckles, the pain bright and deliciously satisfying, his signet ring splattered with red. “Like I said, he's lucky I didn't decide to poison him.”

The chatter of students filled the air, and he looked up to see the Greenhouse emptying. Theo headed straight for them, glancing at Draco's knuckles and the blood in the grass before breaking out in a wild grin.

“Sorry I missed it,” Theo laughed.

“Where is she?” Draco asked.

“Staying behind to administer the antidote. Sprout is leaving her to ensure Renley is dealt with accordingly.”

“Well, she certainly won't be disappointed,” Blaise snickered.

“So she’s alone?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. He was hoping to clean himself up before seeing you, but wasn't sure he could resist the temptation. Not with his blood still running hot and your smart little voice echoing in his mind.

“Yep.” Theo smirked. “See ya’ back in the common room.” He and Blaise turned and started heading back to the castle, leaving Draco alone.

He rounded the greenhouse, knocking with his sore knuckles so he didn't startle you.

“Draco? What are you—saints, your hands!” You cried, rushing over to open the door for him. You grabbed for his hands, face pinched with worry.

“I'm fine, love,” he cooed, letting you fuss. The air in the greenhouse was thick and warm, coaxing him in like a embrace. It smelled fresh and lush, sweet soil and green leaves, like you.

Merlin, he couldn't think straight with you looking at him like that.

“Who did—” you paused, eyes narrowing. “Renley?”

He smirked. “Maybe.”

“Draco!” You huffed, dropping his hands. “I had it under control!”

“I know you did! You were amazing! I just...accelerated the consequences.”

You glared at him, but he could see you softening by the second.

“Baby, I'm fine. And he'll be fine in like, four to five business days.”

“Draco!” You shouted, but you were smiling. He fucking loved what you called his name in that exasperated but undeniably affectionate voice. “You don't have to get involved all the time. I'm perfectly capable of fighting my own battles, and Professor Sprout was working with me to solve it and—”

Draco reached out, pinching your cheeks with one hand, pursing your pouting lips and dragging you closer to him. “I'd do it again in a heartbeat. No one fucks with you so long as I'm breathing, is that clear?”

You nodded, eyes round and sweet like honey.

He released your face, sliding his hand into the hair at the nape of your neck and craning your head upwards. “Can I kiss you now? Or would you like to keep telling me off?”

You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his in a playful, smiley kiss. “Anything for my hero.”

“Anything?” Draco purred, walking you back into the long work table. You gasped, arching against his chest, and he caught the sound with another kiss, slipping his tongue past your lips to taste you.

Your tongue tangled with his, so eager as you pulled his tie to bring him closer. He guided your tongue into his mouth, sucking lightly before releasing you to bite your lip, toying with your mouth like he owned it.

And he could feel how much you loved it, your hips pressing against his as your hands wandered his chest, unable to pick a resting place.

He smiles, moving his hands to grip your hips. In a quick movement, he spun you around. Your hands slapped onto the table to catch yourself, your perfect ass pressing back against his rapidly hardening cock.

“Draco,” you whined, trying to look over your shoulder at him.

He tsked, sliding up your skirt, admiring the way his ruined knuckles looked against the soft flesh. “Do you want me to be gentle with you, darling?” He already knew what your answer would be, especially after a few stressful days, but he felt inclined to double check.

You shook your head side to side, pressing your ass back into his hands. “No.”

He smiled, squeezing the ample flesh, then delivered a swift slap that made you gasp. “That's my girl. You want me to scare away all those bad thoughts? Turn your brain off for a bit?” He slid his right hand between your legs, gliding two fingers over the damp spot on your panties.

You nodded, nails scratching along the wood when he applied a little pressure, moving his hand in a slow circle.

“Words, love,” he said, pausing his movement.

“Yes, baby. Please,” you whined, and his cock gave a painful lurch against his thigh.

“Colloportus,” he murmured, flicking his wand to lock the Greenhouse door. “Don't move,” he ordered, then walked over to the sink, washing the blood from his hands and muttering a quiet episkey to fix most of the damage on his skin. Some cuts remained, and his hands were still sore and slightly bruised, but it wasn't nearly as bad.

Satisfied, he turned his attention back to you, where you remained perfectly still, nibbling at your lower lip. In quick movement, he pulled down your panties, letting the fall around your ankles, and kicked your feet further apart, forcing you to lay your chest against the table.

“There we go,” he purred, bringing his hand back between your legs.

You were already soaked, hot and slick as his middle finger swiped through your sex. He started massaging your clit, quick, light circles that had you moaning breathlessly.

“Better, darling? Nothing to worry about besides being my good girl.” He moved away from your clit and eased his middle finger inside of you, his signet ring kissing your entrance before he curled his finger up. Your walls fluttered around him, sucking back against his finger when he pulled it out, only to graciously stretch for him when he added a second.

“Fuck, D,” you moaned, rocking your hips against his hand. “You said you wouldn't be gentle “

He smirked, enraptured with the way your pretty little cunt yielded for his battered hand. “Just so pretty,” he hummed, leaning down to whisper in your ear, pressing you harder against the table. “Can't help but worship you a little.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but he slammed his fingers inside of you, drilling into your channel with sloppy, punishing strokes. You cried out, feet sliding around on the floor, but he had you pinned and at his mercy.

“This better, brat?” He growled, nipping at your ear when you keened for him, unable to formulate a response. “Oh, how that fucker wishes he could see you now,” he drawled, straightening while his fingers fucked into you. “What'd he call you? Sweetheart?” He chuckled. “Sweet doesn't begin to cover it.”

“How did you—”

He slipped his fingers out to work your clit, the bud swelling under his touch as your orgasm built, and your words twisted into a moan. He tried to stay focused, keep you on the edge until he was sheathed inside of you, but couldn't bring himself to stop just yet.

“Are you sweet, baby?” He asked, swatting your ass cheek, enjoying the way your flesh rippled.

“Only for you,” you gasped, starting to tremble as that knot wound tighter and tighter.

“That's right,” he praised, undoing his trousers and taking his cock in his hand. He was insanely hard, the head a deep pink, pearly precum beading from the slit. He pumped himself twice to relieve some of the ache, then notched himself at your entrance, not pausing his assault on your clit for a moment. “All fucking mine,” he growled at the same moment he thrust inside of you, burying himself to the hilt.

You cried out, muscles contracting hard around him, and he groaned low in his throat. You were so fucking tight, gooey and supple when you weren't squeezing the life out of him. He drew back a few inches before snapping his hips forward, gripping your ass cheek in his free hand to keep you spread for him as he pounded into you.

He felt your orgasm hit the second before you did, your cunt clamping down on him a heartbeat before you screamed, your whole body locking up before going completely limp. He didn't let up, no matter how much you shook, how much you begged. Your tears left damp spots on the wood, your knees trying to buckle inwards, but he planted his feet on the inside of yours, forcing you to stay upright.

“Good fucking girl,” he rasped, snaking a hand up your spine to grip your hair and pull your head back. “Doing so well for me, sweet thing.” He was panting, the heat of the greenhouse coupled with the exterior making sweat collect around his hairline and drip down his spine. His knuckles burned from the salt, hands ached from being used long past when they should have been bandaged, but he didn't give a single fuck.

“Draco, shit—fuck me so good.” You reached back for him, nails dragging along his forearm, and he felt himself teeter on the edge of release, his balls drawing up tight as liquid heat spread through his pelvis.

“Give me one more, baby. I know you can. Then I'll water my favorite plant.”

Your pussy clenched at his words, a wanton moan falling from your lips, and he smiled. You were such a little freak, his little freak, and he loved you all the more it.

“You like being my pretty little houseplant? All mine to take care of?” Fuck, he was close, rambling in an attempt to distract himself and spend just a little longer in the delicious heat of your body.

“Yes, yes—fuck!” You were coming again, your whole body convusling as it ripped through you, and he was done for. He came with a yell, hips stuttering against your ass as he pumped rope after rope of release into your spasming cunt.

“Bloody hell, baby,” he moaned, bracing his hands on the table as he came down, his hips involuntarily rocking into your greedy warmth. You, poor thing, were left drooling and trembling, completely boneless, held up entirely by the table and his hips. He leaned forward, pressing kisses into your hair. “Did so good, love. So fucking perfect,” he murmured, throat tight with affection.

“Squishin’ me,” you giggled, squirming beneath him, and he straightened, nearly toppling over himself at the weak feeling in his knees.

“Sorry, darling,” he chuckled, and you groaned, pushing yourself up on trembling arms. He moved his feet, letting you close your legs, and he hissed through his teeth at the new tightness around his softening cock, stealing a final thrust before slipping out of you.

“Mm, how did you know he called me sweetheart?” You asked, peeking over your shoulder at him while he grabbed his wand to clean you both up.

“I have my methods,” he replied, righting your clothes and helping you stand up, relishing in the lingering tremble in your limbs.

“Were you spying on me, Draco Malfoy?” You teased, tugging him down by the tie so you were face to face.

He smirked. “Perhaps.”

“What a horrible invasion of privacy,” you snickered, giving him a playful peck.

“You want to punish me for it?” He nipped at your lower lip and you grinned, pushing lightly on his chest.

“Enough you, I have to administer the antidote before my plant gets any sicker.”

“Good thing I already cured mine,” he teased, and you swatted him before slipping out of his arms.

“You're insufferable.”

“And you're adorable.”

You grabbed some items from the shelves and a watering can, then paused, turning to look at him, a deadly serious look on your face. “Can we get takeaway after this?”

He snorted, his heart doing a giddy little flip. “Of course we can.”

Memory #1

You groaned in annoyance as your phone rang loudly, opening your eyes you grabbed it immediately irritated saying it was your baby daddy, chris.

“what? chris” you asked with sleep still resting on your breath.

“you took a pole class on your birthday?”

“bruh, here you go” you signed, rolling your eyes.

Chris became possessive after the breakup, he always thought he could control you by using the daughter you two share.

“You went and had fun on your birthday?”

is this nigga serious? you thought.

“It’s too early for this shit, chris get the fuck off my phone” you told looking at the time seeing it was 9am.

“Answer me. Did you take a pole class on your birthday?” he repeated.

“Why are you always worried about me?” you asked in annoyance.

“So you actually went out and had fun- when you have my daugh- so where you have my daughter at?”

He continued. “ In the house? with a shitty diaper? she can’t change herself.”

“Well you come change her then, get the fuck off my phone dummy” you hung up before he could say anything else.

Preparing yourself to go back to sleep, your phone rang again. You knew it was Chris, you simply ignored it. Until Chris started to spam with messages and calls.

you answered the phone ready to go off. “Christopher I swear you gone piss me off”

“who you have her with?”

“like i said come change her, chris what the fuck do you want? Why wouldn’t I have fun on my muthafuckin’ birthday?”

“That’s weird. What if somebody called CPS on you. Then, what? have my daughter in the system”

That was the last straw. “Nah you weird, the fuck made you fix yo lips to say anything like that? ain’t nobody coming to take my fuckin baby from me, i’m sick of yo ass calling tryna check me like you my nigga or sum. get it through your damn head, we ain’t getting back together.”

Complete silence, you continued. “Bailey was in good hands, she was with her step daddy.. now what?”

You knew that would make his blood boil.

“We both know you don’t have nobody around my kid, stop fuckin playin wimme”

He continued. “you shaking yo ass on a pole in front of your friends, who ain't even your friends. While Bailey is at home needing you.”

“Oh my gosh, get the fuck off my phone and go call yo friends how bout that.”

“Nah, I'm talking to you. We really was supposed to be together for your birthday.”

Memory #2

“Hurry up Chris” you stood at the closet room watching him pick through the new clothes for Bailey.

You planned a mini trip for you and your daughter, Chris convinced you to come over since he thinks he always found cuter clothes than you.

“You know I don't even want you in my house for real, chill the fuck out”

“Bitch you the one that invited me over, the hell you talkin about?” you said, crossing your arms and mugging him.

“I ain’t invite you no where, you just said you needed clothes for her to go out of town.”

“Well come on”

“ I’m tryna show you the clothes, shut the fuck up!” he snapped.

“Don’t talk to me like that, hurry up”

“What are you in a rush for anyways? the trip next week” He asked, mugging you.

“No, we going outta town right now you dumb fuck!” You said with sarcasm in your voice, Chris couldn’t hear.

“Do you hear yourself? what the fuck. You leave next week”

“Here these the pant- why you get her a nike tech and it’s hot as fuck outside” You cut him off by snatching the pants out of his hands.

“why the fuck are you snatching her clothes? chill the fuck out, your gonna wrinkle em’, shut up and chill out”

“Cause it’s hot as fuck outside?”

“CHILL THE FUCK OUT” Chris yelled in your face making you forcefully push him away, causing him to stumble back a little.

He sighed loudly staring into space, trying to calm himself down. A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, you saw Nick peeping his head into the door.

“Are you guys good? I heard yelling”

“Yeah Nick we’re good” Chris answered coldly before you could, the older triplet looked over at you for confirmation, you nodded.

Nick closed the door as your attention went back onto Chris, who started to pick up outfits off of hangers in silence.

He showed you a couple of outfits, which shoes go with each one. you made suggestions and complimented them.

“Where yall going?” Chris asked.

“Hawaii”

“Why you ain’t ask, if i wanted to go?”

“Chris you already been to Hawaii” you said which made him smirk.

“You been watching me? How do you know I been to hawaii already?" you rolled your eyes.

“Give me the damn clothes Chris”

“Nah, come here baby.” He softly grabbed your waist, looking into your eyes.

You tried your best to stay strong, you could not fold, you wouldn’t hear the end of it.

“Chris stop it- You miss me baby, huh?” His voice became softer as he trailed kisses on your neck.

You held your moans back, Chris slapped your ass making you jump.

“Answer me”

“You know I miss you” You answered as you both looked in each other's eyes, before you two could kiss. You pulled away.

“Chris pack up the clothes, I have stuff to do please”

Memory #3

You always had mixed feelings when it came to pick up days, you receive your baby girl back from visiting her father but you always had to prepare yourself for his foolish antics.

Every pick up Chris finds a way to piss you off, by flirting, talking shit about your boyfriend, or in general. You watched Chris walk out with Bailey in his arms with her baby pink customized Fresh Love diaper bag with her initials embedded in cursive.

You rolled your window down as he walked over to your car. Bailey made eye contact with you and immediately started smiling.

“Hi mama” You smiled as her coos warmed your heart.

Chris sat her diaper bag in the back before closing the door with Bailey still in his arms.

“Hey pretty” Chris spoke to you, which you chose to ignore.

“Why didn't you put her in her car seat?” You asked about watching Bailey try to chew on Chris' phone.

“I need to talk to you” He said, making you sigh loudly, here he go, you thought.

“What is it Chris”

“What you doing later?”

“Finna be at home with my baby and my man” You said, putting emphasis on my man.

“Now you can’t go home- Yes i can”

“This shit ain’t working”

“ If you don’t give me Bailey so i can go”

“the fuck? they wanna see us together, you love me” You looked at him like he had five heads.

“Who the fuck is they? Just because I come in yo house doesn’t mean I love you- you said you love me” He cut you off but you continued.

“wanna be with you, or whatever you think. Unt unt come on I gotta go” You told completely over his shit. Chris does this delusion shit everytime, you thought.

He stared at you for a moment. rearranging Bailey so she wouldn’t fall out of his arms.

“Look she wants me, she's smiling. Hey my pretty baby” Bailey smiled cooing excitedly seeing her mama.

“How could you ever turn me down, In life? Huh?” He asked, looking into your eyes.

“Watch me” You reached for Bailey but he held her tighter.

“You know you want me. We have a baby together, and I look like her. look at me baby”

“Okay you look like her, but you're not her. I'll always love your not you so i don’t know what to tell you Owen”

Chris kissed Bailey cheek. “Lele let mama know. say you love my daddy. Here” Chris handed her off you immediately showed her in kisses and affection.

Chris tried getting your attention but you ignored him only giving your child the importance of your time, which pissed him off. Like you know it would.

“You had fun with daddy? I miss you princess”

“Stop ignoring me, I'm gonna get mad. Slap the shit out of your boyfriend”

“He gone slap the shit outta yo ass” You mumbled, not even looking his way.

“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.