Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You hate Vigilante. 

At least—that’s what you tell yourself and everyone else.

It’s easy enough. You’re not a normally personable person anyhow and so the biting responses and quips blend with the act.  

It’s unfortunate how well you work with him—so much so that it’s nearly impossible to shake him from your side. Fuck—even Chris commented on it. 

Avoid, avoid, avoid. It’s all you can do.  

Sadly, there comes a time, following the rather rough mission, that you are abandoned before all your problems and mixed anxieties. A cruel punishment the universe has bestowed upon you—

“Want a ride home?” 

You swallow and work your jaw, looking over your shoulder in search for Harcourt or Adebayo—they usually let you mooch rides. 

No one remains in the dark lot. It’s empty save for yourself and Vigilante. 

Damn it. “I think I’ll walk.” 

Vigilante scoffs, propping his hands onto his hips. “You run marathons or something? I know you’re all hardcore and shit, but I don’t think you can teleport. We’re miles out of town—that’s fuckin’ insane, dude.”

You clench your fist. What is it? Ten miles from the gas station on the edge of Evergreen? That’s a little far—even for you.  

“C’mon, get in the Vigilante-mobile,” he presses, gesturing to the grey Sebring, illuminated by the lone streetlamp.    

“Vigilante-mobile?”

“Yeah! isn’t it awesome?” He says. You can hear the proud smile through his mask. “I even picked up a new air freshener—Mango Mai Tai. Smells just like the beach.”

A long silence ensues. You eye him wearily. He gestures to his car again. 

“I’m taking the bus.” 

Vigilante deflates a bit as you turn on your heel to fucking who knows where. There’s probably not even a bus that runs after midnight—

His hand clamps around your shoulder—it’s not meant to be violent—it’s not his fault you got stabbed in the shoulder. An oversight on your part—that fucking lima bean gremlin bastard somehow turned your own knife on you. Embarrassing. You bite your tongue to muffle your cry, buckling your arm into yourself to nurse the razor sharp pain that races down your arm like a hot poker through flesh. It reduces to a blistering throb after a few agonizing moments—your breath seizing in your lungs. 

“Woah, you good?” Vigilante questions, reaching for your arm again to inspect the damage. You flinch and shoo him away. “Ah, shit. You’re bleeding all over your suit! Y’know, this is why you don’t wear white—” 

“Shut up, Viggy,” you hiss through clenched teeth. Fine. Fuck it. You’ll let him give you a lift. You stomp towards the Sebring. “Unlock the door.”  

“Alright! Vigilante-mobile for the win!” He hoots, fist pumping the air. He jogs after you, the metal keyring clinking as he twirls it around his index finger. There’s a beaded alligator attached to the ring. What’s he named it again? Ah, right, Jeffrey Dahmer. That’s fucked up. “I call Baby Driver.”   

He skips to the driver’s side and pries open his door. Your fingers find the underside of the handle and jiggle it a few times. You sigh. It’s locked. 

“Hang on,” Vigilante says, jabbing the automatic locks on the inside of the door. It clicks open and then shut in the same second, long before you can open the door.

You glare at Vigilante over the roof of his car. The locks click—your fingers yank on the handle. God fucking damnit.  

“Gotta be quicker than that,” Vigilante laughs. You used to do this with your brother eons ago—shit gets old real quick. Vigilante does it a third time. He beats your reaction time yet again. “Oop—too slow.”       

“I’m going to rip this door off your fucking car,” you snarl. “Let me in. Now.”

“Yeesh—ok, ok,” he yields, holding up his hands in defeat. “You’re no fun.” 

The car rocks as you both settle into your seats. He puts his key into the ignition and the car rumbles to life—an earsplitting wave of mariachi music blasts through the speakers—full volume. Vigilante jolts and rushes to twist the dial to a more considerate volume for your now ringing ears. He hurriedly flicks through the local stations until he finds one featuring grainy old rock songs. “Whoops.” 

“Just drive—please?” You beg, dipping your fingers beneath your mask to rub at your temples. A migraine threatens to push at the front of your skull—or it’s a concussion—probably the more likely cause for your headache.  

“Sure thing.”  

A tension hangs in the air as the car rolls down the empty highway, the concrete wet with midnight rains and illuminated by the occasional light or odd porch light attached to darkened houses. You bite your tongue to keep the winces at bay each time the tires roll over a dip. Vigilante glances at you and then back to the road. 

“You don’t talk very much do you?” Your lack of response gives him enough of an answer. “Well, that’s ok, I don’t mind talking.” 

“I gathered that,” you mutter under your breath. He doesn’t hear you.

Vigilante drums on the steering wheel, and reaches over to fiddle with the nobs of the radio again. “What kinda music do you like? You peg me as an R&B type of chick or like, punk rock. Hozier, maybe?”

You shrug.

Vigilante leans over even further, seatbelt pulling taught against his chest, and pops open the glove compartment. A handgun lies atop a mess of unorganized CDs—he pushes it to the side and rummages through a few of the plastic cases. The gun is somehow less surprising than him owning a copy of Baby One More Time. He picks three at random and lays them over his thigh. He nods his head in approval. “I got AC/DC, Green Day—ohoho, nice! Van Halen!” 

He flaunts the case between his index and middle finger. He then dumps the CDs into your lap. “Here—m’lady’s choice.” 

“Thanks…”

The cheap plastic clinks together as you shuffle through them. Can’t a girl just sit in silence while they slowly bleed out to death in some sociopath’s Chrysler Sebring? The answer is no. Vigilante does not thrive in quiet situations. You’ve learned that the hard way. 

The static, jaunty beat of Bad Moon Rising swells through speakers. You set the CDs onto the dashboard. “I like this song,” you say, cranking up the dial in hopes it’ll dispel anymore of Vigilante’s attempts of engagement. 

Over the roar of the music, he turns his head and gives you a thumbs up. He pats his chest and leans over to your side of the car. “I love this song! I knew you had good taste in tunes!” 

He taps his foot and starts to drum his fingers onto the steering wheel, his out of tune singing rising above the lyrics. “I know you’re a stick in the mud, Ghostie—but come on! Lighten up!” 

You must be loosing a shit ton of blood, that and the blow to your ego, convinces you to mumble along. It’s enough to appease him—thank fuck. 

Settling against the window, you watch the familiar scenery of Evergreen roll into view. Vigilante slows for a stop sign. “Wait, where am I taking you? I can’t just leave you on a park bench.”

“That’s fine,” you mutter. Your place is only about a mile away from here. A step a head of you, Vigilante locks the doors to keep you from ditching the car—you swear.  

“Um, no, it’s not?” He asserts as if the idea is the craziest thing he’s ever heard. “There’s like, murderous criminals out there—what if they take your social security number? I should know! I’ve apprehended like ten of them.” 

Your face twists in confusion under your mask. “Why the fuck would a murderer want my social security number, Viggy?” 

He shrugs, red visor glinting as it catches a stray beam of light. “Like I said, crazy people, Ghost.” 

You roll your tongue over the back of your teeth. Your mouth tastes like blood. God, this man is strange. “Do you…cary your social security card?” 

He laughs for a little too long to be convincing. “What are you, a cop?” He cruises past the stop sign and glances at you. He clears his throat. “No…”

“Lord Jesus—“ 

“What? It’s easy access!” Vigilante cries. “People who memorize that shit are psychopaths.” 

“Easy access for what?” You retort. “Who’s asking you for that? Your fucking server at Burger King?”

He snorts and holds up his hand as if scorned. “I dunno—tax returns? Geez, Ghostie, let a man breathe, okay?” He takes a long breath. “And Burger King? Dude, that place is trash—I am a man of taste.”  

“Tch’yeah, bad taste.” 

Vigilante shakes a gloved finger at you. “Because you’re a close, good, friend—and because you’re absolutely smokin’—I will let that slide.” 

You roll your eyes and sink deeper into your seat. This is ridiculous. Another silence ensues, lasting until you are well into the middle of town.  

“Seriously, where am I going?” Vigilante asks again. The array of neon lights blinking in dark shop windows roll over him, casting his blue suit in a multitude of color.

You worry your teeth over your swollen bottom lip and weigh the consequences. On one hand Vigilante will know where you live, the other—well—it’s not like you’ll have a place to live anymore if the Butterflies take over the whole world. Worst case, you’ll just shoot the bastard if he tries anything funny. You cave. 

“Take a right up here.” 

You feed Vigilante the directions until the familiar outlay of your neighborhood comes into view. He rolls to a stop in front of your house. In the driveway sits your car and a black, unmarked government vehicle. “Shit—I forgot my roommate is home.”

“So? Just sneak through the window,” Vigilante supplies. “I do it all the time.”  

“No, dude,” you groan. “Her girlfriend is a detective—they’d come knocking if they heard me breaking in. Also I live on the second floor.”

You throw your head back against the headrest. Fucking hell. You’re in no condition to climb—your head is swimming, your shoulder hurts, you’re bleeding everywhere and your ears won’t stop ringing.   

“I can boost you—“

“No—they can’t see you—us like this. I have a job man—we’ll get arrested.”

Sagging against the seat, you curl into yourself and lean against the window. You can’t feel the cool glass through your mask, but it offers comfort nonetheless. Your pulse pounds in your ears. Vigilante considers you for a moment. 

“Ghost—you’re like, bleeding all over my seat,” Vigilante states. You frown, a spark of irritation flaring within your chest. Way to state the obvious. “Not that’s it’s not hot or anything—god you’re sexiest girl I know—but the Vigilante-mobile ain’t made for blood stains. Trust me.”   

You offer a weak apology. You’re fading fast—

Vigilante makes a sound low in his throat, yanks the parking break down and presses on the gas. “That’s it—I’m just gonna take you to to Casa de Vigilante.” 

“What? No—“

“Don’t sweat it! I promise there’s no dishes in the sink or anything,” Vigilante assures. He bumps your shoulder and suddenly gasps. “You can meet Peacemaker!” 

You pathetically watch as your house disappears. Being kidnapped was not on your list of things to do today. “Viggy, I already know who Peacemaker is.”

“No not that Peacemaker, silly goose,” Adrian giggles. “My goldfish! His name is Peacemaker, duh.” 

Ok…

Vigilante’s place is a ten minute drive from yours, closer to the other side of town. You should pay more attention to the street names but fuck—you’re hovering that dangerous tightrope above an endless drop, careening forward into the abyss of unconsciousness. The car is warm, Vigilante is humming along to the radio, and your bleeding wounds have blurred into a dull, faraway thought. His hazy announcement of your arrival doesn’t even reach your ears. You’re fine sleeping here—

Your door is opened, you don’t stop yourself from tipping into Vigilante’s unsuspecting hands. He curses and gently pushes you back against the seat. Your head lolls to the side.  

“Yikes…you don’t look so good.“

“Just…just give me a second,” your slurred words stick to your tongue like molasses. You will your body to move—get up—but all you can do is swing one pathetic leg out of the car. 

Vigilante clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “I gotcha.” 

He reaches in and slides a hand under your arm and across your back while the other hooks under the backs of your knee. “Watch your head, Ghost.” Vigilante lifts you too fast—your forehead cracks against the top of the frame. Lucky you have a mask on—still sorta hurt though. “Oops, sorry.” 

Vigilante kicks the door closed with his foot and carries you to his doorstep. This time, as he stumbles in, he minds your head. He flips on the light switch with his elbow—his place is much cleaner than you expected. It’s nice even.  

Vigilante sets you down onto the kitchen counter and just like he’s promised, there’s no dirty dishes in the sink. He moves about the place, throwing open cabinets until he finds what he’s looking for. Vigilante pulls out a med bag and dumps it on your left beside the sink. “Alright—Doctor Vigilante will patch you up. Suit off.” 

You grunt. “Buy me a drink first, hotshot.” 

“Well, I try,” Vigilante sniffs. “But you never want to.” 

He patiently waits for you to acquiesce. Besides the fact that it feels like you limbs are made of lead, there’s one tiny, flaw about your suit…

“C’mon, Ghost,” Vigilante encourages, “I’m not going to let my second best friend forever bleed out on my kitchen counter.” 

“I can’t.” 

Vigilante scoffs and reaches his hand out to mess with the collar of your suit, you shoo him away. “Yes you can.” 

“No,” you mutter. “I can’t—I have to take off my mask to take off my suit.”

“Oh.”

Blood seeps down the mask—why hadn’t you noticed it before? The hot liquid trickles down the sides of your face and mouth, leaking through the white fabric covering your throat and collarbones. You can feel his eyes on you, watching the spread of deep crimson stain and overtake. He lets the silence settle and you know what he’s going to say. You see it in the way his padded shoulders raise to take a breath and the crackling curiosity that practically sparks off of him. Nonetheless, it’s still like getting shot pointblank in the chest the second he asks.   

“Let me see your face.” 

Such a simple question shouldn’t scare you. Pure and simple fear that better belongs on a feral dog backed into a corner with only its sharp, needlepoint teeth to protect itself. Getting into this line of work should have scared you—throwing your life down at the feet of an uncaring Amanda Waller with the promise of death and gut wrenching adrenaline should have terrified you. Someone—a friend—asking to look upon your face should not.

“I’m open to trade.”

You’re clever enough to realize that this is his way of assuring you can rely on him—that trust is a two way street. He knows the importance of a secret identity better than anyone else—how these sorts of things aren’t meant to be known—but both of you are making exceptions tonight, even if it’s dangerous. Playing with matchsticks around a barrel of gasoline, one slip of a finger and you’ll both go up into volatile flames that will rattle the very seams of the earth. Vigilante is showing you how willing he is to offer a piece of himself at your feet—so long as you do the same. 

You sigh and close your eyes. “O-ok…yeah—yeah.” 

Your fingertips find the edges of your mask. You take another inhale—the last breath before plunging into an ice cold sea—and maybe…maybe it’s not as scary as you once thought. 

You dip your chin and pull it off your head, wincing as it pulls a few of your hairs. It clatters against the granite counter.  

“Oh my god. Holy shit!” Vigilante nearly shouts. Your chest fills with cold dread. “Dude, I know you! You’re the barista across the street from Fennel Fields—I cant believe the hot barista is in my apartment. Chris is gonna flip—“

Before your curiosity as to who this guy actually is runs rampant, Vigilante grabs the back of his mask and pulls. Soft black hair, pointed nose, clean shaven—  

“Oh, fuck."

Adrian Chase takes his glasses out of his back pocket and slides them up his nose. He smiles. “You remember me?”

“Yeah, I fucking remember you,” you sneer, brows furrowing. “You order ungodly amounts of caramel macchiatos—that’s not healthy man. Everyone thinks you’re a crack head, Adrian.”

Adrian straightens his spine, a goofy grin tugging at his lips. “You know my name?”

You scowl, and reach for the med bag. It’s like being drunk as your fingers fumble with the stubborn zipper. Wow, this night really took a turn for the worse.    

“I know your name too," he says proudly. He then states it, first, middle and last, with as much reverence as he can muster. You don’t want to know the lengths he took to find your full name. 

“Why do you know that?” You sigh, finally getting the zipper to yield. You dig through the bag, fruitful in your search for gauze.    

“Uh, duh—you’re like a solid eleven,” Adrian laughs, pale green eyes crinkling around the edges. “No offense but the goth girl with blue hair? Freakayyyy—and that super buff viking ass dude? Terrifying. Plus you know how to make my drink right—everyone else’s tastes like dog water.” 

“Bro, it’s just coffee,” you grumble. You’ll never admit it—but you always make sure to add extra caramel. It’s against store policy—but you make exceptions. 

“I’ve been trying to get your number for ages.” 

You throw up your hand and sigh. “Why didn’t you just ask me? Fuck—it doesn’t matter. You have my number now.” 

Harcourt made sure of that. 

Adrian fishes out the bottle of alcohol and hands it to you. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do for all these months? I wrote out my number for you all the time on those receipts!”

“Dude, those go in the shredder. I don’t even see them.”

“Oh,” Adrian pauses and rubs his thumb over his chin. He has a nick under the curve of his jaw. “You didn’t see the napkins either?”

“That was your number?” You ask sharply. “I thought those were hieroglyphs or something.”

Adrian pouts, fiddling with the bottle cap to the alcohol. He watches as you wince, face twisting as you dab at the gash on your hairline—it’ll need stitches. You don’t have to look at yourself in a mirror to know you look like you’ve been dragged through hell.  

“Cobra Kai really did a number on you,” Adrian states, reaching for another gauze pad. He tears it open with his teeth and turns on the faucet to dampen it with water. He then leans towards you, delicately dabbing at your split lip. It stings.   

Completely focused on cleaning the trail of blood over your chin and the new cleft in your lip, you study him. Your heart lurches in your chest—you’ve always found him attractive. A little creepy? Yeah. He’s sweet though—nicer than anyone you’ve had the pleasure of knowing. Minus the whole near sociopath thing.  

Y’know…” Adrian’s eyes meet yours. “You don’t have to spend your entire paycheck on buying shitty coffee just to hang out with me.” 

He works his jaw, the muscles jumping under the skin. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his thumb. “Economos said you didn’t like me.”

You roll your eyes and pick up another square of gauze. “No, Adrian. Economos is a fuckin’ cockwaffle. He probably just told you that to piss you off.” 

Adrian licks his lips and fishes out a suture kit. After taking off his gloves, he takes out a needle, a line of thread and forceps. He asks you to lean forward, you do so. He steadies your forehead with his pinkies as his other fingers work to suture your wound. His hands are a little clammy. “You still always have a stick up your butt—you’re only nice to Adebayo and Harcourt.” 

You hiss at the tiny pricks and tugging of your skin being sewn shut. “I just…I like you more than I should.” 

Adrian perks up, processes your words, then frowns. His brows furrow together as he steps back to look at you. “Wait hold up—that makes no sense. You’re mean to me so people will think you hate me?” He snorts and returns to his task. “And everyone thinks I’m the crazy one.”

Adrian finishes up the last stitch. He pinches your cheek and jostles your face. “Voila—all done.” 

You mumble your thanks. 

“Suit off—don’t think I forgot about your arm, Ghost.” 

You puff up your cheeks and release a long stream of air. Your muscles protest as you shift your arms, tugging at the tight fabric. Adrian whistles in appreciation as you shimmy the suit down to your waist. The only thing you wear is a black sports bra—not exactly thrilling, but you can see the excitement thrum in Adrian’s eyes. Perv.  

You pick up the needle and thread, set one closing up your own jagged flesh this time. Your hand shakes— 

Adrian envelopes your hand in his and works the needle out of your fingers. “I’ll do it.”  

He’s entirely focused on sewing the wound shut, leaving behind quick and neat sutures (however, after each one he does glance at your tits). You’ll barely have a scar once it heals. You wonder how many times he’s had to preform this on himself to get this kind of accuracy. For you there have been plenty of nights huddled against the bathtub, fading in and out in attempt to close your wounds. You don’t like needles—not when you’re behind the wheel.

You and Adrian drift into another silence. You’re sure what it is that compels you to offer a further explanation to Adrian. You don’t mean to be this way—cowardly and shying away from any type of feeling that doesn’t revolve around pain. There’s bruises on your conscious and you’re terrified to wonder if it’s an outside source, or your own wretched blade that snuck it’s way through your ribcage—ripped apart the soft tissue to release the acrid smoke that bellows from your lungs. Same goes for the darkness that pulls you by your hair at night and pushes your mouth into your pillow to teach you to appreciate breathing. You always think you’ve beat this darkness into submission—it always comes back—your still don’t appreciate breathing.    

Vigilante—Adrian—reminds you of this. 

“Listen,” you say, chewing the words that are rooted in place like a rusty nail bent into wood. “I need you to understand that I push you away because it’s the only thing I know how to do anymore.”

Adrian blinks in surprise. He opens his mouth to say something but you stop him, holding up your palm like a white flag. “You also need to understand that everyone in my life has left or died—so I never bother believing that people are going to stay.”

“My dad left my mom,” Adrian admits softly. “I get it.” 

He finishes up your arm and sets the suture kit to the side. His eyes drop to your cleavage again. “Is it a bad time to say that I’m incredibly hard right now? You got a nice rack—“

You start laughing—deep belly laughs that hurt every aching muscle and stinging scrape. Adrian’s face is set in a look of confusion and before he can question as to why you’re laughing, you cup his face and wrestle him into a kiss.

It takes Adrian a moment for his brain to catch up—when it does, he’s surging forward. Your teeth knock against his, reopening the cut on your bottom lip. The taste of iron fills your mouths, staining your lips and tongue scarlet. The smell of gunpowder and isopropyl linger on his skin, along with he subtle whiff of Adrian’s Old Spice deodorant. His hand whispers up your jaw, he slants his head and deepens the kiss by pulling your jaw open. His warm tongue slides against yours, licking deep into your mouth with a low moan. You shudder, allowing him to explore and taste your mouth—it’s his to take. Adrian retreats, sucking and nipping at your parted lips. 

You don’t go very far when you part for air—hovering close enough that your lips still skim his. Your eyes flutter open. Pink tints his cheeks, glasses askew—his chest heaves. “Holy fuck.”

You share that sentiment. With a smile you gingerly remove his glasses and set them to the side. You reach for his hands, guiding them to your chest. He gapes. “Go ahead.”

Adrian wastes no time in shoving your bra up and over your head, flinging it into the abyss of his apartment. He’s bouncing on his toes with unbridled joy as your breasts spill out. You shiver as the cool air skates over your nipples. He catches your lips in another sweeping kiss, sticky and obscene as his tongue twists with yours. You clench your legs together as a wave of arousal surges through your abdomen. It raises a notch above scalding as Adrian’s hands cup your breasts, fondling the soft skin. You jolt, breath stuttering as his fingers pinch your pebbled nipples—you always pegged Adrian as an ass man—guess not. He’s having the time of his life toying with your chest, vocal with his vulgar appreciation.

He presses a kiss to the side of your mouth, swipes his tongue down to your jaw and all the way down to the base of your throat. Adrian then peppers a trail of slick kisses up to your ear. “I wanna eat you out.”

His boldness startles you. Your breath catches in your throat as a delicious heat sparks in your lower belly and floods through your entire body. The image your brain conjures of Adrian between your legs—

“I’ve been dreaming about it a lot,” He admits, settling onto his knees over the cold linoleum tiles. His hands rest on he outsides of your thighs. “Like, I could blow my load right now just thinking about it—“

You don’t give him a second more of his endless rambles. You grab Adrian by the front of his shirt, drag him halfway up and meet him in the middle. Your mouth meets his in a kiss, all jagged edges and desperation. You groan into his mouth. “Please, Adrian.”

His warm breath fans over your lips and chin. “Yeah? Yeah, ok—fuck, ok.”

Adrian stands again, planting ravenous kisses and sharp nips along the line of your jaw and down the column of your throat. He leaves a patterned trail of teethmarks down your sternum and rushes to cup your breasts. You squirm as his calloused thumbs roll over your perked nipples, dipping his head to run his tongue over them. He pinches them roughly—you jolt and wrench his head back by the hair lining the back of his head. You’re met with a cheesy, unapologetic grin. 

“Careful,” you chide. The moment you let go, his mouth latches right back to where it was. You arch into his tongue as it rolls agains your stinging nipples—an apology of sorts.     

Adrian bows his head, panting against your chest, greedy with his touches as his hands hook into your rolled down suit. You wiggle to help him out, preening as he curses at the reveal of the bare skin of your calves and thighs. The fabric pools around your ankles, lust-drunk eyes devouring the sight of your naked profile, all his for the taking. He kneels again.  

Goosebumps erupt over your skin as he runs his warm palms down the sides of your thighs. Adrian plants a kiss onto the swell of your tit and jumps to your navel, peppering sweet kisses onto your tummy. You huff and shy away as his fingers lightly skate over your sensitive sides. 

Adrian snickers. “Ticklish?” He tests his cruel theory by dragging his blunt nail up your bruised ribcage.

You retaliate by shoving your fingers into the crook of his neck. Adrain crumples with a squeal and bats away your hand. “Ticklish?” You mock. 

“Yield—I yield! I promise I won’t tickle you,” Adrian swears, settling back down between your legs. He nuzzles his face into your navel. “Your skin is so soft.” 

Adrian’s hands hook under your knees and urges your legs to spread apart. Adrian licks his lips and smiles up at you. “You have a beautiful pussy, you know that?”

“Adrian—“

Your reprimand is cut short as he scrapes the blunt edges of his teeth along the insides of your thighs, threatening to catch soft flesh between the hard enamel. You’re a fool for letting your guard down—

Adrian clamps down, hard, into the meat of your thigh. Acting on instinct, your hand whips out and cracks against the side of his face. Adrian recoils, cupping the reddening mark painting his cheek. He looks up at you, lips parted in shock. “Don’t bite me that hard.” 

And then you see it—unfurling like a vine of creeping, black ivy in those pale green eyes of his. His pink tongue flicks out over his bottom lip, pupils dialing into black disks. He drops his hand to readjust himself in his pants. Unbelievable. “You fucking sicko—you liked that, didn’t you?”

A coy smile curls over his lips. He trails his fingers around the bite mark, blood welling under the little grooves matching his set pearly white teeth. You flinch. He didn’t break skin, but it’ll become a gnarly bruise in the coming hour. “Do it again.” 

“No,” you seethe. “Eat me out like you said you would.”  

Adrian pouts but does what he’s told. Adrian mouths a warm kiss over his mark and smooths his calloused hands over your hips, settling for a moment to trace little circles with his thumbs onto the soft protrusion of bone there. Seemingly satisfied, he then shifts his hands closer to your aching cunt. His hot breath fans over your pussy as he uses his thumbs to glide through your slick folds, curious with his exploration. He makes a little hum of appreciation low in his throat when the pads of his thumbs part your soaking folds

“You’re mine,” he mutters to himself. “All mine.” 

And then all working thoughts are abruptly severed by your own choppy gasp when a soft, dexterous heat eagerly envelopes your clit.

Fuck, it nearly hurts with how fucking good it feels.  You haven’t had the time to take care of your own needs lately—exhaustion dispelled your attempts of self pleasure. Every time your fingers found your swollen clit, you’d accidentally drift to sleep, leaving you teased and far more frustrated. The noise you make sounds like something right out of a shitty porno—desperate, high pitched and airy. Adrian’s soft mouth is a furnace—a slick furnace between your folds, his tongue like velvet that flattens over your clit. Adrian hums low in his throat as he tastes you, readjusting his grip to push himself closer.

Fuck, this is heaven. This is what fucking Nirvana feels like, spread out on Adrian’s kitchen counter, your legs open and twitching around his head. Adrian moans into you—shit, you need more.

His fingers curl around your thighs, his tongue swirling gentle circles around your swollen, aching clit. Your hips jerk into Adrian’s heated mouth, the sore tendons and muscles tightening and refusing to relax—wound up and terrified that his skilled mouth will abandon you and leave you hanging—shattered into a heap of neediness that only he can solve. You should’ve known he’d be an expert at this—  

Two lithe fingers press at the entrance of your cunt. You cry his name, lower back seizing, as Adrian sinks them into your clenching hole and curls them, only to retract them a moment later to shovel more of your wetness onto his tongue—as if simply using his mouth wasn’t enough for him. Like he needs to savor every drop of your arousal like you’re his only hope of salvation. You whine and arch off the counter, hands burying themselves into his soft curls as Adrian strokes and crooks his fingertips, plucking little gasps and moans from you easier than breathing. Sparks of pleasure ricochet through your abdomen, dragging you close to the precipice.

The tip of Adrian’s tongue locks on that little spot, right under the hood of your clit that makes your leg jump on its own, forcing out high pitched mewls that echo through the kitchen. You’re sprinting towards your high—his fingers and tongue a deadly mix. Your orgasm takes you by surprise—a lighter to gunpowder the second Adrian’s wrecked moan meets your ears. 

Everything seizes into a tight ball as your release claws through your body like lightning. Your heels dig into his back, fist tightening in his hair as your lungs squeeze—choking on sweet air. The pain of your injuries mixed with the pleasure Adrian gives you plays a rough tug of war with your consciousness—one step to either side and you’re done for. Your high creeps into every cell, every limb until they fall lax—god damn, your hands are shaking. 

“Do it again,” He moans, opening his mouth as wide as it’ll go so he can devour more of you. You groan and toss your head back as Adrian keeps going.  “That was fucking hot—wish I got that on film.”

You can feel the mixture of his saliva and your own flood of arousal dripping down your cunt and onto the counter—you’ll have to clean up later, you think absentmindedly. Your thighs shake as Adrian pushes you towards another high. Your thighs quiver, struggling not to close them and suffocate Adrian as he redoubles his efforts. It’s raw and bordering that serrated edge of overstimulation.

You clench around Adrian’s fingers and moan a half garbled cry of his name. “You’re doing so good—s’good, Adrian—“ 

He shudders. Interesting.

Adrian squeezes your ass. Your back arches and you’re fronted with your second orgasm—behind your eyelids it flashes a blinding white, your thighs going rigid. You shatter and cum in his willing mouth, wailing his name to the high heavens. You hope the neighbors don’t hear. Adrian groans raggedly and drags you through it. Fucking hell—you haven’t cum this hard in your entire life. It’s hot and seismic, a chain reaction of lightning cracking against old, dry wood—imploding and rushing up from your center in equal parts madness and ecstasy.

You’re fighting the urge to pass out as things slowly return to you. Adrian’s tongue still laps against your pulsing clit, the angle of his fingers still pressing up tight against your throbbing cunt. Tears prick the corner of your eyes as you buck and squirm in his arms—hypersensitive to each touch. Even the hold on your hip, while innocent in nature, is blistering as if you suffered from a fever. You shudder as a salty tear rolls down your cheek. He slowly pulls out of your swollen heat and holds your thigh open with wet fingers, pausing to give your sensitive clit a few more lazy, gentle sucks. Adrian releases you once you jerk away from the sensation. Through the ringing in your ears you pick up Adrian’s raspy praise—thanking you while spattering worshipping kisses up your thighs.  

Your belly flinches under Adrian’s prickly stubble as he travels up, seizing and worshiping every inch he’s freely given before you shoo him away—not that you will. He palms at your breast and slots his narrow body between your quivering legs once again. Heat blooms under your cheeks, hotter than star fire as Adrian gingerly sucks your earlobe into his mouth and breathes out a muted moan of your name—committing the very essence of you to his memory for the rest of his days. 

“You smell like coffee beans,” Adrian says, shoving his nose into your hair and taking a big whiff. “And coconut.”

You roll your eyes and cup his face. You squish his cheeks and kiss him, one that leaves you both panting and dizzy with arousal. His lips are a wet mess—you laugh as you swipe your thumb over his lips and promptly suck the mix of your arousal and his saliva into your mouth. Adrian’s mouth drops open—a mix of adoration and lust.

His hand drops to adjust the front of his suit. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You shake your head. “You’re such a weirdo.” 

Adrian pouts in mock offense. “You’re the one fucking the weirdo—speaking of which…do you wanna—y’know.” He raises a brow, grabs at imaginary hips and thrusts his pelvis up. 

Ridiculous. “Sure, Adrian.” 

He nods his head and scoops you into his arms. “Baller.” 

With that he brings you to his room—again, much neater than you previously thought. Peacemaker the fish sits atop his dresser, mindlessly swimming in its LED illuminated tank. You don’t have time to admire the fish as Adrian settles you onto the bed, head resting against his memory foam pillows. You raise your head to watch Adrian peel off his suit, stumbling and jumping on one foot as he rips his pants free. His boxers have little hearts all over them—distorted by the serious tent he’s pitching.

“C’mere, lover boy,” you beckon. He pulls the top part of his suit off and flings it to the ground. His lean, pale chest is littered with jagged scars—you want to smooth your fingers over all of them—memorize them. 

Adrian steps out of his boxers and plants his hands on his hips, exposing the entirety of his naked body for your viewing. “Like what you see? I know Vigilante junior certainly does.”   

Your eyes bulge. Jesus Christ—

You would assume, just by looking at Adrian’s stature and build, his dick would reflect that. On the skinner side and maybe a little bit above average. But no—oh, no, no—you have just been humbled within an inch of your life. 

Not only is he long, he’s thick too. Flushed a rosy read, rock hard and leaking. “Thimble” your ass. “You’re gonna split me in half with that.” 

Adrian’s face drops into genuine surprise. His hand, equally as large as his cock, wraps around the base. “What? Don’t be silly—it’s average.”

His cock bobs as he crawls up the bed, he throws a leg over you and straddles your hips. “No the fuck it’s not—“

“I think I would know,” he snorts, resting his weight onto the front of your thighs, “you don’t even have a dick.”

You mutter a swear under your breath. “Whatever—just go slow.”

Adrian pauses at that, eyes flitting longingly to your lips. He grabs his cock and pumps himself once. “Do you want a taste?”

Fuck it. Why not. You nod and skate your hands up his muscled thighs, urging him closer. The angle is going to be weird but you don’t really care. Once Adrian straddles your middle, as high as he can go without knocking his forehead into the wall, you tilt your head and twist your tongue along the underside of his cock, following the gentle curve up with your tongue. He shutters. Pursing your lips, you run the shaft between them, wetting the throbbing skin to ease the movements of your hand that reaches up to tenderly stroke his length. You use the tip of your tongue to dip along the ridges of his frenulum, then over the tip, your tongue lapping the bead of salty moisture that collects there. 

Adrian puffs out a curse, his restless fingers threading through your hair. He guides you closer, sinking his cock further against the flat of your tongue. He whines as the soft warmth of your mouth slips over the flushed tip of cock, his thick length twitching as you hollow out your cheeks. You bob your head, cautious of your teeth catching as you slowly work him in as far as this angle allows—even like this, not even halfway into your mouth, you’re starting to feel the prickly sensation of your lips stretching a bit too much—jaw aching with strain. You groan as your eyes flutter shut. You’d be fine here—half of him in your mouth while your hand compensates for the rest.

He’s fine with the amount you can fit. A slurry of whimpers and half finished sentences fall from his parted lips, thin neck arched as he rocks his hips into your heated mouth. You realize then, pride flaring, that he’s not used to this. Not with how sensitive he is, twitching, abdomen jumping under your hands as they run up his body. Adrian cants his hips forward, crying your name as your hand slides over his thigh to find his balls. You roll them in your palm, hollow your cheeks and swirl your tongue around his tip.

“Shit—“ Adrian yanks himself out of your mouth and leans over you, elbow steading himself against the headboard. His cock, shiny with your saliva bounces onto the swell of your breasts, twitching and dribbling beads of viscous precum. He’s not all the way there in his head as his hips rock against your sternum on their own. Poor lover boy is wrecked— 

You shift so that his cock now lays over your perked nipple, your hands rubbing his outer thighs in encouragement. “Look at me, Adrian.”

His eyes crack open, meeting your gaze before they immediately drop to find where he’s positioned. His words rush out in a choppy stream. “Can I fuck your tits? Please? Fuck, I’ll—“

You respond to his request by pushing them together, giving Adrian the friction he craves. Wild eyes glued to your breasts, he rocks his hips, up and down, up and down—entranced by the way the tip of his cock disappears between the soft flesh of your tits, only to reappear a second later. The movement are eased by a mix of your saliva and his leaking cock—but even after the skin dries out slightly, he keeps going. The friction is dry. Adrian nearly looses it right then and there—so fucking close to cumming all over your chest and neck. 

Adrian curls into you, chest heaving as your run your hands down his spine, murmuring soft praise. “You can let go like this—I don’t mind.” 

Adrian shakes his head that’s now nestled in the crook of your neck. “Nooo—I wanna fuck you.” 

You chuckle and pet the back of his head. “Then do it.” 

After taking a couple more moments to regain his footing, Adrian then moves off of you and instead kneels with your legs thrown over your hips. Nervous energy crackles under your skin as Adrian runs the blunt head of his cock through your folds, slicking himself up with your arousal. You hope he has some sense not to fucking destroy you with his dick. 

Your breath catches in your chest, your nails digging into the flesh of his forearm as the wide tip of him pushes into your entrance—he shudders as you clench and wiggle. It doesn’t exactly hurt, but fuck—you force yourself to inhale and exhale, relaxing your clenching muscles that resist him. You’ll feel him for days, you think, as your cunt swallows inch after glorious inch. 

You both groan as he finally bottoms out. His jaw is clenched tight as sweat beads at his hairline—arms shaking as he battles the urge of bursting inside of you this very second. You appreciate the respite, but own impatience tickles up your spine, arousal washing over you with hot claws of need. You gyrate your hips in tiny circles, feeling him throb as you squeeze around him. 

A ragged moans severs his stuttered approval as your gentle rocking tilts into needy jolts. At this angle it’s difficult to fuck yourself onto his cock, but the measly thrusts are meant to tempt him into giving you want you want. “I’m going to cum if you keep doing that.” 

“Isn’t that the point?” You ask coquettishly, arching your back and letting your eyes flutter shut. 

You dig the heel of your foot into the small of his back and grab at his sculpted shoulders—and that’s it. Adrian snarls your name, hooks his hands under the bends in knees and pulls his cock nearly all the way out only to slam back in. There’s no time to adjust or even think before Adrian sets a pace, desperate and rabid. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own well deserved end. Adrian shifts, widening his kneeling stance to sink lower into your body, to mold himself closer to you. You turn your head to nip at his ear, cherry red from arousal and exertion. His soft hair tickles your neck as his staggered exhales burn hot over your sweat soaked skin. 

Adrian turns his head to steal a wet kiss. “You feel like heaven—fuck. I already want you again.“

You choke out a groan, your arousal beginning to drip down your thighs—the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. 

“F-fuck, I felt that,” Adrian huffs, burying his hand into your hair. He pulls your head to better suit his desire to tongue your parted mouth. “You like hearing me talk, don’t you?”

Electric heat sears down each vertebrae in your spine. You can only nod weakly. Unable to process words at the moment, you paw at his hand and plant his long fingers between your bodies. He picks up on your line of thinking quickly and begins to rub tight, little circles over your swollen clit. There’s barely any build up—no show or drawn out act that brings to your next orgasm—just a blinding surge of devastating warmth that knocks you off your feet and steals away all the air left in your lungs. Your nails dig into Adrian’s back as you shake and grapple for a foothold in your own sanity—the steady warmth of his body and your bounding heartbeat and anchor against the madness that threatens to drown you. You can’t turn back now—hot venom is mixing with your blood. You can feel it in your fingertips and taste the sweetness on your tongue—like the songs of los saints, like heart blood and the bright, gold light of something more. 

His kisses morph into little pricks of his teeth as his hips stutter and struggle to keep a definitive pattern. His curses string together and blur into nonsensical noises and loose tongue admittances that are comparable to moving inches from an imploding star. The maw of his gravity has bitten you like a bear trap and to escape it, you would have to sever your limb—it’ll never happen. 

Fuck—you need to give him that same relief. With a sweet whisper of his name against the shell of his ear, Adrian bursts. His moan jumps up a pitch as his eyes slam shut and buries his face into the juncture of your neck and shoulder as he cums hard. He’s shuddering as his hips erratically jerk, hot spurts of his release coating your insides and beginning to leak over the sheets. 

It’s a miracle—a task you thought impossible. You’ve fucked Adrian to the point of muteness. His hips come to a stop—collapsing over your boneless self. You don’t mind the weight of him—it’s comfy. Your fingers run through the messy sweep of his black hair—he all but purrs atop you. Time beats away like the bass pounding in your chest, rhythm flooding arteries and veins in time with his rapid pulse. Fatigue makes you feel it in your blood—ache a close second to the drifting minutes here. 

You…you don’t mind when his fingers interlace with yours. Somewhere inside you, you are polishing the word absence with your tongue and learning not to be terrified of all you lack and what is to gain. This comes with ache—but you know that cuts always close. Spit out the blood and watch your body pull itself together into something new. 

Adrian shifts and kicks his chin onto your chest. “Are you hungry?”

You blink down at him and smooth your thumb across his cheekbone, tenderly stroking the dimples that appear when he smiles. “For what?” 

He shrugs. “I dunno—burritos?” 

You laugh softly. “Sure, Adrian."

Chapter Text

He won’t quit staring.

Yes, he has his mask on but you can feel his eyes. Lurking, sitting right there across from you in the van. Like an itch on the back of your spine. 

You don’t…really mind. You just, well you hate when people stare. Makes your skin crawl, and while you know Adrian’s gaze is all lovesick and puppy-eyed under that mask, it still gives you the heebie-jeebies.  

Adrian has no qualms or guilt whatsoever when his attention is grabbed. Like one of those random babies you encounter on public transportation—thousand yard stare, all up in your business. What’s up with that? It’s fuckin’ weird.

Your knee bounces, Harcourt side eyes you. Just like the transportation babies, she too, is always up in your business. A brief spell of paranoia bites at your insides—there’s no way she’d know. No, no. That’d be crazy.  

Not all suspicious—not even an inkling on the fact you spent nearly two whole days in Adrian Chase’s bed. That you were late for work, covered in the evidence of his affections and struggling to keep your head free of his goofy, dimpled smile. Motherfucker is the most touch starved guy you’ve ever encountered (not that you’re any better). Your attempts of scrubbing your mind clean failed—you have the blistered skin from leaving your hand too long on the espresso machine to prove it.  

She leans close in order to be heard over the raging music of some older rock band you don’t recognize. “You’re twitchy today.” 

You clench your jaw as she nudges your bad shoulder, still stitched up and horribly tender. “M’fine. I just don’t wanna run into Judomaster again.”   

“I’m sure he won’t be a problem,” Adebayo chimes in. “At least for you—I don’t know about us. He just keeps popping up at the worst times.” 

“Like a weed,” Adrian points out. “Why don’t we just step on him?”

Peacemaker throws up his hands. He aggressively points to himself. “Bro, I’ve tried—he’s a fucking cockroach. You spray him with Raid and he just gets even more invincible.” He leans back against the seat that’s far too little to hold the sheer mass of him. “There’s so much rage compacted into that little body—that can’t be healthy.” 

“I’m going to stab him,” you mutter. 

“Call that Judo-kebab,” Vigilante snickers.       

Adebayo blinks and rubs at her temple. “We’re just checking out some intel. Should be easy enough.” 

“Still need to keep our guard up,” Harcourt says. “We’re working with Butterflies here. Who knows how many numbers they got once we get there.” 

Adebayo nods. “Which is why we need to work in pairs this time. Me and Harcourt, Mern and Economos—” 

“Why the hell do I have to go in? I’m just the computer guy,” Economos whines from the front seat.  

“Get over it, dye-beard.”

“Sick burn, man,” Adrian and Chris high-five. 

“We need you to access whatever technology they have in there, John,” Mern explains.   

Adebayo nods and then gestures to you. “Right. Ghost and Chris will then—”

“What? No! I’m not working with her, dude,” Chris says, crossing his arms and shrugging into himself. “She’s fucking creepy.” 

Adebayo makes a noise of frustration and slaps her palm over her thigh as she’s once again interrupted.  

You quirk your head. 

“Don’t be rude, Chris,” Adebayo snorts. “Just because she can walk through walls doesn’t mean she’s scary.”

“And the whole invisibility thing—don’t forget that.” Economos adds. “And the time she ripped that dude’s heart out in Corto Maltese.” 

“Bro, that’s fucking epic!” Adrian cheers, fisting pumping the air. 

Your lips pull into a little smile. 

The bright blue latex gloves squeak as Chris jabs an accusing finger at you. “She ripped a dude’s fucking heart out, Adebayo. That’s messed up.” 

Adebayo rolls her eyes and mutters something under her breath. She holds up both her hands in defeat and shakes her head. “Fine—Vigilante—”

“Hell yeah! Dream team for the win!”   

“All you’d be doing is securing the perimeter while we go in and deal with the Butterflies.”

Mern casts a brief, accusatory glance over his shoulder then returns his eyes to the road. “Nothing of the dramatic sort, please. It is only perimeter security. And no guns.” 

“Aw,” Adrian pouts, slumping into his seat. “I’ll never get to rip someone’s heart out like Ghost did. Or kill a guy with a chainsaw. Totally unfair, man.”

It was pretty cool, you admit. 

The rest of the plan and the team’s tactic is divulged once the van is parked on the edge of some fancy estate. The property is swaddled in dark trees, and hosts a singular, paved road leading to and from the house. Kinda boring, if you’re being honest.  

The team runs through the plan once more, gearing up and then setting off towards the estate. And just like last time, you are left a lone with Adrian. The both of you split and cover the perimeter. Two guards circle they house—it’s easy to subdue them. After the area is secured, both you and Adrian rendezvous back at the van. 

Blood is splattered over his chest plate. He wiggles his fingers in hello. “Long time no see, Ghostie! How many did you take out? I didn’t know if we were competing, but I just assumed, and—” 

A bullet ricochets off the side of the van. You both duck, dodging for cover. How the fuck did you both miss these guys? “Goddamnit.”  

At least it’s not Judomaster, thank fuck. Vigilante quirks his head, and taps your arm as you draw a shorthanded blade. Close range blade fights aren’t your forte, but you’ll make do. “Can I just say, before we slice these bitches up—you look absolutely stellar tonight.” 

“Adrian—”

The workbook of a Butterfly dressed in a security officer’s suit steps around the tire of the truck. You launch yourself forward as Adrain rolls the other way to cover your flank. You disarm the gun and drive your knee into the man’s stomach. He crumples to one knee. You shove the blade through his skull—you wince beneath your mask. So messy—

Usually, when doing stealth operations, one knows exactly how many people they are up against—knows the exact locations and how not to get tied up in a situation like this. Oh, well. 

Adrian fends off his assailant, sliding through their guard with practiced ease. Adrian’s cheery mood clashes with his deadly composure—it’s a game to him. It’s kinda…hot, in some weird screwed up way. “Hey, Ghost!”

“What?” You snarl, sidestepping the punch thrown at by yet another Butterfly. You snatch his wrist and yank outwards. Bones snap. “I’m busy.”

“You and I are like nachos with jalapeños,” Adrian announces over the sound of a body connecting with asphalt. “I'm super cheesy, you're super hot, and we belong together.” 

Is this fucker really trying to use shitty pickup lines on you right now? You attention wavers. You turn your back to the open road and glare daggers through your mask, bloodied gloves curling into fists. This isn’t funny—you’re on a world-ending sensitve mission for—

“The sun might be shinning but nothing’s brighter than you, babe,” Adrian chirps, launching a throwing knife into the skull of an older man that appears on your left. He falls dead. 

“Viggy, it is night,” you say tersely, brushing aside the fact he just saved your life. You’ll take the shame of it to your grave. Lucky bastard multitasks too well. A small bodied woman, a deputy by the looks of it, claws at your arm. You throw your boot into her stomach, block her hands reaching for her gun and dig the point of a throwing blade into the underside of her jaw. 

“Sun’s a star—checkmate.”

You don’t even want to dispute his logic right now. You can’t really—the last enemy steps out from around the van. How nice of them to stagger their attacks for you, you think grimly. 

You plant you feet and hold up your blade. It’s a big motherfucker—well above six foot and heavy, fists the size of Christmas hams, meaty face drawn into a furious rage. He drops his jaw and lets out an earsplitting roar. He charges. 

Sometimes it’s nice being a freak of nature—you can just render yourself intangible in situations like this. The man passes right through you, stumbles and leaves his back open for attack. You thrust the point of your elbow into the back of his neck—it doesn’t do much—the neck rolls provide excellent armor. He gets a hand under your armpit and flings you backwards—you rolls away just in time to avoid his boot curb stomping your ass. Even as exhaustion begins to wear your splurge of energy out, you have speed to your advantage. 

One false step and you swing one leg through his stance. The man stumbles forward, you throw your other leg around his neck and gator-roll him to the ground. He sputters for air, neck trapped between the muscles of your thighs. With one sharp movement and with the aide of your hands under his jaw, you break his neck. The Butterfly goes lax, you kick the body away as your lungs burn to recover oxygen.         

Slow clapping fills the air. 

You turn your head sharply. Adrian is propped against the van, one leg cross over the other, hip cocked out. “Beautiful performance. The blood is also a nice touch—Pollock vibes. Totally poggers.” 

You rock to your feet, surveying the carnage laid out before you. Guilt and anger taste the same on your tongue—you can never remember which is meant to be virtuous. It doesn’t really matter, you figure. They aren’t people anymore…

“Some help would’ve been nice,” you snip, brushing off the excess dirt that sticks to your suit. 

Adrian waves his hand in dismissal. “Pfft—nah. You totally had it covered, babe.” 

Irritation flares under your skin. The heat and adrenaline of battle are a cross-stitch away from irascibility. “Don’t call me that.” 

Vigilante pushes himself off the van and skips into your space bubble. “Or what? You gonna hit me?” He raises his hands and throws mock punches that barely tap your unwavering face. You grunt and bat away his hands. 

“Seriously, layoff, man,” you bite, stepping away to create space. Adrian just steps right back into it. He’s pushing your buttons on purpose. Adrian snickers and reaches out, gloves fingers finding the edge of your mask. He lifts it up—you snap. “I’m going to kick your fucking ass.” 

Adrian’s laugh is unhinged. He blocks your first punch and grunts as the second glances his side. “You’re going down, baby!”

“Oh yeah?” You hiss, drawing your fists up to your chin. You circle each other, waiting for the other to step or draw away like a practiced dance. “Wait ‘till I stick my tongue down your throat.” 

“I’ll slap your butt so hard.”

This is, in all sense of the word, ridiculous. Curious how your irritation can flip at the drop of hat when it comes to Adrian. He moves first, striking with a kick first—you avoid it easily. Neither of you are trying to maim.

You lead Adrain to the back of the van and hook your hands under the handle. You wrench open the door. He curses as it collides into his face—knocking him flat onto his behind. You launch yourself into the van and spring to your feet. Adrian rubs the outline of his nose. “I’ve got the high ground, Adrian—you’ve lost.” 

Adrian’s hand hooks around your ankle and yanks. You cry out and fall flat onto your back—Adrain pounces atop you, grunting as your heels kick into his hipbones. “I’m still winning—nice try though.” 

Adrain surges forward, you twist and roll to your stomach. Why you thought crawling to escape him would work—you have no fucking clue. You wheeze as his knee digs into the back of your calf, one arm looping under your shoulder while the other drags your wrist and arm across your back. The joints and tendons prickle at the unnatural angles. You sigh and relax, conceding to your defeat. You could easily disappear—but what’s the fun in that? You’re not one to back out of an even playing field.  

Adrian’s breath comes out in short puffs. He laughs. He knows just as well as you do that you’re allowing him this control. The image of his smirk shines crystal clear in your mind. “You’re just horny, right? That’s why you’ve been so grouchy,” Adrian goads. “All worked up, huh, Ghostie?”

He’s an addiction—

Your mouth gravitates to the shape of his name every moment of the day, and yes, maybe whatever this is, is doomed for failure. A brilliant show of flames and fire, streaking across the sky, intertwined into the incandescence of a shooting star. You have never quite understood the kinesthetics of your own heart, how it twists and fires pure ache to the tips of your fingertips, and settles like a calcified bone within your chest. A conundrum neither of you can put your thumb on.   

“Then do something about it,” you urge, wiggling in his grip. “This is your fault.”

Falling is the easy part. Dancing through the air on wings spun from freedom and risk. There’s always a chance that when you reach for him, you will only find thinning oxygen instead of his hand. When it is your love that kills you, destruction is more lovely than that of the self.  

His impish giggle causes your heart to flutter. “I always wanted to have car sex—or van sex—whatever.” 

Adrian, still keeping your arm pinned against your back, hastily searches for the zipper to the front of your suit. Once he finds it, he roughly wrestles it down your legs enough to expose your lower half. “No panties? How scandalous.”

You huff and roll your eyes. “They’re uncomfortable with the suit.” 

The metal flooring is frigid against your burning skin. Your body is pulled taught, veins still pumping with adrenaline—you hope Adrian will ignore the tremble in your limbs and the shaky inhales you draw into your lungs. Using his free hand, Adrian drags his gloved fingers down the outside of your thigh. Adrian mutters something filthy, muffled by his mask, as he skates his hand to the back of your thigh. His large hands spread over the muscle of your leg as his thumb slots right under the crease of where your asscheek meets your thigh. 

“On God, you’ve got the fattest ass I’ve ever seen,” Adrian comments, sacrificing the hold on your pinned arm in favor of grabbing two handfuls of your ass. He squeezes hard enough to make you bite back a gasp.  “I fucking love your suit—distracting though. I get rock hard if I look at you too long.”

It’s true. Your ass looks fantastic in the skin-tight material. Downside is, it doesn’t just attract Adrian’s wandering eyes. His thumb dips a bit lower and pulls the flesh of your inner thigh up, easily finding the marred skin in the shape of his teeth. It’s only been a couple days since he’s bitten you there—the marks will take weeks to fully disappear. You jolt as he presses his thumb into the bruise, a dull rush of tender nerves flooding out from the area. “Fuck, that’s hot.”  

Adrian’s praise earns him a quiet whine as you spread your knees even further, dropping your hips down until the front of his tented tactical pants press up tight against your aching pussy. You arch your back and slowly rock your hips back and forth. You don’t give a flying fuck that your arousal is soaking through Adrian’s pants, and neither does he. 

“Shit,” you whisper, head tipping back while you drag your cunt against his pulsing erection. It takes a moment for your hazy thoughts to conclude that Adrian is rocking it commando style tonight. Prick—it’s like he knew something like this would happen. Your more coherent thoughts melt away once more as Adrian’s hands briefly leave your body to yank off his gloves, landing by your sides. His hands, rough and warm return to their previous spot, kneading the globes of your ass. “I thought—thought you were a tits kinda man.”

Adrian hums in contemplation. You hear fabric rustle as he shrugs. “I’m a versatile guy—your tits are great, but hot damn,” Adrian whistles, “This view is hella sweet—it’s like Niagara Falls back here.”

“Adrian—” Your sharp hiss and urge to slap the shit out of him, dies upon your tongue as he runs two fingers from your throbbing clit to your aching cunt. You moan and crumple into his touch, devastated as his fingers leave as quick as they appeared. He’s right though—your arousal has already smeared over your lips and threatens to drip onto the floor. 

Adrian snickers and leans his groin into your ass. “Sorry, what was that?” 

Your heart slams against your sternum, your clit pulsing against the hard ridge of his cock. Fuck you crave relief. His hands over your ass, an inch away from your swollen pussy, are taunting to say the least. Like holding garden shears to the end of the tightrope of your pride and carnal need. Your stubbornness works as a barrier to your tongue—begging isn’t in your nature.  

On hand digs into your hip, pulling your ass flush against his crotch while the line of Adrian’s body folds over yours. His visor clinks against the hard material of your own mask as nuzzles his head into the crook of your shoulder. “C’mon, Ghostie—the Scooby gang could come back any minute,” Adrian pauses for a moment, “unless…ohoho—you want to get caught? I don’t mind an audience.”

A rush of icy cold anxiety floods through your chest. Your gloved fingers clench into fists. Your reputation as a cold-hearted warrior would go straight down the drain. “No—fuck no.”

Adrian lifts off your back with a groan, sounding painfully aroused as his cock twitches against your clit. Two fingers, without warning, bury themselves into your soaking cunt without resistance. The air in your diaphragm is punched out of you as you grapple with the hot wave of pleasure surging through your body. Adrian buries his long fingers all the way down to his third knuckle then back out, slipping into a disgustingly slow pace that does nothing to satisfy. Adrian curses. “How’d you think they’d react seeing me balls deep in your pussy?” 

Your cunt seizes up tight around his fingers—that shouldn’t sound hot. Christ that’s fucking gross—he’s gross. Adrian laughs and curls his fingers down against a delicious patch of nerves inside of you. “You liked that, huh? Oh, dangit—I forgot! You get off hearing me talk to you like this.” 

“Shut up,” you whine, breathless and pathetic as your hips start grinding back against Adrian’s fingers. A red hot flush of embarrassment collects under your cheeks—you’re glad your mask hides away your face of shame. “Maybe.”

The admittance is quiet, but Adrian hears it nonetheless. You ignore his prideful croon, bitting your lip and closing your eyes as the swirling ecstasy spreads hot through your body. The raging heat burns you alive as Adrian starts to lose himself in pleasure, his purpose of teasing you—being in control as Vigilante, waning with every passing moment.

Adrian’s muffled groan is a delicious scrape against your ears and his cock pulses hard against your cunt through the fabric of his pants, making you spasm in delight. Fuck—this is taking too long—you’re gonna get caught. You drop your head against the floor and drag your core up and down, chasing your orgasm like this. You’re too impatient to wait for him to snap back into a coherent headspace to fuck you properly.  Shameless and scrabbling for a taste of release, your ass flexes with every roll of your hips, your lower muscles fluttering with every drag against his clothed cock.

“Let me fuck your ass,” Adrian abruptly stutters, spreading one of your cheeks up and to the side. “You can even fuck mine after—you’d look so hot doing it. Like Beatrix Kiddo.”

Your tummy flutters. “Viggy, we—”  

“N-not now—fuck we don’t have time,” Adrian pants. “Or lube. Shit, you’re almost wet enough to take me, though.” 

The the pad of his thumb carefully brushes over the tight ring of muscle flexing for him. You inhale sharply at the brazen touch and shy away. “Oh, Christ—”

“Geez, you’re sensitive, Ghost,” Adrian teases as you let out a strangled whimper, trying your best not to flinch under the bold touches. “You haven’t had anyone fuck you here, have you?” 

The shake of your head is too weak for him to catch. That and his other set of fingers dipping under you body to slide your clit between two digits. Your arousal flares up hot and bright, and orgasm right within reach—teetering over that edge. Fuck it feels so goddamn good. Everything seizes up, throbbing and left hanging, near painful as Adrian pulls his fingers from your soaking cunt. You snarl and bite out profanities that would make even Harcourt blush. Motherfucker is edging you.   

Before you can twist around and latch your teeth into his flesh, the flat of his palm swings down to crack hard against your ass. You gasp and instantly still, stinging nerves echoing from the point of contact. “C’mon, babe—it’s a give and take kinda deal—tell me what you want.”

The taste of blood fills your mouth as you bite down on your bottom lip, spine going rigid as Adrian touches his fingers to your clit once again, drawing sickening slow circles around the throbbing bundle of nerves. Maybe, you think, it’s not so bad falling apart. Giving yourself up like martyrs give their hearts to the sky. Ache, fear, want, somehow right even in its cataclysmic end. A way that tastes of blood and ash, gunpowder and the lingering scent of Adrian’s bubblegum chap stick. He prefers grape, you don’t know why you know this, but you do.  

Your heartstrings are far more intertwined than you care to acknowledge.

You crack.

“A-anything you want. Fuck, you can put your thumb in. Just please—please touch me. Let me cum, Adrian,” you beg to the uncaring floor of the van, choking back a sudden wave of frustrated tears. “Please.”

There’s a brief spell of silence and then a river of overexcited half sentences spill from his quick talking mouth. Another sharp smack connects with your ass—you wouldn’t be surprised to find his handprint there tomorrow. Adrian’s thumb then rubs against your vulnerable entrance with a purpose. His cock twitches, still confined by his trousers. “Fuck! Fuck, you’re gonna make me cream my pants. It’s so fuckin’ hot, hearing you beg. That’s going right into the spank bank.”

A keening moan slips past your lips, back arching as the time of his thumb gently pushes past the tight ring of muscle of your ass in the same moment his other hand reaches for your dripping center. His calloused digits start to run tight, even circles over your clit. The foreign sensation of his thumb gently breaching your asshole, only up to his first knuckle sends you flying towards your high. Fuck—you’re done for.    

You gasp out Adrian’s name as everything surges up, searing hot and wet as you go rigid, shuddering your way through debilitating bliss as it crackles up and down your vertebrae. Through the fog that clouds your mind, body steel reeling with the aftershocks of your orgasm, Adrian retracts both his hands and fiddle with his pants. His tactical belt falls to the floor with a thunk, him yanking his zipper down comes next. A fresh wave of need rears its ugly head hearing Adrian’s desperate plea to fuck you.

“Yes—fuck me,” you huff, throwing a wild hand back to latch onto anything you can grab as his fingers dip into your swollen cunt and gather the obscene amount of wetness leaking from your entrance with his hand. “Need it—” 

“Yeah you do,” Adrian laughs, taking himself in hand and slowly jerking himself off with your wetness. He gives your ass a lecherous squeeze. You can’t even get a single sharp retort out as Adrain hooks his hands over your hips and roughly jerks your closer. The blunt head of his cock, throbbing and searing to the touch presses between the apex of your thighs. His hand leaves your hip to guide himself into your wet folds. Adrian pushes forward, and holy fucking hell—

You’re once again humbled by his size. It’s not like you forgot he’s big—you’re still sore from the first time—it’s just…fuck it’s a lot.

You cry out as Adrian slams full force into you, knees scrapping against the gridded flooring as he sheathes himself in your slick warmth all the way to the base. You feel Adrian shutter. “Your pussy is fuckin’ made for me. Think we’re soulmates, Ghostie?” 

You claw your fingers over the floor and try to ground yourself, but there’s nothing to hold onto. Shit—your head his spinning—you throb around his thickness. You fucking might be soulmates for all you care as you yield to his hardness, the grip on your hips keeping you stationary. “Like Leia and Han Solo,” you breathe.

“I’m Leia. Obviously,” Adrian states, and then he pulls out and slams back in. His jumps into a merciless pace, driving into you and using your body as a counterweight to thrust himself deeper. You hiccup with every thrust, unable to fully inhale. Adrian’s babbling praise blazes through you like a wildfire, shredding your lungs and setting your body alight with the red-hot embers of a bonfire. He dips forward and anchors a hand down over the slope of your shoulder, pushing you lower onto the floor until your chest is flat agains it. His cock now pounds down into you your cunt. Your eyes roll back as stars explode behind your vision as his thrusts zero into that one mouthwatering spot, over and over and over again.  

“Fuck, Viggy—youre gonna kill me,” you gasp, ragged and desperate. You’re rocking back into him as much as he allows, scrabbling dangerously close to another orgasm. “You feel fucking good.” 

“Nah,” Adrian pants, “I like you too much—shit, I think I’m in love with you, actually. Yeah—yeah that sounds right.”

Your heart skips into an uneven beat. Adrian’s hand shoots out to find the underside of your mask. It pulls up with ease and clatters to the floor. You whine as his fingers twist into your hair, yanking you to the side to expose the now exposed column of your neck. The soft touch of his lips send sparks through your entire body. He’s rolled his mask up just enough for his teeth to sink into the delicate flesh of your neck. Adrian’s wrecked, muffled, moan is heaven to your ears. 

Suddenly, and without warning, you seize up and you’re cumming hard. Everything below your waist locks down tighter than a steel jaw trap—bursting hot and wet around his cock, squeezing him and spasming through each rough, steady thrust. God this is fucking heaven—

“Holy balls,” he grunts into your neck, pace kicking up as he chases his own end. His fingers, knotted in your hair twitch as he tugs on the strands. Over sensitive and still spasming around him, he wrings a sharp, haggard cry from your throat.  Your face screws up, biting your tongue to keep your noises at bay. You know for a fact there’s more Butterflies lurking in the dark. Or Lord forbid the team hears you and comes running to save you. “You—your cunt gets so fucking tight when you cum.”

You whimper pathetically, listening to the vulgar sounds of him fucking into you as he keeps rocking mercilessly deep.

“You’re never…never getting rid of me,” Adrian slurs, dropping his head to rest between your shoulder blades.  “Never—”

“Adrian,” you gasp, closing your eyes and trying to wrangle that familiar spark deep inside your core. 

Whatever you were going to say is rudely interrupted as Adrian licks a slow, warm line up the curve of your throat and over the shell of your ear. You spasm and arch under him, squeezing down on his thick cock and trying not to sob. Suddenly, Adrian’s hands find your hips and flip you around with ease. You choke as your back meets the ground harshly, but Adrian’s throwing himself forward before you can beg for mercy. 

His bubblegum flavored lips knock against yours, blood coating your tastebuds as he hoists your legs around his waist, realigns himself, and shoves back into your pussy. Your gloved hands shoot up to cradle his face, dragging him impossibly closer. Adrian pants against your parted moth as you part for precious, squinting, eyebrows drawn together from the change of lighting as you shove his mask up past his aquiline nose and over his forehead. Green eyes swimming with lust—dark and volatile, and clumsy. Tripping into unknown territory in time with your wild heartbeat that will never be truly lassoed and wrangled from the very stars. You’ve never wanted to empty yourself for someone like this before him—a knife to flesh, honey-thick ichor pouring from the wound. You don’t know how he does it—how he finds the soft gaps between your ribs to grasp at your gilded heart without fail. 

Bitchass.     

You grab at his sharp jaw and slide your tongue into his mouth. Adrian moans as he tangles his tongue with yours. He breaks away again, a string of saliva still connecting you both. “I’m close,” he puffs, picking up his speed and hammering into you, smirking at your hoarse squeak at the change of tempo. He buries his face into the crook your neck, high-pitched moans vibrating against your flushed skin.

“S’good,” you slur, cupping the back of his head to grip his soft hair. You don’t care that you’re praying on his blatant cravings for praise, he goes wild for it. “Such a good lover boy for me—fuck, Adrian.”

“Gonna—gonna cum,” his voice is tight, ravaged and shaky. “All yours—I’m yours.”

You turn your head to the side and nip his earlobe as your hand finds purchase on the outside of his thigh. You dig your nails into the hard, flexing muscle. “Good boy—cum for me.”

Adrian’s hips stutter. A long, drawn out wine fills the van as he plows his hips into you, choppy thrust only meant to aide his reach for his end. He grunts and bites down on your neck a second time, grinding his cock as deep inside you as he can go, his lithe body shuddering above you. You hips twitch, feeling Adrian pulsing, throbbing as he whimpers his way through his high, breathing heavy and filling you up with his seed.

You sigh in the afterglow, Adrian’s weight settling atop you, too fatigued to hold himself up. He mouths, sweet, sticky kisses over the hickies he’s left, up the line of your jaw until he finds your lips. “I won by the way,” he mumbles between kisses. 

“What?”

His lips pull into a smug grin. “I obliterated at least four Butterflies and you only got three.”

Your face twists. That’s not even—

“It’s ok, Ghost,” he pats your cheek. "You win some, you lose some, y’know?”

Before you can tell him fuck off and eat shit—your walkie-talkie crackles—you both startle. Adrian whips out a knife from a hidden sheath stitched into his side.  

“Ghost?”   

You both breath a sigh of relief. Neither of you reach to grab the abandoned radio, however. Instead, Adrian sheaths his blade, cups your jaw and rolls his tongue over your parted bottom lip—content with ignoring whoever dared paging you. 

“Vigilante? Do you copy?” It’s Adebayo. 

Adrian wrinkles his nose as you groan and flail your arm to reach for the walkie-talkie. It’s just out of reach and with Adrian’s weight still atop you, you’re pinned. “Shit—Adrian. A little help?” 

Visibly irked, Adrian pulls out of you. You whine, your entire bottom half aching as exhaustion settles into your bones. You try to move—you should move, but you can’t. You just sprawl here on your back, legs still wide open. You’re positive your hip joints will creak if you try to close your legs. Adrian scoops up the radio. “How can I do ya for?”

He holds it a couple inches away from his ear as a surge of static voices echo back. You flinch as his warm hand smooths from the inside of your knee down to the crux of your legs. Adrian squeezes your inner thigh. He doesn’t do anything more than that, though, just stares at your abused hole as his cum starts to leak from it. A cherry red flush bursts over his angled cheeks and the tips of his ears.

“Where the fuck have you asswipes been? We’ve been trying to call you for the past ten minutes!” Harcourt is pissed.

Adrian licks his lips and spreads your cunt with his thumb. You dip your head back and curse. “Got caught up kicking ass and blowing out Butterfly brains. Take a chill pill, guys—yeesh.” 

“Is Ghost with you?” Adebayo asks.

“She’s out of commission right now,” Adrian smirks, pushing his cum back into your cunt with two fingers. “Took a beating like a champ though—you should’ve seen it—“

“She’s fuckin’ dead?” You hear Chris interject. Your brows furrow as a blush heats the blood under your cheeks. 

You grunt and rip the radio out of Adrian’s hand. You shoot him a half hearted glare. “Sadly, I have yet to pass away—sorry to disappoint.”   

“If she died would her body just, like, disappear?” The distant inquiry of Economos almost makes you laugh. Almost. “Y’know, since she’s got fucked up genes.” 

“I don’t fucking know,” Harcourt sneers, “Shut up—Ghost, Vij, we’ll be back at the van in ten.”

Adrian wrestle back the radio. “Okey-dokey, see you nerds later.” 

The hard plastic of the walkie-talkie skids on the floor as Adrian tosses it aside. His middle and ring fingers bury themselves back into your sore cunt. You choke and claw at his forearm, a shit-eating green plastered across his face. 

“Think I can make you cum again?” 

You’re going to kill him.