jason todd loves bulking season. so much so its basically just a year round thing for him. partly due to his nighttime job. partly because he loves the way you look at him when he bulks up.
his muscles get thicker as his figure fills out more, scarred skin slightly taught and his v-line blends into his stomach. his hands are large, splaying over the small of your back when he grabs a cup from the cabinet.
the fabric of his shirt stretches at his shoulders and biceps, lifting at the stomach to reveal the thick hairs of his happy trail.
he’s naturally warmer too.
jason sleeps in his boxers and drapes himself over you. his warmth seeps into your skin as he murmurs sleepy nonsense in your ear.
it’s distractingly attractive. he scratches his soft abs in the morning when your brushing your teeth, the subtlest smirk sitting on his lips when you eye his body in the mirror.
he comes home late one night to you still up. your working on your laptop, listening to the sound of him climbing into the apartment before locking it.
his heavy boots thud through the apartment and the bedroom door is pushed open. you glance up for the briefest moment. and he’s standing there, kevlar armor stretched over his muscles, helmet in a gloveless hand with his glove pinched between his teeth. there’s a few scrapes and bruises on his face. his black hair sticks to his forehead, the white streak almost completely hidden.
and he grins.
like he didn’t just come back from patrol in one of the most distracting ways he could. jason tosses his glove in his duffel back along with his helmet, stripping out of his armor until he’s in his boxers and crawling across the bed.
he smells like sandalwood, leather and iron, sweat clings to his skin as he moves your laptop out of the way, kissing you senseless with the night’s adrenaline still fresh on his skin.
@anotherumbranwitch for the biggest jason todd fan I know
cw: sexual themes mentioned, high effort, affection, Red Hood mentioned, men who yearn, not proofread.
ⓘ Featuring Jason Todd being such a loving boyfriend.
boyfriend!jason who took his time fully opening up to you, but once he did, it felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders & he started feeling more comfortable with intimacy & the quiet moments of life with you.
boyfriend!jason who visibly relaxes whenever you touch him—the brush of shoulders, your hand on his back, kissing him on the cheek, stroking his hair, or something as simple as holding hands.
It always brings him back to the moment, & the tension leaves his body in an instant at your comfort.
boyfriend!jason who doesn't mind PDA as much as he thought he would, though depending on who witnesses it, he may be a little flustered. But that's only whenever his brothers see him being showered with affection.
boyfriend!jason who accepts his fate whenever you lie on him during movie night, knowing he will not make it to his bed that night & just needs to fall asleep where he is, wrapping an arm around you and makes sure you're comfortable
boyfriend!jason who cooks you dinner all the time. He taught himself how to cook your favorite meals & makes them whenever he notices your mood's down or stressed, or he just wants to see you excited to see your favorite dish.
boyfriend!jason who momentarily freezes up in bed whenever you pull his hair, before fucking into you like a man possessed, trying his hardest to make you do it again.
boyfriend!jason who taught himself how to do your hair & makeup so he can help you get ready in the morning & make things easier for you.
Sometimes he'll do pre-shower makeup on you, & you'll look like a glitter bomb detonated on your face, but he manages to make it look good.
boyfriend!jason who begrudgingly lets you feel up his muscles whenever he comes home still in the red hood uniform, glares at you whenever you suggest leaving the mask on—declaring that sex in the suit is wayyyy too far. Maybe the jacket & nothing else.
boyfriend!jason who, during your period, buys every snack & hygiene product he knows you use, making sure you're stocked up & keeps your heating pad (+his hand) on standby to help with the cramps.
He's always extra careful with his wording & extra open to affection to make sure you don't get set off & pissed off.
boyfriend!jason who loses sleep whenever you keep him up, just yapping, but he'll never complain, instead sleepily listening to everything you ramble out, knowing he'll forget half by morning, but the look of joy you get from talking to him is too much to lose.
boyfriend!jason who watches you whenever you walk into a room & looks so starstruck; his brothers tease him, almost exclusively just Dick, & he doesn't even mind it. His focus is on you, not whatever his brothers are whispering.
boyfriend!jason who's always working on being a better boyfriend, working to make sure you know just how much he cherishes you & wants to spend the rest of his life spent with you.
warnings: sfw!!, all fluff!, mutual crush, 11th street kids (minus chris don’t ask me where he is he just didn’t rlly fit in this scenario lmao), slightly perv adrian, sex mention, i <3 lowercase
authors note: do not interact with my stuff if you are under 21, you will be blocked! i <3 blocking people !!!
all 5 of you were thrown into one shitty hotel room. harcourt and ads claimed one bed, economos claimed the other, refusing to share and you were on the fold out with adrian.
actually you didn’t really mind, in fact when everyone was doing rock paper scissors to see who got stuck with him, you just volunteered. everyone looked at you like you were crazy but you didn’t care, you liked adrian, and the look on his face when you told him you were sharing the bed was totally worth it.
“this is so sick! it’s like a sleepover!”
a loud groan echoed through the room as you just smiled at his enthusiasm, nodding and shoving some blankets into his arms.
after showers and arguments about what to watch on tv, everyone finally settled into bed.
adrian was already in bed, sat up against the pillows playing his nintendo.
you scoot under the shared blanket and lean over to see what he’s playing.
“i’m getting really far on princess peach showtime! and it’s not easy just cause it’s about a girl,” he whispers loudly to you.
you giggle at him and lean over a bit further to watch him play.
“do you wanna try?” he tilts the switch in your direction.
“yeah! but i’m definitely not gonna be good at it,” you say shyly, taking the switch from his hands.
cut to you kicking ass at the level he was struggling with and then both of you getting yelled at by harcourt for being too loud.
“go the fuck to sleep!” she yells through the darkness, rolling over and throwing a pillow over her head.
you both laugh quietly and turn off the switch.
you’re both a bit afraid of harcourt so you decide it’s best not to piss her off anymore.
as you try to get comfortable you realize you might’ve made a mistake. you had a bit of a crush on adrian and now you have to sleep in the same tiny bed as him.
which way do you face? is it weird if you face him? what if you turn over and he’s facing you? what if your leg accidentally brushes his? what if your ass touches him? you’re suddenly regretting your pajama choices, your usual little shorts, big shirt combo. cringing at how much bare leg is out.
you nervously fidget with the blanket for a moment before deciding just to face away from him and not think about how close he is to you.
you feel him fidgeting and tossing around for a moment as well before he finally gets comfortable. you somehow manage to drift off pretty quick.
adrian’s woken up by something touching him. he’s about to freak out until he grabs at it and realizes it’s your arm.
he lets out a small sigh, as he runs his hand down your arm, gently making his way to your hand. you let out a small whiny noise and he pauses his movements, scared of waking you up and ruining this moment.
you’re sleeping soundly and you’ve moved over to his side of the bed, your hand resting on his chest. looking down he realizes his legs are also intertwined with yours. he turns his head slightly to look at you, your head resting gently on his shoulder, breath fanning against his neck, making him ticklish and suddenly very aware of how close you are.
you look so cute when you sleep, and you’re so close and you’re touching him. he can feel his ears turning red as his heart starts feeling like it’s going to beat out of his chest. he wonders if you can feel it, even in your sleep.
adrian was very obsessed with you. from the second he met you he had the biggest crush on you. everyone knew about his crush except you, ever oblivious.
he realized quickly that you were the nicest person he’d ever met and that you actually saw him as a close friend, he didn’t wanna mess that up by asking you out, especially if you didn’t feel the same.
so he lays there, with you hanging onto him. he tries to steady his breathing and stay still, he wouldn’t want to wake you up or cause you any discomfort.
he finally gets the courage to put an arm around your waist. placing it so gently, almost as if he’s afraid to touch you.
adrian really does try to go back to sleep but it’s just not possible. he stays up gently running his fingers up and down your arm, brushing hair from your face, sweeping his knuckles softly against your cheek, trying to focus on your breathing over economos’ snoring. he takes in your pouty face and listens for any soft noises you make.
morning sunlight filters through the shitty hotel curtains as everyone stirs awake.
you remain asleep as the team members start to shuffle out of bed.
adrian hardly notices, he’s still focused on you. sometime during the night you moved even closer to him. adrian had gently turned on his side and you buried your face in his chest, arms thrown around him and leg thrown up on his hip. adrian really thinks he might pass out with this new position, you’ve never been this close to him before and you smell so good. your soft bare leg hiked over his hip,
this angle perfect for…..
“what the hell are you doing?” harcourt’s voice breaking him out of his thoughts, his eyes snapping open.
“huh?” adrian looked up to see harcourt and ads standing near the end of the fold out, staring at you two. panning over he sees economos still in bed but also staring at you guys.
“were you just sniffing her hair?” harcourt grimaces.
adrian opens his mouth to answer but ads cuts him off,
“are you guys together?” she asks, her eyes getting wider.
“what? no! she just did this! i don’t know, i woke up and we were like this—“
“spooning?” ads cuts him off again, grinning.
“w-i don’t think this is considered spooning, actually, i think it’s just cuddling. but anyway! maybe she has some kind of magic powers that makes people cuddle her! we don’t know!”
“magic power?” economos deadpans.
“i think the “magic power” is just you being in love with her.” ads laughs.
“i’m not—“ adrian starts to defend himself, voice getting louder, but is silenced by your shifting, he looks back down at you.
“ade?” you start to blink awake.
your voice is so soft and your eyes are all bleary and the first thing you said was his name?
yea he might actually pass out this time.
“hey,” he says softly.
“sorry, did i wake you up?”
“no it’s ok.” you respond, closing your eyes again and tightening your arm around him trying to bring him impossibly closer as you breath in his scent.
“see!” adrian whispers loudly, turning back to the three people watching, pointing his hand towards you.
“ew,” is all harcourt says as she turns and heads for the bathroom.
that wakes you up. it’s like it just smacked you across the face what was happening. your eyes fling open and you remove your arm from him, starting to push yourself away from adrian.
“shit sorry, i didn’t mean to- i must’ve just done that in my sleep,” you refuse to make eye contact.
“no no! it’s ok! it’s fine! really! i didn’t mind at all! i was really comfortable actually and i slept really good so like, maybe its better that i sleep with you.”
“what?” you look back at him.
“not like that! like actually sleep! not like have sex with you. even though i would definitely like to have s—“
“adrian, shut up,” ads looks at him nervously.
“well i just meant like, it’s ok that we cuddled! i liked it!”
your eyebrows furrow but you smile at him, choosing to ignore the fact that he just said he wants to have sex with you, you can worry about that later.
“i just know you don’t really like soft touching. i didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable,” you tell him quietly, leaning closer and wishing this conversation wasn’t happening with an audience.
“i don’t mind when it’s you. i actually really like it when it’s you,” he whispers back.
you smile over at him and his mouth works its way into that huge goofy smile of his that you love. you examine his sleepy morning face, its kinda weird to see him without his glasses.
“wait!” you suddenly move back a bit and throw your hand over your mouth.
“what? what happened?”
“morning breath!” you say as you move back further from him.
“i don’t care about that! i definitely have it too,” he huffs into his hand and sniffs, shrugging.
“ok well i do care,” you tell him, starting to get out of bed as he grabs at you to stay.
“no i like it!” he laughs.
you laugh and try to escape his grasp.
it’s easy to forget how strong adrian is. he easily pulls you into him and puts his face directly infront of yours.
“no!” you giggle and try to cover your mouth again as he holds you.
“you guys are gross.” economos gags.
“please next time get them their own room!” he shouts to anyone.
a few centered around his family—he always to the left of dick, always makes cass her plate, always brings dessert to gatherings because nobody can do it as well as he can.
a few about his work—he always starts on the south end of gotham and works toward the north, always cleans his guns an hour before patrol, always puts his right boot on before his left one.
then, he has several for you.
he always flicks your sky projector on fifteen minutes before you’re done getting ready for bed, he always lets you take a bite of food first before picking his fork up, he always lets you read the prologue of a book he’s considering purchasing.
but your personal favorite?
jason always lets you kiss him first.
he’ll lower his face to yours, keeping the space between the two of you until you lift your lips to slot against his. whenever he wants affection, he’ll draw closer, look at you with those utterly compelling eyes of his, and wait.
he waits until you respond—whether it be reciprocating his energy or not.
he doesn’t take from you. he loves whatever you give him, even if it’s merely eye contact.
even then, he’ll graciously accept it because it’s from you.
jason has a habit of waiting for you to kiss him first, not because he’s nervous or shy.
he waits because he knows what it’s like to have things taken, and he always wants you to have a choice.
something about the sound of you
jason todd x reader
summary: falling asleep on facetime with him when he’s away on a mission <3 soft, but a tiny bit angsty because jason is emotionally constipated (affectionate) and reader misses him a lot.
Your phone lights up at 2:47 AM with a FaceTime call. Jason.
You were already awake. You've been awake for hours, lying in the dark with the fan on, doing that thing where your mind won’t settle, but sleep won’t come either. Just existing in the gap between. You haven’t heard from him in days, and your thumb hits accept before the first ring is done.
It takes a second for the call to connect, for the black screen to resolve into a dark room—a safehouse, maybe, or a motel. The only light is the glow of a joint between his fingers, flickering softly against his face.
His eyes are low and glassy from the smoke. They’re pretty in a way he'd hate you for noticing, lashes casting long shadows down his cheeks.
"Hi,” he says. His voice is rough, scratching raw against your ear through the shitty phone speaker.
“Hey.” You pull the blanket up over your shoulders and tuck yourself against the headboard. You’re mirror images of each other now, propped up in separate beds in separate cities. “You okay?”
It's a stupid question. You know it the second it leaves your mouth. He looks exhausted. It shows in his shoulders, in how stiff he is. Every muscle is locked in place because letting go means maybe not being able to pull himself back together.
Whatever this job is, it’s clearly eating him alive.
His jaw shifts. For a second, it looks like he might say something sharp. Instead, he takes a hit, holds it, then lets it go slow.
"Yeah," he says through the exhale, smoke curling up past his face. “No. I don't know."
He pauses, and all you can hear is his breathing. It’s deliberate, measured. A pattern you’ve come to recognize: him trying to manually override his own nervous system. He does it after nightmares, after patrol, after those long silences that mean he went somewhere in his head that he can’t easily get back from.
“Can’t sleep,” he adds eventually, like a concession.
You don’t push or ask why. He won’t give you that. Not yet anyway.
The line goes quiet, and usually you can sit with it. But after the last few days, it’s harder, and a quiet me neither slips out before you can swallow it back.
That’s when he really looks at you. His gaze catches on the old shirt you’re wearing, his shirt, then drifts over the rest of you: messy hair, bitten lips, the dullness of your skin.
A frown pulls his brows together, the edge in his voice softening. “What’s going on?”
You hesitate. You didn’t want to tell him this stuff; you tried to tuck it away for a reason. Because how do you tell him you’re having a hard time without him when he’s out there risking his life every day? It feels like adding weight to someone already carrying too much. It feels ridiculous.
But those hazy, steady eyes stay on you, patient, waiting, and they pull the truth right out.
"It's just a lot right now," you finish after a while, sounding more vulnerable than you meant to.
"Yeah." He taps ash off the joint somewhere offscreen. "I know exactly what you mean."
And the knot in your chest finally starts to loosen. You can’t believe you almost didn’t tell him. Of course he didn’t dismiss you or downplay your feelings. He never has. For all his stubbornness, all the pulling away and going quiet, he’s never once made you feel small for needing him, even when you’d convinced yourself he would.
The next drag he takes is slower. Not so desperate.
"That helping?" you ask.
He glances at the joint, then back at you. "Not really."
He holds your gaze for a long moment. You can almost see him deciding whether to say it. When he does, it’s quiet, almost boyish: “Keep talking.”
The weight of that settles beneath your ribs, steady. Jason Todd, who would rather bleed out in an alley than admit he needs someone, is asking you to keep talking because maybe your voice is doing what the smoke can’t.
So you do.
You tell him about the book you've been trying to finish, how you keep rereading the same page because your brain won't hold the sentences. You tell him about the rain earlier, how it smelled. You tell him about the stupid thing that made you laugh three days ago that you saved to tell him and then forgot until right now.
He doesn't interrupt. The joint burns down between his fingers, forgotten, and his blinks start getting longer. He sinks lower against the pillows without seeming to realize it, the camera tilting with him until he's on his side with one hand resting on the mattress. Close to the phone, close to you.
You keep going. You tell him you miss him. You tell him the bed's too big without him.
His eyes flutter closed, and his breathing slows, deepens, losing that tight, controlled edge. He doesn’t open them again.
You smile, small and soft. He’s finally asleep. Truly asleep—the kind that doesn’t come easy, the kind that never seems to stay.
You don't hang up, just turn the brightness down, set the phone on the pillow beside you, and close your eyes to the sound of him breathing. It’s not the same as having him here. Not his weight on the mattress, not his arm heavy across your waist, not his heartbeat under your ear.
But it’s him, alive and still yours, even from miles away.
You fall asleep twenty minutes later, and the call runs until morning.
Summary: Your evening out doesn't go quite how you'd hoped. It doesn't go how Jason hoped either.
Warnings: Cursing, references to alcohol, Jason is Big grumpy
Part 1
It took a degree of self control that might, upon reflection, have been embarrassing for Jason to avoid crashing your almost-date himself. But he knew how important this night was to you, how nervous you’d been even minutes before introducing him to your new boyfriend. If he went over there now, you’d only pretend everything was fine. Woodley would engage in more infuriating rich man double-talk. And there was a very real possibility that Jason would break his nose in response. Not ideal. At least, not with so many witnesses. So he called in a ringer instead.
In no mood to ask a favor publicly or waste his now limited patience on strangers, Jason nudged Dick’s shoulder as he passed him, making for a relatively empty corner of the ballroom. He didn’t turn to make sure his signal was understood or wait for Dick to make his polite excuses to the guests he’d been entertaining. By the time he’d reached the back wall, Dick had fallen into step with him.
“You good?”
“I need you to ask her to dance,” Jason answered, nodding his head towards where you still stood uncomfortably ensconced in the Mayor’s social circle with a frozen smile and halfway vacant eyes.
Dick let out a low whistle as he too made a quick scan of your body language.
“Can do. You guys in a fight or something?”
“Trying to avoid one, actually. I promised to be nice.”
“Ah. Does he suck?” Dick asked sympathetically.
“Yes.”
"That checks out. I’m on it.”
Jason tried to roll some of the tension from his shoulders as he watched Dick head in your direction, a studied casualness to his strides making it appear to any observer that he had no particular destination in mind until the last second. He joined the fray with the kind of cheerful audacity few people could get away with, slinging a companionable arm around your shoulders by way of a greeting and offering your boyfriend a handshake in the same breath. Even from this distance, the introduction went undeniably better than Jason’s had, no detectable tension between the three of you as you talked.
Minutes later, Dick was dragging you onto the dance floor by both hands, your expression one of fond exasperation. Jason let out a slow breath, taking some small comfort in the sight of you with Dick before turning his attention back to Woodley.
He too had stared after you for a little while, looking slightly curious but not displeased, before refocusing on the fellow guests around him.
From here, it was easier to see him objectively, see the cracks in the veneer that paradoxically vanished up close. In a group, his eyes were in near constant motion, guiding a relentless cycle of studying, assessing, and mirroring the men around him. His laughter and replies seemed too quick off the tongue, anticipated, like he was working off a teleprompter. There was an eagerness, a stiffness to his performance of social ease that signaled he was a new, if rigorous, player in this game. Campaigning hard for respect and significance rather than waiting to be recognized. Jason’s study was interrupted before it could delve any further.
“Can I help?” The sound of Bruce’s voice just behind him had Jason’s shoulders tensing with surprise. The old man could still pull off an ambush, even in a tuxedo.
“With what?” he asked, shifting his posture in an effort to appear unaffected.
“With whatever’s going on here,” Bruce answered, gesturing his conspicuously full champagne flute towards the dance floor, where Dick appeared to be trying to break some kind of consecutive twirl record.
Your dress flared out prettily at the movement, but your laugh was still more attention-grabbing, floating above the music and chatter of the other guests.
“Nothing’s going on,” he said quickly, drowning the words in his own drink as Woodley paused his performance to trace the sound of your laugh as well. Jason’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. Probably time to lay off the alcohol.
“I know I said I would try not to pry - ”
“But you’ve found another excuse to ignore that conversation?” Jason guessed, pointedly turning his back to the dance floor and the group gathered across it, facing Bruce head-on.
“This is different. It seems personal. I’m not asking as - ” He broke off with a tired sigh. “If it has anything to do with this side of life, this side of Gotham,” he said, “I might be able to help. If you want. If you’ll let me.”
“Dick’s already helping.”
“I see that,” he said, eyes flicking briefly over Jason’s shoulder. “Mediating?”
“Cheering up,” Jason corrected.
Bruce just stared, waiting for more information, hoping it would be offered freely and perhaps more comfortably if he did not ask. And in the meantime, no doubt, drawing conclusions of his own.
With an impatient breath, Jason made a decision.
“Pinstripes. In the group with the mayor, to the left of the doors.”
With a natural ease, Bruce scanned over the crowd, an expression of only passive interest on his face, a bored monarch observing his kingdom.
“William Woodley. New assistant prosecutor in the DA’s office. Moved to Gotham four months ago. Diamond District, but he’s rarely home. Workaholic. Hasn’t been trusted as lead yet, but his work so far seems clean and ambitious.,” he rattled off, neutral expression never slipping.
“Why did both you and Dick know about him before I did?” Jason complained.
“Professional capacity, not personal,” Bruce assured him. “New players in our justice system always catch my attention, at least briefly. You have concerns?”
“He’s seeing my best friend, so yes, I have concerns.”
Bruce’s gaze sharpened, snapping back to Jason.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Are you? Why?”
Bruce pursed his lips slightly, clearly choosing his words with care.
“Because I know this may complicate your relationship with her. A relationship that’s… important to you.”
“Hey, if she’s happy…” Jason said with a cheerless smile.
“Is she?”
Jason shrugged uncomfortably.
“She says she is.”
Bruce gave a quiet hum, eyes traveling between the man glad-handing the mayor and the woman he’d long been hoping to more formally welcome as a daughter, smiling as she spun away on the dance floor with an infectious joy. After a moment, he allowed his attention to be drawn away, aware that his son was now staring at him with an odd sort of frown.
Not that Jason frowning at him was any kind of revelation, but this one was different. Smaller, softer, concealing some kind of question trapped between clenched teeth.
“What is it?” he asked, as gently as he was able, as gently as he thought Jason would allow.
“What did you mean about this complicating our relationship?”
“Well…” Bruce took a breath. “From what I understand, the two of you are very close and fairly… affectionate friends. There’s a strong possibility that her new partner may have a problem with that.”
Jason recalled the way that Woodley had guided you away from him only moments after arriving at your side.
“But that’s just… how we are. How we like to be.”
“I know,” Bruce said softly. “And hopefully you can find some kind of compromise you’re all okay with. She’s a smart young woman. She won’t want to lose you.”
Jason felt a jolt in his chest, almost like falling. He clenched his jaw harder through the feeling.
“I don’t want to compromise. He shouldn’t get a say in what our friendship looks like.”
“Maybe he won’t,” Bruce said, placating. “I just want you to be prepared for the possibility.”
“Yeah…”
Out of habit, Jason glanced over to check on you again, only to see Dick alone, frowning after your retreating form.
“Something’s wrong,” Jason said by way of goodbye, moving quickly through the crowd to reach his brother.
“What happened?”
“Boring new boyfriend happened,” Dick answered with a dissatisfied look in the offending party’s direction. “Noticed it a little while ago but was able to keep her back to him most of the time.”
“What did he do?”
“Technically nothing. But after a while he started looking over at us like she was doing something wrong. Embarrassing him or something. As soon as she noticed, she said she wasn’t feeling well and took off.”
Something hot and angry flared to life in Jason’s chest, tightened in his throat.
“God fucking forbid one person have fun at this damn party,” he said, turning to follow after you when Dick caught his arm.
“You might want to give her some space.”
“Once I get her away from that asshole, she can have as much space as she wants.”
He didn’t stick around to hear anything more than a plaintive sigh of his name, wholly uninterested in listening to any kind of reason. He was aware he was probably coming in much too hot, picking it up from the looks he earned as he crossed the room, ranging from slightly nervous to fully alarmed. With a concentrated effort, Jason forced a few deep breaths. He was distantly aware that someone had started following him, but he couldn’t be bothered to check.
“Hey,” he said, hand coming to rest lightly on your elbow when he was close enough. Despite the force of the irritation and concern warring within him, he kept his voice quiet enough to not derail the group discussion you were hovering at the edge of. You met his eyes briefly, offering a strained smile and a quiet hello before looking away again.
“Dick said you weren’t feeling well. You okay?”
That, unfortunately, drew Woodley’s attention, and he guided you a few steps away from the group, Jason close behind.
“You should have told me,” Woodley said, nudging at your chin until you met his eyes. “Are you alright? Did you drink too much?”
“She barely had anything,” Jason said defensively.
“Migraine,” you cut in. “Probably just tired.”
Woodley seemed to accept your explanation, humming sympathetically and squeezing your shoulder. But Jason knew you too well, knew the cues of your discomfort and unhappiness better than his own. He knew what you looked like with a migraine.
Your head would be tilted down, eyeline kept low to avoid any light sources. Your arms would be crossed, shoulders tense and high. Your eye would twitch every so slightly at any sharp or unexpected sound, an imperfectly suppressed flinch.
But now?
Though your eyeline was low, it seemed incidental, the product of defeat rather than a conscious and controlled movement. Your arms were crossed, but your shoulders were slightly slumped. You gave no reaction to the loud clinking of glasses that accompanied a spontaneous toast just behind you.
Before Jason could decide on how to respond, he noted Woodley’s eyes flickering in a double-take over his shoulder, hands falling away from you as he nervously smoothed his tie.
“We should get you home,” Bruce said kindly. “This is the last place I’d want to be with a migraine.”
“Mr. Wayne. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I wish it was under better circumstances, of course.”
Bruce only spared him a brief glance and a nod, about as strong a dismissal as anyone could get from him in this setting, his attention fully settled on you.
“You’re probably right,” you said. “I’m sure I’ll be okay after some rest.”
Bruce nodded reassuringly, this time aiming a much more pointed look at your boyfriend.
“Oh, I could - ” Woodley turned back to you. “I could call you a car if you’d like to go home. I’d hate for it to get worse.”
Not us. You. A car for you.
Jason bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, trying to quiet the sound of his impatient sigh.
“I’ll take you home,” he said, voice softening for you as it so often did. “We can get you something to eat on the way.”
“Take my car,” Bruce said, pulling a valet ticket from his pocket. “Faster. And gets fun looks at a drive-through.”
“Thank you, Bruce,” you said quietly as Jason took the ticket.
“That really is very generous of you, Mr. Wayne.”
“Feel better. Or I’ll sick Alfred on you tomorrow.”
You smiled weakly, sparing one more hopeful glance at your date.
“Text me when you get home,” he requested, leaning to kiss your cheek. “I’ll call you later to check on you, but let me know if you need anything before then.”
You nodded, swallowing down the last of your hopes for the evening as you followed Jason out the doors.
*****
TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK before I pass out. Did we enjoy the Bruce cameo? What's gonna happen when they get hooooome?
Everyone say thank you to @batchilla for threatening me (with consent) so that I'd finish this chapter. Ya girl has been skipping ahead to write the more fun bits.
dealing with dick's breakdown ノ the smell of garlic and simmering tomatoes filled the small apartment, rich and homey, curling through the air like a promise. rain had been falling for hours outside, drumming gently against the windows, a soft percussion that made the kitchen feel even warmer by contrast. the lights were low—only the amber glow from the under-cabinet lamp illuminating the scene—and jason stood by the stove, spatula in hand, hair damp from a quick shower, wearing the kind of peace he didn’t often allow himself.
and then he froze.
the sound had been faint—just the faint creak of a window and the scrape of boots—but it cut through everything, setting his muscles tight and his breath shallow. he didn’t even turn right away, just let the silence settle thickly over the room, the low hiss of the stove the only sound that dared to continue.
“...you’ve got to be kidding me,” came the voice, incredulous and familiar.
dick grayson stood half inside the apartment, one leg still hooked over the windowsill. the wind from outside carried the scent of wet concrete and the metallic tang of gotham’s skyline, filling the warm air with cold edges. his mask was shoved up onto his forehead, hair mussed by the wind, blue eyes wide in disbelief that bordered on offense.
jason turned then, expression flat, one brow lifting with weary irritation. “ever heard of knocking, golden boy?”
“ever heard of answering your damn comms?” dick shot back automatically, climbing the rest of the way in. his boots hit the floor with a heavy thud, scattering a few droplets of rain across the tiles. “you disappear for a week—a week, jason—no signal, no tracker, nothing—and then i find you…” he gestured vaguely, voice pitching higher with every word, “making dinner?”
the absurdity of it hung in the air for a second. you blinked from your perch on the counter, a bowl of sliced fruit balanced beside you, startled but composed, the soft lamplight painting your face gold. instinctively, your hand drifted toward your stomach in a small, unconscious motion of protection and jason’s eyes flicked toward it. his entire body seemed to soften for a heartbeat, shoulders loosening, gaze quieting before he turned back to dick.
“yeah,” he said finally, his tone dry as sandpaper. “congratulations. you found me. now get out.”
dick’s mouth fell open, completely speechless for half a second, before the words tumbled out in a rush. “get out? get out? jason, what—what is this? who—” he turned toward you, flustered, fumbling. “hi, i’m—i’m dick. jason’s—uh—family. sort of. brother, yeah.”
you smiled, small and polite, a little uncertain but not afraid. “i know who you are.”
“right. yeah. okay.” he nodded quickly, running a hand through his rain-damp hair like he was trying to reboot his brain. “and you are…?”
“my wife,” jason said simply, setting the spatula down with quiet finality.
the word hit the air like a gunshot—clean, sharp, and echoing. for a long moment, even the bubbling of the pot seemed to hush, as if the entire room was holding its breath.
dick blinked once. twice. and then again, slower, like his brain needed buffering time. “i’m sorry. yor what?”
“wife,” jason repeated, his voice calm and certain, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. his hand brushed gently across your lower back, grounding you both, a small gesture that said i’m here, i’ve got you, without needing the words.
for a second, dick looked like someone had just pulled the floor out from under him. he swayed a little where he stood, blinking hard. “you’re married.”
“mhmm.”
“married.”
“still true.”
“and— and she’s—” his voice cracked, breaking on the last word. his finger pointed helplessly toward you, or more precisely, at the faint curve beneath your shirt.
jason exhaled through his nose, wiping his hands on a towel. “yeah. that too.”
dick just stared, eyes wide, jaw slack, and then he made a sound that might’ve been a laugh, or a cry, or some impossible mix of both. his hands came up to his face, dragging down slowly. “oh my god,” he muttered, muffled behind his palms. “you’re married. you’re— you’re having a kid. i’m gonna— oh my god, i’m gonna be an uncle.”
the words tumbled out in a rush as he started pacing, running both hands through his hair, muttering under his breath about how he needed several minutes and possibly an ambulance. you bit your lip to keep from laughing, your shoulders trembling with quiet amusement.
“jason todd,” dick continued, more to himself now. “married. a whole wife. a baby. i— i need a minute. i need several minutes.”
leaning back against the counter, jason rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching. “you done?”
“no! i am so not done! you disappear for days, we think you’re dead in an alley somewhere, and you’re just— cooking dinner!?”
“dinner’s important. especially for my wife and baby,” jason deadpanned.
dick threw his hands up. “dinner— jason! you can’t just drop a marriage and a child on me like you’re telling me what’s for dessert!”
you couldn’t help yourself and chimed in softly, “lasagna. no dessert...” your lips formed a soft pout in disappointment.
it was enough to stop dick mid-rant. his head whipped toward you, eyes wide, as though that single, normal word had snapped the entire world into focus. and then, for the first time since he’d climbed in through the window, his expression broke—not with shock, but with warmth.
“you’re really—?” he asked, voice quieter now.
you nodded, fingertips brushing over your stomach.
and something inside dick cracked wide open. his mouth trembled, his eyes shone, and before either of you could react, he was moving—closing the space between them and pulling jason into a hug so sudden and clumsy that it nearly knocked the spatula off the counter. it was crushing, awkward, but heartbreakingly sincere.
“i thought you were gone,” he said, his voice muffled against jason’s shoulder. “i thought you’d just… disappear again.”
jason stiffened, caught off guard, his hands hovering in the air for a moment like he didn’t quite know what to do with them. then, slowly and hesitantly he clapped dick on the back. it wasn’t much, but it was enough. “yeah,” he said quietly. “guess i didn’t.”
when dick finally pulled back, his eyes were wet, his smile shaky. “you’ve got a family, jay. you— you built a whole life here.”
jason didn’t meet his eyes. instead, his gaze found you, and something small and unguarded bloomed across his face—a softness so rare it almost hurt to see. “yeah,” he murmured. “i did.”
dick sniffed, laughing weakly as he wiped his cheeks. “bruce is gonna lose his mind.”
“you’re not telling him,” jason said immediately.
“oh, i am telling him.”
“no, you’re not.”
“i am, because— oh my god— alfred is gonna explode. he’s gonna start knitting baby blankets before sunrise.”
“grayson.”
but dick was already grinning, wiping the last of his tears with the back of his hand, that old spark of mischief returning to his face. “sorry, too late. you can’t hide this. you’ve got fruit bowls and lasagna and a wife who looks like she actually likes you. you’re domesticated, man. this is happening.”
the laughter that bubbled out of you was soft, bright, and disarming. it eased something deep in jason’s chest, something he hadn’t realized was still tense.
he exhaled, shaking his head, a low chuckle breaking through his defenses. “yeah,” he said at last, voice warm and quiet. “guess it is.”
the city murmured outside, rain whispering against the glass. the kitchen glowed golden, filled with steam and warmth and the sound of family rediscovering itself. and for one impossibly gentle moment, the red hood’s world—blood, ghosts, scars and all—felt achingly, beautifully human.
taglist ﹕@lyvhie @spacejip @bamjjwi @averyhotchner @depressed-eternal @casiiopea2 @asapkeepmerockyyy @penguimlover23 | if you'd like to join the taglist, fill out this form! / part one
you're pleasantly surprised to find a costume hiding in the back of your boyfriend's closet. rushing to make a costume of your own, he comes home and stumbles through the most surprising confession of your life. [KINKTOBER'25] // [GEN. MASTERLIST]
pairing: adrian chase x f!reader
tags: 18+ MINORS DNI, established relationship, secret identity, reader is kind of dumb, knifeplay, breathplay, unprotected sex, the mask stays on, kissing w the mask, minorly edited // 13/13 — KNIFEPLAY
word count: 3.3k+
a/n: HAPPY HALLOWEEN! i did some general research into knifeplay, but this is absolutely playing a little loose with actual safety when it comes to knifeplay. read at your own discretion, and please do genuine research when it comes to real life <3
When you found the suit in the closet of your apartment, tucked behind a false panel, you were shocked that Adrian would go to all this trouble. He was never a holiday guy, usually picked up shifts for the extra pay, leaving you at home with a kiss and a cheery, “See ya. Don’t open the door for strangers.”
Which, whatever, fine by you honestly. Crowds and noise and the dumbest drivers in Evergreen on the road at all hours did not sound very appealing. So, tonight your plans were with a big bowl of popcorn and a bigger bowl of candy, on the couch with a marathon of Halloween movies. Until you found the suit.
You grab it from the closet, laying it across the bed. You expected cheap foam paneling and maybe some cardboard, but the breastplates are hard when you knock at them, metal clasps and sewn pockets. It’s not expert craftsmanship, but more than you would’ve thought your boyfriend capable of. Clearly, he had alternate plans for you two this year, and you scramble together something from your closet before he can make it back home.
Adrian walks through the door no less than ten minutes later, coffee and bagels in hand, kicking the door shut behind him.
“You would not believe the line, who wakes up on Halloween and wants bagels?” He yells, voice growing closer as he makes his way to the bedroom, “Hello?”
“In here!” You yell back, hopping backward onto the bed, tucking your hands between your knees.
“Pancakes are way more Hallow—whoa.” He freezes in the doorway, his eyes flickering back and forth between you and the suit.
“Ta da.” You shrug, waiting for him to react, to kiss you, to say anything. All he can think to do is set the coffees down on the dresser, bag of bagels tipping over. One singular bagel rolls out, bumps a bottle of your perfume, and plops flat next to it.
“What are you doing with my suit?” He asks.
“I found it in the closet! Sorry to ruin the surprise, but I didn’t know you even liked Vigilante that much. Or that you were a costume guy.” You pause, kicking at the corner of your rug, “I did what I could, if you told me I could’ve put something way better together.”
“Ohhh,” A wide grin spreads across his face, “Right, sorry.”
“Do you like it?” You smooth your hands down the front of your shirt as he steps towards you, reaching for your wrist.
“Your outfit? You always look ridiculously hot, come on.” He leans down to kiss you, and his eyes find the suit before he meets your lips.
“Mm, no, hey.” You back away, pushing him away from you, “I’m a criminal!”
“What?” His eyes go wide, a cringing smile on his lips.
“Ugh,” You groan, rushing over to your dresser and rifling through the top drawer, “Hold on, you came home before I could finish, but, one second...” Trailing off, you smudge dark eyeshadow around your eyes.
Adrian’s facing you with his hands on his hips when you turn around, exasperation in his body language, a deep sigh when you finish with another “Ta da.”
“What does a bad makeup job have to do with anything?” He gestures towards you, hand falling back and slapping against his hip.
You laugh, padding over to invade his space, forcing his hands around your waist, “No, no! Get it? Striped tee shirt, dark makeup, I don’t have a ski mask but like the black beanie? I’m a cartoon criminal! Didn’t your one coworker say Vigilante told him he only kills criminals when they had that run in with the mugger a few months back?”
Everything catches up to Adrian at once, and he tugs you into the hug with a boisterous laugh, pushing you away to look at you in your entirety once he’s composed himself.
“Why would you want Vigilante to kill you?” He moves a strand of hair from your face, “Pretty silly of you.”
You let your head fall backward with an exhausted, “Noo,” forcing him to carry your weight. Your head swims a little when you snap back to look at him, “You can put on the suit, and we can maybe, I dunno, do some...roleplaying? Before whatever you’d had planned, of course. Far be it from me to steal your thunder, or whatever. I already ruined the surprise.”
“Hmm.” Adrian pushes his glasses up, breaking from the hug and running his hand along the length of the suit.
“It’s really impressive, I didn’t even know you could sew. Why do you like Vigilante so much anyway?” You ask, hopping back on the bed to curl against your pillow, watching him eye the suit.
“You really want to see me wear this?” He lifts his brows at you, looking up through his eyelashes. God, he’s pretty.
“Duh. Isn’t that why you made the thing in the first place?” Tucking your hands underneath the pillow, you reach over with a foot to kick at his forearm, “Unless you want to keep me in the dark, but I’d love to know. Are we trick or treating? Toilet papering Dave’s house?”
You pause, “Actually, no, don’t tell me.”
“So, roleplaying...I dunno, I heard this guy is really scary. You know, when you’re face to face.”
“That’s fine!” You sit back up, leaning forward on your knees, “You can try to be scary if you want.”
“Hey!”
You shrug, “Can’t be any scarier than Vigilante, that guy murders people for real.”
“Hmm.” Adrian starts tugging off his sweater, kicking his jeans off and yanking on the suit one by one.
Eager anticipation swirls in your stomach as you watch the suit come together piece by piece, tactical shirt hugging his waist, the broad shoulder-pads widening his already outrageous proportions.
“Oh, wow.” You breathe, walking over to him on the bed on your knees. You stop him from putting on the mask, craning yourself to kiss him, a hand toying with the metal buckles atop his abdomen.
“You look hotter than he does.”
“You think Vigilante’s hot?” Adrian smiles against your mouth, a gloved hand coming up to cradle your cheek.
“Sure, obviously I don’t know what he looks like under the mask but he has insane physicality from the videos I’ve seen online. I’d let him fuck me.”
“O-hoh, well, you’re about to.” He slips his tongue in your mouth, smiles interrupting what could be a true, full kiss. But still, it’s satisfying as he starts to tilt you backwards on the bed.
“I’m shaking.” Laughing, you smack his chest, “Now go ahead, put on the mask.”
The helmet shapes to him, and in an instant Adrian is gone. Vigilante remains.
“Jesus, it’s uncanny.” You edge towards him, as far on the bed as you can without falling off, reaching up to squeeze a hand under his chin, turning his head left and right, peering at him through the visor, “You’re damn talented, Adrian.”
“It’s Vigilante, hello.” He responds, grabbing your wrist.
“Oh, right, my bad. Vigilante.” You lean forward and press your lips to the mask, “Forgive me.”
Adrian’s hands come to your waist, “So,” He slips them up your shirt, “What crimes have you committed?”
You can’t help but laugh, “Oh, well, um...nothing, nothing, really. I’m innocent.”
His shoulders fall, “Well, fine, if you don’t want to confess.”
“What? You’ll just have to beat it outta me?” You run your hands up his biceps.
“No, you’re free to go.”
“Wait, what, no, Adr—Vigilante, I mean.” You peck up at his mouth, “I’ve committed crimes, lots of em.”
“Oh, yeah?” His tone is suspect, “Get real, I know you’ve never broken the law a day in your life, and I’d never date a wanted criminal anyway.”
“Obviously, but we’re just playing here.”
Adrian crosses his arms, leaning away from you, a quiet humph in his chest.
“Okay, time out, you’re being weird.” Hands on your hips, you freeze at the edge of the bed on your knees, matching Adrian’s height.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Because, you went to all this trouble making this sick ass armor which, I didn’t even know you were into, and you’re kinda dancing around the whole crime thing when like, it’s just pretend. We’re fucking around, right?”
“Yes! Yeah, pretending. Not real at all.” He swipes a hand in front of him, “I didn’t even make this, I don’t even have a sewing machine. You know that, I just found this.”
The gears in your brain are grinding, confusion with every word from him. One possibility crosses your mind, but, no, there’s no way. Adrian?
“Where?” You throw your hands up.
“What?”
“Where did you find it? That’s like, an outrageous improbability.”
“In an alley.” He shrugs.
“And what were you doing in an alley?” You’re not even angry, you just feel flustered.
“Throwing trash away!”
“Adrian! Jesus Christ,” You slide off the bed, squeezing either side of his face between your hands, “Can you just tell me what’s going on? Are you friends with Vigilante or something? It’s fine if you are, just, I should be in the know.”
He reaches up for your wrists, head falling, a big sigh.
“You’re right, sorry.”
“Thank you.” You duck into his eye-line, “So, what, you’re holding stuff for him?”
He shakes his head, “No. I’m Vigilante.”
Your jaw drops, eyebrows raise. Silence crowds the room. You’re not sure you even really care, maybe it’s a bit shocking, but Adrian was always quite a bit off-kilter. Most people couldn’t deal with him for an hour much less move in with him. So he’s a secret superhero, he’d probably have better stories to tell you instead of the recurring saga of his dickhead manager, Dave. You were getting so bored of it you thought you might go homicidal yourself.
“And the rumors are totally true, I do only kill criminals, but trust me, you’re just not believable as a criminal, babe.”
The accusation pulls you from your stupor, “What? Yes I am.”
“No way.”
You shove his face away, “You don’t know. I could be a criminal kingpin.”
He laughs at you, a hand over his belly, “O-okay, sure.”
Smacking him on the shoulder, the chest, his cheek, you invade the space between you, “How’s this, then? Battery, or assault?”
Vigilante catches your wrists, “It’s battery.”
Your breath catches in your throat, the tone of his voice low and grainy, you whisper in the suspended space, “So, what, you’re going to kill me now?”
He huffs, walking you backwards toward the bed, “We’re still pretending?”
“I don’t know.”
You let him push you onto the mattress, hands coming to spread your knees apart, he stands over you. It’s menacing, even in the bright light of the late morning, the way his gaze combs over your body.
“Do you still want me to try being scary?” You’re certain he would be fighting a smile if the mask was off, voice thick with an almost-laugh, holding back for the moment.
“I think you’re succeeding.” Leaning up on your elbows, you blink hard at him.
“Want me to show you what I do to criminals? I won’t kill you.” He crosses a finger over his heart, and raises his hand, “Swear.”
Your stomach flutters at the words. He has a coarse voice when he wants, usually when he’s speaking to you in the dark, trying to level his tone, or manage your tempers. This was a step beyond, the lilt of giddiness straining underneath measured coolness.
“Yes, yeah, show me.”
Vigilante reaches behind his back, and you hear something unclasp, the smooth schlick of a knife glinting off the sun as he pulls it out.
A smile kicks its way to your mouth, and your breathing picks up, “This is new.”
“It’s a few years old at this point, needs sharpening.” He holds it in line with his thigh, tapping the tip to the metal button of a pocket.
“So, you’ve really used that on people?”
He nods, “My sword just isn’t conducive to stealth most of the time.”
A sword? You’d have to make him show you his entire arsenal one day. Where he kept all this stuff, mostly. It was a small apartment.
“Wow.” You reach out for the knife, and he keeps it from you.
“Hey.” He shakes his head, pushing your hand back, “If you think I’m gonna let someone who just committed battery on me have my knife, you’re nuts.”
Reaching forward, he pinches your chin to hold you in place, and drags the tip along the line of your jaw. He presses the flat side underneath your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.
“Don’t move.” He guides you gently back to lay on the bed, the tip of the knife coasting down your t-shirt before he slips it underneath the hem and punctures the thin fabric, tearing a hold big enough to slip his fingers through. He rips the t-shirt apart in a clean line, leaning up with one knee on the bed to hover over your body.
The knee-pad presses between your legs, and Vigilante slips a hand underneath your back, lifting you in a slow arch as he grinds his thigh into your cunt. The tip of the knife rests at your sternum, scratching at your skin as you breathe gently in and out.
“You’re not gonna kill me, but, are you gonna hurt me?” You ask, clasping and unclasping your fists at your side.
“No way, I don’t want to get blood on our sheets.” He looks up at you, leaning over to graze against your mouth, “Would you want me to?”
“I—” His breath is hot, and you lick your lips, fighting the urge to lean up and kiss his mask, to slick up the fabric with your wet, wanting mouth, “One day, I think so.”
“You’ll have to do something really bad, then.” He backs away, pulling the knife with him, “Here, you can take your jeans off.”
Your eyes linger on the way his fingers close over the knife, grip tighter than when he’d held it over you, and you wonder over the harshness of his touch out there. You’d heard the news stories, the condition of the bodies. Necks torn apart and limbs cut clean off, he was vicious, efficient, unyielding.
For however strange the man you lived with was, he was never ominous or threatening. Vulgar in how freely he talked about death and his entire concept of deserving victims (cops, criminals, sometimes people who cut you off in traffic,) but then, you were much the same. It was all theoretical, at least, you’d thought.
He’s back over you before the jeans have hit the floor, a finger slipping underneath the waistband of your underwear, “These are old, right? You need to replace them?”
There’s some exasperation in his voice, and you breath out a confirmation, watching him cut those off as well.
The thick fabric of his gloves slide between your legs, the bundle of damp hair protecting you from any real friction from the rough texture. His middle fingertip slips between your lips, the touch rubbery as it circles your clit.
“Just to be clear, this,” He breathes, tapping his finger at the bundle of nerves, “Is because you’re my girlfriend.”
“Oh, what?” You ask, chest heaving with the quickening of his pace, “You don’t go around fingering criminals?”
“Is that where the phrase comes from?” Head cocked, he watches you laugh at him and reach for the side of his mask, grazing his cheek before letting your hand fall back to the mattress.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Hmm, then no, not that kind of fingering.”
Vigilante drags the knife horizontal up your torso, the blade’s angle smooth and cold against your skin. He flicks over the thin fabric covering your nipple, a ghost touch from the edge of the blade as he coasts it back up to hold at your throat.
“If you were a real criminal I’d run this across your throat,” He tilts the knife up, pointed edge just tapping next to your pulse, “Or jam it into your jugular.”
The finger on your clit is rough, smushing the skin around your clit. The gloves reduce tactility, and he’s less precise than he would be using his bare finger, but the carelessness sends shock-waves through your thighs, just hitting the perfect spot before he’s moved a little too far to the left, the right. Up, down.
“Yeah?”
“Yes.” Coarse, quiet, he leans down to hover over your mouth, “Over and over until they stop twitching. It’s easiest when they don’t fight back. I mean, really, they act like this isn’t the natural consequence for being a criminal.”
The pressure in your gut wells, coursing out through your body in waves that grow bigger and bigger, Vigilante’s voice guiding you through.
“You’d probably put up a fight, but you’re not a criminal, as we’ve obviously established.” He backs away to watch you cum, the knife flat across the pulpit of your throat, applied pressure choking your moans but far and away from the true threat of harm. It feels dangerous enough, spasming and arching into his hand, against the blade, crying out as he works a hand over his groin.
He’s inside you before you’ve come down from the last dregs of your orgasm, satisfied with the knife at your throat, suppressing comfort but not air.
“You’d look good holding the knife, though.” He groans, holding tight to your hip as he fucks into you, your legs hanging off the bed as he stands between them.
You gulp, “You think so?”
“Fuck yeah,” His head falls back. He’s working himself up into a fantasy of his own, words falling from his lips without provocation, carrying his own self away, “We could make you a suit. I’ll—fuck, I’ll teach you. You’d be my sidekick, Jesus you feel so fucking good.”
“Yeah, yeah, fuck, I could kill someone for you. Absolutely.” You exhale, bringing your hand up to bite your knuckles, desperate for any sensation in your mouth if you can’t have Vigilante’s lips.
“Say that again.” He digs the dull side of the blade into your skin, “Please.”
Scratching at your forehead, you grind your head back into the mattress, “I’ll kill for you. I’ll kill with you. Fuck, Vigilante, I will, I will.” Over and over until the words are jumbling together and he’s slipping the knife back in its sheath, both hands firm on your hips.
“Yes, yes, motherfuc—” He goes stiff, jolting into you a beat later, his orgasm rocking through his entire body, “Fuck!” Loud into the air as you tug him down to press your mouth to the mask. The fabric is taut over his lips, but you can feel his breath, feel the way he tries to kiss you back. It stretches around his mouth as your saliva soaks through, moans muffled to satisfied hums as he cools, hitching his hips into you, desperation graduating to over-stimulation.
Adrian rolls onto his back beside you, yanking the mask off with a gasp of air.
You turn to look at him, incredulous laughter from you both as your brains catch up to your bodies, to the moment, what you promised and agreed upon.
“Would you really teach me?” You ask, reaching over to toy with the metal buckles on his suit.
“You really think you could handle it?” Not condescending, not doubtful, just curious, cautious.
“Yeah, I do.”
He leans over to kiss you, groaning as he pushes up from the bed, “Alright, better call Chris, then.”
“What? What’s he gotta do with anything?”
“Well, I’m Peacemaker’s sidekick, and if you’re gonna be mine, I’m sure there’s probably all sorts of politics involved.”
You shoot up from the bed, jaw slack, eyebrows raised.
Notes: yeah,,, so this one got a way from me. I couldn’t decide on making a prologue or a continuation, so I did both??
Prev
Someone was pounding on your front door.
It rattled the hinges, frantic and uneven.
You hesitated, frozen halfway between the couch and the kitchen. Midnight wasn’t exactly social hour in your neighborhood. But there was something desperate in that knocking that made your chest ache before your brain could scream for you to not open that door.
You cracked it open anyway.
And instantly forgot how to breathe.
Standing on your porch was Vigilante. As in, that Vigilante. The one from the news clips and shaky cell phone videos. Except, on TV he didn’t look like he’d been through a meat grinder.
He was hunched, clutching his ribs, breathing hard beneath armor that was punctured and scorched. He turned his head sharply over his shoulder like he was checking for something, then back at you.
“Vigilante?!” you hissed, taking in his state.
“Hey! Can you, uh, move out of the way so I can hide in here real quick?” He said it with an almost chipper tone, nevermind the fact that he was bleeding on your welcome mat.
You gape at him. “Hide?”
“Yeah, just for a sec! People are trying to kill me. Which, rude, but I’ll get them back for it, don’t worry!”
So that’s what all that ruckus was. You’d gotten used to hearing craziness every other night around here, so much that it was hard to tell the difference between gunshots and bad fireworks.
This time, apparently, it was gunshots.
You stepped aside before your sense of reason could intervene, and he stumbled past you into the living room, dragging one leg slightly behind him.
You quickly lock the deadbolt and spin back to him, “You’re- oh my god, you’re so hurt- Jesus!”
He straightened, or tried to. His chest puffed out, his stance wobbling. “I’m fine,” he said, voice bright and breathless. “I’ll just take a nap for a bit, and I’ll be good to go.”
“You’re bleeding through your armor!” you tried to reason, stepping closer.
He looked down at himself, frowned. “Yeah, that’s… yeah, nothing to worry about I heal fast.”
Then he swayed.
You caught him before he hit the ground, bracing him with both hands. His weight was solid and heavy against you, the Kevlar warm under your palms.
The moment your skin brushed the torn edge of his suit, a spark fluttered through you. It was small, electric, familiar. Your ability itched under your skin, that old, undeniable pull to fix what’s broken.
“Okay, come on,” you muttered, half-guiding, more dragging, him down the hall. He tried to protest, mumbling something incoherent but let you take him into the guest room. You coax him onto the bed, wincing as his blood stained the sheets.
“Okayyy,” he mutters, already half-asleep, “maybe just for a little bit…” Then, not a second later he was passed out cold.
You stared at him for a moment as he laid there, heart still hammering.
Then you bolted back to the door, double-checked the locks, and grabbed your med kit from the bathroom.
He was still breathing when you returned. Each inhale he took was ragged and heavy beneath the ruined armor, but even.
You crouched beside your new patient, trying to focus on the mess of wounds and not the shape of him there on your bed. The air smelled like gunpowder, sweat, and something faintly clean and disarming. Cheap soap, maybe? It wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, the mix of it was kind of dizzying.
You reached for his mask, but the grip on your wrist was iron, biting deep before you could even flinch.
“Touch the mask,” he rasped, voice suddenly low, dangerous, “and I’ll kill you.”
You froze, then nodded quickly.
After a beat, his hand fell away. He slumped back into the pillow, unconscious and dead to the world once again.
“Okay,” you muttered under your breath and nodded again, “Okay, no mask. Got it.”
You hesitated for a second, then pulled scissors from the nightstand and sliced through the torn kevlar as carefully as you could, peeling away layer after layer until the material gave way.
Your breath caught.
He was… beautiful. His chest was broad and warm, scattered with bruises, scratches, and a few bullet wounds that-
You blinked.
Were already on their way to healing.
Huh.
You frowned, that familiar tug pulling harder now. The ache in your hands was impossible to ignore. Although it seemed like he was beginning to heal himself, the gashes on his side were still deep, and the blood was still pooling beneath him, albeit slower now. You’d spent your whole life trying not to use your ability unless you absolutely had to…but watching him bleed out on your bed? You didn’t even think twice.
You pressed your palm lightly against the torn skin near his ribs.
The reaction was instant: a heat flared beneath your hand, and the broken flesh began to knit together faster, angry red and purple fading to a pink, then to smooth, unbroken skin. You exhaled shakily. Every time it still amazed you.
You trailed your thumb along another wound, just to make sure it closed completely. It did. You kept going, from one gash, then another, each one sealing itself under your touch.
And you glanced back up at him. He was close enough that you could see the faint rise of his Adam’s apple under the edge of his mask.
Still, though, even after his (terrifying) warning…your fingers itched to touch. You had to physically stop yourself from sliding your hand up to trace the curve of his neck to where his throat met his jawline. You just knew his skin there would be so soft..
You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t.
But he was right there. And the smell of him and the warmth of his skin and the way your fingertips buzzed when you touched him-
You leaned forward before you could stop yourself and pressed your lips to the place where the wound on his chest had been. Just one soft kiss.
A surprised little hum, came from above you.
You froze.
“Did you,” his voice croaked, half-slurred, “did you just kiss me?”
Your eyes went wide.
Words. You needed words! Any words!!
“Yeah!” Your brain scrambled. “That’s just-uh-it’s part of how I heal people!” You laughed, high-pitched and nervous. “Should’ve mentioned that earlier when you came in. Totally forgot, my bad!”
There was a beat of silence. You could feel him staring at you through that red visor.
Then-
“…That’s so fucking COOL!”He grins under the mask. “You heal people with kisses? That’s awesome! Does it work on, like, broken ribs too, or-”
You blinked.
He bought it.
He actually bought it.
____
After that day, the masked vigilante started showing up at Casa de La You often. And before long, it wasn’t The Vigilante at your door, but Adrian Chase. The mask never made it past the doorway, usually ending up tossed somewhere in the hall or on the couch.
He’d trail after you while you cleaned, fingers grazing over things on the counter, talking about any odd thing that came to mind. Sometimes he came by to escape his mom, sometimes just to fill the quiet. He’d push up his glasses before another tangent, dimples flashing as he grinned over some ridiculous wildlife fact, and the sound of his laughter lingered long after he left.
It wasn’t just his honey curls or the green of his eyes that did you in, it was how alive he seemed in your space. And how when he smiled, the corners of his mouth dipped just enough to make your heart ache.
Whenever he came to you for healing though, the guilt settled heavy in your chest. He never suspected there was anything unusual about the way you did things, and you let him believe that.
You promised yourself you’d tell him the truth. But the moment your fingers found his skin, or your lips brushed the warmth of it, your resolve shattered all over again. It was selfish, maybe, but you swore to yourself you’d find the courage to tell him one day.
That decision was made for you the day you met the 11th Street Kids. The guilt was replaced with worry that gnawed at you. Would Adrian ever come back to see you? Would he hate you?
And yet, against all the anxiety, he kept coming back.
Today, Adrian showed up straight from his latest drug bust, his nose bleeding and a fresh bruise blooming just under his eye. You reached up without thinking, brushing your thumb over it, healing him and cleaning away the blood with a tissue. He tried to grin through the split in his lip where someone had pistol-whipped him.
“Kiss it better for me?”
And, Of course, who were you to say no?
You smile and lean up to press your lips against his, the warmth fizzling between you as his cut stitches itself up.
He’s already chasing the next kiss before you can pull back, grinning against your mouth. His hand slides up your spine, and suddenly one kiss turns into three. And for every one you give him, he just has to give you two more.
He hefts you up like it’s nothing, lips still locked with yours, and leads you both to the couch. He never leaves you, not even when he drops down into the cushions and pulls you into his lap. You’re laughing breathlessly against him, hands tangled in his hair as the world narrows down to just the two of you.
Adrian shifts beneath you, lying back until he’s flat against the cushions, one arm reaching up to shove a pillow under his head.
“I think I got a cut on my tongue earlier,” Adrian mumbles between kisses, voice warm with laughter. The sound vibrates through his chest, rumbling into yours, and you can’t help giggling too as you drag yourself higher to look at him.
“Oh yeah?” you tease. “Anything else I should worry about?”
He grins, eyes bright even in the dim light. “Yeah, I think one of the cartel guys grazed me when he shot at me. I’m pretty sure he nicked me,” His hand slides up from your hip, over your shirt, fingers spreading along your waist. He gives a slow, deliberate squeeze. “Right here.”
“I can take care of those too, if you want,” you offer, pressing your lips under his chin.
“Fuck, oh my god, please, I’d love that so much! Just..-” He looses his train of thought and groans softly, a smile tugging at his mouth.
You start undoing the buckles of his chest armor, the faint metallic clicks mixing with his steady breathing. The zipper of his mesh suit gives way under your fingers, revealing warm skin, battle-marked and still faintly flushed from the fight.
A particularly charming bit of his neck catches your eye. His bare skin is so warm and inviting you can’t resist; you pepper kisses there, soft at first, then bolder, nipping lightly when his breath hitches. His grip on your shirt tightens with each pass of your teeth.
You smile against him and trail your hand down to where the bullet had grazed him earlier, running your fingers over it once, then twice, until you’re sure it’s gone and the skin is smooth again.
That’s when Adrian cups your face in both hands. His lips part, eyes going wide and exaggeratedly mournful as he fixes his glasses and peers down at his side. “Nooooo,” he whines.
“What?” You manage between giggles.
“I wanted to milk that one for at least another day!” he says, mock-serious. “You ruined my sympathy points.”
“Guess I’ll just have to make it up to you,” you murmur, already leaning back in.
Tags: F!Reader x Vigilante, Healer!reader, fluff?, nothing steamy sorry, blurb
Words Count: 835
Note: a short blurb bc I started watching Peacemaker and I want Adrian so badddd
Sorry if I mischaracterized anyone!
Next
Your door bursts open with a large man in a bright red shirt and a bucket on his head, half-dragging an equally large, bearded man through the doorway. The bucketed man grunts as his boots skid against the floor. Adrian stumbles in beside them, one hand gripping the injured man’s jacket and the other trying not to knock over the small table by your entryway.
“Emergency!” Adrian announces cheerfully, gesturing grandly toward the man bleeding onto your rug. “He needs the super magic smooch!”
The bucket man stares. “The what?”
“She can heal people,” Adrian continues breathlessly, tossing his helmet onto the counter with a heavy thunk. “She has that granny ‘kiss it all better’ thing!”
The man squints. “Wait, wait. He has to make out with her to get healed up??”
“No!!! Chris, ew!” Adrian looks horrified, pointing at him. “She kisses your wounds! This one time I was stabbed straight through my stomach with a sword, and she kissed it, and it was gone in, like, two seconds!”
“Ah, like a granny!” Chris nods slowly. “I get it now.”
The man on the floor groans weakly. “Can we… maybe skip the story part?”
“Right, right,” Adrian nods, already dragging him deeper into the living area.
You gape at the scene before you. Three and a half months of taking care of Vigilante’s wounds should have prepared you for this, but what can you do?
Setting your panic aside, you quickly motion for them to follow you to the small med bay you’ve set up in your house. They wrestle the man (Adrian helpfully explains his name is John) onto the bed, but you can feel the vigilante sulking.
He hates this part: you healing other people. Every time he pictures it —you leaning over someone else, doing that gentle, careful thing you do, the way you always do for him— it makes something twist in his chest, and he gets this tick in his jaw. And now he finally gets to be here when you heal someone else. He tells himself it’s fine. Totally fine, even!
Still, he crosses his arms and looks away when you start. You know, out of respect.
But you usher him and Chris out of the room and back into the living area. “Give me about thirty minutes,” you say reassuringly.
The door closes, and his frown deepens.
⸻
Twenty minutes pass in relative silence. Chris and Adrian hover near the couch, fidgeting, when the front door swings open with a frustrated slam. Emilia storms in, arms crossed, frowning. “There was no fucking parking,” she huffs, dropping her keys on the counter.
Leota follows behind, shaking her head. “We had to park all the way down the hill. I swear, I’m not doing that again. My calves hurt.” She steps around the blood on the rug and sits on the couch near the door. “Harcourt, you’re gonna have to drive the van back up here. I’m not walking back down there-”
A sharp, pained shout echoes from behind the closed door.
“Some kiss, huh?” Chris mutters.
Adrian shrugs, trying to act unbothered. “It’s more of a technique thing,” he trails off, shuffling his foot against the wood floor.
A couple of minutes later, you open the door and wave them back in. John is sitting upright, an ice pack on his leg and the faint smell of mint in the air.
Emilia raises a brow.
“Icy-Hot,” you explain apologetically. “For the soreness. I ran out of Tylenol the other day.” You turn back to the large man on the bed. “Sorry again.”
John gives a tired thumbs-up, and Emilia nods. You smile and head down the hall to wash your hands, leaving the team to recoup with John.
“Dude,” he says, blinking. “Where that guy shot me? She rubbed some ointment and it’s just a bruise now! And she just held her hand on my leg for, like, a second, and it snapped back together!” He releases a soft, suffering sigh, massaging his shin. “Both of them.”
Adrian freezes mid-step. “…That’s weird.”
Chris looks at him. “Weird how?”
“Well… she always says she has to kiss it for it to work when it’s me.”
Chris blinks. Then his eyes widen. “Oh, man! She’s just been using her power as an excuse to kiss on your body!” He claps a hand on the vigilante’s shoulder with a sharp laugh.
Adrian furrows his brow. “That would explain the makeout sessions afterward, yeah.”
“Dude, WHAT?!” Chris laughs again in disbelief and yanks on Adrian’s shoulders, practically rattling him.
“Yeah!” Adrian laughs, then gets a serious look. “I mean, duh! If she’s gonna kiss me once, I should kiss her back twice. It’s the rule of thirds.”
Leota shakes her head and sighs. “That is not what that is.”
He blinks at her. “What? At least we’re both into it!”
“I can hear you, you know!” you call out from the bathroom, embarrassed at having been caught.
it's entirely Adrian's fault that both of you ended up high off some kind of pink powder that's causing all sorts of issues. But it's not just Adrian's fault that the two of you took care of it in his garage... and maybe his bedroom... and maybe on his mom's kitchen table...
wc: 5,001
warnings: dubious consent because sex drugs but verbal consent is given, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving), squirting, choking, fingering, unsafe sex, cream pie, Adrian is a whiner, begging, clothed sex. the suit stays ON, afab reader, no y/n, lots of shoving actually, floor sex, table sex, reader kind of hates Adrian but his dick fixes that
an: dear readers,
*mickey milkovich voice* RELAX WE'LL GET A DICK IN YOU AS SOON AS WE CAN
sincerely,
vigilhoe
This was all fucking Adrian’s fault. He was the one who insisted on having company on his stupid little drug bust.
You’d been with him on a few before, but usually he tackled them alone, since none of your other friends really wanted to keep him company. Going crime fighting with Adrian was a lot like what you imagined taking a child to Disneyland was like.
He was bouncing off the walls, not listening to a word you said, and excited to run around and do everything he could. Except instead of seeing Goofy and going on rollercoasters, he was counting how many headshots he could make and how many kilos of coke he could ‘confiscate’ aka hoard in his basement.
There was no reason today should have gone any differently from how busts usually did. Typically, you killed a couple people, let him add to his collection, and got the fuck out before cops arrived.
Today was very different, though, because Adrian did something very stupid that he usually tried hard to avoid. He got the two of you into a gun fight in the main stash room. Bullets from both of your guns, and those fired at you, were ripping through tightly packed bricks of what you had assumed was coke, sending the powder flying into the air in big clouds and settling over you. Except this powder was pink and smelled like artificial strawberries.
And the high it gave was unlike any other high you’d ever had.
By the time everyone except you and Adrian were dead, you were panting and sweating, every inch of your body was uncomfortably warm. Every inch of you was on fire. Your pulse was pounding in your throat and throbbing between your thighs and your head was swimming.
Adrian seemed to be faring better, saved a little bit by his mask, but you could still see his chest rising and falling rapidly. He was also walking a little oddly as he made his way over to inspect the remaining, unexploded packages.
“Adrian!” you called, your voice as shaky as your knees felt. “Let’s go!”
“But the drugs-”
“Leave them, we need to go,” He seemed to sense the urgency in your tone and acquiesced. When he turned to make his way towards you and the exit, you realised why his gait was so awkward. He was hard. Very hard.
Your mouth started to water. You had to wrench your gaze away from his very sizable and probably very painful erection to force your legs to move.
Both of you were quiet, save for your panting as you moved mindlessly through the warehouse halls that were littered with bodies.
The cool night air when you pushed through the doors felt incredible on your burning skin. For about 10 seconds before you were overheating once again. You stopped to rip off your kevlar vest, breathing only slightly easier once the heavy weight was gone.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Adrian was mumbling to himself as he wobbled past where you stood towards his car.
You were still standing just outside the door, trying in vain to gulp as many lungfuls of cold air as you could, eyes glued to Adrian. He slumped against the passenger side of his car, not bothering to get in, simply ripping his mask off and pressing his forehead to the cold metal. You swore you heard him moan in relief. Your own whimper at the noise leaked out and his head snapped up.
The two of you were about 20 feet away from each other, but with your newfound tunnel vision, you could see the look on his face clearly. He looked hungry.
Your feet moved before you realised. In an instant that felt like ages, you were pressed against him, pushing his back into his old beater. Your hands tangled in his hair and your lips crashing onto his.
It felt euphoric, his lips and tongue and teeth clashing with yours in a way that seemed less like kissing and more like sparring. It was aggressive and needy and alleviated some of the burning ache that was invading every inch of you. But it wasn’t enough.
Even as his hands shifted to your ass, yanking you even further into him and spinning the two of you so you were the one pressed into the car, it wasn’t enough. You needed him everywhere on and in you.
And as his hips rutted into yours and one of his hands pulled your leg up to wrap around his waist, pressing the bulge in his suit right between your legs, you thought for sure you’d get more. Right outside of this warehouse where you’d both just committed so much murder.
But, sadly, you were interrupted by the tell tale sound of sirens.
“Fuck!” Adrian pushed himself off you. He stumbled back, his hands on his knees as he panted. “We need to go.”
You groaned, pressing your thighs tightly together as you leaned against the car, unsure that your legs would support you. “Where are we supposed to go?”
His eyes were trained on your lips, greedily watching every movement they made. He didn’t respond, simply staring, his eyes darting between your legs, your heaving chest, and your panting mouth. Your eyes mimicked his, taking all of him in. All the while, sirens rang out louder and louder.
The first distant flashes of red and blue lights seemed to snap both of you out of your trance. Adrian rushed to the driver side, yanking the door open so hard, you were afraid it would come off the hinges.
“My mom’s out of town,” he took his seat and you followed suit, slumping into the passenger seat.
How the two of you managed to make it back to his house when you were on the verge of combusting was a mystery. Especially since Adrian had been whimpering and begging since you’d started to touch yourself halfway through the drive, losing your internal battle for self control.
The way he whined and pleaded with you to stop so he didn’t crash the car or cum in his pants was burned into your memory. To your delight though, he was making those same sounds when he pushed you down over the hood of his car.
The garage door was just barely closing, sealing you off from his very normal suburban neighborhood, when Adrian was reaching over you to open your door. He pushed it open and then, to your surprise, he pushed you out.
You would have cursed him and maybe swung at him a few times, if he wasn’t vaulting over the hood to haul you to your feet.
Adrian’s mouth met yours again, this kiss just as desperate and combative as the first. Your anger faded as one of his gloved hands knotted in your hair and the other pushed down into your unbuttoned jeans. You couldn’t for the life of you figure out how he was able to locate your clit immediately, but thank god he was.
In just a few rough circles, he was able to push you over the edge into an orgasm that was so much more intense than any other you’d experienced. It washed over you in waves, causing your knees to buckle, your eyes to roll back, and your mouth to disconnect from his. The only things holding you up as you gasped and moaned into the air were his grip on your hair and the car at your back. And all the while, his hips were rutting against your thigh, his own little noises joining yours.
As you came back to earth, you found that the burning ache in your core was even hungrier, your walls clenching around nothing. Your hips still twitched through the aftershocks, made even worse by the fact that, while his fingers had slowed, they still hadn’t stopped.
Adrian’s pupils were nearly entirely blown out and his mouth was running even as he sucked and bit and licked at your neck.
“Holy fuck that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I need to make you do that again. Fuck, I need to be in you though, shit can I? Can I please fuck you now, please?”
Your mouth opened to respond with ‘yes, please’, but before you could, Adrian bit down on a spot just below your ear and pushed two fingers inside of you. A strangled gasp leaving your lips instead of the words you were desperate to say.
“Please,” he was begging now. “Please, I promise I’ll make it so good. So, so good.”
“Yes,” you finally managed to croak out.
That was all the permission he needed to withdraw his fingers. Both of you let out disappointed noises at the loss, but yours was cut off when he seamlessly spun you around and moved you over so he could push you down face first into the hood of his Sebring.
One of his hands landed on the middle of your back, keeping your front half pinned to the rapidly cooling metal while his other was yanking your pants and underwear down your legs just far enough to give him access. With that same hand, you heard him yank on the belt of his tactical pants and the unzipping of his fly.
“Hurry up!” You finally found your voice, that slow, raging fire building to the point it was nearly painful.
“Fuck, I’m going,” his voice was breathless.
With his pants barely pushed down just like yours, he kicked your legs open wider, all the while keeping pressure on your back. You were completely unable to see what was happening behind you, forced to focus on the feeling only.
You couldn’t help the whine you let out when you felt the tip of him push into you. Adrian had to take a deep rattling breath to steady himself before he was slamming his hips into yours, pushing the entirety of his length deep inside of you.
You gasped and he whined. It felt like he was splitting you apart. The deep ache of the stretch had you flexing around him, forcing a whimper out of his mouth.
“Fuck… don’t do that, I’ll cum like immediately,” little noises were leaking from him and his hand that wasn’t pressing between your shoulder blades took up a bruising grip on your hip.
“Then fucking fuck me!” You were starting to struggle under his hands, trying in vain to grind your hips against his.
Adrian pulled back, harshly slamming into you before stilling again. “Give me a second!”
“No,” you snarled back, twisting away from his hands.
It was your turn to shove him. He landed on his ass on the garage floor, mouth agape with wide, glassy eyes staring up at you behind his lenses. Your eyes were glued to his dick as you stripped your boots and pants as fast as you could.
You had obviously felt the size of him inside of you, but seeing it was something else. He was big. Much bigger than his offputting personality and irritating quirks would have led you to believe. Not that you’d ever thought about how big his dick was. No, you’d never think about that.
Once your shoes and pants were flung into separate corners of the garage, you pounced. Your knees scraped on the concrete as you grasped him and sank down. They were going to be scratched to all hell when this was all over, but you couldn’t find it in you to care.
All you could focus on right now was how fucking good he felt inside you as you bounced on him. Adrian seemed to also not be thinking about anything other than you as his still gloved hands gripped your hips, helping you along in your movements over him.
That was until your own hands, previously braced against his chest, flew to the hem of your own top. The tight fabric suddenly felt like it was strangling you, constricting your breathing. His hands moved up from your hips, shoving at the fabric until it was past your breasts, allowing him to yank down the cups of your bra. After you pulled the shirt over your head, you could have sworn he was giving you heart eyes.
When he sat straight up to start licking and nipped at your nipple you clenched around him, causing the most beautiful strangled grunt to jerk its way out of his throat, followed by a whine of your name. His hips rolled up into yours and his hands squeezed you tightly, all the while breathy noises poured out of his lips and onto your skin. Heat was flooding into you and dripping out of you, and yet you both kept moving.
“Holy fuck,” your hips slowed to a stop and your hand tangled in his hair, using the grip to jerk him back so you could look him in the eye. “Did you just cum?”
His face was flushed and a bead of sweat dripped down his face. Adrian nodded. “Yeah… Felt too good.”
With a groan of your own, you smashed your lips to his, one hand still maintaining the death grip on his hair while your tongue pushed into his mouth.
“That’s so hot,” you spoke directly into his mouth. Your hips started to grind down onto him again, and you finally noticed he was still rock hard inside of you. Part of you was concerned, but a bigger part was focused on chasing your own orgasm, consumed by your own need.
Adrian seemed to agree that your pursuit of your own end was more important than his comfort. His gloved thumb made contact with your clit, all of his focus going towards the figure eights he was drawing. Little noises that let you know just how overstimulated he already was leaked into your mouth and you answered with your own moans.
Once again, you found yourself embarrassingly close to cumming in a shamefully short amount of time since he touched you. It was building, promising to hit you even harder as the sensation of his hard length sliding in and out of you seemed to amplify everything.
Your head dropped back and away, disconnecting your lips from his when the damn finally broke. Your mouth was open, but no sound escaped as every muscle in your body locked.
Adrian didn’t let up, though. His finger kept up its motion on your clit, his free hand took over your movements, not allowing you to slow down in your riding, and his lips found your neck.
He was biting and sucking as your entire body trembled. Your hand in his hair tightened, the thrust up into you that that triggered finally forced sound to leave your lips. High pitched moans and gasps left you as he just kept pushing you further.
Adrian just wouldn’t stop, even when tears started to leak down your cheeks and your trembling turned into full on shaking. He kept going, causing the waves of pleasure to wash over you in increasingly mind blowing waves.
You had to jerk his hand away to stop him when things teetered on too much. Your head dropped to his, pressing your foreheads together as you wheezed, trying to regain your ability to think.
He held you as you came down. One of his hands did snake up your back to undo your bra, dropping it away to leave you fully naked.
When you were finally able to breathe somewhat normally, you pulled back to look at him. He was disheveled, looking as dazed as you felt, but his green eyes sparkled with wonder. That was when it dawned on you that even after the life changing orgasm you’d just experienced, the heat in your stomach wasn’t done with you just yet.
“Fuck,” you grumbled, grinding your hips down into his. “It’s not enough. Fuck me, Adrian. Come on.”
“We need to get off this floor,” he shifted, biting his lip at the way you squeezed him. “My ass is asleep.”
It nearly broke your heart to pull off of him and stumble into a standing position. “Fine, fine.”
“Holy shit,” Adrian jumped to his feet, still somehow way more coordinated than you. “Your knees…”
You looked down, finding them a little bloody and scratched raw. It should have hurt, but for some reason, there was no pain. Except the pain coming from deep in your lower stomach, craving him deep inside you.
“I don’t care, I’m fine,” you dragged him towards you by the straps on his suit. “Are you going to fuck me or not?”
“Only if you let me clean those eventually,” his hands went to the back of your thighs, picking you up. His hand gripped his length, sliding home while you wrapped your legs around his waist.
“Sure,” your hand went to his cheek and your lips found his neck. “You can do anything you want.”
This was Adrian so, of course, he immediately made you regret your choice of words.
“Anything? Because I’ve always wanted to spar naked with you,” that didn’t sound like a horrible idea. Of course it got worse, but he was already walking into the house, the movement of each step causing you to inadvertently bounce on his length again. You didn’t really care what else he said, as long as he made you cum again. “And maybe we could play catch but with a knife because I need to practice catching them without getting cut and the idea of you throwing a knife at me is, like, the hottest thing I can imagine-”
He was setting you down on the kitchen table, your ass resting on the edge and his dick still buried to the hilt inside of you.
“That’s the hottest thing you can think of?” Your hand reached out to grab his jaw, forcing him to look you in the eyes. “Adrian, you’re balls deep in me, I’m naked, and you’re still wearing your suit. This isn’t hotter?”
It was like you just told him the earth was round and blew his mind. His eyes bugged out as they swept over your form. He took in every inch of bare skin, all the way from your face down to where the two of you were connected. His hips jerked forward while he muttered something you didn’t catch under his breath.
When his eyes flicked back up to yours a grin took over his face.
“Ok, maybe that's the second hottest thing I can think of.”
“That’s what I thought,” your smile mirrored his before it was sliding off your face as he actually started to move.
He was slow as he pulled out of you, but his movement back in was rough and forceful. It knocked the breath out of you, and would have pushed you back across the table if he didn’t have a death grip on your hips.
Your own hands floundered for a moment before finding spots that you could dig your fingers into on the front of his suit. You were holding on for dear life as he increased the pace of his thrusts.
When your head started to drop back, breaking eye contact with him, he was quick to grab a handful of your hair. He pulled you back up, keeping your gaze locked on his as he continued his brutal movements.
It was impossible to stop the breathy noises you were letting out as you stared him down. He was shifting his hips every few thrusts, searching for that angle that would have you crying and cumming in no time.
His persistence paid off. The newest angle had him hitting that soft spot inside you dead on when he pushed in. Your moan of his name tipped him off to his success immediately.
You had expected him to keep at it. What you hadn’t expected was for him to push you down, laying your back across the cool wood of the dining room table. His hands yanked you down, your entire ass hanging off the edge now as he pulled your legs up over his shoulders. From there, he kept up that angle. In and out while you writhed and arched under him.
The feeling was starting to build and you found your hands scrambling to grip the edge of the table as he unrelentingly pounded into you.
“Need you to cum again,” he sounded out of breath. His eyes were raking over you. “Need you to cum with me.”
He was pushing you closer and closer. Every push in was like striking a match, sending sparks flashing behind your eyes.
“Can you do that?” Adrian was leaning over you now, bending you practically in half as the new angle allowed him deeper access. The hand that wasn’t keeping your hips in position wrapped around your neck, putting just the right pressure on the sides to have your eyes rolling back and fuzz clouding your ears. “Can you cum around me? Please, baby?”
You couldn’t speak. All you could give him was a nod as you clenched around him. He groaned, tilting his head down to watch as his length moved in and out of you.
“God, fuck, you feel incredible. Can’t believe we’ve never done this before,” you weren’t listening to a damn thing he said, too focused on the heat that was once again nearing the overflow point.
Your walls had started to twitch and spasm around him, clueing him in to how close you really were.
“Cum, please cum. I need it, I need to feel you,” the fact that the final straw was him begging was something you’d have to examine later. For now, you were focused on the way your walls squeezed rhythmically as your orgasm overtook you. It was less intense than the previous two, probably since Adrian had spared your clit from any more stimulation, but it still had your eyes shutting and his name falling from your lips.
Groans and whines came from Adrian as he gave a few more thrusts before he was cumming deep inside of you again.
His shakiness seemed to match yours as he released your throat, sliding your legs off his shoulders so he could nuzzle into your neck. Both of you panted as you slowly came down.
He was finally softening inside of you, seemingly having fucked the drug out of his system. You, on the other hand, weren’t as lucky.
Adrian had his mask to offer him some protection when the two of you got dosed. You hadn’t. You’d gotten a much larger dose, and were still feeling him. There was still that itch deep inside you that hadn’t yet been scratched.
“Please,” you whined, your hips trying their best to roll up into his. You didn’t have much success, given that he still had you fully pinned under him. “Please, Adrian, I need more.”
He pulled back to look at you, taking in the desperate look on your face. “Shit, ok. It’s ok, I’ll take care of you.”
Adrian slowly pushed himself up and off of you. A whine was already building in your throat when his weight left you, but it tumbled out when he slowly pulled out of you. He paused to watch his release drip down onto the floor.
You were sure he would have stood there staring for hours if you hadn’t begun writhing and reaching a hand between your legs. If he wasn’t going to deal with the problem he caused, you would.
He stopped you before you could, slapping your hand away. With a firm grip on your waist, Adrian pulled you off the table and onto your feet. You weren’t standing for long, though, since he was ducking down and lifting you over his shoulder.
It wasn’t particularly comfortable, with his armour digging into your stomach with every step he took, but it did give you a good view of his ass.
Just when you were about to give into the temptation to slap it, Adrian was hauling you off his shoulder and throwing you onto his bed. You bounced, landing in the center.
You’d never been in his room before, but any urge to snoop was squashed by the sight of Adrian starting to peel off his tactical gear.
First his chest plate hit the floor, followed by his compression shirt, revealing a ridiculously toned chest that you had no idea he was hiding under those god awful polos he’d been wearing lately. You felt pathetic, nearly salivating over him as he stripped out of his pants. His dick was soft, completely worn out, even as he looked at you naked on his bed, but you didn’t care. You were fascinated by his muscular thighs that were begging for you to ride them.
Your staring was interrupted as Adrian moved to kneel on the edge of his bed. His eyes still scanned over you, finally focusing between your legs. He looked hungry.
“Get comfortable,” you swallowed hard, following his order as you scooted up to lay your head on his pillows. When he was satisfied that you were ready, he crawled between your legs.
He hooked his arms under your thighs to put pressure on your stomach before he was directing one of your hands to his hair. “Pull me off if it’s too much.”
All you could do was nod as you watched him lower his lips to your mound. His eyes stayed focused on yours as he kissed lower and lower until he was pressing a closed mouth kiss over your clit.
And then an open mouthed kiss.
And then he was well and truly eating you. His lips and tongue felt like they were everywhere, testing what touches where gave you the strongest reaction.
It didn’t take him long to find the combination that had your hips shifting and trying to grind against his mouth. His hands on your stomach quickly put a stop to that though. They pressed you into the bed, keeping you as immobile as he could while he pulled ungodly noises from your mouth. His own groans and the filthy wet sounds from between your legs joined your sounds.
Your feelings were slowly warming to Adrian, but he still was managing to piss you off with how easily he was figuring out how to make you reach the brink. You were close, but something was missing. Your whining picked up steam, little breathy moans of his name filling the empty air.
Adrian, stupid fucking Adrian who missed every social cue except for when it came to making you cum aparently, read your mind. One of his hands left your stomach, two of his fingers snaking inside of you to brush against that same spot that had you cumming on his dick just 10 minutes previously.
He stroked his fingers there, his mouth intently focused on your clit, and his other hand still putting that pressure on your stomach that made everything feel even more overwhelming.
You could feel it. What was ‘it’? It was the slow fading of that unnatural heat and the increasingly pleasurable feeling of your orgasm building once more. But it felt different. There was the anticipation of your orgasm, sure, but there was a pressure, too.
That pressure was growing alongside your pleasure, the two of them seemingly bouncing off each other, pushing them higher and higher. The feeling was foreign and you couldn’t place it.
Until you were on the edge. Then you realized what it felt like.
“Wait, Adrian-”
He didn’t listen, doubling down on his efforts and pushing you past the point of no return.
You didn’t see what happened, your eyes had rolled back into your head and your back was so arched you’d be feeling it tomorrow. But you felt it. Like the strongest release of tension in your entire life.
That band inside of you snapped and the floodgates opened. Literally.
Your legs shook, thighs trying unsuccessfully to squeeze shut around his shoulders, while your hips jolted involuntarily as the pleasure peaked. It felt never ending. Hot and blinding and overwhelming until it finally began to slow down.
You were breathless, one of your arms flung over your eyes as your body twitched weakly through the aftershocks. You didn’t move. You couldn’t. You didn’t want to.
Until Adrian was moving. His body heat left yours, causing you to peak up at him. He was kneeling between your legs now and the lower half of his face was drenched. For a moment, you thought nothing of that, until you pushed up onto your elbows and saw that the bed was drenched.
A horrified look crossed your face. You peed on him. Oh my god. You need to find the nearest exit right now.
Adrian didn’t look horrified, though. If anything he looked smug.
“I didn’t know you could squirt,” the idiot was licking his fingers clean.
Your brain stuttered. You squirted? That had never happened before.
Again, you couldn’t decide if you were happy he was the one who had made you do it or if you were pissed at him for being that good.
“Me neither,” your voice was weak as you watched him.
For a moment, both of you were quiet, assessing each other.
Finally, he spoke. “Let’s clean up and go to bed, yeah?”
You nodded, allowing him to pull you onto legs that were about as strong as jelly and guide you into the shower.
It wasn’t until the next day, while he made you breakfast, that you finally laid into him about how it was his fault the two of you got dosed. He took it all with a smile on his face.
It didn’t take much longer after that for him to have you bent over the same table he fucked you on the day before, doing his best to convince you to forgive him.
A/N: I finally watched peacemaker, and like everyone and their mothers I am so in love with Adrian. Happy to write for this little weirdo.
Credits for borders
"Aren't you gonna take off your mask?"
In the time that you had worked with the "11th street kids", you had managed to keep your civilian identity a secret. You had joined the team late, and in the midst of battling butterflies and saving the world, introductions weren't really your top priority. To them, you were "Phenoix" and that's all that you needed to be.
Well, for everyone but Adrian.
"No, I can see just fine." You feigned innocence, grinning to yourself as you noticed Adrian getting antsy over the answer. You would be lying if you said you didn't enjoy riling the man up. It was just so easy, and you found his reactions… entertaining.
"So did we want to watch The Fight Club or Gonnies… wait, why are those the only two options? Chris, these are very different vibes and-"
"You should really take off your mask." Adrian interrupted Adebayo as he sternly stared at you. Noticing the odd glances he was getting, he quickly tried to relax his face. "You know, cause we're just hanging out and chilling like friends... that don't wear masks"
"Dude, literally no one cares if she wears a mask," Economos complained, as he struggled to get comfortable in the bean bag he had been forced to sit on. Since Economos had asked, he had gotten a job that would take him out of town, and the group had been trying to catch up regularly before being separated.
So far, it had just been a lot of movie nights.
"Yeah, I think it's cool she still has he secret identity. I sure wish I had one," Harcourt mumbled the last part as she opened her beer. You sent her a wink. "Thanks, girl."
"Alright, so I'm thinking the Goonies since there is enough incel energy with the group and-"
"None of you found it cool when I kept my secret identity." Adrian again interrupted Adebayo, whining at the group as he did not receive the same support he hoped for. "You all worked out who I was in a matter of days. Why aren't you doing the same for her?" He gestured widely at you as you just watched in glee as the entertainment began. Man, you wished Chris would come back with the popcorn.
"Yeah, cause you sucked at keeping your secret identity, you made it too obvious." Adrian's jaw dropped at Economos' criticism. "I do an amazing job at keeping my secret identity, unlike her." He turned his attention back to you. "I mean, the only part of you your costume truly hides is your face; anyone could work out who you are from your body."
"Alright then, who am I?" You challenged Adrian, knowing he didn't have the answer, and it drove him crazy.
"I wouldn't know because I respect women, and don't look at your body," Adrian combatted, and Harcourt snorted. "You literally called me slutty the other day."
"No, I didn't. I said you LOOKED slutty."
"Can we just get back to picking a movie, cause I have to be home by 5 and I really-"
"Not until she takes off her mask," Adrian again interupted Adebayo, this time standing up dramatically and pointing at you. You smirked before looking right past him. "Ads you should put on the Gonnies"
Adrian opened his mouth to say more when Chris entered. "Stop being a creep and let it go," He spoke, moving Adrian back to his spot on the couch, all the way complaining how unfair it was.
You couldn't help but smile watching the scene: unsure of whether you liked the drama or the attention of a certain vigilante.
---
Adrian had always prided himself on keeping his secret identity… well, a secret. So the fact that every single member of the 11th Street kids knew his identity and not yours was enraging
He had been following Phenoix after every hangout - not in a creepy way. It was for the purpose of research.
He was finally going to get his payback for all the teasing and disregard for his secret identity, by revealing who the Phoenix truly was, and finally get the-
“Hey, I can see you.”
Adrian froze, keeping his body completely still as he hoped maybe the voice was talking to someone else.
"Dude, come out, you're barely hidden."
"I'm hidden very well, thank you very much." Adrian rose up, pointing at the owner of the voice as he defended himself.
You just raised an eyebrow, clearly not impressed by Adrian's antics. You weren't sure how or why Adrian had shown up at the bins outside your apartment. Up until that point, you were more concerned about getting your garbage out before it started leaking.
Still, you eyed him suspiciously. You were wearing nothing but your pajamas, and there was nothing else to indicate that you were anything but a regular civilian. Maybe this whole interaction was just a coincidence.
Clearing his throat, Adrian nodded, trying to get himself into a more intimidating state. “I have some questions to ask,” He spoke acoustically, before stumbling out from behind the bins. You struggled to hold your laugh as you watched him shake the rubbish off his foot. Is this what he looked like to all the villains you fought?
“How can I help?” You asked, ignoring his storming towards you in lieu of throwing your trash into the garbage. By the time you turned to face him properly, Adrian had placed his face directly in front of yours.
“What do you know about Phoenix?” He spoke harshly, pointing a finger at you. You almost jumped a bit, not out of fear, but the sudden breaking of your personal bubble.
"The superhero?" You asked, and Adrian nodded his head as his eyes narrowed onto you through the mask. “I know she’s super strong, and helpful, and very attractive-”
“Yeah, yeah, stop stating the obvious.” Adrian shook his head. “I mean, what do you know about her personally?”
“Why do you think I know anything about her personal life?”
Vigilante laughed, as if he were a cop who had just caught a criminal in a lie. “Because I’ve been following her home for weeks, and she always ends up in the same apartment you always come out of.”
You were at a loss for words. You weren't sure if you were more surprised by the fact that he was stalking you without your knowledge or that he had actually managed to work out your secret identity.
“So you clearly must be her roommate.”
And all your hopes for Adrian were shattered.
You couldn't help but snort at how proud he seemed to be, though vigilante took offense to the sound.
“Don't even try to deny it! I have all the evidence.” He pulled out a printed picture of your hero persona climbing through the window of your apartment. “How do you explain this?”
You looked back and forth between Vigilante and the image before letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Well, I guess you figured it out. My roommate is Pheonix.”
“Yes! Yes! I fucking knew it.” He celebrated, jumping up and down, before pulling out a knife and abruptly holding it to your neck. “Tell me her secret identity.”
"Whoa," you spoke, looking at the knife, more surprised than scared, "Slow, your roll buddy."
"It's really important that I know her identity," Vigilante insisted, as he pushed the knife further towards your neck. You bit your tongue, holding yourself back from pointing out that it was utter bullshit.
“She hasn't told;d me." You lied. "She’s very secretive about it.”
Vigilante dropped the knife from the spot, his shoulders visibly slumping. “Damn it,” You watched as the full-grown man kicked the dirt as he sulked away. That had been the closest thing to a lead he had. "Now I have to kill you, too. This whole night has been a mess."
For the first time that night, you did feel genuinely scared. Adrian was not against killing innocent people, not matter how much he justified it, and you didn't have any weapons to protect yourself.
“BUT you can stay in my apartment to try and catch her coming back,” You offered, feeling relieved as you watched Adrian light up at the offer.
You figured that at least if you were back in your apartment, you had the tools to protect yourself. Plus, it was kind of interesting to see Adrian act when you weren't Phoenix. He always had the tendency to put you on a pedestal, even when insulting you at work. You were curious how else he might act differently.
“That’s such a good idea, she won;t see it coming” Adrian spoke excitedly and you tilted your head back to your apartment staircase. “Come on then”
Vigilante walked very close behind you as you headed to your room, as if he would get lost if there was a gap between you. Opening the door, he looked around your apartment in awe.
“Wow, it’s so cool in here,” He spoke as he poked at the pictures and trinkets decorating the rooms. He paused, letting out a gasp asd he grabbed a small spider statue you had on display. "Where did you get this from?"
You glanced back at the object. "Ugh, I think my mom gave it to me." You shrugged, not having much attachment to it. Noticing Adrian's twinkling eyes, you smiled. "You can have it if you want."
"Really?"
"Yeah, sure."
"You don't think it'll make me seem too ghoulish?"
You smiled at the comment, exaggeratedly looking him up and down as if you were actually assessing him. "I think… you're the perfect amount of ghoulish," Adrian cheered at the assessment, and you shook your head lightly. “I’ll make us some tea.”
By the time the drinks were ready, Adrian had made his own way to the couch, where you placed the tea on the table in front of it. You glanced over at him and his full set of weapons.
“Are you comfortable in that?” You gestured to his costume, and Vigeleante nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, I used the best fucking materials to make this thing. You could sleep in it." He bragged. Sometimes I put it on to lounge around, that’s how nice it is. There's nothing I can't do while wearing this suit.”
As Adrian spoke, he lifted the tea to his mouth but froze when he realized he couldn't drink it because of his mask. His eyes darted to you, an almost silent plea not to watch him try to drink.
“I can close my eyes to help keep your secret,” You sighed.
“I would feel alot better if we put a bandage over-”
“Either I close them, or you don't get tea”
“Yep, closing them, that’s all good with me” Giving him a smirk, you closed your eyes and listened to him rummage around to get his mask off.
“Oh wow, this is really good tea. Like really good. Is this from China or something? Cause it’s really nice.”
“It’s grocery store black tea,”
Adrian hummed, losing no steam as he continued to be impressed. “Well, you must have done something to brew it so well.” If your eyes hadn’t been closed, you would have rolled them in that moment. He had an odd taste in…everything.
“So why are you so intent on figuring out Phoenix’s identity?” You asked, not just to fill the silence. You knew Adrian had been curious about it, but you hadn’t expected him to go as far as stalking to work it out. Adrian cleared his throat. “It’s…well it’s revenge in a way”
“I didn't take you as the vengeful type.” You smiled teasingly.
“I am very vengeful,” Adrian defended himself, as if that was something to be proud of. “I believe in fairness and doing what's right. I don't find it fair that everyone knows my secret identity and not hers.”
There was a beat of silence, and you could tell Adrian wanted to say more. “It’s also kind of weird she wouldn't want to just tell me, you know?” Adrian burst out, not being able to stay quiet “Like we’re close enough that secret identities aren't needed anymore.”
You would have called him a hypocrite if you weren't still trying to keep your identity a mystery. You knew if it was up to him, he would still be keeping his secret identity, even from Chris. “Maybe she likes the privacy,” You spoke slowly, and Adrian shook her head.
“No, she seems pretty open about everything else. I think it’s because she found out she was my third-best friend.” He leaned in closer to you, whispering, “And I think I’m her first best friend.” He clenched his teeth, making a hissing noise. “So it’s pretty awkward.”
“That’s not the reason,” You quickly spoke, deadpanned, and Adrian tilted his head. “How do you know?”
“Because…she’s my roommate and we talk….shut up”
"Ok"
---
“I think Phenoix is stealing your perfume.”
Adrian didn't even greet you as he crawled through your apartment window. Luckily, you didn’t flinch at his appearance. With the number of times he had come to visit you over the past weeks, it had just turned into a part of your routine.
“Really?” You asked, seemingly only half interested as you flicked through a magazine.
“Well, she smelled exactly like you,” Adrian explained as he wiped his feet on the floor mat you had put under the window. If he was going to insist on wearing that suit all the time, you were going to have to force him to keep your floor clean.
Lowering your magazine, you eyes vigilante. “How do you know what I smell like?” You teased, and Adrian laughed. “Oh please, like you haven't memorised my smell”
“Dude, you smell like dirty dishes and gasoline every time I see you.”
"Exactly,” Adrian cheered, excited to hear you paid so much attention to him. “Best friends just now each other's smells,” You hummed, going back to reading. You expected Adrian to come sit on the couch while he waited for ‘you’ to show up, but he just stood there frozen.
“You gonna sit?” You asked, but he just looked wide-eyed. “I just called you my best friend,” He spoke in shock, and you let out a small, genuine gasp. Yes, with anyone else the label of best friend was something lost after middel school, but for Adrian that meant the world.
“Don’t tell peace maker” Adrian pleaded quickly, catching you by suprise. “So it wasn't a slip of the tongue.”
“No,” Adrian quickly spoke, before pausing, “Yeah, no, it wasn't a mistake. You’re my best friend,” he said as he moved to the couch, sitting across from you. He seemed almost excited to say it out loud, like he had just discovered a secret. “You’re kind of like my favourite person.”
“But we’ve known each other for less than a month” You pointed out, and Adrian shrugged. “So?”
It was such a simple response, yet you couldn’t find a single argument for it. “I guess you're right.” You returned to your magazine, flicking through the pages as you expected Adrian to start trying to work out ways to catch 'Phenoix' coming home.
Instead, Adrian cleared his throat. "So... do you have a favourite person?"
You couldn't hide your smile as you felt him staring at you expectantly. "Maybe," You shrugged, and he groaned.
"Is it Phoenix? I knew I would get karma for ranking her at number four. This is so unfair, she always gets everything."
"Phoenix is not my favourite person." You spoke softly, and Adrian smiled. "Good. I knew that. You would 100% have a better favourite person." Adrian again went silent and glanced at you expectedly.
Sighing, you placed down your magazine. "Yes, Adrian, you're my favorite person."
"Fuck yes," Adrian celebrated, jumping up in joy as he did a victory dance. "I fucking knew it."
You shook your head as you watched the man dance around excitedly. It was weird to say that over the past few weeks, Adrian had genuinely become your favourite person. Picking your magazine back up, you let him celebrate. You paused as you opened to a certain page.
"Hey Adrian," He turned to you with a smile, which grew even wider as he read the title of the page.
Top 10 facts about birds.
"Oh my god, I fucking love you"
Adrian rushed to the couch, pushing up close to you as you quietly read out each fact to him, to which he would immediately ask you to quiz him on. Like many nights before, the two of you spent hours on the couch waiting for someone you knew would never come.
---
You knew Adrian could get a little bit clingy when he became best friends with someone; it was just a part of his nature. You hadn't expected to walk into his basement to see him longingly staring at a picture of you on his phone.
It was not the version of you that you were at the moment; you had fully decked out in your Phenoix costume. Ever since the 11th Street kids went off on their solo work, Adrian's basement has become somewhat of a liar for the two of you to plan crime-fighting.
“What the fuck are you doing?” You asked as you tried to process what you were looking at, and Adriuan turned around in shock. “What? What are you doing here?”
"You texted me to come over, something about a robbery," You told him, and he waved his hand casually. "Oh, that, I already sorted that,"
“Why are you looking at a picture of…my roommate?” You sighed, trying to get back onto topic. Adrian shook his head, desperately trying to avoid the label of a creep. “No, don’t worry, I know her. I’m not some stalker.”
“The picture is taken from outside my window,” You pointed out, getting a kick out of how flustered adrian got at the observation. He paused, looking down at the picture, then back at you. “Yeah, she asked me to do that.”
“She asked you to take a picture of her form outside her window?” You spoke unimpressed, knowing you wouldn't have believed it even if you were different people.
“Yeah, it’s a really cute and cool best friend thing we do together.” Adrian spoke smugly, "We have a lot of fun things we do just the two of us."
“Sure,” You responded, shaking your head. It was true, there weren't any other people you would quiz them on bird facts, or try to teach them how to knit in a superhero costume, or let them rub their face on your shaggy carpet for literal hours. Adrian did get a special pass for a lot of things.
“I think you're jealous,” Adrian fought back, and you looked him up and down. “Jealous?”
“Yeah, because now you're only my fourth-best friend. And y/n told me that I was her favourite person.”
You shook your head, still having trouble believing you were currently in competition with yourself. “You only got to know my roommate because you were trying to work out my secret identity,” You pointed out, and Adrian pointed at you suspiciously. “How do you even know that? You haven't been back to the apartment in weeks?”
Your eyes went wide under your mask as you quickly lied, “Because I overheard you on that first day by the bins, and I’ve been staying in a hotel ever since.” Honestly, you were almost concerned that it was only the first time Adrian raised that question.
“Damn it,” Adrian yelled, upset that another plan had been foiled. "How are you always one step ahead?" You opened your mouth to give a witty comeback, but Adrian interrupted you. “It doesn't matter anyway, I’m happy you haven't shown up, because now y/n is pretty much my girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Yeah, exactly, so suck on that,” He thrusted his hips at you as he dramatically gestured to… what you should suck on. You felt your jaw actually drop a little, seeing how cocky he was about this.
There were so many thoughts running through your head. You were also ashamed about the fact that none of them were negative. Somehow, someway, the stalking psychopath had made his way into your heart.
"Alright,” You spoke in a higher pitch than you wanted. “Congratul;ations”
“Thank you,” Vigilante responded in a sassy tone, before instantly returning to his casual voice. "You can hang out here until the next crime, usually robberies come in threes."
You silently nodded, moving to the couch as your mind raced with thoughts all to do with the masked killer across from you. You nervously tapped the table as you thought about how this changes things, where the relationship would go, how you -
“Y/n?”
You looked up to see that Adrian was now standing, pointing almost accusatively at your fingers. “That’s how y/n always taps her fingers.” He moved his gaze to your face. “You’re the same person.”
“Really?" You sighed, your hand reaching up and removing your mask. "That’s what gets you to work it out?” He gasped, as if it was some sort of scooby doo unmasking. “Not my voice, or my body, or the fact that my apartment only has one bedroom.”
Adrian ignored you. ‘So everything I just said about you to Phoenix, I was just saying to you you. You slowly nodded, hoping you wouldn't get in too much trouble for keeping the secret. “So….what do you think?” You looked at Adrian, who shamelessly looked back at you.
You couldn't help but laugh. Of course, she wasn't embarrassed. “I think that you're crazy,” Adrian nodded, waiting for you to continue. “And I think that you're cute, and it was nice to get to talk to you normally, not just as crazy heroes.”
Adrian let out a groan upon hearing that, as he covered his face with his hands. “Adrian, I'm saying I like you back,” you clarified, and he shook his head. “Yeah, I know.”
You paused. “That’s not really the reaction I was expecting.”
Adrian quickly shook his head, looking desperately wide-eyed. "No, it's not that I'm not happy, but-" He flopped himself onto the couch next to me dramatically. “You said you like me normal, but I’m not normal about you.” He looked at you, “I'm actually pretty fucking insane when it comes to you."
You couldn't hide the smile that spread across your face, though Adrian didn't seem to notice. "I can’t just be normal around you, so one of us might have to move with a new identity, which I would rather not do, but I could-”
You interrupted him by kissing him. Adrian was quick to return it, all words lost to your tongue. You could almost hear him whine as you separated, clearly his insecurities washing away.
"I'm sick of normal, I just want you." You smiled down at him, and Adrian let out a giggle.
"So if we start dating, can you still quiz me on birds and spiders?"
"Yep"
"And can I still rub my face on your carpet?"
"of course"
"And can I still come to your apartment all the time?"
You smiled, connecting your lips another time. "I couldn't think of anything I'd want more."
Hey guys! Sorry I just dropped off the face of the earth like that😅
I had a bunch of work stuff come up and then I got a S/o. Then he left me 🥲 ngl I’m super hurt and depressed about it, but I’m gonna try to channel that energy toward writing!
I’ve had something in the back-burner since I last posted so I’m gonna try to get that out to you guys!
jason todd comes home to you with bruised knuckles and a heart too full to name. the red hood is all sharp edges and violence, but with you? he's just jason—achingly tender, disarmingly soft, hands that break bones cradling your face like you’re something sacred.
"you taste like gunpowder," you murmur against his lips, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, pulling him closer. his breath is warm, a little ragged, like he’d sprinted up the stairs just to get to you.
"that’s ‘cause i was shootin’ people," jason huffs, but there’s no bite to it—just that low, rough voice curling around the words like smoke. his hands are big where they settle on your waist, thumbs pressing into the dip of your hip bones like he’s memorizing the shape of you.
you hum, tilting your head to kiss him again, slow and lazy. his mouth is chapped, the faint metallic tang of blood lingering from where he’d bitten his own lip too hard earlier. but he sighs into it, lets you lick into his mouth like you own it, like he’d let you take anything from him if you just asked.
when you pull back, his eyes are half-lidded, dark with something that makes your stomach flip. the white streak in his hair is mussed from your fingers, and you reach up to smooth it back, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. he leans into the touch like a cat, a quiet rumble in his chest.
"missed you," he mutters, like it’s a secret. like he’s embarrassed by it.
you snort. "you saw me this morning."
"still missed you."
his nose bumps against yours, clumsy with affection, and you can’t help but smile. jason todd, red hood, the crime lord who’d put a bullet through six men’s kneecaps tonight, is nuzzling into your hand like he’s starved for it.
his fingers trail up your sides, over your ribs, like he’s counting them. when he speaks again, his voice is softer. "thought about you. when i was out there."
"yeah?" you tease, but your heart stutters anyway. "what, in between breaking bones?"
"especially then," he admits, and his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, catching on the swell of it. "kept thinkin’ about how you’d laugh if you saw me. how you’d roll your eyes at me for bein’ dramatic."
you do roll your eyes now, but he just grins, that crooked, boyish thing that makes him look younger. makes him look like jason, not the red hood, not the ghost of robin. just yours.
"you’re such a sap," you tell him, but your hands are gentle where they frame his face, where your thumbs trace the scars on his cheeks.
he turns his head, pressing a kiss to your palm. "only for you."
and god, if that doesn’t make your chest ache.
for some reason, tonight felt more... intimate. more warm and safe. soft and right. so right. the two of you sitting on the couch, with you situated on jason's lap as you cuddled and shared soft, tender kisses.
and you can’t help but stare.
because up close, he’s beautiful.
the way his lashes cast shadows over his cheeks when he blinks, long and dark like ink smudged on paper. the faint scar cutting through his eyebrow, a story he’d shrug off if you asked but you love anyway. his nose, slightly crooked from one too many fights, and the way it brushes against yours when he leans in, clumsy and sweet.
his lips are chapped, but they’re warm, and they part so easily under yours—like he’s been waiting for this, like he’d let you take and take until there’s nothing left.
and his hands. god, his hands. big and rough, knuckles bruised and fingers calloused from years of gripping guns and knives and the edges of his own rage. but right now, they’re gentle. one cradles the back of your head like you’re something precious, the other tracing idle patterns on your hip like he’s memorizing you.
you reach up, thumb brushing over the white streak in his hair, the strands soft between your fingers. he leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut for a second—like he’s savoring it, like he’s starved for it.
and you think, this. this is the jason no one else gets to see. the one who sighs into your touch, who lets you trace the scars on his skin without flinching, who kisses you like he’s trying to say something words could never hold.
"what?" he murmurs, catching you staring.
"nothin’," you whisper, but your fingers don’t stop tracing the curve of his jaw. "just thinkin’ about how pretty you are."
his breath hitches, just a little, and you watch the way his throat bobs when he swallows. "pretty?" he echoes, voice low, disbelieving. like no one’s ever said it to him before. like he doesn’t know what to do with the word.
"yeah," you murmur, thumb brushing over his bottom lip. "so pretty it hurts."
his cheeks flush, just a little, and he ducks his head like he’s trying to hide it. but you catch it—the way his lashes flutter, the way his grip on your waist tightens, just for a second. like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.
"shut up," he mutters, but there’s no heat in it. just that quiet, aching vulnerability he only ever shows you.
your hands reach for his face, cupping his cheeks, thumbs brushing over the high curve of his cheekbones. his skin is warm under your palms and you tilt his head up just enough to see the way his lashes flutter, the way his lips part—just slightly—like he’s already waiting.
and god, he’s beautiful like this.
you press the first kiss to the corner of his mouth, soft and teasing, feeling the way his breath stutters against your lips. the second lands on the bridge of his nose, right over that little scar he never talks about. the third finds the dip under his eye, where his skin is unfairly soft, and he lets out a quiet, shaky exhale, his fingers tightening where they grip your waist.
"fuck," he whispers, voice rough, and you can feel the way his pulse jumps under your fingertips.
you don’t stop. you kiss the crease between his brows, the spot just below his ear, the sharp line of his jaw—every touch feather-light, reverent. and jason melts, his shoulders slumping, his head tipping back against the couch like he’s surrendering. like he’s letting you take him apart piece by piece.
when you finally press your lips to his, it’s slow. sweet. his mouth is warm, yielding under yours, and he makes this quiet, desperate noise in the back of his throat when you suck gently on his bottom lip. his hands slide up your back, fingers trembling just a little, like he’s not sure whether to pull you closer or hold himself back.
you pull away just enough to murmur against his lips, "let me worship you, dearest."
his breath catches, and for a second, he just looks at you—eyes dark, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen and parted. then he’s surging forward, crashing his mouth against yours like he’s starving for it, like he’s trying to say yes, yes, yes without words.
and you let him. you let him take, let him press you closer, let him kiss you like he’s drowning and you’re the only air left in the world.
he kisses you like a man starved, all rough edges and clumsy hunger, but you slow him down with a hand fisted gently in his hair. "easy," you murmur against his lips, and he whines—actually whines—high in his throat, his hips jerking up against yours like he can’t help it.
you swallow the sound, kissing him deeper, slower, until his frantic movements still and he’s just shaking beneath you, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. his breath comes in ragged bursts against your mouth, his chest heaving, and when you pull back just an inch, his eyes are blown black with want, his lips slick and parted.
"please," he gasps, and it’s wrecked, broken, like he’s begging for something he doesn’t even know how to name.
you shush him with another kiss, this one lingering at the corner of his mouth, then trailing down to his jaw, his throat. he tilts his head back with a groan, baring the column of his neck to you like an offering, his pulse fluttering wild under your tongue. you bite down—just a tease, just enough to make him curse—and he arches off the couch, a strangled "fuck—!" tumbling from his lips.
his hands scramble at your waist, tugging at your clothes, but you catch his wrists, pinning them gently to the cushions above his head. his breath hitches, his thighs tensing beneath you, and when you finally meet his gaze again, he looks ruined.
"let me take care of you," you whisper, and his throat works around a swallow, his lashes fluttering.
he nods, once, sharp and desperate. "yeah. yeah, okay—please."
and so you do.
…1.4k full of soft jason- WHAT CAN I EVEN SAY TO THIS AHHHH I NEED MORE BUT MY BRAIN IS SO AHHHHHHH
sorry, guys—i'm hopeless at writing anything steamier than slow kisses and yearning glances and whatever this is. maybe someday, when i've deemed that my skills are worthy enough, there'll be a part two. maybe-
