Discover Top Posts Tagged with #acweek22

to sprinkle stardust

adrian chase appreciation week: free choice and birthday celebration

pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns)

rating: t (language and mentions of canon-typical violence)

word count: 3,162

one-sentence synopsis: you took time off work to celebrate adrian's birthday, so you're pretty pissed off when you have to waste half that time being rescued by him.

author's note: i have been swamped this entire fucking week (or month, or year, whatever) with work including lots and LOTS of hard work for stuff for my BOOKS so i haven't been able to do as much for @peacemakernet's Adrian Chase appreciation week this week in honor of his birthday!! i'm so sorry!!!!!! please take this silly little fic as penance!!!!!!

>>> read on ao3!! <<<

It is very, very important to you that you’re not late tonight, and yet, you’re still one hundred percent certain that you are going to be late tonight.

“You really don’t know who you’re fucking with,” you repeat to the man who’s got you chained to the wall. There’s a strong bar closed over each of your wrists, holding them above your heads at strange angles, forcing your arms into peculiar twists just to keep you upright. Beneath you, your ankles are bound together in one lock, chained to the wall behind you; if it weren’t for the bars across your chest, your throat, and your waist, you probably would’ve fallen by now.

As it is, you’re just sort of— hanging here, pinned up. It’s deeply uncomfortable, and the rusted stains of blood spattered on the walls and the floor tell age-dulled stories of potential violence to come, but all you’ve done so far is wait.

“I really do,” he replies. You’re not even totally sure who he is, except that he knows who Adrian and Chris are, which seems to be enough for him to have pieced together who you are. “I’m not worried about Vigilante’s pet.”

You frown, brow furrowing. You choose not to comment, biting back the bitterness in your throat so you can instead say, “That’s funny, but not what I meant.”

The man doesn’t stop his examination of the far wall. His back is to you as he observes the racks before him, the cobbled-together collection of pain-implements, presumably selecting what he’s going to use on you. Joke’s on him, though, because Adrian’s definitely already noticed you aren’t where you were supposed to be.

The two of you have been separated all week, work bullshit— both from your real jobs and your side-jobs, your super-jobs— landing you in different places at different times, more often than not. Though you’ve wanted to spend the entire week celebrating his birthday, there’s rarely been any time for him to celebrate at all, let alone time where you’re both together to celebrate. Most of the time you’ve spent together has been eating something quickly for dinner, falling asleep tangled up in each other at home, then eating a quick breakfast the next morning before you have to part ways this again.

It’s been so, so chaotic that you specifically took today and tomorrow off work. Adrian did the same, and you both told Emilia not to expect you around for any missions on these two days.

“Even for emergencies?” Emilia had teased, but you’d immediately agreed.

“Yes,” you’d told her. “Even for emergencies. Actually, especially for emergencies,” while Emilia fought down a laugh and told you that she’d make a point not to bother either of you.

You’d only gone out to get groceries to make his (first) birthday breakfast together, and you had been pretty immediately snatched off the street, still in your plainclothes. Not even in your uniform, which is just— embarrassing, honestly. They must’ve been watching you— Or, at least, knew enough of Adrian and Chris to be able to figure out you lived with him. From there, it was probably just a matter of waiting for you to come out alone and vulnerable.

Or, vulnerable as far as they know. You’re trained to endure far worse than this. The worst you’ve had to put up with so far is the headache from getting knocked out, and the uncomfortable rough-pain of being strapped to this wall with these metal straps. You could endure torture from any of the tools your captor has on the opposite wall. You don’t want to, but you could.

Really, the worst part is that you’re still not celebrating Adrian’s birthday. You specifically took these days off, and you couldn’t even have that.

When you didn’t come back in a few minutes, though, Adrian instantly would’ve gone to look for you. He’s smart; he would’ve figured out what happened quickly. It’s probably only a matter of minutes before he actually s—

The room rattles, then, in the split second before there’s a distant boom, a shuddering explosion at some great distance, muffled by something strange.

Lifting your head as much as you can, with your neck bound the way it is, you ask, “I’m fucking underground, aren’t I? F—”

“Shut up,” your captor orders you, moving to the center of the room. He’s grabbed a long, curved blade in one hand; the other holds a gun, hanging at his side, finger close to the trigger. “They weren’t supposed to come that fast.”

“Vigilante can last when he wants to,” you tell him. You’re mildly disappointed that Adrian wasn’t here to hear that one; it’s not your best work, but you know it would’ve made him laugh, anyway. “Sometimes he just gets excited. You know h—”

“I said,” the man says, turning to glare at you, “Shut up.”

You frown again, but you draw your mouth shut. He’s got the weapons, and Adrian’s not in the room just yet; you’re not stupid, even if you are getting very, very pissed off.

There’s another rattling boom then, closer this time. It sounds like Adrian’s blowing the place apart to get to them, which probably isn’t far off of what the team’s actually doing. You grin, shifting slightly against the wall, trying to get a better position to see the direction they’re going to be coming from.

“Wipe that stupid fucking smile off your face,” your captor tells you. You honestly did not notice he was looking at you again; you don’t stop smiling fast enough, and he advances on you, slashes at you without any real finesse. It’s more a threat than anything, but he manages to catch your cheek for only a second before his blade glances further down your shoulder, across your collarbone, and then away, splitting the collar of your shirt and the skin beneath.

You cry out automatically, your body’s instinctive reaction to the shock of the pain, even though it’s not that bad compared to other injuries you’ve had.

In the instant after your cry of pain, the wall to the underground chamber you’re being held in blows inwards, dirt and rock flying apart into tiny shards of rubble and dust, tearing a hole in the wall. You can’t turn your head away, so you just slam your eyes and mouth shut, trying not to let anything go into your throat, trying to protect yourself.

You’re still unable to stop yourself from coughing, crumbling silt in your throat. Your eyes won’t open, in the dust-fog that’s filled the space, so you just keep them closed, trying to breathe.

It only takes a couple of seconds before two hands are touching your face. They’re strangely smooth, before you realize they have seams—

Gloves, you realize, through the chaos. Your ears are ringing, so you can’t make out the voice that’s speaking to you, but you recognize the feeling on your cheeks, stroking through your hair. Adrian’s here.

“—fucking shit,” Adrian’s saying, when the sharp ringing in your ears fades enough for his voice to become clear. “You’re okay, it’s alright— Fuck—”

You take a shaking breath, coughing again when the dirt in your lungs all comes up and out as you do. It’s easier to breathe, now, with your lungs clear, but you still cough a couple of times to get it all out.

“Hey, you’re okay,” Adrian says. He tilts your face up, gloved thumbs wiping at your eyes. “I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t realize how close you were. Hey, there you go— You can open your eyes now, it’s okay, you’re all set.”

You trust him implicitly, automatically, and so you instantly open your eyes, blinking a few times to clear the last bits of dust clinging to your eyelashes. Adrian sweeps under your eyes, then, and across your cheeks, your mouth, cleaning you off with every clean bit of his gloves he can find. His hands track down, then, as you’re finally focusing your eyes on him. He’s in his entire Vigilante get-up, the full uniform, mask and all; behind him, you can see Chris throwing your captor to the ground while Leota quickly scopes the room with Emilia, searching for anybody else and finding nobody.

“I told you,” John says, stepping through the hole blasted in the wall beside them. “It’s just this one schmuck. We didn’t have to blow the whole thing up, the door’s right there. It would’ve taken five extra minutes.”

“Thanks for hurrying,” you reply dryly, voice gritting with dust. You cough again.

“What if (Y/N) died in the next five minutes, you shithead?” Adrian snaps over his shoulder, hands finding the edges of the wound on your cheek, down your throat, your shoulder, your collarbone, your chest. Gently probing the sides has blood on his gloves and you wincing at the sharp pain of it. It’s not deep, but it still hurts like a fucker, and you want it cleaned and bandaged sooner rather than later. “Aw, shit. Alright— Shit, okay. I can fix this—”

“It’s not that bad,” you assure him. “I’m just sorry about your birthday.”

Adrian’s head lifts, his visor connecting with you as if your eyes could meet through it. This close up, you nearly can see his eyes; you can see the vague shapes of them through the prescription-thick redness of the screen between you.

For a beat, it seems like he’s confused before he huffs a laugh and demands, “My birthday? You dick, you got taken—”

“But I’m fine,” you remind him. “What I wanted to be doing was— I don’t know, getting a cake from that place at the corner with the ones in the case and seeing some dumb movie and enjoying ourselves, like normal people—”

“Hey, no, wait, it’s okay,” Adrian insists, catching your face between his hands again when you start to get worked up. Behind him, over his shoulder, you watch Emilia stand over your captor and blow his head off without hesitation. Just another day in the life, honestly. Your only regret is you and Adrian didn’t get to kill him yourselves for wasting your time. “It’s just my birthday. It’s not a big deal. It’s more important you’re okay.”

While he’s talking, he’s making quick work of the straps keeping you held to the wall. He breaks the one confining your wrists first, then your throat; he has to summon Chris over to help him snap off the ones around your chest and waist, Emilia breaking apart the lock around your ankles while they work.

It feels as though you’re released all at once, and you slump downwards, limbs numb and tingling after being held prone at those strange angles for so long. Adrian catches you against himself, swings you up so you’re in his arms, feeling starting to tingle back through you, now.

“But it’s your birthday,” you repeat, lamenting. You’re just— frustrated, is all. You had plans. You had plans to have no plans, and here you still are, doing your stupid fucking jobs. Well— second jobs, but still. Working.

“And what a great present,” Adrian says, hauling you up and out of the hole they’ve blown into the place. He only briefly releases you so Chris can help him drag you up and out into the sunshine above. It’s not even dinnertime; at least the whole day hasn’t been wasted, and Adrian’s birthday is still coming, so. You can celebrate as much as you want. “You’re alive and well. I’m overjoyed. Thanks, you really shouldn’t have—”

“Shut up,” you tell him, endeared, fond. He knows you don’t mean it, kisses you on the forehead. “Let’s go home.”

“Uh, let’s go to the hospital—”

“This literally doesn’t even hurt,” you tell him, which is an exaggeration, but still. He doesn’t put you down, continuing to carry you out towards the cars in the lot. You can’t help smiling when you see them; everyone drove here separately, it looks like. It makes you want to laugh, thinking of them all meeting up here like they’re just going to hang out, then instantly blowing holes into the ground. “I just want to go home.”

Adrian evaluates you for a suspicious moment. Before he can argue with you, though, Emilia says, “I don’t know, they look fine to me. Clean that shit and stick a band-aid on it, you’ll be good.”

You can’t tell what Adrian’s expression is through his mask, exactly, but you can make a reasonable enough guess. He’s probably exasperated; you know him well enough, though, to know that he’s probably also excited. He had to have been disappointed not to celebrate properly; getting it back is obviously making him happy.

“Are you sure?” Adrian asks. You reach up to tug his mask off, freeing him from it so you can see his face. He’s flush-faced and his hair’s a mess from the motion, but he looks cautiously optimistic, nearly smiling when he sees you.

“Yeah, they’re fine,” Chris says. “Fuck off, go home.”

“Thanks for your help,” you call to them. John’s already most of the way to his own car.

“Glad you’re okay,” Leota stops to tell you. “See you for dinner tomorrow.”

“Seven sharp,” you remind her. You’d been planning to make Adrian a birthday dinner, but with the way you’re anticipating your back feeling tomorrow, you’re— probably going to end up ordering in instead, honestly, which is fine. You can make it a buffet; Adrian can pick out a whole bunch of options, from anywhere he wants.

“Seven sharp,” Leota echoes, smiling. She gives you a wave before she’s gone, too, and Adrian takes you to his car, gingerly loading you into the passenger’s seat.

“You’re sure you don’t want—” he starts to ask, but you cut him off before he can even finish.

“I’m sure,” you insist. “I want to go home. It’s your birthday—”

“Alright, alright,” Adrian says, and shuts your door for you. When he climbs into the driver’s side, still wearing his entire uniform— except the mask, still clutched in your hands— you’re just reminded intensely of how sideways today has gone.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him.

“You’re sorry?” he repeats, incredulous. “Sorry, what the fuck are you sorry for?”

“Fucking up your birthday—”

“You didn’t fuck up my birthday,” Adrian insists to you. He takes your bare hand in his gloved one over the console between you, kisses the dusty back of it. “The doper birthday gift is to have you back. Stop worrying so much, I swear, I’m not mad at you. Why the fuck would I be mad at you? You’re such a dingus sometimes.”

“You’re such a dingus sometimes,” you tell him, but he only grins.

“Got that right,” he says. He glances over at you, though, as he grabs his glasses from the dashboard and shoves them into place belatedly, correcting the car’s course as he does so. “I’m serious. It’s totally okay. I’m not mad at anyone except the shitface that took you. We can still celebrate my birthday.” Drawing your hand up once more so he can press an even harder kiss to the back of it, he promises you, “I’m having a great day, I swear. I love you.”

You smile, leaning back in your seat, just watching him. “I love you, too.”

His eyes are bright when he gives you another smile before turning back to the road, taking you back home. It doesn’t take long to get there, but it feels like an eternity when you weren’t supposed to go anywhere in the first place. You’re also getting uncomfortable, and you’re eternally grateful when Adrian gets you home and immediately helps deposit you in the shower, turning the water on hot and helping you scrub off.

It takes a bit of effort, but, between the two of you, you get yourself cleaned off, your wounds disinfected and bandaged, and the both of you back on the sofa before the sun has even set. Maybe the day hasn’t gone the way you wanted it too, but— You’ve still managed to spend a good chunk of it together, anyway.

“So,” you say, when Adrian’s sprawling himself across the sofa, dropping his head into your lap, burying his face in your thigh. “What do you wanna do now, birthday boy?”

You start carding your fingers through his hair. Your limbs don’t hurt so badly, anymore, and your throat and chest are better, and you’re not even all that mad. Just happy to be home, glad to be with him, again.

His fingers wrap around your ankles, holding tight to you. You let your nails drag along his scalp a bit, pulling through the dark, still-drying curls, soft as you stroke through.

“Kinda just wanna do this,” he tells you. His lips move against the bare skin of your thigh as he speaks. In the next beat, he twists a bit so he’s laying on his side, able to turn his head up enough to look at you without displacing your hand in his hair. “That okay? Or do you want me to go get something for—”

“This is perfect,” you assure him. This is what you’d been hoping for while you’d been held in that stupid place, anyway. You weren’t there long, which— small mercies. You’re just glad to be here now, glad that that was— really, no more than a minor inconvenience, in the grand scheme of things. “Anything you want. Like I said— It’s your birthday.”

He grins. Tilting his head to kiss your thigh, he tells you, “Maybe tomorrow I’ll be up for more,” breath warm across your skin.

“Maybe,” you agree. Stroking along to the crown of his head again, and again, and again— down to the nape of his neck again, and again, and again— along his temples again, and again, and again— you fall into the repetitive rhythm of it, watching as his breaths even, as his color calms, as he relaxes. You hadn’t even realized how much tension was coursing through him until he’s releasing it, holding onto you as he sinks out of panic and into contentment one inch at a time.

“I’m so glad you’re home,” Adrian murmurs sleepily, letting his own fingertips lazily drag up your leg in a slow stroke before he repeats the path in an absent-minded loop. “Don’t ever leave again.”

“You got it,” you agree easily, knowing neither of you could ever keep that promise. You bend down a bit, contorting at a slightly strange angle so you can kiss the side of his head, the temple of his glasses skin-warmed beneath your lips. He smiles when you do, holding you a bit tighter. “Happy birthday.”

“You, too,” he mumbles nonsensically. You smile, hugging him at this sideways-angle before leaning back again, continuing to stroke his hair whale he relaxes, just happy to be home with him.

-

adrian chase taglist pt. 1:

@deputyrook @bb-skyrunner @himboelover @pieriinova @gcldtom @violetrainbow412-blog @amysuemc @saturnngal @nptnewr @myguiltypleasures21 @pinkygunslingy @chaseadrian @breathing-in-waves @rishlurh @goblynnrockz @theowritesstuff @themartiansdaughter @dallasvakarian @missscarlettangel @hillaryroadheadcllinton @ohmybubbletea @buckys-estrella @witchywcmans @qjuiq-odakyu @xothatnerdykid @thevalkyrior @mattsmanpain @sunflowerfive @deirdre-belle @anthonyedwinstark @sexysquatch @crimscnrains

#acweek22

Trending Tags

Recently Viewed Tags

#acweek22