when did you get hot? - adrian chase oneshot
a/n: hi! hope you guys enjoy this fic, had this idea because of that scene where adrian was taking care of economos and i js feel like he would take care of you so well, pls i need him. crossposted on ao3
synopsis: after a chaotic hangout with the 11th Street Kids, you find yourself dangerously tipsy and tangled up in adrian chase’s quirks, care, and unexpectedly hot physique. wc: 4,650 tags: adrian chase/f!reader, fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers, reader is really clumsy here for the sake of the plot, protective!adrian, soft intimacy, ooc adrian ( i mentioned he has healing abilities, not canon but im pretty sure he has them ), alcohol-induced confession c/w: mentions of alcohol/drinking, reader, and pretty much everyone else getting drunk, reader pukes in one scene, reader is a FREAK lowkey, suggestive
The party burned bright on Harcourt’s rooftop. Beer cans everywhere, music too loud, Chris shouting lyrics no one knew, and the 11th Street Kids were sprawled around mismatched chairs, laughing too loud for how late it was.
You were three drinks past your limit, but having the time of your life. Chris was trying to prove he could shotgun a beer faster than a twenty-year-old, Economos was heckling him, and Harcourt rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out.
Adrian was beside you, perched on the edge of his chair like an overexcited kid at a sleepover. He’d been rambling for twenty straight minutes, and you hadn’t stopped smiling once.
“—and technically, jellyfish don’t even have brains,” he said, waving a half-full beer can for emphasis. “Which is kind of terrifying if you think about it, because they still function perfectly fine. They sting, they float, they hunt. No brain required! Meanwhile, we have brains, and I can’t even cook rice without ruining it. What does that say about evolution? Nothing good.”
You giggled, clutching your drink. “You’re like obsessed with the weirdest facts.”
“They’re not weird, they’re practical! Like, if we ever have to fight an alien that looks like a jellyfish, guess who’s going to save all your lives? This guy.” He pointed to himself proudly. “Because I’ll know not to aim for the brain. Jellyfish don’t have brains!”
“Christ, Chase,” Harcourt muttered, taking a swig from her beer. “You’re exhausting.”
Adrian grinned, unbothered. “Exhaustingly prepared.”
You’d noticed it before, but it hit you sharper in the haze of beer and rooftop lights. The way Adrian never seemed to flinch when people tossed jabs at him. Harcourt could cut him down with a single sentence, Chris could roll his eyes, Economos could groan every time he opened his mouth (but you did notice that he would still humor him), and Adrian just…took it. Not even took it, just shrugged it off. Grinning, bouncing right back, like their words couldn’t touch him.
Maybe he didn’t even notice. Or maybe he noticed and genuinely didn’t care. Either way, it was kind of incredible.
You, who could spiral for days over one offhand comment, couldn’t wrap your head around it. And maybe that was why you always made a point to be nice to him. To laugh at his stupid jokes, to actually listen when he rambled on about owl facts, to see him. Because underneath the quirks and tangents, he deserved someone who did.
You leaned your head against the back of your chair, warmth bubbling in your chest that had nothing to do with the alcohol.
And then, your bladder reminded you of the three drinks past your limit.
You groaned softly, sitting up too fast. The world tilted. “Uh oh.”
Adrian leaned forward, alarmed. “Uh oh? What kind of uh oh? Vomit uh oh or…like, existential uh oh?”
“I need to pee,” you whispered like it was a state secret.
“Oh! Pee, uh oh. Got it. That’s manageable. I can handle that.” He hopped up so fast his chair toppled over. “Come on, I’ll escort you. Bathroom mission, let’s go.”
You tried to stand on your own, but your knees buckled immediately. Adrian darted in, catching you by the elbow.
“Whoa there! Okay, you’re like…a baby giraffe right now. Very majestic, very wobbly.”
You snorted, leaning into him. “You’re so loud.”
“Better than you face-planting into the concrete,” he said seriously, guiding you across the rooftop. Adebayo and Harcourt were deep in some hushed conversation, too distracted to notice your clumsy escape.
Adrian muttered to himself as you stumbled down the stairs. “Okay, left foot, then right foot. Yes, exactly, nailed it. You’re like ninety percent sober in my eyes right now. World record.”
You couldn’t stop giggling. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’ve been called worse.” He helped you to the bathroom door, bracing you with both hands on your shoulders. “You good from here? Do you need like…a spotter? Because I don’t think I’m allowed inside unless it’s a medical emergency. And even then, questionable.”
You waved him off, still laughing. “I got it.”
“Okay. But yell if you fall in. I’ll heroically rescue you.” And honestly, you don’t even think he’s joking.
When you emerged a few minutes later, he was waiting against the wall, humming to himself, arms folded like he’d just been guarding a priceless artifact instead of a bathroom door.
“Success?” he asked brightly, straightening the second he saw you.
His grin spread wide and unselfconscious, crooked at one corner, the kind of smile that looked like it belonged on a kid who just got picked first for kickball. It was goofy, earnest, and so Adrian, and yet, it hit you right in the chest.
“Success,” you confirmed, trying not to melt under the weight of how proud he looked just because you managed to pee without catastrophe.
He beamed even harder, like you’d just aced a final exam. “I knew you could do it. I never doubted you for a second. Well, okay, maybe for a second, but that was only because you walked into the doorframe before opening it. But after that, total confidence.”
Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe not, but you blurted: “You’re so nice. Like—so nice. Do you know that? You take care of me, and I don’t even deserve it.”
His face went crimson immediately. “What? No! Of course, you deserve it. You deserve, like, Olympic-level care. The highest quality care known to mankind.”
You swayed toward him, poking his chest clumsily. “You’re the best, Adrian Chase. The best.”
He swallowed hard, eyes darting around like he was looking for backup. “Okay, uh, you’re super drunk. Which means it’s hydration time!” He darted into the kitchen, returned with a glass of water, and pressed it into your hands. “Drink this. Doctor’s orders. And by doctor, I mean me, and I am definitely not a doctor, but still. It’s medically sound.”
You obediently sipped the water, lips puckering at the bland taste. “Boring,” you muttered, but drank anyway because his expectant look told you he wouldn’t let you off the hook.
When you handed the glass back, Adrian hovered for a second like he wasn’t sure if you’d actually done it, then nodded with exaggerated approval. “Good. Hydration levels restored. Now, rooftop adventure awaits.”
Back upstairs, the party was still going, Chris yelling about how beer tasted better from a boot (he didn’t own a boot, but was determined to find one), and Harcourt had taken permanent refuge on her phone. You dropped into your chair again, a fresh drink already in your hand before Adrian could stop it.
You plopped down in your chair, fumbling for your phone. “Okay,” you slurred, swiping until the screen blurred a little less. “I’m gonna quiz you.”
Adrian perked up instantly, practically bouncing. “Quiz me? Hell yeah. This is my moment.”
“It’s… owl facts. Or spider facts. If you’re wrong, you take a shot. If you’re right, I do.” You held up your phone like it was a sacred text.
Adrian hesitated. You’re drunk. You’re really drunk. But then your smile tugged at him, wide and conspiratorial, and the little (well, huge) part of him that always wanted to impress you whispered to play along and make you laugh.
“Deal.”
The first round was easy. “How far can an owl turn its head?” you asked, trying to sound stern.
“Two-hundred and seventy degrees!” he blurted instantly, and the confidence in his voice made you laugh out loud.
“Dammit,” you said, tipping back your drink.
Adrian’s chest tightened at the sound of your laugh, wild and unrestrained, bubbling out of you like champagne fizz. He wanted to bottle it, keep it, make it last forever.
Next question, spiders. “Which spider… um…” You leaned forward, nearly tipping your phone into your lap. Adrian caught it for you, steadying your hand. Your skin brushed his, and he froze.
You barely noticed. “Which spider can jump, like… a lot?”
“Easy! Jumping spiders. It’s literally in its name.” He said, a grin plastered on his face.
You groaned again and drank. “You’re cheating.”
Adrian gasped, hand flying to his chest. “Cheating? No. I would never cheat at owl-and-spider trivia. That would be a crime against nature. That’d be like, like faking a high score in Pac-Man. It cheapens the experience. And trust me, I respect owls and spiders far too much to betray them like that. They deserve integrity.”
You blinked at him for a beat, then burst out laughing so hard you nearly spilled your drink.
The next one tripped him. “Owls… can smell really well?” he guessed.
Your jaw dropped. “WRONG. They can’t smell at all.” You shoved a shot glass at him like you were handing down a sentence.
He tossed it back, grimacing, but secretly relieved it was him instead of you.
By the time you’d run through half your list, you were a mess of giggles, phone slipping from your fingers. Adrian snatched it before it hit the ground.
“Whoa, careful!” He cradled the phone like it was a fragile treasure, holding it up out of your reach for a second. “This thing’s basically your lifeline. What if you drop it and it shatters? Then you’ll have no maps, no music, no emergency spider facts. And then what? Total societal collapse. I’d have to personally escort you everywhere like your human GPS.”
“Wouldn’t be so bad,” you teased, reaching lazily for the phone.
His ears went red. “Well, uh, yeah, I mean—directions are kind of my thing. Left, right, up, down. North, south, spider, owl.”
You snorted, clapping a hand over your mouth. God, everything he said was ridiculous. But it was the way he said it, so earnestly, like he wasn’t even trying to be funny. You leaned against him fully now, cheek brushing his shoulder, because your body felt like it was made of lead and warmth, and Adrian Chase was comfortable. Way too comfortable.
He stilled. The warmth of you against him almost short-circuited his brain.
He glanced at your empty glass, then at your flushed face, and decided before his nerves could talk him out of it. “Okay, I think the quizmaster is officially cut off. Hydration round two.”
You groaned but didn’t resist as he swapped your cup for the one filled with juice. You were too busy giggling into your sleeve to notice the difference, sipping happily like it was the best drink you’d ever had.
“See?” Adrian said, eyes sparkling with relief. “Still fun, zero percent liver damage. It’s what the pros call a win-win.”
And even as the rooftop noise swirled around you, his focus never left your face. Flushed, bright-eyed, smiling at him like he was the only one worth looking at.
The night air nipped at your skin, sharper now that the buzz from the drinks was settling in. You rubbed at your arms, trying to shake it off, but the thin straps of your cami didn’t offer much help.
“You’re cold,” Adrian said suddenly, already tugging at the hem of his sweater like he’d been waiting for an excuse to strip.
Your head snapped up. “What? No, I’m fine. Seriously, don’t—”
Too late. He was already halfway out of it, wrestling the knit over his head in a tangle of arms and curls.
“Adrian, stop,” you hissed, reaching out like you could shove it back down onto him, but he popped out of the neck hole with a triumphant grin and held the sweater out to you.
“Here. Put it on before you, like, get hypothermia, and I have to fashion a makeshift blanket out of beer boxes.”
You stared. Not at the sweater. At him. Bare skin glowing in the rooftop light, muscles more defined than they had any right to be, chest rising and falling like he wasn’t even aware you were staring.
He blinked at you, puzzled. “What? Do you not like sweaters? Is it, like, a texture thing? Because I totally get it, some fabrics feel like sandpaper, and it’s the worst.”
“Dude. You’re shirtless.”
“Yeah, duh.” He shoved the sweater at you again, determined. “I’m giving you my sweater so you’re not cold. That’s how clothing works. One person takes it off, the other person puts it on. Trade economy.”
You spluttered, “Well—what about you?”
Adrian just shrugged, unconcerned. “I run hot. Plus, worst-case scenario, I start doing push-ups until I’m warm again. Or sit-ups. Or interpretive dance. Point is, you’re cold and I’m not, so the sweater goes to you.”
You finally tugged it over your head, drowning in the oversized knit. It smelled like detergent and beer and something faintly metallic that was just him. And you couldn’t stop staring at him, even as he turned back to the group, laughing like nothing was different, like he hadn’t just stripped half-naked in the cold without a second thought because he noticed you shivering.
For some reason, every time your eyes flicked to Adrian, your stomach twisted into knots. You’d seen plenty of shirtless people before; it usually didn’t do much, but him? Him, right now? Your pulse picked up, your cheeks flamed, and suddenly your hands felt clammy.
So you tried to distract yourself. You leaned toward Harcourt. “You always this quiet at parties?”
Emilia glanced at you, sharp as ever. “You always this jumpy?”
Your mouth opened, ready to protest, but before you could, Adebayo’s voice cut through the night, high and gleeful. Economos shouted something back. You turned for what felt like a second, and suddenly Adrian wasn’t in his jeans anymore.
Just underwear. Standing on the rooftop with his arms spread like a victorious wrestler, while beer was poured over him like some ridiculous ritual, sliding in golden rivulets across the ridges of his chest and stomach.
Your breath hitched. Your eyes locked on him, tracing the curve of his chest, the line of his abs, the way the liquid clung to his skin, highlighting every curve, every flex, which made your stomach flutter and your heart beat like a drum. You should probably look away. Look at literally anything else. A bird, the sky, your own hands—just not him.
But you couldn’t. You can’t stop staring at the way the beer slicked across his skin, catching in the dip of his collarbone, tracing down the planes of his stomach. Your face burned hotter than the alcohol in your veins. Your eyes, despite your best efforts, drifted lower. Just far enough to take in the curve of his hips and the obvious outline of his crotch in those snug boxers. Your face burned hotter than the alcohol in your veins, and your stomach knotted with a cocktail of embarrassment and… something else entirely.
Next to you, Emilia smirked. “Wow. Subtle.”
Your head snapped toward her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” she said, too casually. “You’re really enjoying the view huh?”
Your face burned. “I—I wasn’t—look, I need to—uh—pee.”
You scrambled to your feet, desperate for escape. But the universe wasn’t letting you off easy. Between the alcohol buzzing in your veins, the oversized sweater sleeves, and your stupid platform boots, you barely made it two steps before your toe caught on a chair.
You flailed, arms windmilling as you stumbled forward, and a warm, solid weight caught you before you could topple completely.
“Whoa—gotcha,” Adrian said, his voice calm but firm, hands landing on your waist to steady you. Your own hands instinctively pressed against his chest to keep your balance, and the heat radiating from him through the thin fabric of the sweater made your brain short-circuit.
You froze, heart hammering. His fingers lingered a second too long, brushing along your sides, steadying you in a way that made your pulse spike. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your palms, and suddenly every rational thought fled.
Do you like Adrian Chase? The thought hit like a jolt of electricity, and your cheeks flamed hotter than before.
Adrian, for all his usual awkwardness and rambling, didn’t seem to notice the shift. He tilted his head, eyes scanning yours, maybe thinking you were just off-balance, not realizing your hands were still pressed against him. “You okay?” he asked, voice soft, almost conspiratorial.
You nodded, though your stomach twisted.
You finally eased down onto the edge of a chair, letting out a shaky sigh. Your eyes flicked across the rooftop, and that’s when you caught Adebayo’s gaze, one of those looks that said I see exactly what’s happening here. You froze, cheeks heating all over again. You quirked your eyebrows, suddenly aware that maybe you were the object of a little harmless teasing.
Before you could dwell on it, a warm voice broke through your spiraling thoughts.
“Uh… you know, you should really take these off,”he said, crouching down, hands resting lightly on your knees, “these boots? Absolute hazard. Let’s take them off before you need to get stitches from the ER.”
You glanced down at your boots, about to try to unstrap them yourself. “Oh… yeah, okay.”
Before your fingers could fumble with the straps, his hands were already there, gentle but firm. “Nah, I’ve got this. Trust me.” His touch was careful, deliberate, and your pulse spiked as he slid the boot off.
“Okay, much safer,” he said finally, pulling back just enough to give you space, eyes twinkling with amusement. “You can now navigate the treacherous rooftop without fear of platform-boot calamities. Consider me your… personal safety officer.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, heart hammering, though your thoughts were in turmoil. Do you really like him? or is it the alcohol in your system? The combination of his charm, his warmth, and the simple intimacy of him helping you was dizzying.
Adrian, blissfully oblivious to your mental chaos, leaned back on his heels and grinned. “Alright, hazard mitigated. You’re welcome. I’ll be expecting a formal thank-you card, or at least a handshake. Preferably both.”
The party had died down, and everyone had retreated to Emilia’s apartment. Economos and Adebayo’s voices were faint in the other room, bickering about UNO rules with the kind of energy that could last all night. In here, though, it was just you, the toilet, and Adrian kneeling on the tile beside you.
You gagged miserably, clutching the edge of the bowl like it was the only thing tethering you to earth.
“Easy, easy,” Adrian murmured, sweeping your hair back with one hand, palm warm and steady against your crown. He didn’t even flinch when you retched again, just kept rubbing slow, grounding circles on your back. His jeans had to be soaking up whatever cold lingered on the tile, but he didn’t budge.
You slumped forward with a groan, chest heaving. “Ugh. Kill me.”
“No way,” he said instantly, voice bright but soft. “You’re like… top-tier. One of my favorite people ever.”
That made your heart skip, a strange little stutter that had no business happening in the middle of you throwing up in Harcourt’s bathroom. You would’ve dwelled on it, replayed those words over and over, tried to figure out if he meant them the way you wanted him to, but your stomach lurched again, cruel and untimely, and you bent over the bowl.
Adrian didn’t flinch. He just tightened his hold on your hair, murmuring quiet encouragements between his usual rambling. “Okay, good, just get it all out. Not that throwing up is good, but, like, sometimes it’s part of the process. You’re basically detoxing. People pay hundreds of dollars for juice cleanses when this is way more effective. Not that I recommend it, because it sucks, obviously.”
You coughed weakly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “How are you okay, dude? I’m pretty sure you drank way more than me.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s ‘cause of my healing factor. My body burns through alcohol faster than normal, so it takes a lot more to get me sick. It’s like—uh, like my liver’s got a cheat code.” He tapped his chest with two fingers, almost proud. “Infinite lives. Well, liver lives.”
You rolled your eyes, rinsing your mouth out at the sink. “Lucky.”
The mirror fogged faintly from the hot tap you’d just run, and you braced your hands against the edge of the sink, catching your breath. When you finally turned, he was hovering a few feet away, like he wasn’t sure if he should come closer or give you space.
The bathroom wasn’t tiny, but the fluorescent light and tiled walls made it feel smaller, more intimate than it really was. Adrian shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve, eyes darting everywhere but yours. His glasses had slid a fraction down his nose, and he pushed them back up with his finger in that nervous, familiar way.
Your gaze traveled over him. His curls were messy from the rooftop wind, falling in uneven tufts across his forehead, soft in a way that made your fingers ache to touch them. The robe he’d thrown on hung loosely off his shoulders, the collar gaping just enough to reveal a strip of bare skin and the defined lines of his chest.
You tugged at the oversized sweater you were wearing, which was Adrian’s sweater, trying to pull it tighter around yourself, half for warmth, half because it felt like a flimsy shield against the heat rising in your cheeks.
And even though you practically saw him naked earlier, seeing him this close, like this, knocked the breath out of you. Heat crept up your neck before you could fight it, your body betraying you with the sudden rush of fluster.
Adrian’s cheeks were flushed too, a soft pink climbing high across his face. Whether it was from the leftover alcohol, the heat trapped in the tiny bathroom, or the fact that you were staring at him like you’d never seen him before, you couldn’t tell.
You thought about how he’d just spent the last half hour holding your hair, rubbing your back, taking care of you without a single complaint. You thought about the ridiculous, earnest things he’d said tonight that had made you laugh even when your stomach was twisting.
And now here he was. Just you and him, close enough that if you leaned forward an inch, your shoulder would brush his chest. Close enough that you could hear the way his breath hitched when your eyes lingered on him too long.
“Adrian,” you whispered, your voice lower than you meant it to be.
That finally made him look at you. Really look. His eyes found yours, and for once, he didn’t fidget or ramble to fill the space. He just stood there, pressed back against the door like it was the only thing holding him up, breath shallow like yours had stolen it away.
Something pulled tight in your chest. You swallowed hard, pulse skipping, and before you could talk yourself out of it, the words tumbled out.
“You’re my favorite person, too.”
The words seemed to hang in the air, heavier than they should’ve been, and Adrian’s lips parted like he wanted to say something back. But nothing came.
Your gaze slipped lower, unbidden, catching on his mouth. Just a second too long. You dragged your eyes back up, but not before he noticed. His throat bobbed with a swallow, and then, true to form, he panicked.
“Oh, uh—yeah? I mean, you’re great. Really great. Like, top-tier great. Honestly, if there was like a ranking system for people, you’d be way up there. S-tier. God-tier, even. Like, sometimes you even beat Peacemaker, and he's like my BEST friend. It's not just 'cause you’re funny and badass, but you're like so nice. To me. So nice to me. And sometimes I think maybe you don’t even realize it, but—yeah, it’s like… you’re just really, really good to me. And–”
“Adrian.”
Your voice cut through his rambling, sharper than you meant it to be, but he froze instantly. His eyes widened behind the faint flush on his cheeks, mouth still half-open like he’d been about to tumble into another tangent.
His rambling pressed warm against your chest, a soft, steady presence that had been with you all night as he took care of you, made you laugh, and somehow made the chaos of the party feel safe. After everything tonight, you didn’t just question it anymore. You knew. You liked him. Really liked him. And yeah, maybe it was the alcohol in your system, burning courage through your veins and making you reckless, but the truth was there, undeniable. Your chest was tight, your palms sweaty against the cool porcelain of the sink, but you leaned in just enough that he’d feel the shift in the air between you.
“I like you.”
His brain short-circuited. Full stop. Whatever words had been lining up in his head scattered like startled birds. “You—what?” His voice cracked embarrassingly on the single syllable, and he blinked, rapid and uneven, like maybe he’d misheard.
You nodded, throat thick. “I like you, Adrian. Like… a lot”
His face lit up like you’d just handed him the keys to the Batmobile. His grin was crooked, wide, and almost disbelieving. “Oh my god. That’s—that’s amazing. That’s like the best thing anyone’s ever said to me in the history of forever. Are you—are you sure? Like, you’re not just drunk-nice, right? ‘Cause sometimes people are drunk-nice and then they wake up and it’s like, ‘oops, didn’t mean it.’”
But you didn’t let him finish. Your body moved before your brain could catch up, leaning in, eyes fluttering shut. And for one wild second, he leaned in too. His breath ghosted over yours, the world tilting dangerously close to perfect—
Then he jerked back like he’d just remembered where he was. “Wait—no, nope—hold on!”
Your eyes snapped open, confusion stabbing through your haze. “What?”
His hands flailed uselessly, his robe slipping down his shoulder as he scrambled for words. “You’re, uh—you’re super drunk. Like, very drunk. And I don’t—”
The pit in your stomach dropped lower than any hangover could reach. “Oh.” Your voice came out smaller than you meant it to, brittle at the edges. “Do you not…do you not like me?”
“What?!” He almost shouted it, panicked, arms waving like he was trying to physically swat the idea out of the air. “No! God, no, are you kidding? I—of course I like you. I’ve liked you forever. Like, you’re—” He cut himself off, dragging a shaky hand down his face. “I just don’t want our first kiss to be in Harcourt’s bathroom while you’re drunk and still tasting like, y’know, tequila and stomach acid.”
Your cheeks burned hot, and you tried to laugh it off, even though the sound wobbled. “Fair. I mean, I wouldn’t wanna kiss me either, considering I just—”
“No!” He crouched slightly to meet your eyes, frantic. “That’s not it at all. You could puke on my shoes and I’d still wanna kiss you, okay? But not like this. You deserve better than this. Better than me screwing it up in a gross bathroom.”
“Okay,” you whispered, trying for casual but failing, the words trembling out. “So… you’ll kiss me tomorrow?”
Adrian blinked, then gave a short, nervous laugh. “Yeah. Tomorrow. Unless tomorrow you decide you hate me, which—uh, fingers crossed you don’t. Then maybe the next day.”
Your lips twitched despite the heat in your cheeks. “Idiot.”
He smiled, softer than you’d ever seen, and leaned down, brushing a quick, careful kiss against your forehead.
“Tomorrow,” he repeated, almost like a vow.
And even with the tequila fog still in your veins, your heart steadied at the sound.
