𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄 | adrian chase
( gif credits to @chris-hargreeves)
—summary: everyone wants you, and you're way out of his league. adrian is fully aware of that. so, once again, he has to stand up for himself and compete (in his own mind) against superman and mr. terrific just because he thinks they're your work-husbands. —pairing: adrian chase x female!metahuman!reader —word count: 5k (wow) —content: pure fluff, smitten!adrian, slightly ooc!adrian, sunshine!reader, adrian is jealous of superman and mr terrific😌, a lot (lot) of yearning, friends to lovers, love confessions, rage baiting adrian into confessing to you, you are adrian's person, justice gang mentions!, some intense make-out session but nothing more than that, bad language, sexual references but nothing explicit.
writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!
You were someone important. Very important. And very special. Extremely so.
Adrian knew it. From the moment he first saw you. You were the only one of the big guys who showed up on time and actually helped them with the whole Butterfly mess.
Months had passed since then.
You lived in the great Metropolis, there, you stuck close to the Justice Gang— a name you absolutely disliked, in fact. Guy had practically begged you to join them (secretly, since he had told everyone else that you had been the one to beg him), exclaiming that you would be the perfect addition to the team.
People already loved you, and you had earned a good place among the world's protectors. It was only logical that you would encounter them.
And yet, through all that, you still kept in touch with the 11th Street Kids.
John would send you selfies sometimes from his tiny office at A.R.G.U.S.. Leota would send you voice messages every other day, updating you on her life and asking for love advice—as if you were the bearer of truth. Emilia would text you as well, recounting how many men she had beaten up recently. Chris would send you photos of Eagly from time to time.
And Adrian... Adrian talked to you every day, constantly. He would also call you, videocall you, chattering about some bird he spotted on his way to work, storytelling about some criminal gang he had crushed, occasionally asking you to lend him some money, and invariably expressing how much he missed you.
You had seen each other exactly eight times, not counting the first time you met. Sometimes you'd traveled to Evergreen to see him, and other times he'd traveled to Metropolis (in your private jet, all in your courtesy, of course).
He is very special to you.
And just like him, your relationship is special. You don't have any sort of label, nor any set boundaries, but there's always that heavy tension hanging in the air when you're alone with him, that... complicity.
You two would be chatting for hours and hours about manta rays or owls or spiders.
And you would listen. You would just sit there all pretty, gazing at him with soft eyes and a gentle smile, asking him with sincere interest about his favorite spider.
“You're my favorite person in the world, by the way,” he would blurt out, gazing at you with big, sparkly eyes and a all soft smile on his lips. His fingers caress yours with the utmost tenderness.
“In the whole world?” you would raise an eyebrow, using a tone of voice that borders on teasing. “What about Peacemaker?”
“Pff,” Adrian puffs out his lips, gesturing dismissively with his other hand. “Peacemaker is super cool, but you're like— incomparable, leagues way above him. You're way out of my league, even.”
His face swoons with sheer love when he earns a sweet kiss on the cheek from you.
Everyone believes that, very firmly. That you're all out of his league. You're a baddie— very self-confident, outrageously gorgeous, a fucking badass. And then there's Adrian. With his silly self, his nerdy glasses, his weird behavior, and his psychopathic tendencies.
You like him, though. More than you would like to admit, even.
Because he understands you, he understands that you're more than just beautiful and confident, more than a hero. You're a true one, though. One of the good ones. The kind of who's been written about in newspapers, whose name trends online whenever you make an appearance, whose face is printed on posters that kids pin on their bedroom walls. People stop in their tracks when they see you, fans scream your name, and strangers dream about you with a kind of hungry devotion.
To the world, you're untouchable, a fucking sun, something they crave but can never have. Adrian empathize with them in that case. Because he's just another planet orbiting around you.
To the people, you're a legend. To Adrian, you're heaven, his favorite girl.
“Now, I need to know if you and that Green Lantern guy have hooked up.” Economos asks after taking a long swig from his beer bottle, pointing at you accusingly.
You had invited them to your penthouse, and luckily you all had that one weekend off, so you suggested they come visit you in Metropolis. Which they did—traveling on your own jet, by the way.
Everyone had brought small gifts for you, though. Adrian had brought homemade cookies, those ones you loved so much.
You're munching on one of them while chatting with the guys, all of whom are very comfortable and well settled in your penthouse.
Leota wrinkles her nose, grimacing in disgust as she pops open another beer bottle, “Ew, dude. You don't ask that.”
Economos raises both hands to wave for peace, “What? That's what I read he said in a Twitter thread.”
“He said that?” You raise an eyebrow, wondering in disbelief. You were definitely going to scold Guy for that.
“He's a fucking arrogant jackass for all I know,” Chris adds before taking another sip of his beer. “Like, genuinely dumb.”
“Honestly, I thought you were fucking Superman. I mean, if I were you, I totally would.” Economos shrugs, nodding his head in an approval with himself.
Adrian, who until now seemed to be entertaining himself by looking at you as if you were his favorite thing in the whole world, turns toward him with narrowed eyes.
“Dude,” Leota reprimands him once more, her voice disapproving.
“His eyes and hair are dreamy,” he blurts out in his defense.
Emilia rolls her eyes. “Sure, because his eyes and hair are all you look at, you pervert.”
You snort, shaking your head, a little bit confused by the chosen topic and his choice of words. “You're spending too much time on the Internet, John.”
Leota is reflective, letting out a sluggish chuckle, “No, actually, you two would look cute together.”
Now Adrian is pouting, looking at her with a dejected expression with a mixture of emotions that you can't quite identify.
“He's a dickhead.” Chris denies with his head, in deseagreement with the topic discussed.
“Yeah.” Adrian agrees with him, because of course he agrees with Peacemaker.
“You both represent the same thing, I suppose,” Emilia reflects, perhaps too drunk to just ignore the stupidity everyone is talking about. “You bring hope and serve humanity.”
“Okay, that oversimplifies what I do,” you retort, rolling your eyes, totally offended. “I'm not fucking him. I'm not fucking anyone.”
“Yeah, right.” John snorts incredulously, “So it's the cyborg that controls those creepy circles, then.”
“They're not circles, they're spheres,” you correct him with full seriousness, slightly aggravated. “And he's not a cyborg.”
Adrian definitely doesn't like the way you talk about the man. In fact, he doesn't like you to talk about any man.
“Sure, because you know him so well.” John tries to fucking ragebait you once again, smiling like an idiot.
“I'm going to the bathroom— I think I'm gonna throw up,” Adrian mutters unenthusiasticallyinterrupting the stupid conversation.
Then, he promptly turns around and walks away, disappearing into the darkness of the hallway.
You stare after him in total silence, until Leota gives you a little nudge, making a silly face and gesturing towards the hallway, encouraging you to follow him.
And you do.
“He actually got jealous, holy shit, I can't believe it worked,” you catch John's words as you are walking across the hallway.
Then you hear Leota whisper-exclaim “shh!”, followed by a small thump and an “ow!” from John.
“She can hear you, you idiot,” Chris scolds him in an obvious tone.
All of that makes you roll your eyes.
They were truly ragebaiting not you, but Adrian.
When you eventually reach the end of the hallway, the music and chatter of the others sound like a distant echo. You knock on the door softly, and just as you are about to knock for the third time, it swings open abruptly, revealing an Adrian with fogged-up glasses and a flushed, sheepish face.
“Hey,” you greet him in a soft whisper, looking up at him with concern. “Are you okay?”
“Hey...” he greets you back in the same tone, as if everything were a big secret. It is, in a way. “Y-yeah, I just felt a little dizzy— the beers.” He shakes his head dismissively, his curls swaying with the movement. His smile twists for just a moment into an awkward grimace. “I think I had too much.”
He opens the bathroom door for you, wiping his sweaty forehead as he closes it behind you. You notice how sweaty he really is in that moment.
And so, you reach for a hand towel from one of the cabinets, and he instantly understands what you want to do. And he allows you to do it, leaning back against the sink vanity, placing his hands on the edge of it at each side of his body to support his weight—and to squeeze it, since your scent and warmth and closeness are so overwhelming.
“Yeah, you stink of beer,” you murmur with amusement as you carefully run the hand towel over his cheeks, wiping away the traces of sweat.
“I think I had too much to drink,” he repeats as he raises his eyebrows, and with the movement, his glasses slip slightly down the bridge of his nose. You're quicker than him to adjust them, and that makes him smile and blush like a teenager in love.
He's drunk, yes, but there's no clumsiness or uncertainty in his eyes: there's desire, there's devotion. There's love.
“Your hands are so warm and soft...” his voice breaks a little; the alcohol has loosened his tongue. Although love has softened him all over. You have softened him all over. And now he is cracking down for you. “Feels nice...”
Touch.
You know that's important to him. You know this is important to him. He doesn't let anyone else touch him, hug him, hold him. Only you. And that basically tells you everything about how he feels about you. It's real.
Adrian hates it when other humans touch him. And even fiercer, he hates skin-to-skin contact.
But Adrian adores you. More than anything else in the world.
And against who he is essentially, contrary to his soul's nature, he absolutely adores being touched by you, and he loves touching you. He cherishes your skin, every inch of your body. Oh, believe it, if he could merge his skin with yours, he certainly would.
He couldn't possibly envision a world where he's not there, right by your side, holding your hand, fiddling with your fingers, caressing your hair, your face, all of you.
Adrian had always thought that his purpose in life was to be a vigilante, to put an end to evil, to bad people—most of them, anyway. But no, he had been wrong all along, because his purpose was truly you. To be there for you. To love you. To be yours.
“Yeah?” you hum and smile, biting your lower lip.
“Mhm,” he hums contentedly, although that joy doesn't quite reach his eyes. Something is bothering him, a quiet voice rustling in the back of his head.
“Are you okay?” you ask again, taking your eyes off the side of his face where you're running the towel so you can look at him directly. His eyes are already on you, of course. In awe. “Your heart is beating really fast, Adrian.”
You can hear it. Beating at a wild, racing pace.
You graze the edge of his glasses with your fingertips before carefully removing them. Adrian blinks, somewhat vulnerable without them, but there is no trace of doubt in the intense sparkle of his eyes: there is only you.
“Why does everyone have to want you?” he asks in a whiny, quiet voice, seemingly struggling to hold your gaze. “Everyone wants you. Everyone talks about you. All the time. I read what they say about you.”
You hold back a little smile that threatens to tug at the corners of your lips as you look at his pouty face. “What do they say?”
He shifts his gaze to the floor for a moment, clenching his jaw, perhaps remembering the comments he read online from people talking about you.
“Things... very inappropriate,” he finally responds, looking back at you. “Very off limits.”
“Well, I'm a public figure, Adrian, very public.” You sigh softly, raising your hand to gently wipe his forehead with the towel, drying the remaining drops of sweat. “I knew what I was getting into when I started all this.”
“That's doesn't make it right,” he mutters, frowning slightly. “You save them, every day. You risk your life for them. For all of us.” His thumb brushes against your thigh as he reaches out to you once more, longingly. “And this is how they repay you? By turning you into some kind of sex symbol?”
You raise your eyebrows, pulling your hand and the towel away from his face, looking at him, unimpressed, “Sex symbol?”
He is nodding with his head, huffing lightly, very sarcastically, “I'm sure you discuss this with Superman or Mr. Terrific.” Oh, he is jealous. “They talk about you with them all the fucking time. How great of a duo you are when you're with one of them. They are good partners for you.”
He pronounces the names with suspicion and disgust, and that makes you chuckle softly. He looks at you as if you were committing a crime.
You're making fun of him. You never make fun of him. You're one of the few people who doesn't—the only one who never does.
You snort, shaking your head, both confused and slightly offended, “What is that supposed to mean?”
You know exactly what he means, though.
“Well, you spend more time with them, after all. They're like your–your work-husbands,” he cringes, unleashing his tongue and just going with what he feels in the moment, which is an tsunami of emotions that has been building up for months. “And I... I'm Adrian, and I live miles away from you, in a small shitty town where the most scandalous thing that happens is some stupid fucking guy spray-painting graffiti on a wall that doesn't belong to him.”
His drunken confession—but a confession nonetheless—sinks into you like a deeper heartbeat.
Your heart skips a beat and your lips part, not really knowing what to say for a few long seconds.
He is staring at you, vulnerability blazing in his eyes, his fingers tapping eagerly against the ceramic of the sink vanity.
“I'm here,” you tell him, you assure him. “I'm with you. Just you.”
Something breaks in his face then— not in a bad way, but in a way that softens him completely. His voice comes out smaller, almost like a child's.
“I know... I know you do. It's just— sometimes I feel like a raccoon who found the most beautiful shiny thing in the world, and the whole forest wants to take it away from him.”
You can't help a little laugh at the analogy, even though your heart squeezes at his honesty.
“I think you're drunk, Adrian,” you whisper with a sheepish smile.
Adrian smiles sheepishly too, with that mixture of tenderness and awkwardness that melts your heart. But when he feels your hands on his skin, his eyelids close slightly, as if each caress were a luxury reserved only for him, and he leans closer to your touch.
“I'm drunk, y–yeah,” he admits softly, brushing your palm with his cheek, like a cat purring and demanding affection. “But I'm also... very, very aware of what I want right now.”
The heat emanating from his body envelops yours. You feel his fingers slide down the curve of your waist, so slowly that you have time to notice how your skin ripples along every inch.
He continues to slide one hand down your side, brushing against the fabric of your shirt, stopping just before the edge, playing with the boundary. His breathing quickens a little more.
There's no rush. The silence in the bathroom is intimate, heavy with complicity. The distance between his lips and yours is almost non-existent; you can feel his warm breath, mixed with beer and something sweeter that is uniquely him.
Adrian slides a hand up to your neck, caressing the line of your jaw with his thumb, slowly, reverently. His lips finally brush against yours, just a touch, an electric brush that lingers long enough to make you tremble.
“Can I kiss you?” he gently inquires in a whisper that his tongue slurs. His eyes, filled with affection, disconnect from yours to gaze at your lips, darkened by love and desire. “Please...”
Your hands, which until now had only been holding the towel, remain still for a second on his chest. Under your palms, you feel the irregular beating of his heart, fast and intense, like a drum that draws you in.
You smile against his mouth, responding in a voice that trembles with anticipation, “Yes, please, Adrian—”
His mouth breathes in his own name.
The kiss that follows is neither clumsy nor rushed; it is slow, deep, charged with everything that needs no words. One of his hands attaches itself to your face and the other comes to rest on yours on his chest, pressing it gently against his heart, making you feel his rapid beat, making you feel the effect you have on him. That you still hold. After all this time.
When he finally pulls away, just a few inches, his breath hits yours.
Adrian chuckles sheepishly after the kiss, burying his face in your neck like he's trying to hide how much you affect him and also how he's blushing. His warm breath tickles your skin, and you can't help but smile too, running one of your hands up his back, scraping your nails across his shoulder blades.
His body visually and physically reacts to your touch, trembling slightly under your hands, like jelly.
His voice drags out in a hoarse whisper, pressed against your neck, his words slurring into your skin. “I think you're my soulmate. Like, in the swan-soulmate way.”
The towel slips from your hands, forgotten, as Adrian tilts his head to seek your mouth again. The kiss is different now: hungrier, more needy. His lower lip trembles slightly against yours before gently capturing it, then with firmer pressure that draws a sigh from you.
You tilt his chin up with your fingers, forcing his hazy eyes to meet yours. Even drunk, even flushed and trembling, Adrian's gaze is a mirror of devotion.
“You're so weird,” you breath out, giggling softly. You don't say it in a negative way, no, but rather in a way that speaks of admiration and love.
At that, he leans in and kisses the corner of your mouth, slow and reverent, and averts his gaze from yours.
“Hey...” you murmur, your voice low and steady, almost a lullaby. “Look at me, Adrian.”
He hesitates, then lifts his head slowly. His eyes are glassy—not just from the alcohol—but from the storm of emotion swirling behind them. His mouth opens as if he wants to say more, but he just swallows hard instead.
“No one has me but you,” you whisper back, brushing your thumb over his lower lip. “You're not 'just' Adrian,” you keep talking, very softly and sweetly. “I'm here because I choose you. I really like you, not because of your suit or your glasses or the type of guns you use, but because it's you. Because you're Adrian. My Adrian.”
His breath hitches. The blush on his cheeks deepens, and something vulnerable flickers across his face.
And then, he tilts forward and kisses you again, slower this time, deeper, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head.
When you detach yourselves from each other's mouths, you carefully put his glasses back on, and he blinks leisurely, taking in the gorgeous scene in front of him, which is you.
“I get so fucking jealous every fucking time I see you with them—with anyone who isn't me...”
He doesn’t finish the sentence. You don’t let him.
Your lips press against his once more, quieting every insecurity, every tremor of doubt still lingering in his chest. And this time, he melts. Completely. His hands find your waist, grounding himself in your warmth, your reality.
He pulls you close to him, impossibly close, so close that you can actually feel his flesh pressing against yours, his muscles, the beating of his heart, becoming one with yours.
When you part, his forehead rests against yours.
The bathroom light flickers softly, reflecting on the edges of his glasses. Perhaps it's an effect of your power, twinkling in your veins, in each of your breaths, in each beat of your heart. But no, it's the effect he has on you.
“You don’t have to be jealous,” you whisper, fingertips brushing the hair at the nape of his neck. “You already have me, Adrian.”
He laughs quietly, that broken, boyish kind of laugh that sounds like relief. “You say that like you don’t know how impossible that sounds.”
You smile at him, that smile that ruins him in all the best ways. “Maybe. But it’s true.”
He studies your face like it’s something sacred, like he’s afraid to blink and lose the memory of it.
“You know what’s crazy?” he murmurs, voice quiet, like he’s afraid of scaring the moment off. “I don't think I could be with anyone else. It's only you. It's always been you. So, I think I’d still find you. In another life. If there’s a hundred worlds out there, I’ll find you in all of them.”
Your laughter softens into something quieter, more tender. “You already did.” You lean in to kiss his cheek affectionately, but he turns his face just in time, kissing your lips instead. “Come on, the others will be wondering why we're taking so long.”
“They'll think I fucked you, something I'm totally fine with, by the way,” he jokes, puffing out a giggle.
And then, he follows you— because of course he does. Still holding your hand, his arm sneaks around your waist as you both head toward the door. His thumb rubs slow circles on your hip, like he can’t quite bring himself to stop touching you.
And then you open the door.
The hallaway falls completely silent.
Leota, John, Emilia, and Chris are all there — waiting, frozen mid-conversation, all holding drinks or snacks like they’ve been standing there for a while.
The silence stretches for one glorious, painful second.
Then Chris raises an eyebrow. “Well. Took you long enough.”
Emilia crosses her arms, smirking. “Told you they’d make out before midnight.”
John turns to her, groaning, before giving you both a mean look. “Ugh, seriously? You horndogs couldn’t wait five more minutes?”
Leota bites her lip, trying so hard not to laugh, and then looks at Economos. “Pay up.”
John groans, digging into his pocket. “You said next week! That doesn’t count!”
“Dude,” Chris says, pointing at Adrian basically hugging you from behind, at both of your very obvious post-make-out faces — “that definitely counts.”
Adrian just blinks, confused and still a little tipsy as he interrupts them. “Wait— were you guys betting on us?”
“Obviously,” Emilia deadpans, sipping her drink. “It was painfully obvious, Vig.”
Adrian gasps, genuinely offended. “Obvious?! I was so subtle!”
Chris snorts, nearly choking on his beer. “Yeah, man, nothing says subtle like calling her your soulmate after two beers.”
Emilia shrugs, already walking back toward the living room. “Please. You two have been making heart eyes since John's christmas party.”
Leota winks at you as she follows. “We’re just glad you finally admitted it.”
Economos mutters something about being “robbed” while he hands Leota a crumpled ten.
Adrian is blushing so much.
And he blushes even more when you kiss him once again.
