sappy ending massage || Christopher Smith/Peacemaker x Reader
synopsis: chris hurts his back, so you give him a massage to make him feel better. that's it, that's the plot.
word count: 2.9k
tags: hurt/comfort, angst, maybe fluff? if you squint?, set between seasons 1 & 2, mostly chris POV, chris is extremely self-deprecating and an unreliable narrator, language and themes are explicit, no smut but mentions of masturbation, reader is a metahuman but chris doesn't know that, chris needs a hug SO bad and he kinda gets it!, unresolved sexual tension, no use of y/n, reader isn't gendered
Christopher Smith is a tough guy. The toughest muscles of all the superheroes, if you ask him — and yeah, Superman is stronger than him, but Superman is also fucking cheating,so that doesn’t count. Anyone could be born an extraterrestrial, but it takes some real dedication to achieve that physique. Point was, Chris is a tough motherfucker, and a real fucking man.
That also means that when he hurts his back while lifting weights, there is no fucking way he can tell anyone. He doesn’t say no when Vigilante invites him to go do some crime fighting with him, puts on a brave face when Leota asks him for help helping her move in to her new place, and agrees to participate in a friendly spar with Harcourt. He only starts to limp when he’s sure no one else can see him.
He thinks that’s why you notice right away.
You show up at his dad’s place — fuck, his place, now — at 9 am on the dot on Friday, like you’ve done every week for the past three years. Auggie had hired you to do some housekeeping, a task he considered ‘a sissy’s job’ and beneath him, and Chris decided to wait until the contract ran out. Probably. He definitely didn’t enjoy having you walk through his house humming soft tunes, making him feel all domestic and shit.
You’re just so different from everyone in his life. You’re a civilian, for one, but there’s also something so much kinder about you. You’re just sweet to him. You listen, and you chat, and you tell him about insignificant shit, and for some reason he drinks it all up, because you— Because you—
Because you make him feel like a person.
Eagly screeches eagerly when you arrive. He remembers you from the years he spent in the garage, and also he knows you hide treat in your jacket’s pocket.
Chris isn’t sure why you keep doing that, since Eagly keeps tearing them open. He knows you stitch them back closed every time, though, and that Eagly loves tearing into things, so that’s a pretty huge fucking green flag in his book.
“I’ll let you do your thing,” he tells you as you start making your way around the house like you own it.
He notices your surprised glance. You’re used to Chris hovering behind you for everything you do, telling you stories that are supposed to impress you but are often just deeply sad, and making incredibly inappropriate jokes that you don’t think he knows are super questionable.
When he plops down on the couch, teeth tightly gritted to avoid grimacing with pain, you lean against the door frame, watching him quizzically.
“Did you hurt your back?” you ask, straight to the point.
He freezes. Shit. Had he limped? He might have limped. He hasn’t bothered to hide the pain in his house yet.
“Well, your back would hurt too if Guy-fucking-Gardner dropped you from the green-ass net he was carrying you in ‘cause he was trying to make you puke ‘cause he has a fucking fetish!”
You stare at him, unimpressed, and Eagly lets out a judgmental squawk. You glance at the bird for a second, before returning your attention to Chris, who’s totally not sweating about this. It’s not like it would be a big deal if you found out. You would just think that he’s total weakling who’s not worthy of kindness or attention or work and start treating him like the dumb fuck he is and tell the whole world that Peacemaker’s a little bitch and everyone would laugh at him and never want to talk to him again.
That’s fine. That’s totally fine.
“My back always hurts, Chris,” you say, “I work forty hour weeks doing physical labor. If I tried to lift one of those weights,” you point towards the corner of the room, “I’d end up in the hospital. Speaking of, think you could move them for me? I’m gonna need to vacuum over there.”
Chris swallows.
“Of course I can. What, think I can’t move my own weights? Ha, I could move five dozens of those all at the same time. I can lift a car, did you know that? I’ve lifted tons of cars before, actually!”
You nod patiently.
“Great, thank you.”
You’re not moving. Fuck. He’s going to have to do it with you watching. Locking his jaw tightly, he gets up far too slow. You don’t move a muscle. He rolls his shoulders as if to stretch, but has to stop when that movement sends a sharp stab through his spine.
“I’ll do it,” he says.
You smile. You’re so pretty when you smile. It makes your whole face look warm and welcoming and like you’re not looking at the lowest of the low but someone you might actually kinda not hate.
“Take your time.”
“Ha! I don’t need time. You won’t even notice me doing it because I’ll be going so fast.”
“Perfect.”
His stalling doesn’t seem to be working. Shit.
Now, he could pick up the weight while groaning with pain and grimacing and maybe crying a little bit, but he doesn’t want to do any of that while you’re watching. Instead, he squats, trying his best to keep his back upright, grips one singular 50 pounds weight with the tip of his fingers, and moves like a crab towards the closet where he usually keeps his workout gear.
“See?” he asks once he’s done. “I did that extra slow so you could see I’m really doing it. I’m gonna pick up the pace now. Maybe you can, like, start in the kitchen while I take care of that?”
You sigh, push yourself off the frame, and walk towards him.
“Alright, Chris. You can do it and you definitely did not injure your back and I fully believe you.”
He nods sharply.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“But I could give you a back massage to make you feel even better, if you’d like that. I’m not a professional or anything, but I’ve taken a bunch of classes on that.”
Chris pauses. Swallows. It says a lot about the pain he’s in that he’s just thinking about how nice it would be if that stopped, instead of his mind filling with images of nasty sex with you. It usually takes far less to get him hot and bothered. One time, you said ‘I should really make you my special pancake recipe one day’ and he had to go rub one off ‘cause that just sounded so nice.
“Wouldn’t that— Wouldn’t that be sexual harassment?” he asks.
You blink, and take a cautious step back. He has to fight the urge to grab your arm and bring you back to him. Fortunately, it’s not too hard, because even just thinking about doing that is painful.
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry. Did I make you feel sexually harassed?”
“Me? Ha, no way. No, I meant, for you.”
You stare, tilting your head to the side as you study him.
“…would it be sexual harassment if you said yes to me offering you to give you a massage?”
“Well, yeah. ‘Cause you work for me and shit.”
“I offered, Chris.”
“Yeah, but I mean, there’s still a power dynamic here, right?” Leota had spent a lot of time talking to him about that stuff. He hadn’t been paying a ton of attention, but some stuff had stuck. “Like, y’know, I feel like it’d be gross if I was my dad in that situation.”
You look thoughtful for a second, then grimace.
“No offense, but I think I would have taken too much joy in your father being in pain to offer to help him in any way. If anything, I would have put stuff on a shelf he couldn’t reach.”
“Fair enough,” he admits. “So…”
“I mean, if you’re uncomfortable—”
“I’m not uncomfortable. Who said I was uncomfortable? You’re the one who’s uncomfortable.”
Shit. That might be true. Was he right? Were you just projecting, or whatever Economos called it?
“Okay, big guy,” you just say, smiling at him. You’ve gotten good at not letting him distract you with all the stuff he throws at you when he doesn’t know how to react. “How about you take off that shirt and lie down on your bed? I’ll be here in a second.”
It’s actually so sad that he doesn’t even have it himself to be rock hard right now. Man. Pain fucking sucks. Can’t even get turned on at stuff that should really really get him going.
He does just as you told him, lying perfectly still, head buried in his pillow. He does that exclusively to facilitate your job, and totally not because he’s in horrible pain.
A few minutes later, you rap gently against the door, and he grunts as a way of salutation.
“You okay?” you ask.
Your voice is so soft when you ask the question, and it almost makes him want to be sincere. To see if you’d rub his back and tell him sweet nothings if he told you how fucked up he really is. To see if your kindness is truly unconditional, or if you’re just waiting for the right time to kick him where he’s weak and sneer at him like everyone ends up doing.
“Yeah,” he answers, voice just a little hoarse. “You can get started. If you want to. ‘cause I don’t need you to do that at all.”
“Hmm,” you reply, just fully ignoring him. “Sorry, I don’t have any massage oil on me.”
“That’s fine,” he tries to shrug but decides against it. “Who needs that any—”
Your fingers trailing over his back cut him off. You followed up his spine all the way to the nape of his neck, and Chris didn’t dare to move an inch. Your hands were a little rough, calloused from your job. You wore gloves a lot of the time, but they weren’t always convenient, and that meant that you still had to be in contact with aggressive products a lot of the time.
Still, it feels like the gentlest touch he’s ever received, and it makes his eyes water. There’s a part of him that wants to get up and move away from you because he doesn’t deserve such kindness. The overwhelming part of him chooses not to move. Because he’s a coward and a selfish asshole.
“Okay,” you say, squeezing his trapezius and starting to make you way back down his body, this time using the heel of your hand instead of your fingers. “You’re super tense. I guess you get injured a lot because of your work, huh?”
He never thinks about that. No one does. Adrian shows a little solicitude, but other than that, it’s just normal to put his body on the line to protect peace and freedom. He’s never questioned it, not even once.
And now, you ask him this one question, your tone laced with genuine concern, and he feels himself unravel.
Yes, he gets injured a lot at work. Yes, it fucking hurts. Yes, he’d like someone to comfort him and tell him he’s doing a good job, for once.
“All part of the job, baby,” he croons instead. “Someone’s gotta do it, right?”
“And aren’t we lucky you’re doing it,” you chuckle.
He feels a pang of… something. In his chest. It’s nice, but it’s so warm it’s threatening to burn a hole through his heart.
“You ever gotten a massage?” you ask him, still touching his back to try and figure out what you need to focus on — the answer, so far, seems to be that he is just one big block of tension and you can’t even tell his muscles apart from touching him. They might have fused together for all you know.
“Like in a spa or something? Nah. That’s for pussies. No offense.”
You shake your head. You don’t really have it in you to get upset when he says shit like that, even if it would be a major red flag coming from anyone else. After all, you’ve met his dad. As far as you’re concerned, it’s a miracle that Chris could grow up around a man like him and still genuinely want to do good.
Okay, yes, this ‘good’ involved murdering a bunch of people, which you’re not super cool with, but he’d been at least trying to change his ways, and that has to count for something, right? He’s saved the world and shit.
“I did get a massage from a prostitute once,” he adds, almost as an afterthought. “She put oil on her tits and used them on my back. I don’t think it did anything, though.”
You grimace at the image.
“Well, I’m not doing that.”
“Yeah, I– I didn’t think you would.”
He totally doesn’t sound disappointed.
“I’m gonna get started,” you warn him. “It might hurt a little bit, but warn me if it gets too painful, alright?”
“Ha. As if you could—”
You put both of your hands on the small of his back and push your thumbs into his skin on either sides of his spine to start massaging his lats, and he’s pretty sure the sound he lets out can only be described as an undignified moan.
After that, things get very, very hazy. On the one hand, you’re right that it hurts sometimes, when you press on a specific muscle that only agrees to relax itself kicking and screaming. On the other, the feeling he gets when the muscle does surrender and he can finally stop hurting is about as close to heaven as he thinks he’s ever felt. He’s floating through the bluest of blue skies, among the clouds, letting himself go wherever your hands take him.
You work in silence, kneading his back patiently. You work him until the painful knots dissolve under your skilled hands. On occasion, you have to use your elbow on him, because he’s so stiff you can barely can through to him. At first, he lets out pained groans, but these gradually quiet as you make your way up. His breathing evens, his chest rises and falls more freely. By the time you reach his trapezius, he’s gone completely limp. He doesn’t so much as stir when you get your fingers in his hair to massage his scalp, or when you use to fingers to rub his temples. He just lays there, still and slack-jawed.
You discover why a second later, when he starts to snore.
Moving on the other side of the bed, you discover him, indeed, blissfully asleep. The line on his forehead is almost gone for once, and though the corner of his mouth are downturned, making him look sad, he at least looks at peace. You don’t know if his methods are all that helpful in bringing peace to the planet, but you know for sure they haven’t brought any of that to him.
“Sleep tight, big guy,” you whisper, before grabbing his blanket and covering him with it. He’s earned it.
You close the door, walking out as quietly as you can, and find Eagly waiting for you.
Oh well, Chris is felt asleep. You can go for it.
You clear your throat, and let out a screech.
“You better not wake him up, dude.”
Eagly spreads his wings, screeching back.
“As if I would ever do anything to hurt him. You wouldn’t even have figured out anything if I hadn’t told you. You humans are so pathetically unobservant.”
You roll your eyes. This self-aggrandizing speech is so typical with bald eagles.
“So you won’t go in there even if you’re hungry? You promise.”
He looks visibly offended — don’t ask how a bald looks visibly offended. They just do.
“Me?? Of course not.”
He’s so obviously lying it’s your turn to get offended that he’d even think that would fly with you.
“I’m serious, let him sleep. He needs it.”
Eagly ignores you and waddles away, muttering under his breath. You take that as a ‘Yes, ma’am’, and exit the house as quietly as possible.
When Chris wakes up, it’s dark outside. He doesn’t even know how that could happen. You got there at nine, and he’d had a full night sleep — it’s not like him to take such a long nap, ‘cause, y’know, he ain’t a baby.
He sits up, groggy, mouth all dry and pasty. His back’s sore, but fuck, it’s night and day compared to how it was in the morning. He thinks back on the massage. Thinks about you pressing down on him, your hands all over his skin, how close to his ass you’d gotten, your warm breath over his neck, and— did he imagine it, or had you pulled on his hair a little bit when you’d gotten to his head? Fuck, just thinking about it, he—
Oh, fuck yeah. He’s rock hard. He is so back.
Well, he will be as soon as he’s jerked off, anyway. And he’mm try not to think about you, to not objectify you or whatever, but, uh, he’s not quite certain that’s gonna work out.
If he says your name when he comes, it’s just a coincidence for sure.
okay this feels good to get out of my system because when i tell you i've been obsessed with chris since i started watching peacemaker... there is a real lack of fics about him so i figured i'd add my humble stone to the edifice! i hope you all enjoyed this, please leave a comment to let me know your thougts. i truly feed from your interactions as a writer and i'd love to hear your feedback~ reblogs are greatly appreciated as well! thank you all for reading 💕
Chris Smith as your Boyfriend Headcanons: Love Languages
Author's Note: These headcanons were very cute to write for our sweet Economos, so from one large man to another it's time to daydream about the Peacemaker himself 💓 If you've been enjoying my Peacemaker content this season, please consider buying my book as a way to support me and my writing! It's only $3 for the e-book or $9 for the paperback!
Acts of Service:
Receiving Love - It doesn't take much of an insight into Chris's childhood to know he didn't exactly get well taken care of growing up. So all the little ways you look out for him, and care for him, would mean the absolute world to this sensitive hunk of a man. Carry a spare protein bar around for when he inevitably gets a bit hungry and cranky, or remind him about some meeting he has next week and offer to come along for the drive, and suddenly Peacemaker will start to feel like maybe he's not as destined to be alone as he always feared. Sure he's always done well at picking up strangers, but he's never had the kind of partner in life that you step up and be for him, and it makes him want to be a better boyfriend and a better man all at once.
Giving Love - Chris takes every opportunity to stick by your side just in case there's absolutely anything he can do to make your life that bit better, the way having you in his life has changed it completely. He loves to drive you places when he can, letting you pick the music and praising your choice every time because he loves the way you smile when he starts to sing along. He also never misses a chance to carry or reach things for you, whether it's helping around the house or just carrying all your bags when the two of you hit the grocery store. Deep inside he feels like you'll inevitably realise your life is actually worse for him being in it, so every small, positive, tangible favour he can provide helps his confidence that he'll be able to hold onto you for another day.
Gifts:
Receiving - Peacemaker isn't one for trinkets or impersonal gifts, but get him something that shows that you've been thinking about him and he'll quickly be kicking his feet like a loved up teenager. Gift him a record he's been trying to find for his collection, or something he can use to work out, or anything that has an eagle printed on it. It's not so much about the gift itself but just the simple reminder that you go through life thinking about him almost as much as he finds himself constantly thinking about you.
Giving - Peacemaker doesn't have much to give, but you can guarantee that he would give you the shirt off his back if it would make you smile for even a second. He likes to give you things that feel like giving you a piece of himself. Dog tags with his details on, or anything with a dove of peace carved on that you can keep on you, just something to keep him close even when he's away. Chris feels like he needs to constantly remind you that he's there for you, in case you ever need him, and a little bit because he's terrified that you'll forget about him and the good you see in him when he's not there to remind you that he's worthy of your love, or at least hopes to be.
Words of Affirmation:
Receiving - Chris has heard more insults and degradation in his unfortunate life than anyone should have to endure, so the kind words that effortlessly fall from your lips are always as precious to him as the kisses they provide. It's one thing to call him handsome, or strong, or fit, or any other thing else that he can see in the mirror, spreading a proud smile over his face every time. But compliment his soul, his character, the kind of man he's growing into; tell him that you're proud of him, that you love how good of a friend he is, that you're always happier when you've spent some time with him, and then he'll really melt. Hearing you recognise the effort he's putting in to try and be better, and tell him that he's the sort of man you want to give your time to, well that just means more to him than the usual surface level flirting. Not that he doesn't love that too, and will occasionally fish for a compliment about how jacked he is.
Giving - Chris is always quick to throw out a cheesy compliment about how beautiful you are, and how smart, and funny, really just everything he can't get enough of about you. But he'll also be sure to use his words to remind you of his place in your life. He'll tell you how much he cares about you every time you say goodbye, and to keep safe, and to call him if you need anything because he'd do anything for you and you are his number one priority. He'll reassure you that you can tell him anything, that he'll never judge you, and he'll always give you the benefit of the doubt and help you however he can. He wants you to know his words are more than flattery. They are a promise, a vow, a lifetime of love and trust laid out bare before you. And he means every word.
Physical Touch:
Receiving - After a lifetime of being on the receiving end of heavy handed violence and meaningless sex, it's the softest touches that mean the most to sweet Chris. The way you brush your thumb so lightly over his cheek as you lean in to kiss him, the first brush of your nose against his when your eyes flutter open of a morning, the light rest of your head on his chest when the two of you are dancing around his little kitchen to a record spinning behind you. He wants to be at the edge of your featherlight fingertips at all times and is helpless to orbit by your side as much as he can waiting for the next opportunity to be graced by your wondrous desire.
Giving - Peacemaker is a little firmer when it comes to sharing his affections. A hand firmly encasing yours when the two of walk anywhere, an arm snuggly wrapped around your waist whenever you are seated by his side or curled up with him in bed, a firm kiss every time he has to step out the door. He wants there to be no question about how he feels about you, and no doubt in your mind that he'd do anything to get back to you safely.
Quality Time:
Receiving - Chris loves being able to spend any time with you where he can have his music playing. Whether that's taking long impromptu road trips to find a new stretch of forest for Eagly to explore, making breakfast together and getting distracted when he inevitably lifts you on the counter so you're an easier height to kiss with his torso slotted between your legs, or just hitting up a bar that's playing all the hits tonight so you two can curl up in a secluded booth and get lost in each other. It's easy for hours to pass when he can feel you sway in his arms and his heartbeat can fall in time with yours and the gentle melody drifting through the air around you.
Giving - It takes almost nothing to get Peacemaker excited to spend time with, even if you just want to spend the day curled up on the couch in a blanket. Every day trip is the adventure of a lifetime to Chris, every night in is the cosiest and sweetest that he can remember. As long as it's by your side, Chris cannot think of a better way to pass the time or a more wonderful use of his day.
Giving the peacemaker himself the love he deserves, please let me know if you want more <3 And if you enjoyed it and want to support me to write more, or commission something special? Considering buying me a coffee to help out!
In the meantime my Peacemaker headcanons from season 1 are here, and if you miss our sweet masked killer, check out my Adrian Chase Masterlist for my usual guy ❤️
synopsis ; the two of you only brought the worst out of each other, but you just couldn’t stay away.
words ; 1.8k
themes ; comedy, mild smut (?)
warnings / includes ; arguing, lots of swearing, they fuck against a desk but it's not too graphic and pretty glossed over, reader punches adrian and breaks his nose, chris is the embodiment of e_e
main masterlist.
“I had him!” you snarled, striding up to Adrian until the two of you were practically nose-to-nose. He had ripped his mask off earlier, seeing no point in keeping it on when everybody on the team was already very well aware of his not-so-secret secret identity. “He was the only shot we had at getting information and you just fucking—Argh! You ruined everything, you dumb fucking piece of motherfucking—!”
Raising his hands in a condescendingly placating manner, Adrian retorted, “Woah! Watch it, potty mouth!”
Frustration crawled through your skin and wove beneath your muscles, nestling within your bones. “God, I hate you. This was my mission. You had no right interfering—!”
“Well, excuse me, first of all, this was our mission. Second, I’m sorry for saving your ass!” he interrupted. “If it hadn’t been for me, you would be out there, bleeding out of multiple gunshot wounds, thinking to yourself, ‘Oh, I wish Vigilante was here to come rescue me! He’s so handsome and I wish I could have sex with him just one more time and tell him how sorry I am for being a dick and ignoring him and pretending like it had never fucking happened!’”
You clenched your jaw, eye twitching. Sure, the two of you had slept together once—it was the heat of the moment and the adrenaline after a bloody fight, really—sodden clothes were hastily torn away or pulled to the side, bleeding lips were roughly slanted against each other, and he had fucked you on top of Chris’ messy desk with wild abandon. So fucking what?
“I was more than capable of handling the situation on my own.”
“Oh, were you, really?” Adrian rolled his eyes. “Don’t kid yourself. Honestly, sometimes it feels like you wouldn’t even care if you died—!”
With a growl rumbling within your throat, you wound your arm back, clenched your hand into a tight fist, and struck Adrian squarely in the face. A bilious crack echoed throughout the dingy room. He reared backwards, clutching his most-likely broken nose, groaning loudly.
You were well aware of the fact that the rest of the team was awkwardly watching the two of you hash it out. Tentative, Adebayo started saying, “Guys, I think we—”
“No!” you cut her off. “Fuck you, Adrian.”
With that, you stormed out of the room, ripping off the rest of your tactical gear along the way and cold fury wrapping its dark hands around your neck.
“Fuck,” Adrian said, all stuffy from his bleeding nose. “That made me so hard.”
Chris smacked him on the back of his head, which made him squawk with pain.
“I don’t know, man,” said Chris, sticking his tongue out the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on scribbling a dove of peace on another one of his weapons that Harcourt hadn’t bothered emblazing, despite his repeated insistence. “Maybe you should apologize to Y/N. They seemed really pissed.”
Blowing a raspberry, Adrian waved his most best friend’s advice away. “Pfft—no, if anything, they should be the one apologizing to me. Did you see how my nose was all bloody and crooked?”
Chris momentarily turned his attention away from the crude drawing of the dove of peace (which, unsurprisingly, looked like a ghost), and scowled at the spectacled, borderline psychotic man-child across from him. “Jeez, stop overreacting. Harcourt set your nose back right after, don’t be such a baby.”
“But it hurt!” Adrian whined. “You know that a person’s sense of smell is probably, like, the most important sense out of all the senses?”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“Uh huh—scented candle businesses would go bankrupt if none of us could smell!”
Narrowing his eyes, Chris replied, “Yeah, but how the fuck would that make it the most important—ugh, you know what? Just go apologize to them. We have another mission tomorrow morning and I don’t want their panties in a twist because of you.”
Adrian chortled. “Heh, wouldn’t be the first time I twisted their pa—” At Chris’ sharp glare, he immediately cut himself short. “Fine! I’ll go, I’ll go. If I die, please play an episode of Friends at my funeral—specifically the episode where they hire Danny Devito as a stripper. I really liked that episode. I liked it a lot. You got that?”
“Yeah, Danny Devito, stripper, funeral, got it!” retorted Chris, clearly not listening anymore as he waved Adrian away.
Squaring his shoulders, Adrian marched away from his trusted friend and headed to the room down the hall, pushing the door open and peeking his head through. He saw you buried behind a pile of paperwork on your desk, muttering incoherently beneath your breath.
When you noticed him come in, he pursed his lips and waved awkwardly, shutting the door behind him.
“Hey,” he called out from the other side of the room, a bit too loudly. You winced at his volume, and he moved closer before parroting himself, this time much quieter. “Hey.”
“Hey,” came your tentative, stiff reply. “What do you want?”
The man in front of your desk cleared his throat, rocking himself back onto his heels as he swung his arms awkwardly. “I, uh, just wanted to apologize.”
“Oh, yeah?” You crossed your arms, cocking one of your eyebrows expectantly. “Go on, then.”
“I’m…” Adrian doubled over groaning, stomping his feet like a petulant child, before righting himself and huffing in an overexaggerated manner. “Ugh, I hate this. Fuck—I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have said those things to you. It was unprofessional.”
Humming, the beginnings of a smirk began to play with the corner of your lips. “Great, thanks. You can go now.”
Adrian stayed rooted to the spot, staring at you blankly.
“What?” you asked him.
He scowled, gesturing to his slightly-crooked nose.
Rolling your eyes to the ceiling, you sighed. “Fine. I’m sorry for punching you. Happy?”
“Yeah, pfft, whatever—doesn’t even hurt,” he bluffed, leaning his weight onto your desk in an effort to appear nonchalant.
You scoffed. “With how you were groaning, you made it sound like I nearly killed you.”
“You’ve got a strong punch, okay?” he heatedly rebutted, before haughtily sticking his sore chin up in the air. After another second of tense silence, he glanced at you from the corner of his eyes, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his fucked-up nose. He coughed into his fist, before muttering, “Honestly, though… it was really fucking hot.”
The dull wooden edge of your desk dug into your lower back as Adrian leaned over you, mouth rough on yours, glasses knocked askew amidst his vigor. One of his hands were buried in your roots at the back of your head, anchoring you close to him, and the other pinned your thighs apart so he could slot between them. Your hands were tightly curled up in the gap between his sweltering skin and his suit’s dark armor, yanking him to bridge the gap between you. His nose brushed your cheekbone every time he surged forward to kiss you—and it sent a mild jolt of pain spidering down his spine, but he didn’t seem to mind it too much, rather preoccupied with other sensations.
Clothes were hastily pulled to the side, sweat beaded both of your foreheads, and strained gasps fell through your lips as he began to move against you.
Neither punching Adrian nor fucking him afterwards were on your agenda for today, but you certainly weren’t complaining. And judging by how loudly he was moaning into the brutal kiss, he wasn’t going to complain, either.
With one final roll of his hips into yours, he bucked forward with a strangled, choking noise as his climax washed over him just when you were pushed off the edge as well, sinking his teeth into the flesh of your shoulder, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.
“God, you’re loud,” you panted, snaking your hands to his hair to gently pull him away from the crevice of your neck.
He stared at you with full-blown pupils, delighting in the fact that you were quivering against him ever so slightly. “And you’re so fucking hot.”
“Alright, buddy, we’re done here,” you said, patting his chest, before pushing away and straightening out your wrinkled clothes. “This is the last time this is ever happening, by the way.”
Adrian scoffed, righting his glasses up his nose. “Uh huh, yeah right. Admit it, you just can’t resist me. I’m like the peanut butter to your jelly! The… the chocolate to your pizza!”
Nose wrinkling, you shook your head incredulously. “What? Who the fuck eats chocolate with pizza?”
“Uh, duh, I do,” he replied, as if it were obvious. “It’s amazing—you should really try it. I don’t know, maybe you could come over to my place one day and have some. Nothing beats the perfect ratio of greasy-crispy Hawaiian pizza and Nutella straight from the jar.”
Kiss-swollen lips parting, you leaned against your desk out of interest once again. Adrian was fidgeting with his hands awkwardly and began looking everywhere but you, like he hadn’t just fucked you silly literally a minute ago.
“Are you asking me out?”
“No!” he said. “Maybe.”
You regarded him with a strange look.
“Ugh, yes, fine, I’m asking you out. Well, technically in—I’m asking you into my house. Preferably into my bed—”
“Alright!” you interrupted, holding your hands out. “Fine. Only this one time. But just because you’ve come in me twice by now doesn’t mean you can go on falling in love with me, okay?”
Brightening, Adrian sidled closer to you, the green of his eyes glimmering beneath the flickering lights hanging over your desk. “Don’t worry, that won’t be a problem. If anything, you should watch out for falling in love with me. I’m quite the catch, you know?”
It was hard to suppress the growing grin forming over your lips. “You’ve got the Barbie Girl song as your ringtone.”
“Yeah, and? It’s a good song—super catchy. It’s practically a chick magnet,” he defended, beaming like an idiot.
You rolled your eyes, patting his chest twice, before striding away from both him and your desk, off to go to the bathroom to clean up the sticky mess between your thighs. Adrian watched you go, before repeatedly punching the air with excitement and breaking out into a dance—not to music, but to the buzz of the office’s artificial lights, and the lethargic whir of the semi-broken air conditioner.
From outside, he could hear Chris greet you, and he momentarily paused in his little victory jig.
“Oh, hi, Y/N! Hah, your hair’s all messed up, why do you look like you just had your brains fucked—oh. Oh. God damn it, you guys better not have done it on my desk again!”
Vacationplz: guys can we please just fucking go to Hawaii or something for a month??
Ihaveagunstfu: For once I agree.
Isthisa🐦?: We still have to get rid of the remaining butterflies and figure out what to do with the cows body.
Himbolante🧜♂️: can we just make the justice league do it😕 like they were embarrassingly late💀 it's the least they can do
PEACEmf: exactly, why the hell is that our problem
PEACEmf: leota can just call her demon of a mother and get them back here
Ilovemywife: I'm not fucking calling my mom to have her tell the justice league to clean up the cows dead body wtf Chris?????
PEACEmf: coward.
Himbolante🧜♂️: couldn't John just hack their devices or something and tell them to do it🙄
Vacationplz: im not hacking the justice league's devices, THATS A DEATH WISH ADRIAN
Himbolante🧜♂️: just send them blackmail you have on them or something 😭 they'll be too scared to try and get you
Isthisa🐦: We are doing neither of those things. We are cleaning up this mess ourselves.
Ihaveagunstfu: That's bold of you to say when you are the only one currently physically unable to help.
Isthisa🐦: Am I supposed to apologize for being ambushed after having to get SOME PEOPLE to stop fighting?
Ilovemywife: sorry again sir
Ihaveagunstfu: I'm not, if we all just communicated in the beginning we would have had all this shit done by now.
Vacationplz: and we'd be sunbathing in the beautiful suns of Hawaii
Himbolante🧜♂️: why Hawaii?🤔 Why not like,,, Paris or something
Vacationplz: wonder woman is in Paris.
Himbolante🧜♂️: ah, yeah nvm let's go to Hawaii💀 I don't wanna get my legs broken by her or something
PEACEmf: Wonder woman pegs Batman.
Ihaveagunstfu: What could possibly be going through your brain to think that A. thats factually correct at all and B. Relevant to ANYONE'S conversation
PEACEmf: i'm just trying to keep you guys updated on superhero gossip/facts jeez, just say you're uneducated about heros and leave
Ihaveagunstfu: I'm coming to your house to strangle you.
PEACEmf: HA good luck getting past EAGLY
Isthisa🐦: STOP GETTING OFF TOPIC. WE NEED TO FIGURE OUT WHAT TO DO NEXT.
Vacationplz: can we do that in Hawaii
Himbolante🧜♂️: I mean if you think about it the calmness and good vibes of Hawaii will probably help us come up with better plans🤷
Vacationplz: yeah exactly how are we supposed to plan anything with the public, police, AND remaining butterflies still after us here
Isthisa🐦: WE ARE NOT GOING TO HAWAII FOR THE LAST TIME
Himbolante🧜♂️: 😔🥺
Vacationplz: Waller would have let us go to Hawaii-
Isthisa🐦: no she wouldn't have
Ihaveagunstfu: no she wouldn't have
Ilovemywife: no she wouldn't have
PEACEmf: no she wouldn't have
Himbolante🧜♂️: John do you need to see a doctor?? Even I know she would never??
Vacationplz: you guys are the fucking worst, I can do computer shit from Hawaii so I'm LEAVING MYSELF THEN
Himbolante🧜♂️: WAIT JOHN CAN I COME TOO
Vacationplz: as long as you pay for your own ticket and promise not to get us arrested
Himbolante🧜♂️: DEAL!! I HAVE SO MANY HAWAIIAN SHIRTS THAT HAVE BEEN IN MY CLOSET WAITING FOR THIS MOMENT 😭😭🎉
Ilovemywife: you seriously bought Hawaiian shirts just in case you randomly go to Hawaii??
Himbolante🧜♂️: you don't? That's sad😕 couldn't be me😎
Never had to headcanon how a character texts before😭 hopefully it looks okay/at least semi canon💀 anywaysss sorry for the long intervals in between posts😭 daredevil currently has my brain in a tight ass grip and obviously there's no new episodes of Peacemaker which is THE WORST AND I MISS IT SO MUCH, TF AM I SUPPOSED TO LOOK FORWARD TO ON THURSDAY NOW?????? But yeah hope y'all had/have a good day!
oh no love, you're not alone || Christopher Smith/Peacemaker x Reader
synopsis: Eagly chases a kitten into a tree and tries to eat it. Chris helps you rescue it.
word count: 2.3k
tags: fluff, tooth-rotting fluff tbh, humor, brief mention of sex/mature themes (Chris is horny), metahuman!reader, unresolved tension
Part of a slice of life series where all part can be read independently:
1 · 2
“You don’t mind if I put on some music, right?” Chris calls out to you from the living-room.
You turn off the vacuum. Your ears are ringing.
“What?” you yell back.
His head pops inside the room. He’s holding a vinyl, and he’s smiling, which is saying a lot, these days. When you arrived at his place for your weekly cleaning, you never knew what you were going to find — goofy and lighthearted, or gloomy and depressed. He was doing his best to hide it, but the death of a parent wasn’t the kind of thing he could just shake off. You stay around him long enough to spot the signs when he thinks you’re not looking.
It doesn’t help that you, personally, are fucking delighted that Auggie was gone. Not that you’ve said that to Chris in quite those terms, of course, but… that doesn’t make you the most adept when it comes to providing comfort.
Not that that’s your relationship with him, anyway. You work for him, if only until the contract ran out. There is a kind of companionship between you, sure, but you’re not going to read into it. Even if you think it’s hot that he works out in the house while you’re there, and that he’s nice to you, and that he makes you laugh. Those are completely normal things.
Also, there is the little, tiny, insignificant possibility that he’d kill you on the spot if he found out you’re a metahuman, which does, you know, dampen one’s enthusiasm.
“Music?” he repeats. He looks really excited, and you can’t help but smile back.
“Sure, go ahead,” you say. “I won’t be hearing much from here.”
He looks around then shrugs. Man, his shoulders are so wide.
You wish you didn’t find that so hot.
“Looks good enough for me, and if I’m going to be playing some Bowie, we have to be able to hear Bowie.”
You’re not getting paid to listen to music, you want to say, but you bite your tongue. Your time here is strictly transactional, you know that, and yet you don’t want to shatter the illusion by actually voicing that out loud. You can let yourself be swept up in it, can’t you?
“See, the thing about that album,” he says, placing it with great precaution on his turntable, “is that you have to listen to the whole thing, ‘cause it’s a concept album, right?”
You hum in reply, and you feel your lips stretch into a smile as you watch him. It’s kind of adorable how excited he’s getting. There’s a lot of performance with Chris — the whole ‘muscles’ thing is part of that, for sure — but there is a lot that is just… so direct and genuine, too. You think he lets himself be more natural around you, because there are no real consequences.
He doesn’t need to impress you. You’re no one.
“You can’t just skip to Rock’n’Roll Suicide because that’s what you want to hear,” he continues, “you gotta listen to the whole thing, right? And if you did that, you’d miss out on… Well, on Five Years, which is a great fucking opening track, on Starman, on Lady Stardust, and on fucking Suffragette City, and that’d just be fucking sexist.”
You’re… not sure about that last one, but you’ll let him have it.
He sighs in content when he hears the first drum, and you watch as that big, muscular man closes his eyes starts to swing in place, letting the music envelop you both. There is not a hint of mockery in your smile.
“I’ll move to the kitchen if you’re happy with the state of the room,” you tell him, and he nods. A second later, while you’re fetching the mop, you hear him start to sing along.
“Pushing through the market square…”
Even with Bowie in the background, it’s hard for you not to go on autopilot while you work. You’ve been doing this for such a long time, and you’ve perfected the art of fully disassociating so you can pretend that your body doesn’t ache after hours of manual labor.
You’re not getting any younger, that’s for sure.
This time, though, a little bit of the outside world manages to keep passing through. The music. The pain in your lower back. How you barely feel the mop in your hands because of all the calluses. Chris’s voice. The weak calls for help coming from the garden. The…
Wait a second. What?
You go still, trying to understand what it is you’re hearing. It takes you a second to figure it out, but the moment you do, you feel your blood run cold.
“Shit!” you swear under your breath, dropping the mop and hitting the best sprint you’ve got in yourself towards the back of the house.
Chris’s eyes snap open when he feels the movement, just in time to see the back of your head disappear through the backdoor. Well, Peacemaker is a man of action, even if there hasn’t been much need for him around Evergreen lately. He snatches a gun he keeps under the coffee table, then runs out after you.
You haven’t gone far, it turns out. You’re standing in the garden, yelling at a tree. Which is fucking weird.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
You almost jump out of your skin. When you turn to look at him, he’s like a different man, all business. Like his soft edges have all been replaced by hard ones.
For the first time, you catch a glimpse of Peacemaker, not just Christopher Smith.
“Eagly’s chased a kitten into the tree,” you answer. “Now he’s trying to eat it.”
Chris’s shoulders relax, and he stuffs the gun in the back of his pants. Indeed, Eagly’s screeching at the tree, but he hasn’t quite managed to make it through the branches. It will happen any moment now, though.
“Well, yeah, that guy’s a hunter,” Chris says, pride making his chest swell. “No one’s safe with him around. He’d make a super good killer, too, by the way, but I’m not gonna make him. He’s a free eagle.”
The glare you give him catch him off guard.
“We need to help the kitten,” you say. You sound unusually pissed.
“I mean, that’s just nature running its course, baby,” he tells you, which you would have liked a lot more if you weren’t worried for the cat. “Eagly’s a predator, what are you gonna do about it?”
“I don’t care about what’s nature. Incest is in nature, that doesn’t mean I go around fucking my sister, does it?”
Chris frowns. First of all, you having a sister is news to him, and second, he’s… really not sure where you’re going with this.
“Nature is people and animals dying alone and uncared for,” you say. “Fuck that. I’m helping the kitten. Eagly! Get down!”
Chris looks at you, trying and failing to get his pet’s attention, and, even if he doesn’t know about that whole shtick on nature you gave him, he resolves to help. He doesn’t give a shit about the kitten, but he does care about you.
“Eagly, c’mon, man!” he shouts out, waving at the bird. “It’s not cool! Get back here!”
Of course, it’s not until he offers his pet a substitution meal that he manages to get Eagly’s interest away from the tree. He has to lure him into the house to make sure he won’t intervene again, and the eagle screeches loudly at the betrayal when he locks him inside.
“Sorry, man,” Chris says. “I’d let you eat it, but that’s not gonna be possible today.”
When he gets back to you, you’re meowing towards the tree. It’s kinda weird, but mostly, it’s really fucking impressive, because you’re doing an incredible job at it. The kitten’s meowing back at you, and honestly, it almost sounds like a conversation.
“That’s really good,” he tells you as he reaches you.
Again, you jump, then turn towards him with a sheepish smile.
“Oh, uh, yeah,” you say, “I have a real talent for imitating animals.”
“Please, I want to get back to my mama,” the kitty meows pitifully, and even if it makes you look insane, you turn around to face her right away.
“I’m coming to get you, okay? I’ll do everything I can to get you back to your mama, I promise.”
You’re practiced with cat-speak, because you have three at home. Now, the time you found a wild hog in your backyard, it had been a whole different affair getting yourself understood, but that’s a rare occurrence, fortunately.
“Man, it’s almost like you’re speaking to him!” Chris marvels, none the wiser.
You don’t correct him, because it would make no sense at the moment for you to know that the kitty’s a her.
“Do you think you could give me a boost?” you ask him. You’re fidgeting with worry, and the kitty’s desperate pleas are not helping.
“Can’t cats just jump down from shit? That Wild Cat dude says he can jump from any height and—”
“Chris, she’s really small and really scared,” you interrupt him, urgency drumming in your voice. “Can you please give me a lift?”
He scoffs and shrugs a shoulder.
“Hey, I can lift anything, okay? I can lift you easy-peasy. Just turn around and spread your legs.”
You blink.
“What?”
“I’m not gonna do anything weird,” he sighs, “I’m just gonna put my head between your legs and get you on my shoulders.”
Oh. Ooooh. Well, he should have led with that, because your face feels really, really fucking warm now. You could probably fry an egg on it.
Still, you obey, and try not to think about Chris’s very large hands finding purchase on your thighs, or about his head between your legs. Also, you decide that the humiliating screech you let out when he stands up with ease will never be spoken of again.
In your defense, you’re not exactly a cheerleader — you hadn’t realized he would be able to do it so fast.
“You good?” he asks you, and all you can do is give a little “Hm-hm” in reply. You don’t have anything more in yourself. “Can you reach him?”
“Can you get a little closer to the tree?”
Once he does, you finally see the terrified kitty, huddled up as close to the trunk as possible, where Eagly couldn’t get her.
“Come here, honey,” you call out softly. “Come here.”
The thing about your powers is that you may be able to talk to animals, but you can’t make them obey you. This… might take a while.
“Can you hold on there, Chris? She might take a minute before she trusts me.”
“Of course I can hold on there, who do you take me for? And, hey, by the way, I think Wild Cat’s full of shit anyway. I’m pretty sure he dies every time he falls from a really high height and then he lies about it, and that’s not cool, because it makes us dudes who can’t fall from more than like, 50 feet, look like total bitches. Him and those assholes who can fly are really making it hard for those of us who are normal, you know?” When you don’t reply to him, mostly because you’re busy having a full conversation with the equivalent of a six year old, he adds, “Not that I’m normal. I’m pretty fucking incredible, but I can die, and I think it’s not cool to pretend that you have superpowers when you’re just kind of immortal, right?”
He's fully aware that he’s rambling, but it’s the only thing he can do to stop thinking about your thighs enclosing his head right now. And how he has his hands on both of them. And how hot that is. And how if you were just turned around, that would be a very fun position to eat you out.
“I got her!” you exclaim.
“Thank God,” he mutters under his breath.
He puts you back down, and maybe his hands trail over your thigh and to your waist. Maybe his heart stutters when you look up at him, cradling the cat in your arms, and give him a beaming smile.
“Thank you so much, Chris,” you say.
“It was nothing,” he shrugs, reaching out to scratch the cat under the chin.
She lets him. Considering how nervous she was a minute ago, you must have worked some fucking magic, because now she’s all relaxed and purring — and animals usually don’t like him much.
“No, I mean it. I know you wanted to let Eagly eat her, and it means a lot that you didn’t.”
People don’t usually thank him. There’s typically a lot more yelling and ‘why the fuck would you do that’ and ‘oh my god you blew up his head’ and ‘there is so much blood what the fuck’.
“Any time,” he says. His voice feels a little hoarse.
“Look, I’m pretty sure I know where her mama is, because I’ve seen a stray cat walking around. Would you mind if I…?”
“Sure, go for it,” he says.
You keep looking at him like you want to say something. Finally, you move to press a quick kiss at the corner of his lips.
“Thanks, Chris. I owe you one.”
He’s pretty sure he owes you one, but he doesn’t say anything and watches you leave hurriedly with the kitty in your arms.
In the house, the last notes of It Ain’t Easy are playing. It might be kind of sacrilegious, but he doesn’t think he’ll turn the vinyl over to side B and he might just switch to something else.
What can he say, he doesn’t feel like he’s in the mood for Rock’n’Roll Suicide today.
after torturing chris in the last two fics, here's a little one that's mostly fluff! there is still a little bit of angst sprinkled in there, because it's chris, but i hope you still enjoyed it! also i do know that cats don't mewl to communicate but i feel like a human would still need to do that to communicate with a cat and the cat would respond in kind and any way none of you probably cared ahem. i would love to know if you still feel like he's in character in this, i feel like i'm struggling to bring his over-the-top-ness to domestic situations and i'd love to have your opinions <3 comments of any kind and reblogs are highly appreciated too! thank you all for reading 💕
