#peacemaker series

[margottenenbaum222]

the bf she deserves

[happy74827]

Angel Puppy

[Adrian Chase x Female Reader]

Synopsis: Adrian doesn’t know what to do when you fall asleep on his shoulder [GIF Creds: @javier-pena].

WC: 1769

Category: Mega Fluff, Adrian’s POV {TW: Foul Language, Very Canon Compliant (Terms of Personality)}.

My drafts have officially been cleared now. And ironically, this had initially started out as a drabble and idk what happened 💀

『••✎••』

He was not prepared for this. Firefights and covert ops? Sure, yeah, no problemo. Even one of Peacemaker’s unhinged rants about obscure '80s hair metal bands had him thinking he was well-equipped to handle any situation. But this…? This?!

No, this was worse. So much worse. You, the badass new recruit to the 11th Street Kids, had fallen asleep on his shoulder. His shoulder. And now his brain was short-circuiting like a malfunctioning murder drone.

He froze, mid-breath, with his eyes wide as saucers behind his red-visored mask—which he’d momentarily pushed up onto his forehead because, well, you guys were just chilling in the safehouse after a mission. The TV was droning on with some reality show Harcourt had picked, but Adrian couldn’t hear it over the deafening thud-thud-thud of his own heartbeat. Your head was right there, nestled against his shoulder, your soft breaths tickling his neck.

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

"Okay, okay, stay calm," he told himself. He was the fucking Vigilante, for God’s sake. He’d stabbed dudes through the eye socket without flinching. He’d jumped off rooftops. He’d eaten an entire ghost pepper once on a dare from Economos and only cried a little. But this? This was uncharted territory.

His hands hovered uselessly in the air, like he was afraid moving them would detonate a bomb. Move, and he might wake you. Don’t move, and there’s a good possibility he might die of a heart attack.

But even then, what if he had woken you up? What if you woke up and realized you were touching him and then punched him in the face? Or worse, what if you didn’t punch him and just… stayed there?

Oh God…. He needs help.

"Dude… psst!" he hissed, his voice a panicked whisper, head whipping toward Peacemaker, who was slouched on the other end of the couch, munching on a bag of chips and looking way too awake. Chris's eyes flicked over, one eyebrow raised.

"What?" Peacemaker mouthed, clearly annoyed at being interrupted during Celebrity Dumpster Diving or whatever this crap was.

Adrian’s eyes widened further, if that was even possible. He jerked his head toward you, still asleep, your hair brushing his cheek and smelling like… shampoo? Gunpowder? Perfection? He didn’t know, but it was short-circuiting him. "She’s on me," he whisper-yelled, voice cracking. "What do I do?!"

Peacemaker snorted, crumbs flying. "Chill, dude. She’s just sleeping. Don’t make it weird."

Adrian was sure that it was some sort of cosmic joke, because it was already the most awkward thing that had ever happened to him. He didn't know why you were so comfortable with him, and that made him feel a little funny. It felt... nice.

"Oh," he squeaked, looking back down at you. You really were asleep, snoring lightly, one hand resting on his chest. You looked peaceful and so, so beautiful. His stomach dropped, a sudden realization dawning on him. "She looks like a little puppy from this angle. Like a puppy that’d rip your throat out but, like, in a heavenly way," he whispered, awestruck. "A heavenly angel puppy."

Peacemaker looked unimpressed. "She is literally the opposite of an angel."

"You know what I mean, P. It’s like that family dog you love but is actually an asshole, you know? Like it will try to bite you if you come near it, but sometimes it lets you pet it and falls asleep on your lap, so you still love it and you still keep coming back and-"

"Jesus Christ, dude," Peacemaker grumbled, shaking his head. "Just... shut the fuck up. I'm trying to watch this. I think that chick with the weave got a boob job."

But Adrian didn’t shut the fuck up. In fact, he started rambling at top volume, his nerves getting the better of him. "Should I wake her up?" he asked, sounding more worried than a kid in a haunted house. "Or let her sleep? Do I need to get her a pillow? A blanket? Oh, maybe she needs water or a snack! Does she eat snacks while she sleeps? Maybe she needs to be in a bed, do you think she would want to go to a bed, or is that too much-"

"Shut up!" Both Peacemaker and Harcourt were glaring at him now, annoyed, but you stirred, your nose scrunching adorably.

"Noisy..." you mumbled, still asleep, your eyes fluttering as you nuzzled closer.

And Adrian nearly had a heart attack. "Fuck. Me. That was the cutest thing I've ever heard in my life," he gasped, feeling the urge to take off his mask to grab his glasses and see better. But his hands were still hovering awkwardly, his brain not having recovered from the initial shock. "Did you guys hear that? Did you fucking hear that?"

"I hear the sound of your stupid ass voice," Peacemaker deadpanned. "Seriously, dude, I will throw this remote at you."

"You know, Adrian, it is late," Harcourt said, pointedly turning up the volume on the TV and rolling her eyes. "We should all probably get some sleep. Maybe you should, uh, lay her down or something. Let her sleep. I think she had a rough day."

Adrian stared at you, eyes wide and mouth open, and then glanced back over at his friends.

"Lay her down," he repeated. Huh. That could work. He could do that. He could definitely do that. He turned back to you, still frozen. "Yeah, I can do that," he breathed, trying to convince himself.

"Fucking finally," Peacemaker settled back down into his seat, grabbing a handful of chips.

Adrian was still staring, his breath shaky. "How should I do that? Like a fireman carry? Or maybe just an over-the-shoulder hold, like in the movies when the dudes are carrying unconscious people and it's kind of sexy, but I'm not really a firefighter, and I don’t want to make her feel like a sack of flour or anything, so-"

It took only five extra minutes before Adrian was walking down the hall with you in his arms, a pillow and blanket tucked under one arm, and his heart hammering away in his chest. It was only because of Harcourt's death stare and the threat of imminent dismemberment by the other 11th Street Kids. Not because he'd been scared or anything, but... it was a lot of pressure.

"I can do this, I can do this, I can do this," he kept muttering under his breath. You were still fast asleep, drooling a little on his suit and clinging to him like a koala bear, and he was about ready to pass out. He could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks and ears, his brain going a thousand miles a minute. He wasn’t used to being so close to someone. Being touched. But somehow, with you, it felt… normal. Good. Natural.

"I can do this, I can totally do this. No problem."

You stirred slightly, mumbling again, and Adrian had to bite his lip so he didn’t scream. He had no idea how you could still be sleeping, but he wasn't complaining.

He kicked the bedroom door a tad harder than he should have, and the reminder of that half-chopped pinkie toe gave him a pang of nostalgia for the simpler times, physical pain being his primary source of distraction.

The pain was gone by the time he reached the bed, however, and he was once again hyperaware of his current situation. With a gentle touch, he lowered you down and slipped the pillow beneath your head. Then he unfolded the blanket and laid it over you. You rolled, hugging the pillow and burying your face into the sheets, and he nearly melted on the spot.

"Total angel puppy," he whispered, a dopey grin on his face.

But as soon as he stepped back, you stirred, making a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a whimper. "Wait..." you murmured, reaching out unquestioningly. "Stay."

And, well, he couldn’t exactly say no to that.

He walked back around the bed, still in his suit, and sat gingerly on the mattress, not sure if it was okay to be there.

But the second his weight sank into the mattress, your eyes fluttered open, and he held his breath, not knowing what would happen next. Would you scream? Laugh? Throw a punch?

But none of that happened. Instead, your face softened, and you blinked at him, your eyes still glazed over with sleep. Your expression was warm and gentle, and his heart did a weird, stutter-stop-jerk thing.

Your hands motioned him closer, tugging on the edge of his suit, and he leaned forward, confused. He watched, mystified, as you reached up, tugging at the collar of his costume.

"What are you-"

His breath hitched when he realized you were attempting to take his mask off, and for a moment, he watched in amusement because you, for some reason, couldn't seem to get it right.

"How do you get this off?" you mumbled, eyes narrowed, your fingers fumbling with the material. "It's in the way."

In the way of what? Adrian wanted to ask, but he didn't. His throat was too dry, and his tongue was suddenly too big for his mouth. He decided to ignore the weird feeling in his stomach and went along with it. You were still half-asleep, after all, and probably weren’t fully aware of what you were doing.

He reached up, lifting the bottom of his mask and pushing it up onto his forehead, exposing his face and the dark hair underneath.

You smiled, satisfied, and your hand came up, trailing your fingertips across his cheek, then over his stubble, and then into his hair. Your thumb rubbed small circles on his forehead, and it was soothing, relaxing, and Adrian couldn’t remember the last time anyone had ever touched him like that.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible, your eyes slipping closed.

He was going to ask what for, but the words died in his throat when your hand slid behind his neck and tugged him down enough to give a small kiss on his cheek. It was light and soft, and it sent shivers racing through him, his heart thudding painfully in his chest.

And before he could truly process what had just happened, it was like you turned into a fish with the way your body flopped back down and rolled over, curling up, and drifting off again.

You left him sitting there, heart pounding, skin tingling, and unable to move. Unable to breathe because holy shit.

Holy. Shit.

[thedesertpenguin]

There are not enough people going feral over her and I can no longer stand for it

[honeyyaps]

[maxdibert]

Leota Adebayo is probably the only one who has been in touch with her emotions in a healthy way and has learned to deal with them and be in communion with them, which makes her incredibly important to me because she is basically the emotional support for a group of dysfunctional adults with zero regulation of their mental issues and the only one keeping them together.

Leota Adebayo, whom Chris considers his best friend, because she is truly the first person to give him a chance to show that, beyond being an idiot, he’s someone trying to be a better person and also the first person who allows him to speak openly about his emotions without judging him or laughing at him, after years and years of growing up in a stifling environment full of toxic masculinity.

Leota Adebayo is the one who admires and loves her friend Emilia, and just as she tells her she’s a total goddess, a badass, and an amazing woman, she also has the assertiveness to tell her that she can be as cool as she wants, but that doesn’t mean she’s not a mess and hurting herself.

Leota Adebayo is the one who takes Economos aside, who has zero self-love, makes him feel important and reminds him that he has an irreplaceable place in the group because no one can be like him because the group is what it is thanks to each person contributing their individual qualities.

Leota Adebayo is capable of giving emotional support to Adrian when he falls apart without even understanding his own feelings, because he’s a total zero when it comes to human emotions.

Literally, Leota has become a key piece in how a bunch of traumatized, infantilized adults relate to each other and form bonds, and I feel it’s not said or recognized enough because thanks to her, these people are learning how to have decent emotional relationships.

[dyaz-stories]

plenty more sharks in the sea || Adrian Chase x f!reader

synopsis: you try to go on a date to get over your crush on adrian. unfortunately, things take a turn for the worse when your date decides to bring you to Fennel Fields.

word count: 4k

tags: waitress!reader, pre-canon, jealousy, humor, mostly angsty actually, some violence, language, discussions of murder but no actual murder for once, the date is rude and unpleasant, not-actually-unrequited crush but it looks very unrequited to the reader

this is part of a slice-of-life 'series', where all parts can be read independently:

1 · 2 · 3 · 4

You genuinely tried to make this work. Sure, you hadn’t really wanted to go on this date, but every single one of your friends had agreed that, after months of having an unrequited — and, frankly, worrying — crush on Adrian Chase, it was time for you to move on. On a night out, they had practically shoved you in the arms of the one guy you mentioned looked hot, and it had been… fine.

You weren’t in the habit of picking guys up in one of Evergreen’s many shitty bars, but you supposed it had gone as well as you could expect. Noah (“but you can call me whatever you want”) had been fairly gentlemanly, considering the surroundings, and it hadn’t even been half-hearted when you’d given him your number.

Now that he was pulling into the parking lot of Fennel Fields for your first date, you found yourself thoroughly regretting it.

“You get a discount there, right?” he had asked you as you were leaving your house.

You had stared at him, unable to find the right words to answer him.

“I thought we were going to a real restaurant?”

He had given you a half-apologetic smile.

“Sorry, money’s a little tight right now. You know what it’s like, right, on a waitress salary?”

You had bitten your tongue. Maybe he hadn’t intended for it to sound dickish. Maybe he hadn’t been trying to tell you that you were a beggar and couldn’t afford — literally — to be a chooser.

Or maybe he’d known exactly what he was doing.

“The food’s really good here, I’m sure it will be great,” he says with a light tone as he opens the door for you.

Your smile is a little tighter than you would like for it to be when you look back at him. Blake is leaning against the counter, her chin propped up on her hand, and she jumps when she spots you, eyes narrowing. Feeling self-conscious, you smooth out the front of your dress. You’ve dolled yourself up for the date, and you’re pretty overdressed for Fennel Fields.

That happens around here, of course — people dressed to the nines on their way to a wedding, the mayor trying to show he could fraternize with the working class, and even the Justice Gang on one memorable occasion, all in costumes — but it’s still pretty weird. It doesn’t help that you know most people in the room, from restaurant staff to several regulars. You spot Mr. Johnson squinting in your direction and fumbling for his glasses.

Fucking awesome. You’re never going to hear the end of this.

“Come on, this is going to be fun,” Noah says, putting his hand on the small of your back as he walks you towards a table.

You almost recoil at his touch, before choosing to lean into it a little. You’re not used to this stuff anymore, but it’s not exactly unpleasant either. Plus, he is right, even if it’s not the nicest thing to point out. You know what it’s like, being tight on money. You don’t enjoy the choices you have to make either, so you can understand that — it’s not always easy for you, and you don’t even have to pay rent. You don’t want to be too judgmental when you’ve been there yourself.

You can still have a good time, you decide as you slide into one of the booths.

And then, you hear your name being called.

“Hey!” Adrian greets you excitedly, walking towards you and Noah and a bright smile. “I thought you weren’t working tonight?”

You plaster as brave a smile as you can on your face. You’re desperately praying for the ground to open up underneath your feet.

It doesn’t happen.

“I’m not,” you say, gesturing as Noah. “I’m on a date, actually.”

“Hey, how you doing,” Noah says, nodding at him.

Adrian pays him absolutely no mind. Instead, his eyes go wide, still focused on you.

“Here? Really?” He grimaces, and Noah’s face falls, which Adrian fails to notice. Then he just shrugs it off like nothing happened. “Well, have fun then. You look great in that dress, by the way!”

“Is he fucking with me?” Noah asks in disbelief as Adrian walks away.

You cheeks burn, and you press your lips tightly together for a second, trying to compose yourself. There’s a stabbing pain in your chest. He didn’t care. He didn’t care at all that you were there with another guy. You’d known that, intellectually. He had never expressed interest towards you, and while you had taken the hint, you suppose your heart hadn’t gotten the memo.

“No,” you say, keeping your voice steady even if you’d kind of like to cry right now, “no, Adrian doesn’t really get social cues, but he always means well.”

Noah scoffs, still glaring at Adrian’s back.

“Fucking weirdo.”

Your jaw tightens.

“Don’t call him that. He’s a good friend.”

It comes out snappier than you’d intended, but it’s a knee-jerk reaction, and you can’t quite control it. It just seems unfair for him to be judging him so quickly, and also, frankly, it’s pretty fucking rude to say that about one of your coworkers right in front of you. He sends you a nasty side glance.

“What’s that reaction? Is there something going on between you two?”

I wish.

“No, nothing, but we work together most nights of the week,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I know him well, is all.”

Noah keeps scowling for a second longer, before his expression softens, and he reaches out to put his hand on yours. Once more, the touch almost makes you jump. You allow it, but it doesn’t feel as nice as it did earlier.

“In his defense, he has great tastes,” he teases, and you don’t have to force yourself too much to smile. “You’re drop-dead gorgeous in that dress.”

“Thanks,” you say, a little bashful.

“I’ll make it up to you, alright? We’re gonna have a great time.”

From the back of the diner, Adrian stares, a line unmistakably barring his forehead, and his mouth twisted into a half grimace. The way your hands touch is making his skin crawl — and he doesn’t think it’s just because skin on skin contact is pretty gross, though his reaction isn’t that different. He fundamentally, viscerally doesn’t like what he’s seeing. He kind of wants to walk over to swat his hand away, but he reasonably can’t do that, because that would be weird.

In his opinion, he’s gotten pretty decent at not being too weird. Like yeah, he slips every now and then, but all in all, he seems like a well-adjusted member of society. Case in point, he makes you laugh a lot, and humor is really hard,so he must be doing something right. Even if you’re on a date with a guy who’s clearly a douchebag and not at all boyfriend or even friend material.

There is no way you’re happy about being in Fennel Fields. For starters, you and Blake often talk about couples who go on dates here. You think it’s cute for the teenagers, and for the old couples who come once a week and for whom it’s a ritual, but he’s heard the two of you bitch about people who come for what is an obvious first date. You have a counter for how many times they check their phone while they’re here and the two of you like to debrief at the end. You get really animated during those conversations, which must mean you care a lot about that stuff.

Also, you’re smiling wrong. The corner of your lips are too tense, your teeth too close together, and your eyes aren’t creased. Now, Adrian may not be good with feelings, but he’s gotten to study you pretty extensively at this job. He thinks he knows a thing or two about you, and that guy doesn’t know shit. Isn’t ‘knowing when someone smiles wrong’ on the list of the pre-requirements for going on a date? It should be!

Despite this deeply upsetting situation, Adrian manages to last a whole ten minutes before coming back by your table. He catches your eye while making a big show of cleaning a nearby table, and you give him a sweet smile, right from the corner of your lips.

“Everything going okay for you?” he asks, voice bright and extremely professional, in his personal and objective opinion.

You open your mouth, but the guy interrupts you.

“We know how to call our waitress if we need help, busboy,” he snaps at him.

Wow. First off, really misogynistic of him to speak for you. Second, classist much? Those are two good enough reasons to murder the guy. He could easily do it here, with all the knives lying around, but he’s not insane. That would get him thrown in jail right away.

No, he’ll have to stalk him and jump him in a dark alley in the middle of the night, which is the proper way to murder someone.

“We’re doing fine, Adrian,” you reply, glaring at your date. “Thanks for asking.”

“Cool,” Adrian says, smiling too bright. “Let me know if you need anything.”

You nod, and he walks away with a spring in his step — which isn’t that rare an occurrence for him.

“That weirdo is into you for sure,” Noah comments as you watch Adrian’s back.

Don’t threaten me with a good time.

“I assure you, he is not,” you say, taking a sip of your drink. “What were you saying about that week-end in Metropolis?”

He strokes your hand with his thumb, and it becomes harder and harder not to remove it. The thing is, at this point, you’re in your head, and you don’t want to make him feel bad, but also, even if he’s being, well, fine with you, he’s been pretty dismissive of both your waitress, Caroline, and of Adrian, and it’s starting to leave a bad taste in your mouth. He is funny, and he wasn’t overtly rude to Care, at least, but the story about the crazy stuff he’s gotten up to while high with his friends in Metropolis just isn’t doing it for you right now.

You… kinda wish he’d been drowning you in fake facts about crows, if you’re being honest.

You last until desert before you have to get away from him. He’s asked you exactly two questions about yourself up until that point — both related to the food you’ve ordered — and you’re not sure you want to hear the end of his current story, which takes place in a strip club.

“I’ll be right back, I just need to go to the bathroom,” you tell him with more relief than you should probably feel.

He nods, and you hurry towards the back of the diner.

There, you take a second to compose yourself. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you try to interrogate the way you’re feeling. You know for a fact you’re not enjoying yourself. But you— ugh. You haven’t been on a date in a hot minute, and you’re not familiar with the Evergreen dating scene. And Noah is, resolutely, definitely, aggressively fine. He’s made a point of making you laugh the entire meal, and you suppose you can appreciate that, even if he likes the sound of his voice a little too much for your taste.

Or does he? Adrian also can’t stop talking. Are you really blaming him for the things he’s doing, or just for not being Adrian? Are you being unfair to him? Are you not trying hard enough? Are you the one being a dick on this date, leading him on while you’re clearly more into someone else?

Fuck. You wish you were good at this shit. But you have an argumentative family, and someone had to give, and be soft, and apologize, otherwise no one would ever talk to each other again. You’re used to taking the blame. Apparently, that means you cannot imagine a situation where you’re not the one at fault.

You leave the bathroom feeling even more queasy than you did walking in. And stumble face first into Adrian’s arms.

He catches you and steadies you easily. His eyes, a little too intense as always, meet yours and the look of surprise is instantly replaced by a smile.

“Oh, you’re here! I was afraid he’d killed you and stuffed you into a suitcase.”

“What?” You can’t help but let out a nervous laugh. “He doesn’t even have a suitcase.”

“I know, right? So he’d have to be really fast and really discreet, and the useless cops around here would never catch him. That would be horrible.”

You laugh again.

“I’m good, Adrian. I don’t think he’s the murderer style.”

“Well, that makes it worse,” he points out, shaking his head. His forehead creases and his eyebrows furrow in genuine concern. “What if you get stuck in a zombie apocalypse and he needs to murder a horde of zombies? I mean, you could take half, obviously, but it would be pretty hard to murder an entire horde all by yourself.”

It’s weirdly flattering that he thinks you could take half of horde all by yourself. Coming from him, it’s a pretty huge complement, and you kind of hate yourself when you feel your cheeks start to burn.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind it they’re zombies,” you reply lightly.

“Even if they’re fresh zombies and they still look like people?”

You’re starting to have fun with the hypothetic now. You’re about to answer him when Noah just appears out of nowhere.

“Seriously, dude?” he snarls at Adrian. “Is it too hard for you to just leave someone the fuck alone on a date?”

You step in immediately.

“He didn’t do anything wrong, I just bumped into him when I was coming out.”

“Right, and you want me to believe that he wasn’t waiting outside for you like a freak?” Noah asks, laughing harshly.

“Of course I wasn’t,” Adrian says, looking disgusted. “That would be so creepy, why would you even think of something like that? Do you do that? That’s disgusting, dude.”

“Were you fucking dropped as a kid?” Noah spits at him before you grab his arm and pull him back. “Consider yourself fucking lucky I don’t beat the shit out of you, dude.”

“Yeah, I’d like to see you try,” Adrian says, and he’s got a cocky smirk on his lips, something you haven’t seen much on him at all and that’s for sure not doing anything to help you move on.

“I wouldn’t,” you sigh, mostly because you’re well aware that Adrian could destroy him in seconds.

“Alright, let’s pay and get out of here,” Noah says, putting his arm around your shoulders.

You tense awkwardly, trying to make your body smaller like it could help you slip out of his grasp without him noticing.

“Um,” you squeak as you approach the cash register.

You’re about fucking done here. You don’t want a second date, you sure as fuck don’t want to go anywhere with him… but you also don’t want to be made to say any of that out loud.

He lets go of you to pay, and you look at Adrian, who’s followed in your footsteps. He looks serious for now, not a hint of amusement on his face, and you find that really unsettling. Even when he murdered a man in front of you, he had gone back to smiling at you right away. There’s a part of you that wonders if he thinks this is more serious than the robbery that happened here a few months ago. It doesn’t make any sense, but it also wouldn’t be that weird coming from him.

“You’ve got to leave us the fuck alone, man,” Noah growls at him.

Adrian doesn’t back off, and in fact, another smug grin forms on his lips. He opens his mouth, but the look on Blake’s face makes you miss his answer. There’s a displeased pout on her face, and when she glances up from the bill and notices you staring, she rolls her eyes in a very, very familiar way that can only mean one thing.

“You didn’t fucking tip?” you ask in disbelief, folding your arms in front of your chest as you take a step away from him.

Noah at least has the decency of looking like a deer caught in headlights.

“Well, yeah, I told you, money’s kinda tight right now…”

“If it’s that tight, maybe don’t go out to fucking eat? How the fuck’s the staff supposed to make rent?”

“Hey,” he says, straightening his back, “watch your tone. It’s not my fault tipping culture’s so shit, maybe take it up with your manager—”

“This is a fucking restaurant chain! If we even pretend to unionize they’ll close this spot before we can blink!”

“Yeah, well, it’s not that big of a deal,” he mumbles, looking more and more embarrassed by the second. “You work here, so, y’know, I figured.”

“I think you should leave,” you say. You jaw is set, and you don’t plan on budging from your spot. You kind of hate that it took someone else getting screwed over for you to get out of your ‘freeze’ state, but you suppose you should be happy that it happened and you didn’t end up stuck with that asshole for any longer.

“C’mon,” he pleads, “let me drop you off and we can talk about this, alright?”

“I think she’s been very clear,” Adrian says, stepping in front of you.

His hand is curled in a fist, and though his voice sounds relaxed, his shoulders are tense. You get the sense that he’s been itching to do that. It sends a pleasant warmth through your body, but you’re quick to reign it in. Adrian hates people who don’t tip, like, an intense amount.

Noah scoffs.

“Dude, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

When he throws a punch at Adrian’s face, you don’t even have time to flinch. Next thing you know, Adrian’s caught him by the wrist and is twisting his arm. In one smooth movement, he kicks Noah’s legs from under him, and right as he’s falling, he raises a knee to catch him right in the ribs. You wince when he collapses on the floor, heaving badly.

“You okay?” Adrian asks, leaning over him. “Do you need me to carry you to your car?”

You get the weird impression that he’s not making fun of him. Noah whines something that sounds like ‘fuck this’, ignores Adrian’s hand, and turns around to crawl out. You see him managing to get up and limp his way through the parking lot.

“That was cool, Chase,” Blake comments, giving him an impressed nod.

“You think so? You don’t think I should have threatened him a little more?”

She takes the time to think about it, then shakes her head.

“No, that was the appropriate level of threats and violence. You okay, babe?”

You groan, burying your head in your hands.

“I feel so fucking bad. You want me to cover the tip?”

“No way, hon. I know what you’re getting paid.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“C’mon, it wasn’t your fault. We’ve all been here.”

“Not me,” Adrian chimes in. “You guys have been through that before? What is wrong with men? I’m not assuming it was men in a homophobic way, by the way, I’m just guessing from the things you’re saying.”

That has the merit of bringing a tiny smile on your face.

“Get out of here,” Blake says, gently nudging you towards the door. “Enjoy your day off, at least.”

The smile immediately drops.

“He droveme here. Fuck,” you whine, “I’m gonna have to call my brother, and he’s gonna be such an asshole about it.”

“I could take you,” Adrian says, already reaching behind his back to take off his apron. “I’m sure Mr. McEnroe won’t mind.”

You and Blake exchange a brief glance. He absolutely would, and despite that, she gives a determined nod.

“I’ll cover for you, Chase, but you better get back here right away, alright?”

“No problem!” he says, lighthearted as ever. “But I won’t speed. Or run any red lights. Because that’s extremely dangerous. Did you know most accidents happen within 25 miles of a victim’s home? That’s really sad.”

She stares at him, expressionless, which he doesn’t seem to even notice. Instead, he looks at you, and there’s that smile again.

“Let’s go,” you say, weakly.

You give Blake a little wave before the doors close behind you. She replies in kind, a pained expression on her face.

“Does that mean I’ve won the bet?” Mrs. Harrison asks as the car pulls out of the parking lot, gesturing for Blake to come over. “I’m the one that bet they’d get together this week.”

“I doubt it,” Blake sniffs. “With these two, I won’t believe it until I see it.”

“What if they’ve been secretly dating right under our noses all this time?”

“Why would she have come here on a date today then?”

“Maybe Adrian enjoys getting cuckolded, how would I know?”

Blake grimaces at the mental image, then shakes her head.

“Nah, there’s no way. Adrian couldn’t keep that kind of thing a secret if his life depended on it.”

Mrs. Harrison sighs.

“You have a point. Gosh, I do hope they’ll hurry it up. I’d like to see that happening before I die.”

Blake laughs.

“You’re not that old. Also, it’s bound to happen anytime soon. I swearthey’re this close, but they just can’t get it together, you know?”

“Honey,” Mr. Reyes replies from the next booth, “we all know.”

The car ride home is animated — mostly because Adrian’s talking about crows again. You’re quiet, though, and after a while, he stops talking too. The ride ends in unusual silence. You just rest your head against the window and stare out at the night.

It shouldn’t get to you this much. You know that. It’s just— ugh. You don’t even know what it is. Is it because you were looking forward to it? Is it because you genuinely thought, for a second, that you could be reminded of what it was like to have fun with someone you like without the thorn of knowing it’s unrequited in your sides?

Is it because, after tonight, you can no longer pretend that the feelings you have for Adrian are nothing but a crush?

“Honestly, he wasn’t a good fit for you,” Adrian says as you’re reaching your house. “He was very misogynistic.”

You blink. You got a lot of different red flags tonight, but you don’t know that misogynistic was one of them.

“And he didn’t even think about telling you about how good your dress looks before I did. He should have known better.”

There’s a silence. It takes you a second too long to remember you’re supposed to fill it. You suppose it’s a good thing that Adrian’s not the type to have an issue with that stuff.

“I guess you’re right.”

“Well, duh. Next time you should ask for my opinion. I have great taste in people.”

Thank God the car’s stopped when he says that, because you’re desperate to get away from him at that point. Your eyes are starting to sting and, fuck it, you think you’ve earned a good cry. It’s your day off, and you’ll wallow in self-pity if you want to!

“Thanks, Adrian!” you say, basically jumping out of the car. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Bye!” he shouts back.

Huh. You’re in a hurry. Maybe you really need to go the bathroom? It’s a shame, he was just about to say that he clearly had a great taste in people, since he liked you so much.

Oh, well. It was implied.

He’s sure it’s fine, he decides as he drives away.

taglist: @slightlypossessed @heavenlyhorrors @somethingsout @genuinelygemini @willowdoor @sammywritesfics @notahappystan @whatislifebutlemons @clamatosworld

new one! i hope you guys are still enjoying it even as season 2 nears its end ^-^ i'm probably going to keep writing for him at least a little bit longer after it ends (i'd like to get to the part where they get together) (maybe write a lil smut), but that will depend a lot on my motivation and your interest if i'm being completely honest. anyway, i always end these by saying that i'm worried it's out of character so it's starting to sound redundant but it's true every time and this one is no exception so i hope it works for you! comments are what fuels my creativity so please let me know your thoughts~ reblogs are also greatly appreciated! thank you all for reading <3

[monicfever]

adrian chase as your boyfriend. 𝜗𝜚 hc’s

cws ᝰ .ᐟ gender neutral reader ,, sfw ,, THE baby boy pookie ever and i will stand by that

ADRIAN AS YOUR BOYFRIEND . . . doesn’t fall in love the way anyone else does. it’s not soft, it’s not romantic, not tender. it’s sharp. obsessive. idolizing.

he’s intensely focused on you. he notices the way you pick up your mug, the exact pattern you walk across the room, the way your hair falls over your shoulder when you’re concentrating. he’ll mimic these things sometimes, just to understand them better. because he can’t process people the usual way, he processes you.

stalks you but frames it as “monitoring.” he’s not hiding in shadows. he’s openly perched on a rooftop or in his car down the street, waving when you pass by. you text him “are you following me?” he texts back “yes :)” like it’s normal. he genuinely believes it’s his duty.

desperate for you and Peacemaker to get along. he’ll engineer these awkward, overexcited hangouts where he drags you both out for lunch or a mission debrief, convinced it’s going to be “like, the ultimate power trio.” he hovers nervously between you two, making jokes and trying to mediate if there’s any tension. you catch him glancing between you like a hopeful kid whose parents are meeting for the first time.

he’s a mess with emotions. he doesn’t get casual intimacy. he doesn’t naturally know how to comfort you, so he’s constantly watching. you teach him what’s acceptable. sometimes he screws up anyway, overcorrecting, pressing too hard, speaking too much, but you can see he’s trying.

he’s so proud to be with you. like absurdly. he brings you up in every conversation, even when it’s wildly out of context. it’s not subtle. it’s like he’s waiting for the world to clap for you.

brags about you to strangers. you’re at the gas station and he’s pumping gas and the cashier gets a nod from him: “my partner’s inside. they’re the smartest person i know.” the cashier blinks. he keeps going. “they’re great at puzzles. like, amazing.” there’s no point to it except he can’t stop himself.

he’s… idiosyncratic with affection. you may have to teach him literally how to kiss you, how to touch you, how to hold you. sometimes it comes out robotic at first.

sits in his car watching you through a diner window, chin in his hand, dreamy expression like a teenager. when you catch him, he smiles big, waggles his fingers in a wave, then mimes “eat your fries!” across the glass. he looks delighted when you roll your eyes at him.

memorizes your entire schedule like a mission briefing. where you park, what days you get coffee, which friend you see on thursdays. he doesn’t see it as invasive, it’s preparation. if something happens, he can deploy immediately.

constantly seeks your approval. if he does something, even tiny, he needs you to notice. he’ll bring home a flower he thought looked nice, show you a trick he practiced, or even just put a new shirt on and pause in front of you. the instant you smile, he relaxes like he’s just won a small victory.

takes you to places, gun ranges, arcades, abandoned parking lots, and snaps photos of you like you’re a celebrity. then he posts a blurry pic to his barely used socials with captions like “they’re the best” and five emojis that don’t make sense.

he idolizes you. everything you do becomes a benchmark in his mind. if you smile, he freezes for a second, cataloging the curve of your lips. if you correct him, he files it immediately, adjusting himself, internalizing it. you are simultaneously his teacher, his obsession, and his guide. he can’t distinguish between admiration and obsession, they blur together.

hopeless at reading your emotions. if you don’t spell it out, he won’t notice. you can be sitting there silently spiraling and he’ll just assume you’re tired. but the second you actually tell him you’re sad or angry or scared, his whole focus snaps onto you. “oh. weird. okay. how do i fix it?”

he doesn’t understand social interactions. he needs you to teach him boundaries, small talk, facial expressions. he’ll copy them initially with uncanny accuracy, then tweak and test, trying to see how they make you react.

gets jealous but it’s not dramatic. it’s like a dog with its hackles up but not sure how to bark. someone compliments you? he immediately goes stiff and starts making weird little digs. “wow, yeah, thanks for noticing. they look even better in the mornings. i’d know.” it’s not threatening, but it’s definitely something.

when he’s jealous his brain goes into overdrive. he starts blurting random facts about you to stake a claim. “they hate pineapple on pizza. did you know that?” the other person blinks. he keeps going. “they like their coffee black but only after 10 a.m. or it upsets their stomach.” you’re like adrian, stop. but he’s trying to show “i know them. they’re mine.”

his jealousy isn’t a threat, it’s a meltdown. he pouts. gets passive‑aggressive. starts doing weird stunts to pull your attention back. one time he tried to juggle knives at a party because someone else made you laugh.

sees you as his anchor and compass. he’ll literally pause mid-action and call you to ask your opinion. “hey, hypothetically, if someone was selling drugs but also had a dog, is it still okay to kill them? you’re smart, tell me what to do.”

obsessed with the little things you do when you’re not thinking. like the face you make reading, the way you twist a pen cap, the tiny sound you make when you’re annoyed. he stares at you like you’re a wildlife documentary. if you catch him, he doesn’t look away, he just smiles, dreamy and open, like you’re the only thing in the room.

gets weirdly competitive when someone tries to impress you. like, you mention a coworker who runs marathons? next thing you know adrian’s showing you his push‑up count.

texts you constantly but it’s never normal. half of it is updates on where he is (“on the roof. nice breeze.”), half of it is selfies from absurd angles (“look at this raccoon i found”), and the rest are non sequitur compliments (“your hair smelled good this morning”).

if you’re ever sad he doesn’t know how to comfort you, so he becomes a whirlwind of distraction. buys you snacks, tells you weird crime stories, drags you out for midnight slushies, tries to make you laugh. he doesn’t always succeed, but he’s relentless about it.

keeps a running tally of things you taught him. it’s scribbled in a notebook. how to make grilled cheese. how to sit quietly without fidgeting. how to say i’m sorry without sounding sarcastic. he studies it like flashcards.

when you’re with friends he watches you with this soft, almost alien expression, like he’s trying to understand how you exist in groups. if someone makes you laugh he leans in and copies the joke later, like testing a script.

never really stops looking at you. even when he’s eating, or cleaning a gun, or scrolling his phone, his eyes flick back to you every few seconds, like a tic.

brutally literal responses. if you ask “do i look weird?” and you do, he’ll just go “yeah, kinda” while tilting his head, completely confused when you get upset. it’s not malice, his filter just isn’t there.

has zero shame about his obsession. if someone accuses him of being creepy for how he follows you around, he’s just like “yeah but they’re safe though, right?” and thinks that’s the end of it.

can’t keep secrets from you. not because he’s honest but because he’s bad at hiding things. you’ll say “were you following me?” and he’ll go “well, yeah. you didn’t see me?” proud, like he thinks you’ll be impressed.

obsessed with your smell, your perfume, your shampoo, your hoodie. he’ll bury his face in it like a cat and just stay there.

always comes to you first, no matter what. if someone tells him a secret, or he witnesses something unusual, he finds you immediately. “you have to hear this,” he says, breathless and wide-eyed. it doesn’t matter if it’s trivial or serious, he trusts your reaction above anyone else’s.

compulsively snitches on everyone to you. even minor stuff. “peacemaker said a bad word about Batman again” or “Economos was eating tuna out of the can at his desk, disgusting.” he treats you like the only person he can fully confide in, bringing every piece of gossip and nonsense to you like a cat bringing gifts.

tells you literally everything he does. “i went to the gas station. i bought chips. i almost tripped over a rock. i thought about you. i hummed a song. i killed a guy.” (delivered in the same tone as “i bought chips”). it’s all one long stream of consciousness and he expects you to listen like it’s the most important intel in the world.

he’s a chatterbox. like, relentless. he will tell you about everything he did that day, from brushing his teeth to walking down the street, in vivid detail. he thrives on your attention, your nods, your little smiles.

constantly asks you to “watch this” like a kid.

loves random facts and trivia, even when he’s not sure they’re correct. he’ll tell you things like “did you know penguins propose to their mates with pebbles?” and then he’ll wait eagerly for your response, beaming like it’s the most important conversation in the world.

he’ll literally monologue. follow you into the bathroom while you brush your teeth and start telling you about obscure weapons, obscure TV theme songs, or something Peacemaker once said. 90% of the time the facts are wrong but he’s so earnest you let him finish.

will climb over furniture or squeeze into small spaces just to be near you. if you’re on the couch reading, he’s sprawled across the floor with his head on your knees. if you’re cooking, he’s perched on the counter beside you. he refuses to be more than a few feet away.

he’s unfiltered. he’ll tell you things other people might not want shared, friends’ secrets, something awkward a coworker said, but he frames it like he’s doing you a favor.

yaps constantly, and it’s adorable because he can’t stop himself. he narrates mundane things with enthusiasm: “and then the bus stopped and the driver sneezed three times—oh! you would’ve loved that!” he craves your laughter or at least acknowledgment, and your smile makes him light up like a kid. constantly narrating life to you, like a tour guide or a commentator. “watch out, car coming,” “that pigeon looks angry,” “we’re about to cross a puddle… careful.” it’s excessive but endearing.

he has no real filter about what’s “appropriate couple behavior.” he’ll say, in front of everyone, “i like watching you sleep. you look peaceful. like a frog.” and then grin like it’s the most romantic thing ever.

always wants to be included in your plans. if you say you’re meeting friends, he somehow ends up there early, acting casual, just to be close and make sure you’re safe. you can’t get away with being alone for long.

sometimes mirrors your movements unconsciously. tilts his head when you tilt yours, sips his drink after you do, imitates your laugh when he’s nervous. he’s not aware he’s doing it half the time.

always wants you to witness his “achievements,” even small ones. if he figures out a tricky problem, lands a stunt, or even just cooks something edible, he seeks you out immediately. your reaction matters more than anyone else’s.

cannot handle you being upset with him. if you’re quiet for more than two minutes, he’s immediately leaning in: “are you mad at me? did I do something?” then starts rattling off everything he did that day trying to identify the problem.

clings to every compliment you give him. if you once said “you look good in blue,” suddenly half his wardrobe is blue. if you said “you’re really funny,” he repeats the joke to the team just to see if it hits again.

uses you as his moral compass. he’ll pause before doing something violent and ask himself, “would [you] be mad?” if yes, he hesitates. if no, he goes ahead and does it.

if you don’t pick up when he calls, he’ll just… keep going. no shame. you’ll glance down and see 17, 32, 67 missed calls stacked from him. each voicemail is like an unhinged little diary entry. “hey, it’s me again. i just saw a dog that looked like you’d like it. anyway call me. it’s me by the way.” then “okay fifth voicemail, i’m starting to think you’re mad at me but that’s fine i’m still calling.” he narrates his day through voicemails until you finally answer.

starts collecting your catchphrases or little sayings. if you once called someone a “weirdo,” now it’s his favorite insult. if you said “cool beans” offhand, now he says it constantly.

proud of taking care of you but in off-kilter ways. like, if someone cuts you off in traffic he’s genuinely shocked you don’t want him to follow them home.

keeps all your selfies. like all of them. if you ever scroll through his phone, it’s thousands of your pictures, even the ones you thought were throwaways.

does security sweeps of your apartment when you’re not there. windows locked, doors checked, your food expiration dates. you’ll come home to a post-it: “all clear! –adrian :)”

if you’re gone longer than expected, he’s already on your trail. tracking your location, calling, walking your usual routes. he doesn’t see it as invasive, in his head he’s protecting you.

if you ask him to do something small, he does it instantly and then looks at you for praise. like a dog bringing back a stick.

when you lecture him he sits there and pouts like a wet cat. arms crossed, eyes flicking up to you every few seconds, muttering things under his breath like “ok but i was just trying to help.” he’ll stomp off to the kitchen dramatically, but you’ll hear him still hovering, waiting for you to call him back.

intimacy for him is 90% emotional. he doesn’t initiate sex. he likes sleeping next to you, the weight of your head on his chest, tracing your hair, feeling your heartbeat. when you do initiate something physical, he’s laser-focused on your comfort, your pleasure, your cues.

he thinks romance is more about access and protection than flowers. he’d rather stay up all night on your couch watching you sleep than plan a candlelit dinner.

checks in constantly. “do you like me today?” “am i a good boyfriend?” “are you gonna leave me?”

has no sense of boundaries. will follow you to the bathroom door mid-story because he isn’t finished talking. if you actually say “stop” or “i need space,” he freezes, nods, and waits like a scolded puppy outside the door.

wants to take you shooting the way other people take their partners bowling. thinks “sharing a skill” is intimacy. he’ll line up your hands with his, adjust your stance with ridiculous concentration, and beam like you just drew a masterpiece if you hit anywhere near the target.

gets pouty if you do an activity without him. even something small like going to a café. he’ll sulk for a while, then bombard you with “what did you do? who was there? was it fun? did you miss me?” texts until you reassure him.

he doesn’t pick up on sarcasm. if you say “i’m fine” but mean “i’m not,” he’ll take it at face value and genuinely think you’re okay even if you’re clearly not.

his sensory quirks show up in quiet ways. he’s picky about certain fabrics, cuts tags out of his clothes, and will swap out your laundry detergent for the one he likes without telling you.

has zero sense of privacy. he will sit on the edge of the tub while you’re brushing your teeth. he’ll follow you from room to room while you’re on the phone. not because he’s trying to irritate you, it just doesn’t occur to him to leave.

he narrates fights or confrontations to you like a child bringing home a report card. “i totally disarmed this guy in three seconds,” “peacemaker said i was being reckless but i wasn’t.” sits on the couch swinging his legs, waiting for you to react.

loves driving you places but he’s an absolute menace. blasting music, narrating other drivers’ mistakes, making up spy names for you over the bluetooth. you’re constantly grabbing the oh shit handle while he’s grinning.

physically cannot leave you out of his plans. if he’s going to the store for one thing, you’re invited. if you say no, he’ll Facetime you from the frozen food aisle asking which ice cream to get, holding each pint up to the camera.

he’ll wait outside anywhere just to drive you home. even if you said you’re fine. he’s already parked. “surprise! i’m your ride.”

makes you safety briefings like you’re a new recruit. whenever you’re about to go somewhere new, he’ll pace in front of you with a print-out map, color-coded danger zones, emergency escape routes. completely serious. “if you get lost, this is our rally point.”

weirdly ceremonial about small stuff. every time you finish a tv season together, he insists on a “graduation handshake.” every time you try a new restaurant, he plants a flag (a toothpick with your initials). he thinks it’s romantic.

collects “intel” on people who annoy you. not to hurt them (necessarily) but to hand you a whole folder like “look at this jerk’s LinkedIn. what a clown.” proud of himself for “helping.”

obsessed with giving you field names. when you go grocery shopping you’re “alpha six,” at the laundromat you’re “ghost falcon.” He uses them dead serious until you make him laugh.

will literally stand outside your work just to walk you home. even in the rain. even if you told him not to. stands there dripping with water, proud of himself.

if you draw a line (“don’t follow me to work today”) he’ll take it but still find a loophole (sitting on a rooftop across the street with binoculars.)

sometimes he’ll blurt something like “well you’re overreacting” or “you’re acting weird” and then stare at you blankly while you process it.

passive-aggressive “i’m not mad.” when he’s angry he will say “i’m not mad” about five times in a row, hands fidgeting, jaw tight, before dropping increasingly weird one-liners under his breath like “some people just don’t understand basic loyalty” while stirring his cereal aggressively.

silent pout sessions. instead of yelling he’ll sit at the edge of the bed, arms crossed, tapping his knee. occasionally tosses out comments like “guess i’m just the idiot boyfriend again” and then act like he didn’t say anything.

a / n ᝰ .ᐟ thank you to anyone who commented or sent in suggestions for other characters you’d like to see!! im taking notes, im seeing lots of the holy trinity, batfam, spider-man and bob reynolds. ✍️ ✍️ feel free to send in more char requests :]

started 9.26.2025. finished 9.26.2025

( masterlist. )

©️ monicfever 2025

[666chevy]

PEACEMAKER IS BACKKKKKKKKKK 😭😭😭😭😭💗💓💗💓💗💓💗😌💗😌💗😌😌💗💓