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





















