#ex-criminal!reader

• You've never really landed on whether Waller's deal was a saving hand or a prison without the barred cage

• A salvation or a sentence

•Formerly an unwilling asset for organised-crime broker Carter Vale. 'Recruited' through financial coercion and sustained blackmail — you were subjected to years under Vale's employ

• The charges they had against you because of him piled up high and would have been equivalent to at least an 80+ years sentencing

• Even without Waller's intervention, you'd have still served 25—40+ years minimum if you took a plea deal

• Accessory to armed robbery — Conspiracy to commit cybercrime and data theft — Extortion and blackmail— Racketeering — Money laundering and transportation of stolen goods— Obstruction of justice — Forgery— Counterfeiting — Identity fraud — Conspiracy and criminal association — Accessory to assault/involuntary manslaughter — Unauthorised surveillance/invasion of privacy

• And that's without the multiple charges that are connected to each individual crime

• And that's without those you'd have been charged with multiple counts of

• So, with Waller's deal, your sentence was suspended per ARGUS Directive 12-9B. Your federal pardon is contingent on your continued service, cooperation, at ARGUS — any desertion or unsanctioned activities reactivates all prior convictions in full

• To Waller, you were the only one in the entirety of Carter Vale's circle — his elite, vast crime ring — that was valuable enough to repurpose instead of prosecute

• Wasted talent, she'd told you

• With Carter disposed of and your life now controlled entirely by ARGUS, they were quick with rolling out protocol

• They even referred to you as 'asset' or your file reference, which stung a little

• Plus, you would have thought it easier to refer to you by your name than fucking ARD-A42-09-XG

• ARGUS assigned a Dr. Eve Whitmore to put you through a psych eval — she deemed you stable but required to attend mandatory therapy with her personally

• There were also assessments for skills and health, and they compiled a risk index — good news, they don't think you're going to run

• The final steps included a quick course using firearms and assigning you a field handler

• Our favourite hard-ass, Emilia Harcourt

• It was only natural when you were cleared for field duty that you'd be going with Harcourt to work on Project Butterfly.

• At first, it was going smoothly. Well, as smooth as it could go.

• Meeting Peacemaker, Chris, for the first time at Fennel Fields was something. The guy was like a walking boulder cosplaying the fucking French flag with a tin foil hat.

• "It's camouflage."

•"It's fucking reflective."

• To top it off, his buddy's younger brother was looking at him like he hung the stars and moon — not even in the movies has someone pulled off such an enamoured gaze

• Then as you're all gearing up to stake out, and kill, Senator Royland Goff — his family too, if they present any signs of also being a "butterfly" — some dude dressed way too early for Halloween is staring at the lot of you from behind a bin

• It quickly makes sense that Chris and this guy are friends. Well, acquaintances, really.

• "Nobody told me I had to deal with a fuckin' homunculi."

•"Well, who's saying you gotta deal with them now?"

•"You kidding me? I found a miniature spaceship in the apartment of the chick I had sex with — you guys know — the one who was really into having sex with me? She came like four times?"

• "We know who she is. We don't need to know how much she enjoyed having sex with you."

• "What if it's a clue?"

• "It's not."

• "Okay. I was just trying to slip it into conversation. Hope nobody noticed. My bad. Still. Fucking hate homunculi."

• You blocked out the rest of Chris' and Adebayo's conversation after that, focused on organising the gear they were dropping into the van — that was until Ade's is asking who's the guy "peeking out behind the trashcan"

• You're poking your head out of the open back of the truck before you think as Chris starts.

• "Fuck, it's...it's vigilante. He's trying to be helpful."

Watching the scene unfold before you was a little funny. Harcourt telling him to get out of here, Vigilante's response, and the back and forth between them about being a psychiatrist, rumours of Chris being racist, and how he'd be one by association?

• You're snorting as he waves and runs away that's akin to a skip, his little "catch you guys later," just proves that you'll definitely have to see this guy again

• And unfortunately, it's probably sooner than any of you would like

• Of course, you were right.

• The guy — Vigilante — showed up at Goffs'.

• He fucking followed you.

• You're scoffing from your spot in the van with Adebayo, Economos, and Murn as you overheard the conversation he decided to strike up with Chris, and by proximity, Emilia

• But none of you really stewed in your feelings towards his presence once the Goff family unknowingly revealed themselves to be butterflies to you all

• Chris is ordered to start taking them out. He lined up the shot, finger hovering a breaths width over the trigger but he hesitated. His breathing had picked up and that finger began to softly waver, a tremble.

• Vigilante had taken over when Chris couldn't bring himself to do it — two were kids, for fuck sakes. Or at least still appeared as kids

• He was precise, controlled, cold. He started with the 'kids', then took out the 'wife', yet before he could finish the job, that cunting Judo Master completely fucks the entire operation

• You personally didn't see much of Vigilante after the Goff mission went tits-up. Not that you minded

• He shot a couple of kids and an alien bug while humming a tune. That wasn’t exactly comforting

• You could still hear it sometimes— that quiet hum between gunfire

• You didn’t forget the way his hands didn’t even shake

• But that wasn’t the last you saw of him

• It was like he’d glued himself to Peacemaker’s side after that

• So wherever Chris went, he wasn’t far behind — and by extension, neither was Vigilante

• You didn’t know whether to call it endearing or concerning

• You caught him watching you more often than not

• Like he was trying to figure you out but didn’t know where to start

• Half the time you’d look up and he’d already look away, pretending to check his gun or his gloves or anything else that wasn’t you

• The other half, he didn’t look away at all

• Chris joked about it once. Said you had a “Fan Club President” now

• You told him to shut the fuck up

• Vigilante didn’t deny it

• Just blinked — like he didn’t even realize he’d been caught

• It started off small — him offering you snacks on stakeouts, sitting too close in the van, blurting out weird compliments like

• “You’re really good at loading magazines. Like, suspiciously good. That’s kinda hot.”

• You weren’t sure whether to thank him or report him for harassment

• Eventually, it got harder to ignore

• The way he’d go quiet when you talked

• The way he’d smile under that stupid mask

• The way he’d try to make you laugh and then look proud of himself when he managed it

• But then came the turn

• He found out about your file

• Not through you, not through the team — but through something he wasn’t supposed to see

• You don’t know if he broke into Murn’s office or just got curious enough to dig, but either way — he found it

• Your entire past — every charge, every detail.

• The blackmail

• The forced labour under Vale

• The list of crimes that made you look irredeemable on paper

• You knew something was wrong the next time you saw him

• He wouldn’t look at you

• Wouldn’t talk to you

• And when he did, his words were sharp enough to cut

• “Didn’t realize we were working with a fucking criminal.”

• “Guess we're scraping the bottom of the barrel.”

• “You probably liked it — working with those guys. Bet it wasn’t that unwilling.”

• The others noticed. Chris tried to tell him to back off. Harcourt told him to “stop being a dick.”

• But he didn’t — he doubled down

• Every snide comment, every sarcastic jab — it all landed somewhere between cruelty and confusion

• Because if you looked closely, his anger wasn’t just disgust, it was guilt

• He hated that he still liked you

• That he couldn’t just turn it off because of a few files and a history that wasn’t your fault

• But in his head, it was simple: good guys didn’t fall for bad ones

• So, he told himself you were bad

• Over and over again. Until maybe he’d start to believe it

• He took it too far one night

• Mission went wrong — ambush, chaos, shouting

• You covered him when he slipped up, took a hit meant for him

• And his first words after pulling you to safety weren’t “are you okay?” — they were,

• “You just trying to make up for all that criminal shit? Trying to balance the karma scales or something?”

• You’d been bleeding, adrenaline crashing, patience long gone

• “You think I wanted any of that? You think I chose it?”

• He said nothing.

• “Fuck you, Chase.”

• It was quiet after that

• No jokes, no snacks, no comments. Just silence

• Even harder now that you'd dipped and refused everyone's calls

• Harcourt, although she would get into some shit for it too, knew it'd be worse if you didn't check in soon

• All part of the deal — constant check-ins, no disappearing, stay in contact

•But it's been nearing a whole week since any sign or word from you and if you didn't show soon, she knew Waller would send a team out after you, completely revoking that freedom of yours

• Especially if you missed one more of those mandatory therapy sessions with Dr. Whitmore

• Emilia couldn't keep lying for you, not without putting her ass further on the line than it already was

• So, she forced Adrian to go fix it, seeing as it was his fucking fault

• "Either you come back with them or your fucking coffin measurements, your choice."

• He showed up outside your room at the motel a few nights in a row, hoping to catch you there

• Eventually, he got lucky

• He was there — Vigilante 'fit nowhere in sight, fidgeting, words tumbling out like he was scared if he stopped, he’d never start again

• He was there as just Adrian

• “I shouldn’t’ve said that. Or any of it. I just— I didn’t know how to deal with… liking you.”

• You blinked

• “You have a funny way of showing it.”

• “Yeah. I know. I’m bad at stuff like this. Feelings. They’re… loud. And confusing. And they don’t make sense when someone’s supposed to be bad.”

• “I’m not bad.”

• “I know.”

• “Then stop pretending I am.”

• “I’m trying. I really am.”

• You didn’t say anything after that

• Just watched as he rubbed a hand over his face, eyes red like he hadn’t slept in days

• “I like you,” he admitted finally. “And it pisses me off. Because I don’t wanna. But I do.”

• You didn’t forgive him right away — but it was a start

• After the confession, things shifted. Not all at once — more like the world tilting half a degree at a time

• He still tripped over his words. Still got defensive sometimes.

•But he stopped being cruel

• Instead, he started… trying

• And that was the strangest part — watching Adrian Chase try

• It started with coffee

• The first morning after the talk, you walked into HQ to find your usual coffee sitting on your desk

• “Did Harcourt bribe someone to get this?” you asked.

• “Nope,” she said without looking up. “Your stalker bought it.”

• He was in the corner, pretending to fix his gear bag, shoulders too stiff

• Then it became a routine

• Every morning, your coffee appeared — sometimes with a note, sometimes not

• The notes were stupid

• “You looked really competent yesterday.”

• “Your trigger discipline is like…wow.”

• “Sorry for that time I was emotionally constipated and said mean stuff.”

• You kept them anyway, stashed in a drawer on your desk

• He started texting, too

• Random memes — weird facts about octopuses

• 'Did you know they have three hearts? That’s two more than me but you still broke mine, lol jk unless?'

• You didn’t always reply, but when you did, he sent seventeen messages in a row

• Eventually, it turned into calls

• At first, it was late-night “couldn’t sleep” excuses, then it became habit

• Him talking about his day, about Chris doing something dumb, about nothing at all — just needing you on the other end

• Somewhere between all that, the walls came down

• The bitterness, the guilt, the distance — it all started to fade

• He made you laugh again. Really laugh. The kind that hurt your ribs a little

• You didn’t even realize how much you’d missed that

• Trust took time, but he earned it back

• Brick by brick

• Not because he begged for forgiveness — because he showed it

• The way he’d stand next to you in firefights without hesitation now

• The way he didn’t flinch when someone brought up your past

• The way he looked at you — like you weren’t a weapon or an asset anymore. Just you.

• You caught yourself thinking about him more often

• About his laugh, his weirdly good posture, the way his mask muffled his voice

• You tried to ignore it, but feelings don’t listen to logic — especially when they’ve been growing quietly for weeks

• So, one day, you decided to stop fighting it

• He was working his shift at Fennel Fields that afternoon

• You told yourself you were just “in the area"

• But sitting in that booth, waiting to spot him amongst the tables and servers, heart pounding like you were about to pull a job again — yeah, you weren’t fooling anyone

• So when you did spot him, finally, you're smiling, arms crossed and resting atop the table, elbows perched on the cooler surface

• And when he finally spotted you, it was like watching a Windows 98 reboot happen in real time

• His eyes widened. He froze mid-step, holding a bowl of dirty glasses

• You almost waved, but he already looked like he was about to short-circuit

• Then he was there — a little breathless, like he’d jogged over even though it was ten feet

• “Hey. Uh. You’re…here.”

• “Yeah. Thought I would swing by, y'know.”

• “Oh. Cool. Coolcoolcool.”

• You smiled — small, but genuine

• “I was wondering if maybe you’d want to grab a drink after your shift.”

• He blinked, processing

• “Like a drink drink? With…me?”

• “That’s usually how asking someone out for drinks work, yeah.”

• He went quiet, eyes darting like his brain was buffering.

• Then he nodded too many times

• “Yes. Absolutely. I mean, I’ll have to tell my manager I can’t close tonight because I’ve got—uh—a date.”

• You raised an eyebrow. “A date, huh?”

• “Unless you want to call it a…mission debrief? But with alcohol and eye contact and emotional vulnerability?”

• You laughed

• “Date’s fine, Chase."

• “It’s Adrian,” he said quickly. “If it’s a date, you should call me Adrian.”

• Maybe it was the way he said it — soft, a little shy — but it hit you right in the chest.

• “Alright then, Adrian. I’ll be waiting.”

• And true to your word, you did wait — patiently, offering him small smiles every time he had to pass by, relaxing further into the booth and looking at your phone

• Plus, a server dropped off some cheesy dough balls with a dip

• Even when you told him you hadn't ordered anything, he said someone sent for them for you — which made you smile

• "No good drinking on an empty stomach," Adrian would say later as you're leaving — smile wide, glasses being pushed back up the bridge of his nose

_______________

This could be utter trash bro

So, my bad

But anyways

I hope you liked it