#peacemaker show

-

He sits as close to you as possible in every briefing. He laughs way too hard at your jokes, and even at some of your comments that aren’t meant to be funny. He stares at you with his ‘cartoon heart eyes’ every time you enter the room, and looks like a sad puppy every time you leave it.

It gets annoying fast. And you’re the only one who doesn’t seem to notice.

You don’t get irritated with him, like everyone else does. For a while, each and every member of the team wonders what your breaking point is going to be. If one day you’ll snap when he rambles to you about anything and everything under the sun, and he’ll end up with a bullet between his eyes before he can finish telling you a new random fact about owls.

And yet, you don’t break. In fact, you don’t even seem like you’re humoring him. You listen when he talks like you’re actually interested in what he has to say. Laugh with him when no one else does. You smile when he enters the room, and you even have inside jokes with him that make him laugh like an absolute lunatic.

And yet, despite how painfully obvious it is to everyone else, you still don’t seem to notice his crush.

-

Chris hits his breaking point when he borrows Adrian’s phone, trying to look up directions to the new meeting spot after his own gets smashed in a fight.

“Okay, dude. We gotta talk about this shit.”

“What?” Adrian looks genuinely confused, turning to him with a completely innocent expression.

“First of all, your phone passcode is her birthday.”

Adrian is immediately on the defensive, pink tinging his cheeks as he grips the steering wheel and looks directly out the front window.

“I-what? No, it’s not! It’s a random combination of numbers. If it’s her birthday that’s a total coincidence. Who even is the she in question, anyway? Like I said, I have no idea what mysterious birthday you’re talking about.”

“Your screensaver is her face.”

“My screensaver is a picture of the whole team, because we’re all friends! If my phone maybe zoomed in on a particular person’s face, I have no control over that! I’m a crime fighter, not a master of technology.”

Chris does not let up, and Adrian looks like he’d be less tortured if his pinky toe was cut off again.

“Okay, then why did you Google her name like, twenty times?”

“For research. She’s part of the team! Who says I don’t Google all of you, in case someone - other than you, of course. You’re my best friend and so I know you’re not - is compromised somehow?”

“Dude, just admit you’ve got it bad.”

“I don’t have anything bad!”

“It’s fine, man. She’s like, a solid ten. If you want some advice, bro to bro, I can give it to you.”

Chris is Adrian’s best friend - well, outside of you now, of course - and he does hook up with lots of people.

So, against anyone’s better judgement, Adrian takes his first bit of seduction advice.

-

The briefing the next day is weird.

Very weird.

When Adrian sits down, he doesn’t sit next to you. In fact, he sits across from you, eyes boring into the side of your head when you aren’t looking and darting away immediately when you seem to feel the weight of his gaze on you. When the meeting breaks, and everyone begins to grab their various weapons and get their shit together to load up the van, he sidles up to you in a way that’s so purposefully casual it draws the attention of the rest of the team.

He leans against the counter on one elbow, looking at you through his glasses from the side.

“Sup.” And that word does not sound right coming from Adrian Chase. It especially sounds off with how much deeper he seems to be trying to make his voice.

Your brows furrow, and you continue to load your gun as you glance over at him. “Sup.” You mimic, just as purposefully low, and offer him a familiar little smile.

That seems to disarm him, just a little. Just enough to make him seem impossibly more awkward as he collects himself and continues. 

“I was uh…I was just thinking about how I went out last night. There was a girl with an awesome ass at the bar. Totally top-tier. She was super hot.”

Your confusion is palpable. Some of the team cringes behind your back. Neither you nor Adrian notice. “…Okay.”

“I mean, you could be hot too. If you did your…hair different.”

“Thank you?”

“I mean, not that your hair isn’t great. And your shampoo smells nice. Not that I’ve like, smelled it or anything. It’s- you wear a lot of shampoo.”

“I wear a lot of shampoo?” You repeat, finally cocking your head to the side and looking him fully up and down, taking in everything from his stance to the odd way he’s trying to speak to you. “Are you okay? Did you drink weird milk again?”

“Huh? No! I just…you know, I was just saying you… smell, you know?” he trails off, looking a little lost, and you nod slowly like you think he might be on drugs.

“Okay, thanks… I’m gonna start loading up the van.” You offer him an awkward smile, pick up a gun, and make your way out the door.

He deflates so much, so quickly, that he looks like a popped balloon.

“Dude.” Chris says, sympathy and horror coating his tone. “What the fuck was that?”

“You said to neg her!”

“First of all, if you took Smith’s advice this whole situation is gonna get ten fucking times more annoying.” Harcourt snaps, rolling her eyes and holstering her own gun. “Second of all, who the fuck thinks negging works?”

“Hey, I’ve hooked up with a shit ton of people. If you do it right and not like whatever the fuck that was-“ Chris starts, only for Harcourt to hold up her hand and cut off the end of his sentence.

“She’s not some dumbass at the dive bar, you fucking frat boy.”

Adrian doesn’t seem to be very invested in the argument that follows. He looks two seconds away from bursting out the door and trying the ‘negging’ thing again, like he might be able to get it right with practice. Peacemaker himself gave him the advice, after all. It should work if he just does it right, right?

“Just be yourself.” Adebayo chimes in, a softer voice cutting against the sharp tones in the room. “She seems to like you plenty as yourself. Not…whatever that was.”

“It was negging. It’s when you insult someone to make them-“

“I know what negging is.” She stops him with a helpless shake of her head. “I mean don’t do that.”

He frowns. Looks toward the door again like his eyes might be able to find you through it. “What should I do instead?”

“Be yourself.” She repeats, emphatic. “If she likes you, she’s gonna like you a lot less if you keep insulting her. Or…trying to. I couldn’t really follow what you were doing there.”

And so, now with better judgement, Adrian takes his second bit of seduction advice.

-

You fall asleep on him in the van. It happens slowly, beginning with your eyes drifting shut to the rocking and bumping of the vehicle and ending with your head thunking onto his shoulder.

He freezes. Completely, totally freezes. He tries to catch the attention of the rest of the team, but they’re all too distracted either drifting off themselves or taking stock of their own wounds.

And then, slowly, like you might vanish if he jostles you too much, he leans his body back against the wall. You go with him, still peacefully asleep with your bloody cheek resting against his shoulder and your body so, so close to his.

Okay, step two.

Though patience has never really been his forte, he manages to move his arm with the slow precision that only stems from the years of training and practice that made him such a skilled killer. In what feels like an eternity, that arm is finally wrapped around you, and he positions you to lie more comfortably against his side, pulling your body closer to his and trying not to vibrate from the feeling of your warmth seeping into his skin.

You don’t wake. You mumble something in your sleep, your own mask off and resting beside you, and turn your head into him with a sigh.

You’re so warm. Still covered in blood and dirt and grime but still so, so unbelievably pretty. Actually, you’re always prettier than usual after a fight. Exhausted and full of adrenaline just like how he gets. Your smile is always brighter. Your eyes hold the same excitement as his own. Shit, he almost wants to wake you up just so he can look at your eyes, though he wouldn’t dream of risking losing this moment.

His hand comes up, and his fingers glide through your hair like he’s mesmerized by the feeling of it - which he is. You hum in response to the feeling, still sleeping as your body melts a little bit more into his, and he feels like every nerve inside of him is on fire.

And then, like a bit of a creep, he turns his head into your hair and inhales. You smell so nice. Like sweetness and spice and blood and dirt. He wants to touch you all over. He wants to pull you all the way into his lap and wake you up by kissing you. Like, everywhere. He wants to study you in more ways than just all of the endless staring he’s been doing over the last few weeks. Like the way you might feel against him, with more than just your head and side pressed against his body. Or the noises you might make when he-

A throat clears.

When Adrian looks up, everyone is looking at him.

“Are you…sniffing her?” Leota asks, nose scrunched up in an expression he doesn’t understand. Whatever. He doesn’t understand a lot of expressions. But he understands yours. And when he doesn’t, you usually explain it to him. It’s one of the many, many things he likes about you.

“Do you have a boner right now?” Chris asks, and that expression might be disgust, though he doesn’t really understand why. Chris has seen you, right? You’re probably the hottest person Adrian’s ever seen. How is he not supposed to get a boner when you’re pressed up against him and he can feel your soft breath against his neck? And now you’re moving, snuggling a little more into his side, and he couldn’t help his grin if he wanted to as he turns to press his nose into your hair again.

“Fucking weirdo.” Harcourt mumbles, and Adrian couldn’t care less.

-

He decides to - finally - ask you out. He comes up with at least ten different plans, and keeps asking for advice about every single detail until the rest of the team is minutes away from punching him if he says another word about it.

And, in the end, he doesn’t follow a single one of those carefully detailed plans. He doesn’t even come close.

This battle was rough. Chaotic and violent and seeming to last for hours until everyone is drenched in blood and covered in bruises and limping their way back to each other to regroup.

You just blew a group of butterflies up with a grenade. You didn’t move back far enough to keep the blood and guts off of you. In fact, you’re still wiping it from your face, grinning like a fucking maniac as you pull your nearly-ruined mask from your face and take in the scene before you.

Adrian is already making his way towards you like a man hypnotized. His own mask is off. His hair is damp with sweat. His face is almost as bloody as yours.

“Holy shit! Did you see that?” You ask, eyes wild as you turn to him. “That was awesome! I mean, I didn’t expect that to-“

He grabs you. One bloody hand fists in your hair, the other wraps around your waist, and he yanks you into him and kisses you so hard the force of it would knock you backward if he weren’t crushing you to him so tightly.

The 11th Street Kids watch, awed. You make a muffled noise of surprise, eyes going wide as his mouth moves against yours.

And then you wrap your arms around his neck, and you kiss him right back.

For a while, no one speaks. Your hands tangle in Adrian’s hair, and his other hand drops to join the first around your waist. He lifts you off of your feet. You wrap your legs around his waist. He groans shamelessly, and presses you up against the nearest tree so hard it almost looks like it hurts. You don’t seem to notice, stabilizing yourself with one hand gripping at his back while you pull at his hair and draw a noise from him that echoes through the forest.

“This is getting gross.” Economos says, and cringes as Adrian’s hands start to rip at your tactical gear.

“They are covered in blood.”

“Does anyone wanna stop them before they fuck in the middle of the woods?”

“I’m not going anywhere near that.”

Armor is beginning to come off, crashing to the ground as cloth rips and Adrian starts to mumble incoherent - and probably wildly inappropriate - nonsense into your mouth and against your skin, kissing and biting his way down your throat.

“Okay, you know what? They can figure out how to get home. My eyes are starting to burn.”

Hours later, you do find your way home, breathless and grinning and covered in new marks from a very different type of battle.

Maybe it was the tousled hair or the abs peeking out from the robe he was wearing. Maybe it was the amount of alcohol you had consumed last night. You didn’t know exactly what had flipped the switch in your brain, but suddenly, you realized something: Adrian Chase was fucking hot. And he wasn’t even trying to be, which made it so much worse.

When he’d gotten up from the recliner, stretching his body and allowing you to see just how jacked he was, you almost spit your coffee all over Harcourt’s counters.

Sure, you’d seen him shirtless before—you’d patched him up after missions on occasion. So the sight shouldn’t have been a surprise. But context mattered. You weren’t bleeding or running or killing or trying not to die. You were hungover from one of the best evenings you’d had in a while. And you wanted to climb Adrian like a tree.

At one point, he started talking, but you weren’t listening to the words. Your eyes were fixed on him, watching his mouth move and absorbing literally nothing. Adebayo kept him talking, Harcourt kept groaning in annoyance beside you. And you didn’t care about anything. The only thing on your mind was Adrian—how he’d smell, how he’d taste, how his hands would feel on your body.

And then, suddenly, he disappeared, turning and running into another room. The abrupt lack of “hot nerd” in front of you seemed to spur your brain into action. You placed your mug down and turned to face your two friends. You didn’t even think—you just started talking.

“I need you guys to leave.”

“Excuse me?” Harcourt asked in her usual rough manner.

“I need you guys to get out. Find some excuse, go for a fucking walk, I don’t care. Just do something to get out of here.”

You heard someone choking and John’s voice from another room.

“And take Economos with you.”

“Girl, what are you talking about?” Adebayo asked, brows comically furrowed.

“Yeah, what the fuck? You’re trying to kick me out of my own house?”

You took a deep breath. You were going to have to be blunt. That was the only way to get anywhere.

“Okay, fine.” You sighed. “I am going to fuck Adrian. If you’re here to listen or not, I don’t give a fuck. But I am asking you, as a friend—and to protect your precious little brains—to leave so you won’t have to witness this. Because it is going to happen.”

They both stared at you.

“So either find an excuse and get out, or make up an excuse to get me and Adrian out alone. Whatever way works. I just need to fuck him, okay?”

Harcourt’s face seemed to twist into more of a grimace with every word.

“What the actual fuck!”

“Yeahhh, I’m gonna have to agree with Em here. This is all…”

“A lot?”

“Insane is what it is! You’re trying to kick me out to fuck Adrian Chase in my fucking house!”

You turned to face Harcourt, eyes staring into her soul.

“Emilia, you’ve known me for a long time. When do I not get what I want?”

Your words seemed to shift something inside Harcourt, as if they’d created some sort of realization within her. With a defeated sigh, she grabbed her car keys and began moving toward the door. Once she reached it, she turned to look at you.

“Just don’t do it on my bed.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She let out another defeated sigh.

“Come on, Adebayo. Let’s go.”

Adebayo opened her mouth to say something but, upon seeing both yours and Harcourt’s stares, decided against it. She shook her head in disbelief.

“Economos, get your ass out here—we have to go!” Harcourt screamed.

John tumbled out of the room, tugging on his pants and almost falling over.

“What the fuck is going on? Why are we—”

“Just come on.”

And with that, Harcourt turned to leave, followed by Adebayo, who just shrugged at Economos’ questioning look. You watched them exit, closing the door behind them.

You were alone.

Alone with Adrian Chase.

“You wanna quiz me on—hey, where’d everyone go?”

You contained the smile threatening to spread across your face, turning to look at Adrian with an innocent shrug.

“I don’t know. They had to do something.”

“Oh.” Adrian’s brows furrowed. “And they didn’t need us to go with?”

“Guess not. But hey, I’d rather spend time with you anyway. So, win-win, I guess.”

The smile that spread across Adrian’s face almost brought you down to your knees. It was a genuine, all-teeth-showing grin of pure, unfiltered joy.

“Really? You wanna hang out with me?”

You gave him a look of disbelief.

“Of course I do. You’re like one of the coolest guys I know, Adrian.”

Okay, maybe that was a slight exaggeration. Sure, Adrian was a cool dude, but you’d worked with people like Rick Flag before. But he was dead now. Actually, a lot of the people you’d worked with before were dead. So maybe it was the truth. Maybe Adrian genuinely was the coolest guy you currently knew. Not that it seemed to matter much to Adrian, who just stared at you with his mouth slightly open.

“I’m the coolest guy you know? Really?”

You nodded.

“Cooler than Chris?” Adrian asked, as if it were impossible to be cooler than Peacemaker.

You gave him a soft smile, moving closer to him.

“So much cooler than Chris.”

“For real?” His eyes widened.

“When have I ever lied to you before, Adrian?”

His brows furrowed as he thought.

“Last week?”

“What? No, I’ve never lied to you.”

“Never?”

“Nope.”

“Not even when you said you wanted to help me organize my top-secret room?”

“Why would I lie about that?”

Adrian shrugged. “I don’t know. Sometimes people just say ‘okay’ to stuff to get me to stop talking, and then they don’t actually end up doing what they said.”

Your heartstrings tugged at Adrian’s confession. Sure, he could be a lot sometimes. And yeah, he could be genuinely psychotic when he wanted to be. But he was also a sweet guy who just needed some attention from time to time.

The room went quiet for a moment—something that was almost impossible whenever Adrian was around. You bit your lip, gathering every ounce of courage to finally say what had been running through your head since you’d laid eyes on him this morning.

Your gaze lifted from the floor, landing on Adrian’s frame. He was leaning against the wall, eyes fixed on the window, clearly lost in thought.

“Hey, Adrian?”

His head snapped toward you at the sound of your voice.

“Yeah?”

You took a step closer, still leaving just enough space between you.

“Can I tell you something else?”

“Sure!” he answered, eager as always.

You leaned in, close enough that your mouth brushed against the edge of his ear as you whispered:

“You’re not only the coolest guy I know… you’re the one who makes me the horniest.”

For a second, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Then Adrian made a noise—somewhere between a squeak, a gasp, and the sound of a car engine that refused to start. His whole body stiffened, and he blinked at you like you’d just told him Batman was real and also his biological father. And before he could come up with something painfully Adrian-like in response, you leaned in and kissed him.

It was messy. Too fast. His nose bumped yours, and your teeth almost clashed—but then his mouth softened against yours and it didn’t matter. Not even a little.

For one terrifying second you thought he’d pull back, laugh, or say something wildly inappropriate. But Adrian Chase kissed you back like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he’d been waiting for it.

When you finally pulled away for air, his pupils were blown wide, his robe half-off one shoulder. Adrian’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. His brain clearly trying to reboot with no success.

“Oh my God,” he whispered finally, pressing a hand dramatically over his chest like he was about to have a heart attack. “This is—this is the greatest day of my life. No, wait. Second greatest. The first was when I found out there’s an owl that can rotate its head almost a full 270 degrees—BUT THIS IS A VERY CLOSE SECOND.”

You couldn’t help it—you started laughing. Which only seemed to make him more frantic.

“No, no, don’t laugh, I’m taking this super seriously! Like, holy shit—do you wanna—are we about to—oh my God, do you mean sex right now? Because if you do, I should probably brush my teeth real quick. Or—wait—maybe I shouldn’t leave the room because then you might change your mind and—oh my God I’m so hot right now I don’t even know what to do with my hands. I should probably put on music. Unless you want owl noises in the background, because I’ve got an app for that too—”

“Adrian.” You grabbed the front of his robe, tugging him back into you with a firm kiss that shut him up instantly.

This time, the kiss was deeper, hungrier. His surprise melted into enthusiasm almost instantly, and you felt his hands hover awkwardly in the air like he didn’t know where to put them. Finally, they landed—one on your hip, the other clutching your back like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. His grip was strong, desperate in a way that made your whole body buzz. You let him tug you closer to him, his body leaning against the wall as yours pressed against his. 

Adrian was a very good kisser—which came as an unexpected but very welcome surprise. When your tongue traced over his bottom lip, he opened his mouth for you without hesitation. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging softly as your tongues moved together.

You could feel the growing bulge against your thigh as he softly bucked his hips forward. It was almost unconscious, something he probably didn’t even realize he was doing. But it was so fucking hot. He was so fucking hot. Even that little action was enough to make you spiral.

You pulled back to breathe, much to your own dismay, chest heaving as you stared down at Adrian. His breathing was ragged, his eyes glassy with disbelief.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. “I’m making out. I’m actually making out. With you.”

You smirked, brushing your thumb along his jaw. “You sound shocked.”

“I am shocked! You’re, like, way out of my league. You should be kissing—I don’t know—some sexy assassin or a rockstar or—”

You shut him up with another kiss, biting at his bottom lip just enough to make him whimper. Pulling back just enough to speak, you murmured:

“If you’re shocked just by kissing me… just wait until I’m naked.”

The sound that escaped Adrian’s lips was like nothing you’d ever heard from him before. And you’d watched him get tortured—twice. But this wasn’t a sound of pain. It was a noise of pure, desperate need.

As if to confirm it, Adrian crashed his lips back onto yours. His robe slipped down his shoulders, revealing more of his skin to you. Before you could even think about it, your hand shot up, nails digging into his shoulder as his tongue roamed your mouth.

Adrian kissed like a man starved. Every brush of your lips seemed to unravel him, to the point where he was practically stumbling into you, body heat pressing harder against your own.

You tugged at his robe, trying to pull it further off his shoulders, but the idiot somehow managed to get tangled in it. He fumbled with the sleeve, nearly smacking himself in the face before you grabbed his wrist and laughed into his mouth.

“Couch,” you whispered, tugging him backward.

Adrian tripped once, twice, before finally collapsing onto the couch with you half on top of him. The robe fell completely open, baring his chest, his abs, his everything—and holy fuck, he was so much more ripped than you’d ever let yourself fully process when patching him up before.

You straddled his lap, and the sound he made when you did could only be described as filthy. His hands hovered awkwardly at your hips like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch.

“Adrian,” you murmured, grinding down against him deliberately, “you can touch me.”

His fingers dug into your waist immediately, grip almost bruising as he bucked up beneath you. “Oh my God—holy shit—are you serious? This is like—like—” He groaned when you kissed down his throat, cutting himself off. “—like every fantasy I’ve ever had but way hotter because it’s actually happening.”

You smirked against his skin, teeth grazing over his pulse point, and felt his cock twitch against you, hard and straining against thin fabric. You reached between you, palming him through his pants, and Adrian’s head fell back against the couch with a strangled, breathless noise that made heat curl low in your stomach.

“Fuck—” he gasped. “You—oh my God, you’re—holy shit.”

You tugged his pants down just enough to free him, and his cock sprang out, thick and flushed, precum already slicking the tip. His robe had slipped completely open now, leaving him sprawled, desperate, and gorgeous beneath you.

You pumped him slowly, deliberately, and Adrian let out the loudest, most obscene moan you’d ever heard from him. His eyes squeezed shut, his hips thrusting up helplessly into your fist.

“Please,” he gasped, voice breaking. “Please, I need—fuck, I need you so bad, I don’t even care if it’s quick, just—please—”

You leaned down, kissing him again, swallowing his pathetic little whines as you positioned yourself over him. You tugged your underwear to the side, just enough to line yourself up. With one slow push, you sank down onto him, stretching around his cock inch by inch until you were full, until your thighs pressed flush against his.

Adrian’s whole body went rigid. His nails dug into your hips, his mouth falling open in a silent cry before sound finally ripped out of him.

“Oh my fucking GOD.” His voice cracked. “I’m inside you. I’m actually inside you. Holy shit, I’m gonna die, this is it, I’m dying—”

You rolled your hips and cut off his rant with a sharp moan of your own. His grip tightened, and when you started moving, his head thumped back against the couch, eyes wide with awe and desperation.

“Fuck—don’t stop,” he begged, breathless. “Please don’t ever stop.”

It was getting too hot in here. Between Adrian’s pants and your desperate breaths, you felt like your body was boiling. You stopped moving against him, hands gripping the edge of your shirt and tugging. Your breasts broke free, and you finally felt like you could breathe properly again.

Adrian, on the other hand, seemed worse than ever. His eyes went wide—cartoon-wide—and his jaw literally dropped.

“No—no, no, no—holy shit!” he gasped, voice cracking as his hands flew to your bare chest before hesitating and pulling back with a strangled groan. “Oh my God, you’re—holy fuck, you’re—stop, I can’t—oh Jesus Christ!”

He bucked hard into you, completely losing control of his hips, and you gasped at the intensity of it. Every thrust was desperate, sloppy, utterly unrestrained. You grabbed his hands, tugging them up to cup your breasts as you continued to bounce on his cock.

“I can’t—fuck, I can’t believe this is happening!” he groaned, voice ragged. “You’re—fuck, you’re too much! You’re—oh God—”

His fingers moved over your nipples, soft and teasing, and you let out a moan at the feel of his hands against you. Adrian writhed inside you at the sensation, mouth opening wider as he continued to pant beneath you.

You leaned forward, pressing your chest against him, grinding slowly as his hands tightened on your breasts. The feel of him inside you—hard, hot, desperate—made your body hum with need. His ragged breaths were loud in your ear, punctuated by incoherent moans that made your core clench around him. His noises filled the room, a mix of desperation and pleasure that made your own thighs quake. 

“Fuck… fuck… you’re amazing,” he gasped, hips jerking up into you. “I—I can’t… oh God, I’m gonna—”

You bit at his shoulder, laughing breathlessly. “You gonna let me help you finish, Adrian?”

His hands shot down to your hips, gripping like he might never let go. “Yes! Yes! Oh holy shit, yes!”

You leaned back up, placing your hands on his chest for better leverage. You rolled your hips harder, letting the friction and the tight, needy pressure drive both of you higher. His groans turned into shouts, incoherent, frantic, and utterly needy. 

“Please—fuck, yes—don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!” he begged, head falling back against the couch with an almost panicked intensity. Every thrust was frantic, messy, and so far from controlled it was borderline chaotic—and you were loving every second of it.

His cock twitched inside you, thick and hot, and you knew he was close. His hands roamed, clutched, squeezed, and you guided them back to your breasts, moaning as his fingers teased relentlessly. His shouts grew louder, faster, and then with a strangled groan and a shudder that shook him from head to toe, he came, spilling deep inside you.

Your body followed almost instantly, heat coiling tight as you rode out your own release, gripping him, grinding down, and letting every tremor and moan escape. His head fell back against the couch, breathless and panting, while you collapsed against him, chest to chest, sharing ragged, sweaty breaths.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Only the sound of your heartbeats and his heavy breathing filled the room.

Finally, Adrian cracked a shaky laugh, burying his face in your neck. “Holy… holy shit. That was… fucking insane.”

You smirked against his hair, brushing a hand over his chest. 

“I—god, I didn’t think…” His voice trailed off, disbelief and awe still mixing in every word. “I didn’t think I could… that… wow. You’re—”

You kissed the top of his head, smiling. “Yeah, I know.”

You settled back against his chest, allowing yourself to memorize the feeling of his skin against yours and how his scent surrounded you. His cock softened inside you, but neither of you moved—far too blissed out to care about anything other than remaining in each other’s arms.

You let out a sigh, moving to rest your chin against his chest so you could look at his face. He was unusually quiet.

“Hey, Adrian?”

“Yeah?”

“I actually did lie to you about something.”

His eyes widened, his focus snapping entirely to you. “Wait—what? You lied? About what?!”

“About this morning,” you admitted, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “I made Harcourt leave with the others so I could be alone with you. So we could… you know.”

Adrian blinked. Then blinked again. Then his jaw literally dropped. “You—what—are you serious?!”

“Oh, I’m serious,” you said, leaning down to kiss him again, soft this time, full of satisfaction. “And honestly? Totally worth it.”

He groaned, burying his face back in your neck, one arm wrapping tightly around you. “You are so ridiculous… and perfect… and I can’t believe this is real.”

You laughed softly, running your hands through his messy hair. “Believe it, Adrian. You’re stuck with me now.”

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