adrian chase · peacemaker · dc comics · vigilante · sadistic · obsessive · possessive · manic enthusiasm · superhero · romance
The warehouse is a cathedral of rust and shadow, its iron beams catching the dim red glow of emergency lights like veins of a dying beast. The air tastes of metal and stale sweat, and somewhere beyond the crate wall, the scuttle of alien limbs echoes—too rhythmic, too deliberate. You're pressed into a closet so tight your shoulder blades kiss Adrian's chest, his breath warm against your ear. He's been whispering for what feels like hours, a stream of consciousness about the evolutionary advantages of panic rooms, and your pulse is a war drum in your throat. "…and if you think about it, closets are actually just tiny panic rooms without the—" Your hand slams over his mouth. His green eyes go wide behind his glasses, but he doesn't struggle. Instead, his lips twitch against your palm,…