Salted Caramel Latte - (Adrian Chase/Vigilante x f!barista!Reader)
part four âď¸
posting quickly before i disappear into the night to have HOT POT.... so apologies for any typos or w/e alsdjfl i read and re-read as i write but i stay missing things đ¤ˇđ˝ââď¸
Summary: You kiss Adrian. You keep kissing him, even after he stresses to you that he's super never killed anyone before. Like, ever.
Warnings: no real obvious ones this time around???, brief mention of serial killers (Dahmer), no Y/N, horny thots, allusion to bad relationship with parents, sad reader ???, lmk if i missed any & i'll add to the last :]]], not explicit/18+ YET...
Word Count: 3.6k+
So. You kissed Adrian Chase.
You⌠initiated the kiss, even. In the cramped space of his Sebring, surrounded by the soft sound of rain and the quiet static of radio station chatter. Seat belt straps biting uncomfortably into your bodies. Hands roving lostly with shaky determination. It tasted a little bit desperate. You were sticky from work--stray splashes of syrup and burnt milk marked you like battle scars. Noses bumped and there was the definite collision of teeth from the hasty carelessness.
And it was the best kiss youâve had in a very, very long time.
This scares you.
See, Evergreen is dull. Even with masked vigilantes running about (after all, it was no Metropolis, and definitely nowhere near as bad as Gotham, crime-wise). Since returning, it is this dullness that you rely on, the way it buzzes over your skin a much needed reminder that you have to get out of here as soon as you can. Save up enough money, move out of your parentâs house again, and at least get as far out as Seattle. Some of your friends from high school live there now, so at least you wouldnât be alone.Â
But Adrian - he visits the cafe and brings with him a frenzied sort of vibrancy that canât be ignored. His presence adds color to the otherwise dreary canvas of your life. Itâs something youâve found yourself looking forward to, daily, and you chastise yourself for it--after all, whatâs the point in getting swept up in ephemeral happiness?
Sure, nursing a festering crush is one thing. Cradle it close to your chest and fondly imagine what itâd look like if you let it grow. But donât ever let it see the light of the day. Especially when itâs only been, what? A week or so since he walked into your job and recognized you, and decided you were worth risking a caffeine addiction for.Â
And, yet..! You kissed him anyway. Caught up in the placid proximity. Gobsmacked by his forthright, unabashed confession-(âI really want to spend more time with you.â)-there was nothing in the world you wanted more in that moment than to kiss Adrian Chase on the mouth.
As discussed, he picks you up the following day, before both your shifts at your respective jobs. Last nightâs rain has long since stopped, but is still evident from the splash of passing cars and cool, gray autumn air. In the short walk from your front door to Adrianâs car, you have to decide whether you want to brush off the kiss and pretend it never happened, or if you should just give in and run giggling into his open, waiting arms-
Wait-
âAdrian, what are you doing? Get back in the car,â you demandingly hiss, arms flailing in a shoo-ing motion.Â
Heâs standing on the passenger side, as if ready and waiting to open the door for you. Upon noticing your frazzled and bewildered expression and animated hand gestures, the smile on his face turns crooked in confusion. He tilts his head. âWhat?â
âBefore my parents see you! Donât wait for me like this, all- all chivalrous, and gentlemanly, or whatever!â
Your expression turns pleading. Your neck is stiff with the effort it takes to not whip your head around to check over your shoulder, see if your mom or dad are peeking through the window. Someone doing you a favor to pick you up at your house is one thing- someone getting out of their car to wait for you? It sends a different message. One your family would easily interpret as intimate, pluck an assumption out of so they can nettle you with it later.
Something seems to click for Adrian, and his shoulders slump minutely in dejected understanding. Youâre too distracted by your fretting brain to register the light dim from his eyes before he trudges around the front of the car back to the driverâs side. He did not open the door for you.
Itâs only once youâve heaped yourself into the passenger seat, door slammed shut, do you chance a peek back at the house. Seeing no movement at any of the windows, no subtle shifting of blinds, you exhale and fasten your seatbelt.
âSorry about that,â you start as Adrian settles into the car. âThatâs probably not the best way to greet you when youâre doing me such a huge favor.â Your laugh is sheepish, smile apologetic when you glance over at him.
He just kind of shrugs in response, putting the car in drive. âYeah, I get it. Youâre embarrassed by me.â
You blink at him. âWhat?â
âLook, I totally understand. Gut was that way, too.â
Shame heats your face as you listen, wide-eyed, to Adrian talk resignedly about being the Embarrassing Other that people donât enjoy associating themselves with. You hadnât even considered that would be his takeaway, too caught up in your own feelings. It seems obvious though, now- the boy who grew up nearly friendless. The annoying younger brother. An ostracized afterthought, the skinny nerd with glasses too big for his face and voice too high-pitched to be taken seriously as puberty overlooked him to instead lend itself to his peers.  Â
You scramble to interrupt. âAdrian, no, Iâm so sorry. Iâm an idiot.â He gives you a sideways glance, mouth hanging slightly ajar as he continues driving. âI⌠didnât mean to make you feel that way. You donât embarrass me.â
âOh,â he says. Like he doesnât quite believe you yet.
âI just didnât want my parents to see you and get the wrong impression.â
âWhat, that Iâm more than just your Uber driver?â He smiles. Laughs, even, but something in his tone makes you flinch.Â
Truthfully, you didnât think Adrian had it in him to put bite in his words. Not directed at you, at least. But maybe that was presumptuous of you. You probably deserved it. Even so, tears prick stupidly at your eyes (something that has been happening quite a lot since moving back to Evergreen). Heâs the one that even offered to do this in the first place! So you clear your throat and try to explain:
âI spend more time at work than at home, okay? If my parents saw you, theyâd think youâre the real reason, and that Iâve been lying about working overtime.â
He frowns. âI donât understand. Canât you just talk to them?â
âI donât expect you to,â you mutter, attempting to curl in on yourself. ââSides, we donât really⌠talk.â
With no further explanation provided, Adrian prods. âOkay, well then⌠why are you working so much OT?â
You absently pull your bottom lip between your teeth. The truth is that coming back home makes you feel like a burden. Since returning, shame has barely allowed you to make eye contact with your parents. If you stay out of sight, maybe theyâll forget youâre even there.Â
So you found a job at a cafe that needed an experienced barista to help manage their newly-opened store. You haggled for night shifts so that youâd have an excuse not to be home for dinner. Your bosses--a frugal, married couple that donât want to spend too much on employees but still need to make sure they give people their due days off--reluctantly agreed to your terms but had to put their foot down and give you at least one day off a week.
Youâre not about to unload all of that on Adrian, though; you tell him the partial truth instead.
âThe quicker I make money, the faster I can move back out.âÂ
âOh.â
âThis car thing is gonna set me back, though,â you grumble, more to yourself. Â
âOkay.â His voice is soft. Not entirely understanding, but soft. âWell, the drinks you make me are fucking delicious, so Iâm sure youâll get a raise in no time. Also, youâre so pretty so I bet the customers tip extra when youâre working. I see it happen at Fennel Fields all the time.â
This startles a laugh out of you. You had pieced together that Adrian has a habit of shamelessly saying whateverâs on his mind, filter be damned, but the outright compliment still surprises you.Â
You donât quite take in the way his eyes kind of soften at the sound of your laugh.
âI let Ashe and the others take all the tips,â you say. âBesides, you may think Iâm pretty, but I can be kind of⌠accidentally⌠rude, sometimes. To customers.â
âI mean, you did offer me cocaine that one time-â
âIt was a suggestion, and I was joking, Adrian-â
âBut still, I donât think youâre rude! Youâre nice to me.â
You snort. âIâm rude to you, like, all the time. But also, I like you, so you get special treatment.â
Adrian all but beams. His smile stretches across his face and it makes his cheeks glow, drawing your attention to his pink cheekbones beneath his frames. You watch him as he faces the road through the windshield. Gosh, you wish you got to see his face last night. It must have been flushed from the brief make-out session, and you didnât even get a chance to enjoy it.
Enjoy it.
You hold your hands in your lap, rubbing soothing circles against the palm of one with the thumb of the other, and chew thoughtfully on the inside of your cheek, ruminating over how fucking miserable youâve been. How isolating itâs been these past few weeks, in the self-imposed prison of your childhood bedroom. Well- teenhood, really. Getting only snatches of joy from making the perfect foam for cappuccinos, honing your latte art, and in visits from one cute bespectacled man.
Maybe it was time to stop wallowing. Maybe it was time to allow yourself some happiness on purpose.Â
When Adrian parks in front of The Evergreen Bean, youâre quick to undo your seatbelt. As he turns his head to face you, your palms cup his cheeks--youâre fully facing him, torso twisted, left leg mostly propped onto the seat and against the center console--and you search his pretty, startled green eyes (his face feels so soft and warm and nice)-
-and you pull him closer and press your lips to his and watch his eyes flutter shut, and yours follow suit, his posture relaxes and you both sigh into it-
And so you continue to kiss Adrian Chase.
********
The cafe is quiet today. Thereâs no line of customers, just a couple of people sitting in cafe with laptops or books or engaging in quiet chatter.
Adrian has time to kill before his shift starts, so he follows you into the cafe and is immediately lauded by the morning shift barista.
âOh, Ashe, is this him? He is kind of cute, actually.âÂ
âMatty, behave,â you reprimand, going behind the bar to clock in.
Matty is around Asheâs age, one of the shift supervisors at The Everbean Green that was more than happy to take on a majority of the morning shifts while you closed up shop. A morning person in every sense of the word, his exuberant, sunshine-y demeanor balanced out your more quiet, reserved personality at work.Â
And currently, his and Ashe's attention are zeroed in on Adrianâs suspiciously swollen lips, which slowly break into a smile. âWait, me? You think Iâm cute?â
You bite back a smile as Ashe laughs and Matty affirms that yes, he finds Adrian cute, and you watch the compliment turn the tips of Adrianâs ears pink.
âYeah, Iâm loving the whole serial killer vibe,â Matty praises, resting heavily against the counter, chin propped up by his open palm.Â
Adrianâs smile slips, eyes widening in panic, and you briefly consider punching Matty in the throat. âWhat? No, Iâm not- I donât- Iâm not a serial killer. Why would you say that?â
âIâm not saying you're a serial killer, babe, but the glasses? The neat, combed over hair? The endearingly hideous sweater? Very Dahmer. Iâm into it.â
âWell, Iâm not a serial killer. Or any kind of killer, for that matter. Iâve- Iâve never killed anyone before and wouldnât- wouldnât even know how to. I mean, sure-â
âOkay, alright-â you cut Adrianâs stumbling defense off, coming to his rescue. âMatty, you canât say things like that to him. Heâs, like, super against breaking the law. Freaks out at the idea of it.â
Mattyâs shoulders slump. âOh, ew, really? Boring.âÂ
Losing interest, he returns his attention to shift supervising. Ashe teases him for his serial killer fetish. You drown them both out as you tie your apron behind your back.
Adrian looks- nervous? Shoulders tense, rigid. Like he still needs to justify that heâs not some kind of psycho killer. You try reeling him back in.Â
âAdrian, hey, itâs cool. Just ignore Matty. Let me make you something new today, yeah?â
He distractedly concedes, so you turn your back on him and get to prepping his drink. When you turn back around, heâs leaning towards you over the counter, softly calling your name.
âYou donât-â he pauses to clear his throat, lowers his voice, and continues, âyou donât think Iâm a murderer, or anything, do you?â
Even for Adrian, itâs kind of weird heâs being so adamant about this. Still, though- you brush off the uneasy feeling tickling the back of your mind with a snort. âPlease, Adrian. I know you wouldnât hurt a fly.â
âOh, no, Iâve definitely killed flies before,â he corrects, voice returning to a normal volume. âAnd spiders. But itâs not- those are fine. Not illegal or anything. I checked.â
This makes you genuinely giggle, and Adrian visibly relaxes at the sight, a smile returning to his face. Like your laughs are a balm for his nerves. The very thought makes you sheepishly avert your gaze, and finish up his drink.
âHere,â you say, popping the lid onto his latte, smooshing down the whipped cream (you know you give him soy milk, but itâs just some whipped cream. You gotta try the drink with the whip!) âA seasonally appropriate salted caramel latte. Hope you like it.â
âOoh, goody!â he exclaims, and promptly burns his tongue on the first sip. âThatâs-ow-itâs hot-â
âYeah, no shit, itâs hot. I steamed the milk. You saw me do it-â
âIâm just so used to the iced ones. You always make me iced ones.â
You keep squabbling like that until a couple more customers enter the store, at which point you start shooing Adrian away. He points at his mouth before backing up. âTongue still hurts.â
You roll your eyes. âAnd?â
âYou gotta kiss it better."
Heat spikes through you, and your mouth twitches in amusement. âGet out.â
********
The plan is to wait for Adrianâs shift to end so he can give you a ride back home. He was worried about how late youâd get home, but you waved it off as an unforeseen upside of the whole situation. It provides an excuse to get home later, after your parents have definitely fallen deep asleep.
Restlessness overtakes you, however. On any other night, with a car of your own and the freedom to leave when you want, you wouldnât mind just chilling by yourself in the cafe after close. But waiting for Adrian makes you antsy, and maybe you can blame it on the four shots of espresso you decided to drink last minute, but impatience crackles beneath your skin and you just really want to make your way towards Adrian.Â
Impatience. Or the eagerness akin to a schoolgirl with a stupid little crush.Â
Adrian said Fennel Fields was just down the street, so you make sure the back and front doors are securely locked and venture out into the chilly October night.Â
Turns out âdown the streetâ means trekking past some seedy bushes and weird shifting shadows and a small stretch of road that doesnât feel very pedestrian-friendly. But you brave it anyway, because thatâs what people with caffeine coursing through their nighttime veins do, right?
Maybe the PM coffee wasnât that bright an idea, but, whatever.
You enter the restaurant, and the hostess that meets you at the front is nice and professional enough to ignore your labored breathing.Â
(You may or may not have jogged the last leg of the way upon hearing the terrifying snap of a twig.)
âHi, how many?â she asks, giving you a once over. âOr, are you here to pick up an order, or..?âÂ
âOh, Iâm not here to eat! Iâm just waiting for Adrian.â
She tilts her head. âWho?â
You blink at her. âAdrian? Adrian⌠Chase? He works here..?â You scratch at your cheek, suddenly unsure. The sign outside was definitely a poorly-drawn graphic of a fork twirling a single strand of spaghetti, like Adrian said.Â
Luckily, you spot him carrying a tub of dirty dishes between the rows of tables, and wave him down. When he notices, his face lights up with surprise and, distracted, his steps stumble and you watch him struggle to keep from toppling over. He marches over to you once he finally rights himself, glasses partially askew.
The hostess looks between you both--her glances towards you a little disbelieving--before finally going, âohh, right. Sorry about that.â She slinks off with a shrug once Adrian reaches you.
Adrian puts the tub of dishes down on the podium where the menus sit. âWhat are you doing here?â
âHow does your co-worker not know your name?â you ask at the same time, scrunching your face distastefully in the direction she disappeared to.
âDid you take an Uber, or something?â Adrian peers behind you out the storefront windows into the night, ignoring your question.
âNo. Youâre my Uber, remember?â
Adrian adjusts his glasses with quirk, jerky movements so the frames sit pretty on his nose again. He gives you a wide-eyed, disapproving look. Is he⌠angry with you? Like, for real?
âUh, hey, maybe let me know next time?â
Pfft. âAre you serious? It was just a short walk.â A short, mildly horrifying walk. âWhatâs your problem?â
He does that thing where he puts his hands on his hips in disapproval, and youâre having a hard time taking him seriously. He looks so cute in his work uniform.
âThere are some real creeps out at night.â
âPssht, please, no worries. Vigilante would save me.â You grin up at him, laughing off his worries.Â
Adrian gets flustered, raises his voice at you. âYeah, well, he canât be everywhere at once!â
Something in you falters. You reel in your enthusiasm, taking a quick glance around the remaining customers in the restaurant. People are looking.Â
âOkay, Adrian, chill out,â you soothe, voice soft. âIâm sorry. I didnât mean to freak you out. Iâll send a text next time.â
Adrian nods, diffusing, taking a steadying breath that expands his chest beneath his tan-colored apron. To stop yourself from staring at the movement, you instead focus on the curls peeking from beneath his silly little work cap. An adoring smile graces your face as a result.
âWhat? Do I have something on my face?â
âNo,â you shake your head. âYour uniformâs cute, by the way.â
This melts whatever remaining worry was creasing Adrianâs brow. Replaces it with a smile. âYeah? Thanks.â A pause. âYouâre not making fun of me, are you?â
âCross my heart.â
âThatâs nice, but that doesnât answer my question.â
âHurry up and get out of work so I can kiss you again, dork.â
********
Itâs a little past midnight when Adrian clocks out, and you drag him to the backseat of his Sebring. The parking lot is mostly empty. The lights from the streetlamps barely illuminate the space within, where you once again have Adrianâs lips pulled flush against yours.
Itâs very easy to ignore the small, nagging part of your brain thatâs worried this might be inappropriate, with your hands tangled in his messy hair and his hands grabbing feverishly where they can on your body. And his moans, God, heâs so noisy, appreciative sounds rumbling in his chest, filling the space between you.
This is fine, you tell yourself. This isnât sex.
(The warm, syrupy feeling that pulses low in your abdomen kind of wants it to be sex, though.)
Your tongue slides eagerly against his lips, and he groans before breaking the kiss, his panting breaths earning themselves a sweet spot in your fluttering chest.
âIs this fine? Donât I have to get you home? Your parents-â
âPlease donât bring up my parents when Iâm trying to stick my tongue down your throat,â you say, lips skimming the skin of his cheek and trailing down against his jaw. He shivers against you.
âSorry.âÂ
Your lips skirt lower to the enticing expanse of his neck. He somehow keeps talking.
âItâs just- with what you said earlier.â
âMm,â you hum against him. His hands tighten their hold on your back and waist in response.
âNow I really am the reason youâre not home.â
âAdrian,â you murmur, sighing into the warm space of his neck. âIâm kind of trying really hard not to think about all of that stuff right now. Hence, this makeout session.â
âSorry, sorry! Itâs just, I kind of get the feeling that-hhhffuck-!â
You cut him off with a delicious scrape of your teeth on the side of his neck, latching your lips to suck at the skin there. Adrian tenses up against you, breath hitching, becoming trapped in his throat.
You pull away from him, search his eyes in the darkness. âIâm sorry, was that too much? I probably shouldâve asked permission first..â
âHonestly, at this point, you can probably do whatever you want to me forever,â he replies, breathless.
You erupt into triumphant giggles, and he descends upon your mouth and swallows the bubbling laughter. Adrian licks into your parted lips. And everything that plagues you stops mattering so much.
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