i don't want to miss you like this
Adrian Chase x fem!Reader
vegas wedding bonus episode
synopsis: Adrian's neverending streak of back to back missions is finally over. Now that he knows what it's like to be without you, he never wants to feel like that again. Luckily, there's a chapel right down the block where he can make you his for good.
tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, FLUFF (literally so much fluff), SMUT (piv sex in multiple positions, oral f!receiving), marriage proposal, wedding!!, 11th Street Kids cameos, Adrian is so in love it's sickening
word count: 6.1k
notes: IT IS FINALLY HERE! I have no idea why this took me literally a month and a half to write but I hope the wait was worth it <3 please enjoy these assassins being sappy and unbearably in love. thank you as always to @embeanwrites and @snowyathena for reading this through for me!!
part one | part two | part three | part four | bonus episode | Masterlist
The fifteen-hour drive back down to Vegas flew by much faster with you sitting in the passenger seat, Adrian thinks.
The mission itself flies by, too. Five days ago, he laid just like this in this stupid motel room bed, in silent agony, missing you, dreading the silent, lonely nights ahead of him.
Now, he lies here with you sat astride him, stuffed full of his cock, and the bed frame rattles and squeaks, matching your little moans and gasps every time he thrusts up into you, your breasts bouncing, your nails digging into his chest.
“Come on, baby,” he pants. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—”
“Ah—oh, god,” you sigh, rolling your hips so Adrian’s cock hits you right where you want it. You fall forward a little, let yourself rest on his chest, and he takes over entirely, grabbing you by the hips, lifting you up and dropping you back down, relishing in the tiny noises that escape you every time he hits you nice and deep.
Lying forward like this, your face hovers just above his, and you lean down the few inches to connect your lips with his. He groans at the back of his throat when your lips trail down his jaw, when your teeth nibble at the skin of his neck.
“I’m gonna—need you to come, baby, please, I need it,” he says over the sound of his hips snapping up into yours. He can feel that you’re close from the way you’re holding yourself so tensely. “Touch yourself for me, you can—”
Your hand works between your bodies, between your legs, right to where you’re joined, and rubs furiously at your clit. “Adrian—Adrian—”
He feels it when you shatter, your entire body trembling, and his own body shudders with pleasure as he topples over the edge right along with you.
“Fuck,” he gasps. You collapse, boneless, on top of him, and his arms come around you to hold you close, tracing gently up and down your back, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“That’s one way to celebrate a mission well done,” you murmur, and he laughs.
“My favorite way,” he says, kissing the side of your head. “You know that. It’s been torture, without you.”
You kiss his cheek softly. “No more torture.”
“Only the sexy kind,” Adrian grins.
You roll your eyes. “Come on. Let’s clean up before dinner. No funny business in the shower. We don’t have time,” you say firmly.
“Of course not,” Adrian says innocently. He’s lying through his teeth. He knows it, and you do too. There’s absolutely no way he’ll be able to keep his hands off of you, especially when you get out of bed and start walking toward the bathroom with your hips swaying like that, glancing over your shoulder with a teasing look.
“You’re evil,” he says, scrambling after you. Your laughter echoes off the tiled bathroom wall.
An hour later, Adrian is almost fully dressed, in his jeans and socks, picking out a shirt. You’ve got half an hour before you’re due to meet Emilia and Chris for dinner.
“Not-Economos isn’t coming,” Adrian reports, reading a text message from Chris. “Emilia declared the mission over, and he dipped. He’s going back to Evergreen. Not that I blame him.”
“His name is Marcus,” you remind Adrian.
“I really don’t give a fuck,” Adrian says as he responds to Chris’s message. You just shake your head, giggling and digging through your bag for a fresh pair of jeans, clad only in your bra and underwear.
“Hey, Ade?” you ask, your tone curious. He looks up from his phone to see you holding up the dress.
The pretty white one, from your closet. That he’d shoved at the bottom of your bag. His heart picks up speed, and his hands suddenly feel clammy.
“Yeah?” he says, trying to play it cool.
“I know I didn’t pack this for myself,” you say, raising an eyebrow. “You planning to take me on a hot date?”
Adrian’s mouth goes dry, watching you hold the dress up against your body.
Am I actually doing this? he thinks, as he looks at you standing there, half-naked and beautiful and here and his. It was a split-second decision, shoving that dress at the bottom of your bag back in Evergreen. He could play it off now, say he wants to take you dancing, or to a nice dinner. But his eyes flick to your left hand. Your empty ring finger. He imagines a diamond sitting there, sparkling, as your hand clutches the fabric.
He clears his throat and decides.
“Maybe,” he says. “If…if you want.”
“Hmm,” you tease. “I don’t know, where are you taking me?”
Adrian swallows nervously.
“One of the chapels on the Strip,” he says. Hesitant. Hopeful.
You freeze, the floral fabric wrinkling as you clench it in your fists.
“Are you serious?” you ask. There’s something in your voice he hasn’t ever heard before. A little breathy wobble.
Adrian looks at you carefully, the way you’re looking at him with wide eyes. The surprise is written on your face, clear as day, but it’s hard to know what you’re thinking, and it makes him even more nervous. His heart skips, a quick rhythm he feels right at the back of his throat, but—it’s out in the universe now. He can’t take it back.
He doesn’t want to take it back.
“I’ve never been more serious,” he says quietly, even as his voice shakes, setting his phone aside and standing up to walk over to you. Your eyes are glassy as you look up at him, and his hands skate up your waist, your arms, your neck, until his hands cup your cheeks. “I love you. And I just spent—all those weeks alone, and now I know what it’s like. To live without you. And I never want to do it again.”
“You want to…marry me?” you whisper, like you can’t believe it.
“I do,” he says, and you smile, wide and bright, your cheeks smushing a little between his hands.
“Really? You’ve—I mean—we’ve never even talked about it—”
“I know,” he says quickly. “I know I’m springing this on you. I just—I was thinking about it the other night, when me and Peacemaker were out doing touristy shit, and I saw all the couples coming out of the chapels, being happy and in love, and—I wanted to do that. With you.”
“I want that too,” you say softly. “I want to marry you, Adrian.”
“Yeah?” he whispers. You nod, and he smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and he laughs. “Really?”
“Really,” you say. “Let’s get married.”
“It doesn’t have to be here, or now,” Adrian says. “It can just be the two of us at the courthouse in Evergreen for all I care. Or—I am technically ordained. I did it online a couple years ago when I was bored. But I don’t know if I’m allowed to marry myself? I mean, not marry myself, but marry myself, you know—”
“No,” you interrupt. “Now. Today. Well—not today. Tomorrow. We need to call John and Ads, and give them time to fly down, so they can be here. And—we need to get rings, and I love you, baby, but you are not wearing the Vigilante suit at the altar—”
“Why not? It’s the nicest outfit I own!”
“You literally killed someone last night. It’s covered in blood.”
“Oh. Right,” he says. “I guess I can probably rent a suit or something, right? Maybe a teal bow tie?” His question is hopeful. You giggle.
“I wouldn’t expect any other color.”
“We’re really doing this?” Adrian asks, because he needs to make sure. That this moment is happening, that this is real.
“Ask me,” you say. “Say the words.”
Adrian’s smile widens. “Will you marry m—”
You cut him off with a kiss, dropping the white dress to the floor so you can wrap your arms around his neck and hitch yourself higher. He does what you’re wordlessly asking, lifting you in his arms, and your legs wrap around his waist as your lips move against his. You’re saying something between kisses, in tiny, quiet gasps.
“Yes,” you say, and Adrian’s heart sings. “Yes, yes, yes—”
Then you’re reaching down, pulling at his belt, unzipping his pants, shoving them down to his ankles. He grinds against you, he can’t help it, walking you back against the wall, and you whine.
“Please,” you say. “God, please—”
Adrian shoves your underwear aside and pushes into you, a slick, smooth slide, and he fucks you right there against the wall in frenzied thrusts that knock his glasses askew. You pull his mouth to yours and kiss him, let him swallow every sound you make, every word of praise you breathe.
“So good to me,” you say. “I love you so much.”
“I love you,” he gasps into your mouth. “God, I fucking love you.”
Your head falls back against the wall when you come, fluttering around his cock, and he spills into you almost immediately after, hot pleasure rushing through him.
Fifteen minutes later, you’re cleaning yourselves up, almost certainly going to be late for dinner, but you can’t bring yourselves to care. You keep stopping, pausing for one more kiss, and it takes longer than usual for you to pull your clothes on and make yourself presentable.
“Are you sure?” Adrian says, checking in one last time before you go. “I mean it. We don’t have to do this now. We can wait. Have a big, fancy ceremony, and get you a nice expensive sparkly dress, and a cake with like, ten layers—I can make Chris and Economos wear bowties, and maybe Eagly could be our ringbearer—”
“I don’t need any of that,” you say softly. “I just need you. And our friends. But I don’t care about all the rest. I just want to be with you, for the rest of my life.”
On the walk to the restaurant, you call Ads. Adrian can hear her screeching in your ear even from several feet away, and he laughs.
“You’ll be here, right?” you ask. “You and John. I need a maid of honor. Yes, you. Oh, Ads, don’t cry—”
Meanwhile, Adrian calls Economos.
“Hey, Adrian,” he answers. “What’s up? I don’t have time for an animal quiz today, I gotta—”
“Ads is gonna book you a flight to Vegas,” Adrian interrupts.
“I—what?”
“We’re getting married,” Adrian says, and Economos makes a choking noise.
“What?”
“I mean, we’re not getting married. I’m not marrying you,” Adrian clarifies. “Obviously. I’m marrying my girlfriend. My fiancee. Who I love very much. Everyone else is coming, so you have to be there too.”
“Jesus Christ,” Economos says. “I knew what you meant, dude. But holy shit, you’re not kidding? Okay. Um. Fuck. I guess I’ll drop everything in my entire life and hop on a last-minute flight to Vegas because I have nothing better to do—”
“You don’t have anything better to do,” Adrian says, confused. “You don’t have a life.”
“Fuck you,” Economos says, but he’s laughing. “Goddamnit. I guess I have to go pack a bag. Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” Adrian says brightly. “See you tomorrow!”
When you sit down at the dinner table, Adrian doesn’t even give Harcourt time to criticize you both for being ten minutes late.
“We’re staying an extra day,” Adrian declares, sliding out your chair for you and then plopping down into his own with a huge smile.
“Five days ago, you were ready to quit your job because you wanted to not be here so badly,” Chris says. “What gives?”
“I didn’t miss home, I missed her,” Adrian says simply. “And we’re staying for a reason. Actually, you need to stay too, so you can be here. You were included in the ‘we.’ Ads and Economos are coming down, we just talked to them on the walk over here.”
“Ads and John are coming? To Vegas?” Emilia clarifies, brows furrowed.
“For what?” Chris asks, similarly bewildered. “The mission is done. I mean, we can have a bomb ass 11th Street Kids reunion and get plastered at the casino. You don’t need to ask me twice. But we can also get plastered on the roof of Emilia’s apartment building for a lot cheaper.”
You reach for Adrian’s hand on top of the table, a tiny smile on your face. He rubs his thumb over the empty spot on your ring finger. Emilia watches the movement with sharp eyes.
“Holy shit,” she says. “You’re not.”
You smile. “We are.”
“You’re what?” Chris says, looking around the table at each of you in turn.
“Oh my god,” Emlia says, clasping a hand over her mouth. “Holy shit. Holy shit.”
“What are you holy shitting about!” Chris cries.
“They’re getting married!”
Chris’s eyes go wide, and he looks to Adrian for confirmation, but he’s too busy staring at you, all love-struck and smiley.
“Dude! Why didn’t you fucking tell me! I’m your BFF!”
“It was a spur of the moment thing!” Adrian says.
“What the fuck!” Chris sputters. “Well—fine. I’m gonna be your best man, though, right?”
“Obviously,” Adrian says.
“And I asked Ads to be my maid of honor. They’ll be here tomorrow afternoon,” you add, smiling.
Emilia shakes her head. “Holy shit. Oh my god. This is crazy. I mean, it’s not crazy. I know you guys love each other. Well. It’s a little bit crazy, but Adrian is a little bit crazy, so really, what am I expecting here?”
“Aw man, Eagly’s gonna miss it,” Chris sighs. “He could have been your ringbearer or something.”
“That’s what I said!” Adrian exclaims.
“Shut the fuck up, Chris,” Emilia sighs, and you just laugh.
“Isn’t it bad luck to spend the night together before the wedding?” Emilia teases at the end of the night. You giggle, but Adrian frowns.
“That’s a tradition rooted in misogyny,” Adrian says matter-of-factly. “And respectfully, I think I’ve spent enough nights sleeping alone recently.”
“Fair enough,” Chris notes.
“Too many wedding traditions are about owning women,” Adrian continues. “Like someone walking the bride down the aisle to ‘give her away.’ She’s not an object!”
“Thank you for respecting my autonomy, honey.” He beams at you. “I still think we should do something the old-fashioned way,” you say.
“Well, you’re gonna wear a white dress,” Adrian says. “Which is supposed to symbolize purity or some bullshit like that. Obviously I don’t care about that, I mean, literally this morning we were—”
Emilia slaps him on the back of the head before he can finish his sentence, and you laugh.
“Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue?” you suggest. “No misogyny or bullshit there. That’s just for luck, I think.”
He tilts his head thoughtfully. “Does teal count as blue? Or green? I want a teal bowtie.”
“I think the bride is supposed to have all four things,” Emilia says.
“More misogyny,” Adrian says. “Why does she need to carry the weight of superstition on her shoulders? This is a partnership. We shoulder all burdens equally.”
Chris rolls his eyes. “Yes, Adrian, teal is blue.”
“Perfect! And you already have a white dress, babe. What year did you buy it?”
“Why?”
“We need to know if it’s old or not.”
“I think the fact that it was buried at the back of the closet qualifies it in the ‘old’ category.” You giggle at Adrian’s thoughtful concentration. When his mind is set to something, he takes it incredibly seriously.
“I’ve got something you can borrow,” Chris tells Adrian.
“What is it?” Adrian asks excitedly.
“It’s a surprise.”
“I love surprises!” Adrian says excitedly.
“I know,” Chris says. “It’s almost like—get this—I’m going to be your best man for a reason.”
“So if you’re going to shoulder all burdens equally,” Emilia says dramatically, looking at you with a smirk, “that means we get to go shopping tonight for ‘something new.’ What are you thinking? Accessories? Something for your hair, or a bracelet?”
“I’ve got an idea,” you smile, and Adrian immediately opens his mouth to ask what it is, but you interrupt. “It’s a surprise.”
“Two surprises in one day,” Adrian says. “And I’m getting married? Tomorrow is going to be the best fucking day ever.”
“I’ll go with you,” Emilia says. “We can go buy whatever you’re thinking, and then we can meet Chris and Adrian at one of the casinos for one last drink before we turn in for the night.”
“Wait,” Adrian pouts. “Without me?”
“How is it going to be a surprise if you come with me?” you ask.
Adrian looks torn between wanting to cling to your hand for the rest of the night and getting his surprise tomorrow. He hasn’t let you out of his sight since the day he drove fifteen hours straight to get home to you after five weeks of being apart. You’ve been within arms’ reach for almost an entire week, and the idea of you watching you walk away from him, even for just a few hours, makes his chest feel tight with panic. You can see it in his eyes, and you cup his cheek in one hand and kiss him softly.
“I’ll be with Em. You’ll be with Chris. I am not leaving Vegas, you are not leaving Vegas. No more missions. We’re together. I’m not leaving you.”
Adrian takes a shaky breath.
“I know,” he says quietly. “Just…be quick?”
“Two hours,” you promise, and he nods.
“Okay,” he says. “Here.” He opens his wallet and pulls out a wad of cash.
“What—”
“To buy your something new,” he says, shoving the money into your hands.
“You’re ridiculous,” you say, but you take the money, because he’ll argue with you if you don’t. “I’ll see you in a couple hours.” You pull out your phone and set a two-hour timer, holding it up for him to see, and watch a little bit more tension drain out of him.
“I love you,” he says.
“I love you too,” you say, and you kiss him again. “And when I get back, we’ll go pick out our rings, okay?”
“Ooh! Can I bring my Vigilante gloves with me? Maybe they can, like, embroider the left one—”
“Embroider your glove?”
“With some silver thread or something,” he nods. “The people need to know that Vigilante is off the market. Even the criminals should know that I’m taken, babe.”
Chris rolls his eyes. You just kiss your fiance and smile.
The next morning feels weirdly normal. Adrian wakes up with you curled around him, and he feels so fucking grateful for it, because the memory of an empty bed is still fresh in his mind. You’re still sleeping. He closes his eyes and pulls you closer.
But then you’re kissing him, softly, and he smiles as he realizes you’re awake after all.
“Good morning,” you say, your voice all raspy from sleep. He pulls you on top of him. He’s been doing that all week, using you like a blanket, your weight pressing him down into the mattress, comforting and secure.
Adrian opens his eyes when you laugh. You’re a little blurry. He hasn’t put his glasses on yet. You can tell he’s squinting, and you reach over to the bedside table, then slide them on his face for him. He steals another kiss after you do, then checks his phone.
“Can you believe we’re getting married in seven hours, twenty-nine minutes, and forty-one seconds?” he asks, grinning.
“What?” you ask, bewildered that he’s keeping track down to the second, but he misunderstands your confusion.
“You did agree to marry me yesterday, didn’t you?” he says, a little uncertain. “I made an appointment on my phone last night. Unless—you’re not sure? We don’t have to—”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” you interrupt quickly, putting a few fingers over his mouth to stop him talking. He can’t help himself. He kisses your hand, and you smile. “I just—how do you know down to the second?”
“It’s kinda one of the greatest, most important things that’s ever going to happen to me,” he says, trying and failing to sound casual and chill about it when in fact he’s ready to vibrate out of his skin and take you right with him, levitating from the sheer power of his excitement and joy right down the street and through the doors of the chapel.
“You’re such a sap,” you say, but your eyes are shining, and the way you’re smiling at him makes his heart flutter in his chest.
“I’m allowed to be sappy. We’re getting married today,” he says, beaming.
“We’re getting married today,” you repeat, beaming back, just as bright. “Shall we?”
Adrian expects the day to drag, but he’s too busy to watch the clock. The two of you go with Chris and Emilia to pick up Ads and Economos from the airport, and for the first time in months, all of the 11th Street Kids are in one place at the same time.
When you go grab lunch, you stop at a cheap fast-food joint with outdoor picnic tables where you can sit for a while and chat. But it’s not a quick bite. You spend hours there, catching up over too-salty fries, baking in the hot sun, laughing so loud you’re drawing attention to yourselves. Adrian looks around the table and feels so fucking happy he thinks he might explode. All of his favorite people in the whole world are here with him right now, and he gets to marry you today.
Between the trip to the airport and lunch, five hours have passed, and before Adrian knows it, the girls are whisking you off to get you dressed and ready for the evening.
“I’ll see you later,” you say as Ads drags you away into your motel room. Adrian watches you go and feels the familiar pang in his chest that comes with being apart from you, but the ache is soothed with the knowledge that the next time he sees you, you’ll be walking down the street together to the chapel.
He ends up in Chris and Emilia’s motel room with Chris and John, getting ready himself, and when he looks at the clock and realizes there’s only two hours before your appointment time, he’s surprised.
He’s been waiting for the panic to set in all day. That’s what happens in the movies. People get nervous before they get married. It’s a big commitment, it’s a big life decision. But it doesn’t feel like that, not for him.
Adrian decided a long, long time ago that you were it for him. Today, you’re just signing a piece of paper to make it official. He’ll tell you in front of his friends exactly how much you mean to him. But he’s done that dozens of times before. He tells you he loves you constantly. And he knows that you love him, too.
“I promised you something borrowed,” Chris says. He holds out a box for Adrian. “John stopped at the house to pick these up for me before he came down here.”
Adrian cracks open the box, and there’s a pair of silver cufflinks in the shape of Chris’s signature dove of peace.
“Thank you,” Adrian says, and before he can even get properly all choked up about it, Chris is rolling his eyes.
“Don’t be a pussy about it. Just put them on.”
When you text him that you’re ready about an hour later, Adrian nearly trips over himself with eagerness. Chris and John look at him, bewildered, when he rushes out of the motel room and down just a few doors to his own room where you’ve been getting dressed. They watch him knock furiously with fond exasperation.
“He’s so…” John starts.
“Whipped?” Chris suggests.
“Sure, let’s go with that. Just don’t let him hear you say it. He would probably misread a social cue and make it about like, BDSM or something.”
When you open the door, Adrian stares. Ads and Emilia have helped tame your hair into a stunning style, the floral white dress flatters your form absolutely perfectly, and—
“I am so fucking in love with you,” he says. “Fuck. How are you so pretty—”
He reaches for your face to kiss you, but Emilia slaps his hands away.
“You’re gonna fuck up her makeup.”
“Ask me if I give a shit,” Adrian retorts, and he kisses you anyway while you laugh at him.
He does, in fact, smudge your lipstick a little. Once Adrian finally lets you go, Ads rolls her eyes and carefully fixes it as best she can.
As she does, Adrian’s eyes latch onto the sparkling silver necklace at your throat. He reaches for it, picks the charm up between his thumb and forefinger. A tiny letter A. When he swallows, his throat feels tight.
“When did you—”
“My something new,” you say, smiling softly at him as Ads steps back, satisfied with her work.
“Oh,” he says, his own goofy smile growing on his face. “A for—”
“Adrian, yes,” you giggle. “I thought about a V, maybe, for Vigilante, but—”
“It’s perfect,” Adrian interrupts, his voice cracking a bit. “You’re perfect. I’m so happy that I get to marry you, baby.” He goes to kiss you again, and Ads grabs him by the back of the collar.
“I just fixed her makeup, Adrian—”
“Save the sappy speeches,” Chris says from the doorway. “We don’t want to be late.”
Adrian snaps to attention. “No. We should be early, actually. Maybe they’ll get us in quicker—”
“He’s gonna fucking run down the aisle,” John laughs.
Adrian doesn’t run down the aisle. If you were at the end of it, waiting for him, he absolutely would have. But instead, you walk down the aisle together, hands laced tightly, both of you beaming and giggling like idiots the whole way to the altar.
“You’d never guess they were fucking assassins,” John mutters to Emilia, who just smiles and shakes her head.
“Even people surrounded by death all the time deserve a little happiness,” she murmurs.
And you are. The both of you. Happier than you’ve ever been, because you love each other. Adrian has known for ages now that he was going to love you forever, but now—there’s something special about it. Setting it in stone, making it official. Being able to call you his wife instead of his girlfriend, being able to look at the wedding ring he’s going to place on your finger
He’s so caught up in it all—his imaginings of that future—that before he knows it, the officiant is done with his cookie-cutter speech, and offering the floor to the both of you to share your vows, gesturing for you to speak.
You offer Adrian a nervous half-smile and he squeezes your hands. The light in his eyes washes all of your worry away.
“The day I met you, I didn’t even see your face,” you begin. “All I knew was the man behind the mask. I knew you were funny, and brave, and righteous, and a little bit of an idiot, and part of me knew, from that very first week, that I wanted you to be my idiot. Forever. I trusted you to have my back in the field for years, and I have trusted you with my heart for almost as long, and you have done nothing but pour love and laughter into my life. I am so grateful for you, Adrian, and I love you. I will continue to love you for the rest of my life, and I will show you that love every day. No matter how far away we are.”
“When I was growing up, I never thought I’d love anyone like this,” Adrian says, a little choked up. “And now that I do, it’s the most special thing, and Chris might be my best friend, but you are my best best friend, in the whole wide world, and you are so funny and badass and hot and every time I look at you I just feel so—lucky, and every day that I wake up and I get to love you is the best day of my life, and I never want to be without you.” He takes a deep breath after his rambling confession.
The officiant gestures for John and Emilia to step forward. They each hand you something—the rings that you and Adrian had picked out the night prior. Simple, silver bands.
Adrian had wanted to get you something flashier, but you’d reminded him that you were both assassins for a living and you often worked with your hands. A lot of the time, the ring would be living on the new chain around your neck, hiding beneath your shirt right beside the tiny silver letter A. A big diamond would get caught on your clothes and in your hair.
You take the rings now from your friends and slide them onto each other’s left hands. Then your hands come up to cup Adrian’s face, framing his bright, boyish smile that widens even further when he feels the cool metal of your wedding band pressing against his cheeks.
You turn to the officiant. “Can I kiss him now? While you do the boring part?”
The man shrugs. “Be my guest.”
Somewhere in the background, you register the words as the officiant pronounces you husband and wife. Hear the sniffles that Ads and John try to hide, the clapping from Emilia, the wolf whistle from Chris.
You’re too busy kissing your husband to care about any of it.
Several hours later, tipsy and tired, you and Adrian stumble toward your motel room, giggling between kisses. It takes him three tries to get the electronic lock to work because he’s so distracted by your lips on his neck, sending bolts of heat shooting down his spine. He hums and tilts his head to give you better access as the door finally opens.
You start to step inside, but he grabs you by the wrist and yanks you into his chest.
“No,” he says. “I’m supposed to—to do a thing. Carry you.”
“Bridal style?”
“Yeah,” he says. “You’re a bride. My bride. I gotta do my duty. I will not fail at husbanding within the first six hours.”
“I think that’s for when we get home,” you laugh. “And I don’t think husbanding is a verb, baby.”
“Humor me,” he says, picking you up anyway, sending you into another fit of giggles. He steps over the threshold with a goofy smile and then sets you down on the bed and shuts the door behind him. “Okay. All done.”
“Thank you, my love,” you say dramatically.
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Chase,” he teases, leaning over you on the mattress, and then he makes a face. “Ew. Sorry. I wanted that to be sexy, it is not sexy. I’m just thinking about my fucking mom now. Gross.”
“You’re gonna have to tell her,” you point out.
“Not tonight, I’m not,” he says. “Tonight, I am going to make love to my wife, and tomorrow we are going to go home and stay home for several weeks and not talk to anybody except each other, because the rest of the world got to have you for five fucking weeks straight and it’s my turn to be alone with my wife.”
He’s been calling you that all night. Every bartender, every stranger on the street, even to Chris and Emilia and John and Ads, like they don’t know who you are already. The words feel magical on his tongue. He’s not sure he’ll ever get sick of them.
“You’re all mine,” you say. “No missions. No interruptions. Just us.”
You reach up for his bowtie and pull it loose, dropping it on the floor, then push his unbuttoned, already-disheveled suit jacket off his shoulders. His cheeks are flushed, his hair is a mess, his mouth hanging open, reaching forward for your lips, but your duck your head to the side, kissing at his neck instead. He groans.
“You’re so handsome,” you say, nibbling at his jaw as you unbutton his shirt. “How are you so handsome? I’m so lucky.”
“You’re so lucky?” he says incredulously, hands trailing up your thighs. “I’m so lucky. The luckiest guy on the fucking planet. With the most badass, beautiful wife ever. I love you so much.”
“Are you gonna take my clothes off or what? I feel like I’m doing all the work here.”
“I get to see you naked all the time. I only get to fuck my wife in her wedding dress once,” he says. He’s not even smug about it. He’s just—earnest, excited. He just wants you. And you want him just as bad.
He’s just a little bit drunk, maybe, he thinks to himself, the world all hazy and warm. He can’t stop smiling, giggling, and neither can you, the both of you feeding on each other’s joy, amplifying it back in an echo chamber that makes his chest feel tight, like he can’t physically hold in all the love he has for you.
“Do whatever you want with me,” you groan. “Just fucking touch me already.”
Adrian scrambles for your underwear, tugging it down your legs in what he wanted to be a swift movement, but ends up being clumsy. Still, as he dips down to eagerly lick at your slick pussy, you whimper—no matter how clumsy he might be right now, he knows you, knows your body, like the back of his own hand, and it takes him no time at all to work you up to your peak, until your thighs are trembling around his head and his glasses are fogging up.
When you come, tiny gasps of pleasure spill from the back of your throat, and Adrian feels a strange, possessive feeling take over him as he realizes that he is the only one who will ever get to hear you make these noises. Who will ever make you feel this way. You’re his, now, forever, and no one else can ever take you away from him.
“I just can’t believe I get to keep you,” he murmurs, kissing up your body—your belly, your breasts, your neck, until he finally reaches your mouth, delving his tongue inside to meet yours. It’s sloppy. It’s greedy. It’s perfect.
You unbuckle his belt to shove his pants down his thighs, and Adrian groans when his cock springs free and you wrap your hand around him, pumping. He’s already rock hard, leaking precum everywhere, and if he doesn’t fuck you in the next ten seconds, this will be over before it even starts.
He places his hands on your upper thighs, pushing the skirt of your dress up out of the way, and spreads your legs so he has room to settle between them. You lay back on the mattress, watching him, pupils blown so wide he wouldn’t even know what they looked like if he hadn’t spent hours of time staring at your face, admiring every fleck of color in them.
Adrian gives you no warning when he pushes into you, and your eyes flutter shut, thighs tightening around his waist. He thrusts into you with practiced movements, relishing in the fact that he knows your body so well. Knows the exact angle that will hit that sweet sensitive spot inside you, knows exactly how fast and hard you like it. Knows exactly when you’re moments away from your second orgasm, because you start clenching around his cock in that familiar way, tight and warm and perfect.
This time, when you come, Adrian is seconds behind you, his thrusts losing rhythm as he falls over the edge and spills into you. He drops to his elbows until he’s covering you with his whole body, his face hovering right above yours, breaths mingling.
“I love you,” you say, reaching for his left hand. He gives it to you, beaming as you kiss the cool metal of his wedding band. He returns the favor, ducking his head down to kiss the pendant of your new necklace.
“I love you too,” he says. “So fucking much.”
Tomorrow, you’ll head back home with your friends. Next week, you’ll be back at work, doing what you both do best—maiming and killing and whatever needs to be done for the good of your missions. But right now, there’s this. There’s the two of you, joined together, married. And with you, Adrian knows he’s ready to tackle whatever comes along next.
Adrian tag list: @justalotoffanfiction @danversxwasabi @clowninavan @adoresami @a-young-g0d @bastardstevie @am-3-thyst @xoxocamis @morguegrl89 @somethin-sparklyy @secretjesterr @seeingdubs @lovenerdywhitemen2 @jeshomie @aerionshipthrust @deamlucem @tlfg-adrianchase @brianna-merlim @amart-e @countvonklit @pieolsen @gingerjane15 @dosyrosyposy @mylcvemineallmine @rentaldarling @vigilcourt @hot-bean-juice @meg-winchester @sepaaaaa @residentsuperhero
idc if “mrs chase” reminds adrian of his mom that’s OUR name now 💅🏽
