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lady-elena-adeline · 2 years

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— ⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿ dirty valentine

✿ pairing — adrian chase/vigilante x fem!reader

✿ summary — you continue to dig into augustine and adrian comes home after a week-long mission.

✿ warnings — smut, p in v, aggressive sex, fingering, oral (m receiving), aggressive oral sex, choking, gagging, overstimulation, daddy kink, praise kink, stalking, breaking and entering, mentions of violence and murder, cheating, nude photography, mentions of death, age gap.

✿ authors note — here’s just a small little chapter, a bit filler because some things will go down in the next couple chapters lmao. there is some relationship timeline in this and there is discussion of readers age. i know it’s a reader insert but the age gap is important to the story. if you do not like that, then please do not read. thank you (:

masterlist ✿ requests/asks

YOU DIDN'T MEAN TO FIND YOURSELF INSIDE OF AUGUSTINE WARREN'S APARTMENT.

But, of course, your curiosity got the better of you. You knew she wouldn't be home. The group had a mission in another part of the state, and wouldn't be home for a couple days — perfect for snooping. So, you were currently in Augustine's bedroom. You had broken in through an open window and you had found yourself picking at her things. A couple of clothes outside of the laundry basket, but besides that, it was perfectly clean. Not a cup out of place and no trash littered about — it drove you fucking crazy. Of course she would have a perfect little home. A perfectly tidy home to match the perfect personality. It made you sick. You pulled open one of the bedside tables — a gun, a couple knives, some condoms, some handcuffs, and a vibrator. You debated poking holes in the condoms, but decided against it at the thought of Adrian having a child with Augustine. You made it clear early in your relationship with Adrian that you didn't want children. You didn't want to pass your sickness on to your child, and you didn't want your child to experience what you experienced many years ago. Even though Adrian said it was okay — and he was enough of a child, himself — but you always thought he spited you for it.

You made your way to Augustine's dresser. You made sure to put everything you touched back in perfect position. Augustine was a trained government agent, so you had to be very particular and extremely mindful. In one of the drawers that held her socks, a piece of paper was lying on the bottom of the drawer. Out of curiosity, you grabbed the paper — no, a photo. It was a photo of Augustine and another man. They were both in tactical gear and covered in blood and sweat. The male had his arm tucked around Augustine's waist and Augustine was looking up at the male with a bright smile. It didn't take a genius to figure out that this was probably the male coworker Augustine had an "incident" with. Maybe an ex boyfriend. You would need to do more digging on who this man was. You made a note to go back to the video store later that night to see if they had any more files on who the male coworker was.

The rest of the apartment was normal. You didn't find anything else out of the ordinary, except for a photo of Adrian and Augustine hung on the fridge. When you saw that photo, of them kissing outside of a bar in town, a jealous rage overtook you. You know you shouldn't have done anything about it, but you couldn't stop yourself. You ripped the photo in half and shoved it in your pocket. It would make good tinder for your fireplace. It was another cold night in Evergreen. You didn't mind it, though. You enjoyed the cold. The jacket you decided to wear tonight wasn't one of Adrians, it was one of your grandfathers. A big, burly carpenter jacket that still smelt like old wood and cigarette smoke. Your grandparents had been killed in a home invasion the year you turned twenty. You remember crying into Adrian's shoulder when you had found out the news — he just stroked your hair and pressed kisses to your head. A lot of people don't realize this, but you have known Adrian for almost eight years. You two had met one night at Fennel Fields when you were nineteen — he was thirty at this point, maybe twenty nine, you weren't sure. You were having dinner by yourself — you had a rough day, and just wanted to be left alone — and Adrian had come to your table to refill your water. Apparently, you weren't responding to him, so he poked your bicep to get attention. When you snapped your head up from coloring book, you noticed a very loosely wired man with a crooked smile and his glasses falling off his nose. You thought he was cute.

Things escalated from there. You spent more nights after therapy at Fennel Fields and more late nights in Adrian's apartment. A part of you always regretted spending the last year of your grandparents life in Adrian's apartment. By the time your grandparents had died, you had just turned twenty and you and Adrian finally decided to date. You had received your grandparents home in their will, but Adrian convinced you to sell it and move in with him — another thing you will always regret. The engagement came soon after and by the time you were twenty two, you were married. So, it was clear you spent a decent amount of time with this man. You were twenty seven now and older than your mother ever was. When you passed by the video store on your way through town, you hesitated on entering. You decided against it, however. It was late at night and you desperately wanted to rest. You decided you could go another night. Adrian will be yours soon enough.

Adrian was fucking jittering by the time the group had entered Evergreen. Literally fucking vibrating off of his bones, you could feel it if you got close enough kind of vibrating. He was aching with the thought of how many people you had killed while he had been away. How many notes he can't tear through and shove away into the box under his bed. How many times the police come closer to catching you and taking you from him. God, he needed to see you. Adrian, to the bottom of his core, needed to know that you were okay. The team noticed the jitteriness and the bouncing. Normally, Adrian fidgeted with a knife or cleaned his gun. Tonight, his knee was bouncing a foot into the air and he was gripping the edge of his seat for stability. Augustine had whispered something to Adrian about it, but he honestly couldn't hear her over the ringing in his ears. When the van parked at the video store, Adrian literally ran out. He had to see you. He had to see you. It was the only thought on his mind right now and it was driving him insane.

As Adrian was running to his car, Augustine grabbed his arm and halted him. He rolled his eyes and turned towards the redhead.

"Where are you going? You aren't going to take me home?" Augustine asked, fluttering her blue eyes.

"N-No. I'm late for work, I gotta go home and change. Love you!" Adrian placed a quick kiss to Augustine's lips before tearing his arm from her grasp and sliding into his car.

He had never drove this fast in his life. Adrian was going almost seventy miles an hour in a thirty five mile per hour zone, but he didn't care. He needed to know you were safe. The living room light was on when Adrian arrived at your apartment building. He was still in full Vigilante gear, knocking of your apartment door and he could feel how sweaty his palms were under his gloves.

You opened the door. Your hair was wet and you had a towel draped around your body, "Adrian? W-What are you doing here?"

Adrian didn't say anything. He just rushed into the apartment and paced back and forth in the living room. He ripped his helmet and gloves off and tossed them onto the couch. You were scurrying back from the door, trying to follow Adrian. He must have notice you enter the living room, because when you came into his view, he slammed you into a wall. You groaned at the pain from the wall and gripped your bath towel tighter.

Adrian leaned down to your ear. His hand was wrapped around your neck while he nippled on the skin of your ear, “How many people have you killed since I’ve been away, huh? How many, Bunny?”

His hand tightened with each word and your free hand reached up to pull down on Adrian’s. He was much bigger than you, and stronger than you, so your small hand tugging on Adrian’s was useless, “Only four. Didn’t leave any letters, though. I knew you were out of town.”

Adrian’s grip around your neck loosened and your breathed deeply at the relief, “You are such a good girl, huh? Such a good girl for me even now.”

His hot breath against your ear sent a shiver down your spine. You felt the space between your legs grow hotter and you squeezed your thighs together tighter, “Just for you, daddy.”

That was it. It drove Adrian absolutely wild when you called him that nickname. His grip on your hip tightened and you knew it would be bruised the next day. When Adrian left bruises like that on you, he used to take pictures. He liked documenting how much he ruined you, “Drop the towel, baby girl.”

Adrian’s growls sent another shiver down your spine and you listened, letting your small hands drop the towel, leaving it a pile on the floor. Adrian groaned and slipped a hand down to your cunt. Your back arched when Adrian’s fingers ghosted over your dripping pussy, allowing Adrian to attack your neck. You moaned as he slipped a few fingers inside of you and bit down hard on your neck. His fingers pumped in and out of you with a high velocity. It hurt, his fingers stretching you out quickly and violently — but you loved it. You loved the pain permeating from your cunt and neck. Your back arched higher once again and Adrian used this opportunity to wrap an arm around your waist, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist.

He removed his hand from your cunt and quickly shoved his fingers inside your mouth, “Taste yourself while I unbuckle my pants, Bunny.”

You nodded eagerly and began sucking on his fingers. Adrian moaned as he unbuckled his jeans and unleashed his throbbing cock, “God, Bunny. I forgot how good you suck. You always looked so gorgeous with my cock in your mouth. I need to take another photo of my cock in your mouth and you crying. I always came the hardest looking at those photos.”

Adrian released his fingers from your mouth, allowing you to speak, “Adri, please. Please, please touch me. I’ll do anything. I’ll let you fuck my mouth afterwards and take pictures, I’ll do whatever. Just pleaseee touch me.”

Adrian slapped his cock against your cunt, your wetness and his pre-cum mixed. You yelled out at the contact, “Well, baby girl, I’ll hold you to that. Now, I’m going to make you feel so good.”

You gulped as he aggressively slammed his cock inside of you. You screeched out at the sudden stretch of your cunt and dug your nails into Adrian’s back. Adrian began mercilessly fucking you, not taking into consideration the tightness of your cunt and how much it hurt when he slammed into your cervix. Your nails dug into Adrian’s back, you felt the blood forming as you dragged down his back. It was violent, and fucking brutal. It was a lot like them. Adrian’s commentary in your ear was about how tight you were, how much of a whore you are, how you’re his. When you came, you came just the same way, violently and brutal. You literally came undone on his cock. You felt pieces of yourself shed as you ride this euphoric high. Adrian rutted into your cunt before slowly spilling into you. His hips jerked as he groaned in your ear, his hand gripped in your hair. He was still fucking hard, even after he just came. This man was relentless.

Adrian breathed into your ear and readjusted his hand in your hair, “Now, get on your knees, baby girl. I’m going to go grab my phone, okay?”

You nodded and slid down to the floor on shaky knees. You felt leftover mascara drip down your face and you felt Adrian’s come spilling out of your cunt. Adrian returned and opened his phone camera. His free hand gripped your jaw and tilted your head up.

“God, you are fucking gorgeous. You have always been the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. Even now,” You heard the snap of Adrian’s camera as his thumb ghosted over your lips. Your heart fluttered at the compliment and remembered he still had another girl at home, yet he rushed over to you. To see you. To fuck you. Your lips couldn’t help to smirk at the thought of you ruining his relationship with Augustine. Adrian would always come back to you. He always would.

Adrian slowly removed his thumb from your mouth and readjusted his grip on your jaw. He slowly pushed the tip of his cock to your lips and you eagerly took him into your mouth, “Impatient, baby girl, aren’t you? So eager for daddy’s cock, huh?”

You nodded around Adrian’s cock. You allowed your jaw to slack and began focusing your breathing through your nose as he began to fuck your mouth just as mercilessly as your cunt. You realized that Adrian was taking a video, he was always making you tilt your head up, making you make eye contact with the camera. You felt tears spill out of your eyes as Adrian slammed his cock down your throat. He kept mumbling to you how you were such a good girl for daddy, how beautiful you were taking his cock this good. His cock twitched in your mouth and you knew he was about to come again. You reach a hand up to fondle his balls and then Adrian was coming. He came just the same way, violent and brutal. This time, he wasn’t hard though.

You swallowed as much of his come as you can, but some still managed to spill down your lips. Adrian took another photo of you, his fingers scooping up the dripping come to shove it back into your lips. After the last photo, he backed away, “Do you still got some extra clothes of mine?”

You nodded and Adrian went on his way towards your bedroom. You slowly got up, your knees threw ting to buckle underneath you. Your knees were rug burned and would definitely bruise. You picked up your towel from the floor to clean yourself up before making your way to the bedroom too. Adrian was standing in front of you dresser, digging through the middle drawer. He already managed to find some of his old boxers, but he was still searching for a shirt. You walked over to the dresser and opened your underwear drawer. You slipped on a comfortable pair that you loved and snuck your hand in the drawer Adrian was digging in, and pulled out a random shirt of yours.

“A-Are you staying?” You asked, pulling the shirt over your head and fluffing your partially dry hair.

Adrian finally found an old shirt of his. It was a marron long sleeved shirt. He used to wear it in the winter under his cardigans, “Y-Yeah. I’ll stay the night.”

You smiled and jumped into Adrian’s arms. He caught you around the waist as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. Adrian didn’t say anything, he just held you. He petted your semi dry hair and held you tightly against his chest.

“I love you, Adri,” You whispered out, a few tears spilling out of your eyes.

“I love you too, Bunny. Now, come on, let’s go to bed.” Adrian said, guiding you to the bed.

And for the first time in eighteen months, you didn’t sleep alone.

#adrian chase x reader #adrian chase imagines #adrian chase x you #adrian chase x female reader #vigilante x reader #vigilante imagines #vigilante x you #vigilante x female reader #adrian chase #vigilante #reader #peacemaker #dceu #dc #freddie stroma

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lady-elena-adeline · 2 years

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You’ve Never? | Adrian Chase x F!Reader

Synopsis: Best friends will do anything for each other, right? Even if that means aiding in the comfort of ones oral fixation?

Warning: Soft and Fluffy Smut, F Receiving Oral, Pussy Drunk Adrian, Adrian With an Oral Fixation, Language, Squirting, Reader Has Never Had Oral Performed on Her, Mentions of Murder (TV Show they’re watching,)

Rating: E

Author’s Note: Listen Adrian is a king of eating pussy but he also has an oral fixation - fight me on that one….I dare you.

Word Count: 4.5K

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lady-elena-adeline · 2 years

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Heartbeats

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x reader

Summary: Being pregnant wasn't easy, especially going to parties with Bruce wasn't any easier. But he promised you a slushie before you went, so why not.

Word count: ~1k

A/N: hello everyone! I'm back kind of. I've been MIA because finals are the worst but thats fine. Ive been looking forward to writing more for bruce and some other people. I'll be writing a lot more these upcoming weeks. Thanks for sticking around. Also sorry about all the pregnant fics, but I'm gonna keep posting them until my bestie doesn't want them anymore.

Warnings: nothing really; just bruce taking care of his pregnant wife; mentions of alcohol but the reader and Bruce aren't drinking

You and Bruce got rid of the look of professionalism hours ago. Your shoulders snuggly wrapped with his broad black suit jacket that kept your sleeveless arms warm. His arm laid in between your shoulder blades gently. Your face hid in the crook of his neck. Exhausting heels dangled between his free fingers as he talked faintly to the rich person behind you. All the snobby voices blurred together as you fell in and out of sleep.

He promised you it would only be a few hours. He believed that even though these galas seemed to show nothing good to the city, he wanted to break that. He had the money; he had the resources. He was Batman.

Of course, no one knew that. But he wanted people to still trust in the city he once loved and cherished.

He also loved that you came along with him to this event. You always did, even when you knew the outcome of each meeting with another higher up. Another doctor, politician, or lawyer wanted to show up to say that they made a difference.

A quick picture snapped for evidence. They had a feeling of relief that swept through their bodies. It seeped into their fingertips when they left but a small tip for the workers. Believing they contributed to the fallen city.

Bruce left your mind to wander after a few minutes of torture that he put you through. He knew that these galas were tedious and boring. Leaving you to latch onto his coated arm after hours of words exchanged about Gotham that never seemed to happen.

You wanted the private whispers that Bruce painted across your lips and stomach as he wrapped you up in the warmth of his massive bed, providing you safety and warmness away from the stuck-up crowds that you had to endure right now.

Bruce was the only one that cared about Gotham. Words did not matter to him, only actions. That was why he pranced around at night, saving it from the worthless promises the rich seemed to preach to the hopeful citizens.

You believed he was making this city better. He wanted to help this city from falling to ruins since he expected to bring something new into it.

Someone.

A calloused hand gently rubbed over your hand that wrapped around the crook of his elbow. A soft press of lips pressed against your forehead as you heard the gentle mumbling of partings.

He pulled you towards the available table behind you, hoping to provide some stability from your sore legs,

having to hold your body up for long periods. You did it for him. But damn, was it hard. You became restless a long time ago, hoping that he would notice. He felt awful that he dragged you to this gathering. Alcohol poured from sinks as it was pretty much the only thing they served but brought you water and a bunch of snacks, trying to keep you hydrated as he pulled you through the long hallways of Gotham’s art museum.

He promised to get whatever you wanted after the party, hoping that it would give you something to look forward to,

—

“Just a slushie. Please, Bruce,” you begged as he walked you towards the Cadillac, pulling you away from the comforts of the mansion.

He smiled. Your soft lips coaxed him with a smile, believing you had to convince him. You knew that he would give you anything you asked. You were giving him a child. The least he could do is gift you with a slushie.

You deserved the world.

He heard your faint please, as it pulled him from the depths of your delicate glow that bled from your eyes. A smile grew on his lips effortlessly, laying his hands on top of your radiant cheeks, pushing the hair behind your ears. His lips rested by your ear as he whispered in the evening light,

"Anything you want, I promise,"

He would whisper a thousand Thank yous to the sky above and in your ear when he brought you home tonight.

---

"What do you need?" he made eye contact with your tired gaze. He knew it was getting late.

"Nothing, I just want you, Bruce," you murmured. You wanted to go home with your husband. You craved to curl up next to him in bed, his hand resting over your stomach, caressing your aching body as you fell asleep with his lips resting against your forehead, kissing you goodnight, praying for a peaceful sleep. Hoping small kicks to your stomach from the child that kept you up for hours would rest with you.

Bruce grabbed the keys before you could even say please. He took your hand, pulling you towards his chest as he walked you through the crowds of people. The valet already pulling up with the car, laying you on the leather seat, adjusting the seatbelt across your body before he walked to the driver's side to drive off.

The blinding street lights kept you from falling into a deep sleep, you felt the car pull into a drive-through, a mumble of your favorite flavored slushie came from his lips, and a small smile appeared on your tired face. You kept your eyes closed until you felt him kiss your temple gently, a sense of calm enveloped the car as you woke. You saw his thin smile grace his cheeks. The small dimples that only a few people have seen slowly showed.

People didn't see his heart often, only you witnessing the richest man in Gotham professing his love to you in the air around you. In the most hidden parts of the world, in the mansion, against your stomach, he longed to take care of you. The softest touches from him at night to you, even as brutal as Gotham sees him.

When he heard your giggles echo in his car, he felt the condensation of the drink drip on his hands. He knew, at this moment, that you were happy. In this cruel city, filled with heartless criminals, and senses of false hope he knew your happiness was the most important thing to him.

The world didn't care about him, but you did, So if you wanted him to travel to the nearest restaurant to grab you a slushie, he would do it in a heartbeat because it made you happy.

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lady-elena-adeline · 2 years

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✎﹏﹏ Troubled Sleep

✑ Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x wife!reader

✑ Summary: Unable to sleep and afraid of waking up his wife, Anthony leaves to spend the night in his study, where he finally manages to fall asleep, only to face a nightmare. His wife, the reader, wakes up to find him gone and seeks him out.

✑ Requested: Yes/No

✑ Word Count: 2019

✑ Warnings: a bit of cursing, slight mention of their wedding night (sexual innuendo), fluff, cuddling, inability to sleep, mention of a nightmare.

✑ A/N: This is my first Bridgerton fic, so please excuse the fact that I know little to nothing of how they properly speak and act back then. And let me know anything that needs to be changed or added (such as warnings). Thank you for reading! ♡

If someone were to ask Anthony Bridgerton what the worst thing in the world was, he could have named numerous things, as there certainly wasn’t a lack of bad things within the world. Though he knew only one answer at the moment: silk sheets clinging to heated skin. They followed his every movement, collecting every bead of sweat like a prize to be won and continually sought after. He had never known more discomfort than when he was having to peel the sheets from his back, feeling the damp material eager to reattach the moment he settled back down.

After a few more minutes of shifting around, he couldn’t take it anymore. Each time he had moved, you had furrowed your eyebrows, letting out sounds of displeasure. It would only take a few more adjustments before your eyes finally opened and you were awake. As tempting as the idea was, to spend the late night hours with his beloved wife (and promptly tell you he wishes to have the sheets changed), he couldn’t bear the thought of being the reason your sleep was cut short, especially if you’d then have as much trouble as he when trying to go back to sleep. So he settled himself for a few short seconds, allowing the blasted covers to drag him into their fiery depths, as he watched you. Soon enough, your features softened back into the peaceful expression he always wished for you to have, never troubled by anything, and your breathing evened out again. He longed to reach out and brush the hair from your face, or pull you closer to him, because even the few inches of space between your bodies was far too much, but he wasn’t sure he could take much more heat, or that you’d sleep through your body being tugged around.

As gently as he could without stirring you, Anthony rolled himself out of bed. The moment the sheets were no longer pressed into his bare skin and his feet were planted on the cold floor, he felt a bit of relief as the chance to escape the hell in which he had just been encompassed was presented to him. After a glance over his shoulder to ensure that you were still lost in your dreams, he took it. He barely wasted a second in grabbing a shirt to tug over his head before he was excusing himself out into the hallway. He was met with darkness and silence, no longer being graced with the gentle sounds of your breathing or the soft glow of the moonlight flickering through the window. Growing up in Aubrey Hall had given him the innate knowledge of the manor layout and, with a hand out to make sure he didn’t bump into anything, he used that knowledge to find his way to the study. It had become his second bedroom since becoming Viscount: he was certain he could find his way to the room even if blindfolded and spun into a dizzy spell.

As to testify to that claim, he stumbled into the study a few moments later, finally back in the silver light of the midnight sun. It illuminated shelves nearest to the windows, though not nearly enough for him to read which books sat on the shelves. Despite having spent so much time in this very room, the books were never his main priority, therefore given very little attention from him. It also called attention upon the small seating arrangement in the midst of the room, an area for many to relax whilst reading, or in his case, when he needed a break from being hunched over a desk. He stumbled over to the cushioned sofa, sinking his body into the cool material, untouched by anyone for the previous hours. He didn’t have much room here to flip and turn, so he made peace with laying on his side, face towards the back of the furniture and away from the window. It took a few more minutes but with the absence of heat and the horrid bedsheets, he managed to slip into his first sleep of the night, knowing he’d be awake once more in a mere few hours when the sun rose.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

You weren’t certain of the time when you awoke, though you knew it was still dark out and that you were alone. Patting your hand along your husband’s now empty side of the bed, you could tell it had been a while since he had been there.

Worry shot through you as you sat up, squinting into the darkness of the room, “Darling?” A heartbeat passed with no answer so you tried again, opting this time for his name, “Anthony?” Another heartbeat, more silence. The thought that perhaps he had simply gone to use the restroom, or maybe retrieve a midnight glass of water, crossed your mind until you remembered that his side of the bed had run cool. Surely he wouldn’t have taken that long in either of those cases.

While you took care to cover yourself with a robe and to light a small candle, you pondered over where he could have gone. He wasn’t typically one to find peace in a midnight stroll, the only times he had ever happened to go on one was when you drug him along beside you. The next place dawned on you with a sense of obviousness that had you ashamed of not considering it sooner.

With the destination now clear in your mind, you hurried down the hallway, though making sure you didn’t make too much noise to wake anyone else up. You couldn’t even explain why Anthony was up and about, let alone yourself. And it always did take so much effort to get Hyacinth to settle. Outside the study door, you lifted your free hand to rapt your knuckles against the wood, but held them a hair away from the surface.

Now that you knew where he was, and you were certain that he was in this very room, you were unsure of whether or not to disturb him. He was never cross with you when you interrupted him during his working hours, yet you always did hold guilt within your heart when he pushed the papers away to pay attention to you, weariness in his eyes. It took so much out of him to commit himself to the workload, and if it had come to the point where he refused himself sleep for such, who were you to disturb him, furthering the time spent in the office by the length of conversation?

However, before your fist could meet your nightgown and you could turn back towards your shared bedroom, you heard the faintest of sounds coming from the other side of the door. The ear you soon pressed against it picked up on no other noise, yet you still found yourself wrapping your fingers around the handle and gently pushing it open. You had expected to find him hovering over the desk, hair a mess from the many times he had yanked at it in frustration, or standing by the window, allowing himself a little reprieve from duty. You had not expected to find him lying on the sofa, face screwed up and head twitching back and forth, as if to escape whatever was before him. You recognized the signs of a nightmare instantly, a frown forming on your lips as you considered what could be plaguing his mind so incessantly to create such a physical reaction, yet not enough to have him jerking awake.

He made the sound again, a little grunt, before flipping himself over. With the new vantage point, you could make out the pebbles of sweat on his upper lip and the independent strands of hair sticking to his forehead. Even as you took a step closer, reaching out with a delicate hand to brush them back, he never awoke. Though, you noticed, his face had lost a bit of the tension it held as he ceased his movements.

“Only you would pick the smallest seat to lay, my dear,” you murmured, eyeing the small space between him and the back cushions. You could potentially fit, though you would certainly have to lay on him to do so comfortably. The longer you considered this, the more restless he seemed once more, turning his back to you with a harsh twist, leaving you unsure of how he had managed to stay seated and not on the floor. But it also gave you the perfect opportunity to slide your body in. You were correct in assuming that you would be practically one with him in doing this, your bodies pressed closer together than the night of your wedding. And yet, somehow, he did not wake up. You wanted to laugh at this, and you surely would have, had he not chosen that moment to wrap his arm around your waist and lean his face down into your hair. You stilled for just a moment, waiting to see if the new presence would jar him from his sleep, but after a while with no change, you relaxed.

Your upper leg was now tucked between his, the robe sliding off your hip to expose the night dress beneath, and after a moment’s consideration, you let it drape off your arm, as well, collecting into a puddle of fabric behind you. If anyone happened to walk in before you two could find decent clothing, they would be in for a shock. And probably a laugh, depending on who it was that found you. Benedict, you were certain, would make it a point to mock you both for the days following.

But as Anthony finally relaxed into your arms and breathed out a sigh of what you could only assume was relief, you found yourself not truly caring of what the morning could bring, whether that was more peace between you two or the endless taunts of your brother-in-law. With your nose nestled into the crook of his neck, and his still buried into your hair, you met sleep’s kind embrace with a gentle smile.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

As he had assumed, it was the sun’s glare that first awoke Anthony from his slumber. Though the irritation at only receiving a few short hours of sleep and then being greeted with a blinding ray of light died off within seconds when he realized that at some point in the night, you had joined him. You were still fast asleep, as you had been when he first left you, as if you had never once woken up and he had simply carried you here himself. Your limbs were still entwined with each other’s, given that there was truly no space for you two to have stretched out, but he didn’t mind. It was the most comfortable position he could have found himself in. Not even the sun could bother him anymore, or the nightmare that he couldn’t bring himself to remember. He also couldn’t bring himself to get up, to face the day’s responsibilities. To lie with you for a short while longer was his morning’s wish.

If someone were to ask Anthony Bridgerton what the best thing in the world was, he could have named numerous things, as there certainly wasn’t a lack of good things within the world. Though he knew only one answer, an answer that would ring true in any and all moments: Y/N. The scent of vanilla and lavender emitted from you like a comforting beacon and the way your body tucked perfectly against his, bare arm exposed for him to trace delicate patterns upon, had him beginning to drift back into sleep, this time around much more at ease than before and with the sweetest of dreams. He had never known more bliss than when you sighed and pushed your face closer into his chest to hide from the light that snuck past him, or when, as his dancing fingers finally moved to find your hand, your fingers instantly squeeze at his, a resounding reminder that you were always there.

#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton imagines #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton fanfic #anthony bridgerton #reader #bridgerton

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lady-elena-adeline · 2 years

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now we're partners in crime

pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns)

rating: e+ (sexual content, drinking)

word count: 7,088

one-sentence synopsis: you and adrian probably shouldn't have been left alone on your mission to las vegas-- but you're not sure you can bring yourself to regret that night, either.

author's note: thank you all for being so good to me as i start writing fic at a more normal pace!!!!! i'm so happy to write for you all!!!!!! and i am currently DROWNING in emotions!!!!! about so many things!!!!!!!! including adrian!!!!!!!!! i'm so happy to know you all!!!!!!!

>>> read on ao3!! <<<

Most of the missions you and the rest of the 11th Street Kids get are in the middle of nowhere, so you don’t think there’s anything wrong with you all enjoying yourself when you’re assigned on a mission in Las Vegas.

You are a little surprised when Chris is the one who suggests you all get drinks together. It’s almost eleven o’clock at night, but there’s nothing more any of you can do for the mission tonight.

“Yeah, for sure, buddy!” Adrian agrees quickly, easily. He looks to you with such an eager expression that you just— you have to go with him. You think it’s probably okay for you to agree, even if the two of you are trying to keep your relationship secret. You aren’t the only one who wants to go, anyway; all of you do. As soon as you agree, Leota does, and then John does, and then Emilia does— and then all of you are going, much to your delight.

You like spending time with all of them. They’re your friends; at this point, the five of them are practically your family.

It takes your little family less than an hour to get colossally fucked up.

It’s fun, to let loose and drink and dance and not worry about anything else. Spending time with them when you’re not under violent threat just reminds you how much you really do love spending time with them. You and Leota spend time talking together, and you and Emilia do shots together, and you and Chris end up dancing together, and you and John briefly escape from the hotel’s bar into its casino. It’s so much fucking fun.

And through all of it, there’s Adrian. The further into the night you get, the lower and lower your inhibitions become. His, too. It starts becoming foggy to both of you why you’re trying to keep your relationship a secret.

Before, it seemed so vital to keep your lives safely separated, so neither of you would be reassigned, or used against the other, or damaged too badly if something goes wrong. In this line of work, it’s difficult to find somebody you can connect with, and even harder to maintain that connection. You try not to be so naive as to think you and Adrian will actually work out, but— It feels like you could.

Anyways, you tried staying away from each other, and it didn’t work. All it did was make the both of you miserable. When you finally caved and got together, it was pretty much the best day of your life— and of his. Both of you are extremely hesitant to do anything that could damage the fragile structure of the relationship you’ve been building in secret.

It all seemed so important before, but tonight, you can’t get yourself to care about any of those reasons. All you keep doing is looking across the bar, or the table, or the dance floor, or the casino, and seeing Adrian, Adrian, Adrian, and you can’t really remember why you’re not supposed to touch him.

It’s not you that breaks first, anyways. It’s him.

Once you and John have escaped the bar to wander through the casino, looking for a fun and easy way to lose a little bit of money but still have a hoot, it doesn’t take long for Adrian to come looking for you. He thought you’d still been out on the dance floor with Chris, but then he’d looked up from his drunkenly deep conversation with Leota only to see Chris with Emilia. You were nowhere to be found.

He noticed not long after that John, too, was nowhere to be found, and then he was on the hunt for you. He barely noticed the end of his conversation, distracted by his fuzzy one-track mind already as he pushes to his feet and starts searching for you.

Adrian ends up finding you attempting to play blackjack. You’re too drunk to remember the rules, if you ever knew them; John’s trying his best to help you win, but he keeps losing focus and staring down at your hands holding the cards. You’re trying to focus, to put the pieces of the game together, when Adrian practically trips into your side, jostling you and John. For a moment, you think it’s a stranger, and you’re frowning, ready to shove them back—

—And then you realize it’s Adrian, and you lean right into him, wrapping your arms around him in an automatic hug, tight and warm and far too much if you’re just friends.

You jerk back after a beat, realizing John is there and he can easily see this. Your brain moves foggily with you, even as Adrian drapes his arm across your shoulders, looking down at your cards.

“What’s this?” Adrian asks.

“Blackjack,” you answer.

“No,” the croupier corrects you, “it’s three card poker.”

You look down at your cards, then start laughing. Turning to John, you can’t really stop laughing, telling him, “That’s— That’s why we’re losing so fucking bad—”

John falls apart laughing, too, until the both of you are a mess and the croupier is practically begging you to just leave. Half the other players are drunk, too, but you’ve lost interest, allowing Adrian and John to guide you up and away from the game.

“What next?” you ask, looking over the colors and lights with the over-awake excitement of someone who hasn’t started crashing yet.

“Hey, Economos, Harcourt was actually looking for you,” Adrian says. He points back in the direction he came, tells him, “She had something to tell you.”

“Oh, dip, okay,” John replies. He claps you on the back, says, “Good game,” and then he’s gone, pushing through the crowd to navigate his return to the hotel’s bar.

“What’s up with Emilia?” you ask Adrian, by the time John’s gone.

“What?” Adrian asks, still watching his retreating back. “Oh. Nothing, I just wanted to hang out with you alone.”

You start to frown, glancing up at Adrian’s face, but then you see him and you forget why you were even scowling to begin with. You lean into him, grinning happily up at his face, wrapping yourself around his arm. He supports your weight easily, looking down at you with a creased brow.

“Hi,” you tell him.

“Hi,” he replies, and then you’re tilting up into him, kissing the smile that’s spread across his lips. When you separate again, Adrian kisses your forehead, then wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on top of your head. “What do you wanna do?”

You consider this. Your brain comes up with an idea quickly, and you say, “I wanna go outside.”

“Okay,” Adrian agrees easily. He drags his phone out with one hand, messages your group chat to say you and him were going out for a walk. It’s mostly incoherent; he takes his time re-typing the message to send a second time, written in actual decipherable English this time, and sends that off, too, before adding a chain of emojis.

just GO, Chris sends back, as Leota sends a string of fireworks emojis back. Adrian smiles, briefly, before shoving his phone away, refocusing all his attention on you again.

Right now, especially, it’s impossible to remember why you can’t live your lives like this always. Enjoying the warm night air and the bright lights all around you, Adrian’s hand in yours, it feels like you should be able to have this always. You never want to let it go, and you’re sure it’s not just the alcohol talking, because you feel like this all the time. You’re just— uninhibited, now, and unfiltered, and your emotions are coming as loosely as your words.

“I really like you,” you tell Adrian, because you feel as though he should know. “Like, I really, really like you.”

It might not be just the alcohol talking, but it certainly helps. You’re drunk enough that everything feels like a good idea, and excited enough that you can’t stop leaning into Adrian, and in love enough that you can’t recall whether or not you’re supposed to say you’re in love, or keep that to yourself.

“I think I love you,” you tell him, then tilt upwards to look at him.

You’re met with such open joy you don’t know why you didn’t say this before. Adrian’s beaming, all warm glow, lit up from the inside out. The neons cast on his face don’t even seem quite as bright as he does just by himself, that natural exploding burst of shine that he’s unable to fight down.

“Really?” Adrian asks, then immediately hurries to say, “Oh, no, that’s not— Oh, fuck, I’m fucking this up—”

You reach up and grip the nape of his neck firmly in your hand, guiding him down into an eager, open-mouthed kiss that quickly turns sloppy. He’s smiling, unable to stop before he’s drawing back.

“I love you,” he finally gets out. “I love you so much, I fucking— I think about you all the time, and I just keep thinking, like— About how much I love you, but I didn’t want to freak you out, I thought it would be way too much to say to you when I didn’t know if you really liked me, because, like, you act like you really like me, but you’re also way too nice to me—”

“Not that nice,” you argue. He breaks out of his own rambling when you speak, and you realize he’s fairly intoxicated, too.

Adrian refocuses down on you, cupping your face in his hands, grinning as he tilts closer to steal another smiling kiss from you. Pushing his forehead into yours, he says, “Way too nice, though,” and nips at the corner of your mouth, then your chin, uncoordinated, just wanting to have his mouth on you.

You smile, too, letting your hands drift up until they can join past the crown of his head, knotting together to guide him in even closer. Dragging forward, you scrape your nails through his hair, messing it up even further to pull him down into a biting kiss, loosening your jaw, parting your lips, inviting him in as close as you can get him. You don’t care about anything except him; you don’t have a thought in your head that isn’t about him. You wish you could do this forever. That’s all that fills your head; just him, and him, and more of him.

Adrian makes a garbed little humming sound. At first, you’re not entirely sure what it is, but then you realize he’s actually nearly speaking, he’s just— trying to do it into your mouth.

You laugh, drawing away to ask him, “What— Are you talking to me?”

“I just love you so much,” Adrian says, kissing your cheek, the space beside your eye, the side of your nose, just— anywhere he can reach. You can’t stop laughing, giddy, melting into him. “I just— Can I actually tell you something— Can I—” He can’t stop kissing you long enough to get the full question out, so you separate the two of you for a beat, squishing his cheeks between your hands. “Can I tell you something stupid? It’s really silly, I don’t want you to think I’m, like, a total fucking loser, but I also—”

“Yeah, you can tell me,” you assure him, redirecting him back down to you again.

Adrian kisses your forehead, then knocks your heads together again lightly, another messy kiss coming to the corner of your mouth.

“I was kind of really jealous when I saw you hanging out with Economos, earlier, sort of,” Adrian confesses to you. “You looked like you were having so much fun, and, like, obviously you can have all the fun you want with whoever you want, but I want you to have the most fun with me, and it makes me feel a little crazy when we’re not having fun together, and I just— I kind of want to be with you forever, and I was thinking it would be so nice if we could be together forever, you know, if we could get married and just always get to love each other and I could always have fun with you and make you laugh—”

Your mind is racing, struggling to process even just one of your own thoughts. It’s barely capable of processing the stream of Adrian’s, though each word has you smiling wider, pushing in closer to him. You can’t even pay attention to the exciting city around you, the neon throbbing in the darkness; the exhilarating buzz of Las Vegas seems like nothing compared to him.

“We can have that,” you tell him, because you can. You think about Adrian all the time. You don’t ever want to be separated from him. “I already wanna hang out forever. You can have fun with me forever, if you want.” You smooth your hands down the sides of his face. “You don’t have to be jealous of Economos. There’s no way he’d be interested in me.”

Adrian frowns, a brow-furrowing, creased sort of scowl. “Anyone who’s not interested in you is a sick freak, and I’ll kill them for not— not appreciating you right. But— But, well— Anyone who is interested in you needs to fuck off, because you’re mine, so I’ll have to kill them—”

“So, you’ll just—” You make a slashing motion across his throat. “—Kill everyone, then?”

“If that’s what you want,” Adrian says, pulling you in for another deep, sloppy kiss. Into your mouth, pulling back just enough to be coherent, he tells you, “I just wanna— I wanna kiss you so much. I wanna put you in my pocket and keep you forever.”

“Go ahead,” you reply, smiling up at him.

Adrian squishes your cheeks between his hands, then pushes in closer. After a beat, he leans in even closer, like he’s looking even deeper into your eyes than ever before, and then he looks up, at the lights surrounding you. There’s a blossoming grin that comes across his face, then, and his eyes flash, flickering down to meet yours.

“You know,” he says. “We could.”

“Could what?” you ask, forgetting about everything that isn’t him.

“Like, this is Las Vegas,” he replies. “If we want to— If we wanna keep each other forever, we could totally do that.” At the confused furrow of your brow, he pushes in closer, clarifying, “We could get married. Like, right now, we could get married. If— If that’s something you wanted—”

“You want to marry me?” you ask, incredulous. Even through your chaotic mind, your heart is exploding. You can barely process this. “You— You don’t want to marry me.”

“No, no, I do,” Adrian insists. “Like, I really do. I think about it all the time, I really, really do. I think— I think it’d be really good. But obviously, you don’t— You don’t have to do that. I know that’s so much.”

It is so much. It’s so much, but you’re not thinking clearly, and you don’t care about anything that isn’t Adrian, and you love him. You love him so, so much, and you finally told him, and he told you, and it feels like you’re exploding inside. And— Besides, marriage isn’t permanent anyway. If you want to get a divorce, you can always do that. You can always go back on this if you want.

You don’t think you’ll want to. All you care about is him. All you want is him. You can’t imagine ever wanting anything but him; you can’t imagine ever wanting to do anything but marry him, now that he’s suggested it.

And you are in Las Vegas, after all. You can throw a pebble and hit a place to get married within half an hour.

“Okay,” you tell him, every inch of your body feeling like it’s on fire, light, sweet, wonderful, just— everything you’ve ever wanted to feel when you were with the person you’d marry.

“Okay?” he asks, lighting up. If you thought he was bright before, he’s glowing now. His joy is illuminating him from the inside out, and you’re warmed just by being this close to him. “Like— Okay? Like, okay okay—”

“Yes, okay, I want to marry you,” you tell him quickly. “Let’s do it.”

“Really?” he insists.

“Really!” you exclaim. “Really, I swear, like— What’s the worst that can happen? I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, I think, I don’t think— I think I’ve made way, way worse choices than this. Like, marrying someone I love is what I’m supposed to do, right?”

“Right,” Adrian agrees eagerly. “Okay, right! Okay, right—”

He wrenches his phone out of his pocket again. You’re about to question why, when you realize he’s searching how to get married las vegas right now. Though his actual search is riddled with typos, the search engine figures it out for him.

“We can get a marriage license for another forty-five minutes,” he tells you, grabbing your hand. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go—”

He drags you, laughing, in a sprint down the street. It only takes a minute before he’s whirling back on you, hoisting you up to get you on his back, wrapped around his shoulders and his waist, clinging to him until your hands are pressed together over his heart and your face is buried in his throat.

Adrian carries you, even as he runs. It’s an impressive display of strength, and you cling to him the whole way there. You’re not the only couple at the Bureau trying to get a marriage license, but you’re able to get one in no time at all; they’re clearly well-equipped to handle multiple drunken couples begging for marriage licenses at a time, because it all moves like clockwork while you’re there. They don’t even seem to care that you and Adrian can’t keep your hands off of each other, grappling for each other, kissing most of the time you’re in there. Again, you’re far from the only ones doing that.

“Where do you want to get married?” Adrian asks you when you actually have the marriage license.

You’re fixed downward, reading the marriage license. Adrian’s middle name is Gregory, and you can’t stop looking at it, for some reason. You stroke your fingertip over his name where it appears on your marriage license, looping down over Chase, then up over your own last name.

“We can get married at this place near the hotel right now,” Adrian suggests to you, flipping through options on his phone. “I can make a little booking on here if we want. They’ve got a spot in half an hour.”

“Do we need, like— a person?” you ask him, finally tearing your eyes off the marriage license to look up at him instead.

“You’re my person,” he tells you. He doesn’t even look up; he just says it, an automatic response, and you’re immediately overwhelmed. You know it’s— You know you’re not in your right mind, but hearing him just so instinctively love you, and respond to you that way, it just— It has your heart bursting inside you.

You reach up for him, directing his attention away from his phone and onto you instead. His eyes snap up to yours, clicking into place with you. You can tell the moment he moves into really seeing you, because he smiles, a blossoming grin that spreads across his entire face. His expressive eyes crinkle up, his handsome face all creased into the dimples of his smile as he drops down to push his forehead into yours, rocking you back a step.

“Hi,” he says, kissing at your cheek. “I wanna marry you real bad.”

You laugh, pushing the marriage license into his chest. “I wanna marry you real bad. But we need— Like, a person, right? What’s the— Like, someone who sees a murder?”

“A witness?” Adrian suggests.

“A witness,” you say, relieved that he remembers. “Yes, that one. A witness. We need a witness, right?”

He holds up his phone, squished into the tiny amount of space between your bodies. Showing you the screen, he explains, “They’ve got someone there, if we want.” There’s a beat. “Or we could ask somebody. Chris or somebody. They might wanna.”

You hesitate, then ask, “What if— What if they try to stop us? What if they don’t understand, and they— They tell— They tell on us, and they— Adrian, what if they don’t understand? I don’t—”

“Hey, whoa, no,” Adrian cuts you off, wrapping his arms around you to pull you into a tight embrace. He kisses the side of your head, then buries into you, his hug getting even tighter. “It’s okay. Nobody else needs to know.”

“I love you,” you tell him, desperately emotional. “I don’t want you to think I d—”

“No, I know,” he stops you. “I know.” He kisses your temple, then drags your face up so he can give you a reassuring smile. “Once we are married, they can’t separate us, right? Because it’s not a, like— bad idea between coworkers or whatever. We’d be married. They can’t stop us being married.”

You didn’t even think about that, and you’re smiling all over again, completely delighted. Twisting up into him, you say, “Yeah, you’re right! They can’t stop us! They can just— They— That would be fucked up!”

“Super fucked up,” he agrees, and kisses you again.

You smile into the kiss, pushing yourself up into him for another beat before you’re dropping back down again, grabbing at his phone. “Okay, make the appointment, do it, let’s get married—”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Adrian chants, keying your birthday into his phone to unlock it again.

He makes the appointment while walking towards the venue. You’ve never— You weren’t ever totally sure what your wedding would be like, because you weren’t ever totally sure who you would marry. You always wanted your wedding to be representative of the both of you, a celebration of who you are as a couple. That concept is nebulous just by its nature; you never really had a concrete idea of what this moment would look like, what it would feel like.

With Adrian— with you and Adrian, with your relationship together— there was really nothing to do but this. You’re overjoyed, because this is such a perfect representation of your relationship. The two of you, you’re— you’re exciting, and impulsive, and silly, and you just love to have adventures together. Your wedding— This is just the next big adventure for you.

Adrian drags you by the hand, unable to stop turning back to kiss you every few steps. You have to keep pushing yourselves, just trying to move forward, because you have a time now, and you’re getting married, and you’re so excited that you start running.

He starts running to match you, and you push yourself, and he pushes himself. Eventually, the both of you are flat-out sprinting as best as you can, just trying to go. You’re both gasping for breath, by the time you get there; you have to plant your hand on Adrian’s shoulder to keep yourself upright, tilting into him, sucking in air.

“Don’t die before we even get married,” Adrian insists. There’s almost a desperate whine in his voice when he begs you, “C’mon, I’m so close, just let me— I want this so bad—”

“We can do it,” you tell him, then drag in another ragged breath. You straighten up, then say, “Alright, yes, okay, let’s do this.”

Adrian shoves in the door to the venue he’s found. It’s a kitschy place, in all red-and-pink neons and soft, indulgent velvets. You can’t help laughing when you’re pulled inside, feeling like you’ve been dropped into a Valentine.

“Chase, party of two!” Adrian exclaims at the top of his lungs, and you bury your face in his chest, hanging onto him, grinning.

Neither of you are as drunk as you are, but you’re still messy, and excited, and you don’t want to stop, not now. You can’t think about anything you want more than this.

You tilt your head up, watching him hazily as he talks to the woman behind the counter. He hands over the license you’ve been clutching, then the IDs you both have, his from his wallet, yours shoved from your hands to his.

“Do you need a witness?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Adrian tells her, “We don’t trust my friends not to fuck us over. They work for the government.”

“Adrian, shut up,” you hiss up at him.

The woman clearly doesn’t care. She says, “That’s fine. Do you need rings, or did you bring your own?”

“Fuck,” Adrian curses. Looking down to you, he says, “I’m so sorry—”

“We don’t need rings,” you insist.

“We have rings,” she tells you, and you both turn, excited.

They actually have a whole little store, there, but neither of you sees much of a point in changing clothes. You instead just focus on picking out rings, choosing cheap gold bands, plucking them out of the selection in the box you’re offered.

There’s nothing left to do, then. You have your marriage license; you have your rings; you have your venue; you have your officiant; you have your witness; you have Adrian, the person you’re marrying. The both of you have everything you need, now, and the only thing left to do is actually get married.

Your heart is in your throat, and you clutch Adrian’s hand, staring into the room the woman behind the counter’s escorting you to.

Adrian stops beside you, ducking down to kiss your temple. Near the shell of your ear, he asks, “You okay?”

You nod jerkily, automatically. Slightly strangled, you say, “I just— I l— I love you.” Smiling, Adrian replies, “I love you, too,” and kisses your cheek, before finding the corner of your mouth. “I’m so excited.”

“Me, too,” you say, heart pounding. He tugs at your hand, and you go, eager to have this happening.

They don’t mince words, here. Maybe they can read your energy together, and the fact that you can’t keep your hands off of each other, but they keep things short and sweet.

The officiant, a young man who seems to be operating on muscle memory, asks if you swear yourselves to each other, and you do. He asks if you’ll be honest to each other, and you will. He asks if you love each other, and you do. He has you exchange rings, and you do as told; Adrian looking down at you, all burning green eyes behind his slipping glasses, all crinkling wide grin, all glowing handsome warmth, is practically killing you inside.

He pushes the ring onto your left ring finger, and he kisses you before he’s supposed to, unable to stop himself. You smile into the kiss, threading your hand into his hair.

The officiant clears his throat— again— and you push his ring on, this time.

They ask you, first, whether or not you take Adrian to be your husband, and you’re nodding before the officiant even finishes speaking.

“Yeah,” you reply instantly. “Yes, I do. I really, really do.” You smile up at Adrian, telling him, “I love you so much.”

Adrian exhales in a shuddering sort of punch, like all the breath in his lungs trembles out. His eyes look red-rimmed, like he’s biting back tears, and you really weren’t expecting this amount of emotion for him— or even this sort of emotion from him, about you, about this.

You forget sometimes, though— Adrian wasn’t sure if he’d ever get married. You don’t know all of it, and he doesn’t even know how to verbalize all of it, but— he’s not stupid. He knows other people don’t always— get him. He’d been afraid, before, that he’d always be alone, somehow. When he found you, it changed his life. Getting to marry you, that’s— That’s a dream come true, he thought he’d never get to have anything like this and you’re even better than he ever even thought to want.

Not only that, but now, now, you’re unable to hold back how much you love him. You’re eager to tell him I do, and to tell him you love him, and to swear yourself to him. You only told him earlier tonight that you love him, that you’re in love with him, but— still, this feels right.

“I love you,” Adrian replies, before he’s even asked the same question by the officiant in return.

That’s when the officiant asks if Adrian takes you to be his spouse, in return, and Adrian tugs you in for a hug, wrapping his arms around you, kissing you at your hairline. He takes a shaking breath.

“I do,” Adrian says, and kisses your temple in a sloppy shove of his lips to your skin.

It’s messy, and it’s not traditional, and it’s you. It’s all for the two of you, and this is a wedding just for you. You love each other; this makes you impossibly happy, right now.

“You may kiss each other,” the officiant tells you.

Adrian separates you both just enough to get his hands on either side of your face, dragging you up into a deep kiss. He parts your lips, licks to the backs of your teeth; you give as good as you get, pushing up into him. You just keep thinking, this is my husband, we’re married, Adrian and I are married, he’s my husband now, and you can’t stop touching him, can’t get your hands off him.

He practically hauls you from the chapel, then. You’re wearing your matching gold bands, and you’re glad he had the forethought to choose a venue close to the hotel, because you want to be there now.

Adrian can’t stop kissing you, all the way through the lobby, into the elevator. You don’t care if anybody sees you, at this point. What would any of them do? You’re legally married now. You have a marriage license; your paperwork will be filed soon, so you’ll get your certificate in the mail; and you’re married. Nobody can stop you from being together anymore.

The thought, the second it hits you, overwhelms you.

While Adrian’s fumbling to push the key card into the room he’s been assigned for this mission, you tell him, “Nobody can stop us from being together,” because you want him to know, too.

He beams down at you, kissing you just as he manages to get the door open.

“Not anymore,” he agrees. “You’re mine now. Like, forever. And I’m yours.”

You kick the door shut behind him, practically jumping up at him then. He catches you, supporting you as you pull into a kiss.

“Yeah,” you tell him. “I am. And you are.”

The backs of his legs meet his bed, and he turns around, dropping you down on it. He’s crawling over you in the next beat, straddling your waist, hastily tearing his shirt backwards off of his arms. His undershirt is ripped off over his head, and then he’s bare-chested, pink-cheeked, glasses askew, catching his breath above you.

“C’mere,” you beg him, reaching for him, and he falls right into you.

Adrian catches your face in one hand, unable to stop kissing you anywhere and everywhere he can reach. His other hand reaches down to fumble at your clothes, ripping at zippers and buttons, just trying to get to your bare skin.

Every time you feel the ring on his hand, you get a jolt, in the back of your stomach, in the knobs of your spine. Every time he feels the ring on your hand, he gasps out loud, mouthing along every inch of your exposed skin, just desperate to touch more of you. His fingers drag along your skin, pushing in to mark you everywhere he can.

“I love you,” he can’t stop telling you. “Thank you, thank you, I fuck— I fucking love you, I love you—”

You’re burning inside, and you can’t even process what he’s saying, so you tug him up for another kiss. He finds the thick heat of your thighs, digging his fingers into your flesh, and his cock is slick and hard. He’s pulsing when he slips between your thighs, and he drops, moaning, into your throat, biting with a loose jaw, kissing without coordination.

“Please,” you beg him. “C’mon, please, please—”

He takes your cue, fucks into the tight lock of your thighs. The both of you are sloppy from the night, half-drunk and giddy and happy and married, and his hand on you has you cumming before him. He’s not far behind you, pinning you into the mattress over the fine, slippery sheets as he cums all over you, your thighs and your belly and your waist.

Adrian climbs into you, after, practically dissolving into your arms. His face buries into your chest, cheek pressed over your heart; he kisses at the center of your sternum before dragging up to bite lazily at your throat.

“I’m so tired,” Adrian confesses to you. You laugh, exhausted yourself, sleepiness pulling at your limbs now that you’re horizontal in bed, emotion draining out of you. “I don’t want our marriage night— No, wedding night— I don’t want our wedding to be over.”

“We can always get married again,” you suggest sleepily. You rub at your eyes; he kisses you on the cheek, shoving you up the bed a bit.

“We can,” he says, like he’s only just realizing that. “Yeah, that’s— We can!”

“We can do anything we want,” you tell him. “Including sleep.”

He looks like he’s falling in love with you all over again as he dives into you. Neither of you cares enough to clean yourselves up, right now. You’re half-in your clothes, and wearing your rings, and sweaty, and slick, and covered in each other’s spend, but neither of you give a shit.

Adrian just reaches down and yanks the blankets out from under you. It’s an endeavor, but he manages to get them over the both of you, snuggling into your side.

“I love you,” he tells you again.

Grinning, you reply, “I love you, too,” and you’re both falling asleep.

When you wake up the next morning, you don’t remember anything. Not at first, anyways. You just— wake up, and you’re not thinking about anything.

At first, you’re just trying to put together where you are, which is something that happens more often than not. You and the rest of the 11th Street Kids are sent on missions a lot; you don’t always wake up in a bed that’s yours.

This time, you know you’re in a hotel. You stretch in the comfortable sheets, but you don’t feel totally comfortable. Frowning, you realize you’re not in pajamas, but in some of your clothes.

“What the hell?” you murmur, shifting to pull at the shirt that’s only halfway off your body, tangled around one arm.

The confusion only deepens when you start to sit up and realize there’s a weight on you. Twisting around, you find an arm on you— and the arm attached to Adrian, fast asleep next to you, face smushed into the pillows, clinging close to you.

Your heart starts racing. Usually, when the two of you spend the night together during a mission, you sneak back to your own rooms after. You can’t be caught leaving each other’s rooms, or you’ll get in trouble, you just know it. You can’t get fucking caught, not after all this work.

You should probably try and get back to your room now, before anybody else wakes up. Everything seems quiet, so it’d be better to move sooner than later, you think.

Reaching down, you carefully start to pick up Adrian’s arm to take it off of you.

With a heart-stopping second where you think your stomach flies up into the back of your throat, you realize Adrian’s wearing a wedding ring, and the memories of last night come rushing back so fast you nearly get dizzy.

“Oh, my God,” you’re suddenly exclaiming. You forget to be quiet, saying, “Oh, my— Oh, my God,” and then seeing the ring on your own hand, and saying, “Holy shit—”

Your voice finally registers with Adrian, and he lifts his head blearily. There’s only a second where he’s sleepily half-aware before your tone clicks with him, and his eyes snap open, adrenaline visibly hitting him.

“What’s happening?” he asks, half-slurred. He’s jolting up, reaching under his mattress for where he usually keeps a knife, but he hadn’t thought to put one there last night before the two of you fell asleep. Bewildered, he’s whirling back around, tangled in his own clothes and the sheets. “What— What’s happening, what’s going— What?”

“We got married,” you say, shoving up to your feet. You look down at your hand, then groan, pacing over to the window. Everything outside is bright, and sunny, and the day is new, and your head is pounding, and you’re married. “Oh, shit.”

Behind you, Adrian is, for once, completely silent. This is pretty much the last thing you want, and you whirl around to see why he’s not responding to you.

You find him just staring at you, but— When he sees you, his eyes snap down to his hands where they’re folded in his lap. He’s sitting up, still waking up, but he’s frowning, a little, his brow creased.

“What’s wrong?” you ask him. Your heart jumps, then, and you say, “Fuck, Adrian, I’m sorry, I didn’t— I didn’t want to fuck this up for you. If you want a— divorce, or an annulment, or whatever it is, we can do that. I’m so sorry, I—”

“What?” Adrian demands. He looks up at you, then, and his upset expression is shifting into confusion. “What— Do you want a divorce? What the fuck did you fuck up for me?”

You laugh without humor, throwing your hands up, letting them slap back down at your sides. Incredulous, you say, “I’m not going to make you stay married to me. You shouldn’t have to be stuck with a stupid mistake you made when you were drunk.”

Adrian stares at you. You can’t understand why, because— because you’re expecting him to maybe thank you, and tell you that he shouldn’t have done this, and ask you to probably get your things and head back to your room without getting caught, please, like you usually do.

He doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he pushes the covers back, then crawls to the foot of the bed so he can kneel up there, holding his hand out to you.

“Come here,” he says.

“No,” you reply, face flushing with heat, mortified and upset and scared.

He climbs out of bed, then, and goes to you instead. He takes your hands, and you tug at him; he puts his arms around you instead, just holding you close, kissing you on the temple.

“This wasn’t a mistake for me,” Adrian tells you. He’s being quiet, for him. With his lips moving against your skin, he says, “I know this is— probably really a lot, and you can tell me if I’m totally off base here, and just— pepper-spray the shit out of me, I’d deserve it, but— I’m really putting myself out here, okay? And if you think this is a mistake—” His voice gets a little choked, and you feel your own eyes burning, “—Then that’s— That’s okay, and we’ll figure it out, but—”

He hesitates, then reaches down for you, gathering your face in his hands. You look up at him with glassy eyes, trying not to let yourself get too overwhelmed.

“—but I don’t think you really think that,” Adrian says. “I think— I think I know you better now, and I think I know— I think you really do love me. And I don’t— I don’t want you to think I think this is a mistake. Because I don’t. At all. This is the best— If this is a mistake, it’s probably the best one I’ve ever made, because I j— I just— I really love you. I really do, I— And this is kinda backwards. And if you don’t want to be married— We can do anything you want. I just love you—”

You push up into him, unable to stop yourself from kissing him. Your eyes overflow, and a couple of tears slip free. You’re not even sad, you’re just— you’re emotional, you think you’re even happy, just— so ridiculously excited about what this means. It’s a dawning sort of excitement, as you realize that you might actually get to keep this, to keep him.

Like you did last night, you remember with joy, “Nobody can stop us from being together,” and Adrian smiles again, kissing your cheek.

“Nobody,” he replies.

He’s just told you so much, and given you so much, and you can’t even begin to digest it all. All you know is you love him, and this might— this might take some figuring out, but loving him isn’t a mistake, not at all. It couldn’t ever be.

“Okay,” you say, just like you did last night. “Yeah, okay, we can— I want to do this, I love you—”

Adrian drops into another kiss with you, stealing your breath, knocking you back towards the bed again. You’re just about to get dropped down onto the messed-up covers once more when there’s a sharp knock at Adrian’s hotel door.

“Chase, if you’re in there, wake up!” Emilia calls from the other side. “(Y/N) isn’t answering from their room, we’re spreading out to search.”

Your eyes snap wide, flying to meet Adrian’s. Where you’re surprised, he laughs.

He pulls you in for another kiss before he whispers against your lips, “They can’t stop us anymore,” and you smile back up at him. You’re not sure what awaits you when you open that door, but you do know one thing: Adrian’s going to be at your side all the way through it, no matter what. No matter what, because you’re married now. Thanks to impulse, and love, and joy, you’re married, and there’s no regret in that.

“If they ever could,” you whisper back. His grin meets yours in another biting kiss before Chris starts pounding on the door then, too, demanding that Adrian open up the door.

requests used:

"Hoi I love your work and got exact when I saw your request are open! If it’s alright can I get a jealous Adrian? I live for jealousy!! I know you wrote some like this already and I don’t wanna bother! I hope your doing okay !! :D" (anonymous)

"Dude. Duuuuuuuude. D.ude. While reading you're latest story post, the "i do" made me think of Adrian getting married. Maybe a Vegas wedding. But he doesn't tell anyone. Or was it a spontaneous wedding to some rando after a crazy night of hard partying? i'm rambling, past midnight sleepy thoughts." (mattsmanpain)

"omg requests are open…I’m so excited. I was listening to music the other day and the song “walking up in Vegas” by mrs Katy Perry came on and had me thinking…what if you drunk married Adrian in Vegas (or anywhere really)" (trafficccone)

adrian chase taglist:

@deputyrook @bb-skyrunner @himboelover @pieriinova @gcldtom @violetrainbow412-blog @amysuemc @saturnngal @neptuneswritingwork @jewishdelis @myguiltypleasures21 @pinkygunslingy @chaseadrian @breathing-in-waves @rishlurh @goblynnrockz @theowritesstuff @themartiansdaughter @dallasvakarian @missscarlettangel @samantha24015 @hillaryroadheadcllinton @ohmybubbletea @buckys-estrella @witchywcmans @ladyrebel25 @eviejune @vigilantesluvr @qjuiq-odakyu @xothatnerdykid @awkwardfangirl2014 @thevalkyrior @mattsmanpain @sunflowerfive @deirdre-belle @anthonyedwinstark @sexysquatch @jelliebeanss @zofps @crimscnrains @trans-librarian @nellethiel-aranel @probablyasatanworshipper @phoenixhalliwell @perseajohnson @eeveeangelcakes @freyafriggafrey @psychadelictoadie @middimidoris @gaygonegirl @peacemakernet @herbsschmerbs @satansrighthandmanchild

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