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happy74827 · 1 month ago

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Five Hundred Times

[Adrian Chase x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: He’s always the one who comes back bleeding, but this time, it’s your heart on the line {GIF: @tinalbion}

WC: 1855

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Blood + Injuries {TW: Adrian being… well, Adrian. Which includes, but is not limited to: emotionally-stunted love confessions, gore-related quips, and bleeding on your furniture like it’s a love language}.

I may or may not have a new obsession 👀

『••✎••』

You smell blood before you see it.

Not the kind that reeks of death or sterile gauze, but something faintly metallic, woven into the sweat on his skin like it's been there long enough to get bored of being noticed. You don’t register it fully at first — too distracted by the scrape of keys against the door, the quiet grunt he makes when he shoulder-checks it open because one of his arms isn’t working.

And there he is.

Adrian Chase, dressed in blood and bulletproof nylon, wearing that same boyish smirk like a band-aid on a gaping wound. One eye is puffed and half-shut, there's a cut above his brow that’s still wet, and he's limping like someone took a crowbar to his knee.

But he grins like it’s funny.

"Babe," he drawls, stumbling into the living room like this is just another Tuesday. "So, weird story. Turns out, you can get stabbed in the same shoulder three times and still do a somersault over a moving car. Science."

You freeze in the kitchen doorway, a half-empty mug of tea cooling in your hands. You’d made it for him. Stupid, you think. Stupid, like warm drinks fix bullet wounds.

Your heart’s hammering behind your ribs—panic, fury, the kind of cold, sharp fear that makes you feel like your bones might splinter from the inside. He sees it, you think. Sees all of it and keeps walking.

He doesn’t sit. Just drops his mask on the floor like it was dirty laundry and starts pulling off the top half of his suit, fingers clumsy with dried blood. There’s a spreading stain on his side, dark and sluggish.

You haven’t moved. Your throat feels tight.

"Adrian," you say, and it comes out too soft. Not angry. Not even surprised. Just small.

He glances up, and there’s a flicker in his expression—guilt, maybe, or something adjacent to it. But it passes like a cloud over the sun.

"Hey, it’s fine. Just a little... hole." He gestures vaguely to his side. "Think I’ve had worse papercuts, honestly."

You exhale sharply, jaw twitching.

"A papercut?"

"Yeah, y’know—big, aggressive paper. Like, militant origami."

His words are candy-coated, tossed out like a deflection grenade. You can feel the heat crawling up your neck, not from anger this time, but from something deeper. Rawer. The kind of helpless grief that’s been piling up like unspoken words between the cracks of each visit, each stitched-up night, each half-lie he’s smiled through.

He keeps talking — something about the guy who did this, how he "kind of respected his dedication to stabbing," how he managed to make a pun mid-fight that he was really proud of — and you snap.

Not loud. Not violent. But something in you gives.

You set the mug down with shaking hands. Walk over slowly. Kneel in front of him. Not to patch him up. Not yet. Just to look.

His hand is resting on his thigh. You touch it, and he flinches — barely, like his nerves can’t quite decide if they’re online — but he lets you. You lift his fingers. Blood under his nails. Calluses from the last time he shattered someone’s jaw.

"You’re not okay," you whisper. It’s not a question.

Adrian stares down at you. The air is too still. You wonder if he’s going to say something flippant, some callback to a joke from two nights ago — "Define okay," or "Baby, I’m invincible." But he doesn’t. Not yet.

You continue. Voice tight.

"You keep coming back like this. And I keep pretending it’s fine. Because you pretend it’s fine. But I’m—I can’t keep doing it, Ade. I can’t keep watching you bleed and smile like it’s a sitcom punchline."

His jaw tightens. There’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he’s still considering the punchline. But he doesn’t say it.

So you keep going. You have to.

"You laugh through pain like it’s a party trick. You get stabbed and joke about origami, and I’m here—every time—I’m just waiting for the time you don’t come back. Or the time you do, but you’re not you anymore. Just pieces of you. And I don’t think I can survive that, Adrian. I don’t think I’d even want to."

You don’t cry. Not really. You just press your forehead to his uninjured knee, breathing, shaking against the fabric of his suit.

Silence.

Then—

"You worry," he says.

It’s quiet. Not a question. Not even a thought, really —more like something that slipped out before his brain had a chance to process it.

His eyes are on you, but not in the way they usually are—no teasing, no deflection. Just that wide, strangely boyish sort of look, like he’s seeing you for the first time and it’s short-circuiting something inside him.

"You worry… about me."

He blinks slowly, as if the sentence is taking up more space in his head than he knows what to do with.

"I mean," he adds, rubbing the back of his neck with his good hand, "I knew you cared, obviously. You're here, you make tea, you patch me up when I’m leaking red stuff—very loving, very Florence Nightingale." He gestures vaguely, trying to play it cool, but his tone is all over the place—like he's trying to match what he thinks he should sound like and completely failing. "But this? This is like… real-deal worry. Like, emotional distress. Because of me."

He lets out a low, breathy laugh, barely holding together. "That’s wild."

You stare at him, stunned. The emotional rawness is still boiling just under your skin, and he’s over here having a mild existential revelation about the fact that someone loves him.

He leans back slightly, breath catching as it pulls at the wound on his side. Still smiling. Not the cocky kind—no, this one’s soft and stunned and almost… reverent.

"You love me," he says again, like he’s trying it out in different lighting. Like it might taste different if he says it slower.

You pull away, just enough to meet his eyes head-on. "Adrian, you’re bleeding."

"I know," he says, bright and breathless. "And you’re devastated about it."

His voice hitches on a laugh, and you don’t know whether to shake him or scream. Maybe both. Because this-this thing he’s doing, this delight in your suffering—he doesn’t even realize it’s breaking you.

"Why is that a joke to you?" you ask, quieter now. Fragile.

And that stops him.

Adrian’s grin falters, like someone blew out the candle behind his eyes.

"I’m not joking about you," he says, and it’s honest—plainspoken in a way that sounds strange coming from him. "I’m just… I didn’t think anyone could feel that way about me. Not really. Not past the first couple dates, anyway."

You blink, the words hitting you somewhere low in the chest. "You think I’m still here out of politeness?"

"I don’t know," he says, voice low. "I guess I thought you just had a hero thing. Or a kink. I don't know, man, it's confusing. I've never been loved before."

The words hang in the air, awkward and too heavy for how simply he said them, like a punchline that forgot to land.

He doesn’t meet your eyes now — just stares a little past you, past the room, past himself maybe. His breathing is shallow, and not just from the pain in his side. There’s something deeper in it. That quiet, jittery type of fear that has nothing to do with knives or bullets.

You blink at him. Slowly. Like, if you do it too fast, the weight of what he just said might tip you over completely.

"You... seriously think that?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper. "That I’m here because I have a kink?"

“I said maybe,” he mutters quickly, defensive in that dumb, knee-jerk way of his. “Could be. I mean—come on, have you seen me in this suit?”

Your expression doesn’t change.

His smirk flickers. Dies as he exhales, looking away again. "Sorry. That was—yeah. Not the time."

A beat passes. You sit back on your heels and stare at him, arms limp at your sides. Not because you’re angry anymore. You’re not even sure what you are. Hollow, maybe. Bone-tired.

"I thought you knew," you say, finally. "That I loved you."

"I mean, yeah. Kind of. You say nice things sometimes. You look at me like I’m not completely insane. You make soup." He gestures vaguely toward the kitchen, then winces. "But I didn’t know it meant something. Not like this. Not in a 'you break down when I’m bleeding' way."

You shake your head slowly. "Adrian… love is that. It means that. It’s not just soup and looking at each other. It’s being scared out of your mind because the person you care about walks into your house full of holes like it’s a joke.”

He doesn’t answer.

You glance down at his side. Blood is still seeping through the half-unzipped suit, slower now, but enough to make your stomach turn. You reach for the med kit on the table beside you, pull out gauze with shaking fingers, and move closer.

He watches you quietly, for once not narrating every second of it.

"I don’t want you to change who you are," you say softly as you press gauze against the wound. He hisses between his teeth but doesn’t pull away. "But I need you to stop acting like your life is disposable. Like it’s fine if you don’t come back one day."

Adrian swallows hard. "It’s not that I think it’s fine. I just… I don’t think about it."

"That’s the problem," you say, your voice breaking at the edges. "I think about it all the time."

He’s silent again. The tension in his jaw twitches under the weight of whatever he’s holding back. You tape the gauze in place and sit there for a long moment, hands still hovering over his ribs.

"I don’t want you to die thinking you’re unloved," you whisper.

That gets him. Visibly.

His fingers curl around your wrist, not hard, just enough to make you look up at him. His mouth opens, then closes. His eyes—glassier now—search yours like he’s trying to memorize this moment, every sharp, fragile bit of it.

"I won’t die," he says, voice cracking in a way he clearly hates. "Not without telling you that I love you too. Probably, like, five hundred times. In a row. In increasingly bad accents."

You huff out something like a laugh, watery and aching.

"I’m serious," he goes on. "You’re gonna get so tired of hearing it. Like, 'Shut up, Adrian, I know you love me, you’ve said it in an Irish accent and a pirate voice and while bleeding out in my kitchen—'"

"Ade."

He stops.

You lean forward, gently pressing your forehead to his. His breath catches.

"I love you," you say, quiet but sure.

And when he says it back—rough and soft and a little terrified—you know he means it.

No punchline. No mask. Just Adrian. Still bleeding, still broken.

But real.

And finally, finally—loved.

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zo2mess · 28 days ago

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Bliss In Vegas

Summary: The team landed a mission in Las Vegas, because what could possibly go wrong in the world’s most innocent city, right? Fast forward through a whirlwind of chaos, and somehow no one got hurt… but you woke up in bed with Adrian, nearly naked, and two ring pops on your fingers.

Warnings: 18+ Brief smut, hand stuff, spit stuff, alcohol consumption, crude language, I guess that’s it? (Morning breath! I’m so fucking sorry, it was all I could think about when I was writing this. Just ignore it exists for a while O_o)

Word count: 4.4k

Masterlist of my works

Note: Adrian in tighty whities with beer all over him made me incredibly feral and ready to finish this little thing I started few months ago. Eh, it is something I guess? I just wanted to get over it.

And listen, I have never written about 11th Street Kids before, except for Adrian; apologies if any of them feel weird.

You know the saying? What happens in Vegas…

“Don’t stay in Vegas,” Harcourt sternly noted at the end of her little briefing of the next so-called mission. The fact that they still needed to take care of some stray swarms of butterflies even after terminating the cow was inconvenient, said mildly. “We do our job and go back, no random stops in any of the facilities.”

Those butterfly survivors would eventually die of starvation, but ARGUS was suspicious of large groupings of them in certain areas. They could be spending their last days together as a species, or maybe, just maybe, they’re trying to find a way to stay alive and find a new source of food, which was a dangerous idea.

One of those groups was flying free between casinos and strip clubs in Vegas, Nevada. Really troublesome area to be sending this team. It was practically screaming disaster.

“Why are they sending us? I thought we were done!” Leota protested, exchanging a questioning look with John who was in the same shock as her. Vegas was way out of hand and the last thing she wanted was to spend time away from her wife and furbabies.

“The official reason is that we are now experts on butterflies when it comes to terminating them-“

“The real reason is that we are seriously underpaid and we’re a cheap workforce” Economos interrupted Harcourt in a matter of seconds, saying the real reason for the little trip awaiting you.

Chris with Adrian, on the other hand, were doing their best not to let anyone know how excited they were. You could feel Adrian vibrating out of his skin next to you. No doubt he was already thinking how he and Peacemaker will stop crime, get wasted, and cruise some bitches. The real question was how they would break free from Harcourt's gaze and go astray. “Wait, you guys are getting paid?”

One way or another, this outing in Vegas was bound to be legendary.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The whole mission felt like a dream, after shooting up butterflies it was already too late to be driving back home, so Harcourt allowed crashing at a hotel until morning. You would think everyone felt like you, exhausted after the long trip and crashing little alien bugs, but no.

Chris and Adrian were pretty much excited to be hitting the town, and a person would think Adrian would at least clean his boots that still had alien goo all over them after he cheerily stomped on butterflies all day.

It wasn’t just the casinos, bars, and strip clubs waiting to strip lost souls of all their money. On the lit-up alleys, lined up were hustlers with classic shell games, women imitating peacocks adorned with faux gold and feathers, shady watch sellers, and more or less inconspicuous pickpockets. And just like tigers in a zoo, it was best to simply watch them pacing impatiently in circles—but anyone who sticks their hand into the enclosure quickly loses it.

All these predators, performing various tricks to catch their prey, prove once and for all that human creativity and the desire for money know no bounds.

In the end, you could not just lie in your hotel bed when Las Vegas was right on the other side of your window, teasing and luring with colorful blinding lights and loud music playing from every corner, the better side of Vegas. Plus the second Adrian put on his puppy eyes and whiny begging tone you were a goner.

How could you say no?

And that was the beginning of the most memorable night you did not remember.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

When you stirred awake you felt too hot and cold at the same time, head pounding and the ringing in your ears didn’t make it easier to open your eyes. The strongest hangover you ever had was making itself known, though hangovers usually don’t make you feel you are being pushed into the mattress and making your hand sweaty?

No, no, that wasn’t sweat, was it?

The morning sun shining into the hotel room immediately blinded you when you tried to open your eyes, but you managed to at least get a look at what was causing at least half of your discomfort.

Adrian.

Nearly naked Adrian lying on top of you.

Adrian that was drooling all over your fingers as he sucked on the ring pop on your finger from his sleep.

What?

His frame completely enveloped your body, transferring his body heat to you and making you feel breathless. Adrian lounged in just his boxers and once you looked around your room you found piles of clothes all over the small cheap hotel room.

His jeans on the ground, glasses on the bedside table, His holey socks hanging from the edge of the bed with… your top and jeans? Then whose shirt were you wearing?

Adrian’s room was right next to you, why was he sleeping in your bed?

Too many questions, too little answers.

You tried to gently ease Adrian from your body and roll him to the side, but goddamn, was he heavy. You could try again and again and he just wouldn’t budge.

He groaned from his sleep because of your constant nagging but he didn’t move an inch, at least he stopped sucking on the lollipop, “Stop wiggling, I’m gonna get a boner”. Gods, how could his voice sound so raspy and whiny at the same time?

“Adrian! What are you doing here?” you slapped his shoulder in an attempt to wake him up, which finally worked, he lifted his head while he just barely opened his eyes, blinking away the blurriness of his vision. Those half-lidded green eyes and tousled hair did something for you, it was hard to admit it though.

“I would be sleeping if you weren’t slapping me and making my cock hard” He mumbled nonchalantly and settled back on your chest, nuzzling to your boobs like it was the most normal thing to do. “Your tits are amazing pillow, you know that?”

Another slap. Another yelp from Adrian.

Under different circumstances, you would have enjoyed cuddling with Adrian, it’s not like you were completely resistant to his charm, or whatever that illuminates him, which makes him so enamoring.

But not right now, not when you had no idea how you got to bed, how he got in your bed, why you were almost naked, when your head was pounding, and also…

Why did you both have ring pops on your fingers?

You didn’t notice it at first, but once you did, it made gears in your head turn really hard to put one and one together. You took his hand in yours, studying his blue raspberry ring pop and comparing it to your strawberry one, but other than the fact yours was way smaller and wet from Adrian’s constant sucking, nothing stood out.

And Adrian didn’t even notice something was on his finger until you lifted his hand. Unbothered king. He was getting on the rest of your nerves that remained after the wild night.

“Oh my god! Twinsies!” How was he so cheery in the morning? He must have drunk a similar amount of alcohol as you did, but it seems his body doesn’t believe in hangovers.

When you started pushing him from your body again, he finally rolled off onto his back with a loud huff. What a way to wake up, hangover in a Vegas hotel. The only thing missing was an Elvis impersonator singing under the balcony. ‘Thank you, thank you’ he would mumble with that deep voice as you would throw a few cents at him.

Adrian laid still extremely close to you, shoulders touching and all, and stared at the ceiling with a dumb smile on his face while you were panicking next to him. How did this happen?

“Do you remember anything?”

“Nope.”

“Aren’t you concerned?”

“Nope.”

“Do you think we fucked?”

“Nah, you would have felt it.”

“You mean with that thimble of yours?”

He just snorted, tilting his head to the side to laugh right in your face. You didn't even have the energy to question what was so amusing about his thimble dick. But for that moment of Adrian laughing at you for no apparent reason, it felt like a normal day. Like you were back at HQ, relaxing on one of the worn-out couches with Adrian in his armor beside you, chatting about something ridiculous while polishing his knives and rolling his head to look at you, trying not to smile.

However, it all vanished away when Adrian lifted and knelt on the bed and a bunch of casino chips started falling from his boxers. Chip after chip pooling around his thick thighs. And it looked like he was surprised in the same way you were.

The right question would probably be why he stored his wins in underwear, second, why he went to sleep with them, and the third one…

“How did you win so much?”

“My brother taught me how to count cards, it’s really easy once you get the hang of it. But that doesn’t matter right now, what matters is that I need to exchange these crotch doubloons for real money,” He collected his chips and started admiring them in the morning light shining directly at him. “I am gonna be so rich, dude.”

Those little coins with fluorescent details flooded the room with colorful reflections. Spots of blue, green, red and pink decorated the furniture as well as your skin. If your skin wasn’t already buzzing from Adrian’s touch, you would be able to imagine the light tickling you.

“Come on, we’re going to get even more drunk to celebrate me being a fucking millionaire,” Adrian’s face lit up, what a fucking sunshine, you wanted to punch him in the face when he grabbed the blanket shielding your lower body from his greedy eyes. The cold air in the room was relentless, enveloping your body and leaving goosebumps in its wake. You could not get a break with the dumbass.

“Goddamn, do you wear this pathetic excuse for panties under your suit?” Adrian let out a wolf whistle and stared right between your legs without any shame. “You should have told me that sooner!”

Your panties? What was wrong with them?

One blurry look down and you know exactly what was wrong. “Those are not my panties.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t have white lace panties.”

“Wait, wait,” Adrian leaned extremely close to your crotch, examining the red embroidery that decorated the hem of mystery underwear. “Here it says… Congratulations to the happy couple from Bliss wedding chapel.”

“Say what?” Your eyes nearly bulged out of their eye sockets. The embroidery was a sign of something horribly dooming. White panties from the wedding chapel really weren’t a good thing for someone who did not intend to get married. And oh, the horror of wearing something gifted from a drive-through wedding chapel.

“What,” Adrian replied to your shocked words with a confused look. It seemed like he did not realize what it meant. Either that or he didn’t care at all about being married to his colleague.

“Ade, are you even registering what that means?” It was like your heart dropped down to your stomach. Did it mean what you thought it did? Were you fucking married? In Vegas? And without remembering anything?

“Oh my god, are you my wife?” He lifted from between your legs, which was fucking painful thing to do when the thing he wanted the most was to be buried between them. His face weirdly lit up, unclear if with shock or happiness, “Am I your husband?”

“No, that must be some misunderstanding, right?” You jolted up, scrambling out of bed with a bunch of uncoordinated jerks of limbs. It was a miracle you hadn’t fallen right on your face. Damn those sweet juicy drinks that weaken your brain!

“We need to talk with others, they must know something, right?” You were more or less talking to yourself, babbling how it is impossible you got married with freaking Adrian Chase without remembering anything.

Adrian was still too absorbed in those chips on the bed and the ring pop on your fingers. One of his focuses meant he won money, the other that he was married, and the third, pretty, pretty thing in front of him was his wife. He completely ignored your panic, it was whatever.

He never was the kind to believe in fate, but goddamn, he must have done something really good to get all of this in one night.

“Ade, are you listening to me?” You almost touched those chips, fingers mere inches away, before you realized that Adrian had these shiny knick-knacks stashed away in his boxers the whole night. Your hand hovered above them, eyebrows furrowed.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Adrian watched you with a dumb smile, “Are you afraid of my crotch doubloons?”

“I don’t want to touch something that was near your dick” As simple as that, did he think it was normal?

“So you’re afraid of my dick” His smile widened with every word, he had that stupid expression on his face you still couldn’t look through. You had wondered several times what was going through his mind at those moments when his face twisted maliciously.

“I’m not afraid of your dick, Adrian.”

“Then touch it.”

“Why would I be touching your dick?”

“To prove you’re not a coward.” That stupid face was literally asking to be punched, but would that help your case? He looked abnormally good when he was hurt. “Plus, if we are married, we should consummate the marriage, right?”

“We’re not in the Middle Ages, Ade, we’re not married and I’m too hungover anyways”

Adrian noted in his mind that you didn’t say no because you didn’t like him outright, you said you had a hangover. This could mean two things; That you didn’t like him and hid it behind a lame excuse of drinking too much yesterday, or that you were actually hangover but did like him.

That must be the case. At least he hoped.

All this time, he was hoping you might get the hint that he liked you. He tried to be discreet, sending small signs like he saw in movies and read on Wikihow.

Make eye contact, look down, hold, slowly look back, look away, soft smile, scratch your neck, lick your lips, make eye contact again, wink…

And all this time you thought he was cursing you across the room when he tried this in team debriefings.

Being discreet was so unlike him, but he hoped it might seem normal, not like his usual attempts at flirting. And that was the problem. Adrian Chase, a guy desperate to share his every thought, sending subtle signs? Who could have caught that? Not you, that’s for certain.

“I mean… What is a hangover anyway? It’s when alcohol levels in your body drop to zero after heavy drinking. And one way to remedy that is drinking more,” He knew way too much for his own good, though after multiple horrible hangovers, he needed to know what was happening to him.

“Maybe if you finally got laid you wouldn’t be so cranky all the time, it's like a hangover” He finished his speech with a look that screamed anything but innocent.

Your blood suddenly grew hot, how dare he say you don’t have any game? Your hand shot up between his legs, touching him just like he dared you.

You fell right into a trap.

Say what you want about Adrian, he was stupid but not dumb. He hunts down criminals, he must know a thing or two how to trap his victim, how to get what he wants. Right now, he got you right he wanted. On a hotel bed, dressed just in his shirt and wedding panties and your hand on his dick.

Lucky bastard.

And you… You were a lucky bastard in a way too.

You could fondle his cock any way you wanted. This image haunted your dreams more than once. And what fool would you be if you didn’t take that chance.

Though the surprised look on your face was not something you imagined, when you got a good feel of Adrian ‘Thimble’ Chase. He was already semi-hard, and it made you wonder what caused it. Was it when you were nudging him in his sleep? Or when his nose caught a whiff of you while reading your underwear testament?

Maybe you would have to spread the word that your now husband was Mr. Definitely not Thimble.

You began running your hand up and down over him, slowly but surely making him even harder than he was. Adrian managed to keep his wide and confident smile just for few seconds. One gentle squeeze on his base, one swipe of your thumb over his covered tip, and he was a goner. His sparkling eyes fluttered closed, and this time, when he licked his lips, it didn’t look like he was licking away sauce from pasta at Fennel Fields.

While his hips gently rutted further into your touch, his hands shot to your hips. Strangely, he was slick with his touches, before you even knew it, his fingers were running under the sides of your white lace panties, just oh so desperate to feel your soft skin without anything else in the way.

“Is my tongue still red?” Adrian asked before sticking his tongue out, baring the surface of his tongue colored in deep red. What a weird question to be asking when you’re getting your dick fondled, though at this point you shouldn’t be surprised.

“Still very much red, why are you asking now?”

Adrian just grinned and eyed you up like a predator. Something was stirring in his mind.

Before you could ask him for the meaning of his question again, he lifted his hand with the big ring pop on his finger and pushed it into your mouth.

The second flavor of blue raspberry burst on your tongue you couldn’t blame him for sucking on your ring pop all night and drooling on your fingers.

While you enjoyed the artificial taste coating your taste buds, Adrian stared at you with a slack jaw and soft whimpers falling from his mouth. “Fuck, I wish you were sucking me like that”

Suddenly, he pulled away his hand, making you whine at the loss of your lolly. It didn’t take long before you had something else to focus on with your mouth though.

He practically lunged at you with his lips, pressing them against yours and setting a pace too fast for your sluggish mind. Adrian’s tongue demanded entrance in your mouth and before you could even register what he wanted, he was pulling at your chin, opening up your mouth for his wandering tongue.

You desperately wanted to match his frenzied pace, it was all too much and yet so good.

Adrian didn’t lick around your mouth like you would have expected, no, quite the opposite. He flattened his tongue over yours, making sure surfaces painted in red and blue brushed against each other.

Oh, so that’s what he was doing…

He wanted to combine them. Red and blue create purple. It would be a beautiful symbol for your new, and very very strange, marriage. Purple can, among other things, symbolize mystery, exactly that clouded over last night. It was still a mystery how you two ended up together. Did it matter anyway?

In the end, he was licking into your mouth like a dog. Panting like one, too.

When he pulled away from the kiss, a string of spit connected your swollen lips. Stretching, stretching, and stretching until it broke and landed on both of your chins. As you were reaching to wipe it off Adrian latched his lips onto your chin with unseen eagerness. The main idea was to help you with the excessive saliva, though he only made it worse.

He trailed open-mouthed kisses from your chin, across jaw, over cheeks, and ended by your ear, “Should I prove I’m not afraid of your pussy?” He whispered before licking the shell of your ear. One of his hands trailed the ring pop over your arm, leaving a sticky trail, while the other began prying between your legs.

“Wow, look at that,” He dared to chuckle after he slipped his fingers under the crotch of your panties, feeling your heat for the first time. You believed Adrian would comment on how wet you were for him, for Vigilante. But no, of course not.

“Your pussy doesn’t have teeth like I thought it would!”

And at that moment you promised yourself you will kill him right after he makes you cum. Not sooner nor later. As a simple warning, you tightened your grip you had on him over the boxers that were, much to your surprise, already stained with precum.

Let’s see how happy Adrian will be when he realizes his wife is a praying mantis in disguise.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

You didn’t bite Adrian’s head off after all, he looked too cute after you made him finish in his underwear. That boyish grin, puffy lips wet with your cum after he licked his fingers off with proud bravado, lively eyes that shined almost the same way as his casino chips…

No, you might just keep him a bit longer.

At least he stopped with his nagging while you took a shower together and dressed in clean clothes. All this time, Adrian watched you like a lost puppy, begging for affection. Each time you gave him a chaste kiss, he stopped whining for a mere second.

While Adrian was hungry for more kisses, and undoubtedly something more, you were actually hungry for some food and coffee or green tea to get you going for the day. So you made your way to the hotel’s small dining room.

Adrian threw all his casino chips on the table between breakfast plates and mugs, they clinked against the ceramics almost too loudly for your poor pounding head.

Everyone’s eyes fell on shiny colorful chips, Leota put down her butter bread so she could reach for them, thankfully you grabbed her wrist right before she could get her fingers on the chip lying next to her plate “Don’t touch that.”

She shot you a questioning look but trusted your judgment. No need to tell her where these chips were, especially if they were in the middle of the table and too close to food.

“Did I get married to Adrian yesterday?” You asked without any humor in your voice, eyes flickering between every single one of those guilty faces of your colleagues. Adrian, though, did not care at all about this little investigation. He was too blissful with married life to even question it.

“It was one of the weirdest ceremonies I have ever seen,” Leota cracked first, “You didn’t even want me as your bridesmaid! You chose John!”

Your eyes landed on Economos, sipping his coffee to hide from you, “I did my duty well” was all he added.

Then you took a good look at others, Harcourt kept staring forward, digging her fork in some scrambled eggs. Chris, on the other hand, was already showing Adrian photos on his phone and Adrian was smiling widely, pointing out small details from your wedding and muttering how beautiful you looked, wearing cheap-looking veil you rented and holding a bottle of vodka instead of a wedding bouquet.

You joined him, and all that anger and confusion blurred for a brief moment. You looked happy in those photos. Laughing, chatting, eyes sparkling like they haven’t for a while. Every single photo was suddenly so precious.

Those were your lost memories.

And the way you were holding onto Adrian, so tightly and lovingly… All those small details didn’t escape either of you. Adrian nudged you with his elbow “We look good together”.

And you did. You really did.

Flushed, drunk, happy.

With the promise of the team explaining on the way home, you dropped your investigation of last night and settled to finally have some breakfast. Both you and Adrian get the leftovers in the form of yogurt. “Snoozers losers,” Chris added.

It was like you and Adrian had already synchronized, peeling the lid off, and licking some leftover yogurt at the same time. And in the meantime, everyone around the table could get a pretty good look at your purple tongues.

“See?! See that?” Chris called out way too loudly while pointing at you, “Did you stick your dick in her?”

You nearly choked on your own saliva at that question. Who even asks that? Especially during hotel breakfast? Some people from other tables turned around when they heard it, eager to know what the hell was going on.

But Adrian smiled, lifted his hand and wiggled his digits “Just my fingers.”

A symphony of disgusted noises came from your team, suddenly your yoghurt didn’t look as appealing as it should. But hey, maybe there will be a time when you won’t be able to eat yoghurt without thinking of Adrian and his-

“I made sure the guy marrying you didn’t have a license for it to be legitimate,” Harcourt finally spoke up, much to the dismay of the rest of the team.

“Which was a fucking mistake! You know how hilarious it would be if these two goons were married for real?” Chris chimed in with a booming laugh just from the idea of the night of the outing ending in one happy couple, drunk out of their minds.

Weight dropped from your shoulders upon hearing you weren’t married for real to Vigilante over there. It was like the air finally cleared, and you could take a deep breath of that crisp morning air. You caught Adrian doing the same, sighing in relief.

But if you were for real, it also stung a little. Somehow, while you made your way to breakfast earlier, you already started planning what to do next. Who will move to whom, when you should go and change your name on your ID to Chase, if you should get rid of your coffee machine so Adrian wouldn’t have too much disposal of caffeine…

While you were lost in your head, thinking whenever you were actually happy or sad the dumbass next to you wasn't your partner for real, Adrian simply leaned closer to you and whispered with that dopey smile, “It’s fine. Next time I’ll be marrying you, I want to remember it.”

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