Bean’s Writing

It even affected the things he thought he could have, things that other people had convinced him he could have he knew eventually he’d taint them. 

So when she flinched at Bob’s angry words, he felt that poison bubbling in his gut. The same poison he had convinced himself was gone or at the very least contained. That somehow learning to be Bob and not the Void or Sentry had fixed him and he had learned to keep it inside and away from those he loved. 

Angry words like his father, reminding him he can never escape the venom that was inside him, ready to hurt anyone who dared to try to get close to him. Not only were they angry words but she also flinched. 

Flinched.

Which meant she felt it coming, she knew he would hurt her, she was expecting it the whole time. 

He can’t believe for even a second he thought he was a hero that could have normal things. He was truly never a hero - let alone a normal person, the entire thought was laughable at this point. There was something wrong with him, too wrong with him to make a change. 

It was like his vision was going dark. Like the darkness had finally spread to everything to even the simplest things in his life, so he does the only thing he can think to do. 

He shuts down. 

There’s no poison if he’s just…gone. 

“No, Bob, wait,” she started immediately trying to pull him back but Bob’s thoughts were already gone as he made quick work grabbing his jacket. He barely feels her hands on his arm, doing anything to beg him to stay and listen, but in his mind he’s already gone. 

He’s barely aware of the way he blinks, and he’s suddenly outside in the cold New York air, the Watchtower finally comes into sight right when Bob feels like he can barely keep his body together anymore. It’s the last bit of wind he needed to blink and be back in his room. 

Where he had no plans to leave - since he didn’t deserve it. He kept his door locked, breaking at least two different rules and ever since collapsing on his bed he hadn’t been able to find his phone, not even sure if it made it back to the Watchtower with him, but it didn’t matter.

None of it mattered. 

He was vaguely aware after four hours in his dark room that Yelena had come by twice to check on him. Knocking started soft and comforting to panicked, begging for Bob to acknowledge her and that he was at least breathing. Threatening to break open his door and when she couldn’t override his lock, she threatened to go through his window. 

He threw a lamp across the room and it made the threats stop. 

It didn’t make the talking stop however. Each of his friends took turns outside his room, either talking or just leaning against the door to show Bob that he wasn’t alone, but it wasn’t enough to pull him out of this. 

He knows it hasn’t been that long since he’s locked himself in the room just by the fact he hasn’t seemed to lose track of his body, maybe a total of ten hours. 

“He left his phone, I just found it or else I would’ve run it over sooner.” Her voice sounded outside the door and Bob immediately tensed in his bed trying to curl himself into a smaller ball. As if he could disappear before she could make it into the room. 

“He overrode his door lock, you’re welcome to try but none of his have been able to get the door open,” Ava said and he closed his eyes. It might be true they didn’t know the code but-

“I’ve got it, thanks Ava,” she whispered as she punched in the code and Bob felt like a livewire was running through his entire body. Body was tense in his bed as he kept his head towards the wall, eyes clothes even though he could perfectly picture her every movement. 

The door opening, her soft padding over, leaving his phone on the nightstand, all to her final spot. Sitting next to him on the bed, a soft hand on his shoulder. But it feels wrong, unearned, and painful against him, even through his shirt he feels like he’s burning. 

“Bob,” she said softly, pressing him just a little bit harder with her hand, a painful reminder that she was actually there and not just a living nightmare. 

“Bob,” she repeated, this time a little more intense and he let out a shaky breath, keeping his eyes shut and face trained at the wall. “I brought your phone, you left it at my apartment.” 

“Okay,” he whispered, keeping his voice monotone, scared of what could come out after if he let himself feel anything past the emptiness. 

“Bob, I didn’t flinch because of-”

“Please no,” he whimpered, not wanting to hear the end of her statement. He needed her to leave, to leave him to wallow, and to drown in his own poison.

“Bob, let me talk and then I’ll leave, okay?” she said gently, in an almost too sweet tone as she leaned down and kissed the back of his neck, making him shiver. “I didn’t flinch because you scared me. It was muscle memory, I know you would never hurt me. I trust you, I’ve just…had bad luck with angry men but you are not that. I know you’re not like that.” 

Bob sighed, feeling her words and wanting desperately to fight them, that she’s wrong and that he is an angry man, but he can barely contain himself as a sob rakes through him. 

“Oh, honey,” she whispered before finally fully climbing in his bed, slotting herself behind him and practically pulling himself against her. He lets her, but not fully as he curled slightly in on himself. 

“But maybe, there’s just a part of me that can’t help it, that is an angry person who just…hurts people,” he said between sobs and her grip tightened around him. 

“Bob, the fact that you’re this aware of a small movement that was muscle memory tells me you’re not an angry man, you care so much and not just about me. You care about your friends and doing the right thing, you care so much about making sure everyone is happy and taken care of. Bob, an angry man would not give a shit about any of that, you would be focused on hurting others and controlling them, yelling without reason and making people feel uneasy. You do the exact opposite, you feel like…coming home after a long day, you’re soft and comforting. You have to believe me, okay?” She started crying in his ear, clearly aching for him. 

“There’s a poison inside me and I can-” Bob started weakly and she let out a sob that shook him to his core. 

“You are a good man, Bob Reynolds. There is no poison inside of you and I will say it every second of every day for the rest of my life if that’s what it takes for you to believe me,” she said firmly and definitively and he let out a sigh that was a mix of relief and an inkling of disbelief. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, finally moving to grab her hand that had been squeezing his arm tightly. 

“Don’t be, Bob. I’m here,” she whispered and he moved his head back, knocking the back of his head against her forehead as a ghost of a smile played on his lips. 

“I’m here too.” 

___

Now, he lies here with you sat astride him, stuffed full of his cock, and the bed frame rattles and squeaks, matching your little moans and gasps every time he thrusts up into you, your breasts bouncing, your nails digging into his chest.

“Come on, baby,” he pants. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—” 

“Ah—oh, god,” you sigh, rolling your hips so Adrian’s cock hits you right where you want it. You fall forward a little, let yourself rest on his chest, and he takes over entirely, grabbing you by the hips, lifting you up and dropping you back down, relishing in the tiny noises that escape you every time he hits you nice and deep.

Lying forward like this, your face hovers just above his, and you lean down the few inches to connect your lips with his. He groans at the back of his throat when your lips trail down his jaw, when your teeth nibble at the skin of his neck.

“I’m gonna—need you to come, baby, please, I need it,” he says over the sound of his hips snapping up into yours. He can feel that you’re close from the way you’re holding yourself so tensely. “Touch yourself for me, you can—”

Your hand works between your bodies, between your legs, right to where you’re joined, and rubs furiously at your clit. “Adrian—Adrian—”

He feels it when you shatter, your entire body trembling, and his own body shudders with pleasure as he topples over the edge right along with you.

“Fuck,” he gasps. You collapse, boneless, on top of him, and his arms come around you to hold you close, tracing gently up and down your back, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“That’s one way to celebrate a mission well done,” you murmur, and he laughs.

“My favorite way,” he says, kissing the side of your head. “You know that. It’s been torture, without you.”

You kiss his cheek softly. “No more torture.”

“Only the sexy kind,” Adrian grins.

You roll your eyes. “Come on. Let’s clean up before dinner. No funny business in the shower. We don’t have time,” you say firmly.

“Of course not,” Adrian says innocently. He’s lying through his teeth. He knows it, and you do too. There’s absolutely no way he’ll be able to keep his hands off of you, especially when you get out of bed and start walking toward the bathroom with your hips swaying like that, glancing over your shoulder with a teasing look.

“You’re evil,” he says, scrambling after you. Your laughter echoes off the tiled bathroom wall.

An hour later, Adrian is almost fully dressed, in his jeans and socks, picking out a shirt. You’ve got half an hour before you’re due to meet Emilia and Chris for dinner.

“Not-Economos isn’t coming,” Adrian reports, reading a text message from Chris. “Emilia declared the mission over, and he dipped. He’s going back to Evergreen. Not that I blame him.”

“His name is Marcus,” you remind Adrian.

“I really don’t give a fuck,” Adrian says as he responds to Chris’s message. You just shake your head, giggling and digging through your bag for a fresh pair of jeans, clad only in your bra and underwear.

“Hey, Ade?” you ask, your tone curious. He looks up from his phone to see you holding up the dress.

The pretty white one, from your closet. That he’d shoved at the bottom of your bag. His heart picks up speed, and his hands suddenly feel clammy.

“Yeah?” he says, trying to play it cool. 

“I know I didn’t pack this for myself,” you say, raising an eyebrow. “You planning to take me on a hot date?”

Adrian’s mouth goes dry, watching you hold the dress up against your body. 

Am I actually doing this? he thinks, as he looks at you standing there, half-naked and beautiful and here and his. It was a split-second decision, shoving that dress at the bottom of your bag back in Evergreen. He could play it off now, say he wants to take you dancing, or to a nice dinner. But his eyes flick to your left hand. Your empty ring finger. He imagines a diamond sitting there, sparkling, as your hand clutches the fabric.

He clears his throat and decides.

“Maybe,” he says. “If…if you want.”

“Hmm,” you tease. “I don’t know, where are you taking me?”

Adrian swallows nervously.

“One of the chapels on the Strip,” he says. Hesitant. Hopeful.

You freeze, the floral fabric wrinkling as you clench it in your fists. 

“Are you serious?” you ask. There’s something in your voice he hasn’t ever heard before. A little breathy wobble.

Adrian looks at you carefully, the way you’re looking at him with wide eyes. The surprise is written on your face, clear as day, but it’s hard to know what you’re thinking, and it makes him even more nervous. His heart skips, a quick rhythm he feels right at the back of his throat, but—it’s out in the universe now. He can’t take it back. 

He doesn’t want to take it back.

“I’ve never been more serious,” he says quietly, even as his voice shakes, setting his phone aside and standing up to walk over to you. Your eyes are glassy as you look up at him, and his hands skate up your waist, your arms, your neck, until his hands cup your cheeks. “I love you. And I just spent—all those weeks alone, and now I know what it’s like. To live without you. And I never want to do it again.”

“You want to…marry me?” you whisper, like you can’t believe it.

“I do,” he says, and you smile, wide and bright, your cheeks smushing a little between his hands.

“Really? You’ve—I mean—we’ve never even talked about it—”

“I know,” he says quickly. “I know I’m springing this on you. I just—I was thinking about it the other night, when me and Peacemaker were out doing touristy shit, and I saw all the couples coming out of the chapels, being happy and in love, and—I wanted to do that. With you.”

“I want that too,” you say softly. “I want to marry you, Adrian.”

“Yeah?” he whispers. You nod, and he smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and he laughs. “Really?”

“Really,” you say. “Let’s get married.”

“It doesn’t have to be here, or now,” Adrian says. “It can just be the two of us at the courthouse in Evergreen for all I care. Or—I am technically ordained. I did it online a couple years ago when I was bored. But I don’t know if I’m allowed to marry myself? I mean, not marry myself, but marry myself, you know—”

“No,” you interrupt. “Now. Today. Well—not today. Tomorrow. We need to call John and Ads, and give them time to fly down, so they can be here. And—we need to get rings, and I love you, baby, but you are not wearing the Vigilante suit at the altar—”

“Why not? It’s the nicest outfit I own!”

“You literally killed someone last night. It’s covered in blood.”

“Oh. Right,” he says. “I guess I can probably rent a suit or something, right? Maybe a teal bow tie?” His question is hopeful. You giggle.

“I wouldn’t expect any other color.”

“We’re really doing this?” Adrian asks, because he needs to make sure. That this moment is happening, that this is real.

“Ask me,” you say. “Say the words.”

Adrian’s smile widens. “Will you marry m—”

You cut him off with a kiss, dropping the white dress to the floor so you can wrap your arms around his neck and hitch yourself higher. He does what you’re wordlessly asking, lifting you in his arms, and your legs wrap around his waist as your lips move against his. You’re saying something between kisses, in tiny, quiet gasps.

“Yes,” you say, and Adrian’s heart sings. “Yes, yes, yes—”

Then you’re reaching down, pulling at his belt, unzipping his pants, shoving them down to his ankles. He grinds against you, he can’t help it, walking you back against the wall, and you whine.

“Please,” you say. “God, please—”

Adrian shoves your underwear aside and pushes into you, a slick, smooth slide, and he fucks you right there against the wall in frenzied thrusts that knock his glasses askew. You pull his mouth to yours and kiss him, let him swallow every sound you make, every word of praise you breathe.

“So good to me,” you say. “I love you so much.”

“I love you,” he gasps into your mouth. “God, I fucking love you.”

Your head falls back against the wall when you come, fluttering around his cock, and he spills into you almost immediately after, hot pleasure rushing through him.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re cleaning yourselves up, almost certainly going to be late for dinner, but you can’t bring yourselves to care. You keep stopping, pausing for one more kiss, and it takes longer than usual for you to pull your clothes on and make yourself presentable.

“Are you sure?” Adrian says, checking in one last time before you go. “I mean it. We don’t have to do this now. We can wait. Have a big, fancy ceremony, and get you a nice expensive sparkly dress, and a cake with like, ten layers—I can make Chris and Economos wear bowties, and maybe Eagly could be our ringbearer—”

“I don’t need any of that,” you say softly. “I just need you. And our friends. But I don’t care about all the rest. I just want to be with you, for the rest of my life.”

On the walk to the restaurant, you call Ads. Adrian can hear her screeching in your ear even from several feet away, and he laughs.

“You’ll be here, right?” you ask. “You and John. I need a maid of honor. Yes, you. Oh, Ads, don’t cry—”

Meanwhile, Adrian calls Economos.

“Hey, Adrian,” he answers. “What’s up? I don’t have time for an animal quiz today, I gotta—”

“Ads is gonna book you a flight to Vegas,” Adrian interrupts.

“I—what?”

“We’re getting married,” Adrian says, and Economos makes a choking noise.

“What?”

“I mean, we’re not getting married. I’m not marrying you,” Adrian clarifies. “Obviously. I’m marrying my girlfriend. My fiancee. Who I love very much. Everyone else is coming, so you have to be there too.”

“Jesus Christ,” Economos says. “I knew what you meant, dude. But holy shit, you’re not kidding? Okay. Um. Fuck. I guess I’ll drop everything in my entire life and hop on a last-minute flight to Vegas because I have nothing better to do—”

“You don’t have anything better to do,” Adrian says, confused. “You don’t have a life.”

“Fuck you,” Economos says, but he’s laughing. “Goddamnit. I guess I have to go pack a bag. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Adrian says brightly. “See you tomorrow!”

When you sit down at the dinner table, Adrian doesn’t even give Harcourt time to criticize you both for being ten minutes late.

“We’re staying an extra day,” Adrian declares, sliding out your chair for you and then plopping down into his own with a huge smile.

“Five days ago, you were ready to quit your job because you wanted to not be here so badly,” Chris says. “What gives?”

“I didn’t miss home, I missed her,” Adrian says simply. “And we’re staying for a reason. Actually, you need to stay too, so you can be here. You were included in the ‘we.’ Ads and Economos are coming down, we just talked to them on the walk over here.”

“Ads and John are coming? To Vegas?” Emilia clarifies, brows furrowed.

“For what?” Chris asks, similarly bewildered. “The mission is done. I mean, we can have a bomb ass 11th Street Kids reunion and get plastered at the casino. You don’t need to ask me twice. But we can also get plastered on the roof of Emilia’s apartment building for a lot cheaper.”

You reach for Adrian’s hand on top of the table, a tiny smile on your face. He rubs his thumb over the empty spot on your ring finger. Emilia watches the movement with sharp eyes.

“Holy shit,” she says. “You’re not.”

You smile. “We are.”

“You’re what?” Chris says, looking around the table at each of you in turn.

“Oh my god,” Emlia says, clasping a hand over her mouth. “Holy shit. Holy shit.”

“What are you holy shitting about!” Chris cries.

“They’re getting married!”

Chris’s eyes go wide, and he looks to Adrian for confirmation, but he’s too busy staring at you, all love-struck and smiley.

“Dude! Why didn’t you fucking tell me! I’m your BFF!”

“It was a spur of the moment thing!” Adrian says.

“What the fuck!” Chris sputters. “Well—fine. I’m gonna be your best man, though, right?”

“Obviously,” Adrian says.

“And I asked Ads to be my maid of honor. They’ll be here tomorrow afternoon,” you add, smiling.

Emilia shakes her head. “Holy shit. Oh my god. This is crazy. I mean, it’s not crazy. I know you guys love each other. Well. It’s a little bit crazy, but Adrian is a little bit crazy, so really, what am I expecting here?”

“Aw man, Eagly’s gonna miss it,” Chris sighs. “He could have been your ringbearer or something.”

“That’s what I said!” Adrian exclaims.

“Shut the fuck up, Chris,” Emilia sighs, and you just laugh.

“Isn’t it bad luck to spend the night together before the wedding?” Emilia teases at the end of the night. You giggle, but Adrian frowns.

“That’s a tradition rooted in misogyny,” Adrian says matter-of-factly. “And respectfully, I think I’ve spent enough nights sleeping alone recently.”

“Fair enough,” Chris notes.

“Too many wedding traditions are about owning women,” Adrian continues. “Like someone walking the bride down the aisle to ‘give her away.’ She’s not an object!”

“Thank you for respecting my autonomy, honey.” He beams at you. “I still think we should do something the old-fashioned way,” you say. 

“Well, you’re gonna wear a white dress,” Adrian says. “Which is supposed to symbolize purity or some bullshit like that. Obviously I don’t care about that, I mean, literally this morning we were—”

Emilia slaps him on the back of the head before he can finish his sentence, and you laugh.

“Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue?” you suggest. “No misogyny or bullshit there. That’s just for luck, I think.”

He tilts his head thoughtfully. “Does teal count as blue? Or green? I want a teal bowtie.”

“I think the bride is supposed to have all four things,” Emilia says.

“More misogyny,” Adrian says. “Why does she need to carry the weight of superstition on her shoulders? This is a partnership. We shoulder all burdens equally.”

Chris rolls his eyes. “Yes, Adrian, teal is blue.”

“Perfect! And you already have a white dress, babe. What year did you buy it?”

“Why?”

“We need to know if it’s old or not.”

“I think the fact that it was buried at the back of the closet qualifies it in the ‘old’ category.” You giggle at Adrian’s thoughtful concentration. When his mind is set to something, he takes it incredibly seriously.

“I’ve got something you can borrow,” Chris tells Adrian.

“What is it?” Adrian asks excitedly.

“It’s a surprise.”

“I love surprises!” Adrian says excitedly.

“I know,” Chris says. “It’s almost like—get this—I’m going to be your best man for a reason.”

“So if you’re going to shoulder all burdens equally,” Emilia says dramatically, looking at you with a smirk, “that means we get to go shopping tonight for ‘something new.’ What are you thinking? Accessories? Something for your hair, or a bracelet?”

“I’ve got an idea,” you smile, and Adrian immediately opens his mouth to ask what it is, but you interrupt. “It’s a surprise.”

“Two surprises in one day,” Adrian says. “And I’m getting married? Tomorrow is going to be the best fucking day ever.”

“I’ll go with you,” Emilia says. “We can go buy whatever you’re thinking, and then we can meet Chris and Adrian at one of the casinos for one last drink before we turn in for the night.”

“Wait,” Adrian pouts. “Without me?”

“How is it going to be a surprise if you come with me?” you ask.

Adrian looks torn between wanting to cling to your hand for the rest of the night and getting his surprise tomorrow. He hasn’t let you out of his sight since the day he drove fifteen hours straight to get home to you after five weeks of being apart. You’ve been within arms’ reach for almost an entire week, and the idea of you watching you walk away from him, even for just a few hours, makes his chest feel tight with panic. You can see it in his eyes, and you cup his cheek in one hand and kiss him softly.

“I’ll be with Em. You’ll be with Chris. I am not leaving Vegas, you are not leaving Vegas. No more missions. We’re together. I’m not leaving you.”

Adrian takes a shaky breath.

“I know,” he says quietly. “Just…be quick?”

“Two hours,” you promise, and he nods.

“Okay,” he says. “Here.” He opens his wallet and pulls out a wad of cash.

“What—”

“To buy your something new,” he says, shoving the money into your hands.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, but you take the money, because he’ll argue with you if you don’t. “I’ll see you in a couple hours.” You pull out your phone and set a two-hour timer, holding it up for him to see, and watch a little bit more tension drain out of him.

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you too,” you say, and you kiss him again. “And when I get back, we’ll go pick out our rings, okay?”

“Ooh! Can I bring my Vigilante gloves with me? Maybe they can, like, embroider the left one—”

“Embroider your glove?”

“With some silver thread or something,” he nods. “The people need to know that Vigilante is off the market. Even the criminals should know that I’m taken, babe.”

Chris rolls his eyes. You just kiss your fiance and smile.

The next morning feels weirdly normal. Adrian wakes up with you curled around him, and he feels so fucking grateful for it, because the memory of an empty bed is still fresh in his mind. You’re still sleeping. He closes his eyes and pulls you closer.

But then you’re kissing him, softly, and he smiles as he realizes you’re awake after all.

“Good morning,” you say, your voice all raspy from sleep. He pulls you on top of him. He’s been doing that all week, using you like a blanket, your weight pressing him down into the mattress, comforting and secure. 

Adrian opens his eyes when you laugh. You’re a little blurry. He hasn’t put his glasses on yet. You can tell he’s squinting, and you reach over to the bedside table, then slide them on his face for him. He steals another kiss after you do, then checks his phone.

“Can you believe we’re getting married in seven hours, twenty-nine minutes, and forty-one seconds?” he asks, grinning.

“What?” you ask, bewildered that he’s keeping track down to the second, but he misunderstands your confusion.

“You did agree to marry me yesterday, didn’t you?” he says, a little uncertain. “I made an appointment on my phone last night. Unless—you’re not sure? We don’t have to—”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” you interrupt quickly, putting a few fingers over his mouth to stop him talking. He can’t help himself. He kisses your hand, and you smile. “I just—how do you know down to the second?”

“It’s kinda one of the greatest, most important things that’s ever going to happen to me,” he says, trying and failing to sound casual and chill about it when in fact he’s ready to vibrate out of his skin and take you right with him, levitating from the sheer power of his excitement and joy right down the street and through the doors of the chapel.

“You’re such a sap,” you say, but your eyes are shining, and the way you’re smiling at him makes his heart flutter in his chest.

“I’m allowed to be sappy. We’re getting married today,” he says, beaming.

“We’re getting married today,” you repeat, beaming back, just as bright. “Shall we?”

Adrian expects the day to drag, but he’s too busy to watch the clock. The two of you go with Chris and Emilia to pick up Ads and Economos from the airport, and for the first time in months, all of the 11th Street Kids are in one place at the same time. 

When you go grab lunch, you stop at a cheap fast-food joint with outdoor picnic tables where you can sit for a while and chat. But it’s not a quick bite. You spend hours there, catching up over too-salty fries, baking in the hot sun, laughing so loud you’re drawing attention to yourselves. Adrian looks around the table and feels so fucking happy he thinks he might explode. All of his favorite people in the whole world are here with him right now, and he gets to marry you today.

Between the trip to the airport and lunch, five hours have passed, and before Adrian knows it, the girls are whisking you off to get you dressed and ready for the evening.

“I’ll see you later,” you say as Ads drags you away into your motel room. Adrian watches you go and feels the familiar pang in his chest that comes with being apart from you, but the ache is soothed with the knowledge that the next time he sees you, you’ll be walking down the street together to the chapel.

He ends up in Chris and Emilia’s motel room with Chris and John, getting ready himself, and when he looks at the clock and realizes there’s only two hours before your appointment time, he’s surprised.

He’s been waiting for the panic to set in all day. That’s what happens in the movies. People get nervous before they get married. It’s a big commitment, it’s a big life decision. But it doesn’t feel like that, not for him.

Adrian decided a long, long time ago that you were it for him. Today, you’re just signing a piece of paper to make it official. He’ll tell you in front of his friends exactly how much you mean to him. But he’s done that dozens of times before. He tells you he loves you constantly. And he knows that you love him, too.

“I promised you something borrowed,” Chris says. He holds out a box for Adrian. “John stopped at the house to pick these up for me before he came down here.”

Adrian cracks open the box, and there’s a pair of silver cufflinks in the shape of Chris’s signature dove of peace.

“Thank you,” Adrian says, and before he can even get properly all choked up about it, Chris is rolling his eyes.

“Don’t be a pussy about it. Just put them on.”

When you text him that you’re ready about an hour later, Adrian nearly trips over himself with eagerness. Chris and John look at him, bewildered, when he rushes out of the motel room and down just a few doors to his own room where you’ve been getting dressed. They watch him knock furiously with fond exasperation.

“He’s so…” John starts.

“Whipped?” Chris suggests.

“Sure, let’s go with that. Just don’t let him hear you say it. He would probably misread a social cue and make it about like, BDSM or something.”

When you open the door, Adrian stares. Ads and Emilia have helped tame your hair into a stunning style, the floral white dress flatters your form absolutely perfectly, and—

“I am so fucking in love with you,” he says. “Fuck. How are you so pretty—”

He reaches for your face to kiss you, but Emilia slaps his hands away.

“You’re gonna fuck up her makeup.”

“Ask me if I give a shit,” Adrian retorts, and he kisses you anyway while you laugh at him. 

He does, in fact, smudge your lipstick a little. Once Adrian finally lets you go, Ads rolls her eyes and carefully fixes it as best she can.

As she does, Adrian’s eyes latch onto the sparkling silver necklace at your throat. He reaches for it, picks the charm up between his thumb and forefinger. A tiny letter A. When he swallows, his throat feels tight.

“When did you—”

“My something new,” you say, smiling softly at him as Ads steps back, satisfied with her work.

“Oh,” he says, his own goofy smile growing on his face. “A for—”

“Adrian, yes,” you giggle. “I thought about a V, maybe, for Vigilante, but—”

“It’s perfect,” Adrian interrupts, his voice cracking a bit. “You’re perfect. I’m so happy that I get to marry you, baby.” He goes to kiss you again, and Ads grabs him by the back of the collar.

“I just fixed her makeup, Adrian—”

“Save the sappy speeches,” Chris says from the doorway. “We don’t want to be late.”

Adrian snaps to attention. “No. We should be early, actually. Maybe they’ll get us in quicker—”

“He’s gonna fucking run down the aisle,” John laughs.

Adrian doesn’t run down the aisle. If you were at the end of it, waiting for him, he absolutely would have. But instead, you walk down the aisle together, hands laced tightly, both of you beaming and giggling like idiots the whole way to the altar.

“You’d never guess they were fucking assassins,” John mutters to Emilia, who just smiles and shakes her head.

“Even people surrounded by death all the time deserve a little happiness,” she murmurs.

And you are. The both of you. Happier than you’ve ever been, because you love each other. Adrian has known for ages now that he was going to love you forever, but now—there’s something special about it. Setting it in stone, making it official. Being able to call you his wife instead of his girlfriend, being able to look at the wedding ring he’s going to place on your finger

He’s so caught up in it all—his imaginings of that future—that before he knows it, the officiant is done with his cookie-cutter speech, and offering the floor to the both of you to share your vows, gesturing for you to speak.

You offer Adrian a nervous half-smile and he squeezes your hands. The light in his eyes washes all of your worry away.

“The day I met you, I didn’t even see your face,” you begin. “All I knew was the man behind the mask. I knew you were funny, and brave, and righteous, and a little bit of an idiot, and part of me knew, from that very first week, that I wanted you to be my idiot. Forever. I trusted you to have my back in the field for years, and I have trusted you with my heart for almost as long, and you have done nothing but pour love and laughter into my life. I am so grateful for you, Adrian, and I love you. I will continue to love you for the rest of my life, and I will show you that love every day. No matter how far away we are.”

“When I was growing up, I never thought I’d love anyone like this,” Adrian says, a little choked up. “And now that I do, it’s the most special thing, and Chris might be my best friend, but you are my best best friend, in the whole wide world, and you are so funny and badass and hot and every time I look at you I just feel so—lucky, and every day that I wake up and I get to love you is the best day of my life, and I never want to be without you.” He takes a deep breath after his rambling confession.

The officiant gestures for John and Emilia to step forward. They each hand you something—the rings that you and Adrian had picked out the night prior. Simple, silver bands. 

Adrian had wanted to get you something flashier, but you’d reminded him that you were both assassins for a living and you often worked with your hands. A lot of the time, the ring would be living on the new chain around your neck, hiding beneath your shirt right beside the tiny silver letter A. A big diamond would get caught on your clothes and in your hair.

You take the rings now from your friends and slide them onto each other’s left hands. Then your hands come up to cup Adrian’s face, framing his bright, boyish smile that widens even further when he feels the cool metal of your wedding band pressing against his cheeks.

You turn to the officiant. “Can I kiss him now? While you do the boring part?”

The man shrugs. “Be my guest.”

Somewhere in the background, you register the words as the officiant pronounces you husband and wife. Hear the sniffles that Ads and John try to hide, the clapping from Emilia, the wolf whistle from Chris.

You’re too busy kissing your husband to care about any of it.

Several hours later, tipsy and tired, you and Adrian stumble toward your motel room, giggling between kisses. It takes him three tries to get the electronic lock to work because he’s so distracted by your lips on his neck, sending bolts of heat shooting down his spine. He hums and tilts his head to give you better access as the door finally opens.

You start to step inside, but he grabs you by the wrist and yanks you into his chest.

“No,” he says. “I’m supposed to—to do a thing. Carry you.”

“Bridal style?”

“Yeah,” he says. “You’re a bride. My bride. I gotta do my duty. I will not fail at husbanding within the first six hours.”

“I think that’s for when we get home,” you laugh. “And I don’t think husbanding is a verb, baby.”

“Humor me,” he says, picking you up anyway, sending you into another fit of giggles. He steps over the threshold with a goofy smile and then sets you down on the bed and shuts the door behind him. “Okay. All done.”

“Thank you, my love,” you say dramatically.

“You’re welcome, Mrs. Chase,” he teases, leaning over you on the mattress, and then he makes a face. “Ew. Sorry. I wanted that to be sexy, it is not sexy. I’m just thinking about my fucking mom now. Gross.”

“You’re gonna have to tell her,” you point out.

“Not tonight, I’m not,” he says. “Tonight, I am going to make love to my wife, and tomorrow we are going to go home and stay home for several weeks and not talk to anybody except each other, because the rest of the world got to have you for five fucking weeks straight and it’s my turn to be alone with my wife.”

He’s been calling you that all night. Every bartender, every stranger on the street, even to Chris and Emilia and John and Ads, like they don’t know who you are already. The words feel magical on his tongue. He’s not sure he’ll ever get sick of them.

“You’re all mine,” you say. “No missions. No interruptions. Just us.”

You reach up for his bowtie and pull it loose, dropping it on the floor, then push his unbuttoned, already-disheveled suit jacket off his shoulders. His cheeks are flushed, his hair is a mess, his mouth hanging open, reaching forward for your lips, but your duck your head to the side, kissing at his neck instead. He groans.

“You’re so handsome,” you say, nibbling at his jaw as you unbutton his shirt. “How are you so handsome? I’m so lucky.”

“You’re so lucky?” he says incredulously, hands trailing up your thighs. “I’m so lucky. The luckiest guy on the fucking planet. With the most badass, beautiful wife ever. I love you so much.”

“Are you gonna take my clothes off or what? I feel like I’m doing all the work here.”

“I get to see you naked all the time. I only get to fuck my wife in her wedding dress once,” he says. He’s not even smug about it. He’s just—earnest, excited. He just wants you. And you want him just as bad. 

He’s just a little bit drunk, maybe, he thinks to himself, the world all hazy and warm. He can’t stop smiling, giggling, and neither can you, the both of you feeding on each other’s joy, amplifying it back in an echo chamber that makes his chest feel tight, like he can’t physically hold in all the love he has for you.

“Do whatever you want with me,” you groan. “Just fucking touch me already.”

Adrian scrambles for your underwear, tugging it down your legs in what he wanted to be a swift movement, but ends up being clumsy. Still, as he dips down to eagerly lick at your slick pussy, you whimper—no matter how clumsy he might be right now, he knows you, knows your body, like the back of his own hand, and it takes him no time at all to work you up to your peak, until your thighs are trembling around his head and his glasses are fogging up.

When you come, tiny gasps of pleasure spill from the back of your throat, and Adrian feels a strange, possessive feeling take over him as he realizes that he is the only one who will ever get to hear you make these noises. Who will ever make you feel this way. You’re his, now, forever, and no one else can ever take you away from him. 

“I just can’t believe I get to keep you,” he murmurs, kissing up your body—your belly, your breasts, your neck, until he finally reaches your mouth, delving his tongue inside to meet yours. It’s sloppy. It’s greedy. It’s perfect.

You unbuckle his belt to shove his pants down his thighs, and Adrian groans when his cock springs free and you wrap your hand around him, pumping. He’s already rock hard, leaking precum everywhere, and if he doesn’t fuck you in the next ten seconds, this will be over before it even starts. 

He places his hands on your upper thighs, pushing the skirt of your dress up out of the way, and spreads your legs so he has room to settle between them. You lay back on the mattress, watching him, pupils blown so wide he wouldn’t even know what they looked like if he hadn’t spent hours of time staring at your face, admiring every fleck of color in them.

Adrian gives you no warning when he pushes into you, and your eyes flutter shut, thighs tightening around his waist. He thrusts into you with practiced movements, relishing in the fact that he knows your body so well. Knows the exact angle that will hit that sweet sensitive spot inside you, knows exactly how fast and hard you like it. Knows exactly when you’re moments away from your second orgasm, because you start clenching around his cock in that familiar way, tight and warm and perfect.

This time, when you come, Adrian is seconds behind you, his thrusts losing rhythm as he falls over the edge and spills into you. He drops to his elbows until he’s covering you with his whole body, his face hovering right above yours, breaths mingling.

“I love you,” you say, reaching for his left hand. He gives it to you, beaming as you kiss the cool metal of his wedding band. He returns the favor, ducking his head down to kiss the pendant of your new necklace.

“I love you too,” he says. “So fucking much.”

Tomorrow, you’ll head back home with your friends. Next week, you’ll be back at work, doing what you both do best—maiming and killing and whatever needs to be done for the good of your missions. But right now, there’s this. There’s the two of you, joined together, married. And with you, Adrian knows he’s ready to tackle whatever comes along next. 

They followed the receptionist to a small room, and she unlocked the door and handed Adrian the key that was on a wrist band.

“You can leave all your personal items in the room and lock the door. There are two robes for your comfort, please wear your swim suit under your robe, but feel free to disrobe fully for your massage. Since you have the top package, every room will be private, so please undress to your comfort level,” the woman finished happily as she ushered the two into the room. “Please let me know if you guys need anything else!” 

Both she and Adrian stared at the now closed door. 

“If we’re in a private room how are we supposed to find her?” she hissed, slapping his arm, and he winced. 

“I don’t know! I didn’t book any of this shit, Chris did!” he said, grabbing his arm. 

“Why would Chris book us a private spa day when he knows we’re trying to get information for the mission?” she said, hitting his arm again. 

“Quit hitting me! I didn’t do anything! Abusive wife!” Adrian said, and despite his tone sounding frustrated he had the widest smile on his face. 

“Shut up,” she grumbled, moving to sit on the bench as she put her head in her hands to take a few deep breaths. 

“Hey, we’re going to figure this out,” he said sitting next to her, putting a hand on her leg and giving her an awkward pat. She sighed and moved so her head was resting against the wall, watching Adrian out of the corner of her eye. “At least we get to enjoy a spa day in the meantime?”

“A spa day means nothing if we don’t have anything to show for it,” she murmured. 

“We’ll find her!” Adrian said before getting up and grabbing his designated robe. “Come on, we can’t mope, we have a mission to do!” 

She sighed, unable to bring herself to argue with him - it wouldn’t change their situation and Adrian seemed to believe they would still be able to get something out of the day, so maybe she should just trust the universe like he seemed so keen on doing. She made sure Adrian was facing away before she started undressing and getting on her swim suit and robe, awkwardly folding her clothes so he wouldn’t be able to see any of her undergarments. Her face was still burning from the hotel giving them one changing room, but at least both of them had the sense to turn around and face the wall as they got naked and into their robes. 

“Should I flirt with her for information?” he asked, as he finished tying his robe. If Adrian had sneaked a peak at her she had no clue, but she knew he at least respected her enough to not.

But a small (and sick) part of her was hoping he did anyway. That there was something about her that he just couldn’t resist.    

“It seems they have us together so I’m not sure how well flirting for information is going to go in front of me,” she whispered, just in case some staff were lingering outside their door. 

“Okay, we both flirt with her and invite her to a threesome,” Adrian said with such a strange amount of confidence that she had to do a double take at him. By the expression on his face she could tell he was serious in his suggestion. 

“Are you insane?” she whisper-yelled, and he put his hands up. 

“Chris says maybe clinically, but what’s wrong with that idea?” he asked, head tilted. 

“How on earth is getting her to have a threesome with us on our fake honeymoon going to make her want to give us information?”

“I feel like you’re just shutting down all my ideas and not adding anything. You can’t just say no, you gotta yes and me,” he said gently. 

“Adrian, this isn't an improv club.”

“It basically is,” he said with a shrug and she sighed. “I’m just saying that’s basically what an entire undercover mission is. We’re playing a role and trying to get the target to yes and us!” 

“Huh, I guess you have a point,” she said, tightening her belt as she looked at him. “But I don’t think flirting will work with her.”

“If we can’t flirt then how are we supposed to get information from her?” he asked, tilting his head. 

“Well, we have to find her first,” she said as she walked over and looped their arms together again, ready to keep playing the happy couple. “Are you going to be okay getting a massage?” 

“Yes, why?” he asked, suddenly tense under her touch as her grip loosens his tightens, keeping her in place. 

“I just, I know you’re not the biggest fan of physical touch and a massage can be a lot. I’m sure there’s something else you could do instead like the circuit pools?” she suggested gently, and Adrian looked at her with a strange look in his eyes.

“If it’s for a mission, I can handle it,” he settled on.  

“Alright, then let’s do this,” she said, fighting the shake in her voice as they walked out of the room together. They followed the signs that were marked for the couples of massage as they walked into the room her heart sunk. 

It was a completely separate room with just two massage beds, close enough that they could hold hands if they wanted. 

“So, she’s not going to be in this room,” Adrian said, clapping his hands and turning around only to be met by two masseuses. Both women were smiling at them as she turned, leaning into Adrian just to play into her part, Adrian was quick to wrap an arm around her and plaster a clearly fake smile on his face. 

“Are you two ready for your massages?” the taller woman asked them. 

“Yes, of course! We were just hoping to look around the spa first, see what all we can do today,” she said, squeezing herself against Adrian, trying to look natural. 

“Oh! Well, the massages are just an hour, let’s get those started and we can tell you all that we have here!” the tall girl said cheerfully as they ushered both her and Adrian into the room. She let go of Adrian and moved towards one of the tables, her heart pounding as she quickly dropped her robe, took off her swim suit, and she moved to lay on the table, Adrian mirroring her actions. Beyond happy that the shorter woman was quick to throw a towel over her butt. She lays her on her arms and tilts her head so she can look at Adrian. He’s done the same, except he’s letting his arms hang off the side of the table. He’s looking at her with a large goofy smile, his curls falling in his eyes slightly. 

She allowed herself a single glance across the curve of his body and the towel hanging off his lower back, just barely covering his ass that she wouldn’t mind sinking her teeth into or maybe -

It’s then she forces herself to look away, just as the masseuse got to work on her body. She was quick to bite her check hard, fighting the urge to let any sound. 

Adrian didn’t seem to have the same idea. 

He was loud. 

Very loud. 

She wanted to black out, this was her coworker and she should not be thinking about Adrian like this, but the noises he was letting out. 

God, how she desperately wanted to hear those sounds in any other context. God she could practically envision the way he would taste on her tongue, how he would respond to her praise, and fuck, how hot his hands would be all over her body. 

She bet that he would even tell her stupid animal facts while she bounced up and down on his-

Yeah, she needed to calm down. 

She gritted her teeth and tried to think about anything else outside of Adrian. She tried to think of the mission, how they were going to find Jasmine and how on earth they were going to question her. 

She was still having a hard time wrapping her mind around the entire mission. The dossier was a mess, these contacts made little to no sense, and she still didn’t understand why on Earth it was just her and Adrian with no outside source. It wasn’t even like they were spread too thin, the only other mission currently running was Ads, Judomaster, and a few of the new hirers she hadn’t bothered getting to know just yet. It made no sense why they were even on this mission. 

A mission with barely a coherent target and plan, but no choice but to complete it if she wanted to keep her job. 

She was so lost in her own thoughts and trying to block out Adrian’s noises and keeping herself quiet that she completely missed the whole conversation Adrian had with the masseuse about the different circuit pools and their benefits. It wasn’t until her masseuse was pulling back and grabbing her swim suit for her that it was over. The two immediately left them alone and Adrian was quick to get ready for the rest of their spa. 

“I feel so relaxed, what about you?” Adrian asked her as she finished putting her swim suit back on. She turned to find Adrian stretching his body, her eyes wandering to his happy trail. 

“Yeah, I’m so glad we just spent an hour getting massages instead of getting the information we need for our mission,” she said, pulling at one of the straps of her swimsuit, trying to ignore the fact that Adrian’s eyes never left her face as she pulled on her robe. “Do you even think Jasmine is out there?” 

“I mean, there’s 15 circuit pools and saunas so we should get looking,” he said with a shrug before offering his hands again. “Did you know they have one pool that is filled with whole lemons?” he asked and she laughed as she took his hands. 

“What’s the point of that?” 

“Fuck if I know, but I want to squish one!” he said brightly and she couldn’t help the smile that came over her, one that Adrian seemed happy to give back. His green eyes sparkling behind his glasses as he looked at her like she hung all the stars in the sky. “Come on, I think you’ll really like them, there’s a salt water pool so you float and there’s also a heated pool that goes into a cold room so it’s like a mix of both.” 

“Okay, yeah. Lead the way,” she said gently, finding herself meaning it. With Adrian it was easy to just give in and make it simple even with the mission holding her down. 

Adrian happily held her hand, squeezing it tightly as he led her around all the pools, only stopping for a light lunch before finally getting ready to get into the water. She found herself watching all the people closely, but none of them matched Jasmine’s description.   

“Any of them look like her?” she asked as Adrian let go of her hand to pull off his robe, and she followed suit, leaving her in just her swim suit. 

“You look really great in your swim suit,” he said, with almost a dreamy tone, and she looked at him. His eyes were locked on her body as she awkwardly shifted. 

“Adrian!” she hissed, slapping his arm. 

“I’m just complimenting my wife, give a guy a break,” he said with a smile, his canines showing as he grabbed her hand and pulled her into one of the pools. It had lukewarm temperature, but coming from the warm air it was almost freezing as Adrian walked backwards and kept tugging her along, almost like he was afraid that he’d turn around and she’d leave. Almost like a backwards Orpheus and Eurydice. 

However, the pool wasn’t what she was expecting and even with Adrian’s hands on her the whirlpool was much stronger than she expected and all it took was wide eyes and the start of a slip for him to realize she had lost control. One of his arms came to quickly pull her into him as the other flew to the side of the pool to keep both of them steady. She heard someone else in the pool snicker as her whole body tensed.

“This is a bust, Adrian. You can keep trying, but I need like an hour to myself in the room, okay?” she said, pulling herself out of the pool, his hand slowly falling from her waist. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, starting to pull himself out of the water too, but she was quick to hold up her hand. 

“Please, just one hour to myself,” she said softly and she’s not sure if it’s the look on her face or what, but Adrian gives her a solemn nod before he sits back down in the pool, keeping his grip tight on the edge. 

“Okay, one hour and then I’ll come up,” he said gently, eyes watching her closely, his glasses slightly fogged up from the steam of the room. “I’ll even keep a look out! I’ll let you know if anything changes,” he finished giving her a not so discreet wink. 

“Okay, Ade. Thank you,” she murmured before grabbing her robe and heading up, missing the way his eyes watched her until she was out of sight.

__

Tag List (comment if you’d like to be added!)

@trelaney @kierselleboogie @v1gilanteloser @quietlybitchy @lil-rigatoni @snowyathena @tez0 @danversxwasabi @obsessedromancereader @pandanapping @burningluminarysheep @a-young-g0d @4duniadae @countvonklit

“This is the kind of place people go to hire people like Murn,” Chris explained on the first day. “Emilia said he mentioned this bar to her one time. It looks like a shithole. A lot of…unsavory types find business here.”

It’s Chris’s turn on watch, sitting up front in the driver’s seat, keeping an eye out for familiar targets that have been burned into Adrian’s brain at this point. Ads has her attention turned to a computer screen, connected to the van’s subtle security cameras, which she’s pointed at the bar entrance.

Adrian has read the dossier dozens of times, committing their names and faces to memory. You, Emilia, and John had finalized everything. The people they need to track down, the questions they need to ask them. And Adrian is ready to bribe and threaten and kill and do any number of other illegal things in order to take them down. Protect his pack. Protect you.

Leon Sullivan. Devon Mason. Lydia Grimmaldi. Hilary Young. Selena Falko. Nathaniel Wilde. He repeats the names in his head, matches the names to the faces on the screen.

The dossier is open on a laptop in front of him now. He clicks away at it, not actually doing anything productive, just changing the font of the dossier and scrolling up and down like that might make it say something new and different and interesting. It doesn’t.

Adrian sighs forlornly and starts fidgeting with a switchblade, flicking it open and closed, wishing there was a bad guy’s face nearby for him to throw it at.

“Adrian, stop that,” Adebayo scolds. “You’re gonna cut your damn finger off.”

Chris and Ads have been watching him bounce off the walls of the van with barely restrained irritation for three days, giving him as much grace as they can because they know how anxious he is about the fact that he had to leave you behind.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, putting the switchblade away. He sighs again. His foot starts tapping. Ads rolls her eyes.

But he misses your voice. He misses the way you smell. He misses kissing you whenever he feels like it. He’s been spoiled the last two months. He spent years wishing he could, and now that he can, now that you aren’t within his immediate reach, he feels like he’s going through withdrawal.

When he opened his duffle bag and discovered that you packed him the picnic blanket you always sit on together in the Checkmate courtyard, his throat had closed up with emotion. You’d tucked a little note into it. Be safe. I love you. Sleeping with that blanket every night, cocooned in your shared scents. Hearing the sound of your voice on the phone, or seeing your face on a video call if he’s lucky—they’re the only things keeping him sane.

Well, that and the fact that he’s gone out to blow off some steam each night by taking down some regular street criminals. He’s been itching to kill, even more than usual, fueled by some kind of almost-uncontrollable aggression. And as long as he’s taking it out on some bad guys, he’s less inclined to explode at his teammates. Chris might be Adrian’s best friend, but several days of two Alphas crammed together in the close proximity of the van has been driving them both up the wall.

When he sighs with frustration for the fifth time in ten minutes, Ads finally speaks.

“Why don’t you take a minute and call—”

“Excellent idea,” Adrian says immediately, already pulling out his phone and tapping on your contact. He’s checked it a thousand times today already, hasn’t stopped texting you, but he feels like it’s overkill if he spends too much time on the phone with you. He is, in fact, supposed to be working, no matter how boring the work.

He taps the call button and brings the phone right to his ear, hit foot continuing to tap impatiently as he waits to hear your voice. It never comes—just the robotic sound of the automated voicemail telling him to leave a message. He frowns.

“Hi baby,” he says. “Call me back when you get this. I love you. I miss you—”

Chris’s voice, low and serious, interrupts him.

“Hang on—look. There. That one. Ads, play back footage.”

“Oop, things are happening,” Adrian says quickly. “Gotta go. Call me. I love you—”

“You already said that, Adrian,” Chris mutters, annoyed. “Hang up the phone. We’ve got shit to do.”

Adrian’s frown deepens, but he disconnects the call and crowds around the monitor with Chris and Ads as she does what Chris asked, tapping away at the computer keyboard and rewinding just a minute. Chris points at a man with brown skin. Long, floppy hair sticking out of an old worn beanie. Hands shoved into the pockets of a black denim jacket.

“That guy.”

“I’ve seen Emilia wear that exact outfit before,” Adrian observes. “Is that like, a required black ops thing? Owning a black jean jacket? Should I invest in—”

“Shut up,” Chris says. “Zoom in, Ads. Is that Dev Mason?”

“Sure looks like him,” Ads says, and Adrian thinks, finally.

What he doesn’t expect is the murderous rage that roars up inside him when Ads zooms in further and he gets a closer look at the man’s face.

You got hurt because of this dickwad.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Adrian says. “I’m gonna make him tell me where the rest of them are, and I’m gonna kill him.” 

His fingers twitch around the phantom trigger of a gun. No, he thinks, I’ll use my katana. Slit his throat. Make him bleed just as much as you bled, let it spill out on the dirty street, let him die alone and scared, like he fucking deserves.

He starts reaching for the duffle bag with the Vigilante suit.

“No,” Ads says immediately. “You can’t just go in there guns blazing. We haven’t gone inside. We don’t know what it’s like in there.”

“She nearly died because of that asshole—”

“Adrian,” Chris snaps. “Use your brain. I know you love her. You can’t let that be a liability.”

“Excuse me?” Adrian snaps right back. “I’m sorry. I thought I just heard you call my Omega a liability. Are we doing the whole thing where you’re yanking my leg to set me off again? Because if you are, it’s fucking working. I’ll punch you in the mouth, no questions asked—”

"You're gonna get yourself killed without a plan,” Chris says, stone-faced. “I’m not yanking your leg this time. I’m being serious.”

“The plan is I go in there and kill everyone,” Adrian argues, raising his voice. “This is a shady bar. They’re all criminals! We’ve watched how many drug dealers walk in those doors? And I have been sitting here patiently and not killing any of them yet while we waited—”

“If you run in there as Vigilante you’ll freak everyone out. Mason knows Vigilante works with Peacemaker at Checkmate,” Ads says calmly, trying to calm down the two Alphas that are getting more worked up by the minute. “I’m the media face of the business. I’ve been in the news and shit, just like Chris has, after Task Force X. But no one knows who you are, Adrian. You’ve somehow, miraculously managed to fly under the radar all these years.”

“It’s not a miracle,” Adrian says. “It’s because I’m smart. My uniform covers my whole body for a fucking reason. As an instrument of vengeance I have to be anonymous. If Chris and Judomaster would take my advice and rebrand with new suits with masks they could also fly under the radar. But both of them are self-centered and too concerned about showing off their muscles. I know you have a jacked face because of your muscle exercises, bro, but really—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“The point is that people will recognize Chris,” Ads continues, unphased. “So you need to go in there undercover and scope the place out before we make any moves.”

“You want me to go in there and mingle with the criminals?” Adrian summarizes, disgusted. “Absolutely fucking not—tell her, Chris—”

“She’s right, Vig,” Chris says. “You don’t have to pretend to do criminal shit. You don’t even have to talk to anyone. Just go in there, order a drink. Look around. You’ve been bored out of your mind, haven’t you? Well, now you’ve got a task to do.”

“Traitor,” Adrian grumbles.

“I’m not the traitor, you’re the traitor,” Chris grumbles right back. “My costume is sick as fuck. Fuck you.”

An hour later, Ads finishes attaching a tiny earpiece to Adrian. He keeps checking his phone, waiting for another message from you. You’d texted him back twenty minutes ago—a quick sorry I missed you, was with Emilia, talk later, love you too—but nothing since.

He reaches for the device again, and Chris steals it out of his hand.

“Fucking focus dude. What is your deal? She’s home! She’s safe!”

“Give it back!”

“Smooth out your shirt,” Adebayo orders, ignoring them. “You look all rumpled.”

“Why do I have to wear Chris’s clothes?” Adrian complains as he snatches his phone back and slides it in his pocket. “I have my own clothes.”

“Because you dress like a fifty-year-old dad,” Chris says. “Your Vig suit might be sick as fuck but the rest of your wardrobe needs some fucking work.”

“Hey!”

“Shit talk my Peacemaker costume, I’ll shit talk you right back,” Chris says plainly.

“I specifically asked you when we went shopping—”

“Stop bickering! Jesus Christ!” Ads cries. “The two of you have been unbearable the last two days!”

“That’s what happens when you’ve got two Alphas in such close proximity,” Chris says matter-of-factly. “And one of them is being annoying as fuck.”

“More like two of them are being annoying as fuck,” Ads mutters. “Are we sure this is a good idea? Sending him in there when he’s all on edge like this?”

“He’ll be fine,” Chris says firmly. He makes eye contact with Adrian. “Right, Vig?”

“I know how to do my job,” Adrian says.

“I know you know how to kill people. I need you to keep a level head,” Chris says. “Sending in an Alpha for undercover work is not ideal. But there will probably be a bunch of other Alphas in there, so you won’t stand out too much. It’s a double-edged sword, though. You gotta keep a level head around all those assholes.”

“I will,” Adrian insists.

“Good. If I bring you home dead, your Omega would fucking kill me,” Chris says.

“Can I go now? The sooner I find this guy the sooner we can torture him for information and kill him.”

“The earpiece is working?” Ads checks. “We’re not gonna have a visual on you in there, so we need the audio.”

“It’s working.”

“Then yes,” Chris says. “Let’s get this over with.”

The inside of the bar looks just as shitty as the outside. Dimly lit, smoky, walls with chipping paint and crooked old decor. It stinks of weed, and Adrian thinks the thin powdery film on the bartop might be cocaine.

He fucking hates it. But he keeps his mouth shut. Sits at the bar in the darkest possible corner and orders a beer he’ll only pretend to drink as he scans the room.

“I don’t see him,” he whispers into the beer bottle as he pretends to drink. He lets some of the alcohol splash onto the counter. It’s already sticky and gross anyway. He doesn’t feel bad about it.

“Is it only the one space?” Chris’s voice rings directly in his ear. “Is there a basement, or a back room?”

Adrian’s eyes latch onto a man in an army green shirt coming out of the kitchen. He looks a little shifty, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He nods at the bartender as he takes a seat at the bar, and the woman who had served Adrian his beer pours some hard liquor into a short glass for him.

Not an employee. So what was he doing in the back?

“The kitchen,” Adrian says quietly, trying to move his mouth as little as possible so it doesn’t look like he’s talking to himself. “Some guy just walked out of there. Not an employee. I can sneak back there. I know my way around a kitchen from my busboy days, and I’m armed.”

“Stand down,” Ads says. “Finish your beer. Get out of there, we will regroup and make a plan to get back there tomorrow, somehow. It might be accessible from a back door.”

“Fine,” Adrian grumbles, annoyed that he actually has to sit here for another half an hour doing nothing. “Next time someone else is going to do the investigation. I’m here for the killing, not for the boring shit. If I wanted to watch people in a bar, I’d go back to Fennel Fields.” 

In the end, though, Adrian is glad that he stuck around, because he sees Dev Mason come out of the back room not fifteen minutes later. He stops to say something in a low voice to the other man at the bar and shakes his hand. Something passes between them. Money, maybe.

Adrian can feel himself getting hot with anger. He could get up out of his stool right now and strangle the man. It takes all his self control not to.

“Mason just came out of the back,” he hisses. “He’s…paying the other guy, maybe?”

“Weird,” Chris says. “I would have thought the other way around. That someone is paying him for his mercenary services.”

“He’s leaving the building,” Adrian says, taking one last fake swig of beer and dropping a twenty on the counter to pay for it. “I’m following him.”

“No,” Ads says. “We have eyes on the van cameras. We can see which way he goes. Don’t draw attention to yourself.”

Adrian is going to listen. Really, he is. 

But then the other man leaves, too, just a few minutes behind.

He makes his way, casually, out the front door, following the army-green jacket. He glances up and down the block and doesn’t see Mason, but he catches a glimpse of the other guy’s army-green jacket disappearing down the block. He starts after him.

“What the fuck are you doing Adrian?” Ads asks. “Do not engage!”

“I’m going after him,” Adrian growls. “He has to know something. I’m done waiting around for shit.”

“Adrian, stand down,” Chris says, voice booming directly into Adrian’s eardrum so loudly that he winces. He pulls the earpiece out and pockets it, taking the opportunity to draw the switchblade out of his pocket.

Adrian catches up to the man just as he rounds the corner, and shoves him into the nearest dark alley up against the rough stone wall. The guy grunts at the impact, Adrian’s elbow digging into his sternum and knocking the breath out of him. He looks up with wide, confused eyes.

“Hey man,” Adrian smiles, pressing his knife into the man’s throat.

“Who the fuck are you?” the guy hisses.

“That’s not important,” Adrian says, falsely bright. “Saw you talking to someone tonight. Dev Mason. You know him?”

A flash of recognition passes over the man’s features.

“What if I do?”

“Then tell me where he went, and maybe I won’t kill you.”

“Kill me?” the guy scoffs. Adrian just stares, silent, and watches wary fear grow in his expression. “What—what do you want with Dev? You want to hire him?”

“I do my own killing, thanks.”

“I’m not telling you shit.”

“Look,” Adrian says, “I’ve got an Omega back home, and she got hurt, because of something he did. So when I find that asshole, I’m going to kill him long and slow. And you still haven’t answered my question, so I’m going to kill you too. But if you give me the info I want, then I won’t torture you beforehand. I’ll make it nice and quick.”

The switchblade digs into the thin skin at the man’s neck, drawing a thin line of blood. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“I don’t know where he went,” he says, voice thin.

“I don’t believe you. I saw you talking to him. Exchanging money.”

“I’m just his dealer!” the guy exclaims, voice shaking. “You—you want something? If you let me go—you can have all the coke I have on me, man. No charge.”

Adrian scowls. “Do I look like I do drugs, you dickwad?” He grips the man’s jaw with one hand so hard that his teeth grind together. “Dealing cocaine is a felony. Did you know that? You probably did. And you do it anyway. Do you know what I do to criminals?”

He shoves the man down on his knees, where he hits the pavement with a cry of pain and a crack.

“Vig, what the fuck are you doing—”

Chris storms into the alley and takes in the scene in front of him. He sounds pissed as hell, and Adrian couldn’t care less. He turns to bare his teeth at his best friend.

“Fuck off, Chris,” he growls.

“Help me,” the guy on the ground says pitifully, looking at Chris with pleading eyes. “This guy just attacked me right off the street, he’s fucking insane—”

“Tell me where Dev Mason went!” Adrian demands.

“I don’t know! I don’t know, I swear I don’t know—please don’t kill me—”

Adrian lets out a disgusted sigh and pockets his switchblade. The man lets out a shaky sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” he says. “Tha—”

Adrian’s hands circle his neck, and with one sharp movement, he snaps his jaw to the side with a sickening crack. The man crumples to the ground dead, his lifeless eyes staring into the sky.

“What the fuck was that Adrian—”

“Well I couldn’t exactly slit his throat! That’s messy as fuck! There would have been so much evidence!”

Chris just looks at Adrian and shakes his head.

“You’re a fucking psycho, Vig,” he mutters, looking down at the body. “Jesus fuck.” He presses a hand to his ear. “Yeah, Ads. I found him. We’ve got a body to deal with. We’ll take all his shit. If anyone finds him, they’ll assume he got mugged.”

“He’s a drug dealer, actually,” Adrian says pleasantly. “They’ll assume it was related to that.”

Chris ignores him, silently fuming, as he reaches down to dig in the man’s pockets.

“Hi baby,” Adrian says later that night once he’s showered and changed into his pajamas. He’s curled up on the motel bed, the picnic blanket wrapped around his shoulders. When he closes his eyes and breathes in, he can pretend you’re sitting right next to him when you respond. Just the sight of you over the video call is helping him relax after the tense evening he’s had.

“Hey, Ade,” you say. “How’s the mission going?”

“It’s okay. We caught sight of one of the guys going into the bar tonight. Dev Mason. I went in, just for a beer, to scope the place out. Saw him buy some drugs from a guy. I followed the dealer. Killed him.”

“Yeah,” you say wryly. “I heard. Ads texted me. Said you were a little trigger happy.”

“I didn’t pull a single trigger tonight,” Adrian says. “I didn’t even have a gun on me. I snapped his neck with my hands.”

“Okay,” you say, rolling your eyes at him. “It’s just an expression, honey. I meant that…did you really have to kill that guy? Or did you jump the gun a little bit?”

“I didn’t have a gun,” Adrian repeats, confused. You sigh.

“Okay,” you say softly. “As long as you’re being careful. Just—listen more to Chris and Ads? You don’t always have to go in for the kill right away. I know you’re feeling a little antsy. I don’t want you to take any unnecessary risks, though. You promised me you wouldn’t get shot, remember?”

“I didn’t get shot! And I got us some really valuable information!”

“What did you find out?”

“We took everything in the guy’s pockets, to make it look like a mugging,” Adrian explains. “He had his phone. Ads was able to hack it. Dev Mason is in his contacts. We’re gonna send him a text to meet on the street corner the day after tomorrow at eleven p.m.”

“You should probably send a follow-up that the dealer is sending one of his ‘guys,’” you point out. Give him your description. Then you can meet him in person, and he’ll have his guard down.”

“Good idea. I’ll text Ads after this. She’s got the phone.”

“I also hear you and Chris are butting heads a little bit.”

“Yeah, well. I love the guy. He’s my bff. But personal space is at a premium inside that tiny van,” Adrian grumbles. “But that doesn’t matter. I can handle it, I’m good. Are you feeling okay? How are your symptoms?”

“I’ve been nesting,” you admit, gesturing behind you at the headboard of your bed and holding up a pillow that has clearly been punched into submission. “John helped me move all your stuff into my apartment, like we talked about. I can’t stop rearranging it all. Every time I move something, another thing feels wrong. I think it’s—” You pause, like you’re not sure you should finish your sentence.

“It’s what?” Adrian prompts.

“It’s because there’s something missing.”

“You have my Amazon log in,” Adrian says. “Order whatever you need, baby—”

“It’s you,” you say softly. “You are the thing that’s missing.”

Adrian inhales at the sudden, sharp pain he feels in his chest at your words.

“Do I need to come home?” he asks worriedly.“No. Don’t even answer that, I’m coming home—”

“Adrian,” you interrupt. “I am fine. I promise you, if I needed you, I would tell you.”

His eyes flicker over the screen as he looks you up and down. You look okay.There are no dark circles under your eyes, and you’re not too sweaty. Nothing that tells him you’re too hot, or struggling to sleep. But—your hair was damp from your evening shower. Maybe you are sweaty. Hot. Uncomfortable.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to—”

“Wanting is a different story,” you say with a soft laugh. “I always want you home with me. But my heat has not started, so I don’t need you yet. Chris and Ads need you more right now.”

Adrian’s heart hurts. You don’t need him, but you want him. And he’s hours away.

“How are you doing?” you ask. “Ads said you’ve been jumpy.”

“I’m just worried about you,” he says fretfully. “And the last couple days have been boring stakeouts so I’ve had nothing to do but think about the fact that you’re at home alone and—”

“I’m not alone,” you remind him. “I’m still going to work every day. I’m still seeing the rest of the pack. I am doing just fine. I swear to god, all of you worry too much.”

“Who else is worrying? I didn’t tell anyone about—that you’re—”

“Emilia knows. That’s part of the reason I was with her earlier today, when I missed your call. She wanted to give me one last physical today to make sure I’m in good shape, that I won’t hurt myself when we…” You clear your throat. “Things can get more, uh…vigorous than usual? During my heat, I mean.”

Adrian flushes hot at the implication, and internally curses the bolt of arousal that shoots right to his lower belly at the thought of it. But there’s another feeling, too, swimming in his gut. Terrible, possessive jealousy, when he thinks of Emilia’s hands on your body, checking you over, touching you, getting another Alpha’s scent all over your skin when you’re so close to your heat. An uncontrollable growl rises up Adrian’s throat.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” Adrian says. “I just—I’m trying really, really hard not to be a pathetic, possessive dickhead right now.”

“It’s okay, baby,” you tell him. “I’m used to this—my preheat symptoms. This is all new for you. It’s normal for Alphas to be more protective over their Omegas when their heat is approaching.”

“I just really fucking miss you,” he says, his voice tight. “I wish I was there.”

“You’ll be home soon,” you say. “It’s late. You should get to bed. I don’t want to keep you, you need to sleep, especially if you’re going to be meeting up with Dev.”

“Can you just…stay on the line?” Adrian asks. “Let me look at you?”

“I was just gonna sleep—”

“I know,” Adrian says. “Just prop the phone up on the nightstand. For me.”

“Okay,” you smile. He watches you flick off the lights and climb into bed, pulling the covers all the way up to your chin. You hug the teal teddy bear to your chest. The one you’d given him during his rut.

“Is it stupid that I’m jealous of the fucking teddy bear right now?”

“No. Because I’m jealous of the blanket draped over your shoulders.”

Adrian smiles. “I love you.”

“Love you too. Goodnight.”

You fall asleep within fifteen minutes. Adrian watches you sleep for an hour before his own eyes finally droop shut.

The next morning, Adrian meets the others in Chris’s motel room so they can make a plan for the evening. When he knocks on the door and Chris lets him in, Adebayo hasn’t arrived yet.

“Where’s Ads?”

“She went to get breakfast,” Chris says, gesturing for Adrian to sit. The serious look on his face gives Adrian pause.

“What’s up?” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. Chris stays standing and crosses his arms.

“You’ve been real irritable the last couple days. What the fuck is going on with you?”

“Nothing,” Adrian lies.

“I just talked to Emilia yesterday, so I know everything is going just fine at home. If there’s something going on with you, you gotta tell us, man. I don’t want us to be at each other’s throats.”

Adrian bites the inside of his cheek. “If I tell you, you won’t say anything?”

“Spill, Adrian.”

“She’s in preheat,” Adrian reveals, and Chris’s eyes widen.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh, shit. Why didn’t you say anything, dude?”

“It’s none of your fucking business, that’s why,” Adrian says sharply. “She told Emilia, so I’ve already got another goddamn Alpha all up in my fucking business.”

“Watch it,” Chris says, just as sharp, when he hears the low growl in Adrian’s tone. “What did I tell you about the growling?”

“You told me not to growl at her. I’m growling about her,” Adrian says petulantly.

“Don’t get fucking sarcastic about my mate right to my fucking face. I will shoot you. On top of the fucking risky shit you’ve been pulling the last twenty-four hours—it’ll be a miracle if you get home to your Omega in one piece. Maybe you aren’t ready to be an Alpha. Because a good Alpha would keep a level fucking head—”

Adrian gets up and lunges for Chris just as Ads opens the door to the room, with coffee and bagels for all of them.

“What the fuck is wrong with you two?” she cries.

Chris and Adrian, who are fisting one another’s shirts in their hands, ready to throw punches, look at her and start shouting at the same time.

“He’s talking shit about Emilia—”

“Did you hear what he just said Ads? Un-fucking-believable! I’m not about to let that shit slide—I am trying to protect our pack—”

“You are the one who keeps making irresponsible choices—”

“Stop!” Ads shouts. “The two of you have been at each other’s throats for three days straight. I know bickering is like your fucking love language or some shit, but Jesus. What gives?”

Chris stays quiet. He looks at Adrian.

“Ask him. Not my place to say,” he says, low and quiet. Adrian swallows.

“It’s about my Omega.”

Ads’ eyes widen. “Is this—holy shit. Is she pregnant? Is that why you are so on edge right now?”

“Holy shit!” Adrian says. “No! No fucking way!”

“I mean, there is a fucking way,” Chris says mildly. “You see, Adrian, when an Alpha and an Omega love each other very much—”

“Oh, fuck you,” Adrian says, grumpy. “We’ve only—one time. And it was literally right before we left.” He looks at Ads. “She’s due for her heat in a couple days.”

“Oh!” Ads says, eyes wide. “Do you need to go home? I can book you a flight.” She reaches for her phone immediately, already pulling up the airline website. Adrian shakes his head.

“No. I asked her before we even left if she wanted me to stay,” Adrian says. “She told me to go. That she would call if she needed me. I’m sorry if I’m being annoying and checking my phone too much but—I just—”

“Whoa, okay, hold on,” Chris says. “Slow down, man. Take a deep breath.”

“It’s okay, Adrian,” Ads says, her voice soft. “It’s totally normal for you to be experiencing some symptoms too. Aggression, irritation, insomnia. Especially for mated pairs. I know you aren’t mated yet, technically, but—”

“It doesn’t feel normal,” Adrian says, his voice strained. “Even though she’s a hundred miles away, I’m all hot and itchy and anxious and nervous, and I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing what if she needs me—”

“It is normal, Adrian,” Chris says. “It’s just biology.”

“I hate it!” Adrian cries. “I hate it. I don’t like not being in control of my body. And it makes me feel like—like my connection to her is nothing but that. Nothing but fucking hormones. And she can—she can get that from anyone. I’m far away from her and if she needs me and I’m not there some other Alpha might—might take her away from me butshe’smine—-”

“Adrian,” Chris says sharply, and Adrian inhales, but it feels shallow, like he can’t get enough air in his lungs. “Listen to yourself.”

“Breathe, Adrian,” Ads says. “Come on. Sit down and just breathe.”

She puts her hands on his shoulders, a gentle, grounding pressure pushing down until he lets himself collapse onto the bed. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, face in his hands, and does what she says. He takes a few shaky breaths. In and out, slow and steady.

“Do you remember how you felt the first day after your rut, when we went out to that bar and that random Omega touched your shoulder?” Chris asks him after a minute, and Adrian’s face screws up in disgust.

“Chris—what?” Ads says.

“Did you want to fuck her?” Chris demands, crossing his arms.

“What?” Adrian says, affronted, his confusion pulling him out of his panic entirely. His face screws up with disgust.

“She was in preheat,” Chris reminds him. “That girl. She touched your shoulder and you were so disgusted by it that we got into a fistfight in the parking lot and you spent an hour scrubbing the scent of her off you in the shower.”

“I remember,” Adrian says. “Why the fuck—”

“Did you want to fuck her?” Chris repeats.

“No,” Adrian says. “Obviously not! I could not give less of a fuck about that random girl—”

“Exactly,” Chris says. “Because she was not your Omega. You wanted your Omega.”

Ads realizes with a flash of clarity the point that Chris is trying to drive home.

“If being an Alpha and an Omega was just about hormones,” she summarizes. “Adrian would have wanted her. The way he wants—”

“I would never,” Adrian says hoarsely. “I only want—”

“And it’s not because she’s an Omega,” Ads says. “You want her because she’s your Omega. You want her because of who she is and the connection you share.” 

“It’s the same for her, Adrian,” Chris says after a moment. “She’s not going to just go—running off to the nearest Alpha if you aren’t there. Because they aren’t you. And you are her Alpha.”

Adrian falls silent and takes a deep, settling breath. “I just want to be good for her.”

Chris winces, apparently realizing he hit a particularly deep nerve a few minutes earlier.

“You are,” he says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. That you aren’t ready. I was just being a dick. But listen—you don’t have to do this alone, Adrian. Hell, I was there to help you through your rut. Giving you pointers about how to help her through her heat is a walk in the park compared to that.”

“I can help, too,” Ads offers. “I helped her put together that care package for you, when you were in rut. We can do the same for her, on the way home. A few things you’ve scented, some drinks to stay hydrated, some of her favorite snacks, things she’ll want to add to her nest.”

“That’s a good idea,” Chris agrees. “But really, Adrian, at the end of the day—she’s just going to want you. Okay? So be a little more patient, a little more careful, and let’s make sure you get home to her in one piece. I will try to be more patient too. Can we do that?”

Adrian looks at them gratefully. He wishes he were home with you right now, but—he’s got a job to do first. And he needs to stop fighting with his friends in order to do it.

“Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “Yeah, we can do that.”

Adrian tag list: @justalotoffanfiction @danversxwasabi @clowninavan @adoresami @a-young-g0d @bastardstevie @am-3-thyst @xoxocamis @morguegrl89 @somethin-sparklyy @secretjesterr @seeingdubs @lovenerdywhitemen2 @jeshomie @aerionshipthrust @deamlucem @tlfg-adrianchase @brianna-merlim @amart-e @countvonklit @pieolsen @gingerjane15 @dosyrosyposy @mylcvemineallmine @rentaldarling @vigilcourt @hot-bean-juice @meg-winchester @sepaaaaa @residentsuperhero

Fleury and Bordeaux have been on the phone all afternoon, booking motels and rental cars, sparing no expense. Adrian and Judomaster pack up all the weapons, ammo, and other supplies they might need out in the field. It’s been a while since the field kits have been restocked.

Emilia and Chris hole up the conference room so she can debrief him in-depth on each of the targets they’re trying to track down right now. Economos tries to help, but he can barely bring himself to even say the names of his prior colleagues, falling back on his typical coping strategy of avoidance. If he doesn’t talk about it, doesn’t process it, then it can’t hurt him. He sticks his head in his laptop screen and does what he needs to do, and that’s that. 

Adrian and Ads should probably be in there with them, but they’re busy doing their own preparations. They want to get moving as soon as possible, before the lead goes cold, so they’re rushing to pack their bags and Chris’s. Chris will pass on the information while they travel. 

When they’re finished, they start bringing everything to the van, which Chris and Emilia have started prepping. It would be faster if they could fly, but with all the fucking weapons they have to take, they would never make it through any kind of security clearance. 

Three duffle bags are Adrian’s. One for clothes and toiletries. Two for his weapons and the Vigilante suit. He’s lugging them outside when he catches a glimpse of something that stops him in his tracks.

Chris and Harcourt, standing at the back of the van taking a rare, soft moment to themselves, Chris pressing a soft kiss to his mate’s lips. It’s fucking weird, is the first thing he thinks, watching them be all lovey and gross. He kinda understands how everyone else might feel when he’s being soft with you.

But then Adrian remembers that the bonded pair in front of him, his pack Alphas, are about to be separated for a week, and he feels a pang in his chest, because he understands in a way that he never has before. If they feel for each other even a fraction of what Adrian feels for you—

Adrian swallows roughly and turns away, giving them privacy. Suddenly, all he wants, more than anything, is you.

He’s been apart from you before, but not like this. Not since the day you first kissed him. In the last seven weeks, he’s seen you every day. Spent every possible waking hour at your side.

The idea of leaving you behind, even for just seven days, is eating him up inside.

After a quick pit stop at your desk for your picnic blanket, he finds you in the infirmary with Adebayo, where you’d been packing medical kits for them. When he walks in, you’re doing a refresh of some important first-aid practices. 

Ads doesn’t need it. But you do. You can’t go with Adrian, but you can do this. Make sure the med kits are fully stocked, make sure the supplies aren’t expired, make sure Ads remembers how to set a broken bone.

“One last thing—dislocations,” you’re saying, as he pushes open the door. “Both Adrian and Chris have dislocated their shoulders more than once, which means it’s even more likely for them to accidentally do it again, and neither of them are exactly careful about it—”

Adrian winces. That’s true, he has to admit. He’s come crawling back to you with his arm dangling loose more than once, and every time, you look at him with this exasperated frown before correcting the problem with your gentle hands. He knows how to fix it himself, and so does Chris, but it hurts a hell of a lot less when you do it.

“They know what they’re doing for the most part, but if they need help, you want to hold the arm here, and brace them like this—have another person help you, if you can—oh, and don’t forget to—”

Ads is half listening to you, half watching you with concerned eyes, because you’re rambling almost as much as he does, which can’t be a good sign. You’re normally more put together than this, giving clear, concise instructions, but today, it’s like you can’t get the words out fast enough, and everything is coming out in a jumbled, frazzled order.

It’s strange, seeing you like this. He wonders why you’re so stressed. Yes, your relationship with him has changed, now, but—you know him. You know he’s capable. This level of worry is something else entirely. 

“I think she’s got it, babe,” Adrian interrupts, with a gentle hand on your back, and you look up at him, your brow furrowed with concentration and worry.

“I know she does,” you say. You look at Ads. “I know you do. I just—”

“It’s okay, girl,” Ads says, her voice soft. “I get it. I’ll take care of him for you. I promise.”

Your lower lip wobbles, just a bit, and you throw your arms around her. “Thank you.”

She squeezes you tight, and exchanges a confused look with Adrian, who keeps a steady hand on your shoulder. He waits for the tension to drain from your body, the way it always does when he touches you, but it never does.

“Come on,” he says softly. “Let’s take a break, baby.”

Adrian leads you out to the courtyard, to the spot beneath the tree. He has started thinking of it as your spot, a shared little bubble away from the chaos of the rest of the office. When he plops down onto the blanket, he yanks you down with him, into his lap, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him. You yelp as you topple on top of him.

“You didn’t even try to fight me,” he scolds playfully.

You roll your eyes. “I didn’t realize I had to be on guard around you. Next time you try to sweep me off my feet I’ll punch you in the face. I’ll ask Emilia to work on that with me in our next session.”

“The training with her is going good?” he checks. “You’re not hurting anymore?” Adrian’s hand brushes beneath your shirt, over the scarred skin of your healed-over bullet wounds. “I don’t want you to push too hard—I mean, obviously I want you to be able to protect yourself—”

“Emilia wouldn’t have let me even start if she didn’t think I was ready,” you remind him.

“I know. You’re super badass and capable, and also really cool and I love you,” Adrian says, and when you finally smile, he kisses it right off your face.

“You guys are so gross.”

Chris’s voice rings across the courtyard, and your lips break apart. Adrian glares at his best friend, and your bright laughter echoes in the air.

“Shut up, Chris,” Adebayo scolds in the distance. “Let them live!”

After work, you head home for the night with Adrian. You’re still buzzing with some kind of nervous energy, though it’s not as bad as it was earlier. Having something to do seems to be helping, so he steps back and just lets you take control. There’s also a tiny, selfish part of him that just wants to make sure that you touch everything that goes in his suitcase, so that everything he wears during the week that he’s gone will smell like you.

You haven’t stayed the night. It’s a bridge that both of you have been weirdly afraid to cross. You’ve done all kinds of other couple-y things. You went on cute dates to the zoo and the aquarium, you played video games, you had movie nights. You did all the same things you used to do when you were just friends, but now there’s—more. Now Adrian gets to hold you, to kiss you, to tell you the things he was never allowed to say before. But never pushes any further than that, because he’s afraid, not of you, but of himself.

After the heated moment you’d shared in the Checkmate office, Adrian had pulled back significantly. It’s hard to control himself around you. He just wants you, so fucking much, all the time, and—you’d agreed to take things slow, so that’s what he’s been trying to do. Because every time he kisses you, or sucks a dark bruise into the skin of your neck, he has to desperately resist what his body tells him it needs. To make that mark permanent. To knot you, to claim you, to make you his, forever. He doesn’t want to push you into something you don’t want, something you’re not ready for.

It’s one thing to cuddle with you for a few hours on the couch. Even in bed, above the covers. It’s another to lie there with you for an entire night. But as the evening grows later, and you’re still there, at the safe house with him, he smiles. Because it doesn’t look like you’re going anywhere tonight. He doesn’t want you to go anywhere tonight.

If he’s going to be gone for an entire week, he wants as much time with you now as he can get. And he thinks that you do, too. That it might help with…whatever the hell is going on inside your brain right now.

As you zip up the suitcase on top of the bed, he comes to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, and kisses the underside of your jaw.

“Will you stay?” he asks, his voice low. “Just to sleep?”

“I was planning on it,” you say, and he smiles, rubbing his cheek against yours like a cat. You giggle, and he feels a little relieved, that you’re at least calm enough, happy enough, to still laugh like that. “That tickles. You need to shave again.”

“Ugh. Don’t wanna,” he whines, just to hear the sound again, and his heart lifts when he gets what he wants—he hears the light sound of your laugh, feels the rumble of it against his chest.

Adrian doesn’t mind shaving anymore, really. He’s used to it, now. But now, when he complains, you always offer to do it for him, and he has an excuse to stare at you for ten minutes uninterrupted.

“I’ll do it,” you say softly, and he grins, having gotten exactly what he wanted. “Just let me get changed, okay?”

Five minutes later, he swallows roughly when he sees you sitting on the bathroom counter in nothing but a short pair of sleep shorts and one of his shirts. He tries desperately to shove down his immediate arousal, even though he knows you can smell it, just like he can smell yours.

As you work in silence, sharp razorblade scraping across his cheeks, Adrian can still see the tension in the way you’re holding yourself. You’re worried. When you take a moment to rinse off the blade, he speaks.

“I’m gonna be okay, Omega,” he whispers, hands coming to grasp your hips. His thumbs rub soothing circles into your bare skin, where your shirt, his shirt, rides up.

“I know you’re going to be okay,” you say, talking while you work, finishing up the lower part of his neck. “I’m sorry if I’m being a lot. That’s not…that’s not what I’m thinking about right now.”

You finish what you’re doing and bring the damp washcloth to his face to clean him off. Once he’s clean, he grabs your wrist, turning his head to the side just slightly and pressing a kiss to the bracelet he’d made for you out of the scraps of his old Vigilante suit. You smile softly at him.

“What’s going on?” he asks softly, because you’re being quiet. Too quiet. You bite your lip and hesitate, and he hates it. “You can tell me, baby. You can tell me anything. You know that. I’m sorry we argued earlier, I don’t want you to think that I think you’re incapable or anything less than fucking badass, because you are badass, and great at your job, and I love you—”

“That’s not it,” you laugh. “But thank you. You are also a badass, baby.”

“What is it, then?”

“The week you get back,” you say carefully, “I’m due for my heat.” 

You’re trying hard to be casual about it, but—it’s anything but. You’re terribly nervous, because you know that Adrian is going to be too.

Adrian stares at you, mouth agape. You look at him pointedly.

“Oh,” he says, swallowing nervously, a little dumbstruck. “Oh.”

Everything that’s been happening with you today suddenly makes a whole lot more sense. The way you’ve been jumpy and anxious. It’s not just you being worried about Adrian going on a mission. It’s you, on the verge of preheat, if you aren’t in preheat already, being worried about your Alpha.

“So,” you say, clearing your throat. “Will you…help me through it?”

“Of course I will,” he says in a rush, his arms wrapping around you. “If that’s what you want. I just—I don’t want you to feel obligated or forced, just because we’ve been, you know, kissing and other stuff and—if you would feel more comfortable using…toys, I mean, just—I know we’ve talked about this already, that we want each other like this, and that you’re mine and I’m yours, but I want to make sure this isn’t just, like, hormones, you know—”

You cut him off with a kiss, and he melts into it instantly.

“I always want you,” you say softly. “The hormones just make it—more.”

“Oh,” he says dumbly, trying to ignore the arousal stirring deep in his gut just at your admission.

“And if you want,” you say nervously, tugging at the material of his shirt, “Since—like you just said. That you’re mine, and I’m yours. I was thinking. That I want you to mark me, Alpha.”

“I want that,” Adrian says hoarsely. He remembers kneeling in front of you, his face buried in your core, remembers just how strong the urge was to mark you, to make you his. He wanted it so bad, in that moment. He’s wanted it every day since. “I’ve never wanted anything more. But I want—I want you to mark me too. I want us to do it together. So—can we wait? Until my next rut? If your heat is in two weeks—then by the time you’re due for your next one, we should be—”

“All synced up,” you finish with a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, we can wait.”

“Should I even be going on this mission?” he checks worriedly. “If your heat comes early—”

“If my heat comes early, I will deal for a couple days until you get back.”

“No,” Adrian says firmly. He remembers how he felt during his rut, hot and writhing and miserable and alone. You will never feel like he did during that week of agony, not on his watch. “If your heat comes early, you will call me, and I will come home early and take care of you. Promise me.”

“Adrian—”

“Promise me,” he repeats, heart pounding. He holds your gaze.

“I promise,” you say. Your voice is soft. “I will call you.”

“I’m gonna call you every fucking day anyway,” Adrian says, smiling. “So much that you’re gonna be fucking sick of me.”

“I’d never get sick of you. Now, Chris, on the other hand—”

“Hey!”

“I’m just telling it like it is, baby.”

Adrian laughs as you hop off the counter and drag him toward the bedroom. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“I am on your side! I don’t get sick of you. I want you around all the time. Always.”

You prove your point by flopping onto the bed and dragging him on top of you. He lands carefully, bracing his arms on either side of you so he doesn’t crush you with his weight.

“I think even you would get sick of me eventually,” Adrian says. He presses a quick, teasing kiss to your lips before going to shut off the lights. You worm your way beneath the covers, holding them up for him to slide in with you when he’s finished.

“You’re wrong,” you say, more of a whisper now that it’s dark in the room. Adrian pulls the blankets tighter over you both and lies down facing you, eyes wide open in the dark, waiting for them to adjust so he can see you a little more clearly. When they do, you’re smiling at him. “You know, I’ve been thinking.”

“Stop thinking,” Adrian advises. “And just let me enjoy my first night sleeping next to you.”

“Well, if you would let me finish!” you laugh. “It’s been long enough. We should—” You cut yourself off, hesitating.

“We should what?” Adrian asks.

“I’m just thinking,” you say. “That it would be easier, if you came home, and you knew…where you were going home to.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you want, while you’re gone,” you say, “I could take all your stuff that’s here in the safe house, and move it into my apartment. This was always supposed to be a temporary arrangement.”

Adrian’s heart hammers in his throat. “Really?”

“Really. And then when you come home, you can spend every night sleeping next to me.”

He imagines it. Coming home. Knowing that home means you. Means a place that you both share, where every blanket and pillow and coffee cup is touched with a hint of your scent and his. A place where he gets to go to sleep beside you every night and wake up beside you every morning for the rest of his life.

“Yes,” Adrian says, nodding furiously, smiling like an idiot. “Yes, let’s—let’s do that. Please.”

He kisses you, again, and smiles into it, thinking about how he’ll get to do this all the time.

He just needs to get through this fucking mission, and he gets to come home. To you.

It’s happening again.

Adrian is too far away, this time. He watches the red soaking through your uniform, your knees hitting the ground. He smells your scent in the air, tinged with the metallic hint of blood. Your eyes meet his across the field, terrified and pained.

He’s living his worst nightmare all over again, and he can’t stop it.

He’s screaming, and running, and he tumbles to the ground beside you, he yanks off his mask. You’re going to be okay, you have to be okay. You will be. He knows you will be. 

He’s had this dream, he’s relived the memory a dozen times since the day it happened, but this time, when he turns you over, when he touches your face—it’s cold. His own pulse hammers in his neck as he feels for yours. He can’t find it.

“No, no, no,” he says, heart rising into his throat. “What—no, what’s happening please wake up oh god no—”

Adrian bolts awake, breathing like he’s just run a marathon, and it takes him a moment to come back to himself, to realize where he is.

In bed. With you. With you, alive, tucked against him, safe. He can see you breathing, the rise and fall of your chest. He can feel your warmth.

It’s not enough. He reaches out with one trembling hand to touch your neck, careful not to wake you. Only when he presses against your neck and feels your pulse, thrumming strong and steady beneath his fingertips, does all the air rush out of his lungs in a relieved whoosh.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers, and he feels a tear stream down his cheek. He doesn’t even bother wiping it away, just closes his eyes and lets himself slump down against the pillows, trying to calm his own racing heart.

“Adrian?” you mumble, and his eyes fly open again to see your hand fumbling for him in the dark. He instantly feels both terrible for waking you and immensely grateful to hear your voice.

“It’s okay, baby. Go back to sleep,” he says, his voice hoarse, a little frustrated, even. He catches your wandering hand before it can settle against his chest, where you’ll be able to feel how hard his heart is pounding in the aftermath of a nightmare. He doesn’t want you to worry.

It’s the first night he’s sleeping with you in his arms. It should be peaceful. It’s everything he’s wanted for months. Instead, here he is, staring at you through the dark like you’re going to disappear any moment, haunted by the memory of you soaked in your own blood.

Your eyes blink open sleepily, and you watch him silently for a moment, weighing whether to do what he says and just go back to sleep, or argue with him. He stares back at you.

You don’t argue. You don’t say a word. But you don’t go back to sleep either. You sit up, shift yourself over, and hug him, feeling his arms wrap around you in return, squeezing tight to hide the way he’s shaking.

“You’re okay,” you say quietly. “It was just a dream. You’re okay.”

“Not me,” Adrian says thickly. “You. It was—it was the day you got shot, baby, all over again. I couldn’t do anything—I saw you hit the ground and there was so much blood and I couldn’t—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

“Stop that,” you shush him. After a quiet moment, you ask, “Do you dream about that day a lot?”

Adrian doesn’t answer. You sit up a little, prop yourself up on his chest, and brush sweaty curls off his forehead.

“Okay,” you say. “We don’t have to talk about it now.” You start to roll off of him, and he clings to you in a panic.

“No—stay—”

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

You roll onto your back, guiding Adrian to curl around you, pulling his head down to rest on your chest. 

“Go back to sleep, baby,” you say, running your fingers through his hair, and he wraps his arms around you like a teddy bear.

He tells himself he will, after you fall back asleep. Once he feels your breathing even out. But he stays awake the rest of the night, anxious, just listening to the steady thump of your heart echoing against his ear.

Adrian had promised you yesterday that he would back off after this mission. Get this protective anxiety out of his system. As he sits there, in the dark, he thinks that maybe that promise won’t be so easy for him to keep.

Adrian wakes up the next morning with you still draped over him, a comforting, calming weight. He’d drifted off eventually, into a half-sleep, and now he blinks awake, the world a little blurry without his glasses as he looks down at you, using his chest as a pillow, hugging him like a stuffed animal. He’s warm and soft and comfortable and he does not want to get out of bed and face the world.

He glances at the clock on the nightstand. 6 a.m. His chest tightens.

He leaves in six hours.

When he looks back down at you, you’re looking right at him, and he forces a smile, pulling you up to his mouth for a messy morning kiss.

“Your hair is a fucking disaster,” you observe, amused, lifting a hand up to tug at the little curly tufts that are sticking up every which way. “I didn’t realize you had such bad bed head.”

“I regret to inform you, there are a lot of things about me that are a fucking disaster,” Adrian jokes, hands landing on your waist, thumbs rubbing gentle circles. “You did, unfortunately, sign up for this shit.”

“Well, how about you go shower and fix that while I make some breakfast?” you suggest. 

Adrian’s grip tightens on your waist. He doesn’t want that. 

The idea of spending even twenty minutes apart from you today, when the clock is winding down, when he is going to have to leave for a week, makes him feel anxiously possessive in a way that he hasn’t felt since—since he watched you walk away from him, that night at Chris’s trailer after the other Alpha ordered you to go home, when he was deep in his rut, when he needed you and couldn’t have you. It’s an irrational kind of panic, but he feels right now like if he lets you go, he’ll never see you again.

He can’t explain all that to you without sounding insane. Like some possessive, overbearing asshole. So he just clears his throat, and forces a smile, and says, “Come with me?”

You undress together, leaving your clothes on the edge of the bed, and you follow him into the bathroom wordlessly.

In the shower, he determinedly ignores the fact that this is the first time he’s seen you naked as you stand together beneath the stream of warm water, his arms wrapped around you from behind. He recalls the days you spent wrapped around him the same way while he worked on the Vigilante suit, the little kisses you would pepper on his neck, and he does the same now. You tilt your head for him, to give him better access, and he inhales deeply, hugging you tighter.

“Are you okay, baby?” you ask softly. “Still thinking about that nightmare?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Just. Gonna miss you.”

“I’m gonna miss you too. You’re lucky, you have a big fancy mission to distract you. I’ll stay as busy as I can with work, but I’ll probably have to take things a little easier this week, once I’m in preheat.”

“You’re absolutely sure that it’s okay for me to go?” he checks, even though he’s already asked you a dozen times. He doesn’t feel good about leaving you so close to your heat. “I can ask Judomaster to go instead—”

That he’s even offering tells you how anxious he is. Adrian loves going on missions, and he loves going on missions with Chris, and he complains for days when Judomaster gets to work with his best friend instead of him.

“I know myself. I know my body,” you tell him. “If I felt like I needed you to stay, I promise you, I would tell you. You’re only gonna be gone for a week. I’m not due for ten days.”

It still seems like cutting things too close for comfort, in Adrian’s eyes.

“I just don’t want you to suffer,” he says, quiet and concerned. When you turn around to meet his gaze, you know he’s thinking about his own rut. The sweaty, sleepless nights, the cramps, the agony.

“It’s not so bad. Remember, baby, you just had your first rut,” you say. “They should get easier, now. I won’t be in as much pain as you were.”

“No,” he says firmly. “Because I’m going to be there, to help you.”

“I also have a decade and a half of experience under my belt,” you point out. “I know what works for me. How to cope with it. Four times a year, like clockwork.” You smile wryly. “Except that one time you threw me off schedule.”

“You’ve been with other Alphas before,” Adrian says. He says it like a question, but it isn’t, not really. He knows you have.

“You really want to talk about that right now?” you ask with a raised eyebrow.

“No,” Adrian grumbles as he turns off the shower, both of you clean and refreshed for the morning.

“There haven’t been that many, anyway,” you say, wrapping yourself in a towel and then brushing a hand through his wet hair. He hums at your gentle touch. “It’s hard to know that they won’t…take advantage. It was only ever people I trusted. And only when it was a particularly bad cycle.”

“Take advantage?”

“Mark me,” you explain. “When I didn’t want them to.”

Unexpected, possessive anger surges in Adrian’s chest when he remembers that there are shitty Alphas in the world who won’t take no for an answer. He looks at your neck and imagines seeing the shiny, silvery mark of someone else’s bite marring the smooth skin, and he growls.

“That’s so fucked up,” he says, his voice low and fierce. “That anyone would—you’re mine—”

“And you’re mine,” you say simply. “And soon, everyone—even strangers on the street—will know that.” Adrian shivers when you lean forward and press a gentle kiss to the skin at the juncture of his neck, right where you’ll sink your teeth in when the time is right.

He mirrors you, rubbing his cheek against yours, mingling his scent with yours on your skin. It’s wishful thinking that it will linger for the whole ten days that he’s gone. But he can mark his territory for now, he thinks, as he kisses your neck, sucking a bruise into the skin there. It’s not a bite mark, but it’s something. Something that will linger for a few days, at least. You laugh.

“You are ridiculous,” you say, and he smiles.

“Can’t let you forget about me while I’m gone,” he tries to tease, but it comes out smaller than usual.

“I could never,” you whisper. If you said it any louder, your voice would wobble.

The air in the bathroom is thick with steam from the hot water of the shower. But it’s thick with the scent of arousal, too.

“I want you,” you say, stepping forward, trailing your palms up Adrian’s bare, damp chest.

“You know I want you,” Adrian says nervously, reaching up to hold your hands there, firm, against his pecs. He watches a drop of water drip down from your hair, trailing down between your breasts, disappearing beneath the towel wrapped around your body. “I want you so much. I always want you.”

“I want you now,” you say.

“Are you sure?” Adrian can feel his heart pounding against his chest. With your hand sitting there, right above it, you can probably feel it too.

“I’m sure.”

Thank god, he thinks, as he guides your wrists up and around his neck and stoops low to pick you up. He carries you like you’re something special, breakable, precious. Every step is careful with you cradled in his arms. When he sets you down on the mattress, and you let the towel fall away, he can forget, for a minute, about everything else, because all that matters is this moment with you.

He kisses you, and he’s just too goddamn happy to be anything but sloppy and enthusiastic. You giggle as his kisses trail to your cheeks, your forehead, your chin, and it makes him feel even lighter, the way you laugh.

“Are you sure?” you check, and Adrian looks at you with bewilderment.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I just know you’ve never—now that you’re an Alpha. It can be a lot. We can wait, if you want.”

“I’m done waiting,” he says, firm and determined. “I’ve been waiting for years.”

He starts kissing your face again, down your neck, until his tongue is circling one nipple, and you groan. But just as his hand drifts down toward your core, trailing over the soft skin of your belly, he has a fleeting thought and pauses.

“Wait—um,” he says awkwardly. “I don’t have, like. Condoms? And I know we have not talked at all about—pups. But I’m assuming that even if—even if we did. Now is not a good time—”

You giggle. “You really didn’t pay attention to Alpha sex ed in school, did you?”

Adrian flushes a little. “No.”

“Even if you did have condoms,” you explain carefully, “they would probably break. From your knot.”

“Oh,” Adrian says, growing even redder. “So—what—Omegas are like, really fertile, aren’t you? What do we—”

“I’m on birth control. I’ve got an implant.” You bite your lip. “And you’re right. We haven’t talked about it. But if you wanted—one day. We could.”

You’re the one lying beneath him, but somehow, he feels like he’s the more vulnerable one right now. His heart feels like it’s beating outside his chest, and your words make him feel like you’ve reached out and touched it, setting him alight like a live wire.

“You would want that?” he asks hoarsely. “With me?”

“I want everything with you,” you say, eyes shining. “Alpha.”

Adrian surges forward and captures your lips with his, his broad frame pushing you down deeper into the mattress, and you gasp into a groan when his hips come flush with yours and you can feel the evidence of his desire pressing heavy on your thigh. Your legs fall open to welcome him closer, and you reach low, taking his cock in your hand.

His eyes flutter shut and his head falls forward to your chest, your other hand coming up to run through his hair and hold him in place as he goes back to pressing mindless kisses to the sensitive bare skin of your breasts. You stroke him, squeezing gently, and he thinks, suddenly, back to his rut. When he was thrusting against a pillow, or into his own hand, imagining, wishing it was you instead.

He doesn’t have to imagine anymore. Now the real thing is right here in front of him and he’s so swept up in you he’s not sure he’ll ever come back.

Your touch is soft and sleepy and warm, and it’s almost enough to make him forget everything else for a while—how much he needs you, how long he’s waited for this moment, how much he’ll miss you while he’s gone. He’ll think about this every day, your warm hand wrapped around his cock, pumping, lips brushing against his ear as you whisper praises.

When Adrian touches you, you’re already slick and eager, ready for him, but he pushes two testing fingers through your folds anyway, dipping inside you where you’re wet and warm, listening to the gasps of pleasure you make. That alone is almost enough to make him cum.

“Just—” you gasp. “Fuck, Adrian. Skip the fucking foreplay. I’ve been waiting for this for weeks.”

“I don’t want to hurt you—”

“You’re not going to hurt me,” you insist, hitching your legs around his waist, letting his cock drag through your wetness, whimpering when the head bumps at your clit. “Please, Alpha—”

“Fuck,” Adrian says, because he can’t stand to hear you beg like that. He could never say no to you. He caves instantly, notching himself at your entrance and pushing in, trying to keep his breathing steady as he’s swallowed by your warmth. 

You hiss out a breath at the stretch of him, spreading your legs wider. A pleased hum reverberates through your chest when he gives a testing, shallow thrust, and it hits you in all the right places.

“So good, baby,” you whisper. “You make me feel so good.”

Even as you say it, you’re touching him in return in ways that he’s only ever dreamed about before, your nails digging into his shoulders, heels pushing into his back, pulling him in closer, deeper. He wants more. He wants you to touch him everywhere, to leave traces of yourself on every single part of his body. Until you’re a permanent part of him, until he’s a permanent part of you, until leaving you behind for a mission doesn’t feel like leaving himself behind.

Adrian’s mouth trails over you in return—your neck, your chest, your arms, your face. He wants to leave his scent behind. He wants you to smell like him even when he’s not around this week. He wants any Alpha that sees you on the street to know that you’re taken, to know that you’re his.

It’s that thought that spurs his movement, quick, deep thrusts that makes you whine. You shift your hips to meet his, and then there’s nothing but the sound of skin on skin, of heavy mingled breaths, as Adrian ruts into you.

As your head falls back, his eyes latch on to your neck, and he feels it. The way his teeth are itching to bite into the juncture of your neck. He wants it so bad, his instinct is telling him to just do it, but—now is not the time. He grits his teeth, looks away, down at his own arm, which he’s using to prop himself up over you as he plunges into you, feeling the knot growing at the base of his cock. 

“Oh,” you gasp, as you feel it too, starting to catch at your entrance as he moves. “Want—want your knot, please, fuck, want it so bad, Adrian, fuck.”

“Whatever you want,” he chokes, watching you take him with fascination. “All of me, you have—all of me.”

A moment later, he feels you flutter around him, and your mouth falls open, drawing his eyes again to your neck, where he can see the furiously beating pulse. The urge to mark you roars inside him.

He thinks for a split second about biting into the skin of his own hand instead, just to satisfy the urge, until his eyes fall on the crumpled ball of your underwear lying on the bed next to him.

He shoves it in his mouth with a growl and bites down on the fabric as his knot finally catches. It’s nothing like biting down into your skin, but the taste of you still coats his tongue, and it sends him over the edge himself as he comes with a muffled groan.

For a moment afterward, you’re both quiet. He lets more of his weight rest on top of you, lets himself hold you tight. He closes his eyes and tries to commit the feeling to memory. He wants this to be the thing that lasts, the thing he dreams about while he’s gone. Not the nightmares of your cold body, drenched in blood. But the good dreams, holding you like this, alive and happy and so in love he can’t take it.

“You okay, baby?” you ask him after a minute. He feels your lips on his cheek, and he smiles around your underwear. You furrow your brow as you reach up and pluck them out of his mouth.

“Why are you eating my underwear, you fucking weirdo?”

“Because I really wanted to bite you,” Adrian says. “And this was a good alternative.” 

“I wouldn’t have minded if you did,” you whisper, fishing the fabric in your hand.

He grins and kisses you as he steals them back out of your hand. “I’m keeping them.”

“Wha–why—”

“Because they smell like you and they taste like you—”

“That is so fucking weird. If I wasn’t in love with you that would be so creepy.”

“But you are in love with me,” he says smugly. “And I don’t care if it’s creepy. I’m keeping them.”

“If you take my panties on this mission and Chris sees them, I will kill you. No matter how in love with you I am.”

Adrian sobers a bit at the reminder that he’s leaving. He glances at the clock on the nightstand.

“You’ll call me?” he asks. You don’t even get annoyed with him, even though he’s asked the question half a dozen times in the last two days.

“Every day.”

“And if your heat comes early—”

“I’ll call you,” you say softly. You frown, brushing his hair out of his face with both hands, trailing your palms down the front of his chest, letting yourself touch him because you know you’ll be starved of it for a while after this. “I’m going to be okay, Adrian. You are the one going out to do dangerous shit.”

“I do dangerous shit all the time,” Adrian says lightly. “I’m pretty good at it.”

“I know you are.”

“A week is a long time,” he whispers, like if he says it too loud, it will grow even longer.

“We have survived worse things than a week apart,” you say. “But no matter how long you’re gone, you’re stuck with me. I’m not letting you go that easy.”

“Literally,” Adrian jokes, shifting his hips, almost laughing at the way you move helplessly with him, knotted together.

You roll your eyes. “You are such a dork.”

“Your dork.”

Adrian tag list: @justalotoffanfiction @danversxwasabi @clowninavan @adoresami @a-young-g0d @bastardstevie @am-3-thyst @xoxocamis @morguegrl89 @somethin-sparklyy @secretjesterr @seeingdubs @lovenerdywhitemen2 @jeshomie @aerionshipthrust @deamlucem @tlfg-adrianchase @brianna-merlim @amart-e @countvonklit @pieolsen @gingerjane15 @dosyrosyposy @mylcvemineallmine @rentaldarling @vigilcourt @hot-bean-juice @meg-winchester @sepaaaaa @residentsuperhero

“I can’t believe we didn’t have a debrief for this. All of this is an absolute mess,” she muttered leaning back against the headboard, exhaustion making her eyelids feel heavier and heavier. “Like what do you mean this Jack Andrews has connections to the mafia - what mafia? It’s like it’s been written by someone who just watches spy movies,” she complained, looking up at Adrian. He was on his stomach, feet up in the air, as he read a notebook. They both had changed into pajamas, and she couldn’t help the way her heart pounded at the fact he was in Pokemon pajama pants and a gameboy t-shirt, he was such a dork. A dork she couldn’t seem to get enough of as she watched him eat chicken tenders at the foot of the bed. 

“I mean some of it makes sense, like it says this guy who should be getting here in a couple of days will be bringing some of the contraband,” Adrian said, straining as he held up a picture for her. 

“I know, but there’s no ties to any organizations listed. There’s no reason for this case to even be on the Checkmate radar, I don’t even understand who’s paying for us to do this - like what’s the angle here?” 

“I don’t know, random people come to us all the time. Ads and Harcourt have like crazy connections,” Adrian supplied, and she frowned. 

“Yeah, but why would they have a drug deal like this go down here? This doesn’t make a lot of sense,” she said with a sigh, rubbing her forehead. The two were going to have their work cut out for them - especially with no support from anyone in the office. “And why us? If they’re expecting them to be out in the public undercover as waitstaff would be a better cover than a honeymooning couple, so what’s the angle?”

“You ask too many questions,” Adrian said but when her eyes snapped at him, wanting to comment on his lack of care for the mission except her breath got caught in her throat. 

The way he was looking at her…it was past fondness, it was past the care you extend to a coworker or even a friend. 

She had no other way to describe it, but he looked almost lovesick. 

It hit her that there might be a part of him that was saying that not out of malice or because he didn’t care, but because he was so impressed that she cared that much. 

And that was enough to send her heart racing. 

“I…well one of us has to ask questions if we’re going to actually get this mission done, we only have a week to figure this out and this is one of my first in-the-field long term missions - I want it to go well.” 

“It will go well, plus a week is a long time! It’s 7 days, 168 hours, 10,080 minutes, or-”

“-Don’t tell me the seconds of a week-”

“-604,800 seconds. I can do milliseconds too! Wanna know it?”

“Why the fuck do you know that?”

“It’s 604,800,000!” 

“I repeat, why the fuck do you know that?” 

“It’s a cool party trick,” he said pouting slightly as he pulled himself up to sit on his knees. 

“I don’t think it’s cool.” 

“Well, you’re just in a bad mood because you’ve been reading too much,” he sang, plucking the dossier from her hands. “I think you secretly found that very impressive and you’re embarrassed that now I’ve shown you up and you feel like you can’t compete with me!” 

“Hey! Give that back, Adrian!” she said, following him and trying to grab it. He laughed as he leaned back slightly, holding it above his head and to the side forcing her to lean over him while she reached for it. He smiled at her as she got closer, but he still kept the file firmly out of reach. 

“I’m telling you, you don’t need to read this anymore. We have multiple targets names, you probably have their schedule already memorized. We’ll go in tomorrow and do some snooping and see what we learn,” he said gently and she sighed, dropping her head down to rest against his chest, completely missing how his smile grew as her body moved even closer to him. 

“Fine, but I’m making the itinerary,” she conceded, finally looking up at him after a beat. “And tomorrow we’re going to the spa first, because if we’re going to be stuck here then I want to take full advantage of every single amenity. Plus what’s her name, one of the informants it’s supposed to be at the spa tomorrow too.” 

“Jessica Whatever, yeah I remember that from the one thousand times you read it out loud. What else does the hotel have?” he asked, and she fought a smile at how interested Adrian always seemed to be in what she had to say. 

“Her name is not Jessica Whatever it was Jasmine Dales, Adrian, Jesus,” she said, the nerves for the mission spiking slightly at Adrian’s attitude about all of this. “The hotel has a spa, beach front, like four really nice restaurants, there’s like a ton of yard games, a pool that has a bar in it, and I think there’s a fitness center with some classes included with the price of the room,” she responded and Adrian smiled, clearly growing excited for their week. 

“Okay well, easy. We will go to the spa tomorrow to see what we can suss out and obviously re-group as we need. That’s the beauty of the cover of a honeymoon. We just gotta be sickeningly in love, and we can escape to be in private pretty easily,” he said with a smile as she pulled back. Adrian’s eyes were still on her as she stretched slightly. He had a point, there was not much more they could learn from the mess that was the dossier. “But for now, we should probably get some rest.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” she said gently. She knew she failed to look natural but she nervously pulled back from him and looked at where she was just sitting on the bed. It was a big bed. Certainly big enough for two adults to share and still have space. Part of her still didn’t understand why Chris didn’t just get a room with two beds, surely there’s other married couples who have done that at the hotel and it wouldn’t be seen as too big of a deal. 

“I’m going to go get ready,” she said, not meeting Adrian’s eyes as she got up and grabbed her bathroom bag. If he says anything after her she doesn’t hear it over the sound of the door shutting

She made slow work of washing her face, brushing her teeth, and dealing with her hair before bed. She couldn’t help the deliberate and steady movements as she pictured Adrian out in the room, knowing that he had probably gotten his switch back out and made himself comfortable in the bed - completely unaware of her own inner turmoil. 

But that was just Adrian, and it had been Adrian the whole time she’s been at Checkmate - either he was blind, uninterested, or ignorant to the way she felt about him, and she had grown to be okay with that. One-sided crushes had plagued her almost her entire life, so what truly was one more…except every time she managed to convince herself to move on from the goofy man with a deadly side he would do something that pulled her back in. Bringing her coffee in the morning, inviting her to join the others for beers after work, and always making sure she was okay after a mission. Adrian was just always there, always caring and worrying about her. 

She had never really experienced it from another black ops agent, especially one that wasn’t just trying to get into her pants. 

As she finally made her way out of the bathroom, she fought the urge to immediately lock into what Adrian was doing. However, that didn’t stop her from zeroing in on him from the corner of her eye. 

Adrian was now lounging on the side next to where she was, still on top of the comforter but laying against the headboard. His eyes were focused on his switch but she could tell by how stiff he was sitting that he had at the very least noticed she had come back into the room. 

She sighed and finally turned towards him and his eyes immediately met hers. 

“I put a pillow in the middle, if that’s okay. I mean I know we’re newlyweds-”

“We’re not actually newlyweds, Adrian. Having the pillow there makes sense,” she said, finally making her way to the bed and under the covers. Adrian followed suit and turned off the light on his side of the bed and got under the covers. She felt him shuffle a few times, clearly not sure if he should lay on his back, away from her, or towards her as she focused on the ceiling, twiddling her thumbs. 

“Adrian, stop freaking out,” she whispered, and he finally stopped fidgeting. 

“Sorry, I normally sleep in the middle of the bed. I really hate feeling like I might fall off the bed, ya know? Like when you hang over and you just slowly tumble. It’s in my top ten biggest fears.” 

“You’re a black ops agent and in your top ten greatest fears is falling out of bed?” 

“I mean, it’s certainly closer to ten than it is one,” he said like that made it all well and understood. 

“What the hell is number one?” she asked, and she heard Adrian click his tongue. 

“It’s silly,” he said immediately, flipping himself so he was no longer facing her. She lifted her head up to look at him. She frowned, watching him as he seemed to want to make himself smaller. Which was a difficult feat for the 5’11” grown man, but somehow he made it work. 

“It’s not silly, not if you’re afraid of it Adrian,” she whispered. “Fears aren’t always rational. I’m scared of heights even when I’m strapped into something and completely safe.”

“You were fine on the plane though,” he said, twisting his head slightly to look at her. 

“That’s different, plus you were panicked. I was more worried about making sure you were okay than myself.”

“You were worried about me?” he asked, as he kept moving towards her slowly but surely. 

“Adrian, I thought you were going to pass out, of course I was worried about you,” she said and he finally moved himself so he could fully look at her. There was something in his eyes that was new and he almost looked like he was going to cry.

“Really?” he asked, voice almost watery, and she moved herself to lay on her side, using one of her arms to push the pillow down enough she could see him more clearly. The light from the window illuminated his sharp features. 

“Yeah, Ade. I care about you, you know that.” 

“Yeah, but it’s different right? Like we’re coworkers and in the field we obviously have each other's backs, but like that wasn’t technically in the field,” he said, frowning as he watched her features, trying to catch her in a lie that he wasn’t going to find. 

“I mean, I would consider us friends,” she said gently fighting the urge to feel offended by this as she slowly blinked trying to stay awake and think through her thoughts. Rationally, she knew that Adrian asking that had way more to do with him than her. She had watched him struggle with the others, trying to make himself bigger or smaller to fit what everyone else needed. He was constantly willing to be at the beck and call for others just for a sliver of attention and he’d do it all with a grin, a joke, and an animal fact. 

“Like actual friends?” 

“Yes, Adrian.” 

“Like, maybe after this mission we could hang out - just the two of us type of friends?” he asked, voice tilted to a hopeful note. She couldn’t help the smile take over her features and Adrian smiled back. Feeling satisfied that he’d be okay for at least the night she felt her eyelids grow heavier. 

“That would be really nice,” she said, voice sleepy as she finally drifted off to Adrian’s small cheer.

__

Tag List (comment if you’d like to be added!)

@trelaney @kierselleboogie @v1gilanteloser @quietlybitchy @lil-rigatoni @snowyathena @tez0 @danversxwasabi @obsessedromancereader @pandanapping @burningluminarysheep @a-young-g0d @4duniadae