🌟🩺🐠🐉🍎

You instinctively hold your breath and tiptoe closer, setting the bento down before leaning in slightly to inspect him.

He looks unfairly pretty like this.

Carefully, you slide his glasses from his face. His nose scrunches. A sleepy protest leaves him, barely more than a mumble. The sight nearly makes you laugh.

Then you take the pen from his fingers and set it back in its place.

When you look back down, one bright blue eye is cracked open.

“Hi,” you whisper, unable to stop smiling.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Hi yourself.” His voice is rough with sleep.

Before he can properly wake, one arm reaches blindly for you. The second his fingers find your waist, you’re pulled forward with no warning at all.

A surprised laugh slips out as he tugs you into his lap.

“Satoru—”

A sleepy hum is your only warning before he buries his face against your neck.

Then come the kisses—barely-there presses along your jaw. The kind he gives without thinking.

“What’re you doing here?” he murmurs against your skin. “It’s late.”

You squirm when another kiss lands just below your ear.

“Someone I know forgot the lunch I packed for him.”

“Hm.”

Another kiss.

“Tragic.”

“It's like you do it on purpose.”

“Maybe.” Too quick. Way too quick.

You pull back just enough to look at him. He’s grinning, completely unashamed.

“Hm. Sorry, angel.”

Neither of you believe him for a second.

With a raised brow, you reach for the bento and open it. The second the lid lifts, his eyes practically roll back.

“Oh, thank God. Sushi? I’m being spoiled today,” Satoru says, already watching you dig through your bag for chopsticks.

“Feed me,” he adds.

“No.”

“But I worked all day.”

“You’re grown.”

“I’ve suffered enough.”

You sigh anyway, snapping the chopsticks apart before picking up a piece of sushi. He opens his mouth automatically when you hold it out.

“You look pretty in this dress,” he says around a mouthful.

You glance down. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

His thumb drags slow circles against your hip.

“I mean, you’re pretty all the time.”

Heat rises in your cheeks. Years together, and he still catches you like this. Still says things so casually they linger in your head long after.

Satoru watches it happen, clearly entertained.

“It really suits you,” he adds.

His gaze drifts over you, soft, adoring. Like you’re the best part of his day.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

He swallows and accepts the next bite you offer him.

Eventually, the bento is empty.

You snap the lid shut and set it aside on the crowded corner of his desk, careful not to disturb the fragile mountain of essays threatening to collapse.

Satoru, meanwhile, looks entirely unbothered by any of it.

At some point, he’d tucked himself back into your neck. Now he’s completely hidden there, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other resting lazily across your thighs, keeping you firmly in his lap.

Not that you’re trying to move.

“You know,” you murmur, fingers slipping into the soft white strands at the nape of his neck, “most professors actually grade their papers.”

“Mhm.”

“They don’t usually nap on them.”

“Mhm.”

You smile. “Satoru.”

“I heard you,” he says, muffled against your skin.

For a moment, neither of you move.

The golden light has softened, stretching across the desk in long quiet lines.

Satoru sighs—the kind that comes after a very long day—and some of the tension in his shoulders finally eases.

When you tilt his chin up, he goes easily. His blue eyes meet yours. Sleepy. Warm. Completely yours.

His nose brushes yours once, then again—an old habit neither of you ever comment on.

Then he smiles. Not the grin he gives when he successfully proves a point or the smirk he uses when he’s being unbearable. Something gentle that only ever belongs to you.

His hand slides higher along your back as he leans in.

The kiss is slow and unhurried, like he has nowhere else to be. Like there’s nothing else in the world worth paying attention to.

You melt into him instantly. You always do.

A soft hum leaves him when your fingers thread into his hair, and he pulls you closer despite there being no space left between you.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only by a fraction.

His forehead stays against yours.

“Stay while I finish grading these?” he asks quietly.

You glance at the essays. Then back at him. The hope on his face is almost laughable for a man his age.

“I won’t be long,” he adds.

You smile. As if you were ever going anywhere.

WC: ≈1.3k

It was't like it used to be. Hybrids had all the same rights, worked and lived in all the same spaces, no longer made normal humans stop and stare when they were out on the street. And despite some of the, uh, anatomical differences, people still had sex and found partners regardless of their hybrid status.

But he couldn't convince himself to come clean and risk ruining your relationship when he didn't know if you'd ever be interested in being with someone like him. Who wasn't just burdened by the weight of the sorcery world but heat cycles and knotting too.

Especially when he didn't even have experience in, uh, relationships in general.

"Not sure yet," you hummed, shrugging your shoulders without a single clue what was rattling around in his head. "Hope it's good though."

His mouth opened and words he wasn't even fully aware of started spilling out, talking just to fill the air, his brain scrambling to come up with some excuse to get you to cancel no matter unfair he knew he was. Babbling some nonsense about how boring his day was without you, mumbling something about a late-night café that just opened nearby you would like, earning one of those smiles that stole his breath as you teasingly rolled your eyes.

"You don't have to pretend like you'll miss me," you lightly scoffed, reaching one finger out and pausing just before you could poke his cheek. You probably thought he had infinity on, didn't bother testing his technique, although if you had, you'd see that he turned it off just for these private moments with you. "You just don't want to be alone to fill all this stuff out."

"That's not-" He protested, but his sentence died in his throat when you turned away from him, teetering a little on your heels as you bent over to pick up your purse from the floor.

"I'll come in early tomorrow morning if you wanna call it a night too," you suggested, pulling out your phone without looking at him. His chest straining as he pulled his blindfold back over his eyes. Sensitive ears perking up at the vibrations of your phone, maybe your stupid date sending you something, his chest tight and stiff as your lips curled up higher at whatever was on screen.

"Yeah, sure," he heard himself say, like it didn't hurt at all.

You glanced back at him, grinning as you lifted your hand up in a little wave. "Wish me luck, okay?"

He wished your date would break his fucking legs, actually.

ʚ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ɞ

The man sitting across from you was no Satoru Gojo.

Didn't have his flawless complexion, the creamy skin or the sharp edges, his blue eyes dull, boring in comparison to the brilliant shade that seared through you, his lips not glossy or remotely close to the same shade of pink when he opened his mouth to say something about stocks you couldn't really care less about as you contemplated how far he was from his profile.

But the biggest difference was the pointy ears you could make out underneath his hair you spotted when you climbed in his car earlier, the tail that stuck out of his clothes.

You didn't care if he was a dog hybrid, couldn't give less of a shit what breed he was - but it was a little off-putting that he didn't disclose it at all online, went as far as to hide it in his photos.

The first day you met Gojo, he'd let his tail wrap around your leg, throwing you a cheeky smile as he cracked an awful joke about not using a litter box to lighten the mood.

"I mean, it might be a little too advanced for you-" He continued, and you nodded without really paying attention to what he was even referring to. You hadn't even gotten your drink order yet, but your foot was already anxiously tapping the ground, attention drifting towards the exit as your brain suggested that maybe your night would've been better spent doing paperwork with Satoru.

He was still cute, you supposed, but something else about him was off-putting, his gaze making your skin crawl when he openly stared at your cleavage before dragging it over the rest of you like you were something to assess. You felt more like a piece of meat he was only interested in devouring, something to chew up and spit out instead of savor.

"Huh," he muttered at the end of his spiel, your pride taking a hit at the hint of disappointment in his voice, like you hadn't lived up to his expectations as he practically squinted at your tits.

"What?" You defensively pressed, daring him to say it and give you an excuse to go.

"Were you wearing a push-up bra in your pictures?" He accused, your jaw dropping at his audacity.

"No," you quickly answered, bristling as you felt the heat crawling up your cheeks in embarrassment.

He didn't say anything back immediately, still obviously looking, and part of you wondered for a second if it was just his excuse to be sleazy, trying to neg you instead of just giving you a goddamn compliment.

"Are you actually 6'3'?" You curtly asked in return, stiffly squirming in your chair as your anger frosted over into something hard and thick lodged in the pit of your stomach. You knew the answer was no, considering you spent all day every day chasing after a man who was. But even with the lifts you had suspected were in his loafers, you didn't think your date came close.

"Of course I am," he disdainfully scoffed back at you, his brows pinching together dramatically.

Only one of you was lying, and you knew it wasn't you.

But before you could tell him to trick the next girl, an unsuspecting waitress approached, notepad in hand as she beamed at both of you.

And while she introduced herself, rattling off memorized specials, you caught the way he appraised her too, your annoyance reaching a new peak as you suffered this fresh humiliation.

"What can I get started for you guys?" She innocently asked, looking at you first, pen ready to write down whatever you wanted.

"She'll have a salad," he answered before you could, condescending and sharp, and your eye twitched.

Satoru would have suggested ordering dessert for an appetizer. Probably would have maimed the poor excuse of a man at the table with you for having the audacity to speak for you.

You wished you said no.

Swiped fucking left on his stupid smirk.

God, you were starting to consider the chance he used fucking AI to write all those seemingly sincere messages to you when he obviously lacked the basic manners to let you order your own meal.

"You know what, I'll actually be leaving now," you coldly cut him off, pushing back the chair before you snapped and threw your water in his face. Pretending not to feel the sudden stares and attention all directed your way as you snapped at your date. "Clearly, we're not compatible."

"It's because I'm a hybrid, isn't it?" He glared at you, as if it wasn't because he was a ginormous asshole.

"It's because you're a fucking dick," you hissed back at him, snagging your purse while he spat out more accusations that you were discriminating against him.

You didn't indulge him with responding.

Storming past tables of gawking couples and curious strangers, trying to make it out before anyone pulled out their phone to record it and your face was plastered on social media.

Of course, because tonight couldn't get worse, it was pouring outside, rain pelting your skin and plastering your dress to you as you stomped down the sidewalk in your teetering heels.

Murmuring under your breath about what a dumb mistake you made letting that prick pick you up and not driving yourself, teeth chattering as you folded your arms across your chest to try and stop shivering. You debated on calling Satoru, asking him to come get you at the risk of looking absolutely pathetic as you avoided the puddles in the cracked concrete.

You only looked back once, just to make sure that you weren't followed, although you were convinced your date was definitely busy hitting on the waitress by now before you slipped out your own phone. Quickly unlocking it, thumb tapping away at the screen with muscle memory before you nestled it between your ear and your shoulder at the first ring, sniffling in the chill.

For a man who did more stuff in a day than most people did in a year, it only took him two seconds to pick up.

"Hey, sweetheart, are you-"

"Um, a-are you busy?" You tentatively asked, cringing at the fact you were basically calling your boss just because you went on a bad date.

But then again, he'd always been more like a-

Well, you weren't sure what category to put him in, but you'd like to think you meant more than just a glorified secretary.

"You want me to come get you?" He preemptively asked without even answering your own question.

"I mean, if you wouldn't mind," you sighed, looking around for the nearest street sign, mumbling your location into the phone as you massaged the tension from your shoulders.

Too distracted to even sense the curse until it slithered out of the shadows, a tentacle wrapping around your ankle and sending you stumbling to the wet concrete, phone clattering the ground as you gasped in surprise.

The ache of the impact was quickly dulled by panic when you propped yourself off and saw the absurd-looking thing. A dark mass of movement, your eyes struggling to focus as you scrambled back on clumsy limbs, only for it to drag you closer with a harsh tug.

You weren't like Satoru.

Barely had enough cursed energy to be considered a sorcerer.

That was the entire fucking reason you stayed out of the field when you weren't by his side, sticking to paperwork and putting up veils rather than fighting yourself.

A sharp sting struck your ankle, white-hot pain racing up your calf as you realized the fucking thing bit you.

Something sickly sweet suddenly flooded your senses, fire burning underneath your skin like someone had fried every goddamn nerve ending as your chest strained and threatened to seize, a hundred little stars floating across your vision as you reached for your phone, desperate to tell Satoru that he needed to get here now.

Was it pheromones? Some kind of strange poison filtering in through

The curse was doing something to you, the tentacle curling tight as the world swam and swirled, unable to focus when you couldn't so much as move.

Was this it?

Did you have to get some dick so badly you were about to die for it?

Before another tentacle could wrap around your throat, suffocate you or condemn you to a fate of being splattered on the sidewalk, its grip on your ankle disappeared, releasing you as a horrifying squish resonated in your eardrums.

"Date sucked?" A warm voice chuckled, strong arms scooping you up as you faintly detected a hint of concern in his usually carefree voice.

"I'm, ah, more of a cat person," you breathed, but it hurt, lungs aching as your fingers clumsily clutched at his uniform.

You started to turn your head, but he blocked your vision before you could catch so much as a glimpse at what happened to the curse.

"Nuh-uh," he softly scolded. "No looking."

You made some sound, meant to be a laugh, or a huff, but it came out more like a whimper, the world all fuzzy as you curled up in his arms.

"It bit me," you breathed, wincing as he hummed appraisingly.

"Let's get you to Shoko, then, hm?" He asked, like everything was alright now, like it would all be okay now that he was holding you.

It was the easiest thing in the world to believe that.

He just had that sort of effect on you - made everything softer, sweeter when you existed in his space.

Even if your body still felt like it was on fire half an hour later, tossing and turning on Shoko's couch while she shined a light in your eyes to test their reaction, unable to understand anything that left her mouth until Satoru gently held your body down so she could put an IV in your arm without you moving around to mess it up.

Somewhere in the haze, you guessed you must have fallen asleep, exhausted yourself enough that you dozed off, waking up to the curtains pulled in her dim apartment, squinting as you sat up and realized Satoru had fallen asleep sitting next to you, head propped up on the cushion as he drooled onto the couch.

"Satoru," you murmured, throat itchy and dry as you blinked, vaguely aware that something was different as you shifted uncomfortably.

"Mm?" He yawned, sleepily sitting up and stretching as he wiped the spit from his mouth. Satoru glanced up at you, and in a single instant, he was wide awake, blue eyes locking onto you with shock. He reached out, fingers trembling in front of your face before he abruptly stopped, standing up and starting down towards the hall. "Um, Shoko?"

Maybe you should've known then.

Figured out that maybe more was wrong than you realized. Especially when she walked back out of her bedroom and froze when she saw you the same way Satoru did.

"Looks like whatever it put in your system turned you into a hybrid," she wryly assessed when she started walking back over, bending down to get a better look while your jaw dropped open, ready to protest until she pinched one of your now fuzzy ears. "It might be temporary."

Might.

You felt like an idiot stumbling up and starting for the bathroom in her hallway, pushing open the door and flicking on the suddenly too-bright lights only to see what they did.

Turning around only to find a pretty gray tail, discomfort swirling in your stomach as the idea of fate pulling a prank on you started to set in once you realized you'd been turned into a cat hybrid in particular.

"Oh," you murmured, unsure what to do or say when you stared at yourself in the reflection, fingers reaching around to feel how fluffy your new tail was, sticking awkwardly out from underneath your tight dress.

"Suits you," Satoru snapped you out of it, his voice low and soft, your eyes flicking over to find him leaning against the doorframe, his own tail lazily swishing back-and-forth as he studied your own. "Cute."

"You think so?" You hesitantly asked.

"Pinky promise," he winked, mouth curling up in a small smile as he nodded back towards the living room. "You should go back to sleep. Shoko says you need more rest."

"Okay," you agreed, mostly because you halfway thought that this might be some dream, or that whatever weird side effects you were going through would be gone when you woke back up.

But you were wrong, once again.

Blearily blinking just to feel for your ears through your hair to confirm that you were still stuck like this. For now. Maybe forever.

Shoko let both of you crash for the night, and despite you insisting to Satoru that you were fine, he insisted on sleeping on the floor, refusing to leave your side.

You rolled off Shoko's couch, creeping past Satoru's dozing body just to find her making coffee in her kitchen, sipping it with a borderline bored expression as you tried to ignore your tail moving while you walked.

"Mind giving me a ride back today?" You yawned, covering your mouth as you glanced at the pretty sleeping man sprawled out with a loose blanket tangled around his long legs. "Have a few things to catch up on."

You kept a change of clothes in the office anyway. Could shower and refresh yourself in the locker rooms by the gym too.

"Uh-huh," she hummed, snagging a mug on the shelf to pour you coffee too.

Although, it only took you an hour and a half to regret the caffeine, leg bouncing anxiously as you sorted through the stack of files in front of you in Satoru's office, heart beating too fast as you re-read the same line for the fifteenth time.

Struggling trying to clear the haze from your head by burying it in paperwork, staring at the still mostly full to-go cup Shoko dropped you off with despite how much pent-up energy was already pulsing in your chest.

You tail felt weird, hanging out of a skirt that hadn't been designed for it, your ears picking up more noises that you never noticed before, fingers tapping the desk in an unsteady rhythm.

And when your phone buzzed, you practically jumped, sucking in a sharp inhale as your hand shot out to check it just to see a message from Satoru complaining about you leaving without waking him.

It was completely normal.

The same sort of thing he'd sent you a thousand times before.

But why the fuck did the idea of him sitting there and typing it out for you with those long, thick fingers of his, a cute little pout pushed out on his pretty lips make you so goddamn horny now?

You'd always found him attractive. Who didn't?

But he always existed in a different league. Sitting pretty on top of a pedestal you'd never be able to climb up to. He could have anything he wanted. Anyone.

Untouchable.

But all your inhibitions, all the rules and regulations you'd set in stone and stuck to since he hired you, were suddenly slippery, failing you when you needed to cling to them the most.

Your brain conjuring up the world's most unhelpful images of how hot he'd look between your thighs, how sweet his lips would taste if they were pressed against yours, how he'd surely fill up the irritating emptiness you were now acutely aware of.

As if he'd even be interested in you.

You squirmed, thighs pressing together as you swallowed the thick spit that just seemed to keep pooling in the back of your mouth. Tail twitching and curling behind your seat as you struggled for some comfort.

Everything was too warm, sweat pricking at your brow as your breathing slowed, searching for some part of your body still in your control.

Maybe you should've just gone home.

At least there, you'd be able to rub one out and torture yourself over how wrong it was to want him in private.

Was this a part of your, ah, transformation?

Or was this all you?

The door swung open to Satoru's laughter, his white hair messy as he readjusted his blindfold, a second set of footsteps following him as you realized Nanami had accompanied him to argue about one of his students, your face heating up hotter at both of them about to catch you in this...state.

"Satoru," you murmured, your voice cracking as it came out uncertain, glancing up at him with wide, wavering eyes. Trying to choose your words carefully as you chewed on the inside of your cheek, "Something is happening to me."

He pulled down his blindfold, blue stare piercing straight through you with an expression you didn't recognize, jaw locking hard and tight.

You thought you knew him better than almost anyone. Cheeky and carefree. Cold and calculated. From clan meetings he sat at the head of to complaining about curses over ice cream, you sort of thought there wasn't a single side of him you hadn't seen.

But you had never seen him make that face before.

And honestly?

You never wanted him more.

"Nanami," he bluntly said, a harsh edge to his voice that sent an electric tingle down your spine. "Get the fuck out."

ʚ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ɞ

The only thing scarier than admitting he was an idiot obsessed with you was admitting he must have trigged your heat.

That in his desperation to stay by your side despite the fact you were like him, he forgot what all that meant. That just his presence could trigger a certain biological reaction for, ah, breeding purposes.

It wasn't like he ever had to do it before.

He'd never been through one of his own ruts with anyone. He'd never been with anyone at all.

Sure, he'd seen porn. Knew the mechanics of sex, what he was supposed to do.

"You should go home," he murmured, no matter how all his instincts were begging him to bury his cock inside you right here, right now.

"I-" You hesitated, squirming all cute in your seat, blinking and silently begging him to be the one to crack and do something first.

He didn't even know if you knew what was happening. What your body wanted - and if it was even him it wanted it from.

"You're about to go into heat. Take a few days off, and don't leave your place," he muttered, his throat constricting as he picked up on your scent, nails digging into his fist as he bottled up all his own cravings. Knowing every second he stayed, he risked his composure cracking.

He tried to put some space between you, forcing himself to stare at the ground as he walked over to his desk, half-collapsing into his seat and hiding his face in his hands so he wouldn't be tempted to peek thorough them.

"Heat," you echoed, all light and airy, his resolve crumbling with one soft syllable. "Can't you help me?"

God.

HIs cock throbbed in his slacks, a familiar ache blooming in his core as he heard the creak of your chair.

"Sweetheart," he started, the lump in his throat bobbing as he spoke. Could he? "You don't know what-"

"I don't know what?" You teased him, too fucking close, delicate fingers wrapping around his wrists and pulled his hands down so he had to look at you.

"If I-" He paused, swallowing hard as you rendered him as close to speechless as he'd ever come when you tilted your head all cute when you got down on your goddamn knees in front him. "I won't be able to stop myself."

Your palms slid over his muscled thighs, squeezing softly as he let out a low grunt he hardly recognized, gritting his teeth as he held back the urge to growl, to push his cock between your parted lips until it was bumping into the back of your throat.

"Do you want to?" You asked, morning light streaming in through the window and bathing your pretty face in the warm light.

You needed him. Fuck, you needed him, and he was desperately trying to not show how much he needed you too.

"What?" He asked, feeling like a fucking idiot as he blinked down at you right as you started toying with his zipper. Flicking it slowly, like you were waiting for him to grant you permission.

"Do you want to stop?" You asked, brow arching up, ears twitching. "Or do you want me?"

"You know I want you," he heard himself say, nearly trembling as he finally came clean, the words hanging in the air as your mouth turned up in his favorite smile.

"Yeah?"

And funnily enough, now that it was out, he felt like he could tell you a million more times without getting sick of it. Caving into the part of him that knew you were meant to be his from the first day he met you.

"Yeah," he murmured. "With or without the tail."

It was all you needed to hear, pulling down his zipper as he hurried to tug down his pants enough to tug his cock free, his heart slamming into his ribcage as he watched you bring the swollen tip of it to your mouth, offering little kitten licks like you were trying to drive him fucking crazy.

But it didn't take long for your own need to start getting to you too, your nails digging into his thighs like little claws as you took him deeper, tongue pressed against his pulsing vein as you fit inch after thick inch in, one hand readjusting to start stroking what you couldn't fit.

Your mouth was warm, but it was just the sight of you sucking, cheeks flushed and hollowed out, six eyes searching and studying every gorgeous detail of your face as you bobbed up-and-down on his cock that nearly had him cumming down your throat when you barely began.

It was a billion times better than his own hand.

His pride swelling at how eagerly you worked, your fingers looking so much fucking better than his own wrapped around the base of his shaft, drool dribbling at the corner of your mouth. Letting him tangle his fingers in your hair, gripping hard as he started guiding you faster, tempted to throw his head back and groan, but too enraptured by how pretty you looked like to move a single muscle.

"F-fuck, baby," he hissed, a fever building in his chest that he knew would bubble over soon, sweat he hadn't noticed before starting to get stuck in his own hair as he spread his legs further apart to let you scoot closer, acutely aware of how hard you were squeezing your own thighs. "Feel so fuckin' good, y'know that?"

You couldn't reply with a mouthful of cock, but your lashes fluttered, eyes darting up to him, nose crinkling up like you felt the same.

"Probably fucked my fist to the idea of us doing this a thousand times," he babbled, moaning loudly as his girth got pressed up against the roof of your mouth, hardly-aware of what he was saying until you pulled back, still pumping his cock when you popped off. Saliva connecting the two of you together until you wiped your lips off, an adorable smirk curling up on them now.

"You jerked off to me?" You asked, and he knew he should be embarrassed.

But he'd never been good at embarrassment. And really, he was so sick of playing it cool around you.

"A lot," he admitted, knowing he was grinning like an idiot just for you to giggle too. "Did you ever-"

"Maybe," you murmured, your fingers pausing mid-stroke to slip up high, tracing over his sensitive slit to collect where your spit and his pre-cum had mixed together.

He caught your wrist before you could test the limits of his patience, see how much teasing he'd let you get away with, pulling you up in one mean tug. In half a second, he had shoved everything off his desk, papers scattering to the ground as he twisted you around and pinned you flat against the wood.

Gasping as your cheek got squished against the cool surface, wrist flexing in his firm hold as he clicked his tongue. And then he was shoving your skirt up, bunching it around your hips and letting your tail hang free, already eagerly swishing in anticipation as he ripped your panties clean off.

You were drenched.

Slick sticking to your thighs as he nudged them further apart, his throat nearly closing as your scent flooded his nostrils, sweet and strong and all his.

He wanted to bite. Sink his teeth into your throat and claim you. Make sure you didn't go on any other stupid dates or give anyone else the chance to see how gorgeous you looked like this.

Squirming and shivering, pretty pussy exposed and waiting for him to put a cute little hybrid in your womb, roll the dice and see who it took after.

"Last chance," he warned, his fingers digging into your wrist as he expended a ridiculous amount of energy just to cling to his restraint.

You threw a dramatic pout over your shoulder at him, pushing out your bottom lip, clueless how badly he wanted to suck on it. "What else do I have to do to get you to finally fuck me?"

How the fuck could he hold back when you were here, waiting on him, wet and wiggling your ass?

"It hurts," you added in a soft whimper, like you knew it would make him break.

His cock bobbed up as he wrapped his sturdy fingers around it, gliding over your entrance just to make you whine before he started edging it in.

And fuck, it only took him a few seconds to hate himself for not having you far sooner.

Feeling you squeeze around his fat girth and suck him in so sinfully as he fucked you right there on his desk, watching himself disappear inside your pussy as he shoved himself deeper. Listening to the cute little noises currently being ripped from your throat as you clawed at the smooth surface, having a hard time staying in one place when he was doing his damndest to split you wide open.

Operating on pure reflexes, doing what his brain was programmed to do no matter how much his body was unaccustomed to these actions.

"It's-" You whimpered, cutting yourself off like you were trying not to feed his ego.

Which had never been bigger than it was right now, inflating by the second at seeing your face scrunched up in pleasure because of him.

"Just relax for me," he purred, putting more pressure on your wrist and keeping you pinned there as he pushed the last few inches in, your ragged little breaths ringing in his ears as he tried not to get lost in your scent. "Let me make it better."

He could feel himself nudging against your womb, his abs tensing as he ached to fill it with his sperm, to fuck you until it took, until he knew you'd be waddling around in seven months carrying the next Gojo heir.

"S-Satoru," you stammered his name, and his first thought was how long would it take to convince you to take his last name too. To wake up to hearing your pretty little whisper in his ear as his wife, pump you full and press your face into his pillow next.

"Mhm, sweetheart?" He asked, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his brain as he forced himself to slip out to fuck back into you, slow strokes at first, building up to a faster rhythm in response to your greedy cunt clamping down on him hard.

"M'full," you whimpered right as he grinded against that spongy little sweet spot to drag another moan out, lewd squelches echoing in the office as he pumped in-and-out.

Rutting into you with the faint fear that he really might never stop, not when it felt so fucking good, when it felt like home in your warmth.

Gojo laughed, high and airy, a crooked smile finding its way on his face when he thought about full you were about to be.

"If you want me to pull out, gotta do it now, baby," he murmured, hoping to whatever was out there that you'd tell him to cum inside you. To fill you up until you were dripping him all day long.

"Don't."

He nearly came on the spot.

Fucking into you faster, feeling more animal than human when his hips kept smacking into your ass, pressing his chest to your back as he wrapped his free hand around to fumble for your clit.

He knew it was clumsy, fingers twitching as he tried to massage it, reading your body language for some sign that you liked it, your body shuddering at the contact.

"I'm gonna fuckin' knock you up," he started rambling, leaning down even closer, sniffing your skin before dragging his tongue up your throat. "Put a litter in you."

Did that sound stupid?

He felt stupid saying it, self-conscious as a brief stab of anxiety struck his heart until you started nodding.

"P-please," you whined, like you might die if he didn't do precisely that. Thighs trembling as you tilted your head to the side to give him better access to your neck.

He couldn't help himself.

Not when it came to you.

The base of his cock swelling before he could so much as warn you, his mouth latching hard just above your collarbone as your body went stiff and rigid beneath him as the first spurts of warm cum started coming out in thick ropes, painting your insides while he claimed them for himself.

Would you consider being his mate an upgrade to his assistant?

Gojo sure fucking hoped so.

Biting harder as you moaned, toying with your clit as you twitched underneath him, some strangled sound that sort of resembled his name escaping right as the knot forced its way in, making sure no cum could leak out.

He hadn't even kissed you yet, but somehow managed to lose his virginity and possibly get you pregnant at the same time. You'd definitely say yes if he asked you on a date, right? To be his fiancé girlfriend?

"Am I living up to your fantasy?" You panted, and he was sure he was blushing, heat going straight to his head as he helplessly nodded.

"Better than my wildest dreams, baby," he promised when he finally broke the bite, voice painfully tight as his knot kept you locked together.

He kept painting circles over your sensitive bundle, picking up the pace as he tried to coax you through the tight fit, your walls squeezing him just right while he desperately tried to make you cum too.

"A-are you close?" He stammered, hating how lame he sounded, unlike the great Gojo he tried to make you think he was, swallowing hard as your head bobbed.

"Mm, harder," you half-whimpered, drool leaking out of your lips and collecting on your desk as your muscles tensed.

He might be part snow leopard, but he could listen to you like a dog. Wag his tail and obey, rubbing harder, applying just enough pressure to make you unravel for him.

His knot held tight while you came, bracing you through it as your body gave into him. He licked over the bruise blooming on your throat, soothing the sore spot as he murmured sweet nothings into your skin.

You were babbling now too, crying out his name as real tears rolled down your cheeks, ones he wanted to lap up too. You looked so beautiful like this, furry ears pinned back as his cock split you open, his swollen base preventing you from doing anything other than squirming as you came back down from your own climax.

Gojo already knew one round wouldn't be enough.

That he needed at least two more to satisfy the heat coiling tight in his own stomach, that he'd only feel better if he spent all day fucking you into overstimulation and he burned every little expression and moan of yours into his brain to replay whenever he wanted.

"Satoru," you breathed his name like it was all the air you needed, and he snapped from the spell your pussy had casted on him.

"Y-yeah, sweetheart?" He stuttered, hoping you didn't notice.

"Does this, um, mean we're like, dating now?" You asked, blinking fast as you managed to glance back at him with glossy eyes.

"This," he hummed, poking at the bite mark on your throat. "Means you're mine forever."

reblogs + comments are always appreciated adore you all :3

I think things would change once you have to spend more time with him and eventually realize he's really not all that scary. Maybe you go to an auction with him and hold his hand the whole time, feeling safest while hiding behind him rather than conversing with the other people there.

You get caught alone with a shady man who's a bit too pushy while Sylus is doing some negotiating on his own, but he notices quickly and drops everything to come to your aid right away. He easily scares the man off and takes you aside to make sure you're alright.

Overwhelmed and overstimulated, you start to cry a little, and instead of freezing up awkwardly or telling you to calm down, he coaxes you into his arms, rubbing your back and soothing you gently. When you try to insist you're okay to continue with the auction, he sees through your lie, taking you back home even while you protest, not letting you apologize for 'ruining his night'.

This is a turning point in your relationship. Having direct experience with him, learning that he's not going to hurt you or lash out, and also that he's actually quite fun to hang out with! You hesitate a bit out of habit for a little while, but you no longer shy away from the spaces he occupies. Instead of tensing when he enters a room you're in, you start to perk up, hoping that he'll talk to you.

The first time you actively seek out his company would be incredibly meaningful to Sylus. He does his best to act nonchalant to avoid spooking you and scaring you away, but he can't hide how his eyes widen in surprise when you approach him. He teases you a little to keep the mood light, but he treats you so incredibly kindly, engaging with what you show him and making sure you feel at ease.

Eventually, you begin to bloom, unveiling new parts of yourself and truly being happy much more often. Gone is the nervous little kitty hiding in the shadows and jumping at every little noise; now you're playful and upbeat and not afraid to make noise or take up space in his home. You've befriended the twins and Mephisto as well, and have even gained the courage to play pranks on him alongside them.

Idk, as someone who's never really had a place that feels like 'home', having somewhere that I can fully relax and let go and spend time with those I'm closest with would mean so so much to me.

Sylus would be so proud to be the person who changes your life's tone to be one of happiness and comfort. He consistently treats you with patience, kindness, and warmth, helping you learn that you no longer need to be afraid. He watches you thrive both mentally and physically, surrounded by a support system that you've never had before. Always being there to catch you when you stumble or fall.

You feel Qifrey’s hand smooth over your hips and settle on your stomach. He presses into your back, his chest molding against you as he rests his head on your shoulders. He plants a kiss at the junction, his teeth skimming your flesh. You pull away, but only half heartedly, as you laugh, “Qifrey, enough. I need to finish this.” There is no bite in your tone.

Qifrey persists, his lips ghosting your ear as he chuckles. You feel a chill shoot up your spin. “You look beautiful.” 

You snort, “I’m covered in cooking grease and smell like flour dough.”

“Still so very beautiful,” he mutters, trailing kisses down your neck and across your shoulder, pulling down your loose top so he can access it easier. You make no move to shove him off. You even lean into it, actually.

When you place your last dish in the clean pile beside you, you lay your towel down and turn to face your husband. Your hips rest against the stone counter, cool in comparison to the Qifrey’s heat.

The simple motion only fuels him more, and he pushes forward. You laugh and hold him back, “What has gotten into you!” He mutters something low and desperate and suddenly your lips are covered by his. You melt immediately, and curse your own weakness. His touch is hot and relentless and a soft moan leaves you when Qifrey’s hands float up and down your sides. Your hands rise to his face, cup his cheeks and you curl into him as he surges. You’re pressed so closely together that if you weren’t careful you would mold into one. Honestly, you wouldn’t complain if you did. 

When he pulls away for a split second, you gasp, “Q-qifrey, what in the world—ah!” You gasp when he hikes up your right leg, leaving you unbalanced for a second before he wraps it around his waist. You rotate your hips to keep from falling, and he tucks his head into the crook of your neck again. You hear him groan as he adjusts and hooks the two of you together.

You feel his hand dance down the side of your curled leg. His fingers hovering before finding the end of her long skirts and slipping them beneath the layers. He pushes fabric up, inch by agonizing inch, revealing your embroidered stockings beneath. His hand searches and searches until he finds your warm thigh hidden beneath it all. His long lithe fingers wrap around your leg and squeeze. You jerk and scold him, “Qifrey!’ He does it again but this time it’s slow and tactile. You feel each pad of his fingers press gently into your skin before he caresses the side of your thigh. Outer, then inner, far too close to the heat of your body. You feel him smile when you whine. 

Your head falls back and you let him do as he wishes, pushing and pulling against your body, biting steadily into your flesh. The one hand not supporting your weight against the counter finds purchase in his soft hair, you twirl the strands between your fingers, each light tug eliciting a sigh from him, his hands are creeping further up, tucking beneath your—

“Mama!” 

The two of you scatter like there is a fire at your feet. Qifrey turns away from the door, covering his face as he hunches his shoulders. You can see the blush on his cheeks and the crazed daze in his eyes. His hands tremble and he cups them against his mouth. 

You scramble to adjust your skirts, kicking out the bunched up layers and folding down your apron. You rush to pull your top back over your shoulder, just now realizing that the side of your chest was almost entirely out.

“Yes, Coco?” you smooth down your wild hair, and feign a calm demeanor. You hear feet pad against the wood and the small girl turns the corner.

She has dirt on her cheeks and leaves in her hair, a clear sign of her outdoor adventures. She’s a bit breathless but otherwise looks fine. She, unsurprisingly, has three brush buddies stacked on her person, two on her shoulders and one on the top of her capless head. That one’s eyes narrow as if it knows what you are up to. Perverts, it accuses. You ignore it.

“The brushbuddies got out again.” Her voice is light but clearly concerned.

You sigh, wiping your hands on your apron. Ever since Qifrey made a sanctuary for them they’ve managed to find every way to escape. Security spells be damned, nothing seemed to work. You glance at Qifrey and he’s suddenly found interest in one of the kitchen cupboards. He’s rearranging bowls that don’t need to be rearranged. The tips of his ears are red.

“Alright, I’m on my way. Make sure they don’t cause any trouble, okay?” 

Coco smiles and nods, “we’re going to gather them all!” she goes to turn on her heel but pauses, “Oh, hello Master Qifrey!” 

Qifrey turns to her, and you watch as he puts his hands behind his back to hide the trembling. “Hello, Coco,” he says gently, but there is a hitch in his voice. “Better hurry before our friends get lost.” 

Coco gasps, “Right!” and she’s gone as quick as she arrived, taking her little companions with her. 

You look at Qifrey and smile slyly, “Are you okay, Master Qifrey?” You tilt your head innocently. “You seem a bit…disheveled.” Qifrey looks at you from over his glasses, those bright blue eyes intense. 

“Perfectly well, my dear.” His gaze roves over your figure and they linger on the marks he’s left along your neck, you subconsciously move to cover them better, “you best catch up to the girls, they’ll need your help.” 

“Of course,” you leave, fighting the urge to look back. 

You can still feel his gaze on you. You always do. 

Thursday, 11:46pm

It’s dark out and the atelier is silent. The girls were sent to bed nearly two hours ago and the brushbuddies, surprisingly, stayed sheltered in their domicile. 

You’re standing in front of your bedroom mirror, a hand carved piece that was made by a craftsman in town. There’s a seal on the back that makes the edges of the glass illuminate with just a tap. 

You see Qifrey is already settled in bed through its reflection. The candle light beside him flickers languidly. He’s focused on a book in his hands, flipping through pages slowly. Your gaze falls to his fingers, nimble and precise as you remember how they felt on your legs. You shiver, and adjust your gown, pulling it off the shoulders casually. The cool night air raises your flesh.

You stalk towards him but he makes no indication that he’s noticed. His lips move silently as he echoes the words in his book, his eyes trail each line. Left to right, left to right, as he flips to another page. There is something ethereal about him in this light, the way it shadows his chin and highlights his cheeks. It brightens his eyes in an intoxicating way.

You prowl around to your side of the bed and he, intuitively, lifts the sheets for you. When you crawl under them but do not lay, he pauses. He suffers from regular bouts of insomnia, so you waiting up for him to rest was not frequent. There have been nights you have slept with him reading and woken to him doing the same. The book he started with finished and another already began.

He looks at you curiously, “is something the matter?” 

You say nothing as you pluck the book from his hand and straddle his waist. He doesn’t protest and he doesn’t pull away, but his eyes darken. He looks up at you as you shuffle closer, knees bunching the fabric at his hips. His chin rests on your collar as you tilt his head back and  you lean down for a very deep and very anticipated kiss. 

The first thing you notice is that he smells like lavender, and he tastes like mint. He moans, low in his throat as his hands travel to cup the back of your thighs. You jolt at the coolness of his touch but settle when you feel his hands find purchase just below your bottom. 

You both rock into one another, it’s a steady rhythm. Slow, patient and practiced. Qifrey was never one to rush things in the bedroom. He said it wasn’t right, and that he always needed time to take you in. Savior you. He wanted you both to melt into each other before dissolving into the sheets. 

You lean in, as close as your body will allow, lips pulling away just slightly to rotate your head and repeat it all over again. Tongue and teeth and nothing but heat are exchanged between the two of you. He’s louder than you are, and you smirk when he whimpers. 

Your hands are glued to his face keeping him there but he doesn’t protest. He never does. You pull back for a split second to catch your breath and just as you push forward again—

“Master Qifrey? Mama?” 

You hold back a groan of frustration as Tetia’s voice is heard on the other side of your door. Qifrey’s hands slide to your waist and you rock back to rest on his lap as you pull away. “Yes, Tetia?” Qifrey calls, “what’s the matter?” 

“I-I can’t sleep—“ she sounds defeated and despite your clearly unsatisfied state your children’s needs always come first. Tetia has been having nightmares for the better half of the month. After a particularly nasty accident with a new spell falling asleep, and staying asleep, have been far more challenging than any new lesson. 

You throw back the sheets and roll onto your side of the bed before leaning against the headboard. There’s a part of you that is irritated, you’ve been interrupted enough this week but the other part of you can’t be mad about it. The girls come to you and Qifrey with most of their troubles and you wouldn’t want to ruin that by turning them away. 

You’d just have to act like a wild teenager on a different day of the week. 

Qifrey sighs and stands, slipping his feet into a pair of slippers Agott made before shuffling towards the door. In one swift movement he opens it and Tetia barrels into his waist white knuckling his shirt.

“Tetia…” he tries to pry her hands off to get a look at her but she only buries herself deeper into his stomach.

“I keep seeing it,” her voice is muffled, “and I hate-e it but it won’t go a-away.” 

“There, there,” Qifrey pats the top of her head as he closes the door. He leans down and picks her up, supporting her under her legs.  She wraps them around his waist and her arms circle his neck before he waddles back to bed. She’s certainly too big to carry, but until Qifrey is physically incapable of doing so he will always hold them. 

You lift your arms in invitation, and Qifrey gently places her in your embrace. You hum as you bring her close, moving aside her braided hair and adjusting her pajamas to lay comfortably. She clings to you like a kitten. 

Qifrey settles on the other side, pulling the blanket over the three of you. You smile gently as Tetia nuzzles in closer and Qifrey offers an apologetic smile. You shake your head, the chimes outside of your window only emphasizing the movement. It’s okay, you say silently, she needs us more.

He turns and removes his glasses before delicately blowing out the rest of the candles, the room dips into a familiar comforting darkness and you further situate Tetia against the pillows. She curls into you instantly.

“Good night, girls.”

“Goodnight Master Qifrey,” Tetia whispers sleepily, you’re surprised she’s still awake. She’s usually out as soon as her head hits the pillows.

“Goodnight, my love.” You press your lips lightly to Tetia’s forehead, “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

Friday, 6:21pm

Qifrey rattles the table. Pushing every non-vital tool to the ground. Pens and paper scatter as he lifts you up and lays you across his work station. Your legs dangle, just barely brushing the floor as he shadows you. He’s moving so quickly you’re struggling to keep up. 

“Don’t move,” he mutters against your lips. You hum and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in. You’re hidden beneath him but can still feel the warmth of the sun poking through the wooden window panes. Jars of ink slosh beside your head and you worry for a second that they will spill on you. Qifrey moves them away with one hand while his other cups your cheek, keeping your focus on him.

When every inanimate object is no longer in the line of fire, his hand tucks underneath the hem of your shirt, fingers brushing your navel. You gasp and squirm, laughter following when he bites your bottom lip. You try and sit up to push into him but he keeps you secured to the table, you opt to deepen the kiss from below.  

You don’t know how it escalated to this. Really, it was all very quick. Okay, well maybe you do. But, what can you say? It’s been a long long week.

You’d both been sitting casually in his study only a few moments ago. You read quietly, happy to just be in his presence, while he sketched out new sigils on the large circular table. Qifrey was working diligently and you had found your way to his side. You’d needed a break, the chair was making your back ache after just a few hours of lounging. 

You watched him over his shoulder, admiring the way his muscles moved with each steady stroke of his hand. When you stepped closer, hands held innocent behind your back, breath just ghosting over his ear, he snapped. The pen in his hand splintered in half and he pulled you under him. 

Now you’re here. Flat against the table, hands exploring him with no thought other than his mouth molded to yours.

He’s got you so tied up in his affection that you don’t have the opportunity to do anything but cling to him. You know your lips will be swollen by morning and there'll be plenty more marks across your person to match the already fading ones.

“All week,” Qifrey mutters against your lips, “all week and this is the only time we have been able to—” 

There’s a shuffle from the other side of the door, before you hear a placid, “What’s for dinner?” 

Qifrey curses and buries his head in the crook of your neck. You hold back a laugh as you thread your fingers through his hair. Neither of you move, you don’t need to, the door is locked. 

“Richeh, honey, I’ll be down to cook in a minute.” You’re a little breathless but manage to keep a steady tone.

“But we are—”

“Girls, how about we go out to eat. Your teacher is busy and needs your mother’s help.” You feel Qifrey’s shoulders relax as Olruggio’s voice floats under the door. He must’ve come by early, he usually joins the family for dinner this time of the week.

There’s a series of cheers and the sound of padding feet as the girls run to get their things. You’ll have to pay him back, those girls can eat their weight and then some when they’re hungry. Dinner won’t be cheap.

You hear a thud as Olruggio leans against the door, “You two owe me. We’ll be back in a few hours. Take advantage of that.” 

“Thank you, Olly,” You say. Qifrey has already started kissing up the side of your neck. Biting every few paces. You grit your teeth to keep from making any sounds and tug at his hair to stop him. “J-just—Qifrey wait a second—hey! I said wait!” You yank his head back and snort at his expression. His pupils are blown out and there is a glaze over his eyes, but they’re honed in on you. He looks drunk and predatory at the same time. His eyes track every shift of your body. How your lips move when you speak, how your chest raises and lowers with each breath and how you glance at the door. Qifrey grumbles, fighting against your grip, desperate to get back to you. “Just let me know how much it is.” you finish, ignoring the ravenous man above you.

You’re impressed that he’s not moving without a command. He’s far stronger than you are and could easily break free. He’s simply not doing so out of respect, and well, obedience.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Olruggio mutters, “just get it out before we get back.” His footsteps fade but you can hear the pointed instructions he gives the children.

When the main door chimes its closure in the distance Qifrey takes it as a release and pounces.

“Status?” Tara’s voice sounded through the comms channel.

With a quick press on your earpiece, you responded, “Took up designated post. Awaiting target. What’s the ETA?”

“Three minutes. Target is brought to the elevator,” she said. You checked your watch. “Once you’re done, proceed to the rendezvous point.”

“Copy.”

Your focus shifted back to the building across the street. Steadying your breathing, your fingertip hovered over the trigger as you waited for the target to step out of the elevator and into your line of sight.

Sudden movement caught your eye, prompting you to look up from the scope. “You’ve gotta be kidding me…”

A window cleaner ascended on his lifting platform, climbing steadily up the building’s facade. To your annoyance, it stopped directly in front of the window for your intended shot, blocking your view of the elevator. 

There shouldn’t have been any cleaners scheduled for today—you had made sure of it—and instinct told you this wasn’t a coincidence.

After checking your watch again, you stretched your neck and tightened your hold on the handle. You spun the rifle, locking onto the cleaner and tracking his movements. 

Male, athletic physique, clad in black clothing, face obscured by a cap and sunglasses. So most certainly not a civilian, and he wasn’t even hiding it. Something metallic reflected the sunlight, drawing your attention to his hands. Your eyes narrowed to slits. Was that an MP7 he was loading?

He would ruin your shot, leaving you no choice but to take him out first. The guards inside would be alerted, your cover blown, but there was still a chance for a second shot at the target, if you reloaded fast enough.

“T-minus ten seconds,” Tara announced.

You cursed under your breath. It was a gamble, but there was no time to think of a better plan.

Forehead furrowed in concentration, you took aim and pulled the trigger, the silencer swallowing the shot. The bullet missed him by a hair—as if he had anticipated it, he had dodged to the left. Surprised, your eyes widened. It was a clean shot. How could you have missed him?

His head whipped in your direction, but you were already moving your rifle to the window behind him. Without a pause, you swiftly reloaded, scanning the inside of the building for the target. 

Your missed shot had found its mark somewhere beyond the window, sending the guards inside to scramble into action. As soon as the target emerged from the elevator, hands tied and surrounded by four heavily armed escorts, he was tackled to the ground to shield him from incoming bullets.

They hadn’t spotted you. Instead, they aimed their guns at the window cleaner, but he was already shooting at them, shattering the glass in the process. 

Heart pounding in your chest, you tried to remain calm as you searched for an opening to the target—but to no avail. Too many people covered him. The window cleaner guy was also unsuccessful, as his element of surprise had been ruined by your failed attempt to eliminate him. The two of you couldn’t get a clean shot. 

The last thing you saw of the target was a flash of purple hair before he was crowded by more guards and dragged away to another room.

Shit.

With the target gone and the guards firing at him, the window cleaner guy held onto a rope attached to his belt you hadn’t noticed before, pressed a button, and gracefully let himself be pulled upwards toward the roof.

On his way up, you locked him in your viewfinder, inhaling deeply, and on your exhale, you fired. The bullet managed to graze his leg, but he didn’t seem particularly impressed. While one hand was gripping the rope, the other held up his submachine gun and aimed in your direction.

The hail of bullets missed you—only because you had dropped to the ground, pressed flatly against the concrete. One of them struck your phone that was propped on the border, sending it flying across the roof. Fortunately, it was only a work phone for missions. 

You remained pressed to the floor as you frantically packed your gear, then you sprinted to the exit.

“Status?”

“Target got away,” you panted as you ran down the flight of stairs, adrenaline rushing through your veins. “Unidentified individual interfered. Mission aborted.”

“Copy. Extraction point was moved. There’s a car waiting.”

When you reached the ground floor, you dashed outside and straight into the black van waiting at the curb. With a frustrated exhale, you took off your cap and ran a hand through your hair. As you drove by, you looked out the tinted window to the building, but he was already gone.

Your head hit the backrest as you slumped against it. Andrew glanced at you through the rearview mirror, one corner of his mouth tugging upwards at your disgruntled state. “It went excellent, I take it?”

At your answering glare, he held up his free hand in surrender, but the amusement in his eyes betrayed him. 

You two had been locked in a constant battle of snarky comments and competitive bickering since the day you had begun working for the Hunter Agency. Despite being a team and all that, you both tried to one-up each other every chance you got. And you failing an important mission such as this one, was like a heaven-sent opportunity for Andrew to tease you. Especially considering you had recently been declared the agency’s best operative and appointed to this task because of it.

When you arrived at Headquarters, everyone was staring, their eyes following you as you made your way toward Simone. Her frantic hammering of keys on her keyboard told you she was just as tense as you were. You dropped your bag with the rifle onto her desk, prompting her to look up. A startled pause before her eyes widened.

“She already called,” was all she said, and it was all she needed to say.

Simone nodded toward Tara who was on a call. When Tara spotted you, a barely perceptible wince crossed her face. She walked over and handed you the phone. With one last unconvincingly reassuring smile, she hurried to her own desk.

In the car, you had mentally prepared for the inevitable reprimand of your superior in her familiar cold tone laced with disappointment. At the mission briefing, she had stressed how critical the success of this mission was, and now that you fumbled it, you would have to live with the consequences.

There was no exchange of greetings as you placed the phone to your ear. “You have 48 hours to eliminate the other agent, otherwise your compromised identity leaves us no choice but to relieve you of your duties,” Jenna declared, and a shiver went through your body.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I’ll make sure to leave no trace.”

With that, the call ended.

Staring at the opposite wall and slightly confused how Jenna had reached the conclusion that your identity was compromised, your thoughts were racing. You didn’t think he saw you well enough to recognise you, but that didn’t matter as long as your boss believed he did. In order to get out of this mess, you had to find out who he was, who he worked for, and then take him out.

Your hand tightened around the small device as you turned to your team. “Find him.”

Simone was already reviewing the footage of all the security cameras in the proximity while Tara and Nero checked for any digital footprint.

Without meeting your eyes, Nero requested your work phone for the analytics, and, with a surge of added frustration, you realised that, in your haste, you had left it behind after it got destroyed.

Sinking into your chair, you buried your face behind your hands. You had been careless, made one mistake after another like an amateur. Dealing with this required efficiency and error-free execution, so whatever happened today, couldn’t repeat itself.

You just had to find him first.

-

Your drive home was spent in frustrated silence. You parked your car in the garage next to your husband’s silver Aston Martin and navigated your way through the familiar path of your yard to your front door, your rose bushes that won you the neighbourhood garden award two years in a row lining the way.

“Hey Mrs. Shen!” a young boyish voice called out from the sidewalk. For a heartbeat, you looked accusingly heavenward, as if some kind of higher power had deliberately decided that today would be your worst day.

Hand lifted in the air in greeting, the browned-haired son of your neighbours jogged towards his house.

“Evening Caleb,” you greeted back, already turning to your door.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like him. He was a little charmer, always complimenting you and asking if you needed help whenever he caught you in your garden shed, thinking you were about to do some gardening. In reality, that was just where you had your weapons reserve. 

However, you couldn’t shake the feeling he had an infatuation with you as his compliments seemed to walk that fine line between flattering and inappropriate, each time becoming more shameless. Besides, he was the reason you didn’t hang your clothing outside to dry anymore, since some of your underwear kept mysteriously disappearing. Considering both his fathers weren’t interested in women, and with no other neighbours around, it only left him as the culprit. Or a postman, but that was unlikely.

Of course, you never mentioned any of that to your husband. Even though Caleb was just a teenage boy—despite him constantly insisting he was “mature for his age” accompanied by a waggle of his eyebrows—you didn’t believe that would necessarily keep your husband from trying to strangle him. He was, after all, a jealous man.

Not that you particularly cared, but you suspected one of Caleb’s fathers to be an arms dealer, and you simply didn’t want to start a fight with the local gang. As long as your neighbour didn’t interfere with your business, you wouldn’t interfere with his.

“Your new curtains in the living room look great!” Caleb shouted over to you, his face split by a wide grin.

“Thanks!” you shouted back and unlocked your door with your fingerprint. 

Wait. But before you could have asked how he knew you had new curtains—not even your husband had noticed them—Caleb was already gone, swallowed by the shadows behind the driveway to his house.

Shaking your head, you took a deep breath. You had more pressing problems.

“I’m home,” you announced once you were inside. The smell of your husband’s cooking wafted over to you from the kitchen as you shed your coat. He was making hot pot again. He usually reserved it for days when one of you was feeling down since it had always been your shared comfort food. The spicy broth and tender meat reminded you two of the day you first met, a memory steeped in warmth and laughter.

-

It was at an old hot pot place in Chansia City. A seemingly innocuous location, but in the backroom, nestled right next to the illegal gambling room, was where one of the city’s crime lords conducted their money laundering. The local police wanted to get rid of them in one go, a simple breach and clear operation. However, your agency favoured a more subtle approach. So they sent you to discreetly eliminate him.

The ‘discreet’ part had proven to be more difficult than expected, and due to unforeseen problems, you were forced to make a rapid escape before one of his henchmen could spot you standing over their boss, who was bleeding out on the floor, wide, empty eyes staring into space. Unfortunately, they had heard noises and began investigating.

When you re-entered the restaurant through the ‘staff only’ door, you saw him. In a booth alone, bathed in the last rays of sunlight shining through the window, he sat calmly eating his hot pot while absorbed in a comic book—a stark contrast to the gruesome scene just moments before. The way the light was caught by his silver hair cast him in an almost ethereal glow and held your gaze captive.

Something drew you to him and from one moment to the next, you found yourself sitting across from him in his booth. At your sudden appearance, he looked up from the page he was reading, blue eyes blinking twice as if he was verifying your existence before they assessed you with open curiosity.

“Is this seat taken?” you blurted out like a fool, as if you hadn’t already sat down.

“It’s now,” the silver-haired stranger responded, tilting his head. A simple statement delivered with a matter-of-fact tone and no hint of sarcasm.

Under the weight of his full attention, you became hyperaware of your own words and movements, causing you to feel uncharacteristically nervous. Just a minute ago, you most certainly hadn’t felt nervous when you punctured the heart of that dude in the backroom.

As if on cue, the door to said backroom was thrown open, and three of the henchmen stepped out, handguns barely concealed by their suit jackets. As they scanned the restaurant, searching for the culprit who killed their boss, they appeared to be looking for people who were alone.

He followed your gaze to the visibly agitated men questioning customers and stalking through the place with concentrated purpose. Leaving the restaurant right now would raise unnecessary suspicion, so the best course of action was to stay and convincingly pretend you belonged there with the handsome stranger in front of you. 

“I’m Y/N.” Why you revealed your real name to him, you couldn’t say.

To your surprise, he silently pushed the bowls brimming with an array of vegetables, meat, and other ingredients closer to the middle around the steaming pot, and offered you a pair of chopsticks. “Do you want to join me, Y/N?”

Your mouth curved into a smile, but it faltered once you noticed the amount of food on the table. “I’m sorry, were you waiting for someone?”

“No,” he replied, and already resumed eating. Something soft gleamed in his eyes when he glanced at you and added, “But I don’t mind company.”

Wow, it seems he has quite the appetite. It could easily be assumed he had ordered for two, considering the mountainous pile of food between you. That made your little act in front of the henchman all the more convincing. When they arrived at your table, you were pretending to be very engrossed in enjoying your meal.

“Hey, did you come here together?” one of them asked, coming dangerously close to scrutinise you two. Trying your best to maintain your composure, you shot an anxious look over to the man across from you, but his eyes were solely fixed on the meat simmering in the pot, his chopsticks moving with elegant precision.

“Yes,” he simply said, not minding them at all. 

To an outside observer, you likely looked just like any other ordinary couple on a date. That was probably why they left without another word.

You released the breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, and allowed yourself to relax in your seat. Now that the situation was taken care of, there was an amused smile on your face as you regarded him more closely. “You haven’t told me your name.”

He paused to meet your eyes, offering a smile in return. “I’m Xavier.”

You sat there for hours, finishing your meal and talking until the sun had disappeared behind the buildings. Outside the restaurant, he hadn’t hesitated to say, “I want to see you again.”

Enjoying his directness that belied his unassuming appearance, you accepted without having to think about it. Your attraction was undeniable. He wasn’t just handsome, he was beautiful. Soft silver-blonde strands, striking blue eyes, and a lean, firm body sculpted by years of training as he was working for the police.

Beneath his stoic, calm demeanour, he possessed a remarkable boldness and effortless confidence that left you wondering what else he was hiding behind his feigned innocence.

You found out rather fast. Usually, you would wait until you got to know someone better, but Xavier managed to get you on your back—among other positions—already after the first date. That something that had initially drawn you to him kept pulling you in, like a moth you were drawn to his light. 

Falling in love had never been an option in your line of work, not to mention maintaining a long-term romantic relationship, but you found yourself willing to try.

Seven months later, you got married. 

Every one of your friends thought you were crazy, that you were rushing things, but you knew, with a certainty that couldn’t be put into words, that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.

And that remained true, on your end at least. Xavier, however, seemed to have changed his mind a year into your marriage. 

At the beginning, it was like a dream. Lingering touches, stolen kisses, the comfort of his presence, and morning sex before sleep had barely released you from its clutches. 

But then, a shift. 

You didn’t know what caused the change, but suddenly he withdrew. He became like a distant star. No matter how many times you tried to reach for him, you could never bridge the widening space between you. 

So eventually, you stopped trying. Instead of living together, you began to simply exist in the same house, leading two separate lives and drifting apart day by day.

-

And here you were. Two years later.

“How was your day?” you asked as you entered the kitchen and greeted Xavier with a kiss on his cheek—a gesture that was more routine than a show of affection. 

He had changed out of his police uniform, now wearing a white hoodie, and his hair was still slightly damp from a quick shower he must have had before you arrived home.

His “Uneventful,” was delivered without taking his eyes off the chopping board, only pausing the cutting of the beef into slim slices to lean down and receive your kiss.

That was his standard response. Your conversations had settled into a predictable pattern of disinterested questions, hollow answers, and polite small talk. You never probed, nor did he. Sharing stories of your day while cuddling on the sofa belonged to the past. Sometimes, though, you caught yourself reminiscing, wishing back the Xavier, who had let you be part of his life and who wanted to be part of yours.

“How was work?”

“Ah, you know,” you waved off, already distracted by your phone, checking for updates on the agent you were searching for. He shouldn’t be too hard to locate since you had CCTV footage of him, and considering you had wounded his leg with a graze shot, maybe your team could find some drops of blood as well.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Xavier’s left leg seemed to tighten with tension with each step he took as he began to set the table. “Are you hurt?”

“I bumped into the counter edge before you got here,” he explained, but you weren’t listening as a notification redirected your attention back to your phone. You had received an email from Simone. Unfortunately, they couldn’t find any trace of him on the roof of the opposite building. Nada, not even signs of the rope he had used to pull himself up. Your work phone was nowhere to be found as well.

You let out a frustrated sigh, slamming your phone face down onto the countertop with more force than necessary. Time was of the essence. Tomorrow, you needed to find him, or you would have trouble eliminating him in the given time frame.

After a silent dinner, the both of you retreated to your separate routines. While he  would usually settle himself on the sofa, playing videogames or reading a book, you would go upstairs, step into a hot bath, and enjoy your evening downtime on your own.

Once you had gotten ready to sleep, part of your bedtime ritual involved going downstairs and waking Xavier, who, without fail, managed to fall asleep every day in the most interesting of gaming or reading positions imaginable.

A short while later, he would join you in your shared bed, plopping down on his side and drifting off to sleep almost before his head hit the pillow. No talking, no cuddling, and most certainly no shared intimate moments. 

Prior to his sudden withdrawal, he had been something close to insatiable. Once he got his hands on your skin, it was hard to detach him from you. Not that you ever complained. That was why you found yourself missing being close to him every so often, a quiet ache of wanting pulling you to him, and wondering if he ever missed you in that way too.

Your mornings were spent similarly. As if to maintain the illusion of a happy marriage, you left the house at the same time and exchanged perfunctory greetings with your neighbour Dr. Li, who had to leave for work as early as you—the complete opposite to his husband, who usually didn’t leave the house until late in the evening.

In front of the garage, Xavier kissed your cheek and wished you a good day before getting into his car. “Dinner’s at seven,” he said like every morning. You hummed in acknowledgement and got into your own car. It always was.

And this was your everyday life with your husband. 

Watching him drive away, the last glimpse of his car disappearing around the next corner, you asked yourself: would he always stay the distant star you couldn’t reach?

-

Tara brought you a cup of coffee when she noticed you slumped over your keyboard. Despite already having had a cup at home not that long ago, you accepted it and took a sip, the hot liquid doing nothing to soothe the anxious knot in your stomach. You hadn’t slept that night, too busy thinking about ways to find the other agent and about your time running out. 

To get to your current position, you had poured everything into this job. Years of relentless effort and countless sacrifices later, you were finally where you wanted to be, and you were unwilling to give all that up just because of a single failed mission.

A shadow suddenly fell over you, and a glance upwards revealed a tired looking Simone, stifling a yawn. She must have spent the night reviewing all the CCTV footage.

“This is all I could find,” she said, and after handing you a tablet, she returned to her desk. Leaning back in your chair, you propped your legs up on the desk and checked the video files she had neatly prepared. 

Whoever he was, he had been careful. Barely any security camera had managed to capture him. And then later, it was as if he simply vanished into thin air.

The building’s security footage showed him as he climbed onto the lifting platform. Something in the way he moved seemed familiar, yet you couldn’t articulate why. Frame by frame, you examined him carefully. The quality left something to be desired, and the cap and sunglasses he wore made it hard to see any distinguishing features besides a flash of blonde hair peeking out from beneath the cap.

The last frames revealed his lower body as the lifting platform ascended. You paused. Sitting up in your chair, feet hitting the ground with a thud, you zoomed in as close as the grainy quality allowed and stared at your discovery. 

There was something poking out of his pants pocket. The shape resembled the star tassel keychain you had made for Xavier’s birthday last year, since he insisted on having a physical key for your house even though he could open the door with his fingerprint.

This was just a couple of pixels, surely your brain was simply recognising patterns and matching them with something familiar.

Yet, your heart began to race as you rewind the footage and checked everything about him a second time. 

The way his body moved, the muscles straining under the black compression shirt, was like seeing a movie you had watched a thousand times, and his hair wasn’t just any shade of blonde, but one you encountered regularly in your house, on pillows, in the shower, and sometimes on your own clothing.

You weren’t able to rationalise the unsettling truth right in front of your eyes. Especially when you spotted a ring. It was impossible to discern any pattern on the silver band, but you felt a terrifying certainty that it had a star in its center, just like your own.

There was no doubt as to who the other agent was. You stared at the screen frozen in disbelief, your pulse a frantic drumbeat against your ribs.

It was your husband.

-

Dinner was at seven.

In the garage, you remained sitting in your car for a while, contemplating your next move. Xavier’s car was parked next to yours. That meant he was already cooking dinner. Or preparing an ambush.

Did he know that you were the sniper on the roof? Was he also assigned to take you out like you were him? You had been given 48 hours to get the job done, to clean up your mess. Otherwise, you would become their next target. That left you with no other choice than to end it today.

Without realising it, you had started to fidget with your wedding ring. Looking down on it now gave rise to a cocktail of mixed feelings. You had been married to this man for three years now, and it was hard to believe that everything between you had been a lie.

Even though you hadn’t been honest with him either, you had genuinely fallen in love with him. Xavier was gentle and kind, possessing a quiet dominance that made you feel some type of way. He knew how to set a trap, how to lure you in with his eyes and soft voice, and before you knew it, he had you right where he wanted.

Perhaps your marriage was some kind of elaborate trap of his as well, exploiting you for cover and playing house to raise no suspicion. Considering how distant he had become over the last two years, it was highly likely that he had no feelings for you to begin with and simply portrayed the infatuated husband until he was sure you wouldn’t leave him.

If that was true, then he wouldn’t hesitate to kill you. However, it was still a gamble. You couldn’t be sure that he knew of your actual job and involvement in yesterday’s mission.

But did it matter? There was only one unchangeable fact: you had to eliminate him, or you would get killed yourself.

You exhaled, rubbing a hand across your face. Then, you opened your glove compartment and pocketed the gun you had stored there, tugging it in your waistband. That should be enough for now.

As you unlocked the front door, you peered through the glass but couldn’t see anything suspicious. After hanging your coat, you followed the sounds of sizzling oil to the kitchen where Xavier was standing at the stove, pan-frying steaks. Ironically, he was wearing his ‘number one husband’ apron you had bought him for Christmas two years ago.

“I’m home.”

“You’re just in time,” he said after you gave him the obligatory peck on the cheek to greet him. Since he seemed to be acting normally, you had to keep up the act too. 

He handed you a glass filled with colourful liquid. An orange slice was draped over the rim, and the ice cubes inside cooled your clammy palm. “I made your favourite cocktail.”

You eyed him carefully as he turned back to the stove, flipping the steak in the pan. Would he poison you? There was no change in his behaviour—he was as calm and composed as ever. Still, you wouldn’t drink from it just yet. Instead, you asked, “Is there something to celebrate?”

“Does there have to be a special occasion to drink cocktails?”

“I guess not.” Discreetly, you scanned your surroundings. Pretending to be busy stirring the ice cubes around, you added casually, “Did you not make one for yourself?”

“It’s already on the table,” Xavier responded, and motioned with his head to the doorway leading to the dining room. He told you to sit down, dinner would be ready soon.

On your way to the adjacent room, you emptied the contents of your glass into the next flower pot. When you sat down at the already set table, you placed the steak knife slightly closer within reach. Shortly after, Xavier joined you and put one of the steaks on your plate.

The clinking of cutlery against porcelain was unnervingly loud in the otherwise quiet room as silence settled over the two of you, the air thick with tension. While you piled the vegetables on your plate, your mind raced. How could you find out if he wanted to poison you or not? Maybe you could feign an illness in order to get out of having to eat anything altogether.

Just as you were about to open your mouth, Xavier broke the silence. “How was your day?” Usually, you kept your small talk to a minimum and ate without talking, but today he even sought eye contact with you from across the table.

“Uneventful,” you replied, deliberately using his own words.

One corner of his mouth briefly quirked up before settling into a neutral line again. “I read the Linkon Central Bank had cut interest rates by 0.5%. That must have been a stressful day for you.” He kept his voice in a conversational tone, but you didn’t miss his scrutinising gaze as he studied your facial expression.

In all that excitement, you hadn’t kept up with the news or checked the latest figures. Xavier believed you to be a broker, representing a large trading company and overseeing their investments. A cut in interest rates would mean the investments were likely to suffer losses as stock value decreased, putting you between a rock and a hard place. 

Was he…testing you? If so, his question could be a bluff, a trap. At this moment, you couldn’t possibly check if the LCB truly had announced an interest rate cut. If what he said was true, today would have been a stressful day indeed.

You had no choice but to go along with it for now. “Yeah, that did cause some problems. But nothing I couldn’t handle.”

The last part you had said while meeting his analysing stare head on, an unspoken challenge. If he was actually testing you, you wanted him to know you were ready. His face remained unnervingly stoic. He was a closed book, offering no hint of his intentions.

“Do you want some music?” he asked, stirring the conversation in a different direction. Xavier was already out of his chair and standing in front of the shelf filled with his extensive CD collection before you could have answered. You never quite understood why he insisted on buying physical copies, even though you had a streaming service subscription.

His sudden movement made you tense, and your hand reflexively shot out to grab the handle of the steak knife, hiding it in your lap. When a gentle melody began to play from the speakers—a tune you knew intimately—your grip loosened, confusion and surprise momentarily flashing across your face.

Clearing your throat, you quickly composed yourself. “Cocktails, our wedding song… Are you sure I haven’t forgotten our anniversary or something?”

“If it were our anniversary, I would have brought you flowers.” He tilted his head to observe you with a small, playful smile.

That was true. He always gifted you the biggest, most beautiful bouquets you had ever seen, each year’s arrangement more vibrant and extravagant than the last. The way he meticulously chose the flower types and colours rekindled a flicker of hope that he was about to transform back into the loving husband from the beginning of your marriage. However, his usual distant behaviour returned the very next day.

The bouquets came from his best friend Jeremiah’s flower shop, who had been his best man at your wedding. You hadn’t seen him much since then.

Xavier looked at you expectantly, one hand extended toward you. You hesitated, assessing him then his outstretched hand cautiously. It could be another trap.

“I’m really tired and—”

“Just hold on to me,” he interrupted, his smile turning into a smirk. “I’ll do the rest.”

Despite every instinct screaming at you, you rose from your seat, concealing the steak knife swiftly under the napkin, and accepted his hand. Once you were in front of him, he pulled you close, his other hand finding its place on your waist. His blue eyes didn’t leave your face, and you were unable to look away too. The soft sway of the music accompanied you as he guided you elegantly through your dining room. You hadn’t been this close to him for a while and the smell of his cologne enveloped your senses.

It was difficult to understand what his plan might be, because at this point, you were convinced he had one. You had to stay vigilant and resist the magnetic pull of his gaze, the expanse of his eyes threatening to drag you into their depth. But it wasn’t easy. The whole situation plunged you back into the past, triggering a flood of memories of your wedding day. Come to think of it, back then he had looked at you the same way he did now.

Lifting his arm, he twirled you around, and when you faced him again, he pressed you even closer to him than before, the sudden closeness of his face making your breath hitch and your heart skip a beat. 

His eyes travelled down to your lips and then back up, as if asking for permission. But you had stopped breathing, and all you did was stare at him, eyes wide and lost in anticipation. You hadn’t even realised that he had paused your waltz.

Slowly, he leaned closer, and your eyes fluttered shut instinctively, waiting for the pressure of his lips. Instead of on your mouth, you felt them brush against your jaw, a fleeting touch that then traced down the curve of your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Your grip on his biceps tightened as your heart picked up its pace, still waiting for him to finally kiss your lips while his hand on your back slid  along your spine.

With a jolt, you shot your eyes open and tried to shove him away. But it was too late. Xavier had felt the outline of the handgun tucked in your waistband through your clothes and tightened his hold on you.

In a quick series of motions, he pulled it out from under your blouse and carelessly dropped it to the floor before spinning around and pushing you against the shelf, caging you in with his broad frame. His CDs rattled from the impact.

How could you have fallen for the most common trick in the book? Like a love-struck idiot, you had let him toy with you like that, and he didn’t even kiss you. 

Damn him and his stupid, innocent-looking face.

“Do you want to explain to me, honey, why you’re carrying a gun in our house?” His voice was deeper than usual and there was a threatening gleam in his eyes.

“I could ask you the same thing, honey.” It was a bluff, but from the way his eyes narrowed, you knew you had guessed right. 

You didn’t wait for him to make the first move. Raising an arm, you reached it across to push his arms down, creating an opening to knock your elbow against his head and forcing him to release his grip. As he was slightly bent over, you held onto his back, followed with a kick to his stomach, and then slammed him into the shelves next to you, causing CDs to clatter onto the ground.

Xavier recovered faster than you had anticipated, blocking the path to your gun that was lying on the ground behind him. “So it’s true,” he said to himself rather than to you, and rubbed the spot where your elbow had made contact. What confused you was that he didn’t look angry, or particularly surprised. But there was a proud little smile playing on his lips.

Not giving him the time to collect himself, you charged forward and delivered one punch after another. However, he manoeuvred his body gracefully out of the way each time you tried to kick or strike him—a fluent dance you weren’t sure who was leading.

The fact that he wasn’t attacking you back, instead dodging effortlessly your every move, ignited a white-hot fury and simmering frustration within you. If he truly had a weapon hidden on his person too, then why wasn’t he drawing it?

Once you were close enough, you grabbed the steak knife from the table and flung it at him with practised precision, but he simply stepped to the side, the knife getting stuck in one of the paintings adorning the walls.

A corner of his mouth lifted. “Your aim certainly has room for improvement.” 

You huffed in response. You had a feeling he didn’t just mean the throw, but also your missed shot during your double-assigned mission.

His teasing, competitive side was coming out. It reminded you of your dating phase when you had visited a fair with a shooting booth. You had pretended to be bad at it, but after he shot each target perfectly, saying he “got lucky” with his feigned innocence, you had insisted on having a go again, fuelled by a stubborn need to wipe the smirk off his face. The giant bunny plushie in your bedroom was a memento from that day. The owner of the booth probably gave it out to finally get rid of the two of you.

Doubling your efforts, you advanced on him and unleashed a series of blows and kicks. He pivoted on his heel, a blur of motion as he bowed under one of your swings. With a swift grab, he caught your wrist and pulled you aside, causing you to stagger past him.

Despite not being able to hit him, you managed to make him back up and get closer to your gun. Xavier seemed to read your intention as he cocked his head after effortlessly dodging one of your attempted attacks yet again. “Go on, pick up the gun.”

You froze in place, irritation flashing in your eyes as you met his gaze. The confidence behind his words was unsettling. What game was he playing?

Not letting him out of your sight, you slowly retrieved the gun from the floor. He didn’t stir, but his eyes tracked your every movement as you raised your arm, aiming for his head. Still, no reaction. As if he was waiting for an answer to a question, he wouldn’t voice out loud. 

Taking a step closer, he remained rooted to the spot, a silent challenge in the quirk of his raised eyebrow. Frustrated by his lack of response, you closed the distance between you. Your hand was trembling as it held the gun under his chin, forcing his head to tilt slightly backward. 

However, you didn’t pull the trigger. 

Xavier looked down at you through his silver strands of hair, his eyes holding your gaze. “You can’t do it.” It wasn’t a question. He had immediately clocked your hesitation, probably way earlier than you would like to admit. In a last attempt, you narrowed your eyes and pressed the muzzle harder against his chin.

“Fight back!” you demanded, frustration raw in your voice. “Why aren’t you fighting back?”

“Because I can’t do it either,” Xavier responded calmly.

It took a moment for his words to sink in. You studied his face for any signs of deception, but were only met by an open honesty in his unwavering gaze.

He was right. You couldn’t do it. Despite his distance in the last two years, you cared for him and found yourself unable to shoot the love of your life, even if it meant disregarding your own. 

“I assume you were also giving a time frame to get rid of me,” he began and snapped you out of your thoughts. He didn’t wait for your answer. With his low, soft tone, he continued, “I’m not planning to kill you.”

At last, you dropped the gun with an exhale, your chests rapidly rising and falling in sync. For a moment you regarded one another. The longing in his eyes took you by surprise even though it was a reflection of your own. “They will come for us.”

“Let them try.”

With the adrenaline still high in your systems, you crashed your lips together. There was nothing gentle about the way you devoured each other, both desperate for the taste of the other, familiar and intoxicating. It had been a long time since you had been intimate. Like a spark, your sudden need was ignited. Your hands were roaming, the need to touch every single part of him overwhelming.

Feeling his shoulders relax, Xavier sighed into your mouth, as if he had been hoping this would happen. Your back hit the nearest wall as he pressed you against it. As he kissed down your neck, your hand found purchase in his silver strands, holding on tightly, causing a groan to escape his lips. 

His hands explored the skin beneath your blouse before they glided down your body and then hoisted you up, your legs reflexively wrapping around him. He made his way through your house, stopping only to restlessly place you on a sideboard or a table and remove one piece of clothing at a time while not breaking away from your lips or your neck.

When he pulled your blouse over your head, he immediately made it his mission to litter the newly exposed skin with wet, open-mouthed kisses, making you gasp and arch into him. You tugged at his hoodie in a silent plea, one he complied with in a rapid, impatient motion.

Before you could get lost in his touch, he was moving you again, carrying you up the stairs while your mouth didn’t leave his neck. Occasionally, he would pause to chase your lips, as if he couldn’t be apart from them for too long.

Once you had reached the bedroom, he dropped you onto the mattress, and after removing his shirt, he followed closely behind. The only clothing left on you were your panties. Your head was already foggy, unable to recall when he had taken off your bra. One of his many skills was stripping you naked with such swiftness that you barely realised he had started before you were already bare underneath him. 

Your hands reached down to free him from his pants, but he stopped you, simply getting a hold of your wrists and pinning them above your head.

“Not yet.” 

There it was. His quiet dominance, his careful control.

After kissing and exploring your mouth with his tongue, igniting a fire in your core, he let go of your wrists and planted kisses along his descent. Each searing kiss was more heated than the last as his lips left small red marks behind. Sucking, licking and claiming each part he had claimed before once again, making sure you remembered who you belonged to. He wasn’t just mapping you anew with his mouth but retracing his path from a time long past.

Your nails scraped across his naked back and arms, scratching his bare skin whenever he sucked on a particular sensitive spot. You could feel how he got more impatient with each scratch and tug at his hair.

One of his hands trailed down from your throat to between your breasts to your stomach while he looked at you reverently, having missed this view and the feel of your skin. Like a predator watching his prey squirm before they devour it.

When Xavier reached your thighs, you felt his hot breath against the wet patch on your underwear, making you unconsciously shift closer. His amused chuckle prompted you to open your eyes. “Someone’s eager.”

Just as you were about to quip back that he was just as eager as you were, he bit your thigh—an unexpected, piercing sting. You inhaled sharply, the pain short-lived and replaced by a rush of pleasure as he soothed the skin with a languid lick, your legs already shaking from his attention.

“I love it when you’re trembling because of me,” he rasped with his half-lidded eyes looking up at you, his cheek resting on your thigh.

You couldn’t wait any longer, you needed some kind of friction. “Xavie, please,” you whined. In your desperate state you hadn’t realised that you had said his nickname you hadn’t used in the last two years. 

His eyes darkened with lust, glinting with something dangerous, before he impatiently tugged your panties down your legs and tossed them carelessly away. His mouth was on you a second later. A moan slipped past your lips at the sudden pressure against your clit.

Groaning at the taste, he nuzzled the lower half of his face deeper between your legs. His hands tightened around your thighs, holding them in place, as he draped them over his shoulders. “God, I’ve missed this.”

First, he broadly dragged his tongue up and down, lapping up your taste, and then flicked it against your clit. Your back arched, legs twitching, as you squirmed from the overwhelming pleasure. 

“So responsive,“ he chuckled, opening his eyes a fraction to shoot you a smug look. “Your body is telling me it missed me too.”

You weren’t able to reply as he dove back in and swirled his tongue around your clit, shortly followed by a finger slowly pumping in and out of your hole. When he added a second finger and curled them in the exact angle he knew by heart, he picked up his pace, making you see stars as he managed to hit that one spot inside you over and over again. 

Every time you glanced down, you were greeted by the subtle flex of his shoulder blades and the contentment in his expression. Despite the hungry way he ate you out, he looked serene, radiating an angelic calm.

Already lightheaded, your hips bucked to chase your release, you felt was close, your fingers fisting his silver-blonde hair. But he abruptly stopped his movements, prompting you to whimper at the sudden loss of stimulation.

“Stay still,” he commanded, his voice remaining soft, but there was a darker undercurrent that made you clench around his fingers. “Or do I need to restrain you?”

Without waiting for an answer, he pushed your knees towards your chest and resumed devouring you. One hand kept your legs up and the other returned to their relentless mission of fucking you open. It took you a considerable amount of effort to remain still, not wanting to provoke him to stop yet again.

“I need to properly prepare you for what I want to do with you.” Xavier seemed to have noticed your struggle. “So be good for me, baby, okay?”

You nodded hastily, not fully registering his words. 

He reduced you to a moaning mess, clawing at the sheets and legs shaking uncontrollably. Even when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, he continued and coaxed another orgasm out of you. At one point, you had stopped counting. 

Xavier had left you dazed, breathless, and still wanting more.

With one last, almost tender kiss to your pussy, he finally straightened, the lower half of his face glistening from your many releases. His hand reached up, his thumb caressing your cheek before parting your lips. Watching you closely as you blinked up at him blearily, he put two of his fingers in your mouth. Instinctively, you eagerly sucked on them, hollowing your cheeks and tasting yourself on his skin.

Xavier’s eyes were fixed on you, the blue of his irises eclipsed by his dilated pupils, and resembled a dark, hungry void threatening to consume you.

“Do you want to continue?” There was a hesitation to his tone, as if he wasn’t sure if he took it too far.

His question roused you from your daze, a smile spreading across your lips. “Yes, I do.”

His mouth was on you before you saw his relieved expression. His fervent kisses had you melting and desperate to finally feel him inside you. Your hands travelled down to his pants, fumbling with his belt. “Condom, Xavier,” you were able to press out and unzipped his fly.

Reluctantly, he pulled away from your lips to reach for his drawer and retrieved a condom. When he didn’t move and simply stared at the packaging, you asked if everything was alright.

“They’re expired.”

Oh. So that meant you hadn’t had sex for…a while.

He rummaged through the drawer but each one he found had the same expiration date. You might regret this later, but after years of nothing and the thrill of your fight still in your veins, you grabbed him by his neck and pulled him down to you again, kissing him urgently.

“Let’s do it without one,” you breathed, and he stilled, searching your eyes for any kind of hesitation.

“Are you sure?”

You nodded, and his ravenous eyes glazed with lust in response. The way he captured your mouth now was different from before as his tongue glided against yours in a sinful claim, shooting an electric tingle down your spine.

You and his hands moved with a shared urgency, making short work of his trousers and boxershorts. Fingers tangled in a frantic dance, both yearning to finally feel the other in a way you haven’t for so long.

Then, finally, he was bare hovering above you, pumping his cock a few times before settling between your legs. Your foreheads met, and you both sighed in pleasure as he slid inside. As if your bodies hadn’t forgotten, you moved in sync, the heat radiating from him overwhelming. His lips left yours in favour of kissing and sucking at your neck before travelling even lower to your breasts, teeth nibbling and biting the soft skin around your nipples.

Your gaze drifted to the window as a noise outside made your ears perk up. Xavier grabbed your face, forcing your attention back to him. His cheeks were flushed a rosy shade, and his eyes stared down at you with a stern intensity that bordered on a warning. “I guess I have to double my efforts if you’re this easily distracted.”

Your surprised yelp got stuck in your throat as you were suddenly flipped around and found yourself on all fours, his cock already sliding back in without giving you time to catch up.

“Wait,” you gasped, trying to stop him from going deeper. The stretch was too much. Even with his extensive preparation, you still needed time to adjust to his size.

“You’ll get used to it,” Xavier said from behind you, his tone carrying a finality, a command that left no room for disobedience. Taking a shaky breath, you tried your best to relax while he grinded against you, pushing in inch by inch. “See?”

He started slow, his hands holding your hips or trailing appreciatively down your back. “Look at you, taking me so well,” he cooed, planting a kiss on your cheek. You hummed, already lost in the sensation of his cock gliding in and out of your pussy in an agonising rhythm.

Then with his hand on your back, he pressed you down so that your face was smushed in the pillows and turned his unhurried movements to punishing thrusts. You cried out, your moans muffled by the soft fabric rubbing against your face with each slap of his hips.

His grip on you tightened, probably leaving you with bruises in the morning, as you held on to the sheets for dear life. Drunk on pleasure, your moans and sighs echoed through the room unrestrained. When one of his hands began to rub circles on your clit, the double stimulation quickly tumbled you over the edge. As you clenched around him, muscles tensing and spasming, you came with a strangled gasp and buried your face deeper into the pillows.

“That’s it, baby,” Xavier praised and squeezed your hips approvingly. Since your thighs were shaking, and you were barely able to hold yourself up, he took a pillow and placed it underneath you. “Lie down.” His command, firm but gentle, had you clench around him once more, causing a groan to escape his lips.

Now lying flat on your stomach, your ass elevated by the pillow, he hovered over you, your bodies almost pressed against each other. Showering you with kisses to the side of your face, his thrusts turned messy and even harsher as he chased his own release. Xavier observed your face with half-lidded eyes, mesmerised by the view of you mewling and shivering in response to every thrust. His heat and scent enveloped you completely and clouded your senses.

“Tell me you missed me,” he rasped, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

Your voice was swallowed by the mattress as you choked, “I–ah–I missed y-you.”

“I can’t hear you. Say it louder.” His hips slammed harder against you, rendering you unable to speak at all. His arm snaked around you in a sudden, possessive embrace, his hand settling on your throat before lifting your head and pressing you against his chest. “I know you can do it.”

Xavier was breathing heavily from the exertion, his hot breath raising goosebumps down your arms and spine. The pressure from his hand around your throat wasn’t enough to restrict airflow, but the dominating gesture sent a dizzying wave through you.

“I missed you,” you whimpered. “I missed you so much.”

A badly suppressed moan, followed by a stutter in his relentless pace announced his orgasm crashing over him. As he rode out his high, you felt the way he filled you up. Shortly after, he collapsed on top of you, his weight a comforting presence as you both steadied your breathing and calmed your racing hearts.

After giving you a kiss to your temple, he gently rolled you onto your back and took in your fucked-out state with a predatory smirk.

“I’m sorry, starlight. We’re far from done.”

-

Dawn just broke and a sliver of soft light found its way through a crack in the curtains and shone down onto Xavier’s collarbone. You couldn’t help yourself and bend down, kissing the soft skin all the way up to his face. He stirred a bit, but his eyes remained closed. The hitch in his breath betrayed him. Smiling to yourself, you smothered him with kisses until he finally opened his eyes a fraction, a smile curving his lips.

“Is it my turn now?” The rasp in his voice, deep from sleep, made heat spread in your core. In one swift motion, he had you flipped on your back, his weight pressing you down as he lazily trailed warm kisses down your neck. Your breathing came in shallow as your heartbeat quickened. He knew exactly where to apply pressure, where to nib gently, and where to suck harshly, to make you restless underneath him.

The sound of cars driving onto your driveway brought you back to the present. You and Xavier exchanged a glance before jumping out of bed. A peek out the window presented you with three SUVs, each with a couple of heavily armed men swarming your yard.

Your mouth set in a hard line. “They didn’t even wait until 48 hours were up.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Xavier said, his tone serious, while his eyes assessed the situation below.

Well, it surprised you a little. After all, you had been working for your agency for years now. You always completed your work with diligence. Fast and efficient, you were their best agent. But, of course, you were replaceable; everyone was. And you had a feeling Andrew was already jumping at the opportunity to take your place at number one.

The both of you quickly grabbed clothes out of your closet since fighting naked was not something you were keen to do. Xavier threw on a black compression shirt, the same one he wore back on your mission. Now up close, you could watch how the fabric clung tightly to his biceps and revealed just the right amount of sculpted abs. When he fastened a shoulder holster around his back, you forced yourself to look away, struggling to control your drifting thoughts.

You focused your attention back on getting dressed yourself, opting for an all-black outfit, mirroring his choice. “We need a car,” you mused out loud while putting on pants, an escape plan already forming in your head. Using one of your own cars would be too easily trackable since they were registered under your names.

“We’ll take one from the Li’s. They keep the keys in their garage,” Xavier replied. Once he was dressed and noticed your matching attire, his serious expression softened into an endearing smile.

Then, he reached underneath his bedside table, retrieved a handgun which had been attached to the underside, and tugged it in his shoulder holster. The leather straps accentuated his shoulders and chest, prompting you to glance over to him more than once.

In a secret compartment inside the closet, you got out a rifle. This was far from enough to face several armed agents with the sole purpose of ending your life. However, there wasn’t enough time to get to your weapon reserves, so you quickly made your way through the top floor of your house, collecting the few weapons you had stashed upstairs. In the end, you had a couple of throwing knives on your person, two handguns each, and your rifle.

The sound of breaking glass and the frantic pounding of several footsteps on your expensive red oak flooring made you press your backs against the wall near the stairs.

“We could climb out the window, escape over the garage,” you suggested, holding your rifle at the ready.

Xavier shook his head, one handgun in his hands. “They’re already waiting for us there. Besides, we would need to round the back of the house to get to our neighbour’s yard.”

You would be lying if you didn’t at least enjoy it a little bit seeing your husband like this. Serious, competent, with that tiny furrow between his eyebrows as he meticulously thought about how to escape out of your own home. “Sounds like you already have a plan.”

“First, we need more weapons. There’s a shotgun in the living room, behind the sideboard.”

Your position at the top of the stairs would have been ideal, but considering you wouldn’t have enough bullets to take them all down as they climbed the stairs, some likely attempting to gain entry through a window, it simply wasn’t a smart strategy to remain there.

“I hid another rifle in the dining room,” you added. “Now what? We just breach downstairs?”

Xavier held up a flashbang, one side of his mouth quirking up. “Yes.”

He raised his hand, counting slowly, and on three, he tossed it down the stairs. A loud bang echoed through your house, followed by a burst of light, and a chorus of groans and yelps of surprise. Straightaway, you slid down the wooden railing of the stairs and started to fire.

Their momentary confusion wasn’t enough to stop the other agents from shooting the instant they spotted you. Once you hopped down onto the floor, you took cover behind the living room wall, reloading as bullets whizzed past. 

A glance at the bottom of the stairs revealed your bra, dangling forgotten and discarded between the beams of the railing. Ah, so that’s where it went.

With the hallway mirror, you assessed their position and gauged their movement. To cover for Xavier, you crouched down and sent a hail of shots in their direction, forcing them to run for cover. Shortly after, Xavier joined you behind the wall, taking over your position and your rifle while you quickly got the shotgun from where he had told you earlier.

Heavy footsteps came rushing closer. You shot the first person to appear in the doorway in the chest, the recoil slamming the handle against your shoulder and causing you to wince. A shotgun wasn’t usually your weapon of choice as you preferred stealth over brute firepower.

“Nice shot,” Xavier complimented and swiftly took out the next one. At his praise, you couldn’t suppress your smile.

This time, they came in as a group. You immediately switched between shots and close combat. You were just choking one of them, your arm pressing against the sides of their neck while your legs tightly wrapped around their chest, when a loud crash made you look up. As if they weighed nothing, Xavier hauled one agent over him, sending him sprawling onto your coffee table, shattering it in half.

Damn. From your vantage point on the floor, you were able to watch him fight three opponents at the same time. Just as he did during the fight with you, he effortlessly moved his body out of their range and neutralised them with unsettling velocity.

When, finally, the squirming in your arms stopped, you focused back on the task at hand. 

As the first wave was taken care of, you rolled onto the couch, ducking behind the backrest. On all fours, you propped yourself up on the armrest and peeked at the doorway.

“Does this remind you of something?”

You felt Xavier’s hand glide down your back, a caress that stood in contrast to what that hand just did to those agents on the ground. “It reminds me of our wedding night.”

Surprised and slightly confused by his answer, you looked over your shoulder, finding Xavier kneeling behind you with a contemplative expression.

It dawned on you what was going through his mind, and the timing couldn’t have been worse. “Oh god, Xavier!”

“Ah, so you remember too?”

You quickly turned around again to hide your flustered expression, your cheeks burning from the memories of your first night as a married couple. Xavier had made a point to consecrate every room and every surface to your new status, turning it into a never ending night you wouldn’t soon forget. It ended with trembling muscles and a sore throat from all the noises he had coaxed out of you. The following days, you weren’t able to walk probably.

“I meant– You know what, nevermind.”

You were going to say it reminded you of that one time you and Xavier had thrown a garden party for the neighbourhood’s annual get-together, and got so tired and overwhelmed by everyone that you hid inside, using the sofa as a shield—just like right now.

After you had checked your inventory of weapons and ammunition, you proceeded to navigate through the house and dove back into the fray. It became clear that together, you were unstoppable. As if you had been fighting side-by-side for years, your teamwork was like a well-oiled machine. What one started, the other finished, making your way forward with a relentless, efficient rhythm until you reached the back door.

Once outside, you made a run for your neighbour’s garage, unleashing a barrage of shots at the approaching agents who had been waiting in your garden. 

“Get the car. I’ll hold them off,” you told him and reloaded the shotgun. Xavier vanished almost instantly, leaving you amazed at how fast he was moving.

Several agents were closing in, so you jumped behind a bush for cover. You paused. From here, you had a clean view of your living room and your new curtains. “So that’s how he knew…”

Your neighbour’s Bordeaux-coloured pick-up truck screeched to a halt in front of you, and you quickly scrambled into the back seat behind the driver while Xavier shot out of the open window. The moment the car door slammed shut, he stepped on the gas pedal, accelerating around the corner onto the road at such terrifying speed that it threw you to the other side of the car with a sharp groan of pain.

“Sorry,” Xavier smiled sheepishly and gave you an apologetic look through the rearview mirror.

You climbed to the passenger seat and checked your magazine. “What’s next?”

“I know a place we can go.” His gaze flickered between the road and the mirrors. “We just need to get rid of them first.”

With his head, he motioned to the back and a glance confirmed the three SUVs closing in, a parade of black metal tailing behind you. He pushed the accelerator further, the increasing speed pressing you into the seat. As Xavier maneuvered the truck through the busy traffic, narrowly avoiding collisions and trying his best to lose your pursuers in the maze of the city streets, you seized the opportunity to get something off your chest. What better time than now?

“Why didn’t you fight back yesterday?” 

Xavier glanced in your direction before focusing back onto the road. “I could never hurt you, even if you were out to get me.” A small smile curved his lips. “And I wanted to see how far you would go.”

Your head whipped in his direction, but his gaze remained fixed ahead. “I wasn’t sure if our marriage was just one big cover for you,” you confessed, your fingers fidgeting with the barrel of your shotgun.

As soon as Xavier hit the highway, the three SUVs blocked all three lanes and opened fire. “How could you think that?” he asked, genuinely confused. He yanked the wheel, swerving the truck to dodge the incoming bullets from the left side.

“You were the one who suddenly got distant after one year of marriage,” you reminded him while rolling down your window. “Are you aware of how you acted the last two years? How was I supposed to know you still have feelings for me!”

There was a beat of silence as he thought about your answer, and you leaned out of the window, releasing a volley of shots at your attackers. “You’re right,” he began once you were back in your seat. “I felt guilty, like I’d been selfish marrying you, because I was putting you in danger thanks to my job. I didn’t want to drag you into this world.” Mimicking you, he rolled down his window and sent a couple of precise shots behind him, effectively puncturing the front tires of one of their cars. “But as it turns out, I didn’t need to worry,” he added, smiling contently.

Returning his smile, you huffed playfully. “I wasn’t really careful during our first meeting. Didn’t you question me suddenly sitting down with you, trying to act innocent while the thugs were clearly looking for someone?” 

“The second you sat in front of me I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.”

Heat crept up your neck, but your private moment was disrupted when one of their SUVs pulled up closer and shot straight at you, shattering the back window and forcing you to turn away, shielding your faces from the flying glass shards.

In order to hide your face and the emotions that welled up, you announced to take care of them. Climbing to the back of the truck, you took cover behind the backseats, switched to the rifle, and shot at your attackers through the broken window. For a while no one spoke as you continued your assault, occasionally gripping the seat and bracing yourself against Xavier’s violent swerves.

“Since we’re honest with each other now,” you eventually shouted, your voice barely audible over the noise of the wind rushing in, the relentless gunfire of the other agents, and the strained roar of the truck pushing its engine to the limit. “You know the flowers that are sent for my birthday every year?”

“The ones from your parents?”

“They’re actually from my ex from university.”

When they were first delivered and Xavier asked who they were from, you had to improvise on the spot, claiming they were from your parents. After that, to hold up your lie, you didn’t tell your ex to ‘fuck off’ but instead let them continue sending the bouquets each year in order to not raise suspicion. It would have been odd if your parents suddenly stopped buying you flowers for your birthday.

Xavier’s hands tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. “What’s their name and social security number?”

“No, you’re not going to kill them,” you chided with an exhale and turned your attention back to your pursuers.

Deciding to go on the offensive, you used the handle of your weapon to hack away at the shards framing the window before climbing onto the truck bed. When you stumbled across something and discovered two weapons under a blanket, among them a machine gun, you raised one of your eyebrows.

So Dr. Li’s husband really is an arms dealer. Might have been a bad idea to steal his car, but that was a future-you problem.

Quickly, you checked whether it was loaded and then positioned it in front of you on the tailgate of the truck. The incessant rattling of the machine gun reverberated through your body as you aimed at heads and chests, eliminating them, one by one. 

One of the SUVs sped up and reached the side of your car. At the next moment, two agents jumped onto the truck bed and immediately engaged you in a fight. You knocked the weapon from the first agent’s hand with a precise kick before drawing one of your knives and lunging at him. After blocking the right hook of the second one, you slammed the blade into her throat and hurled her off the truck.

Xavier suddenly jerked the truck sharply to the side, ramming its flank against the other car and causing you and the remaining agent to stumble onto the ground, your bodies connecting with the metal underneath with a loud thud. Your knife flew across the air and landed onto the road. 

Swiftly, you climbed on top of him and delivered one brutal punch after another. A spray of blood streamed from his nose, the crack of breaking bone barely audible above the chaos. With an angry roar, he threw his head forwards and smashed it against yours, the impact blurring your vision. Seizing the opportunity by your momentary incapacitated state, he reversed your position, and returned the favour by slamming his fists into your face.

Before you could have retaliated, a shot to his temple sent him crumbling to the side. Xavier had already turned back to face the road by the time you had realised what happened.

Scrambling to your feet, you continued your fight with the next agent who jumped onto the truck bed and quickly disposed of him by kicking him over the tailgate. When another SUV appeared on your other side, you yelled, “Xavier!”

“On it.” With a sudden jolt, he hit the brakes, causing you to fall forwards and hit your head on the roof. Xavier made a sharp turn off the highway that left the SUVs in front of you unable to turn around fast enough.

You rubbed your forehead while grumbling to yourself and climbed back into the passenger seat.

“I also have a confession.” He picked up your conversation where you had left off, as if nothing had interrupted you, and handed you a handkerchief which you used to wipe the blood from your face. “I never cooked a day in my life. But I want to though.”

Xavier explained that his agency prepared the food, and he only needed to cut the vegetables and reheat everything else.

At this very moment, you had no idea that letting him cook would turn out to be a horrible idea. You would remain blissfully unaware for at least another week before a fire in your kitchen confronts you with the reality that one of you would have to learn how to cook and it better not be him.

“I never even so much as touched the rose bushes,” you shared. “In fact, I hate gardening.”

Xavier’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Then how come you keep winning the gardening award each year?”

“You should ask our gardener,” you shrugged and attempted to turn on the radio. However, it was riddled with bullet holes and, unsurprisingly, no longer played any sound.

“We have a gardener?” His voice easily carried over the loud noises of traffic without him having to raise it much. “What other men did you invite into our house that I don’t know about?”

Rolling your eyes, you didn’t deign to answer him, and you didn’t need to. One of the SUVs suddenly appeared beside you and shot through the driver’s window. Xavier ducked, but the bullet grazed his arm. Leaning over him, you drew your handgun and shot at the front and rear tires, rendering them incapable of pursuing you further.

Once you were certain you got rid of them for good, Xavier slowed the truck to a more civil pace. “Your arm!” He let you examine it, smiling down at you as you carefully assessed the injury. 

“It’s fine, it barely hit me.”

Meeting his blue eyes, radiating a calming stillness, convinced you he was telling the truth. You let yourself relax in your seat and asked, “Where’s this place you said we could go to?”

As one of his hands remained on the steering wheel, his other sought out yours and intertwined your fingers together. “You’ll see,” he responded and gave your knuckles a tender kiss.

-

At the sight of the flower shop of his best friend, you glanced at Xavier questioningly, but he was already pushing open the door. You were greeted by an explosion of colours and shapes in every size imaginable, the lush, fresh fragrance of the flowers around you filling the air. The bell announced your arrival as you walked in and a head of brown curls emerged from under the counter.

“I was hoping you would show up!” Relief was clearly written all over Jeremiah’s face. His smile faded when he took in the state you and Xavier were in. Your clothes were torn, stained with blood and dirt as well as the rest of your bodies, but it was your tightly clasped hands that drew his attention.

“We have a problem,” Xavier said. “I was hoping you could help us.”

With a sigh, Jeremiah motioned with his head to the back of his shop. He sat down in his office chair and offered you the couch, but you and Xavier remained standing. A look behind him at his desk revealed the remnants of your destroyed work phone. So that was how Xavier figured out that it was you. Jeremiah must be exceptionally good at what he did since he managed to find you with it, despite Nero’s meticulous efforts to keep your identity untraceable.

“There’s no easy way out of this,” Jeremiah began, his gaze darting back and forth between you. “You don’t just ‘have a problem’. Both the Hunter Agency and Philo Agency are out to get you.”

A quick acknowledgement passed between you and Xavier. So he was working for the competing agency. It wasn’t surprising since you had seen his abilities with your own eyes, and working for any other agency that wasn’t one of the top three would have been a waste of his skills.

“Your best chance of survival is to split up.” At Jeremiah’s words, Xavier levelled him with a withering glare. Throwing his hands up in surrender, he quickly added, “Or you bring them something they want more than you.”

You and Xavier exchanged a glance, a silent understanding. There might be a target both your agencies wanted more than you; the one you two had been tasked with eliminating a couple of days ago. Getting the job done might be enough to redeem you. Even if it did not, it was worth a try and better than staying idle.

The door opened, revealing a man you had never seen before, yet instantly recognised similarities to your husband. Beyond their shared silver-blonde hair, there were certain details in his facial features and overall demeanour betraying his connection to Xavier. However, while the stranger’s regal posture was laced with arrogance, Xavier’s possessed a self-assured elegance.

“You’re here.”

“Isaiah,” was all Xavier returned. He didn’t appear to be particularly happy to see this man.

Next, Isaiah turned to you and a look of disgruntled distaste washed over his face, but instead of addressing you directly, he addressed Xavier again. “You should have gotten rid of her right away, then we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

Now you had a pretty good idea why he hadn’t been invited to your wedding, despite them undoubtedly being related.

Xavier’s eyes darkened and the temperature in the room seemed to drop. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.” His threatening tone gave you a shiver. You never heard him speak like that before and your heartbeat quickened at him calling you his wife.

Jeremiah defused the tension in the room, even though he also looked like he wanted to kick Isaiah in the knee. “You can stay here as long as you need and sleep in my guestroom upstairs.” With a glance to Xavier’s arm, he added, “There’s a first-aid kit in the bathroom.”

Xavier gave a curt, thankful nod, and you offered Jeremiah a smile. On your way up, you heard a loud yelp.

“What was that for?!” Isaiah yelled.

“For being a jerk!” Jeremiah countered. Their bickering voices grew quieter with each step up the stairs and faded completely once you closed the door behind you. 

The sudden silence was like a balm. It was the first quiet moment since this morning and your body finally released the knot of tension it had been holding.

When Xavier sat down onto the edge of the bed, the sleeve of his shirt soaked with blood, you eyed him concerned. “How’s your arm?”

“It hurts really bad,” he said in a feigned pitiful tone and patted the space next to him. “I think you need to come closer and have a look.”

You shot him an amused sidelong glance, not buying his act. Still, you couldn’t help but to smile at that and quickly retrieved the first-aid kit from the bathroom. Xavier watched you rummage through it before joining him on the bed. Although he clearly wasn’t in any pain, you humoured him and began to carefully clean the wound. It wasn’t deep, just a minor graze.

As you tightly wrapped the bandage around his biceps, he pretended to wince. “Shouldn’t you handle a wounded person more gentle?”

“I don’t think you particularly want gentle,” you remarked with a sly smirk, and tied the bandage together. “Here, all done.”

“Thank you.” Xavier looked at his arm and then at you, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “How can I possibly show you my gratitude?”

Heat crept up your neck at the way he was observing you. Tilting your head, you challenged with a low voice, “I’m sure you can think of something.”

Returning your smile, Xavier leaned closer, and meeting him halfway, your lips touched in a soft kiss. His hand came up to cup your cheek as he sighed into your mouth and pulled you even closer. The unhurried movements of his lips against yours made you melt into his arms, surrendering to his warmth and comforting familiarity. His other hand travelled from your waist down to your thigh with deliberate intent, and his tongue boldly demanded entrance into your mouth.

Even though you didn’t want this to stop, a sudden desire to mess with him ignited within you. You gently pushed him away, a knowing grin on your face as you watched his reaction. “You should rest since your wound hurts ‘really bad’.”

Noticing his mistake, Xavier put on an innocent face, his lower lip jutting out in a disarmingly cute pout. “I’m feeling much better already. Probably because you took so good care of me,” he murmured and leaned down again, but your hand on his chest kept him from coming closer, a gentle barrier that held him at arms length.

“Nice try,” you chuckled. Tonight, you wouldn’t fall into one of his traps, no matter how alluring and irresistible they might be. Both of your agencies were hot on your heels. You must act before they find you.

“We should make a plan.”

-

Xavier had parked the car near the venue. The moon was out, providing you a little light through the windshield as you sat in darkness. You stayed seated, double-checking if each of your weapons was loaded and secured in your holsters.

“Sooo, how many?” you asked conversationally. Xavier briefly glanced at you while he attached the silencer to his handgun. The suit he was wearing created sharp angles which accentuated his lean, muscular form. “Alright, I’ll start. Somewhere around 80, maybe 90 if you count non-targets.”

You didn’t miss the small smile that tugged at a corner of his mouth. Alright, so he had more kills under his belt. He probably had been working longer than you in this type of job. It was natural that he would—

“214,” he answered without looking up. To say you were shocked was an understatement. Eyes wide, you almost dropped the throwing knife you were about to attach to your thigh beneath your dress. “237 if you count non-targets.”

You blinked, then cleared your throat. “Oh.”

“Are you impressed or concerned?” Xavier asked after noticing your astonishment.

I think I’m aroused. “Just surprised.”

At last, you slipped on the masks you had bought for the event, matching your black formal attire. Then, Xavier drove up to the gate and showed the guard your invitation. When the gate was opened, you followed the winding driveway, and parked besides an alignment of similar sports cars.

As Xavier offered you his arm with a smile and guided you to the entrance, your eyes scanned the other guests, and located the patrolling guards and the security cameras along the perimeter.

According to Jeremiah, the target was being held hostage on the highest floor of the villa, an area off-limits to the public. Security was tight. However, the masquerade ball provided the perfect cover, allowing you to blend in with the crowd as you made your way through the halls. Disguised as a charity event, it was intended to be the best location for striking nefarious business deals and networking with your fellow local gang leaders.

When you entered the main ballroom, you were greeted by classical music played by a live band in one corner, accompanied by dancing and chatting guests adorned with an assortment of different kinds of masks. As your gaze swept across the crowd, a flash of white caught your attention.

Was that…your neighbour? His unmistakable white hair and crimson eyes would have been enough to recognise him, but he didn’t bother with a mask, clearly unconcerned over his own safety.

You tapped Xavier’s arm, but his eyes were fixed elsewhere. The host had entered the room and on his person he had the key to the upper floors. It was time for phase one of your plan.

After reaching for a glass of champagne from the tray carried by a waiter passing by, you freed your arm from under Xavier’s, and with slow, confident steps, moved towards the host, the sound of your heels echoing languidly over the wooden flooring.

Even as other guests as well as guards encircled him, you had no problem joining the group and sliding into their conversation with ease.

As you spoke, deliberately sending glances through your eyelashes, and exchanged one or two carefully chosen flirtatious words, you felt the heat of Xavier’s burning stare at the back of your head. You knew he disapproved of this part of the plan, yet you would be lying to yourself if you didn’t enjoy his jealousy a little bit. For two years, you’d believed him to have mentally moved on from you, convinced he no longer found you attractive. It was satisfying to watch him so clearly affected by another man’s proximity to you.

During your chat, you stopped mid-sentence, pretending to catch your mask. “Oh, I’m afraid my mask is slipping,” you said, your voice carefully neutral. “Could you hold my glass for a moment, please?”

“Of course.” The host politely accepted your glass, his eyes travelling down your form in open interest. It made you slightly uncomfortable, but as long as he was distracted, it didn’t matter.

You fiddled with the strings of your mask before you took it back, mindful of touching only the slender stem, and flashed him a grateful smile.

“May I have this dance?” The sudden, familiar soft-spoken voice beside you startled you. Xavier wasn’t supposed to approach. He had positioned himself between you and the host, his eyes fixed firmly on you, as if the other man didn’t exist.

“What are you doing?” you whispered once you were out of earshot. Xavier discreetly scanned the fingerprint on the glass with his watch and then placed it on one of the sidetables. He guided you to the dance floor before settling into a gentle sway to the music.

“Am I not allowed to dance with my wife?” There was an intensity behind his words, his grip on your waist and hand tight, betraying his feigned nonchalance.

Shaking your head, you couldn’t suppress your smile. Yes, you enjoyed his jealousy immensely. “You’re ridiculous.”

As you two danced, you couldn’t help but stare into his blue, twinkling eyes framed by his winged mask. They regarded you with matching longing and an unspoken need that had your heartbeat pick up its pace.

“You’re mine,” Xavier breathed, holding up his hand with the wedding ring. “Not just tonight, but every single day you belong to me.” His face was close enough that his warm breath fanned across your already heated cheeks. “And I want everyone here to know that.”

His hand reached up to spin you in an elegant twist before pressing you flush against him. Trying to keep a clear head, you focused back on your plan. “We have the biometric key. It’s time we go up.”

“All in due time.” One corner of his mouth lifted and as if on cue, the music switched its rhythm. Xavier glanced at the band, then to you. Without saying a word, he changed your stance to fit the new dance. A tango.

Despite him enjoying showing off with you and your obvious close relationship as he let his lips brush against your neck or his hand glide down lower than appropriate, he guided you closer to the other end of the ballroom, near the hallway leading to the stairwell.

“There’s a guard,” he informed you, dipping you low with one of his hands securely on your back while the other held up your leg. Looking backwards, you spotted one armed man in front of the stairs. With an abrupt movement, he lifted you back up, foreheads touching, and your leg suspended as his hand was still on your thigh.

“I have a knife,” you told him, and observed how his smirk grew wider. Without breaking eye contact, his hand trailed higher and beneath the slit of your dress. Your  breath hitched as his touch ignited a sudden desire and caused your thoughts to drift to the other night. He removed the knife from its sheath, then, in one fluid movement, twirled you while using the momentum to flick his wrist and send the blade toward the guard. It found its mark in his throat, his gurgle drowned out by the music and loud chatter of the crowd.

“Nice throw,” you praised, and he flashed you a smile in response. After quickly hiding the guard beneath the staircase, you made your way to the upper floor. Avoiding the patrolling guards, you reached the top of the stairs without being detected.

“The room he’s in is the last one down the third hallway to the right.” Jeremiah’s voice crackled through the comms channel.

“I’m still convinced you should just shoot her and get it over with,” Isaiah chimed in. “That would save us a great deal of trouble.”

You chuckled, unfazed by Isaiah’s obvious dislike towards you. “Do you value his opinion?” you asked Xavier amused, already knowing the answer.

“No,” Xavier shrugged, poking his head around the corner and keeping an eye out for security.

“I heard that!”

“Good.”

Two guards suddenly appeared up ahead and, before you knew what happened, Xavier had pulled you into what appeared to be a guest bedroom and hid both of you inside a closet. Their footsteps outside stopped for a moment and then retreated. You let out a relieved breath.

“We should wait here until the guards change shifts,” Xavier said and checked his watch. Jeremiah had managed to discover the layout of the villa’s security precautions, including blind spots of their security cameras and when the guard’s shift changes took place.

The two of you were pressed against each other due to the cramped space inside the closet. You enjoyed being this close to him, especially after your rather charged dance mere moments ago. But what you liked even more was feeling just how much he seemed to like it.

You shot him a teasing look, watching how his expression changed as one of your hands lazily trailed up his thigh. Xavier’s arm wrapped around your waist as he gazed into your eyes with a sharp focus.

He checked his watch again. “We have ten minutes.”

“I know you’re fast, but I doubt you’re that fast,” you chuckled and immediately regretted saying that.

His eyes flashed with something dangerous as he cocked his head. You shouldn’t have doubted him. Xavier would always accept a challenge.

His nose trailed up your neck to the shell of your ear, the slight touch already making you shiver in anticipation. As one hand steadied you on your hip, the other parted the fabric of your dress. Once you felt his calloused fingers on the bare skin of your thigh, you drew in a shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut.

“Eight minutes,” you murmured, not able to hide the grin.

Xavier huffed, leaning back to sternly look down at you with half-lidded eyes. “Where’s that attitude coming from?” 

Your hips involuntarily chased his hand as you desperately needed him to touch you, but he held you in place.

“I see.” A smug expression came onto his face, his fingers gently caressing your cheek. “Don’t worry, my star. I’ll take good care of you.”

Then, with a fluid motion, he slid his hands between your legs and pushed your underwear to the side. When he began to circle your clit with just the right amount of pressure and pace he knew made you weak, a moan got stuck in your throat.

“And I’ll fix your attitude while I’m at it,” he rasped and one finger pushed inside your heat, followed by a groan when he felt how wet you already were. He added the second finger right away and set a slow, agonising rhythm while his thumb kept circling your sensitive bundle of nerves. You clawed at his shoulders, trying to hold yourself up as your legs trembled. You wanted more, your hips meeting his fingers, searching for a faster rhythm.

“Xavie,” you mewled, but he only chuckled.

“I haven’t heard you beg for it yet.”

You thought you would struggle with submitting yourself to him after such a long intimate pause between you, but the pleas came naturally over your lips. “Please, please, please, Xavie, do it harder.”

Satisfied with your request, he pumped his fingers in and out of you faster and harder, his other arm supporting your weight as you buried your face into his neck, biting down to muffle your moans and cries of pleasure.

Your orgasm was embarrassingly fast approaching. For a moment, your mind cleared enough to consider trying to delay your release in order to make him lose your little challenge. However, you wanted to come so badly that you immediately dismissed the thought.

When he reached that sensitive spot inside repeatedly, it finally snapped. Your body surged forward from the force of your orgasm as you gripped Xavier’s suit jacket tightly and bit the soft skin of his neck even harder, silencing your gasp as best as you could.

While you came down from your high, catching your breath and trembling from the aftershocks, he locked eyes with you and licked his fingers clean in an unhurried manner, making you clench around nothing at the sight.

“Thirty seconds,” Jeremiah’s voice brought you both back to reality.

You rolled your eyes at Xavier’s obvious self-satisfied smirk and straightened your clothes. He had a bite mark on his neck from your attempts to stay quiet, and you were a little proud that you managed to leave a mark on him this time too.

Outside in the hallway, Xavier entered the host’s biometric key into the control panel using his watch, allowing you access to the restricted part of the villa. Another corridor opened before you. 

Two guards emerged from the corner and once they spotted you, raised their weapons. Instead of slowing down, you rushed forward, kicked the weapon from the left guard’s hand and delivered two precise punches to his jaw. Grabbing his head, you smashed it against the wall. He collapsed to the ground next to his colleague, who was already unconscious after Xavier had knocked him out.

After you took care of the third pair of patrolling guards, you followed Jeremiah’s instructions from earlier and found the room where the target was being held. From inside, you heard voices as you pressed your ears against the wood.

“Do you mind switching the channel? If I have to watch the same cartoon one more time, I hurl myself out the window,” a voice complained. No one answered him, so it was hard to say how many people were inside.

A quick nod passed between you and Xavier before you pushed open the door and charged into the room, guns drawn. At the far end, a man with purple hair was bound to a chair, limbs leisurely sprawled out. Completely unfazed by your arrival, two men wearing identical masks sat seemingly bored in front of the TV, watching cartoons. They didn’t even stand up.

“Take him,” one of them said and motioned with his head behind him. Confused, you blinked a couple of times. Then you spotted them, the actual guards, tied up and gagged in a corner.

“Yes, please do. He’s been complaining about everything for the past hour,” the other one added, their gazes trained on the TV.

Seeing that Xavier shared your irritation, you both raised an eyebrow. With a mutual shrug, you approached the target, whose face lit up with eagerness at the prospect of being rescued. “Fiiinally, you know how long I’ve been waiting for someone to show up? Jelly fishes are walking naked, sea turtles climb trees, sharks are eating grass for free and—hmmpf!”

Xavier had put his hand over his mouth to shut him up and looked at you questioningly. “That was easier than expected.”

“What now?”

Your gazes switched to the purpled-haired man who was struggling against Xavier’s unyielding grip. The moment Xavier withdrew his hand, he was talking again, but you quickly interrupted him. “Why are our agencies after you?”

“Long story, I suggest you wait for the movie,” he quipped. The slap came out of nowhere, not just for him but for Xavier too. Surprised, both blinked at you. 

You shrugged. “We don’t have all day.”

“I admire your initiative,” Xavier smiled.

You giggled and the man in front of you rolled his eyes. With cheeks heating up, you cleared your throat. “Where were we?”

“The part where you let me go.” His eyes suddenly widened at the blade in Xavier’s hands. “Woah! Alright! Wait, I’ll tell you everything!”

Now, it was your turn to look startled. You didn’t expect Xavier to torture someone. But then he did kill over 230 people…

“My name’s Rafayel. I actually work for the Philo Agency. They found out you guys were married, and since they didn’t particularly like two assassins from different agencies possibly sharing confidential intel, they planned to get rid of you. You were supposed to kill each other during your mission. I was just bait.”

Xavier looked down at his knife, then back at Rafayel. “I actually just wanted to untie you.”

Rafayel looked like he was close to complaining some more, so you grabbed Xavier’s arm and stepped a few meters away. “What now? When they planned to get rid of us right from the start, there’s nothing we can do.”

“We’ll figure it out once we get out of here.” Xavier took your hand in his, his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand in a calming gesture that eased your nerves.

“Jeremiah might be right.” Your voice was laced with sadness. “We should part ways, so we have a higher chance at survival.” You didn’t want to leave him, but if that was the only way he could escape and find safety, then you would.

“Once we run, we’ll run for the rest of our lives. Besides,” Xavier responded and held up your joint hands with the wedding rings. “I made a vow. I’m not going back on my word.”

“But—”

“Right now I have you,” he cut you off, squeezing your hand for emphasis. The intensity in his eyes made your heart swell. “And I’ll never let go.”

You swallowed the emotions bubbling up, and nodded.

“If he’s really just bait, then agents from both our agencies will be here soon,” Xavier continued, and as if on cue, several heavy footsteps came rushing closer.

Glancing at the hallway, you exhaled. “You really had to jinx it…”

As you readied your guns and sought cover, you noticed the identically masked guys switching off the TV and rising from the sofa. They had shown no interest in involving themselves in your business the entire time you had questioned Rafayel, but now, with armed agents storming the room, they joined the fray. At that point, you didn’t question it and accepted their assistance in eliminating the waves of attackers.

With a quick roll behind the purple-haired man’s chair, you swiftly reloaded as bullets flew past and, while using his body for cover, shot at the chest of someone attempting to sneak up on Xavier.

Rafayel snorted indignantly. “I’m not a meat shield!”

Ignoring him, you moved on to the next one. You underestimate the speed of your opponent and when your gun was knocked out of your hand, you reached for the man’s arm and flung him over your shoulder onto the floor. A fist connected with your face as another agent materialised beside you. Your lip split open, a thin stream of blood trickling down to your chin.

Just as you prepared to strike back, a dagger pierced the agent’s throat. He collapsed and revealed one of the masked men lurking behind him. He offered a playful salute, which you answered with a grin.

Your unknown accomplices turned out to be great at close combat. With their help, you were able to quickly take care of the incoming agents. After the last wave was reduced to a pile of limbs on the ground, you caught your breath. Xavier was by your side in an instant, cradling your cheek and checking your injuries. 

One of the masked men waved you over to him and pointed to a hidden door at the back of the room. “Let’s get you out of here.” 

Xavier’s hand reassuringly laid on your lower back, and together you followed the two out of the building.

“Heeey! Are you just gonna leave me here?!” Rafayel shouted after you, but no one from your group heeded him any mind and ignored his incessant shoutings until his voice was nothing but a faint echo in the background.

As you navigated the labyrinth of hallways, you quickly reached the backdoor. Outside, the chilly nightly breeze ruffled the fabric of your dress, but since you were still running hot from the fight, the heat fuelled by adrenalin pumping through your veins, you welcomed the cooling air.

Surprised to find yourself facing none other than your neighbour, you came to a stop. “Mr. Li,” you blurted out.

“Mr. and Mrs. Shen, good to see you in good health and with all your limbs still attached,” Mr. Li greeted, a casual smirk on his lips. He leaned against the railing of the terrace, clearly waiting for your arrival. His white hair was slightly tousled by the wind, but other than that, he looked like he fit right into this place with his tailored suit and dangerous ruby eyes.

“Here.” With one hand, Xavier caught whatever he tossed into the air with ease. Opening his palm, you were presented with a key. “There’s a car at the other end of the property. It’s fuelled and should be enough to get you out of town.”

When the masked men positioned themselves next to Mr. Li, everything clicked into place. “Why are you helping us?” you asked. Your neighbourly relationship never went beyond polite greetings and the occasional package exchange when one of you had accepted one on behalf of the other.

“Take it as a thank you for keeping my…occupation a secret.” A sly smile curved his lips as he looked each of you in the eyes. “And as an apology for my son’s behaviour,” he added, his smile fading. Ah, so he must have found Caleb’s secret stash of your underwear. Xavier threw you a questioning look, but you waved him off.

“However, I still expect a check for my stolen car.” With that, Mr. Li turned on his heel, waved goodbye, and returned to the party as if nothing had happened. His two henchmen snickered and vanished into the darkness of the surrounding garden.

Processing what just happened, you stared at the spot your neighbour had been standing a moment ago. Huh, what a night.

“Do you want to go get hot pot?” Xavier’s blue eyes twinkled brightly, mirroring the stars above as he gazed down at you and intertwined your fingers together. 

You chuckled, wiping the blood off your lip with the back of your other hand. “Sure.”

Glancing at your joint palms, a warm feeling spread through you. From now on, whenever you extended a hand, your distant star would always be within reach.

You sigh, “Phainon.”

He doesn’t budge from his hold on you. His arms—that were solid, and biceps ( that you were pretty sure was tailormade for you because of how squishy they were )—engulf your very being in the bed. It’s not like you’re complaining, you are exactly where you want to be.

But sometimes Phainon just underestimates his weight.

“Please? Can you stay?”

You feel your cheeks heat up—you absolutely cannot believe this man. This beefy, huge man who seriously towers over you every time you’re together, pulling off the wounded puppy look. 

Seriously, how did you bag him? Even your cousins and aunts are baffled. A guy like him, who’s just the biggest definition of every parents’ dream son, besotted over you. Even your best friends asked what your manifestation rituals were.

But the unforgettable thing about all of this was that your mom made sure that you wouldn’t go back on your word. You promised her that under no circumstances will you be letting this man go.

And it’s as if you have a plan to do so! Like Phainon, you want him badly as well.

Unfortunately, he grows upset at your lack of response—since you were too busy reminiscing about the course of events after you disclosed that you were dating Aedes Elysiae’s pride and joy. The man squeezes your waist a little, and calls for your name. “Stay.” He blinks wistfully. “Please?”

You almost choke. You’re starting to believe Cipher’s words: you really do have Phainon wrapped around your finger no matter what you say. You just think that Phainon is like this because it’s what boyfriends do, but, but—

“Hate to break it to you, but there’s a reason why women prefer the chalant types instead of the nonchalants.”

Gods. Phainon. He’s ridiculous. He’s ridiculous! And you’re ridiculous! Why are you not answering him yet?!

“A-alright,” you stammer, and you watch how he beams. You hold your breath when your massive imagination procures an image: your wonderful boyfriend Phainon, with perky ears and a wagging tail.

What the fuck. 

This is Mydei’s fault. He shouldn’t have said that Phainon acts like a dog sometimes. But in Mydei’s words, he called Phainon a rabid hound. Or whatever that means. You still don’t understand why Mydei’s tone resembled a warning. How can Phainon be a rabid hound? He’s often putty when you’re around. Like a golden retriever puppy with separation anxiety. So it really doesn’t make sense.

“I’ll stay, I’ll stay.” You give him a small grin. “Wouldn’t want you to spam our DMs, would I?”

He presses closer with a pout—your breaths intermingling. The proximity causes a stir in your stomach, and you swallow when his bigger hand touches your stomach. 

Phainon’s hand. It’s big. And it’s hot. Does he know he exists?

“Well, you like me spamming our DMs, right?” His nose nuzzles yours, and you automatically close your eyes. 

Being under Phainon’s gaze—you really have to get used to it, truly. You feel like your heart’s about to explode from his undivided attention. Seriously, how?

How did you get him? What have you done? 

He calls your name again. “. . . It’s okay, right? You—you don’t mind it.”

You don’t answer.

Not yet at least, when you’re way too embarrassed on the inside.

Phainon’s smell. Phainon’s voice. Phainon’s arms. Phainon’s hand. Phainon’s face. You probably died and you’ve gone to heaven. After doomscrolling and immersing yourself with various AstralToks and PenaconyTube reels, you’ve somehow passed on and made it to the end of the light, white tunnel.

You can’t believe being surrounded by everything Phainon is the mystery that humans are trying to solve.

What does heaven really look like? 

Well, the answer’s spectacular.

Phainon.

Phainon.

It’s all Phainon.

Phainon buries his face on your neck, and you feel the goosebumps. Your face steams hotter from the touch, and you are trying not to combust on the spot as you envision the bridge of his nose grazing and his lips lightly pecking your skin.

Oh, gods.

“I will stop if you want to.” 

Don’t stop. 

“. . . If you need me to.”

Just like that, you’re pulled out of your reverie.

Everything comes into a halt. The comedians in your head, the gossipers, the podcasters, or whatever you’d like to call it, have gone quiet.

And it’s all because Phainon’s voice wavered.

“Phainon?” 

Does he feel like he’s a bother? No, no! That’s not quite it. He’s got it all wrong! You were just so—so, ugh, you’re so stupid. If you just focused on the present, this wouldn’t happen! You can already imagine Professor Anaxagoras’ narrowed eyes. 

You shake your head. No time for that!

So you focus on the matter at hand. You’ve got this. Though you may be silly at times, you know Phainon. You know him very well, in fact, that you are proud that you’re probably the only person in the world who knows how to take care of him.

Like clockwork, your body moves on its own. Your heart takes the reign, and the bed shifts from your movements. The downcasted gaze coming from him is lifted up when you gently cup his cheeks. His furrowed brows make your chest ache.

There may be days where you tease Phainon and you get a spectacular view of him scrunching his eyebrows, but your soul genuinely wishes that he smiles everyday. 

“I don’t mind it,” you admit, and the side of your lip twitches in fondness and amusement. “I just—well, um—“

You gonna be honest now? So be it. 

“—I find it fascinating that you have so much to tell me, and uh—“ you suck at this. Yes, you know how to take care of Phainon but you’re still not used to looking him straight in the eye. It’s unfair how he’s so dreamy, even up close. The Titans, heck, or even Aeons, gave him so many buffs. “—have so many reels to send me.”

( Sculpted like a mighty hero is one thing they made sure everyone will see. But this mighty hero is only for your eyes to see. )

“I love you,” he says in earnest, and your heart pounds. He says it so easily, and you gulp again. He leans to your right palm, and his other hand cradles it. “That’s why I have so much to tell you. And so many reels to send to you.”

And those reels involve adorable dogs merely spinning around. Engagement farm clips with ‘send this to your favorite person ever’ captions. Heck, even shitposts or the dumbest jokes from this generation are added into the mix.

( But it’s not just reels, you hear? You recall the time Phainon sent you links from the World Wound Web whenever you’re out for an errand. Lovely articles that benefit you so, or that he finds intriguing. Like Love Letters for the People Who Are Too Hard on Themselves, and even something philosophical—Reflections in the Golden Wheat Fields. 

It always sparks meaningful conversations with him, and you wouldn’t want any other way. )

“Aaand I, you,” you laugh, and Phainon pouts. If you’re crazy, you probably have an estimated number of Phainon’s pouts until today. Then, combined with your feelings from earlier, and regarding Phainon’s excessive loads of messages, you say, “I’m sorry I can’t keep up with you sometimes, love.”

“Honey,” he grumbles, and your heart performs somersaults. You like it when he calls you that. Honey. Like you’re something sweet, when he’s obviously sweeter. “Say it back.”

You gape at him. He’s more upset at the fact that you didn’t return his I love you. Perhaps he has already forgiven you with your lack of reels. “What?”

He huffs, in mock offense, and you wish you can take a picture of this endearing expression forever. You cherish Phainon being all huffy. You cherish everything about him. “Say that you love me back. In full.”

And, well. Who are you to deny his desire? Or what he wants? Or what he needs? 

Before you can control it, a warm, tender smile makes its way on your features. ( You fail to notice the effect this has on Phainon, because his eyes go wide. )

Leaning closer, you whisper, “I love you, Phainon.” Like it’s something sacred.

There it is.

Pure delight. Admiration. Love.

You assume that Phainon got what he wanted, but then he closes his eyes. Leans his face, too. 

And anticipates.

You snicker. You really don’t know how you got Phainon to love you back, but you’re glad that he did. 

You offering your heart to him back then, it’s enough for him to be the happiest man in the world. ( His words, not yours. )

Careful, you shorten the distance, and quietly brush your lips against his, still a bit timid. Shy. Testing the waters. But Phainon tonight is everything but. 

He kisses you back with an enthusiasm that there’s a smack of lips.

For a few seconds, your lips remain interlocked. You listen to Phainon’s breathing, to Phainon’s small content moans. You feel like you’re melting, but as always, Phainon’s got you. When did he even steady you? When were your chest pressed against one another, and when did you wrap your arms around his neck?

You instantly pull away after this realization. Phainon, who was into the moment, whines, very much unsatisfied that the session was interrupted. “Honey. . .”

Be still, your heart. Flustered, you ask, “D–do you like k–kissing me so much?” 

“Yes,” Though dazed, he answers, with no hesitation.

Ah, there goes your heart, really. You are weak. You’ve already done something similar before! You’ve seen him without clothes. And you’ve been underneath him during a long night. Kissing is normal for couples, so why are you still glowing in embarrassment?

Again, how did you bag Phainon?

Like a volcano, steam releases from your ears. You have to calm down. Not right now. 

Not—

Apprehensiveness appears before you when it takes you another moment to reply, and out of instinct, you snap back to reality. One of your hands caresses his smooth, supple cheek to soothe his nerves.

Despite thoroughly mortified, you reach out, “Phai—“

“Is it okay? If—if we kiss again?”

An arrow strikes onto your back.

( You’ll never forgive the person who had him first. )

“Of course,” You nod, and you smile wider when there’s profound relief blooming on his face. Though you’re caught up in your own overwhelming feelings, Phainon is important, first and foremost. “Of course we can.”

Time has already passed. It’s been a year since you both have gotten together. There are still many things to be experienced. To be discovered. To be explored.

And yet despite it all, you’re committed to fulfill one goal.

To make Phainon feel so loved.

You hope you’re doing a great job so far. You hope you do. 

Pasts are yet to be uncovered. Secrets. Unspoken feelings. True, they may be painful. But it’s a journey you’re willing to take regardless.

You’ll reassure Phainon no matter how many times it takes. You’ll kiss him lots. Hug him lots. Hold his hand lots. Send him more reels. Articles. Do the cheesy stuff he has wanted ever since.

And you’re going to have fun. He’s going to have fun. Cyrene did say that this would be a romance story like none that has come before.

There will be trials and tribulations.

But you’ll remain headstrong.

Because you love Phainon, foolishly so. You really do.

So you want him to feel what he’s been missing out on.

But first—

“Can I have one more kiss, honey? Please?”

You have to survive this. 

“W-w-wait, let me breathe first—“

“Haha, you are so red, honey. You can’t keep up, huh?”

notes: my first phaicham debut !!! i’m a thrillseeker here. havent even finished amphoreus yet here i am. cannot shut up about phaicham in corporate hours so here. for phainon nation i hope he’s in character and if he's not once i finish amphoreus.... yeah. ok HFJKDFHD

anw i’d like to dedicate this to my amazing besties. rhen, who witnessed my first phainon unbecoming. of course to jules for her patience w/ beta-ing, and to pine, for receiving all my phaicham hcs in RANDOM hours of the day ( LOL )

well since this is a pilot i will be continuing if theres a popular demand. like how tv shows and studios/channels/franchises work, and if my schedule will allow it JKHFJFD i lobe phainom #imbusyasf it's no joke i swear after my meeting finished i immediately went running to my google docs PLSSS so no guarantee when im also taking a break from writing !!!

if i do continue this it's gonna be so messy jfhgfhjf poor phaicham :((