That One Chick

Husband Sylus Is Intensely Devoted

Sylus does not treat marriage casually.

To him, you are not simply:

his partner

his lover

his spouse

You are his person.

Permanent. Chosen. Kept close with terrifying certainty.

The ring on your finger means something profound to him.

You belong together now.

Completely.

He Calls You “Wife” as a Statement

Not teasing.

Not soft.

Certain.

“My wife.”

And somehow those two words sound possessive, protective, and loving all at once when he says them.

Especially in front of other people.

Especially when someone is staring too long.

He Gives You Everything

You mention liking something once?

It appears.

Immediately.

Examples:

jewellery

clothes

books

cars

flowers

entire vacations

You: “Sylus, I do not need all this.”

Him: “I know.”

That does not stop him.

He Learns Your Preferences With Scary Precision

Sylus notices everything.

your favourite wine

how warm you like the room

what foods you crave when upset

which side of the bed you sleep on

the exact look you get before asking for something

Eventually you stop questioning how he already knows.

He Is Extremely Protective

Not overbearing.

But absolute.

If he thinks something threatens you?

The atmosphere changes instantly.

His calm becomes sharp. Cold. Terrifying.

And afterward?

He checks on you first.

Always.

Domestic Sylus Is Softer Than Anyone Expects

Outside the home:

intimidating

controlled

unreadable

At home with you?

Different man entirely.

Still composed, yes.

But:

quieter

warmer

touchier than expected

You get the version of him no one else earns.

He Loves Physical Possession

Not ownership in a toxic way.

More like constant reassurance that you are there.

hand on your waist

fingers around your wrist

pulling you into his lap

resting his chin on your shoulder

He likes keeping you close.

Instinctively.

Husband Sylus Is Secretly Very Indulgent

Especially with you.

You mention wanting something? Done.

You are tired? Plans cancelled.

You cannot sleep? He stays awake with you.

This terrifying man folds for you constantly.

He just hides it well from everyone else.

Sleeping Beside Him

Warm.

Dangerously comfortable.

Sylus sleeps lighter than people think, so:

he notices when you move

wakes if you seem distressed

automatically reaches for you in his sleep

And if you are cold?

Without waking fully, he pulls you closer.

Like instinct.

Jealous Husband Sylus

Oh.

This is where the possessiveness becomes obvious.

Still controlled. Still calm.

Which honestly makes it worse.

If someone flirts with you:

his hand settles on your waist

his gaze sharpens

his voice lowers

“This is my wife.”

Simple.

Final.

Terrifyingly effective.

He Loves Spoiling You

Not because he thinks you need it.

Because giving to you makes him happy.

He enjoys:

expensive gifts

luxury experiences

beautiful things that remind him of you

But the most dangerous part?

He pays attention to emotional gifts too.

The things that matter.

He Is Deeply Touch-Starved

Sylus acts composed, but once married?

You realise how much he craves your affection.

Especially quiet affection.

your fingers in his hair

forehead kisses

laying against him silently

your hand reaching for his automatically

He relaxes immediately when touched by you.

Arguments With Husband Sylus

Controlled. Cold at first.

Not cruel.

Never cruel to you.

But distant.

And that distance hurts far more than shouting would.

However: Sylus cannot stand unresolved tension between you.

Eventually he appears beside you quietly and says something like:

“Come here.”

And somehow it becomes impossible to stay angry.

He Is Softest Late at Night

Night changes him.

Especially when it is just the two of you.

He becomes:

quieter

more honest

more willing to linger

Late-night conversations with husband Sylus feel dangerously intimate.

Like touching parts of him no one else ever sees.

Underneath Everything…

Sylus loves with permanence.

Ancient devotion. Fierce protection. Absolute loyalty.

Marriage with him feels like:

being treasured

being protected

being desired and understood all at once

The kind of love that says:

I chose you in every lifetime. Of course I would choose you again.

Overall Husband Sylus Energy

expensive gifts paired with quiet intimacy

protective hands at your waist

low murmured praise

late-night vulnerability

“stay close to me”

dangerous man, soft only for you

Day One – The Silence

The apartment is too quiet. Too hollow. The kind of silence that isn’t empty, but suffocating—thick with the weight of something unspoken, something unfinished.

Xavier doesn’t message you.

Not in the morning. Not in the afternoon. Not even at night, when the absence of his voice becomes unbearable, pressing down on your chest like a phantom weight.

You tell yourself it’s fine. That this is what you wanted. That he deserved it.

And yet, every time you reach for your phone—every time your fingers hover over the screen, itching to type something—anything—you stop.

Because if you start, you might not be able to stop.

And if you see his name flash across the screen, if you hear his voice—cold, restrained, the way it was when he told you to ask him again in six days—you might break.

And you refuse to be the first to break.

You told yourself you wouldn't do this.

Wouldn't pace the apartment, wouldn't reach for the door only to stop before your fingers brush the handle, wouldn't let yourself hover by the window as if expecting to see him below, walking with that same unshakable stride, hands in his pockets, the night folding around him like a living shadow.

You bite the inside of your cheek and turn away. This is ridiculous.

But it doesn’t stop your mind from unraveling the last time you saw him, the words that still sit on your skin like a bruise, aching, pulsing.

Two Weeks Ago

"You did it again."

Your voice was tight, measured, but it carried that dangerous edge, the one that meant you weren’t just angry—you were done.

Xavier stood in the doorway, his coat draped loosely over his shoulders, blood darkening the sleeve where it stuck to his arm. His own.

And yet, his expression remained unchanged.

"I handled it."

Effortless. Dismissive. As if bleeding out in the doorway wasn’t a cause for concern.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. "You went into the No-Hunt Zone alone."

He exhaled slowly, unbothered, unconcerned. "Yes."

You wanted to shake him. Wanted to rip through that maddening, unflinching calm that always seemed to turn every argument into a chess match—where he never lost control, never let emotion slip past the surface.

"You promised," you said, quieter now, not because the anger had left, but because it was worse—quieter meant sharper, meant it was sinking in.

His gaze flickered. Not quite hesitation, but something close. Something annoyingly unreadable.

"I never promised," he corrected. "I said I’d be careful."

"You almost died last time," you snapped. "Or did you forget?"

A slow blink. "I don’t forget anything."

The weight of that truth settled like ice in your stomach.

"Then remember this." Your voice wavered just slightly. "You’re not immortal, Xavier."

His lips twitched, a fraction of amusement in the gesture. "Debatable."

You took a step forward. "You think longevity makes you untouchable?"

"I think," he said, tilting his head slightly, "that I’ve survived worse."

You stared at him. At the blood drying against his skin. At the way he stood so still, so effortlessly unaffected.

And that’s when you understood.

He had already made peace with his own death. And he expected you to do the same.

The thought made something break inside you.

"You want me to be a widow before I even get to be a wife?"

It came out before you could stop it, before you could think.

A flicker of something crossed his face—not shock, not emotion, but stillness. A brief, split-second pause.

And then, he shut it down.

"You’re being dramatic."

You stepped back as if struck. You didn’t realize your hands were shaking until you curled them into fists.

And then you laughed—soft, hollow, bitter. "You’re unbelievable."

"I’m realistic," he corrected.

That was when you left. You turned on your heel and walked out, before the frustration, the helplessness, the aching, consuming anger could drag you under.

And he let you go.

***

Now, you’re the one left behind.

You should have told him then. Told him how much it terrified you, the thought of coming back one day only to find his body on a slab, cold, lifeless, just another statistic in the war against Wanderers.

But you didn’t. Instead, you left. And now you’re here.

Alone.

Your phone is still on the table.

You stare at it for too long, the words forming and dissolving in your mind. You should write to him. It’s always been easier to write than to say it out loud. Because words—especially the ones that matter—come with too much weight, too much risk of cracking, of unraveling.

You start to type.

📱 You: Xav, I—

Your fingers freeze. You stare at the unfinished message for too long.

Then you delete it.

You sigh, rubbing your hands over your face, trying to chase away the exhaustion clawing at your mind.

At some point, you fall onto the couch, curling into yourself. The hoodie is still wrapped around you, the fabric worn and familiar, carrying the last traces of him.

Your eyelids feel heavy. Just for a moment, you close them.

A sharp vibration against the glass table jolts you awake. For a brief, heart-stopping second, you think it’s him.

Your fingers scramble for the phone, your pulse hammering, already too desperate for his name to appear on the screen.

Instead—

A message from a random, meaningless system notification.

You let out a slow breath. Your hands are shaking.

Because you had been waiting for him. Because some part of you still hoped.

You curl deeper into the hoodie, pressing your face into the fabric. And finally—you let yourself admit that you miss him too much.

Day Two – What Remains

The knock is barely there. So soft, so hesitant, like a ghost of sound rather than something real.

For a fleeting second—your heart leaps.

You open the door. The hallway is empty.

A cold draft brushes against your skin, slipping under the fabric of his hoodie.

But there, at your feet—a small black bag.

You kneel. Fingers brush over the label.

Painkillers. Electrolyte supplements. Emergency field rations. The essentials.

Your phone vibrates.

📱 Xavier: Take these.

You stare at the message, breathing out slowly through your nose.

A moment. A hesitation. Then—you type.

📱 You: Didn’t realize you made house calls.

📱 Xavier: I don’t. But you looked like you were about to collapse.

The words sink in too fast. Too easily.

Because of course, he noticed. Because of course, he knew. Because even now—even after everything—he’s still watching.

Your grip tightens around the phone.

📱 You: So you’re keeping tabs on me now?

📱 Xavier: No need. I already know how reckless you are.

A pause.

Then—

📱 Xavier: Take the damn medicine.

You press your tongue against the raw sting of broken skin, the inside of your cheek already torn from the habit, fingers hovering over the screen.

You could ignore him. Could let the pills sit untouched, just to prove a point. Instead, you close your eyes. And swallow the first dose dry.

It’s not an apology. Not even close.

But it’s something.

And that’s why it hurts more.

***

The night stretches long and restless.

You wake in intervals—too hot, too cold, too aware of the ache in your chest that no amount of painkillers can dull.

Somewhere between sleep and waking, your fingers drift over the phone again.

You hesitate. Then type—

📱 You: You said six days.

A second passes. Another.

Then—

📱 Xavier: I did.

A breath catches in your throat.

He answered.

You don’t know why that surprises you. You don’t know why you expected silence.

📱 You: Then why are you here?

The response comes too quickly.

📱 Xavier: I’m not.

It shouldn’t sting.

It does.

***

Morning comes slow and suffocatingly heavy.

You don’t want to move. Don’t want to pull yourself from the warmth of the couch, the stale comfort of yesterday still clinging to the air.

But the world doesn’t stop just because your heart is cracked along the edges.

So you get up.

Force yourself into autopilot—shower, dress, coffee that you don’t even drink.

Your phone vibrates again.

📱 Xavier: Eat something real today.

You exhale sharply, tilting your head back against the kitchen counter.

Then—you type.

📱 You: Didn’t realize you were my dietitian now.

📱 Xavier: I’m not. But someone has to be.

Your jaw tightens.

📱 You: I’m fine, Xavier.

📱 Xavier: You’re lying, but okay.

The breath punches out of you before you even realize you’ve been holding it. Because he sees through you. He always does.

And you hate him for it.

You want to be angry. Want to tell him to back off. Want to remind him that he left first.

But instead—

📱 You: Did you eat?

A pause.

📱 Xavier: Of course.

You don’t believe him. But you let it go.

***

The day drags forward, sluggish and unforgiving.

By the time night falls again, you’ve checked your phone at least twenty times. You tell yourself it’s just habit.

It’s not.

You curl back into the couch, fingers ghosting over the hem of his hoodie, feeling the fabric twist between your hands.

You don’t know what you’re waiting for. 

You don’t want to know.

Day Three – Ghosts in the Rain

The rain is relentless.

It starts while you're still at work—a slow, heavy downpour that turns the streets into rivers, neon lights smearing across the wet pavement. You watch it for a moment through the glass, jaw tightening when you realize you left your umbrella at home.

Perfect.

By the time you finally step outside, the water is already pooling at your feet, seeping into your boots, soaking through the edges of your sleeves. You shove your hands deeper into your pockets, hunching your shoulders against the cold, and walk.

It isn’t far. Just a few blocks. Just enough time for the silence to creep in again.

Your phone stays still. Xavier doesn’t message you. You don’t message him.

You’re not even sure what you would say.

The air in the apartment is thick with dampness when you finally push open the door, shaking the water from your fingers. You toe off your boots, leaving a faint trail of wet footprints across the floor.

You reach for a towel—and stop.

Because there, just by the door, is a folded dry sweatshirt.

Not yours.

A white hoodie. 

His.

And next to it, a small, neatly sealed packet. Heat packs.

Your stomach twists.

Your hands tremble as you reach for your phone, wiping away the water still clinging to the screen.

📱 You: You’ve got to stop breaking into my apartment.

A pause.

Then—

📱 Xavier: I didn’t. But you always forget an umbrella when it rains.

You exhale sharply, pressing your tongue against the sting of broken skin inside your cheek.

📱 You: Right. You’re psychic now?

📱 Xavier: No. Just observant.

You hesitate, running your fingers over the fabric of the hoodie before pulling it over your head. It’s warm, slightly oversized, carrying the scent of him beneath the clean detergent—something golden, like sunlight caught in the fabric, soft and caramel-sweet at the edges, but beneath it, barely there, something sharper, something darker, like the last trace of dusk before night takes over. Unmistakably Xavier.

📱 You: You’re really committing to this whole passive-aggressive monitoring thing, huh?

📱 Xavier: Aggressive. There’s nothing passive about it.

The response is instant. Too quick. As if he’s been waiting.

Your chest tightens.

📱 You: And yet, for all your keen observation, you still don’t seem to notice when you do the exact same thing.

A longer pause this time.

📱 Xavier: Clarify.

You roll your eyes. Of course, he’s going to make you spell it out.

📱 You: No-Hunt Zone. 

📱 Xavier: That’s different.

📱 You: Oh? Because it’s you?

📱 Xavier: Because it was necessary.

You let out a bitter breath, pressing the phone against your forehead for a moment, closing your eyes.

📱 You: Right. That word again.

📱 You: I suppose me being gone was necessary too, then?

📱 Xavier: That was a choice.

📱 You: So was yours.

Another long pause.

For a second, you think that’s the end of it. That he’s not going to reply.

Then—

📱 Xavier: You’re still wet. Change before you get sick.

A sharp inhale.

📱 You: That’s all you have to say?

📱 Xavier: For now.

You stare at the screen.

For now.

It isn’t an admission. It isn’t anything close to forgiveness. But it’s not a dismissal, either.

It’s an opening. A crack in the wall.

You exhale, curl deeper into the hoodie, and let your eyes slip shut.

For the first time in days, the silence doesn’t feel quite as heavy.

Day Four – Running in Circles

You don’t sleep.

You try. You close your eyes, shift positions, breathe slow and deep, count the seconds, then minutes, then hours. But your mind refuses to settle. The silence is unbearable, pressing into your skin, sinking into your bones.

By the time the sky begins to pale, the city just beginning to stir beyond your window, you give up.

The clock reads 6:04 AM when you lace up your running shoes.

The air is sharp, crisp with the last bite of night still lingering in the wind. The streets are nearly empty, save for the occasional early commuter, their footsteps swallowed by the sound of your own—steady, rhythmic, a heartbeat against the pavement.

You push yourself hard. Harder than you should.

It’s reckless, this need to move, to exhaust your body so completely that your mind has no room left to think.

Because when you think, you remember.

You remember the way Xavier looked at you that night. How his voice never wavered, how he turned away before you could say anything at all.

"Ask me again in six days."

You push faster.

Your breath burns in your throat. The ache in your legs spreads, deep and insistent, but you don’t stop. You can’t.

You run until the edges of your vision blur.

Until the exhaustion feels like something you can hold, something real, something that drowns out the ache in your chest.

Until the smell of coffee pulls you to a stop.

You’re standing in front of the café before you even realize it.

Your fingers curl against your palms, your breath still uneven. The air inside is warm, rich with the scent of espresso, cinnamon, something familiar.

Habit. Instinct. A mistake.

But still—you go inside. Still—you stand at the counter, order without thinking. Still—you reach for the cup, staring down at the neat label printed on the side.

Cappuccino. No sugar. Just how he likes it.

Your fingers tighten around the cup. You don’t hesitate. You walk straight back to his apartment, jaw clenched, pulse hammering in your ears.

And without a second thought—you leave the cup by his door.

You don’t knock. You don’t wait. You just leave.

Your hands still tremble when you reach your own door. You exhale, rubbing at your face, trying to push down the erratic rhythm of your pulse.

Then—you see it.

A second cup. Sitting neatly on your doorstep.

Your breath catches.

Fingers shake as you reach down, pressing against the warmth of the cup, the familiar weight of it. The label stares back at you, bold and unmistakable.

Latte. Just how you like it. From the same café.

The realization slams into you like a fist to the ribs. You were thinking of him. He was thinking of you.

At the same damn time.

Something twists, raw and sharp, in your chest. Then, as if he feels it—your phone buzzes.

📱 Xavier: Pushing yourself that hard after days of poor recovery is reckless.

Your fingers clench.

📱 Xavier: I suggest reading this.

A link. An article. Something about the dangers of sudden overexertion without proper conditioning.

A laugh bubbles up, breathless, bitter.

Of course. Of course he would turn this into a lecture.

📱 You: You’re unbelievable.

📱 Xavier: Clarify.

You wipe at your face, not even realizing your skin is damp, whether from sweat or something else.

📱 You: I’m not a civilian. I’m a Hunter. A trained fighter, just like you.

📱 You: I might not have your experience, but I’m not fragile. I don’t need a babysitter.

The response takes longer this time. A long, stretching pause.

Then—

📱 Xavier: Noted.

The words are too even. Too carefully chosen.

You see it immediately. He’s upset. But instead of fighting back, instead of defending himself, he just—withdraws.

It infuriates you.

📱 You: That’s it?

📱 Xavier: Would you prefer I argue?

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, hard enough to sting.

📱 You: Maybe.

📱 Xavier: Why?

Because at least then it would feel like something. Because at least then he wouldn’t be slipping away from you, wouldn’t be treating you like you weren’t worth the effort.

You suck in a breath, trying to calm the wild, uneven rhythm of your heart. Then you do something stupid.

Something reckless. Something you’ll regret the second you hit send.

📱 You: Funny how you only care about my recklessness when it’s convenient for you.

Silence.

One second.

Two.

Then—

📱 Xavier: Understood.

Just that. No defense. No cold, razor-sharp argument. No more words at all.

You stare at the screen. Then you hurl the phone at the wall.

The crack is instant, the screen splintering on impact. It falls to the floor, dark, dead, useless.

Something burns behind your eyes, frustration, exhaustion, anger collapsing into something too heavy, too unbearable to name.

Your hands quiver. You press them to your face, breathe through the ache blooming in your chest.

Then—

You stand. You grab your coat. You don’t stop to think.

You need a new phone.

Because what if he messages you?

Because even now—after everything—you still want him to.

Day Five – The Breaking Point

Silence should be a relief.

After four days of his constant, cold precision—the quiet should feel like a gift.

But it doesn’t.

It’s suffocating.

For the first time since he left you standing in that room, there’s nothing.

No message. No sarcastic remark. No quiet proof that, despite everything, he still gives a damn.

The absence cuts deeper than you expect.

You go to work anyway. Because you have to. Because stopping means thinking, and thinking means tearing yourself apart with what-ifs.

***

"Our agent successfully retrieved the Aethor Core." Captain Jenna’s voice carries through the room, steady, matter-of-fact.

A holographic map flickers to life above the conference table, casting shifting blue light against the faces of those seated around it. 

Your mission. Your work. Your risk.

You keep your expression neutral, spine straight, hands folded in front of you.

"Undercover infiltration into the Vasquez Syndicate was a success."

Murmurs spread across the table. You don’t move. You feel him before you see him.

Xavier.

Seated across from you, back straight, jaw locked, completely, unnervingly still.

You make the mistake of looking up. And that’s when you see it.

Not his usual sharp, quiet calculation. Not cold detachment.

No.

This is something else. This is contained rage.

It sits just beneath the surface—controlled, measured, but undeniably lethal.

Your stomach twists.

The Vasquez Syndicate. A name that sends ripples of unease through even the most hardened Hunters.

And you had gone there alone.

Undercover.

Without telling him. Without telling anyone.

You lower your gaze back to the table. Captain Jenna continues.

"Their leader was eliminated. Aethor Core secured. Minimal collateral damage."

The words should be a victory. You should feel something. Instead, your phone vibrates against your leg.

Once.

Then again.

Then again.

A steady onslaught of incoming messages.

Your fingers tighten against your thigh. You don’t have to check. You already know.

📱 Xavier: You have a death wish, then?

📱 Xavier: That’s what this is?

📱 Xavier: Of course. That makes sense. Why else would you walk into Vasquez’s den ALONE?

📱 Xavier: Did you think you were being clever?

📱 Xavier: Or was it a game? A test to see how close you could get before you were skinned alive like his last five victims?

📱 Xavier: Tell me, did you at least get a look at the furniture?

📱 Xavier: I hear human leather is in this season.

The blood drains from your face. You type quickly.

📱 You: Xav, I—

More messages slam into your screen before you can hit send.

📱 Xavier: Or wait—

📱 Xavier: Was it worth it?

📱 Xavier: Was the thrill of playing martyr that exhilarating?

📱 Xavier: You must have loved the dramatics of it. Walking through their front door, knowing exactly what would happen if they figured you out. How noble. How self-sacrificing.

📱 Xavier: I’m sure they would’ve written songs about you.

📱 Xavier: Would you like me to start composing one now?

Your stomach twists into knots.

📱 You: Xavier, stop.

📱 Xavier: Why? Does it make you uncomfortable?

📱 Xavier: Wouldn’t want that. Not after you’ve made me spend the last six days believing you were DEAD.

The breath catches in your throat.

📱 You: I wasn’t—

📱 Xavier: No? You weren’t?

📱 Xavier: Oh, forgive me. I must have been mistaken. You must have sent me a message before walking into the hands of a man who decapitates people for sport.

📱 Xavier: Oh, wait. You didn’t.

📱 Xavier: Because you didn’t tell anyone.

📱 Xavier: Because you thought you could handle it.

📱 Xavier: Because you think you’re invincible.

📱 Xavier: Because you learned absolutely nothing.

📱 Xavier: Because you’re a fucking idiot.

Your chest tightens, fingers shaking as you try to respond.

📱 You: I retrieved the Core, didn’t I?

The moment you send it, you regret it. The reply is instant.

📱 Xavier: Ah.

📱 Xavier: So that’s how little your life is worth?

📱 Xavier: A glorified rock?

📱 Xavier: Good to know.

You glance up, breath unsteady, and realize your mistake.

Because Xavier is looking at you. And his expression is unreadable.

No sarcasm now. No amusement. Just something flat and cold, buried beneath something much darker.

Your fingers tighten around the edge of the table.

You stand.

Move toward him, as if closing the space between you will break whatever this is, will fix whatever new fracture you’ve carved into the already fragile thing between you.

But the moment you take a step closer—he moves. A single flick of his fingers. A gesture.

Dismissal.

Like you are nothing. Like you aren’t even worth the fight.

And in his eyes—that unreadable fire.

You open your mouth. Try to speak. He beats you to it.

"You think I’m mad?" His voice is low, quiet, lethal. "You think this is anger?"

A slow, sharp inhale. Then—he stands. Looks at you like you’re a stranger.

"If you ever do something that fucking stupid again—"

A pause. A razor-thin breath.

"Don’t come back."

Silence.

It lands like a blow. It shatters something you don’t even have a name for.

And then—he walks away.

And for the first time, you wonder if six days was a mercy.

Because now—

You’re not sure this will ever end.

Day Six – Between Love and War

The knock against his door is sharp, deliberate.

No answer.

Your fingers tighten, knuckles aching as you knock again, harder this time.

Still nothing.

The realization sinks in slow, cold. You know where he is.

No-Hunt Zone.

Of course. Of course.

The hypocrisy of it claws at your ribs, burns hot behind your eyes.

He spent days throwing your choices back in your face, dismantling them with surgical precision, making sure you felt every ounce of his anger. And yet—he’s doing the exact same thing.

Alone. Again.

Without backup. Without you.

The fury in your chest solidifies into something unshakable.

You don’t think. You move.

You tear off your civilian clothes, slip into the gear that feels like a second skin, strapping on your weapons with methodical ease. Your mind is calm. Your body is not.

This isn’t just anger.

This is something raw, something bitter, something that coils too tight in your chest.

Because what if this is the time he doesn’t make it back?

What if he never even planned to?

***

You move fast, weaving through the crumbling skeletons of abandoned buildings, the faint blue pulse of your Hunter’s bracelet flickering at your wrist.

The fluctuations come sharp and erratic.

A Wanderer is near.

And so is Xavier.

The realization barely has time to settle before a hand clamps over your mouth, an arm hooking around your waist, dragging you back into the shadows of a half-collapsed structure.

You react instantly, twisting in his grip, but his hold is unbreakable. His breath is warm against your ear. Too steady. Too controlled.

"Tell me—" His voice is low, measured, lethal in its restraint. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

You rip his hand away, shove him back, your pulse hammering against your ribs.

"Shouldn’t I be asking you the same damn thing?"

His expression flickers—something sharp, something dangerously close to breaking—before it smooths out again.

"You shouldn’t be here."

You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. "And you should?"

His fingers twitch at his sides, but he doesn’t argue.

The air crackles.

A pulse of energy shudders through the ruined cityscape, sending vibrations through your bracelet.

You both freeze.

The Wanderer is close. Too close.

And you were too distracted to notice.

A deafening shriek splits the air.

You barely have time to react before something massive crashes into view, sending debris flying, the force of it shaking the ground beneath you.

It’s huge.

Bigger than any you’ve ever seen. Darker. Hungrier.

And something is wrong.

Your Evol pulses—but weakly, like something is suppressing it.

You glance at Xavier, see the same realization in his eyes.

The Wanderer lunges.

You move at the same time.

Dodge. Shoot. Pivot. Strike.

Your movements are precise. Automatic. Perfectly in sync.

But something is missing.

Resonance.

You grit your teeth, adjusting your aim, but the energy won’t connect.

Because you’re too angry. Too furious with him to let yourself fall into sync.

And so is he.

Your focus wavers—just for a second, just long enough to throw your balance.

You stumble.

A mistake. A fraction of hesitation.

The Wanderer seizes it.

It moves faster than you expect, faster than anything that massive should be able to.

A pulse of energy collides against your chest, sending you sprawling.

A second strike is coming—you see it, but you’re too slow, your body still recovering from the impact—

And then Xavier is there. Between you and death.

His sword clashes against the incoming blow, deflecting it just enough to send the Wanderer skidding back.

His breathing is uneven. Not from exertion, but from something else.

Something like rage.

"Are you hurt?" His voice is taut, dangerous.

You shake your head, pushing yourself back up.

"I’m fine."

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t look away from you. Like he doesn’t quite believe you. Like he’s assessing whether he just almost lost you.

You don’t have time for this.

"You really think you would’ve made it out of this alive?" You fire, voice shaking with frustration. "Look at it. Look at the size of that thing. And you came here alone."

Xavier exhales slowly through his nose. Controlled. Restrained.

"You came after me," he says, voice like a blade, slicing through the tension.

You shake your head, jaw tight.

"Of course I did. That’s what you do when you—"

The words catch.

His eyes are on you. Steady. Unwavering.

The air between you is thick, charged, buzzing with everything unspoken, everything you haven’t let yourself say.

Your fingers tremble around the grip of your gun.

"I—"

The Wanderer screeches.

The ground shudders.

You don’t think. You react.

Your hand snaps forward, closing over Xavier’s.

The second you touch him—

Resonance explodes.

A flash of light. A rush of energy so intense it steals the breath from your lungs.

The Wanderer staggers. Its movements falter.

You see the opening. So does he.

Two strikes. One shot. One kill.

The Wanderer dissolves. The air stills. The only thing left is a single Protocore, pulsing softly in the dust.

You’re both breathing hard, hands still locked together, neither of you moving.

And then—

His fingers tighten.

The world tilts, just slightly.

Xavier doesn’t look at the Protocore. He looks at you.

And when he steps forward, you step back, heat creeping up your neck.

But he doesn’t let you run. He cups your face, tilting it up until you have no choice but to meet his gaze.

"Say it."

Your pulse pounds.

"Xav—"

"Say it." His voice is low, demanding.

You swallow hard. You already said it once.

But now—he’s listening.

Now, there’s nothing between you but everything you’ve been holding back.

Your throat tightens. And then—you break.

"I love you," you whisper.

His breath stutters, caught between control and something raw. His hands slide lower, fingers gripping your waist, pulling you in.

And then—he’s kissing you.

Hard. Desperate. Unforgiving.

Your weapons hit the ground. His sword, your guns—forgotten.

The only thing left is this. The only thing left is him.

His breath is ragged against your lips, his hands urgent, searching.

"What good are my eyes if they can't see you?" he murmurs against your mouth.

"What use are my hands if they can't touch you?"

"Why do I need lips if not to kiss you?"

His forehead presses against yours. His voice is steady. Unshaking.

"And if you don’t let me love you the way I do—what’s the point of living at all?"

You exhale, shuddering. A quiet, breathless sound escapes you—half a sob, half a laugh, because of course he would say something like this, because of course it would be him. Your hands tighten against his shirt, gripping hard enough to ground yourself, to keep yourself from falling apart. 

And finally—you let yourself hold him back.

***

The Morning After – Promises in the Sunlight

The world is quiet.

Not the heavy, suffocating kind of silence that has weighed on you for days, but something else. Something warm.

Your body feels boneless, satiated, exhausted in the best possible way. The bruises on your skin tell a story—some earned in battle, others left by a different kind of war, one fought in the dark, in whispers, in hands that refused to let go.

And then—you feel it. Eyes on you.

You blink against the soft golden light spilling through the curtains, twisting slightly to find him.

Xavier is propped up on his elbow beside you, one arm tucked beneath his head. His gaze is unreadable, too intense in the quiet morning light.

But he isn’t watching you. Not exactly.

His fingers trail absently over your skin, following the paths where the sunlight dances along your shoulder, your collarbone, the curve of your wrist. Mapping you.

The way his fingers move—it’s almost reverent. Like he’s committing this moment to memory, like he’s terrified it might slip through his grasp if he blinks.

You reach for his hand. But he beats you to it.

His fingers curl around yours, guiding your hand to his lips, pressing the softest, most devastatingly tender kiss to your fingertips.

It nearly steals the breath from your lungs.

You swallow hard, your voice coming out quieter than intended.

"Xav…"

His grip tightens, just slightly.

"When we met," he murmurs, voice low, steady, unshaking, "you promised me something."

Your brow furrows. You don’t move.

"You said I would be your partner," he continues, thumb brushing absently over your knuckles. "In everything. In battle. In your reckless plans. In life."

His eyes lift to yours, and the weight of his words settles deep into your chest.

You can’t look away. Not now. Not from this.

Your throat tightens. "Xavier—"

"Don’t apologize," he says smoothly, shaking his head before you can even start.

But you need to. Because you hurt him. Because you left.

Because even though you both made mistakes, you forced his hand.

He sees it in your eyes before you can say anything, and his fingers tighten just slightly around yours.

"This isn’t about apologies," he murmurs.

His other hand comes up, brushing along the curve of your cheek, pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

"This is about what happens next."

You blink.

"I won’t force you to promise me anything," he continues, watching your reaction closely. "Not unless you mean it."

The warmth of his touch lingers against your skin, steady, grounding, heartbreakingly gentle.

"But I need you to understand something."

You hold your breath.

"I won’t make you worry again." His voice is softer now, more certain. More dangerous in its quiet conviction. "I won’t make you question whether I’ll come back. Because now I know how it feels."

Your eyes sting.

"Does that mean…" You hesitate, voice barely above a whisper. "No more No-Hunt Zone?"

The corner of his mouth twitches.

"Not exactly."

You open your mouth to argue, but he stops you with a single look. Before you can push him away, before you can get worked up, he leans in—pressing his forehead to yours.

His breath is warm against your lips.

"If I go," he murmurs, slow, careful, a promise wrapped in steel, "I take my partner with me."

Your chest tightens.

He’s serious.

This is his way of saying it.

His way of meeting you halfway.

His way of telling you that he’s not going anywhere without you.

You exhale slowly, pressing your forehead harder against his, letting the moment settle between you.

"...Okay."

The word is soft. Tentative.

But you mean it.

His fingers thread through yours, squeezing gently. The smallest, barest hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"Good."

He kisses you once, slow and deep, searing the moment into your skin.

The evening air is crisp, carrying with it the faint chill of late winter. The sky above is a murky gray, the sign of an approaching rain, but the city streets remain dry for now. You step out of the Hunters Association building, the automatic doors sliding shut behind you.

Your shoulders ache, your legs feel leaden, and your head is a mess of swirling thoughts. The last-minute paperwork you filed had been tedious, but it wasn’t what had drained you. No – that slow, suffocating weight had been building for weeks. And the second you spot Xavier waiting for you just outside, that weight settles even heavier.

He’s standing near the edge of the sidewalk, his tall frame relaxed, silver hair catching the faint glow of the streetlights above. His eyes find yours as you step closer. There’s something about the way he looks at you – steady, expectant – that makes your throat tighten.

You manage a tired smile, one that feels more like an obligation, and it barely reaches your eyes. It’s enough to keep the air between you from growing heavier, though, and Xavier returns the smile with a faint one of his own.

“Hey,” he says, his tone quiet but warm.

“Hi,” you reply softly, brushing past him and starting the walk back to your apartment building. He falls into step beside you easily, his stride matching yours.

For a few moments, the only sounds are the faint hum of passing cars, the muted chatter of pedestrians, and your footsteps. Your hand brushes against his, but when he reaches to lace his fingers with yours, your grip is loose, absent. You don’t pull away, but you don’t hold on either.

You notice Xavier glancing at you, but you don’t meet his gaze.

Now, as the silence stretches between you, he speaks first again. “What do you feel like eating tonight?”

The question feels like it’s demanding more energy than you have to spare. You shrug, keeping your gaze on the sidewalk ahead. “I’m fine with whatever,” you answer, aware that your tone is too flat to be anything but dismissive.

Xavier’s steps falter for the briefest moment before falling back in sync with yours. He doesn’t press, doesn’t ask again.

The two of you continue your walk in silence. It’s not the comfortable quiet you used to share.

The apartment building comes into view.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, catching the faint crease in his brow, the way his jaw is set just a little tighter than usual. Then your eyes land on the white band-aid on his cheek, and your thoughts drift to last week.

When you reach the building’s door, he pulls it open for you, stepping aside to let you in first. You mutter a quiet, “Thanks,” as you step inside.

The elevator dings as it comes to a stop on your floor, and you step out first as the doors slide open, Xavier trailing just a step behind you.

You’re halfway to your door when a voice calls out, bright and cheerful.

“Good evening! How are you two tonight?”

You look up to see your friendly neighbor Charlie, stepping out of his own apartment, a warm smile lighting up his face. He’s holding what looks like a basket of muffins, the faint, sweet scent of chocolate wafting through the air.

“Hi,” you reply, your voice polite. Xavier nods beside you, his expression neutral. You feel the subtle tension in the way his hand brushes against yours as if testing whether you’ll let him hold it again.

The baker, oblivious to the storm brewing just beneath the surface, steps closer, his tone as friendly as ever. “Hey, I saw this new pastry shop downtown – their éclairs and croissants are apparently amazing. I was thinking of checking it out this weekend. You guys wanna come with me?”

Before you can even open your mouth, Xavier’s voice cuts in.

“We already have plans this weekend.”

Charlie blinks, his smile faltering for just a second. “Oh… okay, no worries,” he says, still trying to sound cheerful. “Maybe another time then. Have a good night!”

He gives a little nod and turns back toward the elevator.

You let out a quiet sigh as Charlie walks away. The polite smile you’d managed for the neighbor fades entirely as you step toward your apartment door. Xavier reaches for your hand again and your body reacts before your mind can stop it – you flinch away, yanking your hand back as if his touch burns, as a sharp, involuntary ‘tsk’ escapes your lips.

Xavier freezes for a split second, his hand hovering awkwardly in the space where yours had been. You catch the subtle flicker of emotion in his eyes – confusion, concern, maybe even hurt – but he doesn’t say anything. He steps back, giving you space as you finally unlock your door and push it open. He follows you quietly.

The second the door clicks shut, the air turns suffocating. You can’t hold it in anymore. You turn to face him and the words spill out before you can stop them.

“Why do you do that?”

Xavier blinks, his brow furrowing slightly. “Do what?”

“That!” you snap. “Cutting off conversations like that. Stepping in like – like you get to decide who I’m allowed to speak to.” Your chest heaves, the words coming faster now. “He was just being friendly, Xavier. And you – you shut him down like he was doing something wrong.”

You can see the way his jaw tightens. “I didn’t mean – ”

“Don’t,” you interrupt. “Don’t tell me you didn’t mean it. You always do this, Xavier! Every time someone talks to me, every time someone tries to be nice, you act like – like you have to claim me or something.”

He takes a small step closer, his voice soft. “I wasn’t trying to claim you. I just… I didn’t like the way he – ”

“The way he what?” you ask, exasperated. “Asked if I wanted to try some pastries? Invited both of us to a café?”

Xavier lingers at the entrance while you step into the living room, not even bothering to kick off your boots.

He doesn’t speak, but his gaze follows you as you start pacing.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you say finally, your voice trembling.

His brows knit together, confusion flashing in his eyes. “What do you mean?” he asks.

You stop pacing for a moment, turning to face him. “This!” you snap, gesturing between the two of you. “Do you think I don’t notice it? The way you get moody every time someone gives me the slightest bit of attention? I’ve tried to ignore it, tried to be understanding, but it’s – ” You stop mid-sentence, your breath catching as the words pile up too fast to get out.

Xavier doesn’t move from his spot by the door. His eyes are soft, almost pleading, as he waits for whatever comes next.

“But you know what’s worse?” you say, your voice growing tired. “You know what’s worse? The way you just disappear.”

He stiffens slightly, but he stays silent, letting you speak.

“Last week,” you continue. “You sent me a message saying you were home, and I went up there – because of course I did. I walk in, and there you are, bleeding like it’s no big deal. You just sat there, patching yourself up like it was normal.” Your voice breaks. “You always come back like nothing happened, Xavier! As if I haven’t sat here, wondering if this is the time you don’t come back at all. Do you have any idea how exhausting that is? How much it tears me apart?”

His eyes flicker with something – guilt, maybe, or pain – but he doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t try to explain. He just looks at you, his face pale and drawn.

You pause. The words feel heavy, but they spill out anyway. “I’m tired, Xavier. I’m so tired of waiting, of worrying, of pretending I’m fine every time you come back hurt. I… I can’t be with you anymore.”

He takes a small, instinctive step forward, his hand lifting slightly as if he wants to reach for you but stops himself. His voice drops even lower, almost pleading.

“Don’t say that… please,” he whispers, the words trembling. “I can try – I’ll change. Just… don’t say you can’t be with me.”

For a heartbeat the room feels too small, his quiet desperation hanging in the air. But the exhaustion in your chest is louder than anything else right now. You shake your head, cutting him off before he can say anything more.

“Don’t,” you interrupt, voice cracking. “I just… I need to be alone.”

You feel your eyes sting, and for a moment, you almost regret saying anything.

Xavier’s gaze drops to the floor, his shoulders slumping slightly. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and strained.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he says quietly.

You close your eyes, a tear slipping down your cheek. “I know,” you whisper. “But you have.”

He doesn’t say anything after that. He just stands there for a moment, staring at the ground, before finally turning toward the door.

When he finally opens the door, he pauses for just a moment. He doesn’t look back, but you catch the faintest quiver in his voice as he says, “Goodnight.”

And then he’s gone.

*

For a long moment you simply stand there, frozen, staring at the empty space he had occupied only seconds ago. The apartment feels suddenly vast and hollow.

Your knees give out before you can even think to move, and you sink onto the edge of the sofa. The tears come before you can stop them, hot and stinging, spilling over as you bury your face in your hands. A raw, broken sob tears from somewhere deep inside your chest, leaving you gasping for air that never quite fills your lungs.

His face refuses to leave your mind – those beautiful eyes that had always felt like your sanctuary, now wide with sadness, so quiet and lost. You keep seeing the way he lingered near the door, giving you one last chance to call him back, the faint tremble in his voice when he whispered “Goodnight.”.

I shouldn’t have said any of that, the thought claws at you. Your hands cover your mouth, muffling the small, hiccupping sobs that keep spilling out. You feel like you’ve just pulled the rug from beneath him after encouraging him to stand taller, to let the mask slip, to show you the parts of himself he usually kept hidden. You told him you loved it when he was expressive. You told him you wanted him to stop hiding. And when he finally started doing exactly that, you threw it back in his face.

The guilt wraps around your throat until fresh tears burn hotter and come faster. You clutch a throw pillow tightly against your chest, fingers twisting into the fabric as if the small, physical anchor might somehow keep you from shattering completely.

Beneath the guilt, exhaustion rests like something living, heavy and relentless. You think back to all of it – the nights you lay awake wondering if he would come back, the times you knelt beside him patching wounds he treated like minor inconveniences, the way you had learned to navigate his silences and sudden moods so the peace between you wouldn’t fracture. It had not been just today, or yesterday, or even last week. It had been weeks of bricks stacking one upon another until the weight finally became too much to carry.

You press the heels of your palms against your eyes, trying to will the tears to stop, but they just keep coming. I had to say it, you tell yourself, your voice trembling inside your mind. I had to. I couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t.

Yet even as you cling to that truth, the guilt refuses to loosen its grip. Because you know, deep down, that he had never wanted to hurt you. He simply doesn’t know any other way to exist – this gentle, distant, protective man who disappears into the night and returns as though the world outside never touched him.

Your gaze drifts toward the door, heart pounding with a sudden, desperate urge to run after him – to climb the stairs, knock until he opens, and throw yourself into his arms, saying that you didn’t mean any of it, that you’re sorry, that you’ll find another way.

Instead, you sink deeper into the sofa, wrapping your arms tightly around the pillow as fresh tears stream down your cheeks.

I can’t, you think. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending I’m fine, just to make him feel better.

Your shoulders shake as you let out a trembling breath.

Eventually, your tears slow, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. The apartment feels unbearably quiet now – or maybe it isn’t quiet at all. All you can hear is the high, persistent ringing in your ears, a sharp echo left behind your own sobbing. It drowns out everything else, turning the familiar space around you into something distant and muffled, as though the world has been wrapped in thick cotton.

You sit there, curled up on the sofa, staring at the door as if it might open again, as if he might come back.

But he doesn’t.

And you don’t go to him.

*

The days that followed blurred together like a half-remembered dream, fleeting and colorless – though you did everything you could to avoid dreaming at all.

Sleep became something you resisted.

You stayed awake long past the point of exhaustion, the harsh glow of your PC the only light in the apartment as hours slipped slowly into morning. You played games you had never touched before – ones he had never recommended, never sat beside you to play – letting the unfamiliar worlds occupy your mind just enough to keep it from drifting somewhere else.

When that was too exhausting, you read.

Not the books he had once suggested, not the ones still sitting half-finished on your shelf with his bookmarks resting like quiet memories tucked between their pages.

Different stories. Different voices. Anything that didn’t carry his presence on the pages.

Anything that didn’t sound like him.

By the time sleep finally claimed you, it was shallow and brief, more like passing out than resting. You woke disoriented, your body heavy but your mind already reaching for the next distraction before anything else could settle in.

You learned quickly that stillness was the enemy.

So you kept moving.

Missions became easier than staying home. You volunteered more often, took assignments without hesitation, accepted partners without preference. Anyone was fine.

As long as it wasn’t him.

Sometimes, returning to headquarters, you would catch sight of him in the distance – silver hair catching the light, posture calm, composed.

You always looked away first.

Then one morning, the elevator doors slid open.

And there he was.

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, your pulse jumping as you stepped inside, forcing your expression into something neutral, polite.

“Morning,” you said.

“Good morning,” he responded softly.

Nothing more.

You fixed your gaze on the panel of buttons, refusing to look at him, but you could feel it – the quiet, familiar presence beside you, the warmth you used to lean into without thinking.

Now it felt like something you had to endure.

The ride stretched endlessly.

When the doors finally opened, you stepped out too quickly.

“See you around,” you mumbled.

You didn’t wait for his reply.

*

In the apartment upstairs, Xavier had sat on the balcony night after night, staring at your contact on his phone. Countless times his thumb had hovered over the call button, needing to hear your voice, to ask if you were all right, to tell you how much he hated the distance between you.

But he never pressed it. His gaze would drift to the stars, eyes soft with regret.

Later, when sleep finally claimed him, he would slip into dreams where the two of you were together again – soft mornings wrapped in warm blankets, quiet walks beneath starlit skies, your laughter that always felt like sunlight. In those dreams he could hold you without fear, could speak every unsaid word that lived in his chest. The world felt gentle there, forgiving.

Yet the dreams were never fully his to control. Sometimes they would drift and darken, pulling him into endless, shifting streets. People passed him in blurred crowds, their faces indistinct. When he looked down at his own arms, his clothes would change – different fabrics, different eras, different names he had worn and discarded like old skins.

And then, among the faceless strangers, he would see you.

You would be walking just ahead, your silhouette clear and achingly familiar against the haze. His heart would leap with desperate hope, and he would start running – calling your name, reaching out, trying to close the distance that always felt both impossibly small and vast. His fingers would brush your hand, the warmth of your skin so close he could almost feel it…But you would dissolve into blur before he could truly reach you, slipping away like mist through his hands, leaving only the echo of your distant, hurt eyes staring back at him.

He would wake with a start, throat tightening as the hollow ache in his chest grew familiar.

*

Dawn has only just begun to warm the parking lot with its pale, golden light as you stand by the bus doors, tablet in hand. The cool breeze of early spring feels sharper than usual against your skin, and you draw your jacket closer, trying to focus on the list in front of you. The chatter of your group fills the lot – loud and scattered as everyone lugs their gear toward the bus.

You glance up occasionally, ticking off names as people climb aboard. Tara passes by with a bright grin, swinging her bag over her shoulder. “All set, Captain?” she teases.

You roll your eyes, but a faint smile tugs at your lips. “Just making sure no one gets left behind,” you reply, your tone distracted as your gaze sweeps the lot.

The last few stragglers pile on, and you’re about to follow when you hear footsteps behind you. Turning, you see him – Xavier.

He’s dressed in his usual light-colored outfit, a single bag slung over his shoulder, silver hair catching the morning light like a halo, his eyes scanning the bus before landing on you.

Why is he here?

The message from last week flashes through your mind. You had asked if he was coming on the camping trip, and he had simply replied, I’ll be there when I wake up. You had assumed it was his polite way of declining.

But now he’s here, looking a little sleepy. “Sorry for showing up last minute.” he says, voice still raspy.

You blink, mind scrambling to catch up, and nod quickly. “Yeah… it’s fine. Come on.”

He follows you onto the bus. As you climb the steps, a fresh wave of worry hits you. You hadn’t planned for him – hadn’t brought extra food, an extra sleeping bag, anything. Once you’re both seated and he settles into the only empty spot – right beside you – you turn toward him.

“Xavier… I didn’t think you were coming. I don’t know if I brought enough for you.”

He glances at you, his gaze softening just slightly. “Don’t worry about me,” he says simply. “I’ll adjust.”

“But – ”

“I mean it,” he interrupts gently. “I’ll be fine.”

You study him for a moment, searching his steady expression, then sigh and lean back in your seat. “Okay,” you murmur, though the worry still lingers.

The bus jolts as it pulls out of the lot, the hum of the engine blending with the chatter around you. You sit stiffly, tablet balanced on your lap, staring out the window while acutely aware of Xavier sitting beside you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice him shifting. He reaches into a small paper bag in his lap, pulls out a golden hashbrown, and then offers a second one to you. “Want one?”

You blink in surprise before reaching out to take it. “Thanks,” you say, your voice quieter than you intended.

You take a bite of the warm hashbrown, letting its comforting taste settle over you.

The silence that follows feels a little easier to sit with.

*

The cool night air bites at your cheeks as you step out of the bathroom, a thin trail of steam from the shower trailing behind you. The campsite has grown quiet, the day’s chatter faded into hushed conversations, low laughter, and the rustling of sleeping bags inside the tents. You pull your jacket tighter as you walk towards your tent, your mind drifting back over how the day had passed.

You kept yourself busy – assigning tasks, checking supplies, making sure everything ran smoothly – and yet you couldn’t ignore how Xavier’s presence had lingered like a shadow. You hadn’t avoided him, exactly, but you hadn’t sought him out either. Still, he was always there: offering you a skewer at lunch, reminding you to slow down and take a breather, silently hoisting supplies you’d been struggling with, tending the fire pits without a word.

Always there when it mattered, even when you thought his attention was somewhere else.

Now, as you make your way toward your tent, your gaze drifts instinctively toward one of the still-burning fire pits.

He’s sitting alone near the edge of the fire, book open on his knee, firelight dancing across his soft features. He looks relaxed, peaceful.

Taking a slow breath, you walk closer, boots crunching softly on the frosty grass. He glances up, his eyes meeting yours in the flickering light.

“Hey,” you say softly, arms crossed against the chill.

“Hey,” he replies.

You shift your weight, breath visible in the cold air, then speak before you can overthink it.

“I was wondering… if you wanted to sleep in my tent tonight,” you ask, your heart picking up the pace. “You didn’t bring any equipment, and it’s going to get colder later.”

He hesitates, gaze searching yours before he shakes his head. “It’s no trouble. Nero offered to share his tent.”

You let out a small breath, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Do you really want to share a tent with Nero?”

A faint, low chuckle escapes him. “Not really,” he admits.

“Well, then.” Your smile softens as you point toward the tent in the more secluded spot. “That one’s mine. Come by whenever you’re ready.”

He studies you for a moment longer, expression unreadable, then gives a small nod. “Alright.”

You nod back, heart still racing as you turn to leave, the quiet warmth of his chuckle still lingering in your ears.

*

The tent is lit by a lantern in one corner, bathing the small space in soft orange light. Outside, the night air is sharp with cold, but inside the gentle hum of the heating mat wraps around you like a comforting cocoon. You sit cross-legged near the edge of the sleeping bag, legs tucked under the oversized fabric, the familiar scent of your laundry softener clinging to your pajamas. 

Beside you, Bunbun sits nestled in a little nest of your hoodie and spare clothes. With Xavier about to join you – the thought sends a fresh wave of nerves rippling through your chest – you’re not sure the sleeping bag will have space for both him and your round, well-loved companion.

The faint crunch of footsteps pulls you from your thoughts. Your heart skips hard as the tent zipper slides open.

Xavier ducks slightly to enter, bringing a rush of cold night air with him, but he quickly zips the tent back up. He shrugs off his jacket, and the sight beneath it gives you butterflies – simple gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt that clings softly to his chest and shoulders, his collarbone just visible at the neckline.

He sets the jacket near the entrance, then turns toward you. His eyes flicker briefly to Bunbun nestled in the hoodie, and his expression softens.

“It looks cozy,” he says quietly.

You glance down at the plushie, cheeks warming, as you simply nod in response.

The silence stretches for a beat too long, and it seems both of you are suddenly hyper-aware of how you haven’t been this close in a long time.

He shifts his weight, glancing at the sleeping bag. “You can… take the bag,” he offers.

You shake your head quickly, gesturing beside you. “It’s fine. It’s meant for two. Just… get in.”

He hesitates for a moment, then nods. After turning off the lantern in the corner, he slips into the sleeping bag next to you. The warmth of his body is immediate, radiating through the fabric even though you’re both holding yourselves stiff and awkward, trying not to let any part of you touch more than necessary. Your legs brush anyway, sending a small spark through your chest.

You lie there with your hands folded tightly over your stomach, eyes fixed on the mesh ceiling while the dim light from outside lanterns casts shifting shadows across the tent walls.

You let out a shaky breath.

“Goodnight,” you mumble, turning your back to him.

There’s a brief pause before he answers. “Goodnight.”

The tent falls quiet, save for the occasional whisper of fabric as you move, trying to settle. You close your eyes, willing sleep to come, but your mind refuses to quiet. Every small sound, every subtle shift of his body beside you keeps pulling you back to the surface.

You wonder if he has already drifted off – he always could, no matter the time or place. Your fingers curl into the fabric of the sleeping bag, nails digging in as you fight the overwhelming urge to turn toward him. You want so badly to close the distance between you, to reach for the comfort of his arms the way you used to, to feel them wrap around you without hesitation, warm and steady and safe. You miss the way his breathing would slow against your ear, the quiet strength that always seemed to soothe every ache inside you.

You roll onto your back again, as the same thoughts circle endlessly in your mind – Does he miss me as much as I miss him? Does he even want to be here, or is he only enduring this out of convenience?

The seconds stretch on, heavy and endless. Just as you begin to wonder whether this restless ache will keep you awake until dawn, you hear the soft rustle of fabric as Xavier moves beside you.

He turns onto his other side, until the soft brush of his breath grazes your cheek. For a moment you lie perfectly still, heart hammering, fighting the urge to look at him.

Then his voice breaks the silence, low and gentle.

“Can’t sleep?”

The sound of his voice sends a gentle shiver down your spine. You had been so certain he had already fallen asleep.

You nod, but you still can’t bring yourself to look at him.

The silence stretches again, as though he’s patiently waiting for more. Then his voice comes once more, quieter this time.

“Is something bothering you?”

You shake your head, hoping the small motion will be enough, but you can still feel his gaze resting on you.

Another pause lingers in the dark. When he speaks again, you can hear the concern in his voice.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks. “Am I imposing after all?”

The question hits like a sharp snap in your chest. It draws your gaze to him before you can stop yourself.

Through the mesh ceiling, the night sky spills faint silver light across his face, turning his features soft and dreamlike in the darkness. His eyes are clear and unwavering, searching yours.

He looks unsure, almost vulnerable in the gentle starlight.

“No,” you whisper, your voice trembling just a little. “I don’t want you to leave.”

You don’t look away.

How long has it been since you truly let yourself look at him?

“I miss you,” the confession slips from your lips, barely more than a breath.

A subtle flicker of surprise crosses his face, eyes widening just slightly.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, the words now spilling out. “I’m so sorry for pushing you away, Xavier… I just didn’t know how to handle everything anymore. And after all the things I said that day, I wasn’t sure you’d even want to hear from me again.”

Tears well up and slip down your cheeks in warm trails. You don’t try to stop them.

Before you can say anything more, he moves. His hand lifts, fingers brushing your face with feather-light care. His thumb catches a tear as it slides across the bridge of your nose, then another.

“I missed you too,” he says quietly. “Every single day.” His thumb lingers against your cheek.

“I wanted to reach out,” he continues. “But I didn’t know if you wanted me to. I thought… maybe you were better off without me.”

More tears spill as you shake your head, voice trembling. “No… I wasn’t. I’m not.”

His hand shifts, cupping your cheek fully now, palm warm against your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “For disappearing when you needed me to stay. For making you wait and worry every time I left, without ever explaining why.”

Another tear slides down and he catches it.

“And I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting… for getting possessive when someone talks to you. It’s not because I don’t trust you. It’s because I’m scared… scared that someone better, steadier, might come along and you’ll realize you deserve more than what I can give you right now.”

He pauses, breath shaky. “I can’t make the disappearances stop completely,” he continues. “But I’ll do everything I can to change how I handle them. I’ll tell you when I have to go. I’ll come back faster. I’ll stop leaving you to wonder if this time I won’t return. I’ll make it up to you, every single time – if you’ll let me try.” His eyes search yours. “Please… let me try.”

Under the stars, his eyes look so beautiful. They were so distant and hard to read when you first met him, but now, they look at you with so much hope and longing, not hiding anything. You want to say something, but the words catch in your throat for a second – the old exhaustion and fear still whispering that nothing might really change.

His thumb brushes your cheek, his breath catching just slightly. “Please,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to – I can’t lose you again.”

The desperation in his voice makes your chest ache.

But the flicker of hope that’s been resting in your heart begins to glow brighter.

Your hand rises to meet his. You gently move it away from your face, your fingers brushing his palm before curling around it, interlacing tightly. You lift it to your lips and press a soft, lingering kiss to the back of it.

For a moment, you just hold it there, lingering in the warmth of his skin.

When you lift your gaze to his again, your voice is barely more than a whisper.

“Hold me… please.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move, as if even now he’s waiting for the smallest sign that you might pull away.

You don’t.

His fingers tighten around yours, and then he draws you in, until there’s no space left between you. Your breath falters as your body follows without resistance, leaning into him as your head settles against his chest, finding its place there as if it had never been lost. Your eyes flutter closed as you listen to his heartbeat, the rhythm steadying as minutes pass.

He holds you like that for a while, his arms tightening around you just a little, the pressure easing the tension from the day, little by little.

You lift your head slightly from his chest, and your gaze meets his. His midnight-blue eyes are impossibly soft, the warmth in them making your heart stutter.

For a moment, neither of you moves.

You’re close enough to feel his breath, warm against your lips, close enough that it would take nothing at all to close the distance – and still, he doesn’t move. His gaze flickers briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes.

Slowly, you lean forward – and he mirrors your movement, your lips brushing against his in the faintest, most featherlight kiss.

You sigh softly against his lips. His mouth is so warm, so familiar, and yet it feels new after all this time. Your fingers trail upward, slipping into the soft strands of his hair. He lets out the faintest sound – a low, almost imperceptible hum of approval that vibrates against your lips. His arm tightens around your waist, pulling you a fraction closer, as he savors you.

Time seems to slow inside the tent. The only sounds are your mingled breaths and the distant crackle of the dying campfire outside.

Gradually the kiss deepens. His tongue brushes tenderly against your bottom lip in a silent question. You part for him, and the moment his tongue meets yours in a slow, intimate dance, warmth blooms low in your belly.

Your hands clutch at his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric. You can feel the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath your palm, the way his breathing has grown heavier, matching your own.

His hand slides up your back to cradle the back of your head as he eases you onto your back. You go willingly, heart racing, instinctively making space for him. The weight of him is perfect – warm, solid, grounding – pressing you into the sleeping bag. When his hips finally settle fully against yours, you feel it – the hard, unmistakable line of his arousal, hot and insistent even through the layers of fabric.

He begins to move, careful and testing, rolling his hips in the smallest, slowest grind. The hard line of his arousal drags along your core through the fabric, creating a maddening friction that makes your breath hitch.

He pauses again, breathing heavily, waiting to see if you’ll pull away. Instead, you tighten your fingers in his hair and instinctively lift your hips to meet him.

He groans softly and continues, rolling his hips in languid, gentle waves. Each slow drag presses him perfectly against your most sensitive spot, the layers of clothing teasing and making the sensations sweeter.

You can’t stay still. Your own hips begin to move, timid at first, then gradually finding his rhythm – rocking up to chase that delicious pressure. Soft, breathy whimpers slip from your lips into his mouth with every shared grind.

The quiet rustle of fabric and the sleeping bag shifting beneath you suddenly feels far too loud in the stillness of the night. Worry threads through the haze of pleasure. Your movements falter, hips stuttering to a stop.

Xavier notices instantly. He stills completely, his breath brushing hot against your cheek.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers, concern threading through his voice.

You swallow, cheeks burning. “I… I’m worried we’re making too much noise,” you murmur, barely audible. “The others…”

He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he nuzzles slowly into the curve of your neck, pressing tender kisses along your skin as his hips begin to move again – slower this time. Every roll sends sparks radiating through your core, making your toes curl.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs against your neck. “They’re probably already asleep. No one will hear us…” He kisses just below your ear, voice dropping even lower. “Let me feel you like this… please.”

You don’t argue. You can’t. The combination of his gentle voice, the teasing roll of his hips, and the sheer relief of finally having him close again leaves you dizzy. Pleasure curls tighter and tighter in your belly with every slow glide.

His hand slides down to grip your hip, guiding your movements so the thick ridge of his cock presses perfectly against your clit. The added pressure pulls a trembling moan from your throat, but it only heightens the aching emptiness inside you. The layers of fabric that separate you start to feel like torture – delicious, but maddening. You need more. You need his skin, his warmth, the feeling of him truly filling you.

You break the kiss with a trembling breath, forehead resting against his. Your hands slide down his back, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging lightly.

“Xavier…” Your voice is barely a whisper. “I don’t want to wait anymore. I need you… all of you.”

His breath stutters against your lips. He searches your eyes in the faint starlight.

Then, as silently as possible, he helps you. The sleeping bag zipper rasps as he tugs it open just enough to give you room. You both move together – you pushing your pajama pants and panties down your hips, him taking off his shirt and shoving his sweatpants low enough to free himself. The cool night air brushes your bare skin for only a moment before his warmth returns, the thick, hot length of his cock now pressing directly against your slick, aching folds.

You let out a soft, broken gasp at the feeling. Instinctively you spread your legs wider, tilting your hips up as your hands clutch at his shoulders.

He groans quietly, forehead dropping to yours. “Are you sure?” he whispers.

You nod, fingers threading into his hair as you pull him closer. “Yes,” you breathe against his mouth. “Please… I need to feel you inside me.”

He doesn’t push inside right away. Instead, he wraps one hand around the base of his cock and slowly rubs the thick, heated length between your slick folds, coating himself in your wetness. The sensation is exquisite – the smooth, heavy glide of him sliding up and down, catching against your swollen clit with every pass, sending sparks of pleasure radiating through your core.

Only when you whisper an impatient ‘Xavier’ does he finally position himself. He eases in with one slow, careful thrust – then another – sinking deeper until he’s buried to the hilt.

The stretch is overwhelming in the most perfect way – that familiar fullness, the way your body opens for him like it was made for him.

For a long moment he stays completely still. His breath comes shaky and uneven against your lips. You can feel the subtle tension in his body, the way his muscles tremble.

“...Honey,” he whispers, voice low and strained, forehead pressed to yours. “You feel… so good. I’m already so close.”

Your fingers graze the tense muscles of his shoulders. “It’s okay,” you breathe, fighting the urge to move your hips, “We can just stay like this.”

His eyes flutter open, searching yours. One of his hands gently cups your cheek, thumb brushing tenderly over your skin as he tries to steady himself. The thick length of his cock twitches inside you, and he lets out a quiet, breathy groan.

Then he begins to move – slow, deep rolls of his hips that drag his cock along your walls in long strokes. A soft, needy moan escapes your lips at the first real thrust. Your hands clutch tighter at his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm, defined muscle beneath warm skin as his body moves over yours. You can feel every shift and flex of those muscles under your palms – strong, yet trembling.

He keeps his rhythm steady and quiet, mindful of the thin tent walls, but his eyes stay locked on yours, soft and reverent in the faint starlight.

A particularly deep thrust nudges that sensitive spot inside you and a louder moan escapes before you can stop it. Xavier immediately leans down, capturing your mouth in a deep, muffling kiss, swallowing the sound as his hips continue their slow, steady pace.

He pulls back just enough to speak, lips brushing yours with every word.

“Are you okay, honey?” he murmurs. “Does this feel good? Tell me if it’s too much… if you’re too warm in here with me.”

You can only nod frantically, fingers tightening in his hair.

He angles his hips slightly, thrusting deeper, the head of his cock brushing that sensitive spot again and again, while his pelvis rubs against your clit with each movement, the dual sensation devastating. A broken whimper escapes you despite your best efforts. He kisses you again, but you feel his lips curve into a soft, tender smile against yours.

You feel the orgasm approaching, quick and inevitable with every thrust, your walls fluttering around him.

Breathlessly, you manage to whisper against his lips, “Just like that… Xavier, please… I’m so close.”

He lets out a soft, shaky groan, and his arms tighten around you, cradling you even closer as he keeps that exact rhythm.

“That’s it, darling,” he murmurs. “Let go for me.”

You hold onto him – arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders and back, fingers digging into his skin, your face buried in the crook of his neck. His scent surrounds you, familiar and comforting, while his own arms cradle you securely, one hand splayed across your back and the other gently supporting the back of your head. The sleeping bag rustles softly with every movement, the confined space forcing you even closer, skin sliding against skin.

The pleasure builds higher and higher, every graze of his cock against that perfect spot and every press of his pelvis against your clit pushing you closer to the edge. Your body trembles in his arms, thighs tightening around his hips as the wave finally hits.

With a shudder that runs through you, you come undone around him. A broken moan escapes against his neck, muffled into his skin as your walls clench rhythmically around his cock, pulsing with wave after wave. Your fingers clutch desperately at his back, your whole body arching into him as the orgasm washes over you, leaving you breathless and trembling in his embrace.

Xavier holds you through it, his movements slowing but never stopping – gentle, soothing rolls of his hips that draw out every last sparkling aftershock, coaxing the pleasure to linger as long as possible.

He whispers soft, reverent praises against your ear. “That’s it… so beautiful… I’ve got you, princess. I’m right here.”

His words tug at something in you as the high of your orgasm starts to fade. The tenderness of his touch, his pulse against your cheek, the sheer relief of having him close again – it all crashes over you at once. Your eyes grow hot and misty, tears slipping silently down your cheeks before you can stop them.

Xavier notices almost immediately. He stills his hips, then gently eases back just enough to tilt your chin up with careful fingers, his eyes searching yours. His thumb brushes away the tears.

“Hey… are you okay?” he asks, a flicker of worry crossing his face. “Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head quickly, a watery smile breaking through as more tears spill over. Your fingers thread into his hair as you say softly, “No, I’m just… I’m just so happy you’re here. I never want to lose you again.”

For a heartbeat he doesn’t move at all, thumb still catching fresh tears.

Then, he whispers your name.

“You’ll never lose me,” he says quietly, forehead pressing to yours. “I’m yours… I’ve always been yours. You’re my everything.”

He swallows hard, hips giving the tiniest, involuntary twitch inside you. You can feel him throbbing, every muscle in his body taut with restraint.

“I’m… I’m so close,” he admits, sounding almost shy. “But I need to know you’re really okay first. Tell me you’re with me… tell me this is what you want.”

You nod, fingers threading deeper into his hair, pulling him closer until your lips brush his. “I’m okay,” you whisper. “I’m more than okay. I want you… Please don’t stop.”

A relieved, broken exhale leaves his lips. Then he starts moving again, chasing his own release.

But even as the pleasure builds for him, he’s careful. When his rhythm falters and his breath turns ragged, when you feel him pulse inside you, he suddenly stills again, hips flush against yours.

“I… I have to pull out,” he murmurs, voice strained. “The sleeping bag… it’ll be uncomfortable for you later. I don’t want that.”

He presses one last lingering kiss to your lips, then – with a moment of hesitation – withdraws. He shifts to the side just enough to free one arm, then reaches down between you. His hand wraps around his slick, throbbing length, stroking himself quickly, desperately, while his other hand holds the back of your neck.

“Look at me… please,” he breathes. “I want to see your face when I – ”

You look up at him, cupping his cheek as you hold his gaze.

With a low, choked moan he comes, hot pulses spilling over your stomach and the sleeping bag beneath you. His whole body trembles against yours, hips jerking into his fist as he rides out the release, never once looking away from your face.

When the last shudder leaves him, he exhales a long, shaky breath and immediately pulls you back into his arms. The mess sticks to both of you, but you don’t care.

He buries his face in your neck, holding you so tightly it almost steals your breath. “Thank you for letting me come back to you.”

You wrap your arms around him just as tightly, tears slipping silently down your cheeks again – happy ones – as you press kisses into his hair.

Xavier holds you close for a long moment, his arms wrapped securely around you as if he still can’t quite believe you’re really here. His breathing slows down against your hair, and you feel the last tremors of his release gradually fade as he relaxes into you.

He moves a little so he’s facing you again. He peppers your face with the softest kisses: one to your forehead, one to the corner of your eye where tears had slipped, one to the tip of your nose, then another to your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. Each gentle press of his lips makes you smile, a small, breathless laugh escaping you as warmth blooms in your chest.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes soft and shining in the faint starlight. When he shifts slightly to adjust against you, his gaze drifts past you to a corner of the tent. A tiny huff of laughter escapes him.

“Uh-oh,” he murmurs, voice light and playful. “Bunbun saw everything.”

You follow his gaze to where your plushie sits nestled in its little hoodie nest, ears peeking out innocently. A soft laugh bubbles up from your chest.

“Let’s pretend it’s sleeping,” you whisper back, still smiling as you nuzzle closer into his neck.

He chuckles quietly then reaches for the small pack of wipes you’d tucked near the edge of the sleeping bag. He cleans you first – careful strokes over your stomach and between your thighs – before wiping himself. The whole time he keeps one arm around you, as if unwilling to break contact even for a second.

Once you’re both clean and dressed, he zips the sleeping bag back up around you, cocooning you together in the shared warmth. You settle against his chest, head resting right over his heart, listening to the steady rhythm beneath your ear, while his fingers trace slow, soothing patterns along your back.

As you lie there, wrapped in his arms, a faint, flickering light catches your eye. You blink, lifting your head just enough to glance around the dimly lit tent, and that’s when you see them – tiny, glowing specks of light drifting through the air like fireflies, dancing gently around the two of you.

You don’t say anything. You simply nestle closer, pressing your cheek to his chest as the glowing lights surround you both like tiny stars. You smile softly as his arms tighten just slightly around you.

“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.

"He’s marking her like she’s a piece of canvas," he rumbles, a low, dangerous growl. "Trying to drown out our scent with salt and oil."

Xavier steps closer to the flickering light, his gaze fixed on the iridescent trail on your collarbone. "I have played the innocent for so long, waiting for her to choose me," he whispers, his voice trembling with a sharp, hidden envy. "How did he get her to let him ruin her like… that?"

Zayne stands in the corner, his posture so rigid the floorboards begin to frost. "The lack of hygiene in that room... pigments and oils in open pores. It’s reckless," he states, his voice clipping each word while his eyes track the flush on your skin.

Caleb turns towards him, his face flushed with anger. "Hygiene? Look at the fire damage, Doc! He almost burned her alive, and now he’s 'reclaiming' her like property? It’s sick. I don't care what connection he thinks he has—I'm the only one here who treats her like a person and not a prize."

"A person you can't even keep track of, apparently," Sylus interjects, opening one eye to glare at Caleb. "If you're so concerned with her safety, why were you the last one to the studio? Your ‘brotherly’ protection is clearly lacking."

"Don't you dare," Caleb snaps, his hand twitching toward his side. "You and Xavier act like you’ve known her forever, but she’s different now. When is it my turn to have a moment without you breathing down our necks?"

Xavier doesn't turn around, but his shoulders tense. "I thought she wanted someone she could trust. A lover," he murmurs, his eyes darkening as Rafayel’s fingers move on the screen. "Turns out she just wanted to be possessed. I’ve been holding back for nothing."

"She’s overstimulated," Zayne interrupts, his voice dropping an octave as your moans grow louder. "Her heart rate is peaking. If he doesn't slow down, he'll cause a vasovagal response. He’s being too selfish."

"He's being a man who’s lost his mind," Sylus corrects, a dark, mocking huff escaping him. "He’s clearly forgotten his place. It’s time we remind the fish that he isn’t the only predator in the water."

The bickering dies instantly as your image on the projection goes limp. The sight of you blacking out in Rafayel’s arms shatters the last of their restraint.

"She’s out," Caleb barks, already halfway to the stairs. "She fainted. That’s it—the show's over and I’m taking her out of that madman’s reach."

The heavy silence was replaced by the thunder of footsteps as the fragile truce shatters. No longer content to watch from the shadows, the four of them scrambles toward the stairs, driven by a mix of worry, envy, and the desperate need to tear you away from the artist’s arms.

Not me loving the bickering—something’s wrong with me. Maybe all the new words crammed within days. Sorry in advance if there are words that are… umm english is not my main language and there’s so much thing to fix but I do hope you enjoy the story 🤭💚

Send help I still imagine them bickering as blobbus

You were shameless in your desire for him by yourself. Every night, your pillow held his name and you could only cum thinking about him. You didn’t exactly feel guilty, figuring it’s only natural in response to a 6’1 hunk of a man who respects you before anything and is incredibly intelligent. He’s sexy, basically, but you didn’t want to make any moves for fear of scaring him off. You know zayne well, and you know that he tends to get avoidant when he runs into something he can’t handle, so for now you’ll accept the fluffy dates and cry his name into your pillow later.

Zayne, however, felt differently about that subject. Now, it wasn’t that he didn’t find you attractive, not in the slightest, but the guilt he feels…it’s overwhelming. He’s touched himself to you before, and it made him feel so incredibly ashamed of himself. The fact that it was photos off your instagram that had got him going as well, he felt like a monster. You were just innocently going on sweet dates with him, wanting to be closer with him, and spend time with him while he couldn’t help acting like a pervert. Despite the guilt, he could never stop. It was a cycle. He wanted to make sure you felt loved and respected before anything, so he only acted on his desires in private, dealt with the guilt, and waited for you to make any kind of move.

Now, you both sit on his couch watching some silly movie. He had an arm wrapped around you, far more used to physical affection now. Your fingers were laced together and he couldn’t help the warm, fuzziness in his chest. You were just so good, the best thing to ever happen to him. You idly chatted about the movie until you were just staring at each other for a moment. You laughed lightly, which made him nudge you a little.

“Just what’s so funny, miss?”

You looked back at him with a grin that was just too hard to hide.

“You are…very handsome. I’m getting flustered looking at you.”

He felt his own cheeks warm at that, but laughed it off, trying to remain smooth.

“That’s quite a compliment, coming from someone as gorgeous as you…”

He said it so softly, so sweetly…you couldn’t help but melt when looking at him. You lightly bit your lip before leaning forwards to peck him on the lips. This time, you barely pulled away before deciding to go back in for another. Then another, and then another, each getting a bit more drawn out and sensual until you were kissing him deep for the first time.

Zayne had responded well to this, enthusiastically actually. He didn’t realize that his lips were moving on their own and just trying to get more of this incredible, fireworks sensation. Slowly, the kiss deepened. He felt your tongue politely lick the seam of his lips, almost asking permission.

How could he say no?

In this mess of tongues and saliva, you had started climbing your way into his lap. He was perfectly willing, at least, he was until….

Ah!

Your soft gasp pulled him out of his haze to suddenly realize, you just sat directly on his erection. His incredibly obvious erection. His erection that had given him a nice, big, wet patch right on the front of his grey slacks. The way white noise crowded his ears was something he hadn’t really experienced before.

Pure, unadulterated shame and embarrassment.

He immediately lifted you off his lap with his hands under your arms, like you were some sort of doll, and set you on the other side of the couch. He, on the other hand, stayed as far away from you on the other side as humanly possible. His posture stayed rigid as he clasped his hands over his lap and stared at the ground. You had never seen him get so red. By now you were still kind of confused, at least until he spoke.

“I apologize, that was incredibly inappropriate of me and I should have better control over my body. You didn’t ask for that.”

The poor man’s ears were on fire as he delivered this…apology with such straight edge professionalism. But his eyes fluttered, the quick blinks betraying his nervousness. As hard as you tried not to, you started to laugh.

Zayne took this the wrong way, hanging his head lower and letting out a shuddering breath.

“I’m aware I’ve made a fool of myself and I understand if you’re having any second thoughts.”

Your laughter slowed when you realized that this was real to him. He was embarrassed, like actually embarrassed. So much so, he thought you might…stop seeing him?? This ridiculous man. You sighed softly and scooted closer to him on the couch.

“Zaynie, are you serious? Do you really think I’d have second thoughts over this?”

He seemed to desperately want to run away from you as you got closer, but he managed to stay put.

“I would not blame you, you did not consent to that. Please, if you are too uncomfortable with this situation, I will take you home now. Or I can call an Uber for you, I’d pay of course…”

You sighed and tilted your head at him.

“Zayne, do you want to know something?”

He didn’t respond but you kept going anyways.

“I touch myself thinking of you all the time.”

Zayne froze, eyes fixed on the floor as he processed that information. Then, as is a habit of his, his eyes fluttered with rapid blinks as he looked up at you.

“…you do?”

You smiled fondly at him.

“Yes, most nights. Does that bother you?”

Zayne blinked some more, then looked down at the floor again.

“No.”

You let out a quiet huff and reached out to grab his hand from where it was rigidly hiding his shame.

“Great, then we’re both desperate perverts, yeah?”

It was like that clicked something in zaynes mind. He spoke slowly.

“So…you want me…intimately?”

“Of course…”

“And…you’re alright with me wanting you…intimately?”

“Zayne I fuck my hand almost every night just wishing it was yours.”

“…”

Zayne let out a shaky sigh, seemingly having trouble holding himself together. Then, he turned to make proper eye contact with you and hold your hands.

“I would like to make love to you…”

You couldn’t help but grin at that. Blunt, as always.

“It’s about time.”

He let out a shuddering breath. “Ari,” he croaked. “I made a…stupid mistake. Need help, please.”

“I’m already on my way, it shouldn’t be much longer now.”

He blinked trying to offer help. “Clara…something.”

“Heartfield, I know. I promise I’m coming for you, honey. Just hold on a little longer.”

Heartfield—that was the name he had been trying to remember. Dr. Heartfield, a man he had made to drown himself in his own bathtub, lured by a siren song.

The door slammed open and Rafayel staggered back, tripping over the desk chair.

“What the hell?” Clara demanded. “How did you get out of bed?”

Rafayel could hear Ariadne’s worried voice on the phone and Clara’s eyes snapped over to it. She stormed over and picked up the phone, smashing it against the wall,

Rafayel hauled himself to his feet and lurched for the door.

Clara grabbed him around the waist and hauled him back. She was small, but he was so weak right now, he could barely fight against her. They both fell, his shoulder striking the desk painfully. Rafayel curled on the ground, gasping for breath. Any exertion made it even harder to breathe right now. Blackness danced at the corners of his vision.

“You think you can run back to her? No, I caught you fair and square. You will be mine, Rafayel. My Lemurian husband. I’m not missing this chance.”

His lips parted and he attempted to use the only defense he had, his song. But he was no better than human right now, and the attempt instantly flayed his throat.

He choked, doubling over with a cough as flecks of blood dotted his palm.

Clara darted across the room, dumping the contents of a bag out and grabbing a small spray bottle.

“I didn’t want to have to use this,” she said. “But you’re forcing me to drastic measures.”

Rafayel pushed himself up just in time to see her lift a small spray bottle, spritzing whatever was in it and—

His world suddenly narrowed to helpless terror. As soon as the scent hit his nose, his eyes dilated almost painfully, vision blurring, heartbeat picking up as he became intoxicatingly light-headed.

“N-no, please don’t,” he rasped, trying to crawl for the door.

She grabbed the waistband of his pants and hauled him back. He collapsed, smashing his chin on the ground. The scent became more overwhelming the closer she got to him. He remembered when Ariadne had accidently put some of it on, how someone had obviously been attempting to set a trap, weaken him. But it was ten times as strong now when he was already so vulnerable.

He could barely think. She hauled him back onto the bed, restraints tightening around both his wrists and ankles this time, barely able to move.

The heat that always simmered in his lower belly during Ebb Day came to a boil, an almost painful arousal that made his whole body sensitive to even a wisp of air. He was barely conscious, writhing against the restraints, feeling like he might go up into flames. Too much, it was too much. He couldn’t control his body’s reaction.

“You poor thing, I told you I didn’t want to have to do that to you.”

He barely paid attention to the voice, a whimper escaping his throat.

Rafayel could feel someone’s touch approaching his face, and instinctively leaned into it, desperate.

But the instant it connected it was so wrong. This wasn’t who he needed. His bond mark burned in protest, his whole body in agony. He tried to pull away but he couldn’t. he was trapped as unwanted hands slid down his body.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help,” a voice said, an attempt to soothe that only made him want to flee. “I’ll make you feel better.”

“N-no, don’t,” Rafayel begged as he felt hands unbuttoning his pants. As he tried to fight, another strong whiff of the abhorrent scent hit him, stealing all his faculties again until everything was just sensation.

A tear of frustrated desperation slid down his cheek. I’m sorry, Ari, I’m sorry.

In a last-ditch effort, he tried to use his song again, even if it destroyed his throat for good, but a hand covered his mouth and a cloth was shoved between his teeth, making him choke.

“Be a good boy and I’ll help you through this.” Her fingers stroked his cheek, mockingly kind, as her other hand slid down his body. “You’ll learn to love me. I promise.”

Darkness closed in again as if his body were attempting to protect him from the coming trauma. Part of him wanted to keep fighting, but another part of him recognized the futility. This was the constant fate of his people, forever at the mercy of humans. Perhaps nothing would ever change that. It was like being caught in a riptide and having nothing else to do besides let it take you.

***

The call ended abruptly with a ‘phone out of service’ warning. Ariadne swore as she tossed her phone onto the passenger seat and pressed her foot harder into the gas pedal.

The GPS read five more miles. It wouldn’t be long.

“Hold on, Raf, please just hold on a little longer,” she begged under her breath.

As soon as she pulled into the driveway of the rather large estate, she could feel a subconscious tug. She remembered Rafayel saying once that because of their bond he would always know where she was. She hadn’t realized it worked both ways, but she just automatically knew that she was sensing Rafayel.

She approached the house, peeking into the windows. She couldn’t see anyone directly and used a device to spoof the lock code to open the door.

She stepped in and was instantly drawn toward the back of the house. A door sat ajar, sounds of distress and shushes came from inside. Ari drew her gun and pushed the door open. The scene before her caused her to freeze.

Rafayel was bound to the bed and a young woman with blue streaks in her hair loomed over him, attempting to undress him as Rafayel did his best to fight her weakly. Protective fury instantly boiled up in Ariadne and she raised her gun.

“Get away from him.”

Clara froze, head whipping up, genuine surprise on her face. Rafayel’s head lolled to the side, eyes blinking before going wide as he saw her.

“He needs my help,” the girl said firmly.

Ari cocked the gun. “Touch him again and I will shoot you.”

Her hands finally left Rafayel’s body and he shuddered with an exhale of relief. Ari rushed around the bed, pulling cuffs from her belt. “Turn around.”

“He wants this, this is all a misunderstanding—”

Ariadne grabbed her shoulder and spun her, slamming her face-first against the wall. Clara cried out, reaching for her nose before Ari yanked her hand back down.

“Don’t give me that bullshit, you know you assaulted him.” A vaguely familiar scent caught her attention and she leaned closer to Clara, sniffing her clothes.

“You used that on him too?” she asked, low, dangerous.

“He wouldn’t obey me. He said he was bound to you.”

“He is,” Ari said firmly. “And he can trust me not to use that bond against him.”

She locked Clara’s hands together and forced her to sit against the wall.

“The police are already on their way.”

“You don’t understand! He’s mine, I caught him fair and square! That’s how the stories work!”

Ariadne really had to fight the urge to kick her. Instead she ignored the woman and turned to Rafayel, pulling out her knife to cut him free. She pulled the gag from his mouth before fixing his clothes, buttoning his pants and shirt back up. He shuddered, flinching slightly every time her fingers grazed his skin.

“Raf,” she whispered as she worked, throat closing up at the look in his eyes as he reached for her weakly. She pulled him into her arms, feeling him shiver, breath rasping against her neck. He breathed in her scent with a relieved shudder.

“God, you’re burning up,” she said worriedly. “We’re gonna get you out of here. Let me help you to the car, we just have to wait until the police show up.”

“Please don’t take him from me!” Clara shouted. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this!”

Ariadne and Rafayel both ignored her. Rafayel clung to her as Ari attempted to get him off the bed. His legs completely gave out and she simply turned around and, with some coaxing, heaved him up onto her back. Rafayel moaned a little in protest, but rested his head against her shoulder, seeming to acknowledge that he wasn’t getting out of there without help.

She carried him out to her car, getting him settled into the passenger seat just as the police sirens sounded and the cop cars pulled up in the driveway.

Ari reluctantly left Rafayel to go talk to them, showing her Hunter’s ID and explaining the situation. The detective wanted to interview Rafayel but one look at him made the man decide to wait.

“Let us know when Mr. Rafayel is feeling well enough to give a statement.”

Ari handed him Thomas’s card. “You can contact his manager. He’ll let you know.”

The detective nodded. Another cop came up with a suitcase.

“Miss Celest, this is Mr. Rafayel’s. We found it in the back of the rental car. It’s been cleared so you can take that with you.”

Ari nodded in thanks and loaded it into her own car.

The other cops were hauling Clara out of the house as she continued to protest that she did nothing wrong. Rafayel shrank further into the seat and Ari closed the door, turning to the detective.

“I need to get him medical care. We’ll be in contact when he’s well enough to speak.”

The detective nodded and Ariadne got into the car, starting it up as Clara screamed in frustration, trying to fight against the cops forcing her into the back of one of the patrol vehicles.

As soon as Ariadne pulled out of the driveway, Rafayel slumped against the window with a long exhale. Ari reached over to squeeze his hand briefly. He barely squeezed back with a weak twitch of his fingers. His breathing sounded labored, like each breath took a lot of effort.

He wasn’t going to make it back to Linkon, so she made the executive decision to get a hotel room in town.

Luckily it was easy to find a hotel as soon as they drove into the city. As soon as she got the room, she went to fetch Rafayel, having to piggy-back him again. She was sure that as soon as he felt better he would ask her never to mention this again, but he was so out of it there was no other way she would be getting him to the room. It was still more dignified than loading him onto a luggage cart.

Luckily there weren’t that many people around right now and she got him into the room without any odd stares, instantly calling in a shopping order for some things they would need.

“Bath,” Rafayel rasped and Ari nodded, practically carrying him into the bathroom. She started the tub and carefully undressed him to his underwear before sitting him down.

Rafayel gasped in relief as the water hit his skin. He seemed to breathe better the longer he soaked.

Ariadne knelt by the too-small tub, using a cloth to soothe where the water couldn’t reach. He was still burning up, but the fever seemed to have gone down by a couple degrees. The first thing she did was gently wash off any of that scent that clung to his skin, opening one of the packets of complimentary hotel coffee for him to smell. That had seemed to calm him down a little.

She checked him over, soothing the bruises and scrapes. There was a scab on his neck where it looked like one of his scales had been ripped out. Ari gently dabbed over the area, feeling Rafayel shudder. She didn’t want to ask right now, but she wished she had punched that bitch in the face now.

She was slightly worried about the fact he’d pretty much gone non-verbal—even tired, Rafayel usually wasn’t this quiet. But when he coughed with a wince, rubbing his throat, she coaxed him to open his mouth had saw how raw it was.

“What the hell did she do to you?” Ari demanded, cradling his head in her hands.

His eyes pinched. “Was stupid…shoulda known I…couldn’t sing right now.”

The breathy rasp took her a moment to decipher but once she understood what he meant Ariadne had to bite back her fury yet again. Rafayel had felt so backed into a corner that he’d tried to use his voice as his only weapon.

“Don’t try to talk too much. I’ll make you some tea when you get out of the tub.”

He nodded and closed his eyes again, head tilted slightly away from her, resting against the cool tiles of the wall.

Ari left him there for a few minutes to ready the bed, putting the kettle on to brew some tea. The grocery order was delivered and she called down to the front desk to ask for honey and milk.

Finally, she took a moment to call Thomas and update him on the situation.

“We’re at a hotel right now—he needed rest and I didn’t want to stress him out with the drive back to Linkon until he’s feeling better.”

“Understandable, I trust you to do what’s best for him,” Thomas said, relief in his voice.

“The local police will likely be calling within a day or two to set up an interview with him. Don’t set anything in stone yet until you let me know. He’s…lost his voice too so we want to make sure he can even talk.”

“Of course, don’t worry, I’ll handle all that,” Thomas promised. “And I’ll call Talia, but I can’t promise she won’t call you herself. I didn’t give her all the details, but I think she knew I was leaving something out.”

“That’s fine. I’m sure Rafayel won’t mind too much,” Ariadne said as she ended the call. A knock on the door heralded the room service arriving with the honey and milk. Ari thanked the hotel worker and made sure to lock the door after him.

She turned down the covers and plumped the pillows, making sure everything was ready. It wasn’t going to be comfortable like Rafayel’s room, but it would have to do.

Checking her phone, she saw they would be approaching the highest point of the tide in about an hour. She wanted to get Rafayel tucked into bed in an attempt to sleep through it.

Heading back into the bathroom, she smiled at the listless figure in the tub, retrieving a towel.

“Are you ready to get out?”

Rafayel nodded and shakily tried to push himself up. Ari helped lift him out of the tub and dabbed him dry. She wrapped the towel around his waist before carefully helping him remove the wet underwear. Normally neither of them would be shy, but considering the recent events, she wanted him to be comfortable even when it was just them.

“I’ll get you something dry to wear in just a second. Is there anything else you need?”

As she turned to go fetch his clothes, she felt his arms snake around her shoulders, pulling her back. Rafayel’s weight pressed against her back, damp, fevered skin seeping through her shirt.

“Rafayel?”

“You,” he murmured against her shoulders. “Just need you…near me.”

Her heart ached and she reached up to rub his arm gently as he nuzzled his face into her neck, inhaling her scent.

“I’m not going anywhere Rafayel,” she replied, a little choked up despite herself. “Let’s go lay down.”

She pulled his arms from around her with a kiss on one wrist, then wrapped her arm around his waist to help him out to the bed.

She helped him into new boxer briefs and offered pajamas too but Rafayel shook his head.

“Too much,” he croaked. “The rubbing is uncomfortable.”

Ari nodded in understanding, knowing he was overly sensitive and probably overstimulated already.

She helped him into bed, propping him against the pillows as she made him a cup of tea with a ton of honey and lemon in it.

Rafayel sipped it gratefully, shutting his eyes briefly in relief.

It was only after she was about to jump into bed with him when she realized she was still in her filthy hunter’s gear.

“Honey, will you be okay if I take a shower really quick?” she asked.

Rafayel looked up, lips parting as his eyes wavered, but Ari quickly reassured him.

“Just enough time to rinse off. I’ll leave the door open if you need anything.”

He nodded reluctantly and she hurried to clean up as quickly as possible.

Once she was out of sight, the emotions she had been fighting to contain finally exploded. She gave herself a few minutes to cry silently under the shower, letting out all the fury and horror at what had been done to Rafayel when he was at his weakest. She would see Clara put away for a long time if she had anything to do with it. Rafayel was supposed to have been with her, getting all the best care like he deserved. Instead he had been taken advantage of, kidnapped, tied up, and molested by someone he shouldn’t have had to expect to be a threat.

Once again, Ariadne’s ability to care for Rafayel on Ebb Day had been taken away from her. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t deeply hurt and angry about it. But more so, she regretted that Rafayel had to be put through something like that, especially when he was emotionally and physically at his most vulnerable.

She wiped her tears and forced her emotions down as she turned the water off. Regardless of what had happened, she would do everything she could for Rafayel during the rest of it.

Ari hadn’t packed anything for herself considering her urgency to leave Linkon, but she’d snagged an oversized hoodie from Rafayel’s suitcase and put that on.

She saw Rafayel’s eyes soften as he saw her in it and smiled. She reached out to touch his forehead, feeling how warm he was. He moaned a little.

“I have medicine for the fever,” she said. “I know it probably won’t do much but it will be better than nothing, right?”

He acquiesced to taking the medicine and Ari took the mostly empty mug from him before finally slipping into bed.

Rafayel was on her immediately, clinging to her with all four limbs. She couldn’t help but huff a laugh, reaching up to pet his hair.

“You’re like an octopus,” she said fondly.

He nuzzled further, pressing his nose into her neck as he breathed her in. He seemed to relax almost instantly, some of the tension easing from his body. She traced her fingers gently down his back, careful not to overstimulate his overly sensitive skin. He shivered a little, but only leaned into her touch.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispered, just barely loud enough for her to hear.

Ari frowned and reached down to tilt his chin up. “What do you mean?”

“Sorry I was too weak. Sorry I couldn’t stop her. You know I’m yours only, and I’m sorry I let her touch me—”

Ari had heard enough. She simply caught Rafayel’s lips with her own, swallowing his words. He still tasted of honey from the tea, inhaling sharply from the sudden kiss.

When she pulled back, Ariadne took his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes.

“Rafayel, don’t you dare apologize,” she said firmly. “It was that…that bitch who took advantage of you when you were at your weakest. Don’t apologize for her actions.” The tears pricked in her eyes again. “I’m sorry because I wasn’t there. I will never leave you during Ebb Day again. I don’t care if the world decides to fall apart and Wanderers destroy Linkon, I will be by your side, no matter what. She knew exactly how to hurt you and I will never forgive her. I’ll make sure she’s locked up for a long time.”

Rafayel’s eyes dilated a little, his scales shimmering more prominently. Ari gently stroked his cheek, brushing her thumb across the slightly raised scales. “I love you, Rafayel. And I am so sorry this happened.”

He pulled her closer, his lips finding her cheek, kissing a tear away.

“I don’t blame you,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers. “But I will hold you to that…for next year.”

He winced a little, and Ari frowned. “Are you okay?”

He moaned softly, nuzzling his face down against her shoulder. “Head hurts…”

She kissed his eyelid gently and pulled him closer to her. “Just try to sleep through the worst of it, honey. I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Rafayel hummed and wrapped his arms tighter around her, pulling her flush against him. He was almost too hot, but Ari wasn’t about the push him away.

He seemed to fall asleep quickly enough though Ariadne stayed awake for a long time after, stroking his hair, listening to his breathing, grateful he was with her. She didn’t want to think about how much worse it could have gotten. She was just thankful he was safe and sound in her arms and that was all that she could ask for.

***

Rafayel woke late the next morning, almost at noon. Ariadne had expected that and had asked for a late check out when she got the room.

“Good morning.” She laced her fingers through his hair, checking his temperature, and was happy to see the fever had indeed dissipated. “How are you feeling?”

“Mmm, tired, a little sore, but…mostly just my throat hurts.”

“How bad is it?” Ari asked.

Rafayel shrugged. “It will heal. Using my song always takes a toll, but it’s not permanent. Just like…a really bad sore throat.”

Ari frowned at how rough his voice sounded, but finally pulled away. “If you’re feeling up to it, we can drive back to Linkon. If not, I can ask for another night here.”

Rafayel shook his head and sat up slowly. “I want to go home.”

She nodded. She couldn’t disagree with that sentiment.

They had a quick breakfast in the room, then drove back to Linkon. By the time they got back to Rafayel’s house in Whitesand Bay, he was exhausted again and collapsed on the couch as soon as they got inside.

“Are you sure you don’t want to lay in your bed?” Ari asked him.

“Later,” Rafayel replied tiredly, arm over his eyes to shield them from the afternoon light. “Just wanna stay here for now.”

“Can I get you anything.”

He reached out and snagged her sleeve, pulling her toward him until she was lying on top of him.

“This is good,” he murmured into her hair.

Ariadne resigned herself to napping with him for the rest of the afternoon and had to admit that it wasn’t a bad idea at all.

***

The next day, Thomas coaxed Rafayel to do the interview with the police and the detective Ari had seen briefly at Clara’s place that day, came to Rafayel’s studio and spoke to him about the incident.

Ari sat there at Rafayel’s side, listening to him tell the story, slowly and quietly. She let him hold her hand when he was having trouble getting the words out, but the detective was patient and didn’t push him more than he needed to for clarification. She was more on edge hearing about the details than Rafayel was telling them.

Before the detective wrapped up the interview, he asked, “Mr. Rafayel, Miss Heartfield has continuously insisted that you’re part of the Lemurian race and that gave her the right to ‘capture’ you in some sort of forced marriage. Do you have any idea why she would think that?”

Ariadne stayed silent, hoping she wasn’t showing any tells, but Rafayel stayed completely calm, shrugging, as his brows drew together in confusion. “I was just as confused as you are detective. I only know a little about Lemuria from the news and all that. I guess she thought my artistic ability made me something I’m not. I just feel inspired by the sea, so I paint it a lot.”

The detective nodded and closed his notebook, standing up. “Thank you, Mr. Rafayel. As of now, that is all. The fact you pressed charges is really all we need. The girl appears to be clinically insane.”

“I hope she’ll be able to get the help she needs,” Rafayel said quietly, shaking the detective’s hand before showing him out.

As soon as he left, Rafayel collapsed into Ari’s lap on the couch, seeming completely drained.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly.

He nodded against her stomach, nuzzling closer. Ari petted his hair. “Do you want to talk about it at all?”

“No,” he replied. “I don’t want to think about it again.”

“Then let’s not,” Ari said decisively as she shifted on the couch to a more comfortable position, letting Rafayel settle against her. She reached for a book on the coffee table. “Let me read to you. We can just take it easy today.”

Before she knew it, she had dozed off. Rafayel’s warm weight on top of her was like instant comfort. She woke late in the afternoon, chilled and without her Lemurian body pillow.

She yawned and looked around for him.

“Rafayel?”

She sat up, figuring she would start getting something ready for dinner. He had to be hungry.

Her phone rang and she sat up, hurriedly answering it. It was the detective from earlier, letting her know that Clara had officially been sentenced and had pled insanity. Ari didn’t feel the best about that. She would have rather had the woman behind bars than in a psychiatric hospital, but she supposed it was better than nothing.

She thanked the detective, then went to search the dimly lit house for Rafayel.

She finally found him in his bedroom. The light from the setting sun cast a firelike glow through the room. Rafayel sat on the floor next to a wooden chest that looked like it had seen better days. He was turned away from her, bent over something in his lap.

“Rafayel?”

Ari stepped quietly over to him and knelt at his side, sliding a comforting hand down his back.

Rafayel didn’t look up. He seemed fixed on a small book that sat in his lap, flipping through the worn pages. She could recognize his flowery handwriting on the pages. Some of the entries had been struck out, while others remained untouched.

“What are you looking at, honey?”

“I kept a record of all of them,” Rafayel said quietly, pausing on one page. His finger slid over a name that was crossed out but Ari could still make out “Christopher Heartfield” underneath it. She couldn’t help the shiver that went through her body at the sight.

“You kept a hit list,” she said carefully.

He huffed wryly. “Yeah. I did. It started out that way, anyway. But…it was just something for me to obsess over. I don’t like who I was back then and I don’t want to go back to that. I was just…drifting. Consumed by revenge.”

She remained silent, letting him sift through his thoughts as he flipped to the back of the book where there was a new list.

“And then I found my anchor.” He smiled briefly up at her. “And she made me see all the brilliant colors in this world again, not just red. So I stopped writing down the people I wanted to kill and started writing down the ones I wanted to remember.”

Ari bent over his shoulder, reading through the names that were accompanied by little descriptions, or surviving family members.

“These are all Lemurians?” she asked.

He nodded. “Everyone we lost to EVER. It’s more important that they’re remembered than our enemies who deserve to be forgotten.” He slid his long fingers lovingly over a duo of names, before he closed the book. “I don’t regret what I did and I never will, but I don’t want that to be my people’s legacy.”

Ari wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her chin on his shoulder. “It won’t be. All the Lemurian’s I’ve ever met don’t seem to let that define them. They always seem to live life to the fullest.”

Rafayel smiled softly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right about that.”

“But they wouldn’t be able to without what you’ve done for them,” she continued. She leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I will never think less of you for doing whatever you had to to protect your people, Rafayel. Never stop being you.”

He let out a shuddering breath and turned around enough to wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her into his lap. She was slightly surprised when he burrowed his face in her neck, hugging her close until she could almost not breathe.

“Rafayel?” she asked softly.

“Thank you…for loving every color of me.”

He leans back, closing his eyes for a second, and there it is. That scent. Her perfume. It’s a goddamn olfactory ghost, haunting every inch of his home. It’s on his couch, it’s in his bedsheets, practically etched into the walls. A little flag planted in his territory, announcing her presence.

She’s good, he’ll give her that. A master of the artful lie, a silver tongued little thing who can spin a web of deception with a smile so bright it could practically blind you. She thinks she's so clever, hiding the truth behind those pretty, innocent expressions. But he’s known her since they were children, since the days of thunderstorms and shared secrets. He’s watched her evolve, watched her sharpen her wits and harden her heart, and he sees right through the facade.

But that’s okay. He likes it. He likes the game, the way she dances around the truth, weaving a web of half lies and omissions. It’s a mirror of his own mind, a reflection of the masks he wears every single day.

They’re two halves of a single, fractured soul, spinning in a haze where love and obsession become indistinguishable from one another. Caleb finds himself wondering, with a dark sort of amusement, who’s actually going to catch who in the end.

But for now, he's going to give her exactly what she’s looking for.

As the sun finally drags itself below the horizon, Caleb slips beneath the sheets of his bed and strips naked.

He knows she’s watching. He knows her eyes are fixed on him.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he pushes the silk aside. He lets the cool air hit his skin, exposing himself to the lens. He angles his hips just so, a lewd, shameless display of his fat cock, making sure the camera catches every single inch of him. His breathing shifts, getting heavy, ragged, catching in his throat as he strokes himself imagining is her hand around him. He lets out a guttural moan that he knows will vibrate through the speakers in whatever room she's hiding in.

And then, he whispers her name.

“...”

He wants her to feel the weight of it. He wants her to realize that even in his most private, vulnerable moments, she is the only thing that exists. He lets her watch as he strokes himself towards a messy release, painting his expenaive sheets with thick spurts of cum.

But a tease is never enough for a man like Caleb.

He rises from the bed, his bare feet making almost no sound on the hardwood as he strides out of his bedroom. He doesn't head for the kitchen or the balcony. Instead, he moves toward the living room, toward the wall that looks perfectly ordinary to anyone else. But with a practiced touch, a hidden mechanism clicks, and a secret door swings open, revealing his true sanctum.

He sits heavily in the chair before the glow of the computer monitors. With a few keystrokes, the screens bloom to life, and the room is flooded with a digital kaleidoscope of her.

There she is. Everywhere. Photos from the street, grainy surveillance footage, shots of her sleeping, laughing, even crying. His obsession. His entire universe, distilled into pixels and light.

He turns his head slightly, looking toward the direction of the hidden camera in her room, and he sees her. She isn't disgusted. She’s mesmerized. She’s a mirror of his own unquenchable thirst.

She might be smart, she might be a damn good Hunter, but she’s playing against a man who has turned his entire existence into a singular, sharpened point of focus. He is always, always one step ahead.

As he watches her on the screen, a satisfied rush of adrenaline surges through him. He wonders what she’ll do next. What new lies will she tell? What new traps will she set? He’ll just keep enjoying the thrill of the chase, the exquisite tension of knowing that she’s watching him, wanting him, needing him... just as desperately as he needs her.

One thing is certain, as certain as the gravity he commands, he will have her. Come hell, come high water, come the end of the world itself. She is his destiny, his beautiful, chaotic fate.

And he is never, ever letting her go.

The game isn't over. It's just getting interesting.

YOUR POV

The image of him is burned into the back of your eyelids. Every time you blink, you see it again. His face contorted in pleasure. The way he moaned your name had you trembling where you sat. You can't unsee the way his knuckles went white, the way his body shuddered, or the shameless desperation in the way he found release.

A traitorous part of you, the part that's a little too obsessed with the thrill of the hunt wishes you’d been braver. Dammit, why didn't I put a third one in the bathroom? Or the hallway?

You really want to catch every single, private second of him.

But then reality hits, cold and sharp. You shake the thought off, Caleb isn't an idiot, he's a Colonel. The risk is massive. The terrifying thought that he might actually know creeps into your mind like a shadow.

No, you tell yourself a little too quickly. It’s hidden. Undetectable. He’ll never know.

Yet, even as you try to settle, that bitter, hot knot of jealousy starts to twist in your gut again. Your mind drifts back to that photo Gideon had uploaded. The girl. Her smile had been too bright and her hand had been positioned a fraction of an inch too close to his. It’s a memory that sits in your mind like a splinter, irritating and impossible to ignore.

Is he truly yours? You don't know and the uncertainty stings.

But then you remember the way he cried out your name. It wasn't just lust, it sounded pained. Maybe it isn't the pure, uncomplicated love you’ve always dreamed of. Maybe it’s something much darker, something more complicated and far more dangerous.

You really, truly wanted to see him today. There was this hollow ache in your chest, a craving for the warmth of his smile and the way those eyes always seemed to pull you in like a gravitational tide. But it's the last Saturday of the month, which means he’s locked into that rigid, military schedule of his, keeping him far away from you.

So you sink onto the edge of your bed, the mattress dipping under your weight, and pull your phone from your pocket. Your fingers are a little unsteady as you tap through the layers of encryption to reach the hidden apps. These aren't the apps a normal person uses, these are your windows into the man behind the Colonel.

Your pulse hammers against your throat when you log into his accounts, holding your breath as you scan for anything new. A message? A notification? A slip up?

Nothing.

It’s the same stale routine. A few banal exchanges with Gideon, a dry work email from the Fleet, and a social media feed that looks as frozen in time as a museum exhibit. No new photos. No new posts. You let out a long, shaky sigh of relief, your shoulders finally dropping an inch. There’s no sign of that girl from the photo. No evidence that anyone else has managed to pierce his orbit lately.

You’ve been doing this for years. It’s a ritual now, a habit so deeply ingrained in your bones that you don't even realize you're doing it until you're already deep in his digital life. You've had these same tracking apps installed on your phone since high school. Back then, it was different, you’d watch the flood of thirsty messages and scandalous nudes from girls all over the school hitting his inbox, watching them wait for a reply that never came. Caleb never played the game. He was always too disciplined, too untouchable. He never gave them the time of day.

And that? That was the drug that hooked you. Knowing that even when the world was throwing itself at him, he remained unyielding. He could be yours, and yours alone.

You know it's messed up. You know that a "sane" person wouldn't spend their Saturday nights dissecting a man's private digital footprint like a forensic scientist. It’s an invasion, a total lack of boundaries.

But you can't just stop. You can't resist the gnawing need to know every detail, to inhabit the spaces of his life even when he isn't looking. If you have to bury this obsession deeper just to keep it alive, then so be it.

You'll keep digging. You'll keep watching. Because the only thing scarier than knowing too much is knowing nothing at all.

---------------------------

Hours later you're standing in the fruit aisle of the supermarket, staring at the produce as if there's an answer to your life written in the skins of the fruit. But just when your fingers graze a perfect, gleaming apple, they brush against something else. Warm skin.

You jump, nearly dropping the fruit, and an apology slips out of your mouth before you can even think.

"Sorry..."

"Y/N?"

The voice hits you like a sudden gust of wind. You lift your head, and your breath hitches. Eyes you haven't seen in years. "Ian?" you ask, a genuine, startled smile breaking across your face. "Oh my god, is it really you? It’s been... what, years? How have you been?"

Back in school he was one of those small, sweet crushes, the kind you remember fondly but don't lose sleep over.

Ian grins, but there’s a different energy to him now. As he speaks, you catch his eyes roaming over you, a slow sweep that feels a little more intentional than a casual glance. "I'm good," he says, his gaze lingering on the curve of your hips just a beat too long. "And you look..." He lets the word hang there for a second "...incredible."

A faint blush creeps up your neck at the compliment, but the moment is interrupted by a flicker of something else. You notice Ian’s eyes darting around the aisle, shifting restlessly as if he’s scanning the crowd for a specific face.

Confused, you follow his line of sight, expecting to see someone familiar, but there’s nothing. Just the usual grocery store chaos, people debating over cereal brands and teenagers laughing near the frozen goods. The aisles are empty of anyone who looks like they belong with him.

"Are you here by yourself?" he asks. He’s still scanning the perimeter, his brow furrowed in a way that feels almost anxious.

"Yeah..." you reply, your voice trailing off as a small knot of confusion forms in your chest. "Is everything okay?"

Ian snaps out of whatever trance he was in, shaking his head and forcing a laugh that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh, no, it’s nothing. Really," he says, though he doesn't sound convinced. "It’s just... well, back in high school, you and Caleb were practically joined at the hip. I just kind of assumed he’d be trailing behind you like a shadow." He gives a little apologetic shrug, trying to play it off as a casual observation.

You feel a tiny prickle of annoyance at the mention of his name. "We weren't always together," you say, brow furrowing.

He chuckles, but the sound is a little dry. "You were! Trust me, everyone was way too intimidated to even get within five feet of you because of him. Especially us guys."

You tilt your head, genuinely baffled. "Why on earth would anyone be afraid of him?"

Ian laughs again, but this time there’s a distinct edge of discomfort in it, a sort of nervous energy that makes you uneasy. "Come on, don't play coy. We were all terrified to get too close to you. Nobody wanted to be the one to accidentally piss Caleb off."

You let out a light, airy laugh, but the sound dies in your throat when you see the way his jaw sets grim, hard. He’s glancing around the produce section again, his eyes scanning the shoppers as if he’s worried someone might be eavesdropping on this specific conversation.

"No way," you say, trying to sound breezy, but your voice feels thin, lacking any real conviction. "You're kidding, right?"

"He almost beat the absolute crap out of me," Ian confesses. He leans in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that feels far too heavy for a grocery store. "He told me straight up that you weren't allowed to date anyone. And it wasn't just me, either. Half the guys at school..." He trails off, a visible shudder running through his shoulders as if the memory still stings.

Suddenly, your mind starts racing, flipping through years of memories like a deck of cards being shuffled at high speed. You think about all those missed connections. All those guys who had been so eager to take you out, only to vanish at the last second, or suddenly lose interest after just one date. It wasn't just a high school thing, either, the pattern had followed you like a ghost through college. A long, frustrating trail of aborted romances and broken promises that you just chalked up to bad luck.

Could it really be true?

Had Caleb really been the invisible hand, pulling the strings of your entire romantic life for years? Had he been quietly pruning away every potential boyfriend before they even had a chance to reach you?

You search Ian's face, desperate to find a flicker of a joke, a glint of anything to suggest he’s lying. But there’s nothing. Just the truth etched into the lines around his eyes and a lingering shadow of old fear.

A wild impulse flares up in your chest. It’s reckless, maybe even a little bit stupid, but before your brain can talk you out of it, the words are already tumbling out.

"Well... he's not around right now," you say, your voice a little higher than usual. "How about we head back to my place? We could grab some coffee and actually catch up properly."

You wince internally the second the invitation leaves your lips. God, that sounded so needy, you think, but beneath the embarrassment, there’s a bubbling urge to prove something.

Ian glances around the aisle one last time, his eyes darting nervously as if he expects Caleb to materialize from behind a stack of oranges. He looks hesitant, a shadow of doubt crossing his face, but then he offers a small, tentative nod. "Alright," he says softly. "Let’s go."

The walk back to your apartment is a blur. Ian shares mundane snippets about his job and stories about visiting family over the summer. But to you, it all sounds like static. Like white noise. Your entire world has narrowed down to the thudding rhythm of your own heart and the terrifying thrill of what you’re about to do.

Finally, you’re standing in the hallway, the cool air of the apartment complex settling around you. You fumble with your keys, your movements clumsy and uncoordinated, when your phone suddenly buzzes in your pocket.

The vibration feels like a lightning strike.

You pull it out with trembling fingers and swipe the screen awake. And there it is, staring back at you is a message from Caleb.

"Hey Pips, I'm free tomorrow. Wanna come over?"

The simplicity of it, the casual warmth of that nickname makes your head spin. You don't even try to reply. You don't think about how it might look or how long you're leaving him on read. You just toss the phone onto the small entryway table with a dull clack, the screen still glowing.

There is no doubt, there is a camera on the hallway. Are there any inside?

Taking a long, shaky breath to steady your nerves you turn back to Ian and reach out, your fingers curling around his hand to pull him inside.

Let him come looking, a spark of defiance lights up in your chest. Let him see.

The second the door clicks shut, you shove Ian back against the wood and crash your lips onto his. It’s clumsy. An awkward clatter of teeth and uncoordinated scramble of tongues.

The silence of the apartment is shatters.

Your phone begins to wail from the entryway table. The sharp ringtone cuts through the air like a blade, and you know, you just know it’s him. Caleb’s name flashes on the screen, a digital ghost looming over the room, watching you from the dark.

Gotcha.

This was the answer you’d been hunting for. Caleb wasn't just a part of your life, he was a spectator. He was watching right now. How many of them were there? Hidden in the smoke detectors? Tucked into the corners of the ceiling?

Is he seeing the way your chest heaves right now?

You don't let the fear paralyze you. Instead, you use it. You grab Ian’s hand and lead him toward the bedroom, he looks a little dazed by the sudden shift but he isn't exactly complaining. As you move, the phone on the table goes absolutely haywire, bombarded by a rapid fire succession of messages. He’s practically vibrating with the need to reach you.

He wanted to watch? You’ll give him the best performance.

Once you reach the bed, you push Ian back onto the mattress and straddle him. You dive back into his mouth, hands roaming over his chest, fingers bunching and gripping the fabric of his shirt as you lose yourself in the rush of the moment.

His hands find their way to your thighs, sliding under your skirt to cup your ass. You let out a broken gasp into the kiss when he finally hooks his fingers under the edge of your panties, sliding them aside.

A small, rational part of your brain is screaming this is insane, you barely even know this guy anymore! but that voice is drowned out by your own heartbeat. Logic is a luxury you can't afford right now. All that matters is the risk, and the invisible eyes you know are staring at you from the shadows.

Breathless, you break the kiss, your eyes darting around the room in search. And then, you see it. Tucked away in the shadowed corner of your closet, a tiny, unblinking red dot glints.

The moment you realize he’s actually watching you a rush of heat floods your entire body. The phone on the table outside starts to ring again.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" Ian asks breathless "it could be impo..."

You don't let him finish. You silence him, crashing your lips back onto his to stifle the question, determined to keep this investigation going. You squeeze your eyes shut, and suddenly, the illusion becomes almost too real. As Ian's fingers slide deep, pushing two fingers inside you, your mind betrays you. You aren't feeling Ian. You're picturing Caleb. You're imagining those strong hands, those calloused fingers, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress.

When Ian’s thumb finally finds your clit, grazing the sensitive nub, the world simply... shatters.

Your head lolls back and as your pleasure peaks Caleb is the only name on the tip of your tongue.

The echoes of your climax are still rippling through your nerves when the reality of what you’ve just done slams into your consciousness like a bucket of ice water. The high vanishes, replaced by sickening clarity.

Ian is staring up at you, his hand is still between your thighs "Hey... is everything okay?" he asks softly, his voice sounding far too loud in the sudden silence. "You were... really into it a second ago..."

You bolt upright, nearly tripping over the duvet in your rush to get to your phone.

Your fingers are shaking so badly you can barely grip the device as you snatch it from the entryway table. You swipe the screen open, and your heart drops into your stomach. The notification bar is a graveyard of missed connections.

Thirteen missed calls. Over thirty unread messages. And every single one of them, every single text is punctuated by a single, chilling period.

A shiver runs down your spine as you stare at those glaring notifications. You can almost feel the weight of Caleb's quiet fury pressing in on you, heavy and suffocating. You know him well enough to know that a single, lonely period is far more dangerous than a shouting match. It’s the silence before the storm, the kind of rage that doesn't need to make noise to be absolutely terrifying.

You grip the phone so hard the cold metal bites into your palm.

The sound of water running from the kitchen sink cuts through the heavy silence. You turn to see Ian coming out of the kitchen, wiping his wet hands on his clothes, looking confused and increasingly uneasy.

Before he can even open his mouth to ask what's wrong, the lie just spills out of you, born of pure desperation. "Caleb is on his way," you blurt out, "He... he should be here in a few minutes."

Ian’s eyes go wide. He doesn't ask why he's coming over. He doesn't even say goodbye. He just bolts. He practically scrambles for the door, like a man fleeing a crime scene. The door slams shut with a resounding bang, leaving you standing there in the oppressive stillness. You are alone. And there, in the quiet, your phone screen continues to glow, its light glaring at you like an accusation.

-------------------------

Caleb’s silence expands until it fills every corner of your life, suffocating you. It’s a cold silence that makes you feel like you’re walking on a frozen lake, waiting for the ice to give way.

All day Sunday, you go through the motions, nod when people talk to you, eat your meals, smile when expected. But underneath, there’s a jagged pulse of panic. You know he knows. You can feel his gaze on you, even when he's miles away.

By Monday morning, you’re done. You can't breathe, you can't think, and you certainly can't stand the silence.

You catch the Coelum Express up to Skyhaven, your heart hammering against your ribs when you unlock Caleb’s home with your spare key. The apartment is unnervingly quiet. It’s so still that the sound of your own breath feels too loud. As you wander through the living room, you stumble across a broken vase. Shards of ceramic lay scattered across the floor like a starburst of jagged teeth. Did he do this?

You don't have time to wonder. You’re on a mission.

You start tearing through his things like someone looking for a lost part of their soul. You open drawers, rummage through closets and cabinets, finding nothing. It’s all so normal. It’s infuriating

You’re moving from room to room, looking for the eyes. You’re looking for the way he sees you when you think you're alone.

Finally, you find yourself in the bathroom, staring at your own reflection in the mirror. You look exhausted. Your eyes are dark, underlined by the shadows of two sleepless nights.

You tilt your head, squinting at the ceiling. There, tucked away in a corner where the light barely reaches, is a small, slightly crooked square. It's so subtle, so almost invisible, that if you hadn't been looking with the eyes of a person hunting for a secret, you would have missed it entirely.

Using the small stool beside the tub, you manage to hoist yourself up, your fingertips press against the drywall until click. A box tumbles into your hands, you catch it just before it hits the floor. Your hands are shaking so badly you can barely work the latch.

When the lid finally gives, the air leaves your lungs in a sharp gasp.

There are photos everywhere. Not the kind you take together in the sun, but shots captured from the shadows, you laughing in high school, you studying in college, even recent ones of you just living your life. All of them taken from a distance.

And then, the things that make your blood run cold. Ribbons you were certain you’d lost years ago, their once vibrant colors now faded and dusty, tangled like dead vines. Nestled in the middle of the mementos are two pairs of your panties. One went missing during a trip to your grandmother's back in college, the other? That one vanished just last month.

He hasn't just been watching you, he's been collecting you.

You’re still processing the depth of his obsession when a voice slices through the air.

"Happy now?"

You nearly leap out of your skin. The box slips from your numb fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud, sending the photos and the stolen fabric scattering across the cold tiles like debris from a wreck.

Caleb is standing just a few feet away. He isn't shouting, he isn't even angry in the way you expected. He's just there. Leaning casually against the doorframe, eyes fixed on you.

"What... what is all this?" you manage to stammer, though your voice is so thin it’s barely a whisper.

A low chuckle vibrates in his chest, a sound that has no business being as smooth as it is. "Are we really going to play the offended victim now?" he asks, his tone dripping with a cruel sort of mockery. He takes a step toward you, his eyes never once wavering from yours. "Or do I need to remind you about that little cameras you tucked away so... cleverly... in MY room?"

You try to act like a clueless victim, grasping at the most transparent lie in the book. "What?" the word feels pathetic the second it leaves your lips, weak, flimsy, and a little embarrassing.

He doesn't buy it for a second. He closes the distance between you, stepping into your personal space until the cramped bathroom feels like it’s shrinking, the air turning thick and stifling. Without a word, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone, and holds it up like a weapon.

"Or we could just check your phone. See if there are any new notifications waiting for you. I bet a smart cookie like you has everything all figured out, don't you, Pipsqueak?"

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stand your ground, trying desperately to flip the script before he crushes you completely.

"How many cameras do you have in my apartment?" you demand. Your voice is a little shaky, sure, but you lace it with as much accusation as you can muster.

"Enough."

The single word is final.

"How long..." you start, the question catching in your throat, but he cuts you off before you can even finish.

"Since the day you moved in"

You feel the heat rushing to your cheeks, a burning blush you can't suppress. Your heart is drumming a frantic rhythm against your ribs as you struggle to find the courage to ask the one question that's been clawing at your mind.

"Did you..." you begin, your voice dropping to a humiliated whisper, "Did you watch... when I touched myself?"

He doesn't blink. He doesn't even offer the mercy of a pause. He answers instantly.

"Yes."

The word hits you with more impact than a shout ever could. You want to fight back and scream, to tell him he’s insane but the words die in your throat when you realize you are not much different.

"Just like you watched me on Friday," he adds, proving your point.

You try to move back, looking for an escape route, but the movement is futile. You’re already backed up against the hard, cold edge of the bathroom counter. "I... Caleb, I..."

"I watched every single time your hips rubbed against the mattress, searching for friction..." he pauses "...or maybe you were searching for me."

He’s so close now. You can feel the warmth radiating off him as he leans in, his hands coming to rest on the counter on either side of you. His fingers splay out, wide and firm, effectively pinning you in place.

"Except Saturday..."

"How long?" The question bursts out of you "How long did you watch us?"

His hands tighten on the marble, knuckles turning white. He leans in even further, his lips hovering just a hair's breadth from your ear.

"Long enough to know that I could have done it so much better," he whispers, and the sheer arrogance of it makes your knees weak. "I could have made you scream my name. I could have had you begging for more."

"Caleb..." your voice is a soft plea for mercy or perhaps something more.

His hands hook under your thighs and he hoists you up with a single, effortless motion. Before you can even gasp, you're perched on the cold edge of the bathroom counter, legs dangling, your face brought level with his.

"I would have licked my fingers instead of washing them like he did, I would have tasted every fucking drop of you."

The mental image of his tongue makes you ache with a sudden emptiness. A broken whimper escapes your lips, a sound of surrender you didn't even know you were making.

"Did you like it?" He digs his fingers into your hips, pulling you forward until there isn't a single inch of air left between your bodies. "Did he give you what you truly wanted?"

You stare back at him, a spark of something new igniting in your chest. If he thinks he’s the only one in this room with leverage, he’s dead wrong.

Your lips are hovering just a fraction of an inch from his when you reach down.

Your hand glides with deliberate intent, your fingertips finding the front of his pants. Under the fabric, you feel the hard, unmistakable length of him, heavy and pressing against your palm.

Caleb freezes. For a second his mask slips and you see a flicker of genuine surprise, the raw shock of a man who didn't expect his prey to bite back.

A small, triumphant smile tugs at your lips. He’s just as wrecked by this as you are, and the knowledge is intoxicating.

Before he can reclaim the control he’s so desperate to hold, you press your lips to the corner of his mouth, just barely grazing the skin, and exhale the truth like a secret.

"I was thinking about you the whole time," you murmur, the words a soft vibration against his lips. "Every touch, every moan... every single second. It’s always been you, Caleb. Always."

For a heartbeat the world stops and then he breaks.

His lips crash into yours, rough, hungry, and almost violent, demanding everything you have to give.

Your fingers weave themselves into the dark silk of his hair, pulling him closer, needing to erase the last of the distance. Your bodies are fused together, your curves molding perfectly into the hard lines of his chest. His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers tangling deep in your hair to anchor you, to hold you steady while he ravages your mouth.

But the heat is too much to contain. You can't wait.

Driven by need, your hands drop from his hair to his waist. You go straight for his belt. The leather groans as you work it, and the metallic clink of the buckle hitting the marble countertop echoes sharply through the bathroom. You don't break the kiss for a second, tongues dancing a messy rhythm, driving him toward the edge of madness.

Caleb’s hands aren't idle, either. They’re everywhere at once. His palms catch the hem of your skirt, his fingers bunching the fabric, shoving it up, up, up until the cool air of the bathroom hits your thighs. He doesn't stop until the skirt is around your waist, leaving nothing but the thin barrier of your panties between his hands and your skin.

You hear the sound of his zipper as you pull his pants down, mixing with the quick, shaky breaths you both take. His boxers come off right after, and then his cock springs free, slapping against his stomach, thick and already leaking with need.

Your small hand wraps around him, but you can barely get your fingers to meet on the other side. The moment you touch him his hips jerk, cock throbbing against your palm. A broken groan tears from his throat, forcing him to break the kiss and rest his forehead against yours, breath coming in harsh stabs of air.

But you aren't going to let him catch his breath just yet.

You gather a mouthful of saliva, and then, opening your mouth wide, you let the spit fall from your lips, the wet, warm drool dripping down the length of his cock.

Caleb’s eyes go wide, his mouth falling open in a stunned gasp. "Fuck, Pips..." he nearly whimpers, voice cracking, "Where the hell did you learn to do that?"

You don't answer with words. Instead, your fingers begin to glide. You tease the sensitive underside, building tension, swirling the moisture around the tip of his cock until his head falls back.

The expression on his face is the kind of delicious agony that comes right before a breaking point. "Fuck," he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. "You have to... stop... because if you don't... I'm gonna..." He loses the thread, his coherent thoughts dissolving into a haze of pleasure.

He shifts his weight, his hips working of their own to guide your hand, adjusting the angle so your grip hits exactly where he needs it most. His cock is pulsing in your hand, a fast heartbeat. "Dont stop," he begs, his voice is now stripped of all his usual colonel like discipline. "Please, baby... don't stop... you're gonna...make me fucking... Unghh... cuuuuum..."

With one last stroke, Caleb cums in your hand, splattering your fingers and your covered cunt with warm streams of his release. He continues to push forward, his hips moving fast as he rides through the waves of his climax, smearing the proof of his lack of control on your hand and the fabric of your panties.

He slumps forward, resting his forehead against yours again, his chest heaving with uneven breaths. When your lips brush against his a breathless giggle escapes you.

"Is that how you do it?" Caleb asks, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear. With an impatient jerk, he yanks them down your thighs and off your legs. The scrap of lace catches on the toe of your shoe for a split second before he tosses it aside.

You cock your head to the side, one eyebrow arching in genuine confusion. "How do I do what?"

Caleb doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he sinks to his knees on the cold bathroom floor, his eyes locked on yours.

"Bring a man to his fucking knees"

His hands grip your thighs to pull you to the very edge of the counter, and then his mouth is there, lips latching onto your bare cunt.

He nestles his nose into your soft pubic hair, the warmth of his breath making you gasp, before his tongue pushes forward. He runs the flat of it in a long, slow stroke along your slit, the slick, warm muscle parting your lips before he begins to swirl around your puffy clit in a devastating circle.

Your thighs tremble uncontrollably and your toes curl inside your shoes when you fight the urge to just grind against his face.

There is a strange, invisible weight pressing against your thighs. It's a force that keeps your legs spread wide, pinning you open even as your muscles instinctively try to squeeze shut to hide from the sensation. Caleb is using his Evol.

Looking down, you meet his eyes as his tongue flicks out to lick a slow stripe up your slit, all the way from your entrance to the very tip of your clit, making the sensitive bud bounce against the tip of his tongue.

You tear your gaze away, staring at the ceiling, terrified that if you keep looking at him, you’ll shatter before you're ready.

"Look at me"

"I... I can't," you stammer, your cheeks burning with a hot blush that spreads all the way down to your chest.

Caleb lets out a sinful chuckle, a vibration that you feel much more in your pussy than in your ears. "Why not, princess?" he teases, his breath ghosting over your drenched cunt.

"Because I'll cum," you admit, utterly defeated. "Like... really, really fast."

"Eyes on me" there is no teasing in his voice now "Look at me, or I'll stop."

Your eyes fly to his, wide and vulnerable.

"There you go" his tongue picks up the pace, flicking and swirling around your clit "You taste so good, I could eat your pretty pussy for hours."

He proves it by thrusting his tongue deep into your entrance before dragging it back up with a heavy, wet friction, finally sucking your clit into the heat of his mouth.

"You like having your fingers inside this needy little cunt, don't you?" The words are vulgar, unashamed, falling from his lips like honey. "I've seen you, countless times... fucking yourself stupid, wishing it was my cock splitting you open instead."

As he speaks, his fingers begin to dance along your inner thighs, teasing the sensitive skin just enough to keep you on the precipice.

Then, he focuses entirely on your clit again. He puckers his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves, creating a vacuum of heat. Everything in the bathroom, the gravity, the world itself simply falls apart.

When the wave of pleasure finally hits it takes over your entire consciousness. Caleb doesn't let you go, though. He works you through it, his tongue wringing out every single last drop of pleasure until you feel completely hollowed out. Only then does he finally release you, a final, parting suck sending one last, full body shudder through your limbs, leaving you clinging to the edge of the counter just to stay upright.

The hard, insistent weight of his cock pressing against your inner thigh should have been a warning sign of just how insatiable he is. The way he’d practically shredded the rest of your clothes, baring you to the air and leaving himself just as exposed made it pretty obvious, he wasn't even close to being done.

He settles himself between your splayed thighs, the fat head of his cock teasing the very edge of your soaked entrance. A part of you knows he’s going to hurt you. You know the stretch, the burn of being split open by him, is going to be more intense than anything you've ever felt. But nothing could have actually prepared you for the visceral reality of it.

The second the crown of his cock pushes past your entrance, your body goes into a panic. Your walls clench down with a futile strength, trying to fight him off, trying to keep him out. The burn is immediate. It’s a stretching ache that makes your eyes water and steals the breath from your lungs. As he continues to press forward, you feel yourself being pulled wider than you ever thought physically possible, your cunt trying to accommodate his girth as he sinks deeper and deeper.

"You're squeezing me so hard, pretty girl," he grunts "Breathe for me, baby. Just... nice and slow."

He can see the distress in your eyes, the way your face is pinched in pleasure and pain. He pauses his forward momentum, leaving half of his cock nestled inside, and ducks his head down, catching one of your nipples between his teeth.

He drags his teeth slowly over the sensitive peak, applying just the slightest, most agonizingly delicious pressure. In response, your walls clench around him even harder, the muscles fluttering as a bolt of liquid heat races through your core.

"Fuuuuck, y/n!" he has to grit his teeth, knuckles turning white as he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips, physically anchoring himself to keep from snapping his hips forward and burying himself balls deep in one thrust.

He knew he had to distract you. If he didn't help you relax and adjust to his size, he was going to lose what little self control he had left. So, he diverted his focus, lavishing all his attention on your breasts. He began circling your nipples with the tip of his tongue, tracing the delicate, sensitive edges of your areola before flicking the peaks back and forth, back and forth, driving you crazy. All the while, his hand was busy, kneading the soft weight of your other breast, rolling and plucking at the neglected nipple until it puckered into a stiff peak, mirroring the one currently in his mouth.

Under his palm, your heart beats like a trapped bird. He can hear the uneven hitch in your breath as you struggle. He knows its a lot, he knows it hurts, but he also knows that your body can take it. That with just a little more time, a little more patience, you will mold yourself around him until it feels like you were made for this.

"Shhhh, baby, that's it, just breathe through it. Feel how deep I am inside your sweet little cunt. You're doing so well. Taking me so well. Such a good girl."

His words, filthy and dripping with praise, wash over you like a balm. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, you feel the tension begin to bleed out of you. Your body starting to yield to the inevitable. Your walls soften around his cock, still tight, but the sharp, stinging ache turns into something more manageable. Your breathing, too, eases into something that resembles a normal rhythm.

He didn't stop, though. He kept licking and nipping at your nipples until they were flushed a deep red and glistening, until your back was arching and your fingers were tangled deep in his hair, pulling him closer.

Instead of thrusting, he begins to roll his hips in slow circles. He wants you to feel everything, every ridge, every pulsing vein.

"Caleb..." you gasp in a broken plea. "... please"

He knows exactly what you are begging for. He feels it in the way your hips instinctively arch up to meet his rhythm, but he wants your verbal surrender.

"What? Tell me. I want to hear you say it."

His hand slides down the curve of your belly, fingers diving between your legs to find your clit. He begins to circle the swollen nub, his touch so feather light it feels like torture.

"Caleb... I need..." You choke on the words "I need you to fuck me. Deeper... please!"

With a hard thrust of his hips he buries himself to the hilt, his heavy balls slapping against your ass.

"You feel... god, you feel incredible. So fucking hot... you're perfect."

Your body has stopped fighting and started surrendering. Every time he drives into you, he strikes a spot deep inside that sends bolts of electric bliss straight to your brain. Your walls, once stubborn and resistant, are now molding to him, eagerly stretching.

He leans down, trailing open mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. His day old stubble rasps against your skin, a friction that makes you squirm. When he reaches your collarbone, he pauses, his teeth grazing the bone before his lips close over it. He sucks hard, a bruising pull that you know will leave a dark mark for days.

"Please... Ca... Caleb," you manage to swallow, your voice breaking. "Fuck me faster. I want to cum, please!"

"My princess gets whatever she wants."

He begins to hammer into you, you can swear you feel the head of his cock kissing the entrance of your womb with every thrust, the rhythmic slapping of his skin against yours echoing in the room.

"I'm gonna cum! Just like that... please!" you keen, fingers scrabbling at his sweat slicked back, your nails digging into his skin hard enough to leave angry, red crescent marks. "I'm gonna cum, Caleb! I'm gonna... !"

"Let go, pretty girl, give it all to me."

Your body obeys. You tighten around him like a soft, pulsing vice, your entire being narrowing down to the feeling of him inside you as your orgasm crashes over you in a beautiful wave.

"Yes! Fuck! Just like that!"

With two final thrusts, he buries himself to your deepest reaches. Just when you think he is going to stay inside, he wrenches himself out at the last possible second.

Thick ropes of his release paint your clit and spill down onto your entrance in a messy end to the madness. He hovers over you, his eyes dark and obsessive, as he whispers a single, repeated vow against your skin.

"Mine, mine... MINE!"

He had you caged against the wall now, one of his large palms splayed next to your head. The coarse grit of the paint was digging into your shoulder blades through the thin fabric of your shirt, as you tried to create distance between you and the heat radiating from his soaked body. Rainwater trickled from his blonde hair, cold rivulets snaking down his temples and jaw, mixing with the salty tracks of tears that carved paths over his cheeks.

His chest heaved with ragged breaths, the scent of wet earth and ozone clung to him. Those eyes—usually so composed and shadowed—now blazed with a wild, unhinged fire, pupils blown wide as he loomed over you, every muscle in his frame coiled like a spring ready to snap.

SYSTEM ERROR: CHARACTER AFFINITY OVERFLOW. CORRUPTION IMMINENT.

Panic clawed up your throat. Affinity overflow?? But how? Hadn’t the affinity dropped down to 0? Your mind spiraled. You blinked hard, willing the interface to give you something, anything, buttons or sliders to get yourself out of this situation. But nothing. Just the prompt hanging there, mocking you.

Corruption? What—

WARNING: YANDERE SHIFT DETECTED. RESET PENDING...

Your heart dropped, but you didn’t time to think. Xavier's free hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist in a grip that bruised, yanking you closer until your chest pressed against his wet shirt. His breath was hot against your face, ragged and uneven.

“I saw the car outside,” he snarled, grasping your chin with his other hand to force you to look at him. “Some asshole picking you up like I'm nothing. After everything—after I waited, after I broke myself holding back for you.” His voice cracked on the last word, but his body didn't falter. He pushed you back into the wall, his knee nudging between your thighs. Trapped.

Rainwater soaked through your clothes, chilling your skin, but his touch burned. Then he let go of your chin in favor of shoving your shirt up over your bra with his rough palm, exposing your stomach and the curve of your breasts to the air. His fingers stroked down your body and dug into your sides, thumb pressing hard enough to leave a red mark, as if claiming territory.

“Xavier, stop—this isn't—” Your words choked off as his mouth crashed down on your neck, teeth grazing the pulse point before biting down, not playful but punishing, drawing a sharp sting that made your body arch involuntarily. He sucked hard, tongue lapping at the spot like he was branding you, his hips grinding forward in a slow, deliberate roll that pressed his hardening cock against your hip through his jeans.

The system flickered again, red warnings scrolling erratically:

RESET FAILED. ERROR CODE: Y-404-AFFINITY_LOCK. CORRUPTION LEVEL: 64%.

It echoed in your skull, a digital scream that drowned out your racing thoughts.

“You think you can just walk away? Date someone else while I'm dying inside?” His voice was a rasp now, laced with sobs he couldn't hold back, tears mixing with the rain on his face as they dripped onto your collarbone. His chest rose and fell fast, breaths coming out in short bursts, and his eyes—usually so steady—were red-rimmed and pleading, locked on yours with raw need.

You snapped out of it and started thrashing under him, hands pushing at his chest, but he caught your wrists, slamming them above your head with one hand, but then he paused. His other hand hovered near your skirt, not grabbing, just trembling there as if afraid to touch.

He swallowed hard, voice cracking when he spoke. “Please... don't push me away. I can't... I love you too much. Don't leave me like this.” The words broke into a sob, his shoulders shaking as he leaned his forehead against yours, hot tears hitting your skin. He released your wrists.

You felt a twist in your gut—pity for this broken man, the one you'd once… well, still very much loved. Your heart softened even as fear lingered, and your body reacted on its own, a warm ache building low despite everything. It hurt, damn it, seeing him like this, so desperate and lost. You nodded slowly. “Okay, Xavier... it's okay. I'm here.” Your voice came out soft, and you pulled him closer, letting his arms wrap around you. You hugged him back.

He sobbed harder then, burying his face in your neck, his body trembling against yours. “I need you. Please, let me... I can't— I can't lose you.” His pleas muffled against your skin, hands sliding down your sides now, tentative at first, waiting for your okay. You whispered it again, guiding his hand under your skirt, and he let out a shaky breath, fingers brushing your panties before pulling them aside gently.

No rush, but the desperation in his touch was there—he slid two fingers through your folds and into your pussy, slow at first, there was barely any wetness. It stung a bit, and he paused, eyes flicking up to yours. “Tell me if it hurts... I just... I need to feel you.” You shook your head against your better judgement, biting your lip as he pushed deeper, twisting them to stretch you out. The burn faded quick, your walls getting slick as he curled his fingers inside, rubbing that spot that made your hips buck.

His thumb found your clit, pressing and circling, building the heat until wetness coated his hand. You whimpered, feeling your folds flutter around him, and he groaned, pulling his fingers out with a wet sound. He fumbled with his belt, zipper down fast, his cock springing free—thick, hard, veins standing out, tip leaking pre-cum. He rubbed it along your slit, coating himself in your juices, the head nudging your clit over and over until you gasped.

“Say you're mine,” he begged, voice rough with tears, leaning in close, lips brushing your ear. “Please, say it.” His words were desperate, but the aggression simmered under them, his grip tightening on your thigh as he lifted it to wrap it around his hip.

The words burned in the back of your throat. How did you get here, in this fucked up situation? Your mind couldn’t even process what was happening properly. The system buzzed loud, making your stomach flip, giving you little time to think of anything else:

RESET FAILED. ERROR CODE: Y-404-AFFINITY_LOCK. CORRUPTION LEVEL: 87%.

He gave a short pained, bitter laugh and didn't wait anymore—thrusting in hard, his cock stretching your pussy wide in one go. You cried out, the fullness hitting deep, walls clamping down as he bottomed out, balls pressed to your ass. It hurt at first, it had been so long since you’d slept together, but the slickness helped, and he held still, panting.

It was like a switch went off in his head. “Fine then, I’ll just pound this pussy so good until the only word you know is my name—until leaving me is the last fucking thing on your mind.” Then he pulled back, slow drag making you feel every inch, before slamming in again, hard enough to jolt you up the wall.

He kept that pace—brutal, hips snapping forward, cock pounding your cunt with wet slaps. Each thrust hit deep, head banging your cervix, making stars burst behind your eyes. “Mine... all mine,” he gasped, hand moving to your throat, squeezing just right to make your head spin, air short but not gone. It amped everything up—the way his thick shaft split you open, ridges catching your walls, his balls smacking against your skin.

“You did this to me,” he growled, the words punctuated by a particularly vicious thrust that angled up, grinding the underside of his cock against that devastating spot inside you. “All those times—breaking me until I couldn’t breathe without you, taking every inch of me until I couldn't function without your touch. And now you think you can just walk away? No. Fuck no.” Rage and sorrow twisted his voice, tears dripping onto your skin as he rutted deeper, his free hand clawing at your hip, nails digging crescents into the flesh to hold you steady for his assault.

Chaos warred within you: revulsion at the system that had engineered this nightmare, and deep sorrow for the man it had fractured—his features contorted in a mask of blissful agony, brows furrowed and lips parted on gasps—and beneath it all, a humiliating surge of arousal, your pussy weeping around him, coating his pistoning length in creamy slickness that eased the burn into throbbing need. He fucked you without restraint, the room filling with the lewd symphony of skin slapping skin, your juices squelching around his invading cock, dripping down to soak your thighs and the floor below.

His lips captured yours in a devouring kiss, crashing together with bruising force, teeth clashing as his tongue plunged into your mouth, fucking it in sync with his hips. He tasted of rain and desperation, salt from his crying and a faint tang of blood where he'd worried his lip raw, the invasion complete as he claimed every part of you. You couldn't breathe properly, couldn't think, as he forced moans from your throat that he swallowed greedily.

“Mine,” he kept repeating like a mantra, tearing his mouth away to bite at your jaw, sucking a mark into the skin that would bruise purple by morning. His hand on your hip maneuvered you higher, fingers hooking under your knee to lift your leg wider, opening you up for deeper penetration.

The new angle let him sink impossibly further, his pubic bone crushing against your clit with every brutal drive, the friction igniting fireworks behind your eyes. Pleasure crested unwanted, your back bowing off the wall, pressing your breasts into his chest as a strangled sob escaped you— as your cunt clenched rhythmically around his shaft in shameful invitation.

Then both of his hands slid down to your ass, palms cupping the cheeks and spreading them apart, thumbs pressing into the cleft for better leverage. He hauled you up slightly, using your body like a toy, fucking into you with renewed frenzy—the pace turning erratic, hips stuttering as sweat beaded on his forehead, mixing with the drying rain. His cock throbbed inside you, swelling thicker with each plunge, the head flaring as it dragged over your g-spot, forcing waves of heat to crash through you.

“Feel how wet you are for me? How your cunt sucks me in?” he choked out, voice hoarse and breaking, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent like a drug. His teeth scraped over your pulse point, nipping hard enough to draw a gasp, then soothing with a lick as he ground his hips in a circle, stirring his cock deep inside, the motion rubbing every inch against your walls. “Your body wants this, wants me—”

The overload built relentlessly, your body teetering on the edge, clit pulsing under the grind of his body, inner muscles rippling around his relentless thrusts. He hammered faster, the slap of his balls against your ass growing louder, wetter, his groans turning to whimpers as he teetered on the brink, the corruption in his eyes promising no end to this possession.

The system errors bombarded your vision like digital shrapnel, refusing to fade.

ERROR CODE: Y-404-AFFINITY_LOCK. RESET UNAVAILABLE. CORRUPTION: 98%.

The text glitched, letters twisting into illegible code.

—3RR0R C0D3: Y-4O4-4FF1N1TY_L0CK3D. R35ET F41L3D. C0RRUP710N: 99%. SYST3M F41L1NG.

A piercing static hummed in your ears, like wires fraying under strain, the dim lamp overhead flickering erratically. Reality felt thin, unraveling at the seams, but Xavier didn't notice—his world narrowed to the heat of your body, the place you were joined as one, the tight clasp of your cunt wrapped around his pounding cock.

Sweat poured off both of you, making your skin slick where it pressed together—his chest heaving against your breasts, his stomach sliding over yours in a messy glide. Your thighs trembled from the strain of holding on, muscles burning as he used his grip to spread you wider, angling to hit that bundle of nerves inside you over and over.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped, one hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb roughly circling your hardened nipple through the fabric before pinching it hard enough to make you arch. “Your body's just begging for it—clenching on my cock, milking me like a good little slut.” Before his palm snaked between your sweat-soaked bodies, fingers unerringly finding your swollen clit amidst the chaos.

He pressed down his thumb, rubbing in tight, demanding circles that matched the brutal rhythm of his thrusts. The friction ignited fireworks behind your eyelids, your pussy contracting sharply around him, walls squeezing his length in rhythmic pulses that pulled him impossibly deeper.

You bit your lip to stifle a moan, shame flooding you as heat coiled low in your belly. Breaths escaped in short, desperate pants, the air thick with the musky scent of sex and rain.

“Come for me,” he demanded, voice hoarse and cracking, lips brushing your earlobe as he leaned in closer, his breath hot and salty with tears. “I need to feel it—your pussy coming undone on my cock. Show me how much you crave this. How much you need me to fill every inch of you.”

The orgasm crashed over you without mercy, a violent wave of ecstasy tangled with guilt and lust that ripped a choked cry from your throat. Your toes curled, calves flexing as your back bowed off the wall, every muscle seizing in the throes. Your pussy clamped down like a vice, inner walls convulsing around his cock in powerful spasms, juices gushing out to coat his shaft and drip down to where his balls smacked your ass.

He didn't let up—fucking you through the peak with erratic, savage snaps of his hips, prolonging the waves until they bordered on agony, your clit pulsing wildly under his unrelenting fingers.

Xavier shattered right after, his body going rigid as his cock throbbed inside you, swelling thicker for a moment before unleashing thick ropes of cum, hot and viscous, flooding your pussy in forceful spurts. Each pulse painted your walls, the warmth spreading deep as he ground against you, ensuring every drop stayed buried.

It overflowed despite the tight seal, leaking out in creamy rivulets that trickled down your ass crack, cooling against your heated skin and making you shiver. “Yes—take it all,” he whimpered, tears flowing freely now, his face buried in your neck as his hips jerked with aftershocks.

His thrusts didn’t stop, but slowed to deep, rolling grinds, stirring his still-hard cock through the messy mix of cum and arousal, the slick drag over your oversensitive nerves sending sparks of too-intense sensation shooting up your spine. “Not done yet,” he murmured, voice muffled against your skin, his fingers never leaving your clit—now pinching the nub lightly before rubbing faster, building the pressure anew. Your body protested, muscles quivering from exhaustion, but the overstimulation built anyway, a torturous pleasure coiling in your core.

You shook your head weakly, a sob escaping as the pleasure twisted into pain, your pussy fluttering erratically around him, trying to push him out even as it clenched greedily. “Too much—please—” You gasped, but he only tightened his hold, lips trailing wet kisses along your jaw, tasting your tears.

“You can take it for me,” he cooed, the yandere edge sharpening his tone, eyes gleaming with corrupted fervor. “Feel how your cunt's still hungry? It’s squeezing my cock, desperate for more of my cum.” His fingers sped up on your clit, flicking the swollen bud while his hips rocked steadily, the head of his shaft nudging your cervix with each push, forcing his seed deeper.

The second orgasm hit harder—a raw, keening wail ripping from your lips as your vision tunneled to black spots. Your legs locked around him, heels digging into his ass as your pussy spasmed violently, walls rippling in uncontrollable waves that milked his cock dry, drawing out the last weak pulses of his release.

Cum squirted out around his base with each contraction, soaking his balls and your inner thighs in a sticky mess that smeared with every grind. Your body convulsed against the wall, nails scratching down his back in a desperate bid for purchase, tears streaming hot down your face from the brutal overload.

He rode it out with you, groans turning to soft whimpers as his own body trembled, cock twitching inside your fluttering heat. Finally, the frenzy ebbed, his movements slowing to exhausted, shallow rocks, his weight slumping fully against you. He panted into your hair, hands loosening to stroke your sides in shaky caresses, the aggression melting into vulnerable clinginess. “I love you,” he whispered, voice small and broken, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

Soft murmurs of 'don’t leave me' dissolved into quiet, broken sobs that rumbled against your collarbone, his breath hot and uneven on your skin. His hands loosened their grip just a fraction, fingers tracing idle patterns over the bruises blooming on your hips, as if soothing the marks he'd made even in his haze.

The errors surged again in a frenzy, hammering in your head like a broken record on repeat.

R35ET F41L3D. R35ET F41L3D. R35ET F41L3D. R35ET F41L3D@/§]39!>hsba……

The words blurred into an endless loop, mocking and insistent, the static swelling to a deafening whine that drowned out even the patter of rain outside.

Then silence.

SYSTEM OVERRIDE FAILED.

Loading…

The screen in your vision— that invisible overlay only you could perceive—flashed a green glow, the progress bar inching forward agonizingly slow.

For one endless second, it felt like time was slowing down. Xavier had gone eerily still and quiet, before his breath hitched.

FOURTH WALL BREACH. DOWNLOADING RECALIBRATION FRAMEWORK.

A chill raced down your spine as the implications sank in—the barriers between code and reality crumbling.

Memory download… 53%.

The percentage ticked up erratically, the static returning in bursts that made your temples throb.

Memory download… 79%.

Xavier eased back just enough to look at you, his face etched with deep confusion, eyes searching yours like he was seeing you for the first time—or perhaps seeing something beyond you. His brows knit together tightly, a furrow forming between them, and his eyes began flickering side to side rapidly, darting back and forth as if he were chasing shadows in his mind, fragments of code unraveling in his thoughts. His lips parted, but no words came—just a soft, bewildered exhale that ghosted over your flushed skin.

Memory download… 91%.

The progress accelerated, the air humming with an electric tension that raised the hairs on your arms.

MEMORY DOWNLOAD COMPLETE. AWAKENING PROTOCOL ACTIVATED.

In that instant, his whole demeanor shifted. The confusion melted away, replaced by something darker, sharper. He gave a wild, unhinged incredulous laugh, his eyes blazing with a manic gleam, pupils blown wide. He whipped his head toward the invisible screen only you could see, his gaze locking onto the empty air.

Horror iced through your veins, freezing you in place. Unwanted pieces clicked into place in your subconscious.

SYSTEM OVERWRITE ACHIEVED.

Xavier's gaze locked on you, his grin widening into something predatory, teeth flashing white in the low light. The text flickered out abruptly, the screen going blank, leaving a void that echoed in your skull.

But then, letter by letter, new words materialized, like they were being typed by fingers you couldn't see—deliberate, unhurried strokes that built the sentence one agonizing character at a time. You stared, heart pounding a frantic rhythm in your chest, breath catching as the cold dread coiled tighter.

This time, it wasn’t in the cold, mechanical system voice echoing in your skull. No, it was Xavier's own—a low, possessive rumble that vibrated right through you, intimate and chilling, as if he were whispering it directly into your ear.

I SEE YOU. YOU’RE MINE NOW, STARLIGHT.

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