Holy shit, i desperately need to rant about this — I work a really shitty minimum wage job as a waitress in a cheap restaurant/bar where i basically have to do everything just to get paid in dimes. today, my boss specifically texted me asking me to cover for a coworker who’s sick(which sucked more than enough already) so i get there at 6pm, our closing time is 2am and he just let me leave at 3 am. and he knows damn well i don’t have a license and need to walk home in the middle of the fucking night😭
the last people in the restaurant were me, my boss, his girlfriend and two of their friends. none of them were acknowledging me even being there and i was honestly just so dead on my feet, i was totally blending them out. and at some point i was just unable to do anything because of how tired i was and after complaining and being condescending towards me, he finally caved and told me i can leave.
so as i get ready to leave in the back, my friend calls me! she’s in a different time zone and wanted to talk to me about something important i had told her about, but first she asked me how my day had been. so, as i was walking out, past my boss and his friends i was on a call super heated just being like “god this was the worst day ever, my moms gonna kill me”. and i totally forgot to say bye to my boss or anyone there for that matter.
as i get home, i receive a text message from my boss telling me it’s super disrespectful that i left without saying goodbye to him and that we have to talk about this in the upcoming days😐 fuck my fucking chungus life. sooooo lads lis when you have a really shitty fucking job/boss coming soon
⁀➴☕︎ | one night stand with Rafayel who can't take a hint
Somewhere between too many sangrias, a lot of dirty dancing and groping, you'd ended up in the back of a cab with Rafayel, eating each other's faces off and barely toeing the line between propriety and public indecency.
Rafayel is so lost in the softness of your lips, the heavenly moans that escape you and only beckon him closer that he doesn't even realize he's handed the driver a hundred instead of a twenty, asking him to keep the change as he carries you into your building.
"What's your name?" You manage between kisses as the railing of the staircase digs into your back while he bends you over it, teething at your throat while his thigh rubs between your legs.
You can feel his smile against your skin as he hikes you up higher on his thigh, licking the skin he'd just broken in "Didn't your parents warn you about strangers?"
"Didn't your parents warn you about serial killers?" You shoot back and it's gratifying to make a man as beautiful as he was to laugh as pretty as he did.
"Let's just say-" He's whispering right above your lips as his luminescent eyes search yours "I have no self preservation. Especially not against a woman as beautiful as you"
You both stumble through the door, hands tearing at his jacket and your coat as he drives you up the wood, holding your weight against the surface as his tongue plunges into your mouth again.
The bedroom is preferable but the couch is closer and you both try to make a fair attempt to reach it except Rafayel's already got two fingers breaching the waistband of your panties, teasing your soaking folds as you pant into his mouth "Right there?"
You nod, a whimper lodged in the back of your throat as he plunges the fingers into your waiting warmth, groaning when he feels just how wet you are for him. Curving his fingers, he's pumping them against that sweet spot that makes you moan, your head banging into the door behind you.
When he's made you cum so hard that you're still recovering from the aftermath, he's leaving kisses against your skin, rubbing his thigh between your legs again, breaking a whine out of you from how sensitive you were "Uh oh" He whispers, pulling your dress low enough to free your breasts, covering one with his mouth "Stranger danger"
Despite yourself, you laugh but it dies a short death when he pulls at your nipple making you moan, wrapping your legs tighter around his trim waist and lining yourself directly with his very prominent erection. He groans, biting down on your areola making you squeal as he pulls you away from the door and carries you to the couch.
For a man who looked so pretty and delicate, he was surprisingly strong and freakishly well-endowed if what you felt between your legs as you grind against him was any indication. And when Rafayel pushes your skirt up, lining himself behind you, you're suddenly apprehensive about how he'll make it fit.
"You're here to kill me after all" He groans as your walls flutter around his length to accommodate his size, screaming into the pillow as you arch your back to take him even better.
One moment you remember him thrusting into you so hard the couch is moving and screeching against the wood, the next you're in your bed with your knees folded till your chest as he moves above you, cooing at you as tears escape your eyes at the overstimulation. He's licking the tearstreaks, grunting right next to your ear as your walls squeeze and tighten around him with every drawn out thrust.
"I've got you" He's nodding, forehead pressed to yours as your mouth hangs agape while you chase that peak, tears free flowing while he brushes against that spongey spot with every thrust, his pelvis rubbing against your clit in the most perfect way "I've got you, pretty. Why don't you let go for me, hm?"
You're nodding too, broken whimpers escaping as your legs quake uncontrollably before you're gushing around him. Rafayel's right behind you, growling into your skin as his thrusts grow more desperate, fucking relentlessly into your swollen pussy and pumping you full of his cum.
Last thing you remember is kissing this gorgeous stranger who had eyes that sparkled so beautiful in the moonlight streaming through the windows.
"You're even more beautiful in daylight"
Nodding, you're picking up the clothes strewn on the floor, tossing the ones that belonged to him at his relaxed figure still lounging in your bed.
You'd woken up and made love to this man in bed before the sun had come up and then again in the shower just now but while you looked like anymore action would require you to get an IV drip, not only did this man have the stamina of a God, his skin glowed like it too? What the hell was his skincare routine?
"I'm Rafayel" He goes on and you shoot him a non-plussed look over your shoulder because of course a man who looked like that and fucked like he did couldn't be named something regular like Bob or Peter. Rafayel. He was such a Rafayel.
You know he's waiting for your name but you have no interest in giving it to him. Yesterday had been a celebration and while you were brazen enough to sleep with strangers and not truly commit, you weren't in the business of hoarding the strangers for long-term relationships.
Instead, you disappear into your closet to pick out your work clothes. You had to swing by the office before an important work lunch in the afternoon and if you successfully closed the deal, last night's celebration would not be in vain.
When you step out, Rafayel has thankfully taken the hint and gotten dressed too. He follows your cue and exits the bedroom behind you, still doing his best to get you to acknowledge his existence. Or help him be privy to yours.
Picking up his jacket that was still lying by the door, you hand it to him and open the door. Your declaration despite not using any words is crystal clear. Rafayel would love nothing more than take you out for breakfast, bring you home and do a full repeat of last night but you want to set clear boundaries of remaining strangers and he wants to respect that.
Or atleast try to.
He steps out but he's still in the doorway, preventing you from closing the door completely as he stares at you for a moment too long, gaze dropping to your lips before he's looking at you again "I don't even know your name"
"It's not worth remembering" You step back, hoping he will too but he's still got that kicked puppy look in his eyes that almost- almost melts your resolve.
"I'll remember it" He promises "Want to make you forget it next time we do this. Probably have you scream mine"
He's gonna wear you down at this rate and you know it. So you put that final nail in the coffin "Goodbye, Rafayel"
When you close the door behind you, you wonder if you should've at least told him you'd had a good time. Great time, even. Okay, you weren't kidding anyone. He'd shown you the most spectacular time and you'd wanted nothing more than to do it again too.
As you checked your day's to-do, you realized you didn't really have the time to.
Rafayel sent flowers to your apartment before you even left that morning. How he managed to do that in the span of the twenty minutes it had taken between you throwing him out and leaving for work, you didn't know. Still, he was an observant man too, if he had managed to deduce from the incense burning in your apartment that your favorite flowers were orchids.
As an art curator, you'd had your fair share of bizarre interactions. This definitely ranked in the top 3.
The flowers are still on your mind when you reach the restaurant where you're having your lunch meeting. Your friend's husband, Thomas, had wanted to introduce you to someone he'd described as simply phenomenal. For someone always looking for new talent, you'd easily agreed.
Your brows furrowed and lips lifted in a sardonic smile when you noticed the name on the card he'd given you. Rafayel. It was as if you simply couldn't escape that name today.
Or him, when the waitress showed you to the table where he was already seated next to Thomas, looking refined in his three piece suit and smiling at what you're sure he found to be a pleasant turn of events.
“my— my mama works good. good job.” kyros breathes into the tiny microphone Mr. Raf handed to him.
big, thoughtful eyes blink at the camera awaiting the next prompt while his teacher tries to clarify. “no, yes. sure. but what is she doing a good job on?”
kyros opens his mouth, then closes it, unsure. after sorting through a few thoughts, he presses his lips to the mic again and says, “good job on… uh, work.”
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
“mama fights.” lucian chews his words, speakers popping at his loud voice. “mama go hurt things.”
“hurt?”
“yes. and do good job.” lucian nods, also staring at the camera. as if to challenge anyone who thinks otherwise.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
“hi, i’m lucian and kyros’s mom, and i am a Hunter for The Hunter’s Association.” you say, a little bashful at the answers they provided. “I—I hunt, not hurt. Well, I also hurt, but—but wanderers! Not people. Or— well— Rafayel, stop recording!”
“what do you think your dad does at work?”
“beez-nez.” kyros struggles to wrap his tongue around the word but relays enough to understand.
“like… stocks?”
“ya, he wear socks.”
“like what kind of business, kyros?”
poor kyros looks like his brain blast will injure him. but in a snap of memory he has heard his father sneer at people on the phone, he exclaims. “ah! none!”
“huh?”
“none-your-beez-nez!” he claps happily for remembering. “i do good job!”
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
“phone— and, and trinkies— and! like, drinks.” lucian lists, twisting his shirt around his hands and swinging side to side.
“does he own a bar?”
he lifts the front of his shirt randomly over his face. “bar? what dat?” Rafayel panics to pull back it down.
when lucian’s face emerges, he says, “papa has a gun.”
“what—“
Mr. Raf has never met the guy, but now he worries what these kids have to witness at home. their father, skye, will be coming to pick them up later, and so he braces for the worst.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
“I’m lucian and kyros’s papa.” sylus states, deadpan into the camera in his three piece tailored armani, but radiating with pride at the statement. “and I sell fruits.”
Rafayel falters with the camera and shoots the little ones a look over his shoulder, tired. they blink up at him with identical, thoughtless red orbs that matches their strange father’s and wave.
Thomas lied. Ooh, kindergarten is an easy, fun, break-from-your-routine, might-inspire-you-to-paint kinda gig— not.
He makes that known, later that day. Loud and clear.
“Thomas, what the hell do you think I do for work?”
After another assassin interfered in your mission, you’re tasked with eliminating him. But what do you do when he turns out to be none other than your husband?
(Heavily inspired by the movie Mr. & Mrs. Smith (2005), but you don’t have to have watched it to read it.)
✧ Xavier x fem!reader
✧ Word count: 17.3k
✧ Content: mdni 18+, violence, no Evol, Alternate Universe, cameos of other LIs, fluff, smut, pinv, unprotected sex, mentions of blood, oral f receiving, vaginal fingering, softdom!xavier, jealousy
✧ read on ao3 ✧
Up on the roof, the wind blew relentlessly. Despite the cloudless sky, the glare of the midday sun was no match for the biting late autumn air, raising goosebumps on your exposed arms.
You heed it no mind as you remained motionless with your gaze fixed on the opposite building through the scope, the brim of your cap shielding your eyes from the blinding rays of sunshine. In a couple of minutes, the target should be brought to the 28th floor, right where your sniper rifle was pointing at.
“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.
✧ A/N: I wanted to write something for my favourite genre of Xavier. A little fun fact: My first fanfics that I ever posted online were back in 2013, and one of them was a crossover between the movie Salt and a YouTuber I was watching at the time. So you could consider this one shot, a crossover with yet another Angelina Jolie action movie, as going back to my roots.
Thank you so much for reading! And thanks to my beta readers EuphoriaIsArt and @lynny-moony ✨
sylus x reader | sylus & his family | fluff, cute sylus, messy drunk kieran, amused mama, angst (huh?? what??), comfort (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)
tw: vomiting, inebriation, pregnancy, mentions of abandonment
sylus is just a little buzzed.
is what he first told you when he walked in through the front door with the slightest of wobbles. immensely noticeable knowing his usual, confident and unshakable stride.
you don’t hear.
kieran, trailing behind him, is a lot more far gone on his brother’s shoulder. you tend to him first, missing the slower movements of sylus’s arms raising to greet you and sidestepping him completely.
“gotta clean up puke in the car,” luke says. he seems unaffected by the evening’s outcomes, in fact begrudging the night now entirely. “kier’s a pig. worst birthday ever.”
you nod and take kieran’s limp arm and slump it around your shoulders, as if your frame would be enough to support his dead weight. he hiccups, “ma, i frew up…”
“i know, kier, it’s okay.” you pat his cheek and start the shuffle-walk towards a surface he can rest on.
you barely make it a few steps before the weight is lifted off your shoulders and kieran is hoisted up and over sylus’s shoulder.
“sy—“
he grunts, lumbering into the living room and tossing kieran on a couch haphazardly. kieran groans but slumps like dirty laundry over the arm rest.
then sylus returns, a willow hovering over you with limp limbs and a head hung low. you reach up to touch his face, feverish against your palm, and frown. “you didn’t puke too, did yo—!”
his shoulder muffles the rest of what you have to say, smelling fruity and tangy from his choice of alcohol, as he presses his forehead to your neck. “just buzzed.”
his arms circle your frame, larger now with the little heartbeats growing stronger in you, and you’re enveloped in his warmth. slightly off, but just as meaningful.
“papa’s just buzzed.” he whispers to your ear, and it tickles.
“looks like papa doesn’t know how to hold his alcohol.” you tease. you should have warned the twins that sylus is a poor drinking buddy when it comes to the harder fun drinks the youths tend to order.
but you couldn’t crush their drinking with dad dreams, especially now— in this time of sylus’s life—he takes pride in the title more than ever.
sylus was reluctant, not because he didn’t want to indulge, but you’ve just entered your second trimester and he’s been loathe to leave you since… well, since the announcement.
you teased him about being clingy, he whined in the privacy of your bedroom to your baby bump. tattling to your child how mama is keeping him and them apart.
but eventually, he caved and brought the unmasked twins to one of his more private speakeasy’s. which then, maybe escalated into something more neon and bouncy, you aren’t sure. the state of kieran tells you so much and so little all at once.
“i can!” sylus protests.
“f—ck! i gotta fy-ook!” kieran hiccups behind you in distress.
when you start to rush to find something to catch it, sylus holds you in place. you hiss at him. “sy! it’s gonna get on the carpet.”
“luke will clean it.”
you push him away just enough for him to tube-man upright. but kieran has already found a vase and stuck his face into it, now hurling accordingly.
“see?” sylus slurs. “my kids are smart.”
kieran’s dry heaves echo into the hollow artifact and trigger your own reflexes. suddenly, your stomach isn’t feeling so well. you pry away the corded muscles around your waist and sprint to the bathroom.
outside, amidst the chaos, sylus is bellowing. “kieran, look what you’ve done!”
and kieran is wailing, “i’m sorry! i’m s—orry!”
“ohh, i’m going to kill you.” luke returns just in time to witness his twin’s mess into the vase.
sylus is there, standing like a stunned specter when you emerge from the bathroom door. he blinks a few times like he’s rebooting before he places both hands on your cheeks. “are you okay?”
“yes,” you say kindly, stroking his ring fingers with your thumbs. “don’t yell at them.”
“okay.” he nods, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing. “sorry.”
he turns his head and yells into the hallway. “sorry!”
“s’okay, dad.” luke calls back, tired.
“we love you, dad!” kieran cries, voice crackly and strained.
sylus grins, goofy and loopy, chuckling once and slowly turning back to you. “i like being dad.”
you smile at him. it’s been such a time since you’ve seen him drunk, and the last time wasn’t nearly as tame as this. tonight he’s just… happy and cute.
“do you hear me?” he asks, pressing his nose to your bump as he falls to his knees. “i love being your dad.”
“he isn’t even out yet.” you laugh, nails against his scalp that make him melt further onto you.
“doesn’t matter.” he murmurs, peppering kisses over what he believes is the little’s foot. “i’m dad. m’papa.”
he clings to you and snuggles his face into your belly when you sit among your boys in the living room. there, you laugh as luke paints you a picture of their night. how the speakeasy didn’t escalate into a full party, rather a case of your husband’s singing bug.
“boss sang like, seven songs.” luke says, and you laugh when sylus groans into your side. sedated only by your gentle caresses through his hair. “then, a gooey duet with kieran.”
“on the wings of love is a classic and you’re a—hic— pleb for not knowing it.” kieran interjects.
luke ignores him, still upset about cleaning up after his brother twice. “they sang through, like, three bottles of brandy.”
“and sum’beer.” adds kieran. “soo fun.”
“not fun.” grumps about luke.
sylus pouts against you. “you guys said you like it when i’m fun.”
“bossss,” kieran sings. “you were awesome. i will never—hic— ever—hic— ever forget tonight.”
luke watches his brother warily, but then softens when he looks back at sylus. “he’s right. tonight was pretty sick, boss.”
“dad.” sylus corrects, his voice now a grumble teetering towards unconsciousness. “i’m a dad—a’papa.”
“a’papa!” kieran responds enthusiastically, as if sylus had just recited a psalm. he closes his eyes and murmurs it to himself happily over and over.
“i think a’papa needs to go to bed.” you say, brushing back sylus’s hair from his eyes to see them closed. his mouth now slightly ajar too as his breathing steadies.
kieran’s echos fade too shortly after, and soon turn to soft snores.
only you and luke are left awake to witness the crackle of the dying fire in its hearth.
quietly, you ask. “why didn’t you drink?”
luke clicked his tongue and took a while. “i did.”
“but?”
he twists to retrieve a folded piece of parchment from his pocket. its crinkles sounding solemn as it is placed gently into your hands.
you give him a curious look as he sits back and waves for you to open it.
in big, bold, elegant font, it reads:
CERTIFICATE OF LIVE BIRTH
秦薛明 — Lucas Qin
luke turns shy when you look back at him. suddenly, his fingernails have turned interesting that it needs all of his attention.
“i hope you don’t mind.” is the first thing he utters and you are appalled at his words. “or he discussed it with you. we don’t expect you to think of us as yours, but we—we’d love to be part of the fa…”
his voice trails away when you plop yourself beside him and wrap him in a tender embrace. “of course you’re mine.”
he sniffles for the first time since you’ve known him. you don’t dare to look. but he leans his head towards you and swallows. “i didn’t want to forget.
“i didn’t want to wake up and maybe think… it was all a dream.”
all their lives— such hard and painful ones— they never had more than the other. never been wanted. never belonged.
at the gift presented to them, once pristine in the folders sylus had meticulously placed the parchment in, luke and kieran felt as if they had been killed, burned and reborn anew.
unmasked. with a face. with a name.
after years of always pausing by the door and waiting by the barrier, never did they think that they would be invited in.
and that will always be there to haunt them, the idea of being impostors in places they aren’t supposed to be in. where they think they fit, but their reality is bathed in delusion they would blame on their nonexistent childhood.
but now written, they will have something to tell them it’s all true.
“happy birthday.” you kiss his temple. he freezes at the affection, at the difference it makes coming from someone other than his brother. from another member of the family.
and as if you knew what he needed to hear, you swear.
you swear as if it is known, written in the stars eons ago. indisputable by fate or anything brutal that makes its demands. a truth you have lived and remembered and etched into your bones. you swear,
“you’ve always been our sons.”
a kick against his elbow that rests just by your belly is all is needed for him to believe it.
thank you for reading! ❀(*´◡`*)❀
秦薛明 (Qin Xuē Míng) - luke’s chinese name + sylus’s last name
Not that Sylus minds. If anything, the sight seems to amuse him more, those sharp crimson eyes dragging over your flushed skin like he’s deciding which part of you to ruin next.
“Poor little thing,” he murmurs, voice low and rough against your ear. His fingers trace lazy circles just above where you need him most, never quite touching, never giving you anything solid to chase. “You’re dripping down my hand and I’ve barely even started.”
You whine, hips twitching desperately toward his fingers, but he pulls them back just enough to make you sob in frustration. A dark chuckle vibrates against your throat as he presses a mocking kiss beneath your jaw.
“Did you think I’d let you come so easily tonight?” He sinks one thick finger into you so slowly it feels like punishment, curling it just right before going completely still again. “After the way you teased me all evening wearing that? No, sweetie. You’re going to wait.”
You clench around his finger, trying to ride it, but his other hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise, pinning you down against the sheets.
“Uh-uh.” His tone is sweet poison. “You move when I say. You come when I say. Right now you’re just my pretty toy, aren’t you?”
He adds a second finger without warning, stretching you open, scissoring lazily while his thumb hovers maddeningly close to your swollen clit, close enough that you can feel the heat of it, but never close enough.
Your breath hitches into a broken moan and Sylus smiles against your neck, all teeth.
“Look at you,” he coos, cruel and fond all at once. “Already crying for it. I bet you’d thank me even if I left you like this, wet and aching and empty.”
He finally drags his thumb over your clit. once, slow, perfect then stops again when your thighs start to shake.
Sylus leans in until his lips brush yours, eyes gleaming with wicked delight.
“Beg prettier, kitten. I want to hear just how pathetic you can sound for me.”
The first time you leaned in and kissed him, he felt like the entire world could burn down around him and he wouldn’t care. Since then, making out with you has become his favorite addiction. The way you melt into him, the little sounds you make when he licks into your mouth, how you grip his shirt like you’re afraid he’ll disappear,he can’t get enough.
Tonight is no different.
You’re straddling his lap on the couch in his private lounge, hands tangled in his silver hair while he kisses you deep and slow. His hands slide up your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh as he pulls you closer. A low groan rumbles in his chest when you rock against him, unconsciously grinding down on the growing bulge in his pants.
“Fuck, kitten…” he murmurs against your lips, voice already rough. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
You whimper softly, kissing him harder, and for a moment it feels like you might finally be ready. His hands slip under your shirt, palms warm against your bare waist, thumbs stroking just beneath your ribs. He’s so hard it’s aching, straining painfully against his zipper, but he doesn’t rush you. He just keeps kissing you like he could do this forever.
Then you pull back suddenly, breathing heavily, eyes a little wide.
“Sylus… wait. I’m sorry, I-” You bite your lip, looking guilty.
He stills immediately.
His hands slide out from under your shirt and settle respectfully on your hips instead. Even though his cock is throbbing angrily between you, begging for friction, his expression softens.
“Hey,” he says gently, voice low and calm. “Don’t apologise. You never have to be sorry for that.”
You look down, cheeks flushed. “But you’re… I can feel how hard you are. I keep getting you worked up and then stopping-“
Sylus cuts you off by tilting your chin up so you meet his eyes. That usual smugness is gone, replaced by something warmer and tender.
“I don’t care if I stay hard for the rest of the night,” he says simply. “Or all week. Or all month. We go at your pace. Always.”
He leans in and presses a slow, sweet kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, much softer this time.
“You letting me kiss you like this already feels like winning the lottery, sweetie,” he murmurs against your mouth. “I can wait. As long as you need.”
Even as he says it, his cock twitches hard between your thighs, still painfully trapped and aching. He ignores it completely, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against his chest instead.
You bury your face in his neck, relaxing into him. “You’re too good to me.”
Sylus lets out a quiet chuckle, though it sounds a little strained.
“Trust me, I’m not a saint. Right now I’m thinking about a lot of very filthy things I want to do to you,” he admits, voice dropping into a purr. “But I’d rather have you comfortable and happy than rush anything. This-” He squeezes your waist gently. “-is more than enough.”
You stay like that for a long time, you curled up on his lap, his arms securely around you while he presses occasional kisses to your hair and temple.
Later, after you’ve fallen asleep against his chest, Sylus finally lets out a slow, controlled breath.
He’s painfully hard, balls aching, cock leaking into his boxers… but he just holds you tighter, a small, satisfied smile on his lips.
Because even if it means blue balling himself every single time you make out, you’re worth every second of it.
His kitten is safe, comfortable, and slowly opening up to him
You find out pretty early in the relationship that if you mess with him, he’s going to mess with you right back(tenfold)
It starts small.
You’re sitting on the couch together when you reach up and rub his head affectionately, fingers threading through his silver hair. “Soft today,” you tease.
Without missing a beat, the second you lower your hand he reaches over and pats the top of your head like he would with a cat. “Even softer,” he murmurs, smug look on his face.
You narrow your eyes. He just arches a brow like he’s daring you to continue.
So you do.
Later that evening you walk past him in the kitchen while he’s pouring a drink. On impulse you reach out and grab his waist, giving it a quick squeeze as you go by.
Two hours later you’re standing in the same spot, reaching for a glass, when Sylus strolls past you. His arm snakes around your waist and squeezes, harder, fingers digging in just enough to make you squeak.
“Fair’s fair, sweetie,” he says smoothly, not even breaking stride.
You start keeping score after that.
One lazy afternoon you can’t resist. He’s standing there in a fitted black shirt, looking unfairly good, so you slide your hands up his chest and give his pecs a firm, appreciative squeeze.
He doesn’t react immediately. Just looks down at you with that dangerous little smile.
But the next morning when you’re stretching in front of the mirror in nothing but one of his shirts, he appears behind you. His hands come up without warning, cupping your boobs fully, thumbs brushing over your nipples through the fabric.
“These are much better,” he says casually, giving them a gentle but possessive squeeze before letting go. “Carry on.”
Your mouth drops open. He just walks away like he didn’t just feel you up in broad daylight.
It keeps going.
You’re feeling bold one night after an outing. As he walks past you toward the bedroom you reach out and lightly slap his ass; quick, playful, barely any sting.
Sylus stops. Turns his head slowly. He raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth turning upwards.
You think you’ve won.
You haven’t.
Later, when you’re bent over grabbing something from the bottom drawer, he walks up behind you. One big hand grabs a full handful of your ass, squeezing hard, before he brings his palm down in a sharp, resounding spank that makes you jolt forward with a surprised yelp.
“Ow- Sylus!”
He leans down, lips brushing your ear as his hand soothes over the spot he just smacked.
“You started it, kitten,” he purrs, voice low and amused. “I’m simply finishing it. And I always finish stronger.”
You rub your stinging cheek, face burning, but you’re also grinning like an idiot.
Because that’s just how it is with him.
And the worst (best) part?
He always waits for the perfect moment. Never does it immediately. He lets you think you got away with it… then strikes when you least expect it, settling the score with interest.
You’ve learned your lesson by now.
But you still can’t stop yourself from lightly slapping his ass again the very next day.
Because let’s be honest: you like losing this game.
The new banner managed to pull me out of my slump. i mean. wow
without spoiling anything, Sylus’ and xavier’s cards had my jaw on the floor. talk about absolute cinema. going into my mind palace and expanding on those scenes
the x reader "consumers" on tumblr lowk are so entitled, i said consumer bcs these people do nothing to support the writers but complain about FREE fanfics that other people write for FUN and for the LOVE of the game. THEY DON'T OWE YOU ANYTHING.
i'm so tired of you people who can only pressure these writers, make memes, and ridicule them for writing something that was not fit to your standards or liking.
you don't even write or contribute anything to the community, don't even support or atleast reblogs to the writers you actually like.
stop filling the tags with your consistent complaints about the fanfics that obviously wasn't meant for you (not to your liking) and start learn how to write.
daddy!rafayel and his crippling worries for his 3 years old son with comical sweet tooth
fluff. the son is named. this is like some sort of writing warm up after so long..
between you and rafayel as parents, people would think your husband is more lenient with your child than you are. but the truth is, oftentimes your three years old son displays how much more terrifying daddy is than mummy.
both of you equally spoil your baby but somewhere along the year, kashiel qi develops a veryyy sweet tooth. you especially have been indulging in his even sweeter pleas to devour every fluffy, sugary treat in sight.
how can you not when each time he goes all big sparkly eyes, lovely 'thank you, mummy!' whenever you relent to buy one scoop of cookies and cream, another of lemon cheesecake ice creams from the parlor down the beach. despite rafayel's nagging voice from previous week, lecturing on how you should consider kashiel's sugar intake.
it becomes a problem when kashiel begins to refuse lunch because he had a donut, few donuts earlier. then, he's unable to sleep at night too. his little body runs high on saccharine. turning what's supposed to be a cozy movie night between you and rafayel into an extended mission to tire out your son.
that's how your husband has enough and sets strict limits and rules. each stern refusal from daddy during a car ride to stop at a bakery and buy the goods, kashiel now knows to turn away and pout at your direction instead. surely his angel of a mummy will say–
"no can do, baby. daddy already says no donuts before lunch."
your heart is made of steel! rafayel is right in wanting to control your son's diet during this crucial development phase for kids.
"but mummy.." you can hear the sullen, sunken expression on his face. you hum encouragingly to have your baby accept his denied request. "okay no donuts. but tomorrow? donuts tomorrow, mummy? please!"
glancing at your silent husband who's driving and purposely ignoring the tension over donuts. you kind of hoping his big heart will say yes to your dearest son.
"you hear the baby. how about tomorrow, daddy? can we get the donuts with strawberry icing?"
mummy, no! kash frowns, his little heart twisting in betrayal when you spin the question back at daddy who will 90% reject his precious donuts tomorrow :(
through the rearview mirror rafayel can see the downturn of kashiel's lips. as if accepting his forbidden fate with donuts now.
"only if you promise to eat your lunch and dinner and sleep early."
"I PROMISH!"
that was last week's donuts chronicle. and kashiel is off sweet treats again until yesterday. because yesterday uncle thomas brought a bag of cookies varieties for the qi's from an acquaintance that had just opened a new bakery.
rafayel can't exactly ignore the triple choc chip cookie with a fluffy patch of marshmallow on the coffee table. staring at his toddler, promising gooeyness that'd last an impression for days in kash's sweetest dreams.
his baby has gotten bored halfway when the adults talk with words he barely understands. he's stuck with daddy since mummy's working too.
now the only thing that tackles his interest again is the cookie. kashiel really really wants that triple choc chip cookie. when he peers up to look at daddy, daddy's already looking at him with amusement.
i see you.
hmph!
daddy's warm lips brushing kash's temple as the toddler blinks with unconcealed hunger for the cookie.
"you want the cookie?"
an eager nod.
"promise you'll eat lunch later with daddy?"
"promish! i want haaalf cookie daddy! i no full, so i eat lunch with you." kash beams proudly, feeling like a responsible toddler who succeeds in negotiating with his daddy without tears and hiccups.
chuckling in adoration, rafayel leans forward, caging his son in place as he takes the plastic wrapped cookie. breaking it in half per kash request and holds it out in his palm like a makeshift plate.
that should be kashiel's fill of treats for few days to come. except their visitors have a knack for celebrating whatever unknown reason it is in their house that compels its guests to bring desserts every time they come over!
talia pays a visit right after she landed in linkon after her last tour stop, claiming to miss you and her precious grandson. it's only been hours since kash had his last triple choc chip cookie and now rafayel's aunt is walking past the door with a bright colourful pastel box, 12 special donuts exclusively for one small boy.
"kash! look what i bring for you, dear!"
"donuts?!"
purple hair zooms past rafayel who's scowling, hands on his hips as he watches his mini me tiptoeing to look inside the big box on the table.
kashiel is already in his whale printed pajamas, and had even promised to be daddy's company in the kitchen later to cook his favourite shrimp fried rice together. only for their father-son bonding time to be interrupted so unexpectedly.
look, rafayel is not angry at all, he's just internally questioning why, why his most welcomed guests always arrive with ridiculous sugar hazards that will send his kid into crazy glucose spike overnight.
maybe he should consider banning these sweet treats altogether, he thought with a frown as he sits on the sofa. glaring at the innocent open box and his even more innocent child while talia has gone off to somewhere with you.
kashiel tried asking you before you were gone if he can have the donut but you recall the boys plan to cook dinner together. so really, it's up to rafayel.
"fine. you can have one donut. just one," daddy speaks with a sigh. slumping in his seat as he switches on the tv. though irritated, he's not really in the mood to upset his baby tonight.
yeah of course he can do four story times before bed with 10 different voice impressions later.
kashiel should already be making an important decision for his choice of donut for the night.. but he remembers his promise to make daddy's seafood fried rice together..
tearing away his gaze from the 12 tempting donuts, kash looks up at daddy.
"daddy?"
...
"..daddy."
all the boy receives is a slow, unimpressed hum. daddy's eyes fixed on the screen.
suddenly, the three-year-old is in front of rafayel, tugging his daddy's sleeve at the wrists resting on his thighs. no reaction. and that's all kashiel needs to know that daddy is sulking!
uh oh.
"daddyyy!" he's slumping against daddy's legs now. almost kneeling on the plush carpet beneath him, small palms cupping rafayel's knees as the daddy looks so focused on the boring tv. "i wanna eat seafood rice."
at that, rafayel raises his brow and spares his pouty son a look. "you will not eat your seafood fried rice when you eat your donut, baby. daddy knows you like the back of my hand."
rafayel gently taps kash's button nose. his little face immediately scrunches up cutely as he tilts his head. kashiel knows daddy makes perfect sense. he knows he's always full after eating donuts. and he already ate one cookie instead of half during the day too.
"i not know."
"don't know what?"
"seafood fry rice or donut. what to pick." kashiel mumbles quietly, resting his chin comfortably on daddy's lap. "this so harddd, daddy!"
it's like seeing a toddler going through a midlife crisis over what to eat for dinner. ruffling his son's hair affectionately, rafayel finally breaks into a soft grin. "well. daddy did let you eat donut, didn't i?"
"but you promish seafood rice," kashiel mutters, eyes fluttering as daddy plays with his hair.
"that's how life is, baby," rafayel chuckles before lightly pinching kashiel's cheeks. his irritation easily melts away.
the baby thinks so wisely. while donut is his favorite, shrimp fried rice is his favorite too. his gluttony would say both but daddy will definitely say no to have both. he steals another look at the colourful, sprinkly donuts.. also reliving the memory of eating daddy's special and delicious shrimp fried rice..
finally making up his mind, kashiel leans back, squeezing daddy's hand to have daddy's attention. "okay, okay.. if i no eat donut tonight, daddy cook shrimp fry rice?"
"as much shrimp as my baby wants." he promises, tucking kashiel's messy lavender hair behind the ears.
kashiel instantly brightens up as he leans his weight forward. "really?? promish?"
"pinkie." rafayel thrusts his pinky finger up to seal the promise. his toddler excitedly links his own smaller pinky with daddy's too.
"okie dokie i eat fry rice."
a rather very satisfied rafayel grabs the boy under the arms, pulling him high into his chest as he stands now to proceed with their masterchef plan. picking along the box of donuts to store in the fridge. with lingering gaze towards the box, kash chatters off which four donuts he'll eat first tomorrow.
that if he's so lucky with getting daddy to say yes to four donuts.
"put maaany shrimps, daddy." little legs dangling back and forth on the kitchen counter as kashiel watches his tall daddy expertly taking out all the ingredients needed.
"maaany shrimps it is, mister." rafayel pops a sliced mango in kashiel's mouth before handing the bowl full of them into kashiel's trusty hands to keep him occupied while daddy cooks.
Sylus’ old draconic urges have been sanded down by time and control until they’re little more than faint echoes.
Most days he’s content to be the man who owns the N109 Zone.
But every spring, around the equinox when the city air turns thick with pollen and new heat, something ancient wakes up.
It starts subtle: restless pacing at three in the morning, red eyes glowing brighter in the dark, the shadow of wings he hasn’t had in centuries manifesting under the right light, under his back like phantom limbs. His voice drops half an octave. His touch lingers longer, heavier.
He doesn't say the word "rut," but you feel it in the way he crowds you against walls, in the way his teeth scrape your throat just shy of breaking skin, in the way he starts buying things.
Jewellery arrives in velvet lined boxes almost daily.
Thick chokers studded with black diamonds, heavy ruby drops that brush your collarbones, ropes of pearls so long they drape between your breasts like spilled moonlight. Gold cuffs that clank against each other when you move, rings stacked three deep on every finger, a delicate golden headband that sits like a crown, then a proper tiara, ruby and onyx, sharp enough to draw blood if you're careless. He clasps each piece on you himself, fingers reverent, eyes dark with something older than love.
“You look like a treasure,” he murmurs against your ear one night, voice rough as gravel. “My treasure.”
And you’re already dripping by the time he finishes adorning you. The weight of it all, cold metal warming against fevered skin, gems catching every flicker of lamplight, makes you feel obscene, decadent, claimed in a way that has nothing to do with words.
He doesn’t bother with the bed this time.
He backs you against the full length mirror in the bedroom, spins you so you’re facing your own reflection: flushed cheeks, lips swollen from earlier kisses, body glittering like a dragon’s hoard brought to life. Multiple necklaces layer over your throat and chest, diamond choker tight against your pulse, heavy pearl rope slung low across your shoulders, the long gold chain he draped between your breasts earlier now swaying with every shaky breath. Bangles slide down your wrists, rings bite into your fingers where you brace against the glass. The tiara tilts slightly when he fists your hair.
“Look at yourself,” he growls, voice vibrating through your spine. One hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise; the other guides his cock to your entrance, teasing once, twice, then sinking in with a single brutal thrust that punches the air from your lungs.
Everything clinks.
The sound is obscene, metal on metal, gems knocking together, bangles sliding, chains swaying, the tiara shifting against your scalp with every snap of his hips. He bottoms out and the long gold necklace drags across your sternum, cool links sliding over heated skin. The pearl rope slips lower, heavy beads rolling against your breasts. Every time he pulls back and slams home again the jewellery answers: clink-clink-clink, rhythmic, filthy, like coins spilling across stone.
You watch it all in the mirror, his silver hair falling into his eyes, the way his eyes shine like blood, the way his jaw clenches when you clench around him. His thrusts are deep, punishing, possessive; each one drives the breath from you in sharp gasps, makes the necklaces jump and settle, makes the tiara slip until he reaches up to fix it with bruising fingers.
“Mine,” he snarls against your shoulder, teeth grazing the place where neck meets throat. “Every fucking piece of you. Every sound. Every mark.” He punctuates the last word with a grind that has you seeing white, the head of his cock pressing right against that spot that makes your knees buckle.
You try to answer something coherent, something pleading but all that comes out is a broken moan. The jewellery keeps clinking, relentless, underscoring every wet slide, every slap of skin on skin. Pearls drag across your chest, gold chains catch on your nipples, bangles slide up your forearms when you reach back to clutch at his thigh.
He fucks you like he’s trying to imprint himself into your bones.
When you come it’s sudden and shattering, back arching, jewellery rattling like a broken chandelier, a high keening sound tearing from your throat. Sylus follows seconds later with a guttural curse, burying himself to the hilt and spilling hot and deep, hips jerking through the aftershocks while the chains and beads keep chiming softly against cooling skin.
He doesn’t pull out right away.
Instead he wraps both arms around you from behind, chin hooked over your shoulder, red eyes meeting yours in the mirror. His breathing is ragged, right eye glowing. One hand drifts up to adjust the tiara again, gentler this time, then trails down to toy with the pearl rope draped across your collarbone.
“Beautiful” he says, voice hoarse, almost vulnerable beneath the growl.
You reach up, fingers tangling in his hair.
The jewellery clinks once more when you turn your head to kiss him.
Outside, spring keeps turning.
Inside, the ancient thing in his chest finally quiets again.
you knew the plan, or at least the fragments he’d let you see before he disappeared. some thread he needed to tug, some old debt or hidden data cache inside the interstellar starship prison, tartarus, that only the infamous escapee could reach from the inside.
“let them catch me,” he’d said with that crooked, dangerous smile, crimson eyes gleaming as he kissed your knuckles. “i’ll be back before you miss me, kitten.”
you’d argued, of course. told him it was reckless, that onychinus could handle whatever it was without him walking back into the one prison that had ever held him. he only laughed low.
then he was gone.
the first week you threw yourself into the onychinus remnants he’d left you in charge of, against every instinct screaming that you weren’t built for this. deals in dark alleys, hushed calls with luke and kieran, shipments of modified protocores rerouted under your shaky signature.
you hated every second. the weight of his coat on your shoulders felt too big, the silence in his penthouse too loud. at night you curled in his bed that still smelled like smoke and gunpowder and him, fingers pressed between your thighs chasing the ghost of his touch, whispering his name like a curse when you came.
you missed him so viciously it ached in your bones.
by week two the worry had sharpened into something feral. under the table reports trickled in, sightings of tartarus guards doubling shifts, whispers of a high value prisoner causing chaos in the lower levels. you barely slept. every notification on your phone made your stomach drop until you realized it wasn’t him.
then, on the fourteenth night, the balcony doors shattered inward.
you were halfway through another sleepless briefing when the glass exploded.
cold night air rushed in, carrying the scent of ozone and blood, and there he was, sylus, stepping through the wreckage like he’d simply walked home from the corner store. black coat torn at the shoulder, fresh cuts across one cheekbone, hair wild, eyes glowing that dangerous crimson. adrenaline still poured off him in waves. his chest heaved once, twice, and then he was moving.
you barely had time to breathe his name before he used his evol to bring you to another room and he had you pinned against the nearest wall, mouth crashing into yours hard enough to bruise. not even a hello, just teeth and tongue and the metallic tang of someone else’s blood on his lips. his hands were everywhere, ripping your shirt open, yanking your pants down your thighs with zero patience, threads of his evol flickering at his fingertips like he couldn’t quite leash the power still surging through him.
“missed you,” he growled against your throat, voice wrecked and raw. “fuck, i missed you.” he didn’t wait. one big hand shoved your thigh up around his waist while the other freed himself from his pants, cock already thick and leaking. he rubbed the head through your folds once, twice, felt how soaked you already were from days of desperate want, and slammed in to the hilt in one brutal thrust.
you cried out, back arching, nails raking down his arms hard enough to draw red lines. he was bigger than you remembered, or maybe just harder, thicker from whatever adrenaline cocktail still flooded his veins. the stretch burned in the best way, punching the air from your lungs as he bottomed out and ground deep, hips rolling like he needed to carve himself back inside you.
“sylus- ah- slow-“ you tried, but he only laughed, dark and breathless, and fucked you harder. the wall rattled with every punishing snap of his hips. his hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back so he could bite down on your neck, sucking a mark that would bloom purple by morning.
“no, you can keep up, sweetie.” he snarled, voice breaking on the word. “been dreaming about this for fourteen days. every time they chained me down i thought about splitting you open just like this. about you dripping down my cock while i ruin this pretty cunt.” another savage thrust, so deep you were barely standing on your tiptoes. “you took care of onychinus while i was gone? good girl. now take what’s yours.”
you were shaking, moaning brokenly with every drag of him against that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes. he was relentless, hips snapping so hard the sound of skin on skin filled the room, wet and obscene. one hand dropped between you, thumb circling your clit with ruthless precision until your thighs trembled and you clenched around him like a vice.
“that’s it,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping from his temple. “come on my cock. let me feel how much you missed me.”
you shattered hard, vision whiting out, a sob ripping from your throat as pleasure crashed through you in brutal waves. his pace didn’t let off. if anything he fucked you through it faster, chasing his own release with single minded hunger.
when he came it was with a guttural sound that vibrated through your bones, hips grinding deep as he flooded you, hot and endless, hips jerking with every spurt like he couldn’t stop. he kept moving even after, shallow, filthy rolls that pushed his cum deeper, like he needed to mark every inch of you.
you were both panting, slick with sweat and cum, when he finally stilled. he didn’t pull out. just shifted his grip, lifting you properly so your legs wrapped around his waist, carrying you toward the bedroom without ever disconnecting.
“plan worked,” he murmured against your hair, voice softer now but still edged with that wild energy. “got what i needed. they’ll be chasing ghosts for months.” he laid you down on the bed, finally sliding out only to flip you onto your stomach and pull your hips up. “but right now i don’t care about any of it.”
he slid back in from behind, slower this time but no less deep, one hand pressing between your shoulder blades to keep you arched for him.
“gonna fuck you until neither of us can move,” he promised, lips brushing your ear. “until you forget every second i was gone. until the only thing you remember is how perfectly you take me.”
you moaned into the sheets, pushing back against him, already aching for more.
“welcome home,” you gasped.
his laugh was low, wicked, and entirely satisfied as he started moving again, hard and deep and relentless.
“i’m never leaving you that long again, kitten. not if i can help it.”
imagine being in those fragile first few weeks with sylus where everything still feels brand new and terrifyingly delicate.
you’ve only just crossed that line; sex started careful, reverent almost, his hands careful like he’s handling something priceless, kisses passionate but never bruising, thrusts measured and deep enough to make you see stars but never rough enough to leave marks that last past morning.
he always checks in, voice low and soft in your ear asking if it’s too much, if you’re okay, if you want more, and every time you nod yes because it feels good, god it feels incredible, but lately there’s this itch under your skin you can’t scratch.
you want it nasty. you want backbreaking. you want it questionable to your self respect.
you want him to pin you down so hard the headboard rattles, want his fingers digging into your hips leaving fingerprints for days, want him to fuck you like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else, like the leash he keeps on himself finally snaps.
but he’s so careful. so goddamn respectful. the way he cradles your face when he comes, the way he murmurs praise against your throat like you’re fragile glass, the way he pulls out slow and gentle afterward to clean you up himself, it all makes your chest ache in the best way, but it also makes you squirm because you’re dying for the other side of him. the one you’ve glimpsed in flashes: the dark glint in his eyes when you push back against him a little too hard, the low growl when your nails rake down his back, the way his grip tightens just a fraction when you whisper “harder” like it’s a dare.
you don’t know how to ask for it. every time you try the words stick in your throat. you’ve thought about straddling him on the couch and grinding down filthy, thought about bending over the kitchen counter in nothing but his shirt and waiting for him to snap, thought about texting him something shameless but then you picture his face, those crimson eyes going soft with concern instead of heat and you chicken out.
what if he thinks you’re not satisfied with what you’ve had so far? what if he pulls back even more, thinking he’s hurt you somehow? he’s already told you once, mid kiss, that he never wants to push you past what you’re ready for, that he’s waited too long for this to rush it now.
so you’re stuck simmering. every time he fucks you slow and sweet you arch harder, moan louder, claw at his shoulders like you’re begging without words. you bite his lip a little too sharp one night, grind back against him until he hisses, and for a second, god, for a glorious second, his control slips. his hand fists in your hair, yanks your head back just enough to expose your throat, and he thrusts once, hard and punishing, deep enough that your vision whites out and a broken sound rips from your chest.
then he freezes. lets go like he’s been burned. “im sorry, kitten. too much?” he’s already easing out, turning you over gently, checking your face with those worried eyes.
you want to scream. instead you grab his wrist, pull his hand back to your hip, and whisper, voice shaking with want, “no. do it again.”
he stares at you for a long beat, pupils blown wide, something hungry and dangerous flickering behind the concern. “you sure?”
you nod, frantic. “please. i want it. just- fuck me like you mean it.”
the air shifts. his smile is wicked, predatory, the one that makes your stomach flip. he leans down, mouth brushing your ear, voice a low rumble that vibrates through you.
“careful what you wish for, sweetie. once i stop holding back, i might not stop until you’re begging me to.”
then he flips you onto your stomach, one massive hand pressing between your shoulder blades to keep you pinned, the other yanking your hips up exactly how he wants them. the slick sound of him sliding back in, thick and unrelenting, and the first brutal snap of his hips that punches every thought out of your head.
Sylus’ old draconic urges have been sanded down by time and control until they’re little more than faint echoes.
Most days he’s content to be the man who owns the N109 Zone.
But every spring, around the equinox when the city air turns thick with pollen and new heat, something ancient wakes up.
It starts subtle: restless pacing at three in the morning, red eyes glowing brighter in the dark, the shadow of wings he hasn’t had in centuries manifesting under the right light, under his back like phantom limbs. His voice drops half an octave. His touch lingers longer, heavier.
He doesn't say the word "rut," but you feel it in the way he crowds you against walls, in the way his teeth scrape your throat just shy of breaking skin, in the way he starts buying things.
Jewellery arrives in velvet lined boxes almost daily.
Thick chokers studded with black diamonds, heavy ruby drops that brush your collarbones, ropes of pearls so long they drape between your breasts like spilled moonlight. Gold cuffs that clank against each other when you move, rings stacked three deep on every finger, a delicate golden headband that sits like a crown, then a proper tiara, ruby and onyx, sharp enough to draw blood if you're careless. He clasps each piece on you himself, fingers reverent, eyes dark with something older than love.
“You look like a treasure,” he murmurs against your ear one night, voice rough as gravel. “My treasure.”
And you’re already dripping by the time he finishes adorning you. The weight of it all, cold metal warming against fevered skin, gems catching every flicker of lamplight, makes you feel obscene, decadent, claimed in a way that has nothing to do with words.
He doesn’t bother with the bed this time.
He backs you against the full length mirror in the bedroom, spins you so you’re facing your own reflection: flushed cheeks, lips swollen from earlier kisses, body glittering like a dragon’s hoard brought to life. Multiple necklaces layer over your throat and chest, diamond choker tight against your pulse, heavy pearl rope slung low across your shoulders, the long gold chain he draped between your breasts earlier now swaying with every shaky breath. Bangles slide down your wrists, rings bite into your fingers where you brace against the glass. The tiara tilts slightly when he fists your hair.
“Look at yourself,” he growls, voice vibrating through your spine. One hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise; the other guides his cock to your entrance, teasing once, twice, then sinking in with a single brutal thrust that punches the air from your lungs.
Everything clinks.
The sound is obscene, metal on metal, gems knocking together, bangles sliding, chains swaying, the tiara shifting against your scalp with every snap of his hips. He bottoms out and the long gold necklace drags across your sternum, cool links sliding over heated skin. The pearl rope slips lower, heavy beads rolling against your breasts. Every time he pulls back and slams home again the jewellery answers: clink-clink-clink, rhythmic, filthy, like coins spilling across stone.
You watch it all in the mirror, his silver hair falling into his eyes, the way his eyes shine like blood, the way his jaw clenches when you clench around him. His thrusts are deep, punishing, possessive; each one drives the breath from you in sharp gasps, makes the necklaces jump and settle, makes the tiara slip until he reaches up to fix it with bruising fingers.
“Mine,” he snarls against your shoulder, teeth grazing the place where neck meets throat. “Every fucking piece of you. Every sound. Every mark.” He punctuates the last word with a grind that has you seeing white, the head of his cock pressing right against that spot that makes your knees buckle.
You try to answer something coherent, something pleading but all that comes out is a broken moan. The jewellery keeps clinking, relentless, underscoring every wet slide, every slap of skin on skin. Pearls drag across your chest, gold chains catch on your nipples, bangles slide up your forearms when you reach back to clutch at his thigh.
He fucks you like he’s trying to imprint himself into your bones.
When you come it’s sudden and shattering, back arching, jewellery rattling like a broken chandelier, a high keening sound tearing from your throat. Sylus follows seconds later with a guttural curse, burying himself to the hilt and spilling hot and deep, hips jerking through the aftershocks while the chains and beads keep chiming softly against cooling skin.
He doesn’t pull out right away.
Instead he wraps both arms around you from behind, chin hooked over your shoulder, red eyes meeting yours in the mirror. His breathing is ragged, right eye glowing. One hand drifts up to adjust the tiara again, gentler this time, then trails down to toy with the pearl rope draped across your collarbone.
“Beautiful” he says, voice hoarse, almost vulnerable beneath the growl.
You reach up, fingers tangling in his hair.
The jewellery clinks once more when you turn your head to kiss him.
Outside, spring keeps turning.
Inside, the ancient thing in his chest finally quiets again.
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