[looking at people younger than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at people older than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at myself] its over
tomura holding you still and gasping in your ear after he cums because his cock is too sensitive for him to move.. but then you squeeze around him and it feels really good and he wants more, so he begins to shallowly thrust in and out, trying to ride through the overstimulation.. yesyes
Ok so like... This is a random HC I now have if anyone is feeling low about themselves that none of the Li's would love them irl...
They've seen you in so many different forms and past lives. They've probably seen you when you were rich, poor, healthy, or struggling.
So if you think you're not that pretty the way you are, they'll remember your personality, because that's why they fell in love right? Your jokes, your wit, your attitude towards life, your sassiness... And feel content that they've found you again.
If you think you're fat or not eating correctly, they'll think, she's been given a tough set of metabolic and genetic combinations this time, she has more to overcome, and love you harder. They'd never see your physical body and assume you don't take care of yourself.
Because nothing would stop their love for you. You belong. A part of them, forever.
You've reached your limit with kids but Choso is always up for one more whenever your ready.
The kitchen island had become a tactical staging ground. On the left sat a sterile drying rack overflowing with small silicone valves, anti-colic vents, and plastic bottles with faded measurement lines. On the right, a solitary mug of coffee—long since gone cold—rested next to a half-eaten slice of toast that had hardened to the consistency of cardboard.
Between these two monuments of survival stood the two of you.
"Choso, I love you with everything I have," you began, your voice dropping into that heavy, deliberate register reserved for conversations that required absolute clarity. "But I do not have the capacity, the physical stamina, or the structural willpower to push out another human being."
You let out a long, ragged sigh, the sound vibrating against the small, warm weight bundled securely against your collarbone. You shifted your heels on the linoleum, performing that rhythmic, subconscious hip-sway that had become your default setting over the last twenty-four months. The four-month-old in your arms let out a weak, protesting squeak, her tiny fingers bunching into the fabric of your shirt.
Across the marble counter, Choso stood with his arms crossed over his chest. His signature posture—shoulders pulled high, chin tucked low—usually gave him the silhouette of a gargoyle guarding an ancient gate. But today, his sharp, angular features were softened by a thoroughly domestic, localized pout. His heavy lids were lowered, his gaze fixed on the small tuft of black hair peeking out from the baby’s swaddle.
"I know," he murmured, his deep voice carrying that distinct, gravelly hum that only ever surfaced within the quiet safety of your four walls. "I am not arguing with you, love."
"Good," you said, though your shoulders didn’t quite drop from their defensive position near your ears. "Because my body is still trying to remember where my organs belong. We are at capacity."
To say you were at capacity was an understatement. A two-year-old and a four-month-old was a volatile, beautifully chaotic combination. It was an ecosystem governed entirely by biological urgency—sleepless nights that bled into gray mornings, a relentless cycle of diaper changes, sudden and unexplainable kitchen-floor meltdowns, and the draining task of navigating the unsolicited parenting advice of practically everyone who saw you in public.
Yet, through the thick of the fog, there was Choso.
To call Choso a good father felt like an incomplete assessment of his character. He didn't simply participate in childcare; he had internalized the entire concept of fatherhood as an extension of his soul. The vast, ancient reservoir of protective instinct that had once defined his existence as an elder brother had shifted entirely toward you and the children.
He didn't wait for direction. He didn't ask for permission to handle the domestic load. He scrubbed the baseboards until his knuckles were raw, cooked calorie-dense, nutritious meals to ensure you were recovering, and managed the grocery runs with the precise efficiency of a soldier gathering rations. He regularly cleared your schedule, practically pushing you out the door or locking you in the bathroom with a tub full of hot water just so you could experience thirty minutes of silence.
But the baby fever was a distinct, undeniable force.
It wasn't a demanding urge, nor was it an expectation he placed on you. It was a quiet, almost reverent fascination with the early stages of life. You had watched him during your pregnancies—how he would sit on the edge of the bed for hours in the dark, his large, scarred hand resting flat against your swollen stomach, his forehead pressed against your skin as he whispered long, rambling histories to the fluid inside. He was a man who had been denied a conventional childhood, a man whose early existence had been defined by blood, duty, and premature loss. In the small, fragile dependency of a newborn, he seemed to find a version of peace that nothing else could provide.
"I know, baby," Choso repeated softly. He moved around the perimeter of the island, his steps entirely silent despite his broad frame. The faint, grounding scent of sandalwood, dried lavender, and cedar followed him—a familiar sensory anchor that immediately caused your pulse to slow.
He closed the distance between you, his eyes scanning your face with that intense, observational focus he used when assessing your fatigue. He didn't try to cajole you or turn your boundary into a debate. Instead, he simply leaned down, pressing a warm, lingering kiss against your temple, his lips dry and rough against your skin.
"Let me take her," he whispered.
His large, calloused hands slid beneath your daughter with practiced ease. One hand supported the base of her skull, his long fingers cradling her neck, while his other arm scooped beneath her bottom. The transition was seamless. The moment she was transferred into his arms, the relief in your lower back was so sudden it made your knees feel weak.
The baby, who had spent the last forty-five minutes letting out rhythmic, high-pitched whines against your neck, quieted instantly. She let out a small, shuddering sigh, her tiny face turning inward toward the dark fabric of his oversized knit sweater.
The genetic signature was unmistakable. She had inherited his deep, intense, almost purple eyes and the thick, stubborn black hair that refused to lay flat, no matter how much water you brushed through it.
"See?" Choso murmured, a very faint, private smile touching the corners of his mouth as he adjusted her against his chest. His hand covered her entire back, a massive shield of bone and muscle ensuring nothing could touch her. "She was just waiting for her papa."
"She was waiting for someone with a higher body temperature who doesn't smell like sour milk," you countered, though you leaned your shoulder against his arm, letting your head rest briefly against his bicep. "Don't misinterpret basic thermodynamics as a vote of confidence for baby number three."
Choso let out a low, rumbling chuckle that vibrated deep within his thoracic cavity—a sound that clearly acted as a sedative for the infant, whose eyelids were already growing heavy.
"I would never," he said, his tone turning serious, his eyes dropping to meet yours. "Your body has given enough. I am grateful for what we have here. I do not need more than what is in this room."
Before you could appreciate the sincerity of his words, a heavy, uncoordinated thump echoed from the hallway, followed by the familiar, dragging sound of a weighted blanket being hauled across hardwood floors.
The toddler had risen from his nap.
Within seconds, a small boy with an identical mop of untamable dark hair appeared at the kitchen threshold. He was wearing one striped sock and one bare foot, his eyes small and puffy from sleep as he dragged his favorite plush bear by its left ear. He stopped where the hardwood met the linoleum, his little mouth opening in a wide, dramatic yawn that threatened to unhinge his jaw. He looked at you, then at the bundle in Choso's arms, and let out a small, demanding grunt.
Choso’s response was instantaneous. His reflexes, honed by centuries of survival and perfected by two years of toddler monitoring, didn't falter. He lowered his center of gravity, dropping to one knee on the hard floor without a sound, keeping the four-month-old perfectly level against his chest. He extended his right arm, creating an open flank.
"Come here, little star," Choso called out softly.
The two-year-old didn't hesitate. He trudged forward, his small legs moving with the heavy-bottomed gait of a child still waking up, and buried his face directly into Choso’s side. He hooked his small fingers into the coarse knit of his father’s sweater, his thumb finding its way into his mouth as he let his entire weight lean against Choso's thigh.
Choso wrapped his large arm around the boy’s shoulders, pulling him into a firm, grounding hold while maintaining the delicate cradle of the infant with his left. He sat there on the kitchen floor, flanked by his descendants, looking like an ancient pillar around which the entire house revolved.
You knelt down beside them, your joints popping in the quiet room. You reached out, using your fingers to smooth down the chaotic bedhead at the back of your son’s neck. The boy let out a small hum of approval, his eyes closing again.
"You have that look on your face," you murmured, keeping your voice low so as not to disturb the fragile peace.
Choso looked up from the toddler's hair, his dark eyes fixed on you. There was an immense, heavy gravity in his expression—the look of a man who constantly measured the distance between his family and the rest of the world, ensuring no danger could bridge the gap. "What look?"
"The look that says you’d build an entire village with your bare hands if I gave you two more," you said, your finger gently tracing the distinct line across the bridge of his nose. "The look that says your big-brother complex is trying to manifest a small army."
Choso didn't laugh this time. He simply watched you, his gaze steady and entirely respectful of the boundary you had drawn earlier in the afternoon.
"My heart is larger than it used to be," he admitted, his voice dropping into a rough whisper. "When I was alone, I thought my purpose was small. Just my brothers. Now... I look at him, and I look at her, and I see everything I never thought I would be allowed to have. If you told me today that this is all we will ever see, I would be content. I am not greedy for more of your pain."
He leaned forward slightly, just enough to press his forehead against yours. The warmth of his skin was immediate, the steady rise and fall of his chest a constant, rhythmic baseline beneath the small, erratic breathing of the children.
"But," he added, a small, wry glint appearing in his dark eyes as he looked down at the toddler currently snoring against his leg, "if we are truly finished... I think we should discuss that appointment you mentioned last week. The one with the doctor."
You let out a soft laugh, the last remnants of the day's tension leaving your ribs. You pressed a quick, firm kiss to his lips, the taste of him familiar and safe.
"The vasectomy?" you whispered.
"Yes," Choso said, his expression completely serious, though his hand gently patted the toddler’s back in a slow, rhythmic circle. "If it ensures you can rest, I will let them do whatever they must. I have survived worse than a surgeon's knife."
"It's a standard procedure, Choso, not a battle," you reminded him, though you leaned your head against his free shoulder, watching the way your daughter’s fingers had tangled themselves into the fabric near his collarbone.
"A sacrifice for the household," he corrected solemnly, though the small twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. "I will bear it for the team."
You stayed like that for a long time, kneeling on the kitchen floor between the cold coffee and the clean bottles. The silence stretched between you, comfortable and heavy, broken only by the soft, rhythmic puff of your son's breathing against Choso's sweater.
You looked down at the tiny girl cradled so effortlessly in Choso's massive forearm. Her little chest rose and fell, completely safe, completely oblivious to the world outside this room. You thought about the labor, the sleepless fog, the absolute toll it took to build a life from scratch. You had gone into this conversation entirely against the idea of ever doing it again. The door was supposed to be shut, locked, and barricaded.
But looking at Choso—noticing the absolute reverence in his eyes, the way he bent his entire monumental existence to fit the needs of you and these children, and how deeply he respected your choices without an ounce of resentment—something in your chest softened. Just a fraction. Not enough to open the door completely, but enough to unlock it. You weren't entirely against it forever... but definitely not anytime soon.
"Just... give me a couple of years, Cho," you sighed softly, the words slipping out before you could fully think them through. "Preferably until she's in middle school."
The change in him was subtle but immediate. The tension in his broad shoulders evaporated completely. You could feel Choso smile softly against your hair, a deep, silent warmth radiating from him as he shifted slightly to rest a gentle, infinitely tender kiss on the top of your head.
"Whatever you need, my love," he murmured into your hair, his voice thick with a quiet, overwhelming gratitude. "However long it takes. I can wait."
Qifrey fell hard, harder than he could’ve ever anticipated
Female reader, slight manga spoilers, mostly for Qifrey’s character, established relationship
Qifrey didn’t realize he was falling for you until he was face first in the dirt. He thought it would be a gradual shift, like when a stream creates a canyon. Instead, he awoke one morning and it was as if his entire world turned on its axis, now orbiting you instead of a dying star. It wasn’t entirely noticeable when he first opened his eyes, disappointed when your side of the bed had grown cold. Setting his glasses into place, sliding out of bed, and finding his slippers to search for you in what he thought would be a quiet atelier. As he approached the kitchen, laughter sprung off the walls, the sound fastening his heartbeat. When he eased the door open, there you were, eyes crinkled with a giant smile plastered on your face, and he swore the sun shining through the window cast a heavenly glow over your form. You and the girls were covered in flour, even the brush bug was jumping around in the white powder strewn across the mahogany.
“Shhh, we don’t want to wake him yet,” You lifted a pointer finger to your lips, trying to conceal even your own giggles.
“It seems it’s too late for that,” He walked through the door, eyeing the mess.
“Master Qifrey,” Coco squeaked, “We were just trying to make breakfast.”
“Without magic,” You pursed your lips.
“Now why would you want to do such a dreadful thing,” He tried to avoid the powder on the floor—which was practically impossible—before ending up at your side, wrapping an arm around your waist—as he couldn’t bear to be apart from you any longer.
“We thought it would be fun,” Tetia giggled.
“We’ll clean up the mess right away,” Coco said, grabbing Riche’s arm to go find the broom.
“How about,” Qifrey grabbed the ends of their robes, “You clean it with magic.”
“Yes, Master Qifrey.” The girls nodded, running to grab their pens and pads.
He pulled you into his side, “How did this happen?” He laughed, kissing the top of your head.
“Coco and Tetia were fighting over the bag of flour and split it in two.” You giggled, melting into his touch.
You turned to face him, standing on the tips of your toes to wrap your arms around his neck, mouth mere inches from his own, “We wanted to make you breakfast.”
“I imagine that would’ve been easier if you’d used a spell,” He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you in close, connecting his lips to yours.
“Ick,” Agott gagged when she walked in the room.
You laughed as your lips parted, “Good morning Agott, Coco tried to wake you.”
“With the look of this mess, I’m glad I stayed asleep,” She grabbed a fruit from the counter and went back to her room.
Then there was you showing the girls a new spell at the river nearby. He didn’t much care for the water, but when you’d asked him to come along, who was he to deny you. Besides, he was a witch, he didn’t have to get wet if he didn’t want to. And how he hated getting wet, but you, you loved the water, and watching as the magic teaching turned into fun, the way you giggled as you splashed water onto the girls. You took off your shoes, jumping into the river, and falling onto your butt, but that didn’t stop your experience, pulling the girls into the river with you until even Agott was giggling with glee. You laughed and stood, hair soaked, water dripping down the sides of your face and yet the smile never left it. He had never thought water was more beautiful than in this moment, covering the body of the woman he loved. And maybe it was in that moment that he realized he loved you. He had never experienced anything quite like the feeling in his gut right now, the fluttering and almost nauseating sensation floating around in his belly. Even when you traversed out of the river, coming his way with your soaking clothes, ringing your hair out, and plopping yourself directly into his lap. You smiled as you kissed his cheek, water from your body soaking through his robes and somehow he didn’t have a care in the world. He could dry himself off at the atelier, but he would never miss out on the opportunity to hold you, so he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you impossibly closer.
But no, the moment he knew he loved you is when he sought out comfort, something he had never dared to allow himself the privilege. It had been some time since one of his notorious headaches plagued him, and when they did he typically found himself a dark, solemn place to hide and wait out the pain. Except this time, he craved you. Your touch. Your voice. Your mere presence. So instead of shielding himself away, he took a deep breath, and went in search of you. The hallway was a dizzying feat, and when he heard quiet snickering it almost made him turn back, almost. But when he turned the corner into the living room, you sat in front of the fire, Coco curled into your side, quietly chatting with Olruggio. Luckily, when his old friend saw the displeased look on his face, he made quick work of ushering Coco off to bed. Qifrey made a mental note to thank him for that later. Your face softened as you noticed your lover enter the room, extending your arms for him. He practically collapsed into them, shielding his face in your chest. He needn’t say a word. He had informed you only once of the headaches that plagued him due to his past, but you never bore witness to one. The way his face creased, his eyes barely able to stay open, even his movements were sluggish.
“Should I get you some medicine?” You went to stand, but his arms tightened around your waist.
“My love,” He mumbled out, “Please stay.”
“I’m here,” You squeezed his form, pulling him closer to you before gently tangling your hands in his hair, “Is this alright?” You asked as you softly scraped your fingertips across his scalp, anything to try and dull the ache.
He merely hummed, leaning into your touch. You laid your head atop his, listening to the quiet crackle of the fire, hoping that your presence alone would ease your lover's pain.
Qifrey had never been in love, wasn’t quite sure what it even felt like. But if this right here, held in the embrace of the person you trusted with your most vulnerable moments, was what it meant to be in love, then he had fallen for you so deeply, no amount of magic would be enough to pull him back up.
A/N: I was in my feels so hard writing this. I just wanna hold him and give him the love he deserves. Yes I know I’m not done with the manga and I have been told it’ll break my heart.
*Please do not repost, copy, or use any of my works to feed your AI*
My mind keeps going back to the little blurb I read where Qifrey and reader get caught making out by the girls and how they never get time to actually do anything fun(if YK what I mean) bc the girls always need him or Olruggio somehow catches them , I find it hilarious and I was wondering if you could do a fic like this bc the creator said that the blurb would probably never be continued
I would highkey give you my soul if you did this (but ofc if you don't wanna that's understandable!)
I seriously love your Qifrey fics tho 🤍🫶
hey, so i took way longer on this than i should have and i wrote far more than i needed to, so congratulations LMAO
We Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled Program
Summary: You would have to take a crowbar to Qifrey in order to pry him off of you. Hilariously, there are four children in the house who know the exact moment to interrupt you.
Pairing: Qifrey/Reader, Qifrey/Original Female Characters
Genre: Romance/Humor
Rating: T/M
Word count: 3239
Monday, 5:32pm
The kitchen is quiet, the children you just finished feeding are now off playing in the fields that surround the atelier. There’s a soft hum coming from one of Qifrey’s water spells as it rolls dishes within its sphere. You stand with your gaze towards the window, watching the birds catch the evening breeze. Every so often you hear laughter echo from the fields, the girls’ voices filled with nothing but amusement.
You’re drying plates over the sink but your hand stills when you feel an invisible weight bare down on your shoulders.
Hm, he’s staring again.
Qifrey sits behind you at the table, like he always does when a meal is finished, and watches. If he doesn’t need to start a lesson or have a pressing matter to attend to, he waits for you to finish. You adore it, truly. It gives you uninterrupted time with him, a moment to talk about the day and, well, gossip a little.
But right now, he didn’t seem to have the energy to chat but he did have the energy for other things.
Qifrey very rarely shows intimate affection publicly, even within the home he keeps it limited. A kiss on the cheek here, a hug there. Things that would be done in passing. He is…passionate, yes, but he has an excellent way of communicating his needs without outwardly expressing them. He’s all looks and innuendos and when spoken in that smooth cadence of his you melt every time.
He does have his moments, however, where his own desires become so overwhelming that they spill from him like a broken faucet. Running into a glass that can never be filled. And when that happens, he can’t help but act on them.
You never mind when he does, you quite like it when he loses a little control.
You feel Qifrey’s hand smooth over your hips and settle on your stomach. He presses into your back, his chest molding against you as he rests his head on your shoulders. He plants a kiss at the junction, his teeth skimming your flesh. You pull away, but only half heartedly, as you laugh, “Qifrey, enough. I need to finish this.” There is no bite in your tone.
Qifrey persists, his lips ghosting your ear as he chuckles. You feel a chill shoot up your spin. “You look beautiful.”
You snort, “I’m covered in cooking grease and smell like flour dough.”
“Still so very beautiful,” he mutters, trailing kisses down your neck and across your shoulder, pulling down your loose top so he can access it easier. You make no move to shove him off. You even lean into it, actually.
When you place your last dish in the clean pile beside you, you lay your towel down and turn to face your husband. Your hips rest against the stone counter, cool in comparison to the Qifrey’s heat.
The simple motion only fuels him more, and he pushes forward. You laugh and hold him back, “What has gotten into you!” He mutters something low and desperate and suddenly your lips are covered by his. You melt immediately, and curse your own weakness. His touch is hot and relentless and a soft moan leaves you when Qifrey’s hands float up and down your sides. Your hands rise to his face, cup his cheeks and you curl into him as he surges. You’re pressed so closely together that if you weren’t careful you would mold into one. Honestly, you wouldn’t complain if you did.
When he pulls away for a split second, you gasp, “Q-qifrey, what in the world—ah!” You gasp when he hikes up your right leg, leaving you unbalanced for a second before he wraps it around his waist. You rotate your hips to keep from falling, and he tucks his head into the crook of your neck again. You hear him groan as he adjusts and hooks the two of you together.
You feel his hand dance down the side of your curled leg. His fingers hovering before finding the end of her long skirts and slipping them beneath the layers. He pushes fabric up, inch by agonizing inch, revealing your embroidered stockings beneath. His hand searches and searches until he finds your warm thigh hidden beneath it all. His long lithe fingers wrap around your leg and squeeze. You jerk and scold him, “Qifrey!’ He does it again but this time it’s slow and tactile. You feel each pad of his fingers press gently into your skin before he caresses the side of your thigh. Outer, then inner, far too close to the heat of your body. You feel him smile when you whine.
Your head falls back and you let him do as he wishes, pushing and pulling against your body, biting steadily into your flesh. The one hand not supporting your weight against the counter finds purchase in his soft hair, you twirl the strands between your fingers, each light tug eliciting a sigh from him, his hands are creeping further up, tucking beneath your—
“Mama!”
The two of you scatter like there is a fire at your feet. Qifrey turns away from the door, covering his face as he hunches his shoulders. You can see the blush on his cheeks and the crazed daze in his eyes. His hands tremble and he cups them against his mouth.
You scramble to adjust your skirts, kicking out the bunched up layers and folding down your apron. You rush to pull your top back over your shoulder, just now realizing that the side of your chest was almost entirely out.
“Yes, Coco?” you smooth down your wild hair, and feign a calm demeanor. You hear feet pad against the wood and the small girl turns the corner.
She has dirt on her cheeks and leaves in her hair, a clear sign of her outdoor adventures. She’s a bit breathless but otherwise looks fine. She, unsurprisingly, has three brush buddies stacked on her person, two on her shoulders and one on the top of her capless head. That one’s eyes narrow as if it knows what you are up to. Perverts, it accuses. You ignore it.
“The brushbuddies got out again.” Her voice is light but clearly concerned.
You sigh, wiping your hands on your apron. Ever since Qifrey made a sanctuary for them they’ve managed to find every way to escape. Security spells be damned, nothing seemed to work. You glance at Qifrey and he’s suddenly found interest in one of the kitchen cupboards. He’s rearranging bowls that don’t need to be rearranged. The tips of his ears are red.
“Alright, I’m on my way. Make sure they don’t cause any trouble, okay?”
Coco smiles and nods, “we’re going to gather them all!” she goes to turn on her heel but pauses, “Oh, hello Master Qifrey!”
Qifrey turns to her, and you watch as he puts his hands behind his back to hide the trembling. “Hello, Coco,” he says gently, but there is a hitch in his voice. “Better hurry before our friends get lost.”
Coco gasps, “Right!” and she’s gone as quick as she arrived, taking her little companions with her.
You look at Qifrey and smile slyly, “Are you okay, Master Qifrey?” You tilt your head innocently. “You seem a bit…disheveled.” Qifrey looks at you from over his glasses, those bright blue eyes intense.
“Perfectly well, my dear.” His gaze roves over your figure and they linger on the marks he’s left along your neck, you subconsciously move to cover them better, “you best catch up to the girls, they’ll need your help.”
“Of course,” you leave, fighting the urge to look back.
You can still feel his gaze on you. You always do.
Thursday, 11:46pm
It’s dark out and the atelier is silent. The girls were sent to bed nearly two hours ago and the brushbuddies, surprisingly, stayed sheltered in their domicile.
You’re standing in front of your bedroom mirror, a hand carved piece that was made by a craftsman in town. There’s a seal on the back that makes the edges of the glass illuminate with just a tap.
You see Qifrey is already settled in bed through its reflection. The candle light beside him flickers languidly. He’s focused on a book in his hands, flipping through pages slowly. Your gaze falls to his fingers, nimble and precise as you remember how they felt on your legs. You shiver, and adjust your gown, pulling it off the shoulders casually. The cool night air raises your flesh.
You stalk towards him but he makes no indication that he’s noticed. His lips move silently as he echoes the words in his book, his eyes trail each line. Left to right, left to right, as he flips to another page. There is something ethereal about him in this light, the way it shadows his chin and highlights his cheeks. It brightens his eyes in an intoxicating way.
You prowl around to your side of the bed and he, intuitively, lifts the sheets for you. When you crawl under them but do not lay, he pauses. He suffers from regular bouts of insomnia, so you waiting up for him to rest was not frequent. There have been nights you have slept with him reading and woken to him doing the same. The book he started with finished and another already began.
He looks at you curiously, “is something the matter?”
You say nothing as you pluck the book from his hand and straddle his waist. He doesn’t protest and he doesn’t pull away, but his eyes darken. He looks up at you as you shuffle closer, knees bunching the fabric at his hips. His chin rests on your collar as you tilt his head back and you lean down for a very deep and very anticipated kiss.
The first thing you notice is that he smells like lavender, and he tastes like mint. He moans, low in his throat as his hands travel to cup the back of your thighs. You jolt at the coolness of his touch but settle when you feel his hands find purchase just below your bottom.
You both rock into one another, it’s a steady rhythm. Slow, patient and practiced. Qifrey was never one to rush things in the bedroom. He said it wasn’t right, and that he always needed time to take you in. Savior you. He wanted you both to melt into each other before dissolving into the sheets.
You lean in, as close as your body will allow, lips pulling away just slightly to rotate your head and repeat it all over again. Tongue and teeth and nothing but heat are exchanged between the two of you. He’s louder than you are, and you smirk when he whimpers.
Your hands are glued to his face keeping him there but he doesn’t protest. He never does. You pull back for a split second to catch your breath and just as you push forward again—
“Master Qifrey? Mama?”
You hold back a groan of frustration as Tetia’s voice is heard on the other side of your door. Qifrey’s hands slide to your waist and you rock back to rest on his lap as you pull away. “Yes, Tetia?” Qifrey calls, “what’s the matter?”
“I-I can’t sleep—“ she sounds defeated and despite your clearly unsatisfied state your children’s needs always come first. Tetia has been having nightmares for the better half of the month. After a particularly nasty accident with a new spell falling asleep, and staying asleep, have been far more challenging than any new lesson.
You throw back the sheets and roll onto your side of the bed before leaning against the headboard. There’s a part of you that is irritated, you’ve been interrupted enough this week but the other part of you can’t be mad about it. The girls come to you and Qifrey with most of their troubles and you wouldn’t want to ruin that by turning them away.
You’d just have to act like a wild teenager on a different day of the week.
Qifrey sighs and stands, slipping his feet into a pair of slippers Agott made before shuffling towards the door. In one swift movement he opens it and Tetia barrels into his waist white knuckling his shirt.
“Tetia…” he tries to pry her hands off to get a look at her but she only buries herself deeper into his stomach.
“I keep seeing it,” her voice is muffled, “and I hate-e it but it won’t go a-away.”
“There, there,” Qifrey pats the top of her head as he closes the door. He leans down and picks her up, supporting her under her legs. She wraps them around his waist and her arms circle his neck before he waddles back to bed. She’s certainly too big to carry, but until Qifrey is physically incapable of doing so he will always hold them.
You lift your arms in invitation, and Qifrey gently places her in your embrace. You hum as you bring her close, moving aside her braided hair and adjusting her pajamas to lay comfortably. She clings to you like a kitten.
Qifrey settles on the other side, pulling the blanket over the three of you. You smile gently as Tetia nuzzles in closer and Qifrey offers an apologetic smile. You shake your head, the chimes outside of your window only emphasizing the movement. It’s okay, you say silently, she needs us more.
He turns and removes his glasses before delicately blowing out the rest of the candles, the room dips into a familiar comforting darkness and you further situate Tetia against the pillows. She curls into you instantly.
“Good night, girls.”
“Goodnight Master Qifrey,” Tetia whispers sleepily, you’re surprised she’s still awake. She’s usually out as soon as her head hits the pillows.
“Goodnight, my love.” You press your lips lightly to Tetia’s forehead, “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Friday, 6:21pm
Qifrey rattles the table. Pushing every non-vital tool to the ground. Pens and paper scatter as he lifts you up and lays you across his work station. Your legs dangle, just barely brushing the floor as he shadows you. He’s moving so quickly you’re struggling to keep up.
“Don’t move,” he mutters against your lips. You hum and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in. You’re hidden beneath him but can still feel the warmth of the sun poking through the wooden window panes. Jars of ink slosh beside your head and you worry for a second that they will spill on you. Qifrey moves them away with one hand while his other cups your cheek, keeping your focus on him.
When every inanimate object is no longer in the line of fire, his hand tucks underneath the hem of your shirt, fingers brushing your navel. You gasp and squirm, laughter following when he bites your bottom lip. You try and sit up to push into him but he keeps you secured to the table, you opt to deepen the kiss from below.
You don’t know how it escalated to this. Really, it was all very quick. Okay, well maybe you do. But, what can you say? It’s been a long long week.
You’d both been sitting casually in his study only a few moments ago. You read quietly, happy to just be in his presence, while he sketched out new sigils on the large circular table. Qifrey was working diligently and you had found your way to his side. You’d needed a break, the chair was making your back ache after just a few hours of lounging.
You watched him over his shoulder, admiring the way his muscles moved with each steady stroke of his hand. When you stepped closer, hands held innocent behind your back, breath just ghosting over his ear, he snapped. The pen in his hand splintered in half and he pulled you under him.
Now you’re here. Flat against the table, hands exploring him with no thought other than his mouth molded to yours.
He’s got you so tied up in his affection that you don’t have the opportunity to do anything but cling to him. You know your lips will be swollen by morning and there'll be plenty more marks across your person to match the already fading ones.
“All week,” Qifrey mutters against your lips, “all week and this is the only time we have been able to—”
There’s a shuffle from the other side of the door, before you hear a placid, “What’s for dinner?”
Qifrey curses and buries his head in the crook of your neck. You hold back a laugh as you thread your fingers through his hair. Neither of you move, you don’t need to, the door is locked.
“Richeh, honey, I’ll be down to cook in a minute.” You’re a little breathless but manage to keep a steady tone.
“But we are—”
“Girls, how about we go out to eat. Your teacher is busy and needs your mother’s help.” You feel Qifrey’s shoulders relax as Olruggio’s voice floats under the door. He must’ve come by early, he usually joins the family for dinner this time of the week.
There’s a series of cheers and the sound of padding feet as the girls run to get their things. You’ll have to pay him back, those girls can eat their weight and then some when they’re hungry. Dinner won’t be cheap.
You hear a thud as Olruggio leans against the door, “You two owe me. We’ll be back in a few hours. Take advantage of that.”
“Thank you, Olly,” You say. Qifrey has already started kissing up the side of your neck. Biting every few paces. You grit your teeth to keep from making any sounds and tug at his hair to stop him. “J-just—Qifrey wait a second—hey! I said wait!” You yank his head back and snort at his expression. His pupils are blown out and there is a glaze over his eyes, but they’re honed in on you. He looks drunk and predatory at the same time. His eyes track every shift of your body. How your lips move when you speak, how your chest raises and lowers with each breath and how you glance at the door. Qifrey grumbles, fighting against your grip, desperate to get back to you. “Just let me know how much it is.” you finish, ignoring the ravenous man above you.
You’re impressed that he’s not moving without a command. He’s far stronger than you are and could easily break free. He’s simply not doing so out of respect, and well, obedience.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Olruggio mutters, “just get it out before we get back.” His footsteps fade but you can hear the pointed instructions he gives the children.
When the main door chimes its closure in the distance Qifrey takes it as a release and pounces.
“Now,” he pants, looking down at you, arms on either side of your head. All you see is him. Your chest heaves and he smiles slyly as you push yourself up on your elbows, tilting your chin towards him, so close your breath mingles, “where were we?”
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 ✨
EXTRA, EXTRA READ ALL ABOUT IT (PHAINON IS IN HIS FEELINGS AND HE CAN’T GET OUT OF IT) — PILOT
a phainon x female reader modern au series.
overview: the crowds cheer when you finally announce that you have a boyfriend! and there’s a lot to be expected, considering it is your first relationship. you’ll be experiencing many ‘firsts’—first kiss, first dates, first everything.
though it doesn’t make sense.
phainon had been in a relationship before, and yet he shares the same sentiment.
(or: phainon finally learns what it’s like to be loved in return.)
tags: modern au, emphasis on the firsts, many firsts, miscommunications, established relationship, first love, fluff and humor, hurt/comfort, toxic relationship + manipulation (not for phaicham and the reader at least), past exes, reassurances, female-reader, awakenings, rated mature, additional tags to be added
“Will you stay?”
There it is—you knew this was coming. You pause from using your phone and look by your shoulder from the bed, and just behind you, lies Phainon, your big, wonderful, boyfriend, with hair white as snow, and eyes as blue as the ocean.
( Yeah, you can’t do this. You can’t speak poetry like him when it comes to describing things. How can Phainon do it? How can he spill such words with ease? )
You sigh, “Phainon.”
He doesn’t budge from his hold on you. His arms—that were solid, and biceps ( that you were pretty sure was tailormade for you because of how squishy they were )—engulf your very being in the bed. It’s not like you’re complaining, you are exactly where you want to be.
But sometimes Phainon just underestimates his weight.
“Please? Can you stay?”
You feel your cheeks heat up—you absolutely cannot believe this man. This beefy, huge man who seriously towers over you every time you’re together, pulling off the wounded puppy look.
Seriously, how did you bag him? Even your cousins and aunts are baffled. A guy like him, who’s just the biggest definition of every parents’ dream son, besotted over you. Even your best friends asked what your manifestation rituals were.
But the unforgettable thing about all of this was that your mom made sure that you wouldn’t go back on your word. You promised her that under no circumstances will you be letting this man go.
And it’s as if you have a plan to do so! Like Phainon, you want him badly as well.
Unfortunately, he grows upset at your lack of response—since you were too busy reminiscing about the course of events after you disclosed that you were dating Aedes Elysiae’s pride and joy. The man squeezes your waist a little, and calls for your name. “Stay.” He blinks wistfully. “Please?”
You almost choke. You’re starting to believe Cipher’s words: you really do have Phainon wrapped around your finger no matter what you say. You just think that Phainon is like this because it’s what boyfriends do, but, but—
“Hate to break it to you, but there’s a reason why women prefer the chalant types instead of the nonchalants.”
Gods. Phainon. He’s ridiculous. He’s ridiculous! And you’re ridiculous! Why are you not answering him yet?!
“A-alright,” you stammer, and you watch how he beams. You hold your breath when your massive imagination procures an image: your wonderful boyfriend Phainon, with perky ears and a wagging tail.
What the fuck.
This is Mydei’s fault. He shouldn’t have said that Phainon acts like a dog sometimes. But in Mydei’s words, he called Phainon a rabid hound. Or whatever that means. You still don’t understand why Mydei’s tone resembled a warning. How can Phainon be a rabid hound? He’s often putty when you’re around. Like a golden retriever puppy with separation anxiety. So it really doesn’t make sense.
“I’ll stay, I’ll stay.” You give him a small grin. “Wouldn’t want you to spam our DMs, would I?”
He presses closer with a pout—your breaths intermingling. The proximity causes a stir in your stomach, and you swallow when his bigger hand touches your stomach.
Phainon’s hand. It’s big. And it’s hot. Does he know he exists?
“Well, you like me spamming our DMs, right?” His nose nuzzles yours, and you automatically close your eyes.
Being under Phainon’s gaze—you really have to get used to it, truly. You feel like your heart’s about to explode from his undivided attention. Seriously, how?
How did you get him? What have you done?
He calls your name again. “. . . It’s okay, right? You—you don’t mind it.”
You don’t answer.
Not yet at least, when you’re way too embarrassed on the inside.
Phainon’s smell. Phainon’s voice. Phainon’s arms. Phainon’s hand. Phainon’s face. You probably died and you’ve gone to heaven. After doomscrolling and immersing yourself with various AstralToks and PenaconyTube reels, you’ve somehow passed on and made it to the end of the light, white tunnel.
You can’t believe being surrounded by everything Phainon is the mystery that humans are trying to solve.
What does heaven really look like?
Well, the answer’s spectacular.
Phainon.
Phainon.
It’s all Phainon.
Phainon buries his face on your neck, and you feel the goosebumps. Your face steams hotter from the touch, and you are trying not to combust on the spot as you envision the bridge of his nose grazing and his lips lightly pecking your skin.
Oh, gods.
“I will stop if you want to.”
Don’t stop.
“. . . If you need me to.”
Just like that, you’re pulled out of your reverie.
Everything comes into a halt. The comedians in your head, the gossipers, the podcasters, or whatever you’d like to call it, have gone quiet.
And it’s all because Phainon’s voice wavered.
“Phainon?”
Does he feel like he’s a bother? No, no! That’s not quite it. He’s got it all wrong! You were just so—so, ugh, you’re so stupid. If you just focused on the present, this wouldn’t happen! You can already imagine Professor Anaxagoras’ narrowed eyes.
You shake your head. No time for that!
So you focus on the matter at hand. You’ve got this. Though you may be silly at times, you know Phainon. You know him very well, in fact, that you are proud that you’re probably the only person in the world who knows how to take care of him.
Like clockwork, your body moves on its own. Your heart takes the reign, and the bed shifts from your movements. The downcasted gaze coming from him is lifted up when you gently cup his cheeks. His furrowed brows make your chest ache.
There may be days where you tease Phainon and you get a spectacular view of him scrunching his eyebrows, but your soul genuinely wishes that he smiles everyday.
“I don’t mind it,” you admit, and the side of your lip twitches in fondness and amusement. “I just—well, um—“
You gonna be honest now? So be it.
“—I find it fascinating that you have so much to tell me, and uh—“ you suck at this. Yes, you know how to take care of Phainon but you’re still not used to looking him straight in the eye. It’s unfair how he’s so dreamy, even up close. The Titans, heck, or even Aeons, gave him so many buffs. “—have so many reels to send me.”
( Sculpted like a mighty hero is one thing they made sure everyone will see. But this mighty hero is only for your eyes to see. )
“I love you,” he says in earnest, and your heart pounds. He says it so easily, and you gulp again. He leans to your right palm, and his other hand cradles it. “That’s why I have so much to tell you. And so many reels to send to you.”
And those reels involve adorable dogs merely spinning around. Engagement farm clips with ‘send this to your favorite person ever’ captions. Heck, even shitposts or the dumbest jokes from this generation are added into the mix.
( But it’s not just reels, you hear? You recall the time Phainon sent you links from the World Wound Web whenever you’re out for an errand. Lovely articles that benefit you so, or that he finds intriguing. Like Love Letters for the People Who Are Too Hard on Themselves, and even something philosophical—Reflections in the Golden Wheat Fields.
It always sparks meaningful conversations with him, and you wouldn’t want any other way. )
“Aaand I, you,” you laugh, and Phainon pouts. If you’re crazy, you probably have an estimated number of Phainon’s pouts until today. Then, combined with your feelings from earlier, and regarding Phainon’s excessive loads of messages, you say, “I’m sorry I can’t keep up with you sometimes, love.”
“Honey,” he grumbles, and your heart performs somersaults. You like it when he calls you that. Honey. Like you’re something sweet, when he’s obviously sweeter. “Say it back.”
You gape at him. He’s more upset at the fact that you didn’t return his I love you. Perhaps he has already forgiven you with your lack of reels. “What?”
He huffs, in mock offense, and you wish you can take a picture of this endearing expression forever. You cherish Phainon being all huffy. You cherish everything about him. “Say that you love me back. In full.”
And, well. Who are you to deny his desire? Or what he wants? Or what he needs?
Before you can control it, a warm, tender smile makes its way on your features. ( You fail to notice the effect this has on Phainon, because his eyes go wide. )
Leaning closer, you whisper, “I love you, Phainon.” Like it’s something sacred.
There it is.
Pure delight. Admiration. Love.
You assume that Phainon got what he wanted, but then he closes his eyes. Leans his face, too.
And anticipates.
You snicker. You really don’t know how you got Phainon to love you back, but you’re glad that he did.
You offering your heart to him back then, it’s enough for him to be the happiest man in the world. ( His words, not yours. )
Careful, you shorten the distance, and quietly brush your lips against his, still a bit timid. Shy. Testing the waters. But Phainon tonight is everything but.
He kisses you back with an enthusiasm that there’s a smack of lips.
For a few seconds, your lips remain interlocked. You listen to Phainon’s breathing, to Phainon’s small content moans. You feel like you’re melting, but as always, Phainon’s got you. When did he even steady you? When were your chest pressed against one another, and when did you wrap your arms around his neck?
You instantly pull away after this realization. Phainon, who was into the moment, whines, very much unsatisfied that the session was interrupted. “Honey. . .”
Be still, your heart. Flustered, you ask, “D–do you like k–kissing me so much?”
“Yes,” Though dazed, he answers, with no hesitation.
Ah, there goes your heart, really. You are weak. You’ve already done something similar before! You’ve seen him without clothes. And you’ve been underneath him during a long night. Kissing is normal for couples, so why are you still glowing in embarrassment?
Again, how did you bag Phainon?
Like a volcano, steam releases from your ears. You have to calm down. Not right now.
Not—
Apprehensiveness appears before you when it takes you another moment to reply, and out of instinct, you snap back to reality. One of your hands caresses his smooth, supple cheek to soothe his nerves.
Despite thoroughly mortified, you reach out, “Phai—“
“Is it okay? If—if we kiss again?”
An arrow strikes onto your back.
( You’ll never forgive the person who had him first. )
“Of course,” You nod, and you smile wider when there’s profound relief blooming on his face. Though you’re caught up in your own overwhelming feelings, Phainon is important, first and foremost. “Of course we can.”
Time has already passed. It’s been a year since you both have gotten together. There are still many things to be experienced. To be discovered. To be explored.
And yet despite it all, you’re committed to fulfill one goal.
To make Phainon feel so loved.
You hope you’re doing a great job so far. You hope you do.
Pasts are yet to be uncovered. Secrets. Unspoken feelings. True, they may be painful. But it’s a journey you’re willing to take regardless.
You’ll reassure Phainon no matter how many times it takes. You’ll kiss him lots. Hug him lots. Hold his hand lots. Send him more reels. Articles. Do the cheesy stuff he has wanted ever since.
And you’re going to have fun. He’s going to have fun. Cyrene did say that this would be a romance story like none that has come before.
There will be trials and tribulations.
But you’ll remain headstrong.
Because you love Phainon, foolishly so. You really do.
So you want him to feel what he’s been missing out on.
But first—
“Can I have one more kiss, honey? Please?”
You have to survive this.
“W-w-wait, let me breathe first—“
“Haha, you are so red, honey. You can’t keep up, huh?”
notes: my first phaicham debut !!! i’m a thrillseeker here. havent even finished amphoreus yet here i am. cannot shut up about phaicham in corporate hours so here. for phainon nation i hope he’s in character and if he's not once i finish amphoreus.... yeah. ok HFJKDFHD
anw i’d like to dedicate this to my amazing besties. rhen, who witnessed my first phainon unbecoming. of course to jules for her patience w/ beta-ing, and to pine, for receiving all my phaicham hcs in RANDOM hours of the day ( LOL )
well since this is a pilot i will be continuing if theres a popular demand. like how tv shows and studios/channels/franchises work, and if my schedule will allow it JKHFJFD i lobe phainom #imbusyasf it's no joke i swear after my meeting finished i immediately went running to my google docs PLSSS so no guarantee when im also taking a break from writing !!!
if i do continue this it's gonna be so messy jfhgfhjf poor phaicham :((
Mc was lying down on the floor playing a new game that had taken up all their time as of late when Sylus entered the living room.
"It seems our Dragon Li has decided to nest here." Sylus says, noting how Mc had barely moved an inch since he last saw them.
"Should I help you mark your new territory with a hoard, Kitten?" Sylus teased, his tone laced with amusement.
Mc made an incoherent noise and paid Sylus no attention as they continued playing their game. This caused Sylus' brows to rise in astonishment and he let out a huff of annoyance. He was the fearless leader of the N109 zone, many feared his name alone, and many would cut off their own arm just to speak with him. Yet here he was, in his own home being ignored and neglected by his beloved as if he was a mere henchmen.
With a smug expression and a plan to obtain what he wants, Sylus took out a large ruby gemstone that he had recently cut in his basement before he walked over to his lounging lover.
"Are you really going to make me bend over to give you this, Kitten? Don't you want to see my hard work?"
Still not looking away from their screen or making any attempts at moving, Mc continued moving the joysticks and mindlessly threw out a response to his question.
"Whats the matter, Sy? Afraid you won't be able to get back up again, old man?"
Oh, that was it. Before Mc could say anything else, they felt their world spin as Sylus picked them up like they weighed nothing at all.
"Wait. Wait! I take it back. I take it back! You're not old. You don't even look a day past a thousand." Mc said, digging their grave deeper.
Loud astonished laughter rumbled through Sylus' chest and echoed down the hall at how his brutal his kitten could be when they showed their claws. He decided that their payment for this negligence and wounded pride would be through cuddles.
A yelp left Mc as they felt themselves be thrown onto the king sized mattress below, but before any words could come out, Mc wheezed as Sylus completely dropped on top of them, trapping Mc between the mattress and the brooding dragon above.
"S-Sylus!"
"Hush now, Sweetie. Pillows aren't know for talking."
And that was how Mc could be found, crushed below a dragon they were forced to remember and pay attention to. Games now completely forgotten about as Sylus laid with his head over his beloved's beating heart and a tender touch lingering on his back.
he's slumped across the couch in the frat house the following morning, one arm draped over his eyes, the other dangling off to the side, phone lighting up beside him every few seconds because he keeps unlocking it for no reason.
there's nothing on it. nothing he cares about, anyway.
no new notifications from you, no mysterious appearance of your contact, no divine intervention.
just the same empty screen, again. and again. and again.
he hasn’t moved in ten minutes.
“he’s dead,” toji says from the kitchen, pouring himself coffee like this is a normal tuesday.
“tragic,” geto replies, scrolling on his phone. “cause of death?”
“ego collapse,” toji says.
gojo groans into the cushion. “i can hear you.”
“good,” toji says. “then hear this. she’s not into you.”
gojo lifts his head just enough to glare at him. “i just need to see her again.”
"she's not into you, bro," toji says flatly. "how many times do i have to say it?"
“you watched one conversation. i have plenty of time for redemption.”
“you introduced yourself like an idiot,” geto shrugs. "good luck."
"i didn't introduce myself properly," gojo snaps. "that's the problem."
"oh, sorry," toji deadpans. "you announced yourself."
gojo throws a pillow at him.
right then, choso comes down the stairs, already dressed. "i'm going to my girlfriend's," he says quietly, pulling on his shoes.
three heads turn, and gojo stands up so fast it's almost alarming. "is y/n gonna be there?"
choso hesitates. "maybe? she was there when i texted this morning."
gojo's already halfway across the room. "i'm coming."
"no you're not," toji says immediately.
"yes i am."
"you're not invited," geto adds.
"i'll be quiet," gojo insists. "i'll be normal."
toji laughs. "you don't know how to do either of those things, dumbass."
gojo ignores him, already grabbing his coat. "choso. please."
choso blinks at him, stuck between concern and confusion. "i don't know if that's—"
"please," gojo repeats, hands clasped together. "i'll do anything."
"anything?" geto asks, delighted.
gojo shoots him a look. "not you, you dumb fuck."
"...i don't know if that's a good idea," choso says carefully.
"i'll sit in a corner. i won't speak unless spoken to. i'll—"
"that's a lie," toji cuts in.
"i'll try," gojo says, desperate now. "just let me come."
choso looks at him and sighs, grabbing his keys. "...fine."
twenty minutes later, gojo is standing outside the apartment door trying to look normal.
he fails immediately. he runs a hand through his hair. fixes his shirt. checks his reflection in the black screen of his phone. wipes his hands on his jeans.
“relax,” choso mutters, knocking.
“i am relaxed,” gojo says, voice too tight.
the door swings open and choso’s girlfriend beams. “hi, cho!”
then her eyes flick to gojo. her smile widens, just a little too knowingly. “oh,” she says. “hey!”
“hey,” he says, suddenly very aware of his posture, his face, his entire existence. she steps aside to let them in, then glances over her shoulder toward the living room and smirks.
“y/n, you have a visitor,” she sing-songs.
gojo follows her gaze to where you’re on the couch, legs tucked under you, scrolling on your phone.
your eyes land on gojo. there’s a beat, and your expression flattens in real time. "...oh."
you glance at your friend who's already watching you like she’s about to enjoy this.
you roll your eyes. hard.
“hey,” gojo says, trying for casual and landing somewhere near painfully obvious. “funny running into you again.”
“you followed your friend to his girlfriend's apartment,” you say. “this isn't a coincidence.”
choso’s girlfriend snorts and disappears into the kitchen, holding choso's hand, before she gets dragged into it.
traitor.
gojo hovers awkwardly for a second before sitting on the edge of the couch, leaving a respectful gap between you.
you don’t look at him again.
he waits, and waits. “...so,” he starts.
“so,” you echo, still scrolling.
“you left early.”
“i had stuff to do.”
he shifts awkwardly. “you could’ve said bye.”
you glance up, unimpressed. “to who.”
him.
he swallows. “to people.”
“i said bye to people i wanted to say bye to.”
ouch.
from the kitchen, there’s a muffled choking sound that is definitely choso’s girlfriend laughing into her hand.
“you’re mean in the morning too, huh,” he mutters.
“you showed up uninvited,” you reply calmly. “what did you expect, a welcome basket?”
he exhales softly. “can i make it up to you?”
you finally look at him properly, eyes a little cold and unblinking. “make what up to me?”
“last night,” he says. “i sounded like an idiot. i—i can do better.”
“was that you trying?”
“no,” he says quickly. “last night was a rough draft.”
you stare at him for a second then look back to your phone. “nice.”
he smiles despite himself. “can i get a second draft?”
“convincing pitch,” you say dryly.
he leans forward slightly, earnest. “just give me, like, one chance to not be that guy.”
“i’m good.”
gojo sits there, blinking like he got hit with cold water. “do you—uh—have instagram?”
“no.”
“no like, you don’t have it? or—”
“no, i’m not giving it to you.”
he winces. “your number?”
“no.”
“snap?”
“no.”
“email?”
you stare at him. “are you serious right now?”
“i’m being thorough.”
“you’re being annoying.”
“i can be less annoying if you give me one of them.”
“or,” you say, “you could be less annoying by leaving me alone.”
he runs a hand down his face. “listen, i—i just wanna see you again.”
“you’re seeing me right now,” you deadpan.
“give me a chance?”
“no.” you shut your eyes like his presence alone is a nuisance and grab your bag, standing up. “i’m leaving.”
gojo straightens instantly. “what? why?”
“because i have things to do and you’re giving me a headache.” you give your friend a quick thanks and wave bye to choso, heading for the door.
“i’ll walk you,” gojo says.
“you don’t need to.”
“i want to.”
“i don’t want you to.”
“i’m going to anyway.”
you stare at him. he stares back, smiling widely.
so annoying.
you roll your eyes again and he follows immediately as you walk out.
the elevator ride is quiet for exactly three seconds. “you sure i can’t get your number?”
“pretty sure.”
“just pretty sure?”
“entirely sure,” you correct, glaring at him.
"okay, but—just one thing," he tries again, hovering over you. "anything. please, i'll take anything."
"take the hint," you say.
"i'm ignoring the hint," gojo replies. "you're killing me, y/n."
“you’ll live.”
“i don’t think i will, actually.”
you press the button for the ground floor. “okay.”
when the doors ding you step out and he follows, walking beside you insistently. "one more chance," he tries.
"no."
"one coffee."
"no."
“if i give up, will you at least feel bad?”
“no.”
“wow.”
you keep walking, he keeps pace. “okay, new deal,” he says quickly. “if you give me your instagram, i will shut up. completely. never bother you again.”
you stop and turn, something flickering across your face. “you swear?” you ask.
“swear,” he says immediately.
you study him for one long second then sigh.
“fine,” you mutter, pulling out your phone. “if i give you my instagram, you'll shut up?”
his face lights up. "yes."
"completely?"
"completely."
"no talking?"
"silent," he vows.
"forever?"
"i mean—"
your eyes narrow and he backtracks, stammering. "yes. yes, forever, silent."
you recite your handle. "...yeah. and there's an underscore there."
he types it in carefully, nearly fumbling his own phone as he pulls it out.
"thank you," he says quietly, ducking his head down.
you turn to leave, and you barely make it four steps.
“…hi,” he calls after you.
you stop, slowly turn your head.
he smiles sheepishly. “i lied. you know i can't stay silent.”
you give him a last look before turning around.
he stands there for a second after you disappear out the building doors, like his brain needs a moment to catch up to what just happened. he looks down at your instagram, where his follow request is pending. you've got a private account.
your instagram is right there. literally right there.
“…holy shit,” he breathes. he practically floats back to the elevator, his whole body buzzing in excitement. eventually he stumbles out, makes it back down the hall, and pushes choso's girlfriend's apartment door open with energy.
she takes one look at his face and immediately starts smiling. “oh my god.”
“you’re glowing,” she laughs, shutting the door behind him.
he doesn’t even respond to that, just drops straight onto the couch, sprawled out, holding his phone up like it’s sacred scripture. “i got her instagram,” he repeats, to no one and everyone at the same time.
choso, standing nearby, blinks at him slowly. “…okay.”
choso leans back slightly like the phone might explode. “i believe you.”
“she gave it to me,” gojo insists, like this is the part that matters most.
“after you begged?” choso’s girlfriend asks sweetly.
“i did not beg,” gojo says immediately. “i negotiated.”
choso’s girlfriend raises a brow. “mm. what were the terms of this negotiation?”
“she said if she gave me her instagram, i had to shut up.”
choso actually laughs. "gojo, i just don't think she likes you."
"she hates me," he says fondly, hearts radiating out of his eyes as he leans back onto the couch. "she hates me so much."
eventually, even gojo runs out of reasons to sit there refreshing the same screen like it owes him something. he pushes himself up off the couch, stretching once, phone still glued to his hand. “alright, i’m gonna head back.”
choso nods, already half-turned toward his girlfriend. “yeah, okay.”
there’s a pause, then choso clears his throat, not looking at him. “i’ll… stay a bit longer.”
his girlfriend immediately bites back a smile.
gojo looks between them once. “…oh,” he says.
choso goes a little red, his girlfriend giggles.
gojo lifts both hands. “no, yeah. stay. absolutely. take your time. take…all the time..” he’s already halfway to the door, shaking his head with a grin. “have fun. be safe. don’t do anything i wouldn’t do.”
“that’s not a high bar,” she calls after him.
“it’s a respectable bar,” he shoots back, already slipping out.
the second he pushes the door to the frat house open he's announcing triumphantly, "i got it!"
toji, sprawled across the couch, doesn’t even look up. “you got what.”
“her instagram,” gojo says.
that gets geto’s attention immediately. “she gave it to you?” he asks, brows lifting.
“i told you,” gojo shoots back, dropping onto the armchair this time, leaning back like he just won something. “i said i’d see her again.”
geto hums, watching him carefully. “and?”
“and nothing,” gojo says, waving a hand. “we talked. she insulted me like five times. it was great.”
toji finally glances over. “you’re smiling.”
gojo immediately wipes it off his face. “i’m not.”
“you are.”
“i’m not,” he insists, failing completely because the smile is already creeping back.
geto laughs quietly. “did she seem thrilled about giving it to you?”
gojo drops onto the couch, restless. “she told me to shut up.”
“romantic,” toji mutters.
"w—wait." gojo sits up so fast he almost drops his phone. “she accepted.”
geto raises a brow. “already?”
“don’t say ‘already’ like it hasn’t been the longest wait of my life,” gojo snaps, but there’s no bite to it. he’s already tapping into your profile.
your page loads and gojo's eyes scan it slowly, taking in every detail like he’s afraid he’ll miss something. “…holy shit,” he breathes.
geto leans over slightly. “what.”
gojo doesn’t respond. he scrolls, one post to another. there aren't many, but every single one hits him like a punch to the chest. you're laughing on one, head tilted back, sunlight catching on your face.
gojo's never seen you laugh like that. you're beautiful.
you in another, dressed up, looking directly at the camera with that same unimpressed expression you gave him. you, blurry in motion in one photo, mid-step, still somehow perfect.
gojo just stares. “she's beautiful,” he mutters.
“let me see,” geto says, leaning closer.
gojo tilts the phone away immediately. “no.”
geto raises a brow. “why not.”
“because,” gojo says, already scrolling again.
“because what,” geto presses, leaning in anyway.
gojo angles the phone even further out of reach, twisting his body like he’s shielding classified information. “because you don’t need to see.”
toji finally sits up a little, interest piqued now. “oh, now we definitely need to see.”
“no, you don’t,” gojo says quickly, thumb still moving, eyes glued to the screen like he might miss something if he blinks.
geto tries to peek over his shoulder. “you’re acting weird.”
“i’m not acting weird.”
“you’re hunched over your phone like a dragon guarding treasure.”
“okay, first of all, dragons are cool,” gojo mutters. “second, back up.”
toji leans over the back of the couch, glancing down. “damn.”
gojo jerks the phone away instinctively. “don’t—”
“nah,” toji cuts in, already grinning. “she’s bad.”
“she’s not ‘bad,’” gojo snaps immediately. “don’t say it like that.”
toji smirks. “what, we’re not allowed to acknowledge she’s hot?”
"she's beautiful, okay? shut up."
geto watches him, something amused flickering in his expression. “interesting.”
gojo doesn't hear him. he's so lost in his little world, gazing at your pictures with a loopy grin. it’s not just that you’re pretty.
he exhales slowly, eyes never leaving his screen. “i like her,” he says finally.
toji groans immediately. “oh my god, we lost him.”
you don’t think about gojo the whole way home.
okay, maybe you think about him a little. it’s hard not to think about him after he begged for your instagram.
you sigh, dragging a hand over your face once you get to your apartment. “so irritating.”
your phone buzzes in your hand and you already know who it is.
other half: no way
other half: NO way you gave it to him 😭
you roll your eyes, already typing.
you: i didn’t give it to him
you: he begged
three dots immediately.
other half: mhm
you: shut up
you open instagram, purely for research purposes. you hesitate for half a second before opening his profile. “…oh.”
okay.
so.
this is what he looks like when he’s not standing in front of you being unbearable.
you scroll slowly. annoyingly slowly, because your brain is taking in details. he's good looking. stupidly good looking. unfairly so.
pictures with friends.
pictures at parties.
pictures where he’s clearly aware he looks good.
the comments are all the same, too. girls. so many girls. heart eyes, fire emojis, variations of 'marry me' and 'ur so fine'. you make a face.
other half: i knew it btw
you: knew what
other half: that you were into him
you: absolutely not
other half: you gave him your instagram
you: after he begged
other half: you could’ve said no
you: i DID say no
other half: and then you said yes
you: he was being annoying
you: i wanted him to stop talking
other half: mhm
other half: and now you’re on his profile
you freeze. “…she’s so nosy,” you mutter, immediately typing.
you: i’m not
other half: liar
you look down at his profile again, thumb hovering over one of his pictures. you zoom in slightly without thinking, onto his stupid face and stupid smile and stupid blue eyes.
you: he’s just
you: objectively attractive
you: it’s not that deep
other half: sure
you narrow your eyes at the screen.
you: i don’t like him
other half: okay
you: he’s arrogant
other half: mhm
you: and annoying
other half: mhm
other half: he’s down bad btw
your brows pull together.
you: what
other half: like…bad bad
other half: he came back here looking like he won the lottery
“you’re such a ray of sunshine!” thanks! one day i chose to act happy and then i kept choosing it over and over and over and over until the neurological pathways formed like desire paths in the thicket. i dug and clawed my nails into the grooves of my brain and carved out joy. i retouch it every day.
cws // fem reader. arranged marriage. jealousy. violence. injuries and blood. death.
wc // 3.6k
"You're humming."
"Am I?"
You glance up from the dark, tattered cloak in your lap, the needle in your hand stilling as you come to a pause in your stitching. Your gaze falls on where Goka watches you from his place on the edge of the bed in your shared bedroom.
You're sitting on the floor, a wide range of needles and threads scattered around you, along with various scraps of fabric that belong to Goka's uniform. He'd torn it in battle, yet again, and you had busied yourself with trying to piece it back together, a task that was proving near-impossible.
"Yes." He says, unblinking, and you roll the needle between your fingers as you wait for him to continue. "You only do it when you're happy."
"Do I?" He breathes out slowly through his nose, and you lower your gaze back down to the task at hand, resuming your stitching.
"Yes."
"You're awfully observant of me for a man who rarely acknowledges my presence." You gently pull the thread taut before positioning the head of the needle in the correct place and repeating the process. "What else have you noticed about me, Goka?" There's a teasing lilt to your voice, and if he notices it he makes no inclination.
"The last time you did this was when—"
"—when I visited your brother in the hospital, yes. I can see where you're going with this." You don't lift your head again, but you do stop working. "I was just glad to see that he was doing alright — it was pretty touch and go for a while."
"He's not your worry."
"No, but I worry regardless. What's wrong with that?" You look up then, just in time to catch a rare show of emotion flash across his face before it's gone, replaced by his typical scowl. "There's nothing wrong about worrying over someone, Goka. I worry about your brother, your sister, your parents, the peddlers on the corners—even you, believe it or not."
"You've got... history with him."
The corner of your mouth twitches but you're quick enough to suppress it.
"I've known him– all of you, since we were kids. Of course I have history with him. I have history with all of you. You're the Nijiku family, after all. My father supplies your–"
"Don't be fuckin' coy." The heat in his voice betrays the look of indifference he sports. "You don't give a shit about me—"
"—that isn't true."
"—not like you do with Zanka."
His face finally tells the truth, and the both of you don matching looks of anger and stiff stances, his cloak discarded to the side as you stand on your feet and glare at him. You have to nearly crane your head back to meet his gaze while he simply looks down his nose at you, not even having the compassion to tilt his head down, and the foreign feeling of being looked down on and judged washes over you yet again — a feeling that you've only ever felt when it came to your interactions with your husband. Your families were nowhere on par in terms of elitism and power, but your surname was known from your father's hard work –you were all respected– and yet he looked at you as if you were one of the criminals he and his savage comrades so viciously captured.
"Well if you felt that way, why the fuck did you ever ask my father for permission to marry me?"
"Why'd you say yes?" He rebuttals, and you can't help the scoff that leaves you, your eyes rolling as you give him an incredulous look.
"What other choice did I have? Saying no to marrying into the Nijiku family? The family that owns the entire Kamuatari District? The family that signs off on my father's paychecks? Yeah. Right."
"Are you insinuating I would have... what? Ruined your family?" He looks offended by the accusation, and you lose a bit of the fire in your voice as your glare falters.
"No... not you. Not directly." Everyone in the Kamuatari district had mixed feelings about the Nijiku family, but respect and fear always triumphed over the others. They were a powerful family with endless resources at their fingertips, and people would do anything to be on their good side in an attempt to get even a sprinkle of the power that they commanded. So what was to come of someone who, in everyone else's mind, so blatantly disrespected the Nijiku family by rejecting a proposal of marriage?
They'd be in ruin.
Outcasts.
The family business would have gone under—the family name would have gone under. All the blood, sweat and tears that your father had poured into himself and his family would have all been for naught. His legacy would have been tarnished in an instant, all because of a simple 'no'. So of course you had said yes.
"You overheard me talkin' to Kyouka." You don't bother confirming. "You know we're going to Cleaners HQ. You were going to ask to come. That's why you were humming." You sigh, suddenly feeling very, very tired, and you walk around Goka to instead head towards the bed. You flop down unceremoniously, a sight that would have sent your mother into a frenzy had she seen you acting like this around nobility. "What made you believe I'd let you come?"
You turn your head to the side so you can speak, your eyes falling on the hanging portrait on the wall. It's of you and Goka on your wedding day, the both of you dressed in ceremonial garb. You're clutching a bouquet of flowers (that had been a first for you. Flowers. They were incredibly rare down on the Ground, but there had been so many decorating the grand hall during the ceremony. They had been beautiful.) and you remember how hard you had been squeezing at the stems due to your nerves. Goka's hands are clasped behind his back, his usual face of stoicism present, but there's a slight rosy hue to his cheeks, and you blame it on the artist' attempt to make the man look anything other than utterly miserable.
"Because you have a bad habit of giving preferential treatment to women — which is your best trait, in case you were wondering." He kisses at his teeth, and you find yourself smiling despite yourself. "You and Zanka are so similar in your manners. He does that same thing."
"Don't compare me to him."
The fight has left his voice as well, and you're not entirely sure who conceded first.
The bed dips beside you, and you turn your head the other way to see Goka lying on his back, his eyes focused on something far off that you can't hope to see.
"Be ready at the first sign of light or I'm leaving you behind."
~
You had tried your best to conceal your excitement on the way over, knowing full well that Goka's were trained on you, completely opposite of his usual behavior that consisted of his gaze falling on any and everything except you. The rare times that he did focus on you was usually the result of an argument, much like the one last night, although that was thankfully tame compared to how the two of you usually went at it.
Through no fault of your own, mind you.
You had tried hard in the beginning to figure out how to cohabitate with Goka. You had grown up with him, the man only being a few years older than you, but you had steered clear of him due to the dark cloud that seemed to always hang overhead whenever he was near. Your knowledge about him was minimal, so you had found yourself asking his parents and his sister about what kind of person he was – his likes, his dislikes, his hobbies, his favorite food, favorite color. They had all told you the same thing: "He's formidable in battle — He trains in his spare time — He has singlehandedly made 236 arrests, and has 103 confirmed kills — He graduated at the top of his class."
Getting something from him directly proved to be futile. He had stared at you as if you asked him about the true meaning of the world and not about what he liked to do for fun.
"Fun?" He had echoed. "Fun doesn't get my job done. It doesn't keep yo—everyone safe."
So you had decided to learn to tiptoe around him instead, but clearly that hadn't worked out for you either.
"ETA 25 minutes." A voice rings out through the Choker fastened
You glance out of the car's back window, your eyes not seeing anything but brown dust and dirt for miles, so you choose to slide over into the middle seat to get a look through the windshield instead, unintentionally encroaching into Goka's space.
There's a line of black armored trucks in front of you, four excluding yours, each one containing a slew of heavily armed Hell Guards. You didn't question why everyone seemed fit for battle, figuring that was simply Kyouka's way of gaudily displaying power, fearing that if you mouthed off too much Goka would coincidentally come up with some reason why you couldn't tag along.
Being granted nothing but the barren views that the East Ward has to offer, you quickly flit your eyes up to Goka, meeting his gaze for a moment no longer than a millisecond before he's directing it forward.
"You know, Goka—"
"—don't start."
"—the world won't end if you look at me. It's not like you'll turn to stone or something." A laugh is heard from the front seat, but it's quickly stifled when Goka zones in on them.
"Sorry, Sir."
"I look at you enough as it is. What good will any more do?"
You do a lip trill, shoulders drooping as you do. "You really know how to make a girl feel special, Goka." You feel mildly offended at his words –who wouldn't? Despite this marriage not feeling like anything other than a business contract that you hadn't been privy to, it still stings just a smidge to hear your so-called husband question what good it will do for him to simply look at you. You're pretty sure you've heard rumors of the interrogators of the Hell Guard using a similar technique when it came to breaking down the psyche of 'stubborn' prisoners, completely ignoring their existence and going about things as if they weren't there.
It was dehumanizing, you thought, and it must have shown in your voice, because Goka turns his head to stare at you, his face blank as he takes in your downturned one.
"I didn't mean–" He cuts himself off, brows pulling together, and you frown yourself as you watch him adjust in his seat. "I wasn't tryin' to offend you... I know you don't like when I stare at you." He averts his gaze again, as if it's habit, and you frown even more as confusion muddles your mind.
"When did I ever tell you that?"
"You told it to Zanka." His upper lip curls before settling back into place.
"No, I didn't." Did you? You can't remember ever saying that. It's possible you've thought it, but actually said it aloud? Unlikely. No matter how close you were with Zanka, there were still certain things you wouldn't ever say to him, the badmouthing of his siblings being one of them. You had laughed when he went on his angry rants about them, cursing and growling as he did, and you had even silently agreed, but you had kept your thoughts to yourself and he had never asked about them — it was a widely accepted fact that you didn't speak about the Nijiku family unless you had pleasant things to say.
"You did. Nineteen years ago. You said.. you told him it creeped you out when I looked at you because I didn't blink." He grumbles it out, and your mouth opens and closes before a barrage of laughter is pouring out of your mouth. You couldn't contain it if you tried, so you do your best to start on damage control.
"I'm so–sorry, but—" You descend into another fit of laughter, this one more violent than the last, and you have to lean on him to keep from toppling over in your seat. "I-I wasn't even ten yet!" Tears blur your vision, and you resolve yourself to bring it in when you begin to feel a burn in your cheeks. "Goka, you can't seriously still be holding onto that?" You wipe at your eyes with the backs of your fingers.
"That's how you feel now, don't you?"
"...no." You, truthfully, say, the lasting bits of humor about the situation ebbing away as you take in his body language. He almost looks... uncomfortable. "I don't mind you looking at me. I don't mind you speaking to me, either. Politely, of course." He takes in a deep breath, broad shoulders rising. "And I don't mind being married to you either." The breath he had taken in leaves him in an abrupt cough, and you watch, slack-jawed, as red bleeds into the sharp juts that make up his cheeks.
"You're blu—"
A deafening boom drowns out your voice, and your body locks up tight as your eyes widen, the hairs at the back of your neck standing on end. The truck slams to a stop, and before your body can shoot forward and out of your seat, Goka snags you by your waist and yanks you against his side.
Your ears are ringing, muffled voices sounding in the background, and you just barely manage to make out the words 'ambush' and 'givers' before another boom –explosion– is sounding. The truck rocks from the aftershock, and you blink in disbelief as the truck that had been driving in front of you mere moments ago is now lit up in flames.
"Go.. Goka?"
"Out." He shoves open your door and gives you a firm push. "Go. Now." The unmistakable sound of a gun going off rings out, and you jerk back when something wet and warm splatters onto your face. You frantically look around, and you quickly find out where the liquid had originated from. The guard that had been driving the truck is missing the top half of his head, and a scream gets stuck in your throat when you take in the familiar sight of a human tongue and a bottom row of teeth. His tongue moves as if he's trying to speak, as if he still has a functioning brain in his head, as if he still has a head.
The scream dislodges itself.
Goka takes matters into his own hands, and you find yourself being dragged out of the truck and pushed down into the dirt. Goka covers your body with his, and the screaming stops when he places his hand over your mouth.
"The shooter is blind – they attack based on sound." His voice is calm in your ear, clinical, but it does nothing to quell the panic curdling in your gut. "You've gotta be quiet." He keeps his hand over your mouth as a precaution. "Stay here while I try and get a pin on them." You're shaking your head before he finishes – he's leaving?
You clutch at his wrist, thankful that he had the forethought to keep his hand in place otherwise you would have gotten the both of you blown to bits with your pleas for him to stay.
"Show me you can stay quiet or I'll gag you."
You blanche.
You don't speak, don't breathe, and when he takes his hand away you have to sink your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from crying out. "I'll be back. Stay here." His weight moves from your back, and you wait to hear the sound of dirt and gravel shifting under his boots but it never comes. You lift your head to see why he hasn't moved yet, and your vision is abruptly obstructed as something is forced over your head. You realize it's his chest plate when the weight settles on you, and his eyes settle on yours for a beat.
He reaches out for you, the palm of his hand settling on the top of your head, and he gives you a stiff pat that he likely believes is comforting before stealthily leaving the area.
You make a move as if to follow him with your eyes, but you think twice about the idea before thinking better of it. You don't want to see something even remotely like the scene in the car you had just left and end up giving yourself away with some sound of abject terror, so you press your head back down into the dirt and wait.
And wait.
And wait.
There hasn't been any sounds for a while, and you're not sure if that's a good or bad thing. You don't want to look up – you can't. You don't know how Goka does it - how any of them do it. You've never been more grateful for your parents encouraging you to follow your own interests rather than forcing the Hell Guard down your throat, because you know without a doubt that you wouldn't have made it, not if this was what they dealt with on their missions.
You have a newfound respect for Goka, and you've never wanted to see him more than you do right now. You suddenly hear the crunch of gravel, and tears of relief pool at your lids as you lift yourself up. "Goka." You turn to him, struggling as you do due to the weight of his armor, and you freeze when you look at the man standing at the rear of the truck.
Milky white eyes focus in your general direction, and a choked sound slips past your lips as you take note of the gun in his hand. "Go-ka? You must be familiar with him - more so than the others. Perfect. An eye for an eye."
Once again, your vision is obstructed, but this time it's a familiar sight.
Goka's back has always been massive, much like the rest of him, but it looks especially daunting now. Tall, wide, protective - a barrier between you and the person that means you harm, and you're suddenly hit with a feeling of calmness and ease, only for the delusion to shatter when six shots ring out in quick succession, Goka's body jerking a matching number of times.
The next sequence of events happens too fast to properly assess. Goka recovers, quickly, and darts forward, his body slamming into the man's. They both go tumbling down, and you watch as Goka retrieves a blade from his hip and drives it in underneath the man's chin. He sinks the blade all the way in before quickly yanking it out, only to shove it into his chest next, turn the blade, and yank it free once again. He repeats the process a few more times, you lose count of how many, but when he finally staggers back to his feet the man is riddled with gashes and lying in a pool of his own blood.
Blood.
It drips from the sides of Goka's mouth, and as he limps towards you, you see it darkening the fabric of his already dark clothes. He calls your name, his voice the quietest you've ever heard it, and then he's crumbling to the ground.
It takes you a minute to move, but when you do, you scramble over to his side, your hands frantically hovering in the air as you try to think of what to do. Help. He needs help. He needs—
"Apply pressure to the wounds. I've already alerted the Cleaners. They're enroute." Kyouka. You press your hands to the first wound you see, your eyes instantly clocking the others, and Goka lets out a pained groan as you push down against his wound.
"I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." You rush out as he grimaces, and he gives a quick shake of his head as he lifts his head as much as he can to look you up and down.
"You're .. not hurt?"
"No.."
He lets his head fall back down against the ground, and a pitiful sound leaves you when a new rush of blood seeps through your fingers. "Why did you do that?" You were wearing his armor. You would have been fine! So why?
He watches you for a moment before speaking.
"I asked for permission–" He coughs, an ugly color of red splattering onto his lips, and your hands shake as you press against the hole in shoulder. But what about his stomach? His leg? His chest? Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no. "–t-to marry you 'cause—" He hacks and coughs and Kyouka paces in front of the both of you as she looks off into the distance.
"Where the fuck are they?!"
"—I've loved you since we were kids.... " You sob. "...damn near cried when you said I do, even if you ain't mean it." He smiles, the first time you've ever seen him do so, and you want to keep seeing it - again and again and again.
"Please stay. I'm sorry, Goka, I'm sorry." His eyes flutter shut before he forces them back open and you cry harder. "You have to stay awake. Y-you can't—" You don't finish your sentence. You don't want to say the word. You don't even want to take it.
His lips move, his words inaudible, and you lean in closer in an effort to hear him.
Satoru peers up from the sofa. “What’s for dinner, baby? Should we get food delivered? I’m up for anything.”
Jaw dropping, you reply, slowly like he’s an idiot, “There is no dinner. There is no we. You made sure of that.” Stomping over, you grab him by his arm and use all your weight and force to get him up from your couch. To no avail. He’s not called The Strongest for nothing, after all. “Get your fat ass up and out of my apartment!”
“Don’t be mean,” he whines. “It’s turning me on.”
You can’t believe this. Can’t believe that he’s here, lounging in your living room, trying to reach for your thigh to stroke the bare skin there, when just this morning, Satoru had broken up with you.
“A fucking text, Gojo,” you spat out. “You broke up with me through a text message that read, ‘too busy, gotta cut you loose. love ya always!’ And now, you just strut back in here, thinking you can act normal and I’ll let you back in? Are you fucking kidding me? Do you think I’m a pathetic fangirl who’ll let you walk all over her? Get. The. Fuck. Out.”
He pushes himself up to his feet, sighing. Satoru combs his hair back as he towers over you in his usual uniform. “Really hoped it wouldn’t come to this. Here goes nothing.”
In a flash, he falls to his knees and clings to your body like a leech.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. Oh, fuck, baby. I’ve been so busy these days. I thought you were going to break up with me. I’ve never been broken up with, and it was scary, and I was just thinking of my pride, like I thought it would hurt less if I was the one who broke up with you first, but when you blocked me on everything and I couldn’t send you any funny tiktoks about dogs standing up on their hind legs, it started to set in, y’know? Like, this immense pain in my chest. I actually thought I was dying. And I knew I had to apologise and beg for you to take me back, but when you opened the door, all I could think about was how beautiful you are and the speech I had planned disappeared, and I just walked in like a dick, and now I’m on my knees literally begging and crying for you to forgive me. I’m so sorry, baby. Please take me back. Please, please, please. I can’t live without y—”
“Shut the fuck up,” you say, pushing him and his snot-nosed face from your stomach. He’s left a Gojo print of wetness on your shirt. Disgusting. “You’re the worst, you self-sabotaging, manchild.”
Satoru, through wet tears, gazes up at you. “I love Sabrina. She really captures my essence, I think. She’d hate me for what I did to you, of course, but I like to believe she’d be moved by my ability to throw all sense of dignity out the window to show you my sincerity… so what do you say?”
“Ugh,” you groan to yourself, “I have the worst taste in men.” Resigned to his inescapable hold, you grumble, “Alright, get up. Let’s unpack why you’re so goddamn impulsive.”
He kisses your belly button in gratitude and sheepishly asks:
“You have all night?”
just a thought I had as I was drying my hair. he'd definitely like to play it cool at first lol
choso's really wanted to try the bulk and cut technique he found online, where he focuses on eating in a calorie surplus, training strength and protein intake. you've noticed since that his body's a lot softer, pudgier in the best way. his pecs are bigger and rounded, as his his stomach, thighs, arms, and the rest of his body.
he's a little bit insecure about the weight gain, and feels like he has to keep reminding you it's temporary and that he's aiming for lean, defined muscle. but you're more and more opposed to that idea every day as you take in how good he looks right now.
his whole body is just so pillowy and heavenly, and the nutrients he's been taking in from the extra food intake has just made him stronger. he was always strong, yes, but now he can practically toss you around one handed. his lower region has also chubbed up and gained weight.
for starters, his balls are bigger and heavier now, resting on the insides of his thighs when he sits down. they're soft and pudgy, full of cum and softness that has you salivating whenever you see them. his cock is also pudgier and thicker. it's too heavy and fat to hold with one hand, so now you have to use two. it drools thicker loads of precum - and as for his actual loads? they're much more copious because of all the new room in his fat balls to store it. everything about him has just improved. thick cock, thick balls, thick cum.
he just seems so much more eager in bed too now. like his new body and insecurities have made him more desperate to prove he's still worth something. you've told him so many times you find him so handsome regardless, and that you actually prefer this beefier, chubby body type, but he's still so sure you're only humoring him so he won't be upset.
moreover, he folds you up in bed, palms spanning your thighs and squeezing the fat of them to hold you open while his meaty cock pushes into you over and over again. choso pulls his cock out of you until only the swollen head of his cock is notched in your puffy hole, then sinks back in sickeningly slow, grinding the fat, spongy crown against your soft, sensitive inner walls, smearing his sticky precum inside you.
you can feel every rigid vein and throbbing inch of his cock as it drags along inside you, stirring up the mix of your juices already inside you. "i-is that... does that feel good?"
moaning loudly is the only response you can muster right now, your back arching as he pumps his cock into you again and again. choso echoes your moans with his own, the sound rumbling through his soft chest as he ruts his cock in and out of you. wet, squelching noises from all the slick you're both leaking fill the room, adding to the slap of his heavy balls against your ass with each thrust.
they're so big now, swollen and churning with the cum inside them, sloshing about whenever they connect with you. the girth of his dick makes your pussy drool around his shaft, leaking out to mix with the sticky mess already coating your thighs. rivulets of creamy fluid ooze out from where you're joined, dripping onto the bed and making a mess of both of them.
"you're not answering me..." he says down at you, analyzing your fucked out expression. "do you not like me anymore? cause 'm all chubby?"
you gasp out a; "no! i still- mngh... like you soooooo much, choso!" when his tip presses far too deep inside you. he's never gone that far in before, and you feel so full as he bottoms out and presses against that soft spot inside you that makes your toes curl. he pushes his cock deeper with a roll of his hips, then draws back nice and slow, watching how your pussy adjusts to his size with each thrusts, soft folds molding around his fattened cock and sucking him back in whenever he draws back.
"you sure?" he asks, panting and throwing his head back at how much tighter you feel these days. you've always been tight, your velvety walls wrapping perfectly around his dick, but with how he's gotten bigger, there's less space in your pussy for him to fit, and it feels like he's cramming his dick inside you. "im... im gonna cum..." he moans, picking up the pace and staring down at you, pupils blown and lips parted as broken moans leave his soft lips.
he pushes a thumb onto your clit, the pads rubbing against the nub until it gets swollen and adds to the pleasure he's already inflicting on you. he pinches and tweaks it, wanting the two of you to cum together so he knows for sure that you're still attracted to him.
choso's hips rock faster, hands squeezing your thighs and easily lifting your hips so he can pump his cock even deeper inside you. his tip kisses your cervix with each thrust, not ramming against it to hurt you, but pushing on it, pressing down just like how his thumb is pressing on your clit. with one last pathetic moan of your name paired with "ooohhh fuck! 'm cumming!" he finishes inside you, veins bulging along his shaft as your velvet walls clench and flutter around him, your orgasm hitting at the same time.
choso stays buried inside you so he can shoot his thick, creamy load into you. it's thick and hot and the volume is so much that it bulges your belly just a little, excess trickling out and splattering out around his dick and your pussy lips.
while both of you cum, you tug him down into a deep kiss, and he sighs dreamily as you pull him in and meet his thrusts with little bounces of your hips, the two of you riding out your highs together with your lips mushed together. he shoots out a whole fresh load when you tell him his favorite words;
"i love you, choso. you're perfect just the way you are."
afternoon sun filtered through the half-drawn curtains of choso’s apartment, casting warm golden patches across the living room floor. you were both on your knees, surrounded by a battlefield of colorful plastic blocks, stuffed animals, and half-eaten strawberry puffs. little baby yuuji—barely two, all chubby cheeks and wild pink hair—stood in the middle of the chaos like a tiny general, squealing with delight as he hurled a bright red block across the room.
“yuuji! no throwing, little man. you might hit one of us,” choso said, his voice soft but trying to sound stern. it came out more like a fond sigh.
he reached out with gentle hands and caught yuuji’s wrist before another block could become a projectile. yuuji just giggled harder, his little body wiggling with uncontainable energy.
you laughed, the sound light and bubbly, as you scooped up the escaped block and wiggled it in front of yuuji’s face.
“look what i found! think we could build a tower with this?”
yuuji’s big brown eyes lit up like fireworks. “tower! tower!” he clapped his sticky hands and immediately tried to climb into your lap, nearly headbutting your chin in the process. you caught him easily, settling him against your chest as he grabbed at your shirt with grabby little fingers.
choso watched the whole thing from a few feet away, his dark eyes softening in that way they only did around family. around you. he’d always been quiet, a little intense, but with yuuji he turned into this gentle giant—patient, protective.
and with you… well.
he was pretty sure his heart had been doing cartwheels since the day you first met his baby brother and immediately started making silly faces to make yuuji laugh.
“you’re a natural,” choso murmured, scooting closer on his knees. his shoulder brushed yours, warm and solid. “he doesn’t let just anyone hold him like that.”
you grinned, pressing a quick kiss to yuuji’s fluffy head. the squirming toddler smelled like baby shampoo and the snacks you’d let him have. “he just knows i bribe him with extra puffs.” then whispered to the boy, “shhh, don’t tell your big brother.”
he let out a delighted shriek at the word “puffs,” twisting in your arms to point accusingly at the snack bowl. “puffs! more puffs!”
choso chuckled low in his chest, the sound rumbling through you where your sides touched. “you’re spoiling him.”
“we’re babysitting. spoiling is the job description,” you shot back, already reaching for another handful. yuuji snatched them with the speed of a tiny raccoon and shoved two into his mouth at once, cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk. crumbs rained down onto your lap. you didn’t even flinch—just brushed them off with a fond little hum and let him keep going.
the three of you spent the next twenty minutes building the world’s wobbliest block tower. yuuji insisted on placing every single block himself, which mostly meant slamming them down with gleeful violence until the whole thing collapsed in a colorful avalanche.
every time it fell, he’d throw his head back and laugh so hard his whole body shook like it was the first time he’d seen that happen. you and choso would pretend to be shocked—“oh nooo, the tower!”—and then help him start all over again.
at one point yuuji decided the stuffed tiger was his new best friend and tried to feed it a puff. when the tiger didn’t eat it, he looked personally betrayed. his little lip wobbled for half a second before you swooped in.
“don’t worry, yuuji. tigers are picky. here, let’s give it to the dinosaur instead. dinosaurs eat everything.” you made the plastic dino chomp dramatically at the puff, complete with growly sound effects. yuuji’s tears vanished instantly. he clapped and shoved the puff toward the dino himself, nearly poking it in the eye.
choso couldn’t stop staring.
you were cross-legged on the floor, hair a little messy from yuuji’s grabby hands, shirt dotted with crumbs and one suspicious wet spot from when yuuji had drooled on you earlier. your face was lit up with pure, unfiltered joy as you narrated a ridiculous story about a dinosaur and a tiger becoming best friends who fought crime together, yuuji hanging on every word and bouncing in your lap like he had springs in his butt.
and choso felt something warm and sharp bloom in his chest.
you looked… perfect.
not in some polished, magazine way. perfect in the real way. the way your voice got all soft and playful when you talked to yuuji. the way you didn’t mind when he smeared strawberry mush on your sleeve. the way you instinctively knew when to be silly and when to be gentle, catching yuuji mid-tumble without missing a beat, then peppering his face with tiny kisses until he squealed with laughter.
he imagined it so clearly it almost knocked the breath out of him: you with a baby that had your eyes and his dark hair. tiny hands reaching up, calling you mama. you humming softly while rocking a crib. you looking up at him with that same bright, loving smile after a long day, tired but so damn happy.
his throat tightened.
the urge hit him like a truck—sudden, and stupidly sweet. he wanted that. wanted to see you round with his baby. wanted late nights and messy mornings and all the chaos that came with it, as long as it was with you. wanted to watch you be the mom he already knew you’d be: patient, fun, endlessly kind. the kind of mom who built wobbly towers and made dinosaurs talk.
he shifted closer, one hand coming to rest on your lower back, thumb brushing slow circles through your shirt. you glanced over at him, still mid-story, and your smile widened just for him. something soft and knowing flickered in your eyes.
“what?” you asked quietly, voice playful.
choso opened his mouth. closed it. the words “marry me” and “let’s have a baby” were right there, but yuuji chose that exact moment to launch himself at choso’s face, tiny arms wrapping around his neck with surprising strength.
“cho-cho! up! up up up!”
choso caught him automatically, lifting yuuji high into the air until the toddler shrieked with joy. “alright, alright. airplane time?”
“airplane!!” yuuji agreed, legs kicking wildly.
“fuck—choso—!” you gasp hours later, fingers twisting in the crumpled sheets.
choso’s hips snap forward hard, burying his thick cock to the hilt inside you with a wet slap that echoes through the bedroom. your face is pressed into the sheets, ass up high, back arched deep as he fucks you like he’s trying to knock the air straight out of your lungs. every brutal thrust punches a broken moan from your throat, the headboard knocking against the wall in a steady rhythm.
he growls low in his chest, one big hand gripping your hip so tight you know you’ll bruise, the other fisted in your hair, tugging your head back just enough to hear every pretty sound you make. his pace is relentless, hips rolling deep and mean, cock dragging against that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back.
“gonna put a baby in you tonight,” he rasps, voice rough and shaky with how bad he wants it. sweat drips from his forehead onto your back as he leans over you, chest pressed to your spine, lips brushing your ear. “been thinking about it all day—watching you with yuuji… so fucking perfect. already know you’re g’na be such a sweet little mommy.”
you clench hard around him at his words, a needy whine slipping out. he groans, hips stuttering for a second before he doubles down, pounding you harder, deeper, the wet squelch of your pussy filling the room.
“yeah? you like that?” he pants, teeth grazing your shoulder. “like the thought of me breeding you full? swelling up with my kid? just imagine it… your belly all round and full with me. tits leaking for me to suck on while we wait for the baby. shit—you’d look so perfect.”
his free hand slides under you, palm splaying possessively over your lower belly, pressing down so you feel every inch of him splitting you open. “right here. gonna fill this pretty womb until it takes. gonna keep you stuffed as many times as i have to till you’re round and glowing for me.
pls don’t ask me to write a second part with the actually pregnancy that shit scares me
tangentwithtanner
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