#gun holster highlight

[priscilla9993]

Ooooh, never noticed how often and commonly he has a gun on him. Just imagine him and David getting along as boisterous buddies. Wish Killian and David could compare badges, wacky cases that happen in their small areas, and humorously how much better they are than the other.

365 days with Killian Jones: Day 127 (Rogers + Gun Holster)

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Crawling Back to You

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader SMUT

Summary: Hotch shows up at your place late one night needing company.

CW: newly divorced!Hotch, needy!Hotch, nipple play, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie,

a/n: imma be real with yall, I don’t think I’ll ever write a Hotch fanfic where the reader isn’t a part of the BAU lol also this is pretty much straight sex

*This is the fanfic the won the poll so it’s the one I finished first!*

title track 🎶🧊

~~~

It was nearly midnight.

So when a hasty knock pounded against your door, you were apprehensive. Finger resting flat against the side of your gun as you looked through your peephole. Unsuspecting a familiar face at this hour.

“Hotch?”

Aaron Hotchner. Your supervisor and Unit Chief. Bags under his eyes heavy with lines mapping his face. Lips pierced tightly into his mouth as his doey brown eyes looked at you. A small bit of stubble decorated his jaw. You examined his body making sure he did not have anything physically wrong with him. Noting his lack of work attire. T-Shirt with a zip-up over it along with some jogger pants and tennis shoes. Far more casual than you ever saw him.

“May I come inside?”

You stepped back into your home, allowing him to pass by you. Scent of his cologne overwhelmed your senses. Musky, with some sweeter hints underneath. Closing and locking the door behind you. Placing your gun back into its holster and hiding it in its usual spot.

“Is everything okay?”

Your hand rubbed your neck as you watched him look around your place. It was dark and silent. You made it a routine to read before bed. Curled up under your soft, yellow lamp on your couch. Just getting to the end of the latest chapter when you had been taken aback by the noise at your door.

Hotch’s silence worried you. Brow resting heavy upon his head as his fists clinched at his sides. Fearing he had some extremely troubling news to share with you. His disheveled hair and lack of formality clued you in that he had come over after something happened.

“Hotch…?”

You trailed off as you closed the distance between you. Hand flattening against his back with your question. Turning to look at you over his shoulder. Orbs glossy and sad. Your expression dropped when you saw the tears staining the corner of his eyes. Never having seen your boss like this. It tugged at your heart.

“Oh, Aaron…”

“Can I… stay here tonight? I can’t be alone in that house another night,” Hotch’s voice was soft and broken. Fighting off showing his emotions to you. Expression as if he had just seen someone kick his puppy. Urge inside you wanting to caress his face and pull him into a hug.

Divorce was hard. Even for someone as cold and stoic as Aaron Hotchner. It was far worse when a child was involved. Throwing his mundane life through the wringer. Ripping away the semblance of normality he had.

“Of course,” your fingers trickled down his arm, “Can I get you anything?” Offering as he slumped into your couch.

“Just some water,” his shaky voice had your stomach doing flips. Hurrying into the kitchen to hide your flushed expression. Pouring him a small cup and sitting it on the table in front of him. His neck strained backward as he rested his head. Admiring how the soft glow of your living room highlighted his jawline.

The two of you sat in complete silence. You fidgeting with your own hands. Pinching and rolling your fingers. Watching Hotch’s broad chest rise and fall with each deep breath he took. His nostrils flaring with slight irritation. Clearly defeated and tired. Unable to properly rest on his own.

Sighing heavily as he sat up. Leaning forward to grab the water. Drinking nearly half the glass in one go. It was strange seeing him here. On your couch in some ordinary clothes. Feeling like ordinary people momentarily. Hotch’s face fell into his hands. Rubbing along his worry lines.

“Hotch—“

“Y/N, I—“

You spoke at the same time. Awkwardly smiling as you cut each other off. Soft, unsure chuckles vibrating off your walls. Your hand planting itself against Hotch’s arm as you leaned forward, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Hotch’s sorry eyes blinked towards you. Eyebrows curved and mouth frowned. Same glassy stare from before returning. Nodding slowly, “I’ve been so lonely…” Your arms raised as Hotch laid his head in your lap. Unsure where to place your hands. Blushing at the intimacy your boss was seeking in you. Unable to deny the feelings swimming around your chest for him.

Resting one hand on his head and the other softly lying against his arm. Fingers petting his hair, stiff locks slowly softening. His hand came up and interlocked fingers with yours against his arm. Pulling your hand closer to his face. Cheek resting against it, a soft peck of his lips gifting itself there.

Your heartbeat rang in your ears. Trying your hardest to steady your breathing. To stop the shaking of your hands. Warmth engulfing you from where each part of him touched you.

Intimacy was not something anyone in the BAU ever got from Hotch. An occasional hug after something may have endangered someone. His tended to be spoken. Not physical. So this was a strange new feeling.

Not helping with the under-the-table feelings you had been harboring for Hotch for so long.

“Y/N…”

There was a whine on his tone that made your head spin. Your fingers tightened in his hair instinctively. Gripping on to something to support the pulse that radiated in your lower half. His brows knitted together at the feeling, his mouth hanging open slightly.

“Yeah?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. Loosening your grip. Going back to gently petting him. Trying to calm yourself down.

Hotch turned, reaching his arm up to cup your face. Thumb tracing against your cheek. Dark pupils looked into yours. Admiring your face. Pushing himself up to meet your lips. Capturing you in a deep kiss.

Surprising you.

“A-Aaron…”

You stumbled. Not wanting him to do anything he would regret. Eyes scanning his for some semblance of— Regret? Fear? Hesitation? Something?

“Please…”

Aaron’s sultry voice and the feeling of his large hand against your face had you melting into him. His wanting tone begging you. Puppy dog eyes looking into you. Lips finding yours again. Pulling your lower lip between his. Tongue wanting to explore your mouth. Allowing him to pin you mostly against the couch with his torso. Thick fingers tangled in your hair. Holding you close to him as he latched onto you.

Pulling away for only a moment. Looking into each other’s eyes. Seeing nothing but desperate desire in his.

“You look so beautiful in this light,” Hotch gently pushed your hair behind your ear. Watching your face redden and lashes fluttered at his compliment. His lips planted on your neck, hand gripping the back of your head. Sucking and licking softly against your skin. Trailing along your pulse. No doubt, leaving soft purple marks behind. Nothing that would not fade or be easily covered by makeup, of course. Just enough for you to feel how badly he wanted you.

“Aaron…” you began, wanting to tell him how you were not some cheap hookup to help him get over his wife. How you needed to be something more than that with him. Confessing all your pent up feelings for him. How heavily they had been lying on your shoulders. And that you wanted this, just more special.

But.

When Aaron looked up at you with his big, sad brown eyes every thought you had disappeared. Consumed by how pathetic and desperate he looked. Disheveled hair and shiny lips sending you into a feral state.

You mouthed attempting to find the words. Losing every semblance of a thought as you watched his eyes dart between your eyes and lips. Hand coming up to cup his face. Nuzzling into your grasp as he stared at you. Warmth from his cheeks heating up your palm.

“Are you just wanting an outlet?” the whisper escaped your mouth without thought.

“No… I just want you,” Aaron whispered back. A soft confession of his true feelings. Leaning in to kiss you once more. Tongue parting your lips to lap into your mouth. Deepening the kiss as he sat up further. Attempting to shift so that he was pulling you onto his own lap. Shuffling around each other until your legs straddled him.

Long, thick fingers rubbed up your exposed thighs. Resting against your hips. Doeing his eyes up at you. Hands resting on his shoulders as you sat upon him. Enjoying the weight of you on his body. His hands danced under your loose fitting shirt, feeling your soft plump skin. Running up to squeeze at your breasts. Softly pinching at your nipples through your bra. Hotch sighed, hint of a smile on his face.

Gentle hands splayed across his chest. Fingertips tracing the zipper until you were pulling it down. Helping him remove his jacket, throwing it onto the floor. Leaving him in only a tight, white shirt. Muscles accented by the short sleeves and dim lighting. Lips falling against his jugular. Featherlight kisses scattered across his skin. His own hands gripping onto your back tightly. Shortly finding the clasp of your bra and undoing it.

Coarse fingertips hooked around the hem of your shirt, pulling it and your bra off in succession. Hotch’s hands gripped your back. Awestruck by the look of you above him. Nipples hardening when the cold air washed over your body. Softly cupping his cheek as you leaned in to kiss him once more. A groan vibrating through his throat when your breasts pressed against him.

“I’ll do whatever you want, Hotch,” you spoke into his mouth.

Corner of his mouth curved into a grin. Eyebrows still pressed tightly together as if he was still unsure. Not completely convinced on why he came here. Just knowing his body craved yours tonight.

“Take me to your bedroom,” Hotch breathed out. Not demanding, simply asking. Pleading eyes locking into yours.

You rose off his lap. Standing before his disheveled state. Legs spread wide with a tent pitched between them. Heating up your face when his body followed yours like losing contact with you physically hurt him. Interlocking fingers to guide him down the hallway. Smiling over your shoulder at him.

Allowing him into the room first, closing and locking the door behind you. His body was quick to pin yours against the door. Knocking the air out of your lungs momentarily. Strong hands squeezed at your softness. Pulling a moan from you when his rough fingertips pinched at your nipples. Leaning down to capture the bulb between his lips. Muttering curses and his name under your breath.

“Please, Y/N… I-I need you,” Hotch mumbled against your flesh. Hands trailed the waistband on your shorts.

“How do you need me?” You kissed his jawline.

“On top, please…” he trailed off. Moaning when your hand flattened against his erection. Fingers gripped around him, gently stroking his shaft. Hotch became a whimpering mess in your hand. Eyes squinted shut and mouth hanging open. You led him back against your bed step-by-step. Back of his knees buckling when they met the mattress. Resting up on his elbows to continue looking at you.

Thumbs tugged at your waist, pulling down your shorts and panties. Causing Hotch’s breath to tighten in his throat. Seeing you in your full nudity leading to his clothes feeling obscenely tight. Practically ripping his shirt from his chest.

Kneeling down before him. Hotch’s bare chest heaved. Melting expression stirring around your stomach, finding itself nestling between your legs. Manicured fingertips played at his waistband. Hotch craned his neck back, adoring the feeling of your hands on him. Steadily, shaking hands pulled his joggers down his legs. Revealing the outline of his erection in his boxer-briefs. Mouth watering sight before you.

"Oh, God, please," Hotch begged with a broken voice. Your lips kissed against his stomach directly above his underwear. Traveling down to be kissing the length of his shaft. Hatch's legs bounced with anticipation. Finally, you removed his underwear from his body. Cock bouncing free. Thick and swollen, with a drop of pre-cum decorating the head. Throwing his boxer-briefs somewhere on the floor as you straddled his waist. Passionate hands dug into your waist. Completely slack jawed as he took in every inch of you.

"Y-You... you're incredible," Hotch breathed out, eyes finding their place in yours again. Shining in the moonlight that beamed in through your barely opened curtain. Your cheeks burned at his compliment. Unable to deny the full faced smile that overtook you. Blushing at his soft expression.

You hovered directly over his cock. Nose to nose with your boss. Kissing him again before resting your hips against his. Cock gliding through your slick folds as you capture it between your bodies. Hotch moaned at the feeling of your warmth, "Oh, Y/N."

You grinded down on him, lathering his member with your arousal. Shaky gasps escaped him with each move of your hips. "Please, please," Hotch stammered with squinted eyes, "I need to be inside you, now."

Hand lined him up with your entrance. Sinking down slowly as to adjust to his girth. Your face contorted in pleasure at the feeling of him stretching you. Calling out his name when you were flush against his body. Large, brown eyes stared up at you. Face flushed and agape as he watched you rise and fall onto his cock again. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you found a perfect rhythm. Chanting his name over and over again as you rode him.

Hotch's hands grasped under your thighs, helping you get higher off him. Sloppy sounds filled your silent bedroom. Mixed in with the grunts and moans that escaped you and Hotch. Sound of slapping skin rang in your ears.

"Perfect," Hotch sighed breathlessly, finally relaxing his neck and head onto the mattress. Your nails dug into his chest, arching your hips to allow him deeper inside you. Panting as you hopped up and down. Lost with how perfectly his cock hit every spot inside you. Running your hand down the front of yourself, fingers finding your sensitive clit. Circling it.

"Aaron," you whined when he hit that spongy spot deep inside that had electricity shooting through your nerves.

"I love when you say my name," Hotch grunted. Your insides constricted with his deep, sultry voice. Causing him to rut his hips upward, chasing the feeling.

And you swear you had never had someone this good. As if his cock had been made perfectly for you. Almost like Hotch already knew your body. Knew how to make it feel good and how to get you there. He had you seeing stars.

"Can I cum inside you?"

His shaken voice pleaded. Feeling himself twitch and grow more sensitive knowing his end was approaching. Not wanting to lose the sensation of you wrapped around him.

"Please, Y/N."

You nodded viciously. Feeling your own orgasm preparing to wash over you as the familiar tightening in your stomach returned. Bottoms of your feet tingled with heat as you moaned above him. Looking down to see his puppy dog eyes doeing up at you. As if he had never seen anything as beautiful as you in his life. Admiring every single piece of you. Never wanting to leave you.

A few more swirls of your fingers had your insides clamping around Hotch. You fell forward, holding onto him for support as you shook. Moaning into his ear, his name a mantra from your tongue. He held you tight against him, bottoming out inside you as you finished around him. "So good," he praised into your ears.

Hotch continued the movements you had been doing. Thrusting his hips up into you, clearly chasing his own high now. Forcing a squeaky whine with each snap of his hips. Strong fingers dug into your back as kept you flush to his chest. Angled hips causing your sensitive cunt to spasm. Few more before he was shooting up into you. Filling you to the hilt with his seed, keeping his hips firmly pressed into yours. Trembling as he finished.

Lying in silence other than both of your panting. Refusing to move from the position you were in. Cock halfway softening inside you. Your nose was tucked into the crook of his neck. His hands gently rubbed up your back. Enjoying the feeling of your bodies still tangled together. Hearts beating in sync. Minds consumed by thoughts of the other. The world fading around you.

Hotch planted a kiss on the side of your head. Causing you to lean up and look at him. Being greeted with a smile that caused you to blush. Somehow still making you feel flustered even after fucking you. As if you were not lying completely nude against him. Nestling your face back into his neck to hide your heated cheeks. Hotch chuckled at your embarrassment.

"Thank you," Hotch broke the silence.

"You don't have to thank me," you smiled against his skin.

Hotch hummed in response.

You remained like this for several minutes. Drifting off, the late hours catching up with you.

"Let's get under the blanket," you shivered with the chill of the room hitting your warm skin.

"Don't wanna move," Hotch's sleepy tone made your stomach do a flip.

"Come on," you pushed yourself up. Causing his member to slip out of you. The two of you wincing at the sensation. Hotch groaned at the lost of your body heat. Reaching up for you as you crawled up to the pillows. Finally rolling to meet you under the blanket. Nestling under the bedding together.

Hotch wrapped his arms around you. Getting as close to you as possible. Engulfing you in his warmth. You wrapped your own arms around him. Limbs tangling together as you found a comfortable position together.

You felt yourself falling asleep in his comfort. Hoping that in the morning this would all be a happy memory you shared. Begging for him to still want you by daybreak.

~~~

[END]

// Thank you so much for reading! You all have been nothing less than wonderful ever since I started writing for Hotch. I really love seeing all the comments and reposts, you guys mean the world to me! As always, my inbox is always open and if you want to be tagged in the future let me know! //

{tags}

@mrs-ssa-hotch ~ @bondwithme-murderstyle ~ @cherriready ~ @khxna ~ @megangovier ~ @justyourusualash ~ @boybandbaby ~ @hoffmanfan13 ~

[charliemwrites]

Mafia!Price warm up because I am… so tired. I’ve had back-to-back events the last few days and ya bitch canNOT hang. So, while I rehydrate and wait for caffeine to work it’s magic, here’s this:

Part 1 here

No Content Warnings

Mr. Price is the best boss you’ve ever had. He’s straightforward and blunt, but unfalteringly courteous. Likes things a certain way — his own way — but that’s nothing you’re unfamiliar with from rich men responsible for billions. At very least, he seems to respect when you challenge him.

“We’ve always done records this way,” he says.

“Yes, sir,” you answer serenely, “but that was before you had me.”

He stares you down and you beam right back, tablet balanced on your forearm. One beat, two. In the corner of your eye, you see Gaz shift. You tilt your head at your boss.

He sits back in his big office chair, thumb swiping over his index and middle fingers. A gesture you’ve been mentally cataloguing as “contemplative” — perhaps deciding if he’s annoyed or amused. You don’t let yourself get nervous seeing it; you’re good at your job and you know it. He’s going to know it too, by god.

“And what do you have to do with it, luv?”

Your smile stretches wider as you take that as an invitation to round his desk. He turns and shifts a bit to make room for you, eyebrows ticking up as you set a neatly paper-clipped report in front of him, highlighted for convenience.

“See here?” You point at one section, a list of finance records. “Inconsistencies that the accountants took two months to notice. Two!”

He grunts as you set it aside, face up, for further perusal and then show him the next set. Different highlighter (and a smiley face in the corner).

“And look here, doing it this way, we noticed the discrepancies within a week,” you explain.

He picks up the page, eyes scanning over it thoroughly before setting it down. Taps his index finger over the discrepancy (circled in bright red) twice.

“Would you happen to have the account — ah, thank you.”

You hum, smoothing the sticky note (hot pink, shaped like a heart) onto the page. “So what do you think, sir?”

He runs a hand down his face, palm rasping over his beard. But there is a grateful note to his gaze as he glances at you.

“We’ll be doing it this way from now on, then.”

“Thrilling, sir. I’ll send out a memo.”

He waves you off, frown already forming on his face. You politely leave his office, stop by the break room to make a fresh cup of tea (a dollop of cream only, no sugar) and knock on the closed door. It’s Gaz that opens it.

“For the boss,” you say. “Before heads start rolling.”

“You’re a doll,” he breathes, accepting the cup and slipping back inside.

You happily toddle back to your desk and begin calling appointment confirmations. You’ve got about a million emails and a hundred calls to make.

—

Working for Price also comes with some… eccentricities. For one, you have a driver now.

Usually Farah, sometimes her partner Alex. On the rare occasion it’s Gaz. They always usher you into the backseat. On rainy days (so, most days in the UK) they hold an umbrella over your head while you scurry into the luxury leather interior of whatever stupidly expensive ride you’re taking.

That was a non-negotiable when you and Mr. Price discussed the details of your employment contract with him. Something about safety…? You feel silly being driven to work as an assistant, but it was your first encounter with the Steel Gaze of Decision and it was unfortunately effective.

Not that you mind the rides! All three of your usual drivers are wonderful. So friendly and chatty. You love hearing about Alex’s niece and Farah’s hobbies, Gaz’s little “spats” with Soap. You spoil them with extra treats from whatever bakery you make them stop at for morning breakfast. (Always local, you love supporting small businesses and strong arm Price into doing so as well).

There’s the gun as well. You’ve only seen it once or twice, always discreetly hidden under his suit jacket. A shoulder holster, all black. Pretend that you don’t see it because… well, you’re not entirely sure it’s legal and you’d rather live in the blissful cloud of plausible deniability.

And speaking of — there’s his bodyguard. To be fair, bodyguards aren’t a new or weird presence with your bosses. Expensive men, they need protection. Ghost is a different kind though.

He always covers the lower half of his face — actually, he’s covered head to toe. Usually in black, sometimes with little skeleton or skull motifs. And he’s fucking big, which is saying something because Mr. Price isn’t a small man either.

Ghost hardly interacts with you, but he’s unfailingly polite when he does. Not talkative, but he holds doors for you, has walked you down to the car. Even once attitude-checked a guest that decided to be rude to you. Didn’t even say anything, just walked into the guy’s personal bubble and stared him down until he subsided. Then he turned, gave you a nod, and you squeezed his arm before toddling off to let Price know his appointment had arrived.

All around the vibes in the office are pleasant, if sometimes stuffy. A little odd. All of his employees are polite if not kind to you, and Price himself is a fair and reasonable man — at least with you.

(The first time you heard him raise his voice through the closed office door nearly scared the daylights out of you. He always uses a low, even tone when speaking to you, so to hear his voice booming like that was something of a shock. Even more shocking was when he opened the door — damn near throwing his “guest” out — before turning to you.

“Call Farah when you have a mo’, would you?” He asked, calm as you please.

You blinked, still having war flashbacks of your last boss. “Yes, sir.”

“Cheers, luv.”)

There’s also the “field trips” as you call them.

Mr. Price is something of a very “hands on” businessman (“micromanager” you tease when he’s in a good mood) who has a hand in several industries. One of them is shipping. Which means that sometimes you find yourself standing beside him in warehouses or at loading docks. And of course you have to go, you’re his assistant! You take meeting notes, provide information or report details. Basically act as his second brain while he reams out idiots or organizes plans.

You suck it up, but you rather hate the smell of low tide. And the occasional gusts of blood on the sea breeze from fishermen gutting their catches. Price catches you looking ill once or twice and at least makes an effort to keep things short after that.

“Poor thing,” Soap teases when you’re in the back of the car, fussing at your wind-swept hair. “Get a bit blown, did you?”

“MacTavish,” Price snaps.

That’s the other thing. Even the slightest hint of suggestive or inappropriate words at your expense are met with firm, almost harsh, reprimand from your boss. It does wonders for you nerves and your respect for him.

“Wish I’d known we were going to the docks,” you sigh, carefully picking at pins to fix your hair. “I would have used more hairspray.”

“Thought I told you?” Price says.

“No, sir, you did not,” you answer, long-suffering. “You know you can put it into the scheduling app, right?”

He blinks. “Scheduling app.”

You blink back at him. “Oh, dear. Here, look at this.”

You spend the entire ride back to the office showing him how your scheduling software works so that you don’t have to deal with any more surprise dock visits.

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Masterlist

[adelheidvonschicksal]

⋆｡°✩ DARLING, DON'T BE AFRAID

Summary: Despite living with Xavier for the past few weeks, you still haven't taken the plunge to see if all this time together make you anything more than roommates especially when he disappears again in the middle of the night. Determined, you decide to question him on where his feelings lie. You just never thought a simple kiss on the cheek was the only push needed.

Pairing: Xavier x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: Roommates AU, Vanilla Smut (A lot of it. Like 7k words of smut), Love Confessions, Friends to Lovers, Emotional Sex

Word Count: 12,000~

Note: Sequel to Do Roommates Sleep Together. This part can be read as a standalone. So not necessary to read part one but it adds more context.

AO3 Link

You make a final decisive pull of the trigger. A loud pang resonates in the air and smoke spirals off the barrel. The Wanderer disappears in a wisp of debris and dust that is quickly caught in the wind.

Xavier stands a few feet in front of you. His sword twirls with one final arc of light illuminating behind the sharpened tip before it dematerializes in his hand.  You’re oblivious to the way his eyes search and find you on instinct as you run eager fingertips on the warm barrel of your pistol. 

“Mission completed. We should report back.”

You raise your head to meet his gaze while your gloved fingers remain faithfully on your weapon. The adrenaline from a successful mission is still surging through you.

“I want to test out my guns some more.”

His eyes soften at your response, but the weight of his gaze is still heavy as he walks towards you and places his hand on your head. 

“There will be more Wanderers tomorrow,” he murmurs. His thumb gently brushes your forehead before his hand swoops back over your hair. Though your hands were still itching for another battle, your mind was weak to the calmness of his tone, like the slow tumble of waves on the shore, as he coaxes your head back to look at him more directly. “Let’s go home.”

This time you do not protest. Even if you did, what could you possibly say? 

Your aggression relaxes along with your shoulders, allowing you to give in to his request with a quick holstering of your twin guns. 

You return to headquarters and give your mission report to Jenna – pausing only to poke fun when she mentions how much Xavier’s reporting time has improved since the two of you became partners – then you start on the way home with the sun kissing at your back.

Laughter fills the air on the streets. Immediately, you feel warm inside. It was only thanks to the work you do every day that citizens could enjoy this peaceful dusk without fear of monsters scrambling to destroy the city like so many years ago. 

It’s rewarding to know you hold some small part in the safety of the city after almost dying in the catastrophe as a child. You breathed it in fully, letting joy fill your lungs as you savor the calm moment. The emotion is only highlighted by the fact that when you look to your side, you can see Xavier there, putting weight to the empty space left in the wake of your family’s death. 

Walking home together in the past was a random occurrence, happening whenever your busy schedules after missions aligned. As freshly cemented roommates, it was almost a given you’d walk home together now. Not just to the apartment complex, but to an actual shared home. 

This path you go along every day has become special in that time. It’s full of promises, the kind you could only wish for on snowy New Year's evenings as you tied red ribbons to the shrine gate and prayed for good things to happen in your life. Not a lot of those wishes came true but Xavier did. 

In that way, you were a fortunate person. 

It was only your guess if he felt the same. You want to ask him. Unlike when you’re fighting Wanderers, you’re not brave when it comes to Xavier - a part of you prefers to leave things between you unsaid. It’s safer that way as you can keep living in a beautiful world of your own illusions. 

Therefore, you’re unable to help yourself. Pinching the sleeve of his uniform, you tug on it gently to gain his attention; Xavier looks at you with glossy glazed eyes. He’s always so sluggish after missions. His steps slow and methodical, like a robot, as he barely manages to straighten his spine and raise his head.

“Chin up, Xavier. We’re almost there.”

“I’m exhausted,” he says. 

You don’t need to hear him say it to understand. You think you’ve become good at reading his body language by now. Donning a sympathetic smile, you shift your hand, aiming for a lower target, and entwine your fingers with his under the guise of leading him faster.

“My next solution is carrying you by the way.”

A smile cracks on his face, impossibly light as his gaze drifts to the hold you have on his hand. “I don’t think you could carry me.”

“You dare doubt me?” Truth be told, he was right. He was tall and muscular and much thicker under that uniform than he looked. He would probably crush you under his weight if you tried to lift him. Despite how improper it was to think, you wouldn’t mind if he wanted to place his weight on top of you in another way. You tick up the corner of your lips into a surprisingly innocent smile opposite of the images in your imagination as you flash your bicep to him. “I’m very strong.”

“I think it would make more sense if I carried you.”

“I can walk.”

“I don’t see why that matters,” he says with a yawn, and you smile.

“Are you sure you won’t drop me?”

“If it’s a choice between falling asleep and dropping you then I’ll definitely stay awake. Otherwise, you might end up carrying me after all,” he says. Xavier always manages to be unfailingly charming. Given the mystery of his past and the way he carries himself, you often question exactly what kind of upbringing he had. You almost ask but your interrogation doesn’t have the chance to plant seeds when he stops in front of you and kneels. 

You thought he was joking when he said he’d carry you home but that doesn’t stop you from wrapping your arms over his broad shoulders and letting him scoop your legs up around his solid waistline. 

His clasp on the back of your thighs makes you shiver. You feel like a touch-starved virgin that the simple strength of his hands over the thickness of your pants incited such a reaction out of you, so you bury your burning face against the back of his neck. 

“Are you alright?” he asks.

Xavier must feel your hair against his neck, and you use the fact he can’t see your face to your advantage as you nod against his nape.

“Just hungry.”

For his part, Xavier doesn’t question your sudden hunger. Instead, he asks what you’re in the mood for and starts to list the restaurants that you pass on the way to the apartment complex.

You lay your cheek against him, watching the many buildings pass you by until you point out one you don’t recognize, flashing with many signs about a grand opening.

“How about that one?” you ask.

Xavier chuckles, continuing on in his steps past the building in question. “It’s not that great.”

“How do you know?”

“I tried them out.”

You squeeze into his shoulders, pushing off of them in a childlike manner and an even more dramatic gasp. “Without me?”

“I was going to bring you something back, but they weren’t very tasty. I like your cooking a lot more.”

You know he can’t see you, but you puff out your cheeks anyway. You wrap your arms tightly around him again, willing your heart not to skip when his back tenses as your chest compresses against him.  

“Are you asking me to cook dinner for you? I’m quite exhausted after all that running around,” you tell him sarcastically. 

He accidentally makes you regret your teasing when he agrees with a compassionate offer, “I’ll cook for you today.”

Hearing the word cook from his mouth makes your stomach sour. If there’s one thing after all these months you learned, it’s that Xavier is a…creative cook to put it gently. Or rather, he has zero cooking ability if it involves electricity. You didn’t mind. The two of you make it work with you doing most of the cooking and him cleaning up after, at your own behest, because if he had his way, he’d be in the kitchen much more often. 

“On second thought, I’ll cook.”

“You still don’t trust me,” he says with a sigh. Guilt tingles through you. However, your continued survival outweighs the guilt that the memory of his puppy eyes can draw out of you. “I’ll handle the cold stuff, and I’ll leave the meat to you.”

“Deal,” you say, nuzzling your head against his neck. 

When you get home, the night pans out like it always does. The two of you take turns in the shower with dinner being cooked shortly after, and the human garbage disposal known as your roommate leaves very little work for you to do once all is said and done. 

You decide to start on the last of chores for today while Xavier washes the dishes. It’s routine to check the plants before going to bed as the many potted flowers were like your own children after you spent so many hours tending to them, finding the perfect ratio of nutrients and water to keep them thriving. 

It is also routine to hunt down the birds so lovingly named Fatso and Alarm Clock by the sleepy man of the house to give them some of the seeds and nuts you regularly brought home from the store. You told Xavier that happy birds would stop eating his strawberries when in reality you liked to spoil them. 

So, you spread out the seeds on the ground for them, leaving them there for later. 

“If you feed them, they’ll never leave.”

You can’t help the laugh that leaves you. As much as he complains about the birds, you think, if his constant curiosity about the birds’ day-to-day lives was anything to go by, that he’d miss the two fluffy creatures if they were to ever find new nesting grounds. You turn back to the balcony door with a cheeky grin. “I have experience with things that don’t leave after you feed them. You enjoyed dinner a little too much.”

It’s hard to see in the fading light but Xavier blushes and brings a shy grip to the back of his neck. “Last I checked you moved in with me.”

That silences you. There’s no denying his observation, and you fail to notice him getting closer until he reaches his hand out to help you up. You willingly reach out, hand sinking into his touch as he lifts you to your feet. 

The coolness of your palms touching slowly births a lingering warmth. The soft squeeze around your hand makes it hard to let him go but eventually you must. Otherwise, you might say things that are better kept to yourself as you walk back into the house and close the sliding door behind you. 

With a pounding heart, you retire to your room early.

This room is a little different from the master room at your old apartment. The wall color is a little different brighter and it’s smaller. Luckily, you made the space work pretty easily by migrating half your plushie collection into Xavier’s room, checking like a dutiful mother to make sure he was treating them right and placing them with love should they roll off his dresser.  Sighing, you change into slightly more comfortable clothes, choosing a random pair of soft shorts and a tank top to wear before climbing into bed. It’s ten when you finally let your eyes slip shut, and it's around eleven you feel someone touching you.

Your eyelids are surprisingly heavy; you can barely pry them open enough to see the wisp of grey-brown hair shadowing medium-blue eyes. You don’t protest as you feel his fingertips brush along your waist or when his knee digs into the mattress, sinking you towards his weight.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he wants. You raise your arm enough to let your fingertips greet the curve of his chin in silent acceptance. Slowly, you drop your hand and squeeze his bicep. Like a good little soldier, he follows the order to fall into the bed with you. 

The most comfortable position is to slot your arm on top of his as he hugs your waist, props his leg on top of yours, and spoons your back. There’s absolutely zero space between your lower halves; and if he notices how you, with a small amount of shame, subtly shift and push yourself back on him a little more, he doesn’t say as he lolls his head against the curve of your neck while his incredibly light exhaling on your skin comforts you after a long day. 

With a flutter of your eyelids, you slowly slip back into sleep with the happiness that comes with being roommates with your crush. 

It’s times like these that make you think maybe he loves you. It’s also times like these that make you forget that despite all of the endearing things about him and despite how much you care about him, you don’t truly know a lot about him.

Xavier has always been a man with a lot of secrets. You’ve known this since you first met him asleep in the forest. It’s true that you once accepted the fact you’d never learn all his secrets but that was before whatever this abnormal relationship that the two of you found yourself in. 

Even after living together for more than two months now, you still had no idea where he would go when he would sneak off in the middle of the night. You didn’t question where he goes anymore, you found that he wouldn’t give you a straight answer to save his life. You merely stayed up until you heard the sound of the door opening or the warped echo of air being sucked into a vacuum, indicating he teleported inside. 

So, when you wake up at two in the morning, finding yourself alone and the side of the bed where he laid mere hours ago already cold, you’re not surprised.

Getting out of bed, you slip on your slippers and drag your feet to the balcony. It’s a familiar situation when you collapse into the swing chair, with nothing but the cold and the chirping of the birds to keep you company until he undoubtedly returns with his body hosting a family of fresh wounds.

It’s incredibly frustrating because you love him and seeing him hurt, without you having been there to prevent it, drives you crazy. You wonder why he won’t tell you, and your heart sinks, as quickly as a stone cast in a lake, with the idea that maybe you were the only one thinking that your relationship meant more than it did. Because even after all this time, you still aren’t close to him in the way you want. 

Clenching your fists, you shove your eyes against them. It was all so infuriating when he ran off to fight Wanderers or whoever and left you all alone to overthink and worry about him like some helpless house plant. It was enough to make you want to cry as the strange foreboding sense of losing him begins to echo inside of you, making you nauseous.                                                                                 There’s only one way to get rid of this feeling. Taking in a deep breath, you settle to give him a piece of your mind about sneaking off so much and also to bite the bullet to confess your feelings. 

It was only a matter of waiting for him to actually return home and to get your heightened nerves to stop firing in every direction in the meantime. 

By the time you heard the door to the apartment creaking open, you’d nearly fallen asleep in the wicker swing chair. You swallow down the bitter taste of fear, ignoring the tumultuous waves it makes when it hits your stomach. You’d never get anywhere if you didn’t face him. 

Carefully, you hop up from your seat and make slow strides into the apartment. It’s still dark in the house; you hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights earlier. Yet Xavier carries a lightness around him, mostly imagined by yourself, that makes him easy to spot in the darkness. 

For a moment, things seem normal as he takes a few stiff steps forward. Suddenly, he falls forward, the white of his uniform nearly a blur with how fast he collapses onto the sofa, but it is nothing compared to the speed at which you rush to his side. 

You call his name, press two fingers to his throat, and let your eyes slip closed with a desperate concentration as you search for his pulse behind the blaring red of his collar. 

It’s a gradual pace, averaging twenty beats a minute and slowly rising. For anyone else, you’d immediately rush them to the hospital. For Xavier, that number is a relief. 

You hold your hand to your pounding heart, practicing deep measured inhales to calm it. It appears he fell asleep as soon as he entered the room, with only enough awareness to kick off his shoes at the door. 

It looks like your lecture will have to be postponed for another day. 

You’re thankful for all the training you had to take to become a hunter because it takes an enormous amount of effort to throw one of his arms over your shoulders and drag him to his bedroom. You make a mental note to never let him question your ability to carry him again as you sit him on the bed and shuffle off his uniform jacket, leaving him only in his pants. 

In a tender motion, you gently cup his face and examine him. Dirt cakes his face; and when you brush it away, there’s a small cut on his cheek. It hits you again just how reckless and secretive he can be, echoing with a bitter thought that he didn’t bring you again. The only bright spot is the little cut is his only injury this time. 

Laying him on his back, you leave for only a moment to get a warm washcloth and an adhesive from the bathroom. It’s a blue band-aid with a cartoonish pink bunny on it, something a kid would love and has probably been collecting dust in the drawer longer than you’ve been alive. 

It takes all the seriousness out of your body when you return, clean his face off, and place the colorful bandage on his cheek. It’s hard to believe this narcoleptic pretty boy was the strongest member of the Hunters Association. 

“I didn’t think when we moved in together I was going to become a babysitter,” you commented with a little huff and poke of his cheek. “You’re terrible at taking care of yourself. Can’t cook. Can’t stay awake. Can’t tell someone when you’re going out. I bet you didn’t even lock the door when you came in. …What if a Wanderer floated in after you and trampled all the flowers, or did you just not want to leave any for me tomorrow?”

You know your complaints are falling on deaf ears as he cuddles up to his pillow without a care in the world. But if you didn’t complain, you’d get depressed instead. Dropping to your knees, you sit on the floor and prop your elbow on the bed to get a better look at him. 

He looks so peaceful.

There’s no tension, no crease to his expression. It’d be easy to mistake him for a normal young man if it weren’t for the strong humming of his Evol tickling at the wall of your resonance.

“I’ll let you sleep, but you’re getting it in the morning! I expect answers. Otherwise, I won’t cook breakfast for you,” you attempt to sound threatening in your words with every poke to his cheek a not-so-silent promise to follow through. “I’ll take my missions with the new recruit all the ladies at work gossip about. And the next time I get a snack shipment, I’m letting Jeremiah have first pick!”

With one last prod to his face and no reaction otherwise, you stop your demands and sit back on your legs. 

Bit by bit, you feel your energy dissolving. It’s no use. It’s all empty threats. You’ll probably not cook for a few days, eat in front of him too, at least until he gives you those puppy eyes, and you’ll fold just like origami paper. You’ll still save him the snack you know he likes even if you allow Jeremiah first pick of the rest. And you’d never be interested in the new recruit or anyone else. 

Xavier can be distant and formal. For others, his hyper-independence was evident. Taking on missions alone and avoiding group settings is just the way Xavier’s personality works. He’s reliable and gets along with everyone at a surface level and he’s known to go out of his way to help others without seeking validation for it so it never ruffled any feathers when he goes off on his own or rejects an invitation to drink with the others after work. 

They didn’t see. They didn’t see how easy it was to care about him. They appreciate him but they weren’t aware of how intensely and passionately he could feel when he unfurls that independent nature. How he always quietly adjusts his dominant foot to point your direction whenever a Wanderer appears. How his voice drops and his touch becomes the smallest bit more graceful and careful when he sees you upset. How sweetly he looks when he sleeps.

It makes your resolve crumble and your heart squeeze, something only he can do without even being awake to know it. 

“You’re lucky I like you,” you mumble to him. 

As you lean closer, you easily ignore the stirring in your gut that tells you to stop. 

The bandage is a little rough against your lips as you seize the chance to kiss him. It’s a short and small thing, much more delicate than your prodding from earlier because you want to indulge the romantic in you. You want him to somehow sense the feelings cultivated in your heart over the past few months though impossible when he’s asleep.

You don’t let it last long. Instead, the desperate urge to feel his heat against you spurs you to rest your forehead against his cheek. It’s warm and soft, and the faint scent of pine trees of the no-hunt zone fills your nose. You savor being this close to him, allowing yourself to indulge in it until the heat on your skin starts to match his, and you finally let him have peace for the night.

With no need to remain in his room, you stand and pivot towards the door, wondering how you’ll manage to grasp any form of sleep tonight. However, you don’t make it two steps before there’s a tug at your arm.

You yelp as you’re pulled towards the bed while the shock has you stumbling forward into it. The hand leaving your arm in favor of grasping around your wrist stops you from falling completely but your knees have already buckled. You’re left nearly a head under him when he finally swings his legs over the side of the bed and shifts into a full sitting position. This position is oddly familiar. When you uncertainly force your eyes up to meet his face, this vulnerable angle becomes unmistakable.  

His voice is husked and rasped from sleep, sending a chill up your spine when paired with the swirling shadows darkening his blue eyes under his hooded lids and dark lashes. That’s the look of a predator, of the association’s strongest hunter, and you face the inkling realization that you’re the prey. 

Nervously, you begin to divert your eyes. He takes a page out of your own playbook and reaches under your chin to guide your sight back to him as you fight not to whimper at the pressure of his thumb pushing down as if he wants to part your lips. It isn’t until now that you notice how close you are to his lap and how another few inches would drop you to your knees.

“Why worry about Wanderers following me home when you’re so much scarier.”

“What do you mean?” 

Memory has never been your friend. This though is the first time you’ve forgotten how to breathe when his fingers completely close around your wrist. His hold is firm, preventing you from wringing your way out of his grasp, but it doesn’t hurt.

He might as well take that grasp and use it to squeeze your heart instead when he brings your hand to his face. You’re unsure what he’s planning; the awkwardness of the situation makes your fingers straighten and twitch away as he holds your hand closer to his face. Sensing your trepidation, he closes the last of the distance instead by tilting his head into your hand with the same affection as always as he lets your fingertip brush against the silly little bunny bandage. 

The familiarity of the motion puts your heart a little more at ease but not enough to bring your breathing back to you as he mumbles, “I don’t remember giving you permission to kiss me.”

Your lips part with a silent puff while your brows push forward, highlighting the confusion in your mind onto your face. He takes advantage of the moment to nuzzle your hand. It’s a notion you can’t appreciate as his words finally sink into your mind and reform into a horrifying conclusion.

“…You were awake the whole time.”

He chuckles so easily at the dry peep that echoes from you, the rivet of that warm sound collects in your palm and makes your face scalding hot. You didn’t face a burning heat like this even when fighting one of those flame dragons. All the while, Xavier was laughing at you…

“Not the whole time.”

With your head catching up, you find enough of yourself again to actually glare at him and smack his shoulder. “That’s not the point!”

With another display of strength, he locks your other wrist, pulls you up, and then snatches you into him. Luckily, you’re able to flatten your palms against his chest to brace yourself. His heart as well as his face is unnervingly calm compared to your own organ that’s currently orchestrating its escape from your chest, battering your ribcage even harder as you unconsciously stretch your fingers over his naked skin. 

You don’t like this. This bullying, which you only describe as such because you can’t think of a word more fitting for the way he’s treating you, is too one-sided. 

“It was on the cheek,” you argue with a steeled voice. You fake the confidence to stare him back down, choosing to trade your determination to confess to him tonight in exchange for preserving your pride. “It was friendly.”

To your satisfaction, your declaration of war makes him the one to pause this time. His eyes widen and there’s a quiver in those waves of blue that he hides by glancing down and away. 

“…Is that what it was?”

You nod. “I wasn’t…going to do anything else.”

Xavier smiles, shaking his head, and there’s a new determination in his eyes that causes your teeth to clench down on the inside of your cheek as he leans closer. 

“In that case, is it okay to return the favor?”

He doesn’t give you the time to answer. He’s already closing the distance, his dark lashes already fluttering, and his lips already puckering to kiss you as you’re squeezed flushed against him, only your palms stopping your chest from colliding with his. 

“Wait!”

Hearing your disapproval, he pauses, but that cheeky grin still doesn’t dissipate. 

“What's wrong?” he asks with a sigh. You’re sure it’s not a true question. “Am I not allowed to give you a friendly kiss as well.”

The implications make your stomach twist while your thighs squeeze together pathetically with the sudden throbbing of arousal that spikes through you as you tumble further and further into this rabbit’s trap.

“I—that’s!”

“So, you were misbehaving,” he concludes from your sheepishness. “I guess that means I need to punish you instead.” He breaks his hold around one of your wrists to ghost his fingertips along your cheek and down your neck until all you can do in response is breathe out a moan, much to his surprise given by the rise of his eyebrows and the slight dust of pink on his bewildered face. “…I didn’t think you were that sensitive there.”

Your mind swims with the traitorous thought of wanting to show him where you’re more sensitive dancing in your mind before you can sweep it away. When his fingers dance along your neck again, you whimper and hold in another moan.

“Don’t hold back on my account. You know my most sensitive spot after all, as hunting partners, it only makes sense for me to know yours, right?”

You can hardly think of a response to that. It’s true. You know his biggest weaknesses and as you come to terms with the situation you run your thumb over the plump inside of your thigh hesitantly. It takes you almost an entire minute to decide on what you want to say, and you don’t notice his hold on your wrist weakening.  

“My weakness—” 

Suddenly, your arm drops back to your side.

“I’m kidding,” Xavier states; the small smile he normally wears comes back to his face as you look up at him with wide eyes. “I was only curious as to what your reaction would be.”

The tension in the air wanes and buries itself in your heart. The embarrassment clings to every cell living in you, unshakeable as you try to keep a brave face. “You’re cruel.”

“Am I? You were the one touching me, all the while promising to run off with some rookie,” he reminds you. 

“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t—you’re so frustrating,” you scream at him, and this is the first time he appears to take you seriously all night.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, with less teasing and more concern. He wraps an arm around your waist. His legs slot between yours, leaving your knees to collide with the plush of the bed as he hugs you tighter and tighter until you’re nearly seated in his lap. “Don’t be mad. I only thought—” 

“Xavier?”

“Did you really mean it then?” he redirects. He snakes his other arm around your waist, this time when he holds you it feels…weak, and his pursed lips and narrowed eyes hold back a troubled emotion. “That it was in a friendly way?”

Your breath hitches at the swirl of his thumbs nervously circling the small of your waist. Nervously, he waits for an answer you long lost in the rapids of the constantly changing tides of the last few minutes. 

“If you meant it…if you truly wanted to kiss me,” he pauses, trying to find his voice. The one to tell you that you’re all he thinks about. “Then you should have woken me up.” His face holds a serene glow that completely enraptures you as he looks up at you. “I wouldn’t have rejected you,” he swore.

He loved you so much it ached. Moving in together should have been enough to prove it. He guesses not; because when he thinks you want him back, you’re so hesitant to accept. Even now, you’re unable to respond. 

This cycle has become painful, even for someone as patient as himself, the wait when you’re this close to him is agonizing. So, he decides now to be the one to end this circle the two of you found yourself in with one decisive motion. 

He tests the waters, not knowing if he’ll swim or drown, but he has confidence in his ability to read your personality and actions as he cups the back of your head and pulls you in for a kiss. 

Your mind empties immediately, your body on autopilot when it registers the warm, silky skin of his lips on yours. Closing your eyes, you willingly tumble and fall into the taste of him, chasing after it when he breaks away. 

“There. We’re even,” he says, but to you, that’s far from the truth. You’re far from even after all the heartache and sleepless nights he’s been putting you through, after all the push and pull that left you aching and wanting both in your heart and between your thighs. 

The self-satisfied smile on his face quickly fades as you grope his shoulders, digging your nails in like you’re afraid he’ll escape. Your knees press to the top of the bed as you plant yourself more onto his lap. He braces his hands on your hips to catch you as you run your hand into his hair and crane his head back, so he has to look you in the eye.

His ears pinken at your sudden brazenness, but it doesn’t reflect in his voice as he smiles at you. “Are you trying to get more?” 

“Am I being too greedy?” you ask. He chuckles at the jut of your lips and the pleading eyes before you press another demanding kiss to the corner of his lips. 

Xavier moans from his throat as he latches onto your jaw to redirect your kisses to his lips. Kissing him is nearly maddening, the twitch of his muscular thighs under your ass making your mind hazy. With one hard squeeze at your hips, he catches up to the zealousness of your kisses. 

His tongue pokes and prods at your mouth. However, he doesn’t need much permission to keep going as you open your mouth wider. His mind skips and lags at just how quickly your mouth overtakes the slick appendage. It leaves him more than a little out of breath and flustered with the rate your mouths keep parting and meeting, tongues desperately searching and licking the inside your mouths as if this is the first meal you’ve had in weeks.

You’re hungry to memorize each other despite having all the time in the world now to do just that. When the two of you finally indulged enough and earned enough satisfaction, you’re able to calm down and readjust the pace. 

“I think we’re both greedy,” he jokes about the both of you before sliding his tongue back into your mouth. This time he’s slower as he presses down on your tongue, causing your teeth to lightly graze over the top of his.

There are too many sensations going on for you to keep up. The way your breasts hug his hard chest has you feeling sensitive while the heat seeping from his tongue stroking in your mouth has your stomach bundled in tight knots that won’t know release until he’s inside of you. 

Dreams were nothing compared to this. Nights filled with nothing but inappropriate thoughts of him turn into nightmares at the slim chance of having to face them again should this go wrong. 

Impatiently, his fingers curve into the hump of your ass to anchor you and encourage you to grind on his lap, or rather grind against the hard tent brazenly making its presence known with each hurried roll of your hips.

You whine from the separation of your sexes when he begins to lift you up, but your complaints quickly die in your throat. They’re replaced by a squeal as he flips you and your back bounces on the mattress.  

Xavier climbs over you, his face flushed, breath ragged, and overall, he’s just absolutely beautiful to you. Reaching up, you cup his cheek and play with the ends of his hair, unable to recall the last time you’ve felt this high. 

“Xavier,” you whisper breathlessly as you swoop his bangs back to see more of his handsome face and save it to memory. “What are we?”

Xavier tilts his head, furrowing his brow at your question, and there’s a second where a ray of doubt breaks through the clouds of lust in his irises. “We’re…whatever you want to be.”

“I want to be with you,” you say. Those words tumble out more effortlessly than you ever thought. 

Xavier overlaps your hand with his, holding on tight as if to prove a point. “You are with me.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t,” he corrects. Then, he dazzles you as he always does, “I want you to tell me so there’s no mistake, and you can’t take it back later.”

You inwardly become embarrassed when it crosses your mind that this is the first time you’ve ever confessed to him without multiple drinks in your system. It’s too late to turn back now that you’ve crossed the Milky Way and landed on the other side. 

But why would you when you’re so close?

“I want to be with you always. Whenever and wherever you are. Whether that’s having fun together or fighting. I-I love you, and—”

“And I love you,” he answers. You’re not sure if you’re jealous or relieved that he can say those three words without hesitation.

“I don’t want anything to be between us. I don’t want any more secrets or hidden things. I’m tired of this. I just want to be real, more than partners or roommates or whatever other title that isn’t boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“Okay,” Xavier agrees as easily as he agreed to be roommates with you in the first place. 

“Okay?”

“I want that too,” he agrees as he repositions himself on top of you and his lips curve into a small smirk, “girlfriend.”

You’re accustomed to the finicky organ known as your heart tightening with pain when you’re overwhelmed; this time when it skips a beat, it’s welcomed. Smiling, you gaze up at him as he releases a slow, strained breath. It’s validating to know he’s been just as nervous as you.

Everything suddenly becomes full force again when his knees move to either side of your legs while he pins your hands above your head in one tight fist. His teeth nip at your earlobe, and his free hand gropes at your breast, fingers outstretching to fully take it in his grasp. Wet kisses burn on your throat, each one firing off a rapid signal to arch your back. 

“Slow down,” you whine before cutting it off with a moan as he hits a particular delicate spot. The discovery spurs him on, like a pet with a new toy, and he bites your nape once again causing your hips to jerk. With a burning desire building in your stomach at every touch, you pitifully hug your thighs together to try to ease it. “I didn’t get a chance to absorb all that,” you tell him, mostly to get some time to catch up. It backfires wonderfully as he grips onto the bottom of your tank top.

“I have a better way to help you understand.”

The sheets shift with his movement, your lower half dipping towards him as if he holds his own gravitational field. He settles between your legs and strokes against you with one slow, languid rock. It instantly makes you throb. It’s painful how hard you clench over absolutely nothing, panties gathering the lust that’s dripping from you.  

You simultaneously hate and love him for causing this need that’s bubbling inside you. 

Large hands press your shirt further up your torso. “Arms up,” he demands softly, which you have no problem obeying, and he quickly lifts your shirt over your head.

He lowers his hands to hold at your waist, and they fall still on you as he takes in your naked skin. You’re not privy to his thoughts. The silence of the room feels defean-ing now that your needy gasps of air aren’t filling it.

He pauses, eyes taking you in as you raise your eyebrows at his hesitancy. Xavier smiles, mumbling out, “Just thinking where to start.”

Xavier smiles at you so tenderly. Everything about him is incredibly soft on first appearance. He has big blue puppy eyes, he prefers white, cozy clothes, and his voice is just as gentle as his appearance. Everything about him is soft except for his hands. 

Those are hardy and battle-honed, worn with calluses built up with every swing of the sword he’s taken since he was a child, enough of them to slay thousands of Wanderers over the years. 

They drag.

Oh, they drag so dangerously slow over your skin, dipping into the pudge of your stomach and highlighting a small circle in the warm, buzzing glow of his Evol. The rays shine gold over your flesh, shimmering brightly in the dark of the room. 

“Here,” he states before hunting down another spot on your torso. A beauty mark, like a beacon, earns the sharp eyes of a hunter. He zones in on the vulnerable location, creating a golden target. “Maybe here.”

You squirm with every mapped spot he creates. “Xavier.”

The residue of his power leaves your skin humming; you’re overly aware of each spot he highlights with his power. You like to think your senses would still be heightened regardless of this little game. After all, you’ve been wanting him to touch you forever.

Every night next to him felt like torture, being unable to touch him more than a hug when all you could feel on your back was his hard chest, his arm tight around your waist, and the outline of his cock against your ass as he sighed in your ear.

It runs through your head that he must have put more thought into touching you than you assumed as he continues to stripe lines over the top of your thighs right under your night shorts, making your breath heavy in your throat. You’re no longer sure if he’s marking you to tease you, to track what parts of your body he’s claimed for himself, or to simply make you laugh from the humming of his Evol tickling you like fuzzy static on an old tv screen. Even as he smiles at your shallow giggles, there’s no denying the aura of possession radiating from him that makes you antsy when he finally presses his finger to your sternum.

“Let’s start here,” he says followed by a soft hum as he tattoos a line straight between your breasts, leaving you highlighted in slowly fading graffiti.

“About time you decided,” you say with an playfully exaggerated roll of your eyes. He cocks his head at you with a sly smile.

“I can’t help if I want to touch all of you,” he murmurs. Any response you had ready dies when he licks the encircled zone of your shoulder then swiftly to the notch of your throat, drawing a moan out of you that you didn’t think you were capable of until you met him.

Tilting your head, you allow him more room to work as he kisses your chest. His warm tongue slips through the line he marked, his nose dragging against you as he litters your engorged skin with kisses. 

“More,” you beg. Who was he to keep you waiting any longer?

He slips a fingerpad over the tip of your nipple, gently pressing down and then rolling it. It does nothing to satiate you. Satisfaction keeps escaping your grasp, the goalpost of what’s enough moving further out of reach with every pinch and pull of your pebbling nipples. Chasing it makes you brash, and you give a hard push to the back of his head. 

Just as you want, he spoils you. He bites and nips the supple skin, drawing out soft pleas from your angelic lips. When he finally graces you with the slick, velvety lap of his tongue on your pert nipple, you mewl and arch. His lips are a little rough after being out all night, his hunger for you more palpable than ever as he gropes harder and sucks at your wet skin. 

Your aching pussy throbs with every brush of his clothed cock. Your patience drains more and more as you crave something to fill you. It isn’t until he switches sides and gently nips and suckles around your other teat that you realize he’s been fingerprinting you with his Evol, the polka dots slowly fade away each time he adjusts his hand to knead your breast.  

“You’re still being cruel,” you manage between moans. 

“I think I’m being very fair,” he reasons, recapturing your lips to silence your complaints, and it works as your mind keeps repeating when his tongue makes a temporary reservation back in the confines of your mouth. 

When he parts with you again, he cements it with a soft kiss then another. He keeps peppering them on you so fast that you almost miss the way his tongue darts over your bottom lip before his teeth bite down. 

Xavier sighs between his kisses, each one adding more pressure, turning from loving, adoration-filled into needy, heavy smooches.

“Wanted.”

Another kiss that leaves you whimpering.

“To.”

He fondles your chest again, alternating between rolling and pinching your sensitive, puffed nipple then grasping your bare tits in his hands, molding and kneading them.

“With you.”

With your thighs closing at his waist, you curve your back and meet the sloppy buck of his hips. There’s a rush of excitement leaking from you when his kisses trail back over your breasts, hitting the tiny ring of bite marks he seared on you before tracing across the targets of light decorating your belly. 

“So bad.”

Skin on fire, legs spread wide to accommodate his chest as he sinks lower to press wet kisses to your stomach, you call out to him. “Xavier, baby,” you whisper and brush his hair to get his attention. And does he give it to you when his eyes flick up to look at you from under the grey tuffs of his hair.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight. 

You bring your finger to your lips, not only to pry them open so you can speak but also because you need to bite on it. Otherwise, the surge of lust in you at the sight of his head so close to your cunt and the back of your thighs resting on his broad shoulders would cause you to cum right there. 

“My most sensitive spot…is my legs…”

It doesn’t take long for him to catch on, and he quirks his eyebrows up at you with false concern. He lowers his head to kiss your stomach again, this time noticeably closer to your mound. “Are you sure you want to tell me that in this situation? It isn’t wise for the prey to put themselves at a disadvantage.”

“I said no secrets,” you remind him, curling a finger to beckon him back up. Inwardly, you curse that he decides to bring your legs with him by keeping them propped up on his shoulders. Somehow, you manage to ignore his obvious teasing and poke at the cutesy adhesive still stuck on his face. “If you were listening, you should know you’re still in trouble for sneaking off so much without telling me.”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” he tells you, a layer of remorse riding his explanation. “I wasn’t expecting to go anywhere.”

Amused, you shake your head at how boyish he sounds as he defends himself while he pulls off that wide and pleading look to bolster his cause. Even with your amusement, you’re not willing to let him off just yet. Sternly, you tap his cheek again. 

“That’s not going to work this time.”

Pouting, Xavier holds onto your hand, stopping your playful jabs. “Please give me a chance to lighten my sentence, Miss Hunter, it was unintentional,” he negotiates with a kiss on your palm. The sincerity in his request eases your heart enough to allow him a little wiggle room, or perhaps it’s the slick trailing more between your folds. 

“You only got until morning to make a case for yourself.”

“I’ll make you forget by then.” He snatches up your ankle towards his face, a much more pleasant position than your last, as your muscles were starting to ache from having your knees pushed to your face. 

He caresses your ankle, pressing an airy kiss. The little bump of his nose against the ball of your ankle tickles, making a giggle cascade from your lips as you slide lower with the pull of your leg.  

“Silly,” he mumbles before shuffling off your shorts. Your underwear comes off with more of a fight, the stickiness soaked into it causing the dainty fabric to cling lewdly to your skin and outline to the shape of your cunt. 

You don’t often hear Xavier curse but that’s what happens along with his tongue rolling over his upper lip when he catches the image. He reaches out and his fingers twitch, threatening to curve against the spreading stain in your panties but he resists and hooks his fingers into the waistband. He takes his sweet time watching the doused material peeling from you with thin strands of cum sticking to it.

It takes him more effort than he’d like to admit to resist diving straight in. Instead, he keeps it slow, sensual, as much for his sake as yours as he skims his lips up your calf.

He does the same with your center, carefully pressing two fingers against you as he holds your leg up on his shoulder. His mouth stays on your inner thigh, but his eyes are entirely locked on his fingers and the way they effortlessly collect your cum and slip between your lips with barely a push. You can feel his breath shudder out against you before he forces it down with a bite of your thigh but that does nothing to hide the way his entire body tenses when his fingers slip from your clit all the way to your clenching hole. 

It does nothing good for your ego or your sanity to think how normally calm and collected Xavier is losing his composure just by touching you. How he’s so obviously turned on when you haven’t nearly returned as much as he’s been giving you. 

He presses his hands at the crook of your thighs, pushing your legs further apart, and quenches himself between your legs. His name leaves you in one low drawn-out sigh. Sure, you were baiting him when you told him your weakness, but you weren’t expecting him to abuse the knowledge so readily. 

He held your legs blood cuttingly tight to keep you from squirming away from his wriggling tongue, and by the moan that reverberates from his chest and the strong jerk against the mattress when your juices hit his tongue, you think he would only be satisfied if you crushed his head between your straining thighs. When he suckles your clit; when his voice, muffled, hits your pussy; when his biceps tighten around your legs as if encouraging you to do so, and when his eyes meet yours with a silent demand, you know that’s exactly what he wants.

At the plunging of his fingers in you, you break down, catch his head in a vice-like grip, and push him into you. Your heart flutters and the remaining butterflies in your stomach migrate away at the growl he lets out. Your walls happily clench around those thick fingers, your dripping hole making it easy and smooth work to pump in and out of you. You’re not sure when he decides he would rather feel your muscle tightening around his tongue instead, but you can only respond with the tilt of your head back into the sheets and the stroke of your heel on his bare back when it happens. 

The only thing better is his palm grinding down on your clit, alternating between slow rotations and rough sporadic grinding that has your toes curling and your eyes glossing with the buildup of tears.

“You’re too loud,” he comments yet he doesn’t stop, in fact, he presses down harder, making you whine. “You’re going to wake the neighbors.”

“Since when have you cared what the neighbors think?” you barely manage to whimper out. 

“I’m not worried about them. I just don’t want anyone else to hear what only I should,” he remarks, lapping up the juices spilling down your legs.

His confession is a surprise to you. You never took him to be so possessive. But if that possessiveness is what kept his tongue swirling on your swollen clit and an intense moan escaping your lips then you didn’t mind. 

However…

His fingers weren’t enough anymore. 

Choosing to surprise him, you decide to turn the tables on him. You jerk your legs, catching him off guard but not enough to tip him over. He looks at you with concern. It doesn’t stop you from trying again with extra force this time until you can weaken his grasp and force him down on his back. 

Having the world’s strongest hunter under you was only something you could dream of—first as a rival and now as a lover. The adrenaline has you tunnel-visioned as you straddle his stomach, your soaked cunt making a waterboard out of his abs, which Xavier has also picked up on if the dusky pink on his cheeks is anything to go by.

You grab his hands, gripping tight to regain his attention. Xavier looks taken back especially when your fingers interlock his and pin them back. Whether he’s shocked or curious you don’t know, and you also don’t ask to borrow his power. 

“You’ve been having too much fun,” you tell him as you check to make sure your finger is sufficiently coated with light. “For my turn, I’ll attack here and here,” you whisper, marking off his chest and drawing a line across his neck.

There’s a hint of worry finally when he sees you’re aiming for his weak spot. “If you’re trying to teach me the best spot to kill Wanderers, I already know.”

“More like the best spots to defeat a Xavier,” you remark, flattening your palm over his heart, finding your own thumping when you verify that you finally managed to raise his heart rate to the levels of a normal human.

“You’re pretty forward today.” Xavier reaches out to hold your hips and cocks his head at you with an inquisitive glance. “Are you always this easy to excite or is it because of me?” 

You feel your face heat at his question. As if he didn’t already know the answer. No one else could make you like this. Needy. Shy. Aroused. Flustered. Confused. Infatuated and in love more than you’ve ever been. 

Your eyes soften. “And if I said it was you?”

“Then, you can use me all you want,” he confesses and gently coaxes you back to sit on his hard cock. You smoothly slide your hands to his shoulders, rotating loving strokes into his fair skin before you stop to free his cock from his pants.

It springs readily into your palm, so responsive. You reward him by letting him have a little taste of you. He tries to hide the hitch of his breath as if he could hide any reaction from you right now. It’s so hard to get him to react to anything, and your brain won’t let you miss a single moment as you sit back onto his lap and grind.

His cock slides between your lips, so big that you can feel it stroking you fully, his swollen, dribbling head making you whimper whenever it bumps your clit. 

“You, you’re so—” he begins, his eyes flitting from the gentle shake of your tits to his cock glistening between your folds, but he loses his voice to a low whimper when you increase your pace. It’s not on purpose but you can’t help yourself; you’re aching for him just as much as he is for you. “Hah, please...” 

His cock is leaking onto him with each sleek thrust, a little pool of precum glistening on his belly as your hips buck. It makes your stomach twist and your insides twitch to see him so excited for you.

“Not yet,” you tell him, brushing fingers across the length of his throat. His mouth parts with a croak that plasters a crooked smile on your face.

His eyebrows knit, and he frowns as you decide to tease him a little by slowing your strokes while your nails continue to follow the thick vein protruding from his neck as he desperately holds down his whines. 

“And you call me the cruel one.”

He was gorgeous under you. Beautifully flushed and sheened with sweat. His lips were so close to quivering each time his swollen head was swallowed back under your heat. It’s strange how his pitiful expression actually excites you, leaving you wetter and funneling this cycle of him repeatedly scrunching his face before relaxing it with a moan. 

“Please,” he asks again, this time more politely, pleadingly, and downright cutely. He knows what he’s doing because you decide to take pity on him when he gazes at you. “Please let me have you?”

It takes only a second for you to reposition yourself and hover over him. There’s a split hesitation when it registers that you’re actually going to have sex with him and how large he actually is with his cock standing tall and the tip kissing at your entrance.  You press downward anyway.

The stretch is both painful and pleasurable, straining your nerves as you lower. The wince on your face is accompanied by a hiss on your lips. However, Xavier is there again to catch you.

“Let’s take our time,” he instructs.

You nod, slowly thrusting halfway onto him. Each rise and fall of your hips coating him with your cream little by little makes it a bit easier to sheath him each bounce. 

“Good girl,” he whispers soothingly. Face constricting, he bites down on his lip to hold in a weak groan. It’s not your fault that the praise made your walls flutter and tighten.

When you finally suck him in completely, your eyes roll. 

“There you go,” he continues. He slides his hand into one of yours, encouraging you to hold onto it as you slowly and pointedly follow the curve of his cock, “Just like that,” he rasps out.    As you take him in fully, your pussy reaching his lap and pushing against his balls, you find it hard to concentrate on the exact words leaving him.

You take a minute to sit with him fully sheathed inside of you, allowing your stretched core to get more accustomed to his cock and also for the high of joining with him to cool off. Otherwise, you’d lose control.

You feel so full. It’s a wonderful sensation, and the pleasure increases tenfold when you lift your hips then have him stretch you again.

Rubbing your fingertips into the back of his palm, you lift and slam back onto him again, causing a ragged groan from you both that ricochets off the walls of the room. It isn’t until now that you recognize how bad you’ve been needing this.

Needed him. 

You’re still nowhere near understanding why this need is inside of you. Anyone can give you pleasure, and he’s not the first, but nothing quite matched the warmth overtaking you when his cock pistons and rubs against your nerves as you ride him. 

The thought that Xavier was right about fate being written in the stars barely breaks through the thick fog of arousal clouding your brain. The heat spurs you to bounce harder to meet his jerking thrusts. 

He sighs under you; the pressure on his lower half increases while your eyesight blurs and your head angles back. You’ll both be each other’s undoing at this rate, he thinks, as he watches the beads of sweat accumulating in little shiny droplets on your forehead and on your bouncing chest in a light sheen.

Chasing that desire to see you undone, he pulls you to a halt, burying himself deep inside of you, before pressing his hand to your mound, brushing past the patch of damp hair to zone in on your sticky, swollen clit. 

The instant whine of his name makes him dizzy. Centuries have gone by, and he’s never heard you say his name with such wanton desperation nor seen you grind onto him, stirring his cock in you as if your sanity depended on it.  

His certainly depended on you. Always has especially in the many decades he thought he’d never see you again. That need is even clearer from how sensitive yet eager his cock is to you squeezing around it as you shudder on top of him while keeping an unbearably tight hold on his hand. Your movements come to a near stop except for the occasional rut to prolong the rush of your orgasm. 

The sight of you breaking down on top of him threatens to make his eyes roll back as he squeezes onto your legs for grounding. Your strangled gasp followed by your muscles relaxing tells him that you’re coming down.  

“I take it you’ve finished,” Xavier says with a smirk, and you only have half the mind to swat at his chest like a lazy cat. Your legs burn, your chest unable to fill with enough oxygen to catch your breath. You think you’ll skip the gym tomorrow but Xavier has other plans.

“I’m not finished,” he reminds you. 

You look down at Xavier; you’d been so busy finding your own pleasure, you didn’t realize he hadn’t cum yet. You feel a lingering guilt but he swiftly takes the situation into his own hands.

You’re still too sensitive to fight back as he slides his cock out of you with a wet pop. It takes two swift movements for him to lift you off of him and roll you onto your stomach.

Your chest feels restricted, tight to the mattress as he presses on top of you, his grey-brown hair rubbing your shoulder as he cuddles your back. It’s an affectionate notion, distracting from the pressure in your lower half as he slides off the last of his clothes and thrusts his cock back inside of you. 

You thought you were filled to the brim the first time, yet this angle was different. It felt much tighter, and the slightest shift of his hips had you muffling moans into your arms. 

“I want to hear you,” he sweetly requests, yanking on your hips to raise your ass higher and pull you further away from the muffling effects of the bed. Your fracturing mewls mix into his grunts, both sounds washing out the sloppy, wet paps of his cock pounding into you. 

His hand swoops down your bending back in one long soothing stroke before his head collapses onto you. His grunts are loud, tumbling right into your ear along with the slapping sound of his hips meeting your ass. Your legs feel like jelly, and the rest of your body becomes weightless as your mind only focuses on his cock recklessly burning its way through you.

Xavier’s breath rolls against your back along with his forehead as he buries you under his weight; his grip on your thighs tightens to an unbearable degree, leaving you to wonder if you’ll have marks in the morning. 

You don’t really care if he does when he moans your name and heat fills you, spreading with each sporadic thrust until he finally bottoms out inside you one last time and holds until he completely empties. 

Taking his time to enjoy the sensation, he waits before pulling out of you, making you whimper with the sudden void. Shakily, you collapse back into the sheets and flip onto your back with a sigh. His eyes are still half-lidded as he watches you; he chews briefly on his bottom lip, reminding you of the look in his eyes earlier. 

“Xavier,” you question but he silences you with a kiss, which you tiredly return. His fingertips slide down from your knee to your thigh, and he teases your opening, the mixture of cum making it easy for him to stroke your still spasming pussy. 

Xavier sighs against your lips before moving his kisses to the swoop of your neck. “You’re so beautiful and all mine.”

Your mouth parts with a dry moan as he slides thick fingers over your clit. It starts to ache from his touch but it’s hard to deny him, even as he tortures you with his methodic and precise rotations over the bead.

His name is on your mouth, each syllable heavy on your tongue. You leave garbled gasps in his mouth as he makes out with you while your hand draws down his chest, attempting to make a mental map of every twitching muscle and healed wound on the way down.

Your heart jumps with the twitch of his cock when you wrap your hand around it. There’s going to be no trouble getting him to rebound, you think. He’s already thickening again with the warm strokes of your hand and tracing of your fingers over the slowly beating vein lining the underside of his shaft. 

Xavier doesn’t even let you finish exciting him before he rolls back on top of you and settles his head between your breasts. Between all the cum in between your legs and his half-hard cock, it isn’t as mind-numbing to have him inside you. What is different is to feel him twitching and growing inside you with his renewed thrusts. 

You’re hiccupping by the time he pushes your legs back and starts to hit deep inside of you, leaving the corner of your eyes tearing. You’re overwhelmed with everything. The uncharacteristic amount of energy he possesses as his hips snap into you. How each powerful rock leaves tingles aftershock-ing inside you, ruining your chances to recover before he does it again. The heavy scent of sex mixed with pine overwhelms your nose. His sweaty chest blocks out any light in the room, sealing any notion that you can be distracted by anything other than him as he pushes up your knee towards your chest.

You’re quickly working up to your second orgasm; the painful cramping in your foot tells you it’ll be bigger than the last. You’re right. When you come undone again, it’s with a shrill sob. You’re too out of it to even register when he finishes until he starts kissing your neck again.

He’s still inside you, you realize once your mind finally lands back on earth. His cock is resting in the heat inside you, waiting for him to work the two of you back up again. You know that’s the goal when his thumb gently brushes over one of your nipples again. Your sore insides constrict and strain. You don’t think you could survive a third round. 

“Xavier, please, no more.”

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice dry and husky in your ear as he kisses under it. 

“Too much,” you tell him, pushing on his chest to make some space between the two of you.  

“I didn’t catch that,” he coos defiantly. When he notices that you’re being serious, he obediently pulls out of you. His kisses become smoother as he pecks your lips. “What’s wrong? Is it aching?”

You nod then puff your cheeks in frustration when you see the amusement on his face.

“It’s not funny!” you say, holding onto that angry, childish pout until his smile turns sympathetic. 

“You’re right,” he agrees and shifts off you. Quickly, he locates his briefs on the corner of the bed. He steps out of bed and pulls them on. To your surprise, he leaves you, alone and cold.  

“Where are you going?”

Xavier disappears without answering you and only the sound of running water gives you any sort of hint of where he might’ve gone. When he returns, it’s with a rag dangled in his hand. 

“A boyfriend should help clean his girlfriend up after times like this,” he explains and leans over you; he presses the wet cloth between your legs; the rag is incredibly soothing on your bloated skin. It’s a blessing to your sore muscles as he starts to massage and clean you. “It feels better already, doesn’t it?”

“I guess,” you answer pitifully, grumbling a bit because the look on his face still seems like he’s teasing about your neediness. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed. It’s my fault you’re a little sore.” He’s definitely taunting you, but you don’t have the energy to fight about it. “All done,” he remarks, tossing the rag to a forgotten section of the dresser. He carefully climbs back on top of you, waiting for the moment your hand finds his bicep to guide him down next to you. 

It isn’t the first time he’s been this affectionate, and it won’t be the last time. However, this time feels more special than any time you’ve slept together, and not just because you can feel the stickiness of his sex-clad skin against your naked body. Well, that’s part of the reason.

“Something on your mind?”

“Nothing. I’m really happy,” you explain. 

“If it really makes you that happy, maybe we should do it more often,” he offers, and you pinch his unwounded cheek to punish him. Jumping back, he knocks your hand away and caresses his wounded face. “I’ll need another bandage if you keep doing that,” he complains weakly. 

“You only have yourself to blame!”

Xavier sighs. “You’re always right,” he concedes, more so that he can cuddle you without fighting rather than actually agreeing with you, you fear. 

“I don’t believe you.”

“Are you really doubting your boyfriend?” he asks. Heartbeat skipped, you clamp your mouth shut as he unfolds the blankets over the two of you. 

It’s finally settling back into your mind that the two of you are a couple now. “I’m still…not used to it yet with you being that.”

“You will get used to it the longer we’re together. The same as I will.” Xavier sighs, happily so. “Although, we might run into the same problem again.”

You blink at him. “Why?”

Thoughtful, Xavier hums then explains, “First comes love then comes marriage as they say.”

He catches you off-guard once more. As always, Xavier is forever forging on ahead with little regard for convention. “Aren’t you thinking too far ahead?”

“Maybe,” he agrees but there’s no drop in his confidence as he smiles at you and draws his hand over your hairline. “But I loved you since we met.”

“Xavier, please,” you beg, finding your favorite place to hide your flustered face in the crook of his elbow. 

He can’t help but laugh at you as he curls his arm around you. “Especially that,” he confesses and places one more kiss on the top of your head before inviting you to go to sleep. 

You do, falling asleep against his chest less than thirty minutes later. For him, sleep is elusive for once as he mulls over the day’s events.

The word girlfriend on his tongue is sweet. The idea itself burns wonderfully in his chest, but it isn’t enough. He knows he still needs to wait a bit longer, take his time, your bashful response to his prodding was enough to tell him that it isn’t time yet. It’s hard not to rush when this is the closest he’s ever been to the one thing he truly wants. 

Xavier guesses he’ll still have to rely on his dreams for a little while longer. It’s okay, he tells himself, it’ll work out this time. He’ll find a place to settle with you and have a quiet life, a place where he can see stars. 

And this lifetime, when he asks you to marry him, he hopes you’ll say yes.

[diamonddaze01]

Bound by Blood and Fate

pairing: hong jisoo x f!reader | wc: 9.9k genre: assassin!shua, hacker!reader, red string of fate au warnings: close encounters with death, blood, weapons, injuries a/n: for @ddeonghwa-s secret cupid collab! this fic is for the wonderful @uhdrienne i hope you enjoyyy <3 // enormous thanks to @ylangelegy helping me flush this idea out and to @okiedokrie @chugging-antiseptic-dye and @chanranghaeys for beta-ing <333

check out the masterlist for the collab here!

summary: “Tell me something, soldier,” you whispered, your voice low, carrying just enough venom to draw blood. “Does your fate feel like a noose?”

Joshua always thought dying would feel quieter.

But the city roars around him: the hum of neon lights, the shriek of sirens in the distance, the metallic taste of blood pooling in his mouth. He’s lying on the ground, spine pressed against the cold, wet asphalt, staring at a sky he barely recognizes. The weight in his chest isn’t just from the bullet—it’s from the thought of you.

The red thread around his pinky is taut, glinting faintly in the chaos. It’s not supposed to fray. It’s not supposed to break. But as his vision blurs and his pulse stutters, he wonders if fate has finally run out of patience.

They say the last seven minutes of your life are a highlight reel—a 420 second long tapestry of moments unraveled, thread by thread, until only the essence of you remains. Joshua doesn’t see his childhood, or his family, or the countless lives he’s taken. All he sees is you.

And as the thread tugs, dragging him deeper into the past, he knows it’s not his life flashing before his eyes. It’s his mistakes.

420 seconds…. 419…. 418….

Joshua feels the world slipping away in pieces, the edges of his vision fading to static. The asphalt beneath him is slick and sticky, blood blooming out in slow, deliberate pulses, like an hourglass emptying grain by grain. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows how this ends. He’s seen it too many times before.

His hand twitches toward the gun holstered at his side, instinct overriding logic. There’s no one left to shoot. Not now. Not anymore. But the weight of his Glock is familiar—steady in a way that his body isn’t, unlike the wavering thread tied to his finger.

The thread glints under the fractured glow of the streetlights, bright enough to mock him. Bright enough to remind him of what’s still out there, waiting. He feels it more than sees it: taut, fragile, pulling faintly in a direction he can’t follow.

Joshua forces his head to turn, every muscle in his body screaming against the effort. The pain is sharp, biting. Somewhere beyond the flicker of broken neon signs and the hum of distant sirens, he hears the faint echo of footsteps, slow and measured. They’re retreating. Whoever pulled the trigger isn’t sticking around to watch him bleed out.

Coward.

The word sears through him, but it doesn’t feel satisfying. He isn’t sure if it’s meant for them—or for himself.

The thread burns against his hand now, its crimson glow cutting through the haze like a knife. It’s not slack. That has to mean something, doesn’t it? That the connection between him and you isn’t broken. That maybe, if he can move, if he can crawl his way out of this alley, he can still get to you.

But it doesn’t tug. It doesn’t pull him toward safety. It sits there, unmoving, as if waiting. As if mocking.

The sound of the gunshot echoes again in his head, sharper this time, louder. He tries to place it—tries to grab hold of the pieces slipping through his fingers—but his thoughts fracture before he can make sense of them.

All he knows is the voice he heard before the shot. Low. Steady. Unshaken in a way that cuts deeper than the bullet ever could.

"You should’ve stayed in line."

Joshua’s breath hitches, a broken sound that’s more of a  gasp than an exhale. His chest tightens, and the thread yanks hard, as if trying to rip him out of the present entirely.

The asphalt disappears. The sirens fade.

And suddenly, it’s raining again.

360 seconds…. 359…. 358….

The sound comes first, the patter of raindrops on glass, a dull rhythm that seeps into the silence of his memories. Joshua doesn’t need to open his eyes to know where he is—it’s etched into his mind like a scar.

A car. A stakeout. The dim glow of a streetlamp haloed by mist, barely piercing through the rain-slicked darkness. The memory is so vivid it almost feels like he’s back there, his fingers ghosting over the grip of the Glock resting in his lap, his breath fogging the window. The dull hum of a police scanner crackles from the passenger seat, and across the street, a single light flickers in the third-floor apartment of a crumbling high-rise.

That’s where you are.

He hadn’t known your name then. Not your face, not the way your voice could twist words into knives or lullabies. All he’d known was your alias—Nyx, a ghost in the wires, a shadow who’d dug too deep and found something that should’ve stayed buried.

Erebus.

Even now, Joshua feels the weight of the name, the way it sank into his chest the first time he heard it whispered by his handler. A database so encrypted, so labyrinthine, that even his organization only spoke of it in fragments. And yet you, a hacker originally hired to expose the rot of corporate corruption, had stumbled upon it like you’d tripped over a landmine.

The details were sparse then. A whistleblower had paid you to scrape dirt off the edges of one of the conglomerates tied to Joshua’s organization. You’d gone deeper than they ever intended, though, uncovering shards of Erebus—just enough to understand its value and the danger it posed.

Joshua hadn’t been sent to kill you that night. Not yet.

The organization wanted to know who you were working for. If you were working alone. And more importantly, what you’d uncovered about Erebus.

The first time he saw you, it was through the crosshairs of his rifle, the rain streaking across his scope. The building you’d chosen was a hacker’s dream—tucked away in the middle of nowhere, just off a grid dense enough to hide you for a while. He’d been told you were smart, but that didn’t quite prepare him for the sight of you, illuminated by the pale blue glow of multiple monitors.

You’d been working on something—typing so quickly it looked like you weren’t even touching the keys. There was nothing remarkable about the way you looked, and yet he couldn’t stop watching.

Joshua didn’t know it then, but he already hated how the thread around his pinky seemed to hum. He thought he’d imagined it—the faint pull, like it was tethered to something in that room, even if he couldn’t see it.

His comm crackled to life, interrupting his focus.

“Got eyes on the target?” It was Sangyeon’s voice, low and unbothered. He was in the adjacent building, watching from another angle.

“Yeah.” Joshua had kept his tone neutral, even though he hated that Sangyeon was there at all. The mission was observation. That’s what they’d told him. But he knew better than to believe in simplicity when it came to his line of work.

Across the street, you paused, tilting your head as if you could feel him watching. His hand instinctively moved to adjust the rifle, finger brushing against the trigger, but he froze when he saw what you were holding.

A USB drive. Plain. Ordinary. And yet, even from this distance, he knew what it was.

Erebus.

Your gaze flicked toward the window then, just for a moment, and though it was impossible for you to see him through the rain and shadows, Joshua swore you were looking directly at him.

“Target’s on the move,” Sangyeon’s voice came through again, sharper this time.

Joshua blinked, the spell broken. He watched as you stood, shoving the USB drive into your pocket and grabbing a bag from the floor. You glanced toward the window one last time before disappearing from view.

“Stay put,” Joshua said, already moving.

He didn’t know why he said it, or why his pulse had quickened at the thought of losing you in the rain-soaked streets. All he knew was that the thread tied to his fingers felt tighter than it ever had, and no mission briefing had prepared him for that.

The first time you spoke was the second time Joshua saw you.

He tracked you through the rain, his footsteps silent against the slick pavement. The USB drive—Erebus—burned in his thoughts. He couldn’t afford to lose it, but there was something more than protocol driving him forward. He told himself it was just the mission, but every step had felt heavier, weighted by that invisible thread coiling tighter with every second you stayed out of sight.

You slipped into an alley, a narrow cut of darkness between two forgotten buildings. Joshua followed, his Glock raised, the streetlight behind him casting his shadow long and sharp against the brick wall. You hadn’t flinched when he rounded the corner, gun trained on you. Instead, you turned, slow and deliberate, your expression calm, as if you’d been expecting him all along.

For a moment, there had been only the sound of the rain dripping from the eaves above, pooling around your feet.

“Well,” you said, your voice low but cutting, “they sent someone fast.”

The words hung in the air, but Joshua hadn’t responded. His aim was steady, but his pulse betrayed him, thrumming too loud in his ears. You hadn’t looked like someone running for their life. You had looked composed, calculating, almost amused.

“Go ahead,” you continued, taking a single step forward, daring, reckless. The glow of the streetlight had caught in your eyes, turning them sharp and bright. “Pull the trigger. But I’ve already copied Erebus. Killing me won’t stop what’s coming.”

The threat in your tone was subtle, but it was there, wrapped in defiance. You were testing him, weighing him against whatever expectations you had built in your head. And for the first time in years, Joshua’s finger hesitated on the trigger.

“Who are you working for?” he asked, his voice quiet, a sharp edge beneath the calm.

You had tilted your head, a smile ghosting across your lips—barely there, more of a challenge than an answer. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” you said, and there had been something bitter, something wounded, in the way you had laughed after.

The thread coiled around his pinky had tugged sharply, and he hated it. Hated the way it pulled him toward you even when every logical part of him screamed to put a bullet in your chest.

The sound of footsteps cut through the tension—a deliberate, heavy cadence. 

Sangyeon.

Joshua’s mind sharpened, instincts kicking in. He knew the second Sangyeon rounded the corner, he would shoot first and ask questions later.

Joshua acted before he could think it through. He lowered his gun, the decision instinctive, a betrayal of everything drilled into him.

“Get out of here,” he muttered, his voice cold to cover the inexplicable tightness in his chest.

You blinked, surprise flickering in your eyes for just a second before you recovered. Then, you smirked. The expression had been infuriating, and yet it had rooted him in place, as if the thread between you had knotted tighter.

“See you around, soldier,” you had said, your voice dripping with mockery and something more dangerous—promise.

Joshua hadn’t watched you leave, but he had felt it, the absence of you almost as heavy as your presence had been. He had clenched his jaw, forcing his grip to relax on the Glock. When Sangyeon appeared moments later, Joshua had already stepped out of the alley, shoulders tense.

“Lose her?” Sangyeon asked, suspicion lacing his tone.

Joshua hadn’t looked back. “No. She’ll resurface. They always do.”

But even as the words had left his mouth, Joshua couldn’t shake the way his pulse had quickened at the sight of you, the way your voice had wrapped around him like a noose. He had told himself it was just the mission. Just Erebus.

But the thread knotted on his finger had hummed, and deep down, he had known better.

300 seconds…. 299…. 298….

The third time Joshua saw you, the fluorescent lights in the cold, windowless interrogation room cast sharp, unforgiving shadows. It felt as though the world had been stripped of color and warmth, leaving only stark grays and the faint hum of tension in the air. You’d been brought here under orders—captured during a raid on one of The Syndicate’s safehouses.

He hadn’t been the one to catch you. No, it had been a lower branch of the organization, an overeager unit that had stumbled across your location by sheer luck. The details of your capture had been messy: a shattered window, a scuffle in the dark, and your wrists bound with rough rope that still left faint marks on your skin. By the time you’d arrived at their facility, you’d already outsmarted half the guards with a sly smile and a sharp tongue, making them regret underestimating you.

And now, here you were.

Joshua sat across from you, the assigned interrogator, chosen for the job by someone higher up who’d claimed he had the right temperament for extracting answers. He’d been told you were dangerous—The Syndicate’s rising star, a name whispered in intelligence reports and backroom briefings. He’d expected you to be cold, calculating, maybe even desperate.

But you were none of those things.

You sat in that metal chair, your arms tied behind your back, the cuffs biting into your skin, and somehow, you still looked untouchable. A faint smirk curled at the edges of your lips, your confidence an act of rebellion all its own.

“Is this the part where you torture me for answers?” you teased, leaning back in the chair like you were perfectly at ease.

Joshua’s jaw tightened, his gaze flitting to the chains binding your wrists, then to the cut on your forehead that was still oozing blood. The sight of it filled him with a sudden, inexplicable rage. It wasn’t logical—he barely knew you beyond the file he’d been handed an hour ago. But seeing you restrained, sitting there with your arms pulled behind you as if you were a threat to be neutralized, made his chest twist with a fury he couldn’t name.

The thread tying him to you seemed heavier than ever, an unbearable weight that tugged at something deep inside him. He stayed silent, his gaze flickering down to it almost unconsciously.

You noticed. Of course you noticed. The flicker of his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides—all of it gave him away.

And for the first time, your smirk faltered.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” you asked softly, the amusement in your tone giving way to something sharper, quieter. “The thread. It’s fate, isn’t it?”

Joshua stiffened. His first instinct was to deny it, to scoff at the idea of threads and fate, but the burning weight on his pinky betrayed him. He stayed silent, and his silence spoke louder than words ever could.

You leaned forward, the motion deliberate, the cuffs digging into your skin as you closed the distance between you. There was a gleam in your eyes now—not of defiance, but something more dangerous. Something that made Joshua’s pulse quicken.

“Tell me something, soldier,” you whispered, your voice low, carrying just enough venom to draw blood. “Does your fate feel like a noose?”

The question hit harder than it should have, knocking the breath from his lungs. Joshua’s throat tightened, the thread burning hotter, twisting tighter. He hated it—hated how you could cut him open with words as sharp as blades, hated the anger bubbling beneath his calm exterior. But most of all, he hated the truth in your question, the way it echoed the thoughts he couldn’t bring himself to confront.

He didn’t get the chance to respond.

The door creaked open, and Sangyeon strode in, his boots echoing sharply against the tiled floor. The cold presence of his commanding officer shattered the fragile intimacy of the moment.

Joshua rose instinctively, his body moving faster than his mind. He stepped between you and Sangyeon, his arm outstretched to block the path.

“We’re not done here,” Joshua said firmly, his voice steady even as his pulse thundered in his ears.

Sangyeon raised a brow, his expression colder than the room itself. “The prisoner doesn’t decide when we’re done,” he replied curtly. “She’s being transported.”

Joshua bristled. He couldn’t explain it—not to Sangyeon, not to himself. But something about this moment, about you, felt like a line he wasn’t ready to let anyone else cross. He could feel your eyes on him, steady and unyielding, burning into his back.

And for the first time in years, Joshua hesitated. 

He didn’t meet your eyes when Sangyeon all but dragged you out of the interrogation room. 

The transport convoy had been tense from the start. Joshua sat rigid in the lead vehicle, his jaw set and his gaze fixed on the road ahead. You were in the back of an armored truck, hands cuffed behind you, your expression unreadable. The radio crackled with static, the air heavy with a silence that pressed on his chest like a weight. His orders had been simple: ensure the prisoner—you—made it to the facility alive.

But the moment the first gunshot rang out, everything spiraled.

The Syndicate moved like ghosts in the night, their ambush precise and ruthless. Bullets ricocheted off metal, shouts filled the air, and the stench of gunpowder clouded the chaos. Joshua leaped out of the vehicle, his weapon drawn, scanning the darkness for threats. Amid the frenzy, his gaze found you.

You stood in the middle of the chaos, unarmed, your hands still bound behind your back. And yet, you weren’t panicking. You weren’t cowering. You were watching him with a calm intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.

Your eyes locked with his, and in that moment, the world seemed to slow.

“Come with me,” you pleaded, your voice raw and almost lost amidst the gunfire. It was a stark contrast to the sharp, unyielding person he’d faced in the interrogation room. There was no mockery now, no edge to your words—only trust.

Joshua hesitated. His grip on his weapon faltered, the weight of his loyalty pressing against the thread on his pinky, which burned with an almost unbearable ferocity. He felt it pulling him toward you, urging him forward, and for a fleeting second, he let himself imagine it—letting go of the lies, the bloodshed, the endless cycle of orders and betrayal. Letting himself be with you.

But the spell broke as quickly as it had been cast. Before he could respond, you turned on your heel and ran. You vanished into the shadows, slipping through the chaos like smoke.

Joshua stood frozen, the thread tugging so hard it felt like it would snap. He should have called for backup. He should have tracked you immediately. Instead, he lingered in the wreckage, the ache in his chest growing heavier with every passing second.

By the time he’d made up his mind, you were long gone.

It took him hours to track you down. The thread burned hotter with every step, guiding him to a decrepit safehouse on the outskirts of the city. The building leaned precariously, its windows cracked and its walls streaked with grime. He stepped inside cautiously, his weapon drawn, every muscle in his body tense.

You were waiting for him.

The safehouse smelled of damp wood and dust, the faint hum of the laptop filling the silence between you and Joshua. You leaned against the edge of the table, exhaustion etched into the lines of your face, but your eyes remained sharp, unyielding. The pistol sat within reach, a quiet reminder of the life you lived—a life Joshua should want no part of.

“Took you long enough,” you said when he finally stepped through the broken doorway, his silhouette outlined by the dim glow of a street lamp outside. There was a bite to your tone, but it wavered just enough to betray the relief hiding beneath it.

Joshua hesitated. He didn’t know what he expected to find—maybe a trap, maybe nothing at all. But here you were, waiting for him like you knew the thread had left him with no choice.

He nodded toward the pistol on the table. “You expecting someone else?”

You smirked, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Maybe. But not you.”

The weight of his steps seemed heavier as he crossed the room. His presence was quiet but impossible to ignore, like a storm brewing in the distance. He stopped a few feet away, just close enough for the tension between you to spark.

“They’ll kill you,” he said, his voice low, steady, but laced with something softer. Something closer to worry.

You laughed, bitter and tired, the sound almost foreign in the stillness. “And you’re here to, what? Warn me? That’s rich. What’s next? You’re going to tell me to turn myself in?”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. You didn’t need him to answer; the hesitation in his silence was enough.

“You’re swimming in dangerous waters,” he said finally, his tone quieter now, less an accusation and more a reluctant observation.

“Then teach me how to stay afloat,” you shot back, meeting his gaze head-on.

The words hung between you, heavier than the air in the room. His eyes flicked over your face, cataloging the shadows beneath your eyes, the faint bruise on your cheekbone, the cut just above your eyebrow. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did.

Without thinking, he reached out, his fingers brushing the edge of the cut. You flinched, inhaling sharply like the touch burned you.

He pulled his hand back as if scalded, the thread on his pinky burning like it had come alive, searing his skin with every beat of his heart. The pull was unbearable now, as if fate itself had decided to wrap its unyielding fingers around his throat.

“Fate’s a cruel mistress,” you murmured, almost to yourself, your voice barely above a whisper.

Before he could reply, your hand was on his face, fingertips grazing the edge of his jaw with a softness that shouldn’t have belonged in this world of violence and lies. He froze, caught between instinct and the undeniable gravity pulling him toward you.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said, your voice steady even as your eyes searched his face. “You don’t have to keep fighting against it.”

Joshua’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he let himself lean into your touch. Just for a moment. Your hand was warm against his skin, grounding him in a way he couldn’t understand but didn’t dare question.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said quietly, his words faltering as his gaze dropped to the thread burning bright red between you.

“I know enough,” you replied.

It wasn’t a confession. Not exactly. But it was enough to make his resolve splinter.

He stepped back, the moment breaking like glass. The room felt colder without you in reach, the distance between you suddenly unbearable. Joshua turned toward the door, his jaw tight, his hands trembling with something he didn’t want to name.

When he reached the threshold, he paused, glancing back at the table. The pistol still sat where you’d left it, untouched.

“If they come for you, run,” he said without turning to face you. “Don’t wait for me.”

You didn’t respond, but when the door closed behind him, the pistol remained exactly where it was.

He was sure he would never see you again. 

240 seconds… 239… 238…

Months slipped by, but the weight of you never did. 

Joshua buried himself in missions, but each one left him more fractured than the last. The Organization sent him from one corner of the world to another—extracting assets from hostile territories, infiltrating Syndicate bases, and dismantling black-market operations. The missions were a blur of violence and precision. A high-stakes extraction in Prague left him dangling from a helicopter over the Vltava River. In Istanbul, he spent weeks undercover in a Syndicate safehouse, passing information to the Organization while pretending to be one of them. In Bogotá, a firefight in a crumbling warehouse left his shoulder grazed by a bullet, the heat of it a reminder that he wasn’t invincible. 

You, meanwhile, had gone dark. No trail, no whispers of your whereabouts. He told himself it was for the best, that this was what survival looked like. But the truth twisted inside him like a knife: he wanted to find you, even if it meant breaking everything he’d built.

So in every city, in every crowd, he found himself scanning faces for yours. It wasn’t just  habit—it was compulsion. He looked for you in reflections, in the muted buzz of computer screens during late-night debriefings. It was irrational, foolish, and entirely unavoidable. You had taken root somewhere deep inside him, and no matter how many miles he traveled or how many agents he eliminated, you remained.

You were in the quiet moments between missions, in the brief silences before sleep claimed him. In the hum of static on his comms, he thought he heard your voice. And in the shadows, he sometimes swore he saw the outline of your figure, only to blink and find you gone. When the adrenaline wore off and exhaustion crept in, he caught himself tracing the thread on his wrist—the one that connected him to you. He hated it. He hated you. He hated himself for not hating you enough.

When he saw you again, it wasn’t planned. He told himself that, over and over, like a mantra meant to absolve him of guilt. 

The café was crowded, its warmth a sharp contrast to the biting cold outside. He’d come in for a quick reprieve, seeking caffeine and anonymity. But there you were, sitting by the window with your laptop open, fingers flying across the keyboard. The light from the screen cast a faint glow on your face, and he stopped in his tracks.

For a moment, he didn’t move. He couldn’t. His heart thundered in his chest, and his mind screamed at him to turn around and walk away. But his feet refused to listen.

You noticed him before he could decide. Your eyes flicked up from the screen, narrowing slightly in recognition before your lips curved into a smirk. You stood and approached, your movements so casual it made his stomach twist.

“Following me now?” you asked, sliding into the chair across from him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I should be,” he admitted, his voice low.

Your laugh was soft, disbelieving. “You’ve got other things to worry about, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” he replied, leaning back in his chair. “But you have a habit of making yourself hard to ignore.”

You arched a brow, amused. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Take it however you want.”

The edge that usually laced your conversations was gone, replaced by something quieter, more intimate. The café buzzed around you, but the noise faded as you fell into a rhythm, a shared bubble that felt fragile and fleeting.

You talked about nothing and everything. You mentioned a book you’d been reading—something about espionage, fittingly—and he countered with a story about a mission that reminded him of it. You argued over music, his disdain for synth-pop clashing with your guilty admiration for it.

“Places you’ve never been?” he asked at one point, watching as your fingers traced idle patterns on the rim of your coffee cup.

“Japan,” you said softly. “I’ve always wanted to see Kyoto in the fall. The colors, the temples… it feels like a dream.”

He smiled faintly. “You’d hate the humidity.”

“And you’d hate the crowds,” you shot back, grinning.

It was dangerous, this fragile intimacy. Joshua felt it with every word, every moment that passed. He couldn’t remember the last time he talked to someone like this, like the world outside didn’t exist.

When his hand accidentally brushed against yours, the thread ignited, searing into his skin with a heat that made him pull away too quickly. You noticed, your gaze flickering between your own hand and his, but you didn’t comment.

He was about to say something—he didn’t know what—when his instincts screamed at him. 

Syndicate operatives. Their movements were too deliberate, their eyes scanning the room too carefully. Joshua’s hand went to his Glock, hidden beneath his jacket, and his body tensed.

“Get down,” he said under his breath, but you were already aware.

The fight was quick and brutal. He moved like a ghost, his Glock barking twice before the café erupted into chaos. People screamed and scrambled as tables overturned, coffee spilling like blood. Two agents fell, their bodies hitting the floor with sickening thuds, and Joshua didn’t give the others a chance.

By the time the last operative dropped, the café was eerily silent, save for the panicked whispers of bystanders.

You stared at him, your chest heaving.

 “You just killed Syndicate agents,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“I know,” he said, his voice tight. He reached for your wrist, his grip firm and unyielding. “We need to go. Now.”

The rain outside was relentless, soaking you both as you ran. He didn’t let go of your wrist, and you didn’t pull away. The thread between you felt like a live wire, sparking with every step.

 210 seconds… 209… 208…

The motel room was a piss-poor excuse for shelter - it was suffocatingly small, air thick with the dampness of your rain-soaked clothes. Joshua’s hair clung to his forehead, water rolling down his sharp jawline. He paced the room like a caged animal, his movements sharp with anger.

“You’re too reckless,” he snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut through the still air. “Do you even understand what you’re doing? What you’re risking?”

You crossed your arms, defiant despite the chill that had seeped into your bones. “I know exactly what I’m playing with. This flash drive? Erebus? It has the names of every agent in your Organization. Every. Single. One.”

His jaw tightened, and he stopped pacing to glare at you. “The Syndicate isn’t just some petty operation. Erebus has everything—data on every agent in the Organization, their families, their locations. Do you have any idea what they’ll do to you if they find out you have that?”

“What they’ll do to me?” you shot back. “What about what they’ve done to everyone on that list? I’m not just going to stand by and let them—”

“This isn’t some noble crusade!” he interrupted, his voice rising. “This is suicide.”

“And what’s your solution? Pretend it doesn’t exist? Turn me over? Let the Organization do what they want with me while the Syndicate kills every last one of you?”

The argument escalated, voices overlapping, words cutting deep. But beneath the anger, there was something else—fear. Fear of losing, of breaking, of being undone.

When Joshua finally stopped pacing, you realized how close he had gotten. His chest rose and fell with the weight of his breaths, his hands curling into fists at his sides as though he were holding himself back.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he said, his voice low and strained. “If they catch you, they won’t just kill you. They’ll make you wish they had. And I can’t—” He cut himself off, his gaze dropping to the floor.

“Can’t what?” you demanded, your voice softer now but no less insistent. 

His nails cut into the meat of his palm. The thread tugged, searing against his skin as he exhaled defeatedly. 

“You need to leave,” he said, his voice raw and quiet.

“Why?” you demanded, refusing to look away.

His jaw tightened, and his gaze dropped to your lips for the briefest moment before snapping back up to your eyes. “Because if you stay, I won’t let you go.”

The air between you was heavy, suffocating. Neither of you moved, but the tension pulled taut, the thread between you burning like fire against his skin.

And then it snapped.

He kissed you like a man unraveling, his mouth desperate and unrelenting against yours. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as though proximity could fix whatever was broken inside him. You melted into him, matching his hunger with your own, your fingers tangling in the soaked fabric of his shirt.

Time blurred after that. The world outside ceased to exist, the rain pounding against the windows the only reminder that it hadn’t stopped spinning.

By the time dawn broke, the room was silent save for the faint sound of your breathing. Joshua stood by the door, fully dressed, his back turned to you. He didn’t look back as he stepped out into the rain, but the thread knotted around his finger burned brighter than ever, searing his skin with a pain he refused to acknowledge.

You woke to find the bed empty and the USB drive still clutched in your hand. He was gone, but the faint imprint of his touch lingered—on your skin, in your chest, and in the hollow ache he left behind.

 180 seconds… 179… 178…

The present clawed its way back to him in sharp, agonizing bursts as Joshua lay sprawled on the rain-slick asphalt. Pain tore through his side, hot and searing, every breath shallow and wet. The alley spun in shades of black and gray, the rain streaking his face like tears he’d never shed. Blood pooled beneath him, thick and warm against the cold, uncaring ground.

And yet, it wasn’t the physical pain that consumed him.

It was the mistakes—the ghosts of every choice that had led him here.

They unraveled in his mind, one by one, sharp-edged memories that wouldn’t let him rest. The mission in Berlin: Joshua had been too slow, a fraction of a second of hesitation that had cost his partner a bullet to the leg. He could still hear the crack of gunfire, the way his partner’s shout of pain cut through the chaos, and the look of betrayal that followed. He’d apologized—of course he had—but in their line of work, an apology wasn’t enough. The Organization didn’t care about remorse; they cared about results.

Then Madrid. Joshua had miscalculated the Syndicate’s response time, thinking he had ten minutes when he only had five. The extraction had turned into a massacre, the Syndicate responding with brutal efficiency. Civilians—people with nothing to do with their mission—had been caught in the crossfire. Joshua had stayed up that night, staring at his trembling hands, the smell of blood still clinging to him. He hadn’t spoken about it, hadn’t dared to, but the faces of the innocent haunted him every time he closed his eyes.

Seoul had been worse. The Syndicate asset had been within his grasp, mere feet away, but Joshua had underestimated their desperation. They’d slipped through his fingers with a single, calculated move, leaving him standing in an empty apartment with nothing to show for weeks of planning. He’d reported the failure with a steady voice, but inside, he felt the crushing weight of disappointment—the Organization’s and his own.

He could name every mistake, every failure, each one etched into his mind like a scar. And yet none of them—none of them—compared to the monumental fuck-up that had shattered everything.

Telling Sangyeon about the thread.

140 seconds… 139… 138…

It had been during a debrief, just days after the café incident. Joshua had killed two Syndicate operatives in broad daylight to protect you. The aftermath had been a whirlwind of blood and chaos, and somehow, through it all, he’d managed to get you to safety. He swore up and down he hadn’t seen you since. 

But the Organization demanded answers.

He could still see the stark room where it happened, its fluorescent lights humming overhead. Sangyeon sat across from him, his expression cold and unreadable. The air between them was heavy with tension, suffocating in its intensity.

“You killed two Syndicate agents,” Sangyeon said, his tone sharp, cutting. “In public.”

“They were going to kill her,” Joshua had replied evenly, refusing to flinch under Sangyeon’s glare.

“Her.” The word lingered, dripping with accusation. “Nyx.”

“She’s not a target,” Joshua said, his jaw tight.

“No,” Sangyeon agreed. “She’s a liability. She holds the very thing that could kill us all.”

That should’ve been the end of it. Joshua could’ve deflected, could’ve buried the truth like he had so many times before. But the thread burned against his fingers, the weight of it too much to bear.

“It’s not just her,” Joshua said, his voice low. “It’s... the thread.”

Sangyeon’s brow furrowed. “The what?”

“The thread,” Joshua repeated, leaning forward. “It’s real. It’s... fate. It connects us.”

For the first time, Sangyeon faltered, his expression shifting from confusion to something darker. He leaned back in his chair, the lines of his face hardening. “You’re saying you’re tied to her. That you’re bound to her.”

Joshua nodded once, the motion stiff. “It doesn’t change anything. I’ve kept my work separate—”

“It changes everything,” Sangyeon snapped, slamming a hand on the table. “You’ve compromised yourself. You’ve compromised us.”

“I haven’t,” Joshua shot back, his voice rising. “I’d never betray the Organization.”

But Sangyeon’s laughter was cold and cruel, a sound that made Joshua’s stomach twist. “You already have,” Sangyeon said.

And then he reached into his jacket, pulling out a Glock. He placed it on the table with a slow, deliberate motion, the click of metal against wood reverberating in Joshua’s ears.

“Prove it,” Sangyeon said, his voice unnervingly calm. He gestured to the gun, his eyes piercing. “Prove your loyalty right now.”

Joshua froze, his pulse hammering in his ears. The room seemed to shrink around him, the air too thick to breathe.

“Kill her,” Sangyeon said, his tone colder than ice. “If the thread is nothing, if fate is meaningless, then prove it. Take the gun. End it.”

The words sliced through Joshua like a blade. His hand hovered over the weapon, trembling, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t force himself to move.

His mind betrayed him, flashing with images of you—your defiance, your laughter, the rare moments of vulnerability you’d shared. He thought of the thread on his finger, burning with a purpose he couldn’t deny.

“No,” Joshua said finally, his voice breaking.

Sangyeon’s jaw tightened, his disappointment a palpable weight. “I knew it,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “You’re weak.”

Now, lying on the asphalt, Joshua clenched his jaw, the memory of Sangyeon’s words echoing in his head.

“You’re weak.”

The thread pulsed faintly, a cruel reminder of the one thing he could never sever, no matter how much he tried. Rain soaked through his clothes, his blood washing away in rivulets, but he clung to the memory of you.

The only thing he’d ever chosen over the Organization.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice a ragged breath lost to the storm.

120 seconds… 119… 118…

It took him days to find you again. The string tugged him south, sharper and more insistent than it had ever been before. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t slept in three days, that his ribs ached from a Syndicate operative’s well-placed kick, or that Sangyeon had started leaving bodies in his wake just to bait him. None of it mattered. The thread knew where you were, and Joshua had learned—finally, painfully—to trust it.

He found you in a dingy motel room in Bangkok, the kind of place where the sheets were stained and the walls were peeling, the fan overhead spinning lazily against the heat. The sight of you hit him like a punch to the gut. You were alive, sitting cross-legged on the bed with a laptop open, a half-eaten bowl of noodles on the nightstand. Relief surged through him so violently that he had to grip the doorframe to steady himself.

The door slammed shut behind him, and for a moment, there was silence—just the sound of the rain pattering against the cracked window and the faint hum of the overhead fan.

Then you moved.

Your hand flew to the gun on the nightstand, your instincts honed from years of survival. Joshua's hands shot up, palms open in surrender. “It’s me,” he said quickly, his voice low and soothing.

You hesitated, your fingers brushing the grip, before your eyes narrowed. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“And you shouldn’t still be in Bangkok,” he retorted, his words sharper than intended. “Do you have any idea how close they are?”

You glared at him, your expression hardening as you crossed your arms over your chest. “Close enough that you’ve led them straight to me?”

It was a low blow, but Joshua swallowed the sting. He stepped closer, shaking the rain from his jacket. “I didn’t lead them here. I came because I—” He cut himself off, his jaw tightening. “I came because you need to leave. Now.”

You didn’t move, didn’t flinch. If anything, your glare hardened. “Big talk from someone who left me in a shitty motel room.”

“I did it to protect you,” he countered, his voice breaking on the last word.

The argument spiraled quickly, your voices rising to fill the tiny room.

“You think I don’t know how to handle myself?” you snapped, your body tense, ready for a fight.

“Handle yourself? You’re a walking target, and you know it!” he fired back, his voice rising. “They’ll drag you back in chains if they don’t kill you outright.”

“And what’s your brilliant plan, huh? To swoop in and save me like you always do?”

“I’m trying to save us both!”

The words hung in the air, heavy and raw.

You stared at him, your chest heaving with anger, and then shoved him, hard. “You don’t get to decide that for me, Joshua!”

He stumbled back a step, more stunned by the fury in your voice than the force of the push. But when you tried to step past him, he grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading.

You yanked your arm free, your eyes blazing. “You don’t own me.”

“I never said I did,” he shot back, his voice trembling. “But damn it, I—” He paused, running a hand through his soaked hair, struggling for words. “I can’t stand the thought of them getting their hands on you.”

You stared at him, your expression unreadable, but when he reached out to touch your arm, you didn’t pull away.

“I don’t know what this is,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “This thread, this... connection. But I know that every time I think of you  in pain, it kills me. And the thought of you in their clutches…” He shook his head, his hand tightening around your arm. “It makes me want to tear the world apart. So please, for once, just run.”

90 seconds… 89… 88…

His voice cracked, raw and desperate, and the room fell into silence.

You stared at him, your expression unreadable, before tilting your head. “Run where?”

“Anywhere,” he pleaded. “I’ll keep them off your trail. Just... go. Disappear.”

Your gaze softened ever so slightly, and for a moment, he thought you might relent. But then you asked quietly, “And what about you, soldier? Will you come with me?”

70 seconds… 69… 68…

The nickname hit him like a blow, dredging up memories of whispered conversations in coffee shops and fleeting touches, of a time when things had been simpler. He didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” he said, the word a vow.

You nodded, swallowing hard, and moved to open the door.

That’s when you both saw him.

Sangyeon.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, but his expression was anything but relaxed. His eyes were cold, calculating, as they flicked from you to Joshua. “Going somewhere?” he asked, his voice smooth as silk.

Joshua’s heart sank.

60 seconds… 59… 58…

The rain came down in sheets, each drop striking your skin like tiny needles. Sangyeon’s voice echoed behind you as he shouted orders to his men, his tone sharp and commanding. He was close—too close. The three of you had been darting through the maze of alleys and narrow streets, but every turn seemed to bring his shadow closer. Joshua’s grip on your wrist tightened as he pulled you along, his pace relentless despite the exhaustion that clung to both of you. “We can’t outrun him forever,” you panted, glancing over your shoulder. The sight of Sangyeon’s silhouette closing in made your stomach twist.

Joshua didn’t respond, his jaw set in determination. His eyes darted around, scanning for an escape route. Finally, he spotted a low wall covered in ivy and debris, just high enough to give Sangyeon trouble but not impossible for the two of you.

“This way,” Joshua muttered, pulling you sharply to the left.

You reached the wall first, your breath hitching as you realized what he intended. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” you hissed.

“No time to argue,” Joshua snapped. He bent slightly, locking his fingers together into a makeshift foothold. “Up.”

You hesitated, but the sound of Sangyeon’s boots splashing through the puddles behind you left no room for debate. Gritting your teeth, you stepped into Joshua’s hands, using his strength to launch yourself up and over the wall. You landed awkwardly on the other side, the USB clutched protectively in your hand.

Joshua scrambled up after you, his movements less fluid but just as urgent. As soon as he hit the ground, he grabbed your arm again, tugging you forward. “Keep moving,” he said, his voice low and urgent.

The two of you ran, weaving through the labyrinth of alleyways, but Sangyeon was like a wolf on the hunt, his presence a constant pressure on your backs. You could hear him yelling into his radio, summoning reinforcements.

Joshua’s steps faltered as he realized the inevitable: there was no escaping Sangyeon together. His lungs burned, every breath a knife in his chest, but he pushed through the pain, his mind racing.

45 seconds… 44… 43…

“Stop!” he suddenly barked, pulling you to a halt.

“What are you doing?” you demanded, your voice rising in panic. “He’s right behind us!”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to you, his eyes searching your face as if trying to memorize every detail. His hair was plastered to his forehead, rivulets of rain carving paths down his cheeks.

“I know,” he said, cupping your face in his hands. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, even as his eyes searched yours desperately. “I know, but listen to me.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the look on his face stopped you cold.

“I need you to run,” he said, his voice breaking. “Don’t stop. Don’t look back. No matter what you hear, just keep running.”

You shook your head, your hands gripping his jacket. “I’m not leaving you.”

“You have to,” he insisted, his thumbs brushing the rain from your cheeks. “I’ll find you, I swear. But if Sangyeon catches you…” He trailed off, his voice choking on the thought.

Your lips parted, words hovering on the edge, but he didn’t let you speak. Instead, he kissed you.

33 seconds… 32… 31…

It wasn’t soft or hesitant—this was the kind of kiss born of desperation, of finality. His lips crashed against yours with an urgency that left you breathless, his hands sliding to the back of your neck to hold you close. The rain slicked your skin, mingling with the tears you didn’t realize you’d shed.

His kiss was everything he couldn’t say.

I’ll protect you. I’ll find you. I’ll love you, one day. When we have time.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath coming in uneven gasps.

“I’ll find you,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before you could protest, he shoved you away. “Go!”

For once, you listened.

You stumbled, your heart twisting as his hand slipped from yours. For once, you listened. You turned and ran, clutching the USB to your chest, the sound of your footsteps swallowed by the rain.

Joshua stayed frozen, watching until you disappeared into the darkness. Then he turned, his hand dropping to the knife at his side as Sangyeon stepped into the alley.

25 seconds… 24… 23… 

“Well,” Sangyeon drawled, his voice laced with mockery. “I didn’t think you’d stoop this low, Joshua. Running off with her? Betraying everything for—what, love?”

Joshua didn’t dignify him with a response. Instead, he lunged.

The fight was brutal from the start.

Joshua lunged first, catching Sangyeon off guard with a shoulder tackle that slammed him into the wall. But Sangyeon recovered quickly, driving his elbow into Joshua’s ribs with enough force to make him stagger.

“Still as reckless as ever,” Sangyeon sneered, dodging a wild swing and countering with a sharp punch to Joshua’s jaw.

Joshua spat blood, his eyes blazing as he charged again. This time, he feinted left and struck right, his fist connecting with Sangyeon’s temple. The blow sent Sangyeon reeling, but he didn’t go down. Instead, he kicked out, catching Joshua’s knee and sending him to the ground.

Sangyeon didn’t waste a second. He grabbed Joshua by the collar, hauling him up and slamming him against the wall.

“You’d throw everything away for her?” he hissed, his breath hot against Joshua’s face.

Joshua snarled, shoving him back with all his strength. “You don’t know a damn thing about her.”

Sangyeon’s laugh was cold, cruel. “Oh, I know enough. And when I bring her in, I’ll make sure she’s in chains. You can watch every second of it.”

The words cut deeper than any blade. Joshua froze, his blood turning to ice.

20 seconds… 19… 18… 

That moment of hesitation cost him.

Sangyeon drove his fist into Joshua’s stomach, doubling him over, and then swept his legs out from under him. Joshua hit the ground hard, the asphalt tearing at his skin.

Before he could recover, Sangyeon pulled out his gun.

The muzzle flash lit up the rain.

10...Joshua's eyes fluttered open, barely. The pain—the sharp, blinding agony in his chest—wasn’t there anymore. It was strange, almost peaceful. His body felt weightless, as if the rain had washed him clean of everything, even his senses. So this is it, he thought. This is where it ends.

9...Out of the corner of his vision, the red thread glimmered faintly against the darkness, slick with rain but unbroken. He had forgotten about it until now, a lifeline he hadn’t dared to hope for. It felt absurd, this fragile thing tethering him to someone in a moment like this. And yet, without fully understanding why, he reached for it. His fingers were trembling, weak, but they managed to curl around the string.

And then, he tugged.

8...The thread pulsed, faint and distant, like a heartbeat far away. Joshua blinked through the haze clouding his vision, confusion prickling at the edges of his fading mind. Was it always this warm? The rain poured harder, soaking him to the bone, yet the thread seemed to thrum with something else entirely—something alive. He could feel it pulling back, gentle but insistent.

7...Images began to flicker in his mind - a life that he so desperately wished to be his: your laugh echoing on a summer night, your hand in his as you pulled him through a crowd, the softness of your gaze when you thought he wasn’t looking. Each one burned brighter than the last, brighter than the rain-soaked world around him.

6...He heard it then—footsteps. They were frantic, splashing through puddles, growing louder with every heartbeat. His grip on the thread tightened instinctively, the pulse of it quickening in response.

Was it you?

5...“Joshua!”

Your voice cut through the storm, raw and desperate. His heart lurched at the sound, even as his body refused to move. It was you—he knew it was you. He wanted to call out, to tell you to stop, to stay back. But no words came.

4...The thread flared, glowing like fire, as your hand found his face. The warmth of your touch spread through him, chasing away the cold, the darkness, the fear. It was grounding, anchoring him to the world he thought he was leaving behind.

3...“Joshua,” you sobbed, your voice breaking. He felt the hot sting of your tears against his skin, mingling with the rain. “You need to fight. Do you hear me? You need to fight!”

His lips parted, but no sound escaped. He wanted to say your name, to tell you he was trying. He wanted to tell you everything.

2...“Soldier!” you screamed, your voice fierce and trembling all at once. “Wake up!”

Something inside him stirred—an ember reigniting. The thread between you burned white-hot, a tether he wasn’t ready to let go of yet. Not now. Not like this.

1...Joshua felt your hand shake against his face, your tears slipping over his lips as they parted slightly. He wanted to answer, wanted to give you something—anything—but his body betrayed him. The warmth of your hand began to fade, the glow of the thread flickering like a dying lightbulb.

He tried to move, to hold onto you, but everything felt heavy, as if the earth itself had decided to bury him in its arms. Your sobs were the last thing he heard clearly, breaking apart with a rawness that pierced deeper than the bullet ever could.

“Joshua,” you choked out one last time, his name a plea, a prayer, a demand.

But the world was already gone.

Joshua’s eyes flutter open, the harsh fluorescent lights above blinding him for a moment. The world is blurry at first, a smear of color and sound, like he’s waking from some fevered dream. He doesn’t feel the weight of pain anymore. In fact, he doesn't feel much of anything, save for a subtle warmth spreading across his palm.

The thread.

The faint pulse against his skin is all it takes to bring him fully back to reality. It burns, but in a way that makes him feel alive—makes him feel like he didn’t just escape death. Like he’s been given another chance.

He turns his head slowly, wincing at the movement, and there you are. You’re slumped in a chair next to the bed, your head resting against the edge. Your fingers are intertwined with his, holding on to him with the kind of tenderness that feels unreal. His heart beats faster, a familiar warmth spreading through his chest. Is this real?

He squeezes your hand instinctively, half because he’s convinced he’s dreaming and half because he’s sure he’s entirely undeserving of this second chance.

The moment his fingers tighten, you stir. Your eyes flicker open, disoriented at first. Then you meet his gaze, and for a moment, neither of you moves. It’s like time itself is holding its breath.

But then, without warning, you lunge forward, your hand flying out to smack him across the face with a force he didn’t know you had in you.

“If you ever,” you hiss, your voice low and threatening, your eyes sharp with something that could easily pass for murderous rage, “do some stupid shit like that again, I swear to God I’ll kill you  myself.”

Joshua blinks, stunned into silence for a moment. He half expects you to break down in tears, but instead, you're breathing hard, your face flushed with fury.

A chuckle escapes him, soft at first, but it grows, shaking his chest, almost delirious with the relief that floods him. The laughter feels like freedom. Like the sun breaking through clouds. And that’s when you breathe out, your body visibly relaxing. You lean back in your chair, exhaling deeply, as if letting go of a breath you’d been holding for far too long.

Then, without missing a beat, you smile—wide, so wide, that Joshua is certain the sun couldn’t compete. It’s pure, unbridled joy, the kind of smile he hasn’t seen from you in what feels like forever.

You lean down, kissing him softly, the kiss tender and sweet, as if he’s fragile, as if the world could break him again at any moment.

“Welcome back, soldier,” you breathe against his lips, your voice warm with affection.

He smiles faintly, the corners of his lips curling up. "Where are we?" he asks softly, his voice hoarse with the remnants of sleep.

“Some hospital in Bangkok,” you say, your hand sliding to his cheek, gently cupping it as you meet his eyes. “Pretty sure I scared the staff half to death when I dragged you in here.”

He laughs quietly, his body still too sore to do much else. “I’m sure you did.” He pauses, something lingering between you both. He studies the way the light from the window catches the strands of your hair, the way you seem so alive, so full of strength despite everything. "What do we do now?"

You don’t say anything at first. Instead, you pull out a set of passports from your bag, holding them out to him. The photos are undeniably of the two of you, but the names... they’re someone else’s. The last names match.

He raises an eyebrow, his lips curving up in a teasing smile. “Are we brother and sister?” he asks, his voice light.

You smack him again, but it’s gentler this time, laced with affection. “If you want to keep joking, I’ll slap you again,” you warn, but there’s a warmth in your eyes.

“Then what do you say, soldier?" you ask with a grin. "Wanna see Kyoto in the fall?"

Joshua leans back, chuckling, despite the sore ache in his body. "I told you, you’d hate the humidity."

"And you'd hate the crowds," you tease right back. "But is that a yes?"

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he hums against your lips, the sound full of quiet amusement. He pulls you in for another kiss, his hands sliding to your back, pulling you closer.

Later, after a few quiet hours, once you’ve crawled into bed beside him, Joshua’s hand rests against your waist, his chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. The heart monitor is the only sound in the room, its rhythmic beeping the only proof that he’s still here, still alive.

“You asked me once,” Joshua says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “If my fate felt like a noose.”

You nod slowly, tracing the outline of his hand with your fingers. “And? Does it?”

He stares at the ceiling for a long moment, lost in thought. Then he turns his head, looking at you with a quiet intensity. “No,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “It feels like life.”

You don’t speak right away, letting the words sink in, letting them settle between you like an unspoken truth. Then you smile, a soft, knowing smile, and kiss him once more, gentle and full of promise.

And as you close your eyes in the silence of the room, the only sound is the ticking of the clock on the wall, counting up slowly, a reminder that time, even after everything, keeps moving forward.

1... 2... 3...

tagging: @ottersmind @blvenote @kyeomsworld @cookiearmy @armycarat2612 @rjea @xylatox @flwrshwa

@christinewithluv @headlockimnida @letwiiparkjay @cherr-y-eji @codeinbelle @baguette-atiny @whoa-jo @noiceoofed

[stararch4ngelqueen]

Innocent Possession

—

Time Written - 11:52 p.m.

Arkham Knight/fem!reader smut

Tags: Smut, possessive, breeding/innocence kink. Jason might be a meanie. (Not Proofread. Have to work on a Saturday AND I BROKE MY NAIL 🫠)

This man is such a slut it’s not even funny anymore. LOOK AT THAT.👇 THIS WAS INSPIRED BY THAT 👆

—

His lush, heavy breathing fans along your exposed, maroon muddled neck. Sharp teeth dimpling your skin in harsh punctures, not enough to draw blood quite yet.

Hands that once cradled your neck like porcelain art in the distance of the past, now grasped your throat like a damn vice, pairing with his grip on your shoulder to force you back against him with each deep, aching thrust.

One of the major accomplishments of his new identity, his new life, was to find the innocence of his past. The highlight of his life for many years was brought to him, bound and gagged as Gotham was in the midst of evacuation. Your clothes were torn and rustled from aggressive attempts to subdue you, enough to leave bruises along your supple, upper arms as you thrashed and screamed.

Now those bastards of men lay dead outside the hall. Scattered corpses slumped along the floors, dreadfully bland decor that meant nothing to the Knight that holstered his gun after his short pursuit.

Your first greeting from the armored man was terrifyingly quiet, towering over you like a beast after approaching where you cowered.

His hands grasp hold of his helmet before you could beg for your life, only trying to make it towards the Evac buses before you were hauled off by those bastards. All words died on your tongue when steel cut blue eyes meet yours, brows faintly furrowed, his jaw taunt with incredibly strong tension.

You’re his ex, but not by choice. None of this was by choice. He vanished for a year, only to be presumed dead the next.

You never hated him enough to put that label on him. Any attempt to begin your list of a million questions abruptly halts before it even began, as his lips instantly assault yours.

“That’s a good girl. My fucked out little whore.” He grunts, squeezing your hips closer to his pelvis, bullying his fat cock deeper into your tight walls.

The ropes that kept you bound now uselessly dangled from your wrists like cheap bracelets, the skin of your knuckles lightening as you helplessly plant them along the wall. Skin grew sticky with milky cum in between both your bodies, loud and wet, seeping down in between your bare thighs.

Watching and feeling your juices dampen the front of his red tactical pants was a punishment in itself, one he was feeling kind enough to save for later.

Maybe fucking your mouth would make for good punishment, listening to you choke as he grinds against your face, a pool of your combined mess seeping along your dirty knees on the ground.

“You better hope I never learn if any other guy fucked what’s mine, Princess,” He huffs against your kiss bruised lips, barely taking breaks to let you breathe. “Woulda’ rather had you cryin’ on fuckin’ toys than another man.”

Your whimper sounded like a cry, making Jason believe he could do so here right now, in this dingy room, underneath a dusty headlight. He hovers more over your back, tilting your head just enough to crash his lips against yours.

Feverishly responding to such a heavy, messy kiss, you moan fully against his rough, scar lined lips, amplifying when his tongue promptly invades. He licks with feverish hunger as a hand slips under your waist, huffing at your jolt at the sudden, angry assault on your nub, forcing your walls to deliciously clench towards a third orgasm.

The sounds he could pull from his sweet girl never ceases to amaze him. Even before his death, you were nothing but kind, the epitome of polite and heartwarming sweetness. What the hell were you thinking, choosing to date a guy like him?

Doesn’t matter if he died. No man is ever gonna take what’s been his for a very, very long time.

You won’t have to tell him now, but he’ll know. He has the capability to learn all your deepest secrets, knowing he could drag them out of you so easily.

“You miss me, pretty girl?” His hot rasp rumbles richly along the shell of your ear, sparking an uproar of your over sensitive nerves.

“You miss cryin’ on my dick, Princess? Missed how good it made you feel, how perfect you’d behave just to get bred? Tell me,” he grunts after relinquishing from the kiss. “Tell me you did. Say it loud, tell me you missed me.”

“I did-“ You spew out from quivering lips, ripples of tears trailing down your cheeks.

“I did, Jay. M-Missed you so much—“

Your voice draws out an empty whine towards your last word, hearing the collision of hot skin get louder as he gets harsher, brutal, eagerly desperate to make up for all the time he’s lost.

His sweet, innocent girl resorted to a jittery, babbling fleshlight. You could say anything he wanted, his guarded ego crumbling from the truth laced in your words.

You missed him, grieved for him, loved him. Yet, all he saw you as right now is his babbling whore, his whining little baby who never got used to the size of him driving deep into your cunt.

Honestly, he hopes you never will.

Your front further gets pressed flat against the wall, hot skin shivering from the harshness of the cold surface. Thick, precisely detailed armor digs deep into your back when he leans over you, keeping his persistent grip along your jaw, keeping you suspended just enough to breathe when he fucks you.

“S’been hell without ya, sweetheart,” He lowers his tone, whispering with a kiss of taunt as he rocks himself against your plush ass, keeping you cock drunk per his amusement.

“My baby wanna prove how much she missed me?” He cooes along your ear, smirking sadistically to your complete unawareness. “My baby wanna have a baby? She wanna have her pussy filled to prove she always loved me?”

You whine out ‘yes’ over and over, your back arching heavily from his relentless pace. The more space you involuntarily create, the closer Jason leans into you, the harder the plating digs into your back. The harsher the head of his cock endlessly strikes your cervix, making you just about lose it.

A series of curses spewed from your lips, resulting in three thick fingers shoved into your mouth, tasting yourself prior when he assaulted your soaked core.

“Language, babygirl,” Jason sneers against your cheek, despising the foul words that left those pretty lips. “Don’t badmouth me like a cheap whore. You’re my good girl. Fucking act like it.”

His other hand promptly pressed against your abdomen, forcing your lower half closer towards his waist. With his overwhelming free reign on your body, Jason bullies your sore, abused pussy with a series of sharp slaps, your clit stinging from repeated impacts.

You jolt out, sobbing out a series of apologies laced in short begs in the midst of various squeals.

In another life, he was your gentle giant. Now, he was a monster lusting after much more than blood. Jason was a simple man; wanting nothing more than the death of his mentor, and his ex’s warm cunt until he’s fully satisfied.

You whine out something that sounded like a mix between a cry and a moan. He clicks his tongue, tilting your head back just a little more while halting his hand, catching sight of those teary, bubbly eyes and quivering lip.

“Speak up, baby.”

“I-I’m sorry!” You hiccup, your nails scraping along the wall from overstimulation.

“I’m sorry Ja-Jason, please—“

You stumble over words. A pure miracle over how flustered you were to say your desire after being his sex doll.

“Please what?” He demands, losing what patience he never had.

“A baby,” you whine out, purposely leaning into his palm, fluttering your teary lashes. “Give me your baby, Jason. I want it. Please.”

His brows raise in surprise, slowly rocking his hips whilst holding back a grunt. Yes, he said it, desiring it, but hearing you beg for this. To ruin your beautiful body with his tainted seed.

“M’Not gonna stop, y’know. Even when it takes.” His voice dribbled with lustful possession while his hips stutter back into an uproar, nibbling along your lobe with sharp teeth. “That what you want? You ready for that?”

You moan out an easy agreement with more eagerness than before, allowing your body to relax against his chest.

“Y’hear me, Princess?” Jason braced a hand along the wall, clutching hold of your hand in his grasp, keeping your fingers safe in his fist. “I’m gonna make you a mama by the end of tonight.”

The Bats can wait, for now. Once he’s dead, once he’s been dealt with, then he’ll have much more opportunity to celebrate.

[reflectionsofacreator]

“You know, it’s generally not the best idea to sneak up on a vigilante. Let alone someone like me,” Red Hood drawled as he rest his hand on his gun holster. 

The floating teenager chuckled at him, and it sounded tired. “Yeah, I’m not known for ‘em, sorry.” 

He was about the same age as the girl with the undercut, maybe around seventeen to nineteen, and the dark bags on his pale cheeks were highlighted by the glowing toxic green eyes that stared straight at him. A fringe of white hair floated around his head like it was moving through water, just barely hiding how his ears swept up into a point and when he grinned at Jason, all his teeth were pointed. He was wearing a black body suit that Nightwing would be jealous of, with white accents that highlighted his lean, masculine frame. 

“You with them?” Hood asked, and jerked his chin in the direction of the van. 

“My sisters, yeah,” the guy said with a shrug. The motion seemed a bit wrong somehow, but Jason couldn’t figure out why. “Sorry, I know I should have better manners than this, but things’ve been… uh. Bad. I meant to bring you a gift and ask if they -- if we could stay here, but uhm…” 

“A gift.” Red Hood stated, and didn’t move save to cock his head curiously to the side. 

Green Eyes rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and lifted up his other hand in a half shrug. “Sorry, I don’t really have much to offer, and I’m so sorry about messing up the vibes of your haunt. You probably felt us for hours, huh.” 

He didn’t react to that, save to let his considering noise drag through his vocoder and render it a staticky, low pitched hum. It unnerved a lot of people, but surprisingly the teen only winced and didn’t look scared. 

“Yeahhhh I was kind of afraid of that,” he huffed. “Okay. My name’s Phantom. I promise I’m not trying to mess with your haunt, I’m just… trying to keep an eye on my sisters after everything that happened. Keep em safe, you know? I swear they won’t get into trouble, we just need a place to live.” 

“What about you? You going to get into trouble?” Hood asked and shifted his stance to be about ten percent less threatening. It worked, because Phantom brightened, literally his eyes flared, and he looked a bit more at ease. 

“Me? Naw, I’m just going to haunt my sisters and that’s it. Won’t get into trouble, I promise.” 

“The fuck you mean, haunt your sisters? You some type of ghost or something?” Hood huffed. 

Phantom winced. 

“The fuck.” 

-dry wine rebirth, ch 1

Summary

Learning that the new family of maybe-metas had their dead brother for a ghostly protector was not on Red Hood's bingo sheet, and Jason getting roped into a date with one of the sisters was even less on that damn thing. But something's off with the Nightingales, they're running from something, hiding, and it was the same thing that killed their brother, Jason's sure of it - and Phantom's ominous warning that he might be next is getting under his skin.

Hm. Hm. Yeah no, I don't have a defense for this. I got sucked into this niche little crossover. I dunno how much brainspace this is gonna eat, but have what I've gotten so far.

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

MISTAKEN IDENTITY

A/N: I'm gonna warn you ahead of time, this is gonna be unhinged as fuck. Just stay with me ok. There's not enough fics about Noah Wyle characters (I was the bitch complaining about it like three days ago), so I'm gonna start mashing shit together so I can enjoy them all.

Very "Marvel What If?" ish, if that makes sense. So, here we go.

WHAT IF... Aliens took over the world while John Carter was working as an ER attending at County General and this all happened while his friend from residency, Jack Abbot, came to visit him between deployments, and he meets you but you confuse him for your husband Tom Mason? [aka I’m taking John Carter and shoving him into the Falling Skies universe, but because I know The Pitt better than ER I’m mixing up the staff at County General with Pitt characters] [aka aka I saw a pictures of Noah Wyle and Shawn Hatosy in an apocalypse AU and it altered my DNA]

John Carter x F!Reader; mentioned Tom Mason x F!Reader

Warnings: cursing, mentions of death and destruction, the world ended, uhhh description of mild injuries, that's really it for this one

Word Count: 1,646

The world ended.

It happened suddenly, without warning, and it came from the sky. The fucking sky. Carter never spent a lot of time wondering how the world would end. If someone had forced him to guess though, aliens would’ve been very, very low on the list. Thinking back, he was pretty sure the staff once held a bet about the end of the world. Somebody had bet on aliens, but Carter couldn’t remember who. Maybe Jerry? Whoever it was earned a hell of a pretty penny.

Not that money mattered anymore.

Carter peered around the tipped over car he was hiding behind. There wasn’t any motion he could see, but there was still skittering in the distance. Too close for comfort. He locked his jaw and rechecked his weapon. He still hadn’t gotten used to the weight of a gun in his hands. Prior to the end of the fucking world, he had never held one before. A shotgun for skeet shooting, sure, but this was different.

The sound of steps grew more pronounced. Carter stiffened where he sat. Every muscle freezing as his breath caught in his throat. He had only gone head-to-head with the aliens a few times. Hell, he could count the encounters on one hand. Obviously, Carter considered himself lucky to be able to claim that, but the doctor in him was still curious. The anatomy alone was so unusual. A head that reminded him of a sea creature, maybe a squid, a torso similar to humans with only two arms, but connected to six legs with tripod-like feet.

Roaches. Skitters. Cooties. They had all sorts of names. Some more clever than others.

Shuffling became more pronounced, only a few feet away, and Carter peered around the car once more, this time with his gun raised and ready. His aim landed on Abbot who huffed in response. His friend looked worse for wear. His wavy, brown hair messier than usual and his features still showcased the highlights from the last brawl he was in—a busted lower lip and dark bruising under his right eye. Unlike himself, Abbot seemed built for this new world. It was probably his recent deployment overseas as a combat medic. Carter counted his blessings that the end of the world came when Abbot was back in the states visiting him on leave.

“You know how pissed I’d be if you fucking shot me?” Abbot snorted. Carter tucked the pistol back into its holster and rose to his full height as Abbot passed him. “You turned on your safety, right?”

“Course I did.” Carter replied. Behind his friend’s back, he checked his gun and flipped the safety when he realized it was off. “What’d you find?”

“Nothing good. Place was ransacked of any useful supplies. Almost ran into a couple of scabs though a few blocks down.” Scabs, or scabies, were what their little group had gotten accustomed to calling the creatures which was less creative and more a testament to their science focused minds. “Fuckers are getting closer and closer to us.”

Fuckers was their other name for the creatures—less creative or scientific and more a testament to their rage.

“We’re running out of everything other than medical supplies.” Carter commented as he caught up to match Abbot’s stride. The upside of making base in the ER was it left most of the hospital to be scoured. Carter would never complain about their stash of medicine, but he’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t trade an absurd amount of it for a hot, well-cooked meal. God, he was starting to miss the cafeteria food at this point. “Any ideas for that?”

“We can make the med students eat gauze.” Abbot offered, unhelpful. “Save us three shares right there.”

“You’re just pissed Whitaker stepped on your prosthetic this morning.”

“I can’t exactly take it to get fixed if he fucks it up.”

“He apologized.” Carter chuckled, but Abbot just huffed. “C’mon. You can’t stay mad at him. He looks like a kicked puppy.”

“More like the ghost of some Victorian era child that drowned at sea.”

Carter laughed but quickly bit back the sound knowing it wasn’t safe to make so much noise. He shook his head with a small grin. “The point is, you should cut the kid some slack.”

“I didn’t kill him this morning, did I?” Abbot retaliated with a scoff.

They reached the mouth of the alley that would take them to the back of County General’s ER. It was blocked off by a couple dumpsters, a car, and a few other bulky items they had been able to push together. The other entrance into the ER had been barricaded closed entirely. An attempt to control access to their makeshift camp.

“Heya, docs. Please tell me you’re bringing lunch.” Olsen called out from where he sat on watch.

Abbot snorted, “Does it look like I’m carrying supplies?”

Olsen let out a low whistle as Abbot slid past the barrier and down the alley. He met Carter’s eyes, “He’s in a mood.”

“That’s his baseline.” Carter replied. He paused, “Hey, who bet on aliens for that end of the world pool? Was it Jerry?”

“Nah, Jerry bet on mole people.” Olsen hummed. “I don’t remember who put money down on aliens. I guessed asteroid. Just take us all fuckin’ out.” He snapped his fingers. “Like that.”

Carter gave him a pat on the shoulder before heading in. Maybe it would’ve been better if whatever apocalyptic disaster had just ended humanity. It was a grim thought, but everything was grim these days. Death wasn’t new to Carter. That’s what he told himself.

Every time they lost someone, he’d try to pretend it was just another work day—just another patient. But, it wasn’t. The faces he was losing were ones he knew. Ones he loved. Just last week they lost Julie. She worked in med-surg. Carter hadn’t met her until the world ended.

Julie was sweet. Funny. No local family, but a sister who lived in upstate New York, and she had been studying and applying to move to the ICU. It was a stray bullet that had taken her. Not even fighting against the scabs. It had been a pair of guys, trying to rob a small group of them as they were out scouting, and it had gone badly.

They had enough time to bring her back to County General. Carter worked on her for over an hour. It hadn’t been enough.

Death was still death, but Carter was getting worse at pretending like it didn’t fucking ruin him.

“Carter!”

As he passed what used to be the physician lounge, McKay stepped out to grab his attention. He turned to greet his second-year resident. Though, none of them were his residents anymore he supposed. The red head motioned for him to walk with her.

“Everything alright?” He asked.

“Yeah, but while you were gone we picked up someone new.”

Carter furrowed his brow, “New?” Seven months ago they were actively looking for strangers to save. That had stopped about two months back when it burned them—bad. “Who went out—”

“No one went out.” McKay shook her head. “She came here. Limped up to the barrier. We’re thinking it’s a high ankle sprain. I wrapped it up, gave her some Percocet, and a liter of LR.” Carter couldn’t help but give a soft chuckle as McKay inadvertently gave him a patient check out. She seemed to catch herself and shook her head. “Sorry, anyways, she said she was in Montana when everything went to shit.”

Carter’s eyes widened, “Montana??”

“Yeah, and she’s making her way to Boston. Trying to, at least.”

“Jesus Christ.”

McKay was leading him back to one of the trauma rooms. Through the doors' windows he could see a woman lying on the bed. Carter ran a hand through his hair and stopped outside.

“She’s alone?”

“As far as we can tell.” McKay hesitated with her hand on the door. “She says she’s alone, and we haven’t noticed anyone lingering around outside.”

Carter blew out a breath and nodded once. McKay pushed the door open and went in first. He followed a step behind her. As he did, you sat up on the bed—attached to an IV pole with a bag of LR that was nearly empty. As McKay had said, your ankle was wrapped up and based on your sluggish movement it had been a higher dose of Percocet.

Locking eyes with him, he heard you suck in a sharp breath. Carter didn’t get a chance to say a word. You leapt off the bed, nearly toppling to the ground with heavy and injured limbs, and he watched in shock as you ripped the IV from your arm. McKay cried out and rushed over to help you, but you shoved past her and made a beeline to him. Carter grunted when your body slammed into his—arms locked tightly around his neck. He had no choice but to wrap his own arms around your body to keep you from slumping to the floor.

Carter opened his mouth, to question you or McKay or the universe itself, but you pulled your head back just enough to roughly press your lips to his. His eyes widened as your warm, chapped lips slotted against his. The kiss lasted only a few seconds. Not long enough for Carter to understand or appreciate the moment of softness.

You pulled back to stare at him. Pretty eyes clouded with confusion as the exhaustion was growing more clear on your features.

“Uh, hi.” Carter breathed, still holding you.

Exhaustion crumpled into heartbreak, and he was alarmed at the agony taking hold as tears collected at your waterline. You shook your head and mumbled, voice broken and pained, “You’re not Tom.”

[writingoddess1125]

Nails Going Dark

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x FemReader

I think I've neglected Gaz, so let's change that!

Fluffy mild suggestive themes also Funny/stupid

Kyle would never say it out loud-

But he loved seeing you with your nails done.

It reminded him that he was home, that you were safe and well cared for.

A constant colorful reminder of the domestic little nest he had carved out for the two of you.

He. Loved. Them.

He loved the way it made you talk with your hands more, The way it highlighted your interest and bits of personality.

How when you holds you close those nights, wrapped up in each other the way your nails dig into the shoulders of his back.

It always seemed to bring him back to wanting more of you and melting in your soft polished hands.

He'd pay any amount to make sure you had your nails always done. Hours he has spent sitting in those tiny chairs, watching as you and the nail tech chat away.

Standing there going through the endless shelves of colors and handing you a polish he thinks would look nice.

Waiting so patiently until they were perfect to your liking before taking a look at the finished work.

"What did ya get this time?-"

You smiling up at him brightly as you show off what you'd gotten this time.

He's always smiling, looking at the fresh set. Happy to see what color he'd or you chosen proudly displayed and the touches you added to make it your own.

Tipping heavily he practically ushered you back to the car, excited to bring you back home for his favorite part..

You plopping down on the livingroom couch, a smile already on your lips as you knew what was next- The small little ritual that always took place.

Kyle sliding in next to you, Head going straight to your lap as he patiently waited.

Smiling to yourself, before starting to run your fingers through his short hair. Hearing him hum at each pass of the soft scratches on his scalp. Kyle just soaking it all in- The cucumber bullshit lotion they always put on your hands afterwards, and that still faint smell of polish.

It rendered him useless under your palm.

His chocolate eyes rolling closed as he let his body so slack and head cuddle into your lap like a happy house cat.

It was his own little bit of heaven he adored- a motivation that always made him want to return home in a rush with a wad of cash to have your nails done.

Even now on the Copter about to go on the latest mission he browsed through his phone, His boot impatiently tapping on the floor as he straightened out his hat for the 4th time in less then 30 minutes as he searched through his phone.

"Gaz?-"

..

"Gaz!?-"

Kyle looked up from his phone, a bit annoyed see Soap staring at him. The mohawked male gesturing to his phone.

"What the fuck you looking at mate?-"

"...Misses is getting her nails done soon, so I'm helping her pick a design"

And of course fucking silence..

"You're taking the piss.."

"No-"

Soap now leaning over quick catching a peak at his phone, seeing that indeed- He was looking at some nail art.

"Whats the problem-"

"The problem is we are about to go dark- and you're picking out pretty nails"

"And-"

Soap looked at him like he was stupid, Gesturing to the sparky nails on his phone and the loaded gun on the holster.

"When do you know anything about damn manicures"

Ghost finally cut in, now curious himself at this point. Kyle rolling his eyes a bit as he saw this conversation not going in his favor..

"Since we started dating and she asked for my opinions"

Ghost shook his head in disbelief as he folded his arms.

"I've seen you less focused on a damn target then looking at fucking nails Gaz"

"I like her with her nails done-"

He defended, Already feeling a bit of warmth on his face as he continued to scroll through his phone.

"Bet its a kink thing-" Ghost said, Soap nodding as he snapped his fingers to his LT in agreement.

"Has to be-"

Kyle glared at the two as he slams his phone screen down on his knee offended and now embarrassed.

"Its not a kink thing! She likes it! I like it- So what's the damn problem!?"

Soap smirked and pointed a finger to him next with a sarcastic smile.

"Fine then not a kink- But what kind are you picking then-"

Kyle opened his lips to respond however shut up quickly. Realizing the trap that was being set up for him to answer.

However the damage was done when Soap started to laugh hard.

"Damn-! Whoever that lass is has you whipped"

"I'm not whipped-"

"Bullshit!"

Kyle felt ready to clock Soap them when Price finally stepped in. Yelling at them all.

"Alright Settle down lads!"

All of them grew quiet as Kyle picked up his phone again. Glaring at the two men infront of him, Knowing down well they were still ready for another round.

"No shame in a man just wants to help his Lass.. by scrolling through pinterest"

Price managed to say through a half cocked laugh. Making the others chuckle, Ghost even bowing his head to silently laugh.

"Piss Off- All of you. Not my fault you dont have someone who likes to look nice-"

Just like that opening up a can of worms as they all started to argue back and forth, All claiming it was 'Different' and that their respected partners looked nice and that the nails were a different matter apparently.

"You're one to talk Johnny- You Said you had a thing for lace-" Ghost shot back quickly after Johnny made a jab at apparently the Lieutenant liking his partner to have lemon scented stuff.

"I told you that in confidence asshole!-"

They all continued their playful arguments at each other which earned a few well placed jabs in return of course-

However Kyle really didn't care at this point.

Kyle could only smile to himself as he sent the little inspiration photo to you and slid his phone back in his pocket.

He hoped you liked the pretty almond cateye nails he picked-

He sure did.

[therapyandprozac]

Title: I Can Fix Him (or Highway Handjob)

Rating: Explicit

Words: 900

Warnings: Light Gun Play, Handjob, Blowjob, Teasing, Pet Names, A Cheeky Pussy Slap For Fun, all while he is driving a car (Don’t blow and drive y’all, just read about it ;))

Description: Okay, soooo…when I first heard Taylor Swift’s “I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)” this fic started writing itself in my head (yes it took me this long, I’m bad at this guys.) A hand job on the highway at consensual gun point. No name for him as usual, but I was thinking of Dean or daddy J. Miller.

————

You’ve been the interstate for hours, you look at the GPS and see not a turn for miles. Looking over you see your man with one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh. He happily sings along with the radio, while you just watch him from the passenger seat. Cheekbones highlighted stunningly with every smile, the sun shining through his lips as he sings along with the ever shifting radio. His profile is forever painted in your mind, along with that voice and the smell of his cigarettes. Such a shame that that long, thick, and truly beautiful neck remained unmarked and unsullied. As you stared at the bare triangle of flesh between his ear, jaw, and neck.

You imagined the sounds he would make as you sucked a deep, delicious, maroon hickie into his succulent skin. He's rarely not strapped and normally it makes you feel safe but today…it’s having a different kind of effect. This morning you watched him get dressed, laid his holster on the bed and you were able to get a good look at the holster and the colt .45 tucked firmly inside. You haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since you got in the car, well that and other things. You look out the windshield seeing a large sign that says “Waco 50 miles” and you decide to go for it. You lean over the armrest and lick up his stubbled neck to his ear, immediately he blushes completely surprised what you just did. You bite his ear gently and he’s about to speak when you cover his mouth with your hand.

“Just drive.” You whisper against his skin, you feel him smirk under your hand. Unbuttoning and unzipping you pull him out of his jeans, he’s growing harder as you pull him free from its restraint. “Good boy.” You moan against his ear and grip his cock, moving your hand steadily. His eyes roll involuntarily for just a moment, you smile seizing your opportunity.

“Eyes front.” You hiss. Teasing him is so much fun, but when he can’t do anything about it, it is so much better! He growls which you knew was a warning, but you just keep pushing with a smirk. Increasing your speed up and down, you enjoy the little sounds that he can’t force to keep quiet. “That’s right.” You whisper against his ear, eliciting another groan from deep within his chest. You moan in his ear, teasing him is so much fun you think to yourself as his cock jolts in your hands.

“Trust me I can handle my dangerous man.” You whisper into his ear, biting the lobe gingerly. His right hand leaves the wheel and crosses his body to his hip. You suck in a sharp breath knowing exactly what he’s reaching for.

“Are you sure about that, doll?” His cold tone matched the icy gun barrel now tucked firmly beneath your jaw.

“Yes,” you wink, pull the gun to your lips and kiss the tip of the barrel before leaning down to kiss the tip of his well loved cock. Taking his entire length in one go, his hand finds your hair and lets you expertly suck him. Your right hand snakes from your lap, where you’ve been attempting but failing to palm yourself through your jeans, you play with his tender balls rolling them between your fingers.

“Don’t even have to guide you, ahh look at you kitten, deepest throat I’ve ever ha-AH oh babe I’m goi-” before he finishes you go as deep as you can. Pubic hair tickles your nose as you lose yourself on his cock, forgetting you're in a car, on a six lane highway, you go for gold. Humming around him and swallowing around his shaft he cums hard, eyes glued to the road as the most distracting thing in the universe is completely gorging herself on him. Swallowing every drop, you kiss up his sensitive shaft feeling it twitch, well spent in your hand. You place a quick kiss and than a cigarette between his lips and light it up, he chuckles before inhaling a deep hit and fingering his cigarette. The smoke billows from his thick lips as he looks over at you, slowly shaking his head he says nothing but takes another drag.

“That was dangerous, but hot so mind blowingly hot.” Another long hit has you captivated on his mouth and how his lips wrap around the base of the lit cylinder. “Cannot wait to eat you out my sweet girl.” He laughs at the way you squeeze your thighs together, reaching his large hand over to your thigh and sliding you over to the very edge of the passenger seat. His hand reaches and perfectly cups his thick fingers over your cunt, gently shifting his fingers and watching you wriggle under his grasp. “The moment we walk through that door I want these jeans off, understand?” A question brought home by a harsh slap to your covered pussy.

“Yes daddy!” A gasp as you jump in your seat. ‘Oh it is gonna be a fun night.’ You think to yourself as he continues teasing you.

[brainddeadd]

Halloween Party

The New Jersey Devils' Halloween party was destined to be anything but normal. You knew that from the moment you walked into the venue—a rented-out lounge decked with fake cobwebs, jack-o-lanterns, and strobe lights—only to be tackled by a very enthusiastic Jack Hughes in full Spider-Man gear.

“Y/N!” Jack yells, wrapping you in a bear hug and lifting you off the ground. “You made it!”

“Put me down, Spidey,” you laugh, squirming in his grip.

Jack grins under his mask but finally sets you down, brushing invisible dust off your costume. “What even are you supposed to be?” he asks, squinting at your outfit.

“I’m a vampire,” you say, flashing the plastic fangs you barely managed to keep in.

“Cute.” Jack winks, slinging an arm around your shoulder just as Nico Hischier—dressed as a very convincing pirate—walks up, giving both of you a fond, exasperated look.

The lounge is packed with players, staff, and their partners—everyone dressed to the nines in goofy, spooky, or downright ridiculous costumes. Luke Hughes stands by the snack table, inspecting a bowl of candy with the kind of concentration you usually only see him use on the ice. He’s rocking a cowboy hat, boots, and a vest that’s way too small for his frame.

Dawson Mercer, meanwhile, has gone all-in with a werewolf costume, complete with fluffy ears and a tail that keeps smacking people as he walks by.

“I swear to God, Dawson,” you mutter, swatting at the tail when it brushes your arm again. “Control that thing.”

“It has a mind of its own!” Dawson defends himself with a mischievous grin.

As the night progresses, the chaos only multiplies.

Nico keeps trying to convince everyone to join him for a game of beer pong, insisting that pirates have an unfair advantage because they’re “naturally gifted at throwing things.” You’re not entirely sure that’s historically accurate, but no one argues with him.

Jack somehow convinces half the team to start a limbo competition—using a hockey stick, of course. Luke crushes it, his height somehow not being a disadvantage for once, though he nearly trips over his boots at the end.

Dawson, in typical Dawson fashion, sneaks up behind you at one point with a fake severed hand, pressing it to your shoulder.

You jump and swat him again. “You’re asking for a punch, Mercer.”

“Worth it,” he laughs, scampering off before you can retaliate.

The highlight of the night is, without a doubt, the costume contest.

You watch as Nico steps onto the makeshift stage, adjusting his pirate hat dramatically. “Arr, mateys,” he says, clearly enjoying himself way too much. “Who dares challenge the captain?”

Jack boos from the crowd. “Your hat’s crooked, Captain Fraud!”

“At least I didn’t dress as Spider-Man for the third year in a row!” Nico fires back, making everyone roar with laughter.

Luke takes the stage next, tipping his cowboy hat. He pulls out a toy gun from his holster and blows on the barrel dramatically, earning a mix of cheers and teasing catcalls from the crowd.

When it’s your turn, the boys start cheering before you even reach the stage.

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” Jack chants, getting the whole room to join in.

You roll your eyes but strike a dramatic vampire pose, hissing playfully at the crowd. Nico, Jack, Luke, and Dawson lose it, clapping like you’ve just scored the winning goal in a playoff game.

“Best costume ever,” Dawson declares loudly, like a proud big brother.

After the contest wraps up (Nico wins because, as Jack puts it, “the pirate hat has plot armor”), the team settles into smaller groups, chatting and dancing to the Halloween playlist someone threw together.

Jack stays glued to your side for most of the night, making sure no one gives you too much grief—though he’s not above throwing in a little teasing himself. “You’re lucky you have us,” he jokes. “Otherwise, these guys would eat you alive.”

Nico walks by, overhearing. “We’re protecting you from them,” he says, tilting his head toward the crowd of rowdy teammates. “Not the other way around.”

You laugh, but you know it’s true. These boys are chaos incarnate, but they’re also fiercely protective. And if that means surviving a Halloween party filled with ridiculous costumes, bad jokes, and limbo competitions—well, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The night winds down with Jack flopping onto the couch beside you, half-asleep but still grinning like a kid. “You have fun, Y/N?”

You smile, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Yeah. Thanks for dragging me here.”

Jack gives your shoulder a gentle nudge. “Anytime, little sis.”

Nico, Luke, and Dawson join you shortly after, each collapsing into the nearest seat. The five of you sit there, surrounded by the aftermath of the party—empty cups, candy wrappers, and a whole lot of memories.

And as you glance around at your chaotic, overprotective teammates, you realize there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

[keeping-writing-frosty]

A Snippet From A WIP

As the sun rose high above head, having reached its apex in the azure sky which stretched on and on; it truly was big sky country out here. A hot wind blew across the prairie grass, rustled the dried-out shrubs and mesquite trees that were thirsty for a sip of water that was not to come on that day. Leaning against the wall of Bent Creek General Supplies, in a seasoned linen shirt, stained by the sun, sweat, and rain, along with denim pants faded to its natural color from so long under the unforgiven sun. A wide-brimmed rawhide hat covered her face with a faint shadow and covered the chin-length red hair that was always pulled back behind her ears.

Smoldering cigarette between full lips highlighted her fair complexion and the multitude of freckles that seemed as if they were painted on with a delicately-tipped brush. She took a long drag, lungs filled with musty, rich smoke, expertly exhaled as she awaited something and nothing. Across her back, slung upon her with a leather strap, was a Winchester ’73 lever-action rifle with the blue-steel plate, not the fancy gold-plated ones more for show than usage. This one got plenty of use—when needed, that is. Around her waist, her father’s gun belt, inherited with no male siblings to speak of, along with the well-worn Colt Walker in its holster and the .457 rounds kept snug in the bullet loops. She looked quite a sight to those used to the more prim and proper ladies.

She was an enormous woman, broad-shouldered and strong; for a while she even disguised herself as a young man, with the lean, hard-boned face of a desert wanderer—it was easy to do once she bound her chest with some tight clothes. She possessed not an ounce of softness about her, at least on the exterior. There couldn’t be. Her toughness shone through in every movement, was such ingrained into her, it penetrated deep into her soul, yet it came without cruelty, still quick, hard, and dangerous. Any source of gentleness, dug deep into the mines of her very being—well-guarded and bottomless, beyond any reach and measure.

****

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[petit-bunbun]

sorry,,, DAY 7 is late, i didn't manage to make another decent illustratiuons.. i just wanted to used that day to show off my fucked up little project. But it's been making ma anxious, because They're bordering on OCs in it. If anyone it familliar with the Candela Obscura univers, from critical role. this is it. Matt, Frank and the rest of the defenders (from the netflix adaptations) are Candela obscura members. it's all still ongoing and a rough sketch. but it's really dear to me. [image ID : the first image is a colored digital reference drawing of Matt Murdock. There's a full body of him standing up, a hand on his hip the other on his chest. He is wearing a 1920s inspired Burgundy red suit. without the jacket. With a fray shirt, and a white tie. Gold accent and jewlery. He has a thick moustache on. Next to the full body there a floating head of matt, showing off his bushed back, a an empty eye socket, the other eye is white blank. Finaly there a bust shot of him, his head looking up, he is frowning. He's wearing a striped red suit vest. a floral red tie and a desaturated pink shirt. His hand goig out, his Rosary wrapped around it. There is a few written up details on the image. " Matthew Michael Natchios Murdock" Natchios is crossed out. "35yo Trans man. Pansexual. Law professor and lawyer. Widower. Irish-Latino." /.End ID] [image ID : The second image, is a rough, unfinished uncolored reference sheet of Frank Castle. The first sketch is of a small full body of the man. showing a really square overall shaped, because of his stance and long coat. The second sketch is a Bust shot of him. intensely looking at the viewer. his hair is flowing around for movement. highlighted is a long double scar on the left side of his head. He's swearing an open shirt, sleeves pushed up on his lebows, an undershirt and a shoulder gun holster. the last sketch is more cleaned and define and is a full body of Frank. He's wearing a sweater, sleeves pushed up at the elbows, with a tip cut, showing lots of his chest. high waisted pants, keept up by one suspender. He's wearing practical boot, laces undone. /.End ID]

[lovehypegirl]

AUTUMN IN NEW YORK

synopsis: You're a first year at Jujutsu Tech and your mentor is Nanami Kento. You try to get the man to open up a little after a visit to the bakery and record store information: reader's technique uses firearms pairing: platonic!nanami x platonic!gn!reader WC: 958 warnings.ᐟ : none

Gojo had assigned Nanami to be your mentor in attempt to get Nanami to work more with the students

Honesty, he thought that you and Nanami were somewhat similar, calm and collected but slightly classy

I mean, even your uniform looked like what he wore. Your uniform was a dress shirt, suspenders, shoulder holsters for you handguns, dress pants, and Louboutin dress shoes (that you had bought with Gojo's card)

You had just finished up your mission at an abandoned warehouse and as the multitude of curses faded away after exorcism, you placed your sniper rifle in your case and your handheld gun in your shoulder holster. Closing the clasps on your rifle case you stood up holding the case and adjusting the shoulder holster.

Nanami stood to the side wiping his hands on a handkerchief of any blood that the curses spewed

"Nanamin!" you called out "are you ready to leave? We've cleared the area of any curses"

"Yes. We're leaving now" he answered shortly as he turned around. He placed his cursed tool on the back of his shoulder holster

You followed after him carrying your rifle case out of the dark warehouse

Nanami walked on the street side of the sidewalk and you walked on the building side

You squinted as your eyes adjusted to the light

"It's sunset already" you stared up at the sun with a smile "how pretty" you walked next to Nanami as you looked at how the golden glow rested on buildings

You turned to a window that so happened to be a bakery and you saw how the sunset softened your features and how Nanami's sharp features were highlighted by the sunlight in certain places

"Do you wish to go in there?" His deep voice asked, snapping you out of your thoughts

"Oh um...I don't wish to trouble you" you turned away from the bakery

"No matter, If your hungry then we can eat...you had a harsh mission today so it's best if you ate" he opened the door to the bakery with a ding!

You followed after him unsure of what to say

The girl at the counter greeted in a cheery manner

"Hello! You're back again!" she smiled (IT'S THE BAKERY GIRL FROM THE MANGA!!)

"Pick what you want" he looked over at you

You hesitated slightly unsure of letting your mentor spend his money on you

"I told you, it's no matter" he placed a hand on your shoulder "Pick what you want"

"Uhm...okay then...(favorite food)"

"Let's get that for her and...a danish for me"

"The usual then huh? Who'd you bring with you?"

"She's my pupil as of 2 months ago"

"Wow! I'm sure you're a great teacher" she smiled at you and you smiled back

"He is" you grinned as he paid for your food

He walked out of the store with you by his side taking your rifle case from your hand as he handed you the food he bought for you

You felt slight relief as you finished your food, you were really hungry but didn't want to bother him for food

You looked to the side as you crossed the street spotting a record store

Throwing out the wrapper for your food as you reached the other side of the street

"I can carry my rifle now, and you can head on back to the school. I wanna stop here for a bit I wanna buy something" you pointed to the record store

"Don't worry about it I'll go with you"

"But our mission is over..."

"The mission doesn't end until we reach the school safely. It's also getting dark soon and you shouldn't be out alone in the dark"

He placed a hand on your back and guided you into the store

The record store held a nice ambiance, Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald's Autumn In New York played in the background on a record

A young woman with short red hair sat behind the counter shuffling through records

"Oh, y/n! You're back"

"Yea, do you have any new Dean Martin or Frank Sinatra?"

"Yeah, we just got Songs For Swingin' Lovers a few days ago. Should be in the back. A couple of Sade came in as well!"

"Thanks!" you called as you walked towards the section she pointed to

"Do you come here often?" Nanami asked

"I do! I really like vinyl...y'see I collect 'em. I think my first was a Beatles record...I got it for Christmas when I was...seven? Eight? I dunno, but I also got a record player the next year, so I started collecting" you rambled on as you went through the Jazz C-D box looking for a Dean Martin record that you could add to your collection

"You collect them hm?"

"Yeah! I wanna own every album from every one of my favorites one day"

"...Who are your favorites?" Nanami had begun to go through a Crooners Classics G-H box

"Oh gosh, well I love Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Louis Armstrong, ect. The classics y'know? I really like jazz...but lately, I've been into Neo-Soul...I'm thinking that this summer can be the Neo-Soul Summer 'cause during the winter I listened to a lot of Jazz...." you trained off "...uhm...am I talking too much?"

"Don't worry about it"

You nodded slightly with a small smile "Okay um...have you listened to Sade before?" you walked over to the section where Sade's records were located

"I have not" he turned towards you as you shuffled through a box

"Here we go..." you pulled out a record and handed it to him

"This one is Diamond Life released in 1984 it's uh...nine songs...one of my favorite albums"

"Mhm.." he turned the record over and read the list of songs

"My favorite time to listen to Sade is in the evening...it really fits the atmosphere...and here we go!" you picked up the Frank Sinatra record to buy for yourself

"'Kay...I'm gonna get this one...do you wanna get that record?"

He nodded slowly "Yes, why not"

"Great!" you took the record from him

"I'll get them this time since you covered our food"

"y/n I am--"

"--my mentor I know. But this is my thank you for being a really good mentor to me. Uhm...you keep me...down to Earth in a way? It's nice having a level-headed mentor...in comparison to Gojo...who's head seem to be everywhere but his neck!" you walked to the counter and placed the records on the counter and paid for them

When you exited the store with Nanami you handed him the record

"Here you go Nanamin!" You handed him the Sade record "I hope you enjoy it!"

"Thank you, y/n" he accepted the record you handed to him "you didn't have to do that, you know"

"Oh I know! But like I said, I'm thankful for having a mentor who's head is screwed on straight" you smiled as you talked to him

He huffed out a small laugh at your statement

"While we're on the topic of thanks, I've been meaning to thank you properly for the sourdough starter. I wasn't expecting it as a gift but it was a wonderful one. How did you know?"

"Gojo-sensei runs his mouth a lot"

"That he does"

"My mom also likes bread and...she has a starter to she taught me how to make one. I think that people who like bread should make their own! 'Cause then, they can have it whenever they want. Plus it's nice to smell the bread you make when I wake up on Sunday"

He smiled "I'm glad. You mentioned your first record was the Beatles, yes? How did you go from that to Jazz?"

"Wellll the Beatles is considered Madchester which really isn't my type of music so! I began experimenting and found Jazz! My parents took me to a Jazz club and I swear I spiraled from there! I even began to learn the saxophone!"

"The saxophone you say?"

"Yeah! Sometimes I play at night since it's the only thing keeping me sane at this point...curse-killing really puts a strain on the physical body and practicing an instrument helps...it really does"

"You're the one playing at night..."

"...you can hear it..? I thought you didn't stay on campus?"

"I had to stay late one night to file a mission report that I had been holding off on"

"Well, I hope it wasn't a bother..."

"Of course not, Desmond Blue by Paul Desmond is never a bother"

"Oh you knew the song!"

"You play quite well it's easy to recognize"

"Thank's Nanamin!" you smiled up at him

He returned your smile slightly and pat your back as you both walked back to Jujutsu Tech

"Now, tell me more about the songs you know..."

You shared anecdotes about your favorite songs and artists, from the soulful melodies of Sade to the timeless classics of Frank Sinatra. Nanami listened attentively, occasionally interjecting with his own insights or questions, demonstrating a genuine curiosity about your musical tastes.

As you approached the school grounds, you realized how much you appreciated these moments of camaraderie with your mentor. Despite his initial stoicism, Nanami had proven to be a supportive and understanding presence in your life as a Jujutsu sorcerer.

As the conversation wound down, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the unexpected bond you shared over music. It was a reminder that even in the midst of darkness and danger, there were moments of connection and joy to be found.

With a sense of contentment, you and Nanami entered the school grounds, ready to continue your journey together as mentor and pupil. And as the evening descended, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you had a steadfast ally by your side

© 𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀𝙃𝙔𝙋𝙀𝙂𝙄𝙍𝙇 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰 | modification and translation of my works on any platforms are strictly prohibited

[whomstsnek]

nobody asked for this but!! Azran Expedition color palettes picked directly from the official character art :]

I didn't add this in the image, but for everyone's reference here are what the colors refer to ->

Clayton: skin, hair/shoes/case, irises, shirt, pants, pant stripes, waistcoat, waistcoat pattern, coat/hat/shoe soles, tie/hat band, shoe toes and heels/case straps, glasses/crest, magic

Victoria: skin, hair, hair highlights/magic, irises, puff sleeves/sheer sleeve stripes/ dress highlights, puff sleeve shadow/dress shadow, sheer sleeves, dress, shoes/belt, prayer beads

Shepherd: skin, hair/scleras, irises, shirt, pants, vest, boots/hat/holster/gun grips, hat band, poncho, poncho pattern, buttons/buckles/gun barrels and accents, gun smoke and accents

Sarnax: scales, underbelly and palm scales, eyes, claws/lantern, robe (top), robe sleeve accents, robe (bottom), hood, brambles, pendent, leaves/dragon eye, lantern spikes

Kana: skin, hair/shoes, eyes, shirt/pants (upper ombre), pants (bottom ombre)/armor/helmet, pants print/naginata pole, pants print/armor/helmet, armor, armor/belt/naginata pole ends, naginata blade, naginata blade highlight

[officer-sebastian]

*As the clock ticks down the hours and minutes until the guard's next back-to-back shift, Sebastian eased himself from the cafeteria and took his time towards Sector D, specifically the high facility storage area. Sebastian took a few detours to liven up the trip, a pit stop to re-review an incredibly compressed map of the building in which the guard had to squint at and trace with his finger, and then a few more doors and man traps until his destination was in sight. Upon entering, Sebastian was graced with stacked rows upon rows of boxes. Some long, tall, wide or.. just a box. Imprinted with the unforgettable Black Mesa logo and lined with dust towards the top.

...Riveting. Truly, the highlight of any security guard's career. There's much to be said that every choice Sebastian has ever made would lead him to watching a box room for eight to ten hours to earn a subpar paycheque. And not just the stored miscellaneous, high-profile materials, but also Sebastian's fellow coworker and security guard who he was now focusing on looking for, as they had to meet up for the job*

*The storage facility itself was already such a slog to witness it its entirety, but the dust, possible mold and mildew made it even harder to focus and figure out which direction Sebastian was heading. Whatever light that wasn't being eclipsed by boxes showed only more dust as Sebastian kept walking around, waving dust out of the air with his hand or sneezing once or twice, only to just inhale more when he breathed in.*

Fuckin-' Ugh, christ almighty sniff Ferget mah shift blocks, squeezin' mahself inta this 'ere box in'a box ought'a do th'job right quick in killin' me.

*After what felt like an absolute eternity walking in the backrooms, a shadow moved in the corner of his eye, and causing the guard to subconsciously reach for his gun on his side. Fuck him if it was another alien, Sebastian thought as he almost tip toed towards where he saw the shadow last, ready to reconsider his approach at any moment as he squeezed the still holstered pistol and turned the corner behind another stack of large boxes. A shrill squeal rang out as he did so, appearing to be-*

WH-! Well fuck me, Ah guess! @officer-fitz th'hell are ya doin' back 'ere? *Sebastian loosened the grip on the pistol, heart beating hard in his chest*