Twelve days of Agent 47 [Agent 47 X Reader]

Day 3 | Let it snow

47 realizes that whatever fire you've sparked in him all those years ago will never be able to cease.

Your fingers cradled themselves cosily snug under the expanse of his coat, your arm slipped around his waist as his rested around yours, pulling you ever closer. The warmth was appreciated, for it was incredibly cold. Per your insistence, you had left the comforts of home and set for the annual winter market you knew close-by.

It was already dark when you arrived, but now it was becoming later in the evening with every passing second, stars became visible in the sky and sparkled in your eyes. Agent 47 could barely look away from the ardour in your emotion, enthralled by how captivated you were by the Christmas-y scenes unfolding around you.

His body was warm against yours and you snuggled your face into the fabric of his winter suit, looking up at him. "Listen to that, 47." you mused, referencing to the small choir of young children in front of you. "Aren't they wonderful?"

He let his eyes roam over the crowd of children, their faces illuminated by a few braziers around the market, lit for the occasion. Their voices were angelic and brought a pleasant ambiance over the crowd of roaming people. Someone dressed like Santa, who was obviously a woman, pretended to be in awe with the singing and complimented the children with a loud 'ho-ho-ho' of laughter.

And that's when he saw her – a young girl, no older than six, a folder of lyrics held tightly in her mittened hands. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of (h/c) hair framing her flushed cheeks, accompanied by the bluest eyes he had ever seen apart from his own. It was almost like looking into a mirror – a strange feeling settled deep within the pit of his stomach and when he looked down at you, his heart leapt once again.

What was this unfamiliar urgency in his being creeping up on him? He tightened his grip on you, and when you replied with pressure of your own, it almost took his breath away. He looked at the young child again, who was singing with all that she had, and she reminded him of you.

He was pulled out of his trance when he suddenly felt you withdraw your arm to applaud for the kids. "Wasn't that lovely?"

"Of course." he said, even though he hadn't been paying attention to the singing at all. Agent 47 was not designed for confusion, nor had he been for love, but once that button of emotion had been switched in his head all those years ago, he learned of the existence of puzzlement and unconditional care.

And in this moment, as he stared at you whilst your face was beautifully shaded with the fires all around, with the stars sparkling in the (e/c) of your eyes, he realized that eventually, the idea of being just your boyfriend would not be enough to him. A hunger, a yearning for you had been sparked within him. Animalistic, almost, an unquenchable thirst that he doubted could ever be sated. An instinct that had been suppressed for decades, pushed under the surface by genetic manipulation.

You were his world, and you had to know that.

He snapped out of his thoughts upon a sweet brush of your hand – you wiped a snowflake from his nose with your fingertip, and only now 47 realized that it had started snowing.

He took your hand in his and you smiled.
Gently, you pushed his arm, guiding him slightly backwards.

"What are you doing?" he quizzed, bracing himself out of nature.

"Trust me." you whispered.
And he did.

After a few more steps, you halted, letting your eyes flick upward. A few snowflakes had fallen onto your rosy cheeks and stuck in your eyelashes. There was no way you could look even more adorable.

Agent 47 followed your gaze and was met with the sight of a green branch with the tiniest white berries.

"Mistletoe." you whispered. "Do you know what that means?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Well?"
You leaned up, pressing your cold nose to his.
"That we should kiss."
"Oh", was his brief answer, but you didn't need more than that.

As more snow fell, you latched your mouth onto his in a passionate lip-lock, not minding the cold beginning to bite at your fingertips.

He'd kiss it away later, anyways.